Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "Fear The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I was intrigued by Nick's relationship with Gloria and wanted to explore that avenue a little bit through the dialogue we heard about her from Nick during the pilot. This fic is meant to fit in between the two conversations he had about Gloria in the episode. So, between he and Travis talking in the hospital and he and Calvin in the diner later on.

Warnings: *Contains: spoilers for episode one, adult language, adult content, very mild sexual context, drug use, references to drug addiction, methods of drug injection, drug side-effects, drug induced thought processes/states of mind.

Chemical Dependency (relapse, repeat)

"You ran into traffic, man. You hurt yourself."

"No man… I was running from, not to. I was running away from what I saw."

"What did you see?"

"Uhh, just a girl. Uhm… Gloria. She was my friend. Jesus Christ. Okay you buy on the corner and you can shoot at the church. It's junkie communion. And uhm…"

"At the church?"

"Yeah, Glo was… so she was with me when I scored. Yeah and she was with me when I nodded. She was there. She was beside me. But then… then… when I went down… everyone was dead. 'cause there was blood… yeah and it was all over her mouth. You know and then she came at me."

"What did she do?"

"Sh- she was eating them. She was eating them."

It wasn't her real name. He knew that right away. No one under seventy-five was called Gloria anymore and honestly, she looked more like a Jennifer or an Amy. Maybe a Lexi if he cocked his head and squinted a little. It was just one of those things. A biological impulse or nervous system hiccup that told him she was definitely not a Gloria.

"But I could be," she replied, sable smooth and practically purring as she stretched out in his lap in the club. Reminding him that when the sweet burn was flowing through him his tongue usually found its own way to play. Speaking out loud as his brain tied itself into knots underneath his skin. But she didn't seem to mind. Smiling beatifically down at him, flowing like silk over water as she propped herself up on her knees on that private couch and made love to him with her eyes.

"It's Latin for "glory," she thrummed, drink untouched beside her as she curled the flattened red straw around and around her finger. Mesmerizing and smooth as the crush of people and blind spots from the strobing lights gradually faded from view. She made the world go quiet. The sweet burn was fading, but she was still there. Keeping the world at an arm's length. Protecting him.

God, he wanted to keep her.

"Did you know that people with my name like the quiet, and want to understand the world?" she continued, fingering the edge of her phone that peeked out from between the valley of her breasts. "People like me want to learn the deeper truths. We want to know, Nick. We want to know what the dirt and skin is hiding."

He nodded without understanding.

"I like your name," she whispered, making him blink when her hair brushed across his cheek. Not realizing she'd moved again until she was straddling him. Pushing him back gently across the couch as someone outside laughed and closed the thin curtains around the booth. "Nicholas. A Greek name. Do you know what it means?"

He shook his head, wordless. Cotton-mouthed as she did something illegal with her wrist and unbuckled his belt without looking. Hazel eyes almost lost in the pupil as she murmured the words to a song that was only playing inside her head.

"It means "People's victory," she quoted, smile like a celestial body falling into orbit. "It's a strong name, you know. After a Saint. Saint Nicholas. The patron saint of children, sailors and pawnbrokers."

She laughed, throaty and tinkling like warm metal curling in on itself.

It made him want to laugh too.

So he did.

It felt like for the first time in a long time.

"What's your name," he rasped, cupping her chin as she worked his pants down his hips. Making appreciative sounds into the fine, downy hairs that trailed down to his groin. "Your real one?"

"Guess!" she laughed at him, spinning and tripping as she darted away again, elusive but worth the chase as she grabbed her purse and danced between the gauzy curtains and out of sight. It took him a full ten seconds before he scrambled to his feet, zipping himself back up and chasing her down the dark-lit halls of the back of the club.

He caught her in the door way, deciding right then and there – watching her spin, back-lit in the orange fluorescents, twirling a strand of corn-silk blonde around and around her finger – that she was definitely a Gloria. Bettin' that when she was out in the early morning and the sun was rising - smiling shyly bold in the same way the needle always gave him, track marks like fading ruby freckles up and down her pale arms - that she looked like glory.

"Do you want to be mine, love?" he asked, probably the next morning – or night – or maybe one of those in between places that didn't belong to either as they stirred awake on an unfamiliar mattress in an unfamiliar room. Just able to make out the vague shapes of other people sprawled out across the carpet, needle-tips glinting as the mid-day sun shone smoke-orange through the slates in the blinds.

"Do you want to be mine?" she'd parroted, rough and sleepy-serious. Like an angel with a head cold as intelligent eyes watched him unwaveringly. "I'm kind of a mess."

"I won't mind your mess, if you don't mind mine," he told her, feeling heavy and dissociated as the dredges of whatever they'd taken pulled his mind back down into his body. Covering him over with old skin as she followed him. Stretching out so she was splayed out on top of him. Hair tickling down his bare shoulders as they gradually learned how to breathe at the same time. Fingers tangling as he wrapped his arms around her and curved her in – keeping her safe as she started to shiver. Dropping down in inches as the shakes slowly started setting in.

"We can be each other's, for a little while," she told him, facing down the shadows as he breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Wondering if it was possible to get addicted to this too as somewhere in the distance, a siren started up – screaming low like a slow-building tell as the room shuddered awake around them.

Funny thing was, he'd always ignored that last part.

"I need to know what you gave me."

"I didn't give you anything."

"Was it laced with PCP?"

"Laced?"

"Was it PCP?"

"My customer's paranoid and pissed off and immune to pain? You talking about my shit?"

"No."

"Then where's ya head at?"

"Calvin, the church was a bloodbath. It was a horror-show. Gloria killed two people and I need to get it out of my head."

"Gloria's 90 pounds soaking wet."

"Yeah."

"She's barely strong enough to strike a vein.

"I know."

"You're not making any sense, Nicky."

"I know. I know, but I saw it Cal. I saw her do it. And I need to get it out of my head."

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

Reference: Kudos to gunslingerdixon for transcribing the conversations between Nick and Travis in the hospital and Nick and Calvin in the diner.