Archive of Our Own

“You’re thinking,” you simply reply.

He pauses, and you wouldn’t for a second believe it’s in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” You squirm in his grasp, turning over, placing a tender hand on his cheek. You can just barely make out the outlines of his features with streetlight filtering in through the window. “And you’re not sleeping.”

“Well…when you get to my age, you won’t be sleeping that much either.” It comes out serious, in that Joel sort of way when you can never tell if he’s joking. It’s not entertaining to you even if it were.

“Joel,” you insist more forcefully this time. His long nights of restless sleep, bags forming under his eyes, tenseness with the young girl down the hall, are starting to get to you. “Talk to me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He grows quiet, only the sound of your breaths intermingling filling the room. There is something amiss in the household, like a secret withheld from you, one Joel and Ellie both share and despise, a wall driven between them.

His lips part like he’s going to say something, then they close once more. So close, but he deflects. “I’m okay, darlin’,” he promises, his voice softening, filled with a genuine gentleness as his hands creep into your hair. “I’m okay.”

You accept when he presses his lips to yours, slow, tender, as if you might shatter in his hands—a plead for you to let it go.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You met them on the outskirts of Kansas City.

You saw her first. Small, young, evidently scrappy as she tears through the shelves of a long abandoned convenience store. There’s a rage about her, her eyes perhaps slightly red, hands shaking.

But still something youthful—the naivety of it, the inexperience of it. She’s entirely too loud, entirely too unaware of the eyes on her. Too quick to assume nothing will come looking for her. They’re no longer in the safe central city.

A clang sounds from the back of the shop. You wished you hadn’t thought it, that maybe you’d conjured it up. You want to scream at her—protect her—she’s so small after all. But it’s not right. You should run. You should fucking run. But you don’t, paralyzed by this perverse show in front of you as she stills, frozen like a deer in headlights, an awful snarling sound coming out of the dark.

It seems to reverberate, her large doe eyes widening even further as she finally goes for her pack. Too slow. Without a thought, you raise your pistol, and it’s done.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You’d thought the world had gone black for a second.

All you’d heard was a shriek of a name from the girl, followed by a weight slamming into you, a broken cry that you don’t recognize as your own piercing the air. The cool metal in your hand is wrestled away, and as you scramble upright, as your vision clears, a taller figure stands over you.

For a few moments, you just stare at one another. There’s a wildness to his eyes, an unbridled paranoia that’ll strike if prodded too hard. They’ll want your bag—you’re sure of it.

But no. He places a hand on the young girl beside him, eyes never leaving yours, taking a wary step back, ready at any second to turn on his heel and leave.

“Give it back,” you say quietly, eyeing your gun, making every effort to hide the shake in your voice. You won’t survive without it. You might not even survive with it, a thought that continues to weigh heavily on your mind.

He only stares, an imperceptible shake of his head.

“I saved your goddam kid’s life,” you bite out. “If I wanted to shoot her, I would’ve.”

He looks at her for confirmation, and all she has to give him is a look, thought it evidently only partially helps your case.

“You want fuckin’ food or what?” You slowly grab your pack, and he tenses.

“Stop,” he says. So he talks . His voice is gruff, grinding; it makes you shiver.

You catch the young girl’s eye. You don’t miss the way she perks up at the mention. “Well, you guys must be hungry if you’re digging through empty cans like rats.”

“Joel,” she insists, resting a hand on his arm. He gives her a conflicted look; you know there’s nothing more urgent than a hungry kid.

His gaze refocuses on you, and you continue undoing the straps.

“Dump it out,” he orders, flicking the gun for emphasis.

You swallow, obeying, a few cans falling to the floor. You give them a look— see?

You stare back at him fully for the first time, conjuring up enough steel to match his own eyes. “Now put the fucking gun down.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Some days, Joel thinks you’re too soft for him.

Not weak, but soft.

It’s only become more evident with your time in Jackson. The opposite of him.

And it’s painful in a way, especially with you. You flourish here. In a way he doesn’t think he can. Ellie does too, but she’s just a kid; he’d always expected that. You, on the other hand, he always saw you as like him—an adult, for one, but also hardened.

It quickly becomes obvious however, that the years he has on you have done something more to him, something that maybe jarred something loose, that he wants to hide from you, the doubt already settling in with so much time to think, and after all, he feels like he’s broken, because all he seems to dream of nowadays are Fireflies and Ellie, and—

“Joel!”

He comes to as someone snaps their fingers in front of his face.

“You good?” you tease, a small smile on your lips as you lean over the table, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. His honest initial thought is that you have no right to look this good at this hour, dressed for the warmer day in a tank top and shorts that could certainly afford to be longer.

“Yeah,” he finally responds, turning at Ellie’s soft huff of laughter to his right, where she eats some scrambled eggs you’d cooked.

“Old man hearing,” she says under her breath, a smile twitching at her lips.

You don’t try to hide your soft laugh. “He’s trying, El’.”

He rolls his eyes, keeps the smile off his own face in a force of habit, but he’s never minded.

“You wanna work on some guitar after breakfast?” he asks her. It’s Saturday; they have the whole day. But she retreats into herself at the question, clearing her throat, the energy of the room seeming to contract.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she replies, a coldness emerging all of a sudden.

The room lapses into silence, and he clears his throat. You give the two of them a confused look, your own cup of coffee clutched between your hands, the small of your back settled against the counter.

He doesn’t want you to know.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Joel had put the gun down.

Henry did it for him. He’ll do it for you—a repentance.

There’s a sickening sense of anxiety in his stomach as you eat together; it all feels the same. But he refuses to believe it will be.

But Ellie’s taken just fine, the trauma of the last day seemingly washed away. But he knows it lies dormant, just beneath, ready to come bursting free when the moment is unfortunate enough.

He only half listens to your story, takes away the big points—fled the St. Louis QZ, you’re all alone. You’re scared. You hadn’t said that part, but he can feel it. It clouds the air around you, subtle, but there. He knows Ellie can sense it too with that uncanny ability of hers, the way she reads people.

He’s wary, of course, but he can just feel you. That you’re good. And it goes back in forth in his head, that maybe you’re actually good or that he’s simply distracted by how goddamn kind and pretty you are.

We’re going to Wyoming. It feels like they’ve barely known you when Ellie says it, but the statement doesn’t strike the dread in him he’d expected.

Instead, he watches you. The way your shoulders rise at first, a blink, as you process the meaning. The way they fall as a tension seems to leave your body, a belief that maybe you’d finally feel safe.

But before you can respond, he cuts in. “Let’s camp out here for the night.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

He takes first watch, but you don’t fall asleep.

He didn’t expect you to.

Ellie’s curled up near the corner, pack as her pillow, jacket as her blanket. You, however, sit against the wall, knees curled to your chest. It’s surprisingly cold, and he sees the way you shiver.

“She yours?” You finally break the silence, staring ahead at the wall.

He’s immediately reminded of the before—before the world had gone to hell—how the list of conversation topics with strangers always went to kids first once the weather had expired.

“My best friend’s kid,” he lies, fingers twitching on his rifle; he’d never given your gun back, but you seem unperturbed. “Before he…”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.

He softens slightly at your genuine response to his lie, a fact he remains hidden externally.

“Does she help though?”

“What?”

You turn to look at him, head tiredly following the pane of the wall. “I see the way you treat her. You were someone’s father once.”

He doesn’t think he freezes at that. But he wants to. The words are painfully familiar, utterly agonizing as the memory of Henry and Sam and Sarah all come together with that one statement. He feels it’s written all over him—can people just see it? See how broken he is? You were someone’s father once.

You had someone once.

You loved someone once.

Something’s changed; it’s mutually sensed as you clear your throat, making a clumsy save. “So where’re you from?”

“Austin. You?”

“Chicago.”

It again lapses into silence, only the sound of Ellie’s soft breath, the visible cloud of your own breath in the night air.

He mutters your name, and you turn, eyes widening as he tosses you his jacket. It’s accepted graciously.

He thinks you’ve got a fire in your eyes and a survivor’s mindset, but a small part of him knows—you’re not going to make it out here on your own.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

“Can you stay here till I fall asleep?” Ellie asks quietly.

“Of course.”

She still has trouble sleeping on her own. You don’t blame her. It’d been hard at first, separating in the darkness because, for so long, darkness had been danger. For months, the three of you had always holed up in tiny, found shelters, sometimes with barely there walls, sometimes huddling together for warmth. Always someone keeping watch, someone to protect them.

You all had done the same the first week in Jackson—one room despite the spaciousness of the house. But you’d decided that it was time for Ellie to adjust. She’s a kid, her own space is what she deserves.

You’d helped her redecorate, and it was more fun than you thought it’d be, running around town to find things she liked. You vaguely remember that this is what it’d felt like before the outbreak, when there was time for frivolous things.

She settled well enough—but sometimes you stay, obviously. The lamp stays on as you sit in the chair by her bed, your current read in your lap. She’s undoubtedly too old for this, would probably be fine without it, but you submit, for in all honesty, you yourself are glad you don’t have to sleep alone.

You’re glad that he’s there—protecting you, always. Someone to feel when you think you’re slipping away from reality, struggling too much with the past.

You know she struggles too, but she looks so angelic when she’s sleeping. She certainly wasn’t meant for the life she’d been forced to endure, and the coolness about her since she and Joel had returned occasionally makes your chest tighten.

The nightmares certainly come. On bad nights, you’ll wake up to your mattress shifting, her rolling under the covers on your side of the bed, waking you just enough for you to roll closer to Joel and make room. Maybe it’s a little ridiculous, but it’s what everyone needs.

You remember the first time it’d happened. How you’d woken to her figure just standing in the dark, her hands shaking. Confusion was first inevitably, but you knew the look on her face. “Come here,” you’d whispered, offering her your hand.

You think that’s when you’d finally settled it with yourself—she’s yours.

Her breath growing louder and leveling out brings you out of your head, and per routine, you close your book, switch off the lamp. “Love you, El’.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You grew up on the Great Lakes.

You miss deep dish pizza.

You had a friend you fled with.

Those were some of the things Joel learned as the days dragged on, albeit mostly from you talking with Ellie, not him.

For the first time in his life maybe, Joel learns what it’s like to walk. Truly walk. The days are long, slow. His knees ache. It’s agonizing progress, with a lot of time to pass.

Mostly he listens at first. Ellie’s certainly glad she has someone new to talk to, someone undoubtedly more responsive. She laughs more—which he didn’t even think was possible—and he finds yours is equally bright and clear.

Sometimes he joins, when you and Ellie rope him in, goading him into revealing little things—movies he likes, his favorite food before the outbreak.

He has to admit it’s nice having someone else around, an extra set of eyes to share the responsibility. A part of him hates himself for letting his guard down, but a couple weeks in when he finally lets you take solo watch, he truly rests for the first time in weeks.

“You want some?”

He blinks, startling slightly as you say his name. You’d brought him food, part of a rabbit he’d gotten in the morning. He mutters a thank you, and to his surprise, you sit down next to him. Still, he eats in silence, as you fiddle with your own fingers, slender and delicate, something he focuses on more than he’d like.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you say all of a sudden, casting down your gaze.

“For what?”

“You know what.” You’re hunched over, almost as if you’re ashamed, your throat bobbing as your eyelashes flutter. He wants to rest his hands on you and ease the pain away. “I was looking for…people.”

“‘s alright,” he responds, the usual monotone he forces into his voice. “No one can make it out here on their own.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh that catches him off guard. “I’m sure you could.”

He’s silent for a long time at that, wrestling over what he should say next. The fire crackles quietly in the distance, Ellie’s silhouette resting near it. “No,” he finally admits. “She saved my life, y’know.”

He knows you hear it, with the way your breath hitches. There’s a silent question on your lips, one he’s thankful you don’t ask.

“And I’d rather she not have to do it again.”  There’s a sharp edge to it. He himself doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say, but it lingers in the back of his mind— I’ll protect you, but you better protect her.

“You’ve done well, y’know,” you say softly, changing the topic. Still tender, still strong; you’re not intimidated by him.

“What do you mean?”

“I think she’s a good judge of character, I can feel it.” You draw you knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. “And she likes you.”

Something’s amiss. Something in him feels off when he looks at you and you don’t even spare him a glance back.

“I don’t know where you got her Joel, but I know it wasn’t from your friend. And she had no one before. And she likes you.”

He says your name, but you talk right past him.

“Kids like that can get overly attached, I’m sure you know. But you’re good for her.”

It’s only been three fucking weeks. He likes to think you know nothing, but he knows you’re right. You can see right through him. Just like Ellie in that sense, and it makes something in him alight behind that cold exterior.

But he doesn’t think of you like he thinks of Ellie.

And again, as if you can see through him, the two of you sit in silence—time for his thoughts to simmer, for your pull to grow stronger.

Your jacket’s off, drying after being washed, and you’re just in a tank top, for it’s warmer tonight.

He likes to think of himself as beyond this, but it still piques his interest, the way it hugs your form, leaving little to the imagination, but still leaving plenty for him to imagine.

It’s not the first time, though. You’d always piqued his interest, even before he fully trusted you—hell, maybe since the moment you’d regained your bearings and looked up at him in that dilapidated convenience store.

At first, he thought it was because he hadn’t had someone in so long, that maybe you were just pretty and young and new and practically placed in front of him all the goddamn time, but as more time passes, he doesn’t think it’s just that, he thinks it’s you . So kind with Ellie, so kind with him, soft, but strong, perhaps what he aspires to be on some fundamental level.

And sometimes—like now—he thinks of how soft you’d be, how you’d sound, the way you’d respond to his touch. He imagines how your voice would change, high pitched and girlish, how his name would sound from your lips with a little extra breathiness and—

Fuck, he can’t do this next to you.

He grimaces at the fact that you’re still looking off into the night beside him in the comfortable enough silence, completely innocent in all this.

He blinks, standing with a quiet groan, needing to get away. “I’m gonna go check on Ellie.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You wake with a gasp, startling out of your sleep.

It’s dark, the silence unsettling all of a sudden, the fact a corner lies in shadows making you uneasy.

Your head pounds with a crippling fear, and you sit up, massaging your temples. You have to look to your side to make sure he’s still there, and it feels routine at this point.

The way you compulsively get out of bed to walk down the hall and make sure Ellie’s still there, safe and secure from the world you’d always tried to protect her from. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane when you wake with a chill in your bones.

Back in your room, you climb back under the covers, your heart still pounding in your chest a little faster than normal as you lie on your side and look at the sleeping man next to you.

He only ever seems fully at peace when he’s like this. Your eyes flutter shut—you force them to—as you nestle against him. An arm comes around you, the only indication he’s awake. He doesn’t say anything, just shows his comfort through actions.

You take a deep breath, but you’re still wide awake, too overly conscious of the calm of this situation in this moment, when you’ve just woken from visions of quite the opposite.

It feels ridiculous in your head, but these are nights you want to wake him and whisper, Joel, are we in a dream?

And you just want him to reassure you.

But you never do, content enough to let him sleep, to calm yourself and push through it because that’s what life is like now.

It’s safe, and it’s real.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

There’s a pureness to it as you watch Ellie’s eyes light up, as the sweetness overtakes her tongue.

The three of you had come across a honeysuckle bush by the abandoned house you’re staying in for the night. The bush is the first one you’d seen in years really, and you’d broken a flower open to let her taste the nectar.

It tastes like summer to you, and she savors the sweetness her body has been so deprived of.

“You take off this green part at the end,” you explain, showing her. “Then you pull the little tail thing out. But make sure you’re gentle so you don’t break it.”

She copies you, delightfully tasting another drop from a new flower.

“Tastes like sugar,” she remarks, a bright smile on her face.

You laugh at the contemplative expression on her face. “It is sugar.”

She cocks her head slightly, and picks another flower. “Makes sense.”

“Well, you’ve got claim on the whole bush, El’. Eat up.”

You make the short steps back into the house, where Joel’s standing at the window looking over a map. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.

“She’s definitely gonna pick that bush clean,” you remark, rifling through your pack for something to eat.

Your hands pause as you hear his heavy footsteps behind you. “Well, that’ll keep her preoccupied for a while,” he says quietly, and you gasp as he spins you around, capturing your lips with his.

Your eyes flutter shut, melting into him. It’s been nearly two months now—things have undoubtedly elevated.

It was maybe a few weeks ago when it’d started, when Ellie had been sleeping. Somehow the conversation had turned to the days before, when life was normal, safe. When loved ones were numerous, and sleep came easy.

But Joel had implied something, something that explained the pain in his eyes, and you hadn’t pushed it. You knew it would come later.

But it made something in you twinge, the way his hands shook.

And you’d wanted to make him feel better.

You’d seen the way his gaze tended to linger on you, the way you couldn’t ignore him either. The way pinpricks seemed to run across your skin whenever he touched you. The way both of you would stay a little too long when he offered you a hand when hiking rough terrain.

When you’d kissed him, he pulled away like he’d been burnt, his eyes wide, his guard thoroughly broken for maybe the first time in years.

But he’d returned, forceful, the dominating presence Joel always was, consuming all of you. The moment you let out a quiet moan, you knew you were a goner. Surely, he was too, the way he’d seemed so inherently gentle for once.

And it’s no different now as he wraps his arms around you waist, caging you against the table. It makes you rub your thighs together as his lips move to your neck.

You yelp as he pulls you with him to a room further in the house, lest Ellie decide to come bursting in, and it’s there that the intensity of the moment escalates.

You feel so surrounded by him, smothered by this feeling, and sometimes it’s precious to just forget about everything, to just return to this base need.

There’re no hard and fast rules to this, no defined feelings or commitments, and it’s freeing.

He unbuttons your jeans, slips a hand in, drags his fingers through your slick folds.

You whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. His damn voice always gets you; it’s no different now. “Shhh…I’ve got you, sweet girl.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

There’re drying flowers hanging from your windowsill. A small vegetable garden sprouting in the backyard.

It’s the first time you’ve had the opportunity to create a normal, mundane life as an adult, and after everything that’s passed, it feels nice to play homemaker some days.

You already have more than you ever imagined—a growing set of clothes, a collection of plants, even more recently you’d obtained a bottle of flowered hair oil.

Sometime there’s still that doubt though, that anxiety that all this is an illusion that’ll disintegrate at the slightest touch—but at the end of the day, you’re happy.

You think Ellie is too. She goes to school, and she actually likes it. You’d expected it though—she was always so curious. She has acquaintances, friends, and maybe a little crush, but you’re still trying to weed that one out of her.

But that brings you to Joel, and for once, he’s the one that worries you more than Ellie. It seems like he only ever lives in his head some days, unaware of what they have around them. In all honesty, it reminds you of the first days, when you were just strangers, at a tentative injunction of trust.

Some days, it makes you doubt all of this. That maybe this isn’t as great as you see it, that maybe this whole place is a cheap attempt at a remake of before—after all, he’s the one that had truly known the before.

The only days you remember are like an endless summer haze—warm, blissful. You remember sun, fruit, water, friends. You hadn’t yet been old enough for the ordinary world to do you any true harm, and you’d never imagined it could.

But he knew it. He’d had her. And there’s no doubt you haven’t missed the fact of the parallels between now and then for him.

His coldness seems to bleed, to your doubts, to Ellie—or maybe just to you because now you’re really beginning to suspect it’d originated with him and Ellie, when they were gone. There’s an energy about them now that makes you just want to pace in circles till you can forget about it, till maybe you can think everything is normal again.

She’s never the usual chatterbox when he’s around. He less and less seems to express that deep warmth you know he’s more than capable of, and it worries you.

“What’s wrong?”

He jumps as you put your hands on his shoulders. Some days are better, some days are worse. Today is the latter.

He’s bent over a technical book he’d borrowed from the library. “The electrical wiring in the basement.”

You huff, falling onto the couch beside him; Ellie’s gone for the day. “Very funny.”

He doesn’t even turn to you.

“For real, Joel.”

Maybe he just needs someone to get him out of his head.

Maybe he just needs a distraction—there’s always too much time to think here.

“Hey,” you murmur, and when he turns, you surge forward, pulling him into a kiss. It’s a desperate thing filled with one idea. I love you. Please….

He groans into your mouth, pulling you against him, into his lap. This isn’t what you had in mind, but he’s decided. The idea of how he moves you so easily still makes you shiver, and a tremble wracks through your body as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck.

Maybe he just needs to feel better.

You don’t even know anymore, can’t even muster the energy to think of it further, so you submit, letting him pull your shirt off you.

But in one last second of resistance,  you pull away, glancing to the side. You hate when he gets like this, so avoidant, turning what you’d intended into something else, and you’ve tried and tried and tried and you just want him to open up and you can’t. You love him and hate him and want him, but it’s difficult to even look him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” he says, voice strained, slightly grinding up against you where you straddle him.

You know damn well what’s wrong, you want to say. But instead you shake your head. Forget about it.

You climb off his lap, and his objection turns into a groan as you drop to your knees, undoing his belt.

Maybe he just needs to feel better.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Your jaw drops the first time you see Jackson.

It feels unreal, like one of those cute Western towns you used to ski at with your family as a child.

You go about it in a haze, in awe, but anxious. There’s more people than the three of you have seen in months—strangers, and your eyes dart around as you walk.

You’d met Tommy, Maria, already scolded Ellie once or twice for her language.

But the house they give you hits you the most. One of those standard suburban homes that feels too familiar to you. Too homely, for it reminds you of everything that’s been lost. You think Joel feels the same, the way he’d paused in the doorway, just for a split second before continuing.

There’s marks of someone else’s life in here. You wonder what happened to them.

That evening, you sit on the bed as the sound of the shower runs in the background. Your hair is still wet, and a lamp illuminates the room in a soft glow. The sheets are so soft, and it’s warm for once.

It’s too much to process, like the old world has just been forcefully shocked from your system, and somehow you weren’t ready for everything to be okay all of a sudden, and you don’t know why exactly, but you draw your knees to your chest and tremble.

It’s agonizing, this reminder. That maybe this is what could’ve been all along if the world hadn’t gone to shit. That maybe you’d still be on the water, that you’d have a family, that maybe you’d see your  parents every weekend.

You take in deep shuddering breaths, forcing yourself to calm as the door to the bathroom opens. You hear him pause before a weight sinks onto the bed beside you. He pulls you into his arms.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmurs.

You exhale, resting against him. He’s so warm. “It’s just a lot.”

That’s all he’s going to get, and apparently he decides he’s fine with that. “I know.”

The silence is eerie as he leans against the headboard, your head on his shoulder. You can feel his heart beating in his chest as you stare at a framed picture on the wall—a wedding photo of two strangers from another life.

“Did you tell her yet?” you ask quietly.

He tenses. “No.”

When he’d told you his decision to have Tommy take Ellie, you didn’t know what to say. You already knew it was a lot for him to process, that he didn’t take it lightly—he’d already walked in with his shoulders hunched, a broken look in his eyes.

Your first instinct had been an objection—you don’t really agree with his reasons, but at the end of the day, you decide to respect what he wants.

“You should tell her now,” you say quietly. A small part of you knows that you should go too, that she was no longer just Joel’s, but your fear wins over the selfishness in you.

He nods, gently lowering you to the mattress. The door closes as he steps out.

You inhale the scent of freshly washed sheets, and try to think of anything else. If you dwell on it, you think you’ll go yank Joel from Ellie’s room and beg him to change his mind. She was both of yours after all, she stays with the two of you.

Except she’s really not, and the reality stings.

But you perk up, propping yourself up on your elbows as you hear yelling. They’re fighting.

Joel’s voice, even muffled through walls, sends a shiver down your spine. Then a shrieking slew of words from Ellie that you can’t quite pick out.

And you startle as a door slams.

Joel bursts into the bedroom, and your eyes widen as his gaze settles on you, and for a split second, you think you sense something dangerous.

“Did you fuckin’ tell her about Sarah?” His voice is shaking, barely controlled from a yell, and it scares you, and you’d never seen him this mad.

“What? Of course not,” you insist, fully sitting up and crossing your arms in some sad attempt at self-comfort.

“Then how the fuck did she find out?”

You know he has a hard time with her, exponentially harder than he has with you.  He’d never lost someone like you, but he’d definitely lost someone so completely like Ellie.

The question goes unanswered, and he fumes, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

You rest on your knees, moving slowly, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Joel…” you whisper.  

He mutters something under his breath and shakes his head. “It’s done.”

And you watch helplessly as he turns off the lamp and climbs under the covers. Conversation over.

He lies on his side with his back turned to you, and you stare at the door for a moment. You want to go to her, hold her, but it’s done. It’s over. There’s no use in rubbing salt in the wound.

So you lie down too, tentatively sliding closer to Joel, and you wrap an arm around his waist. The fact that he doesn’t push you away is what tells you it’s welcome. It’s so small, so small it could be mistaken, but you think he trembles.

And you slide a hand up his body, past his neck, to his cheek. You find the wetness you’d been suspecting, and tenderly, you wipe the tear away.

You don’t say anything, he doesn’t want you to.

You just go to sleep.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

“I did the wrong thing.”

You groggily rub your eyes. It’s six in the morning, the sun is beginning to rise. He lays wide awake beside you.

His dread seems to roll over the whole room. “Maybe,” you whisper.

“She’s scared,” he says.

“I think she’s always been scared.”

He makes a noise somewhat evocative of pain as he sits up, massaging his temples.

“I can’t…” he bites out.

“Can’t what?”

“She wants it to be me—us, actually.”

“Of course she does.” You sit up too, resting a hand on his back.

You have a lot of thoughts running through your mind, but in some terrible avoidance, you cling to the idea that this is his choice. They’d started this whole thing, they finish this whole thing.

His hand twitches. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, getting out of bed, and tossing his pack on the dresser, his choice obviously made.

It feels right.

“When are we leaving?” you ask quietly, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“You’re staying.”

You freeze, your back still turned to him as you process his words, wondering if you’d heard him right. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “You’re staying here.”

“What the fuck do you mean I’m staying here?” You jump to your feet, glaring at him.

“It’s two weeks,” he insists. “Easy and quick.”

“Then why the fuck can I not come?”

“‘cause it ain’t safe.”

“But you just said—“

“Stop it,” he interjects, uttering your name with something menacing to it. A warning.

“Joel,” you plead, walking over to him, where he stands his ground.

“You’re safer here,” he says, softening slightly as he forces himself to take a breath. “Shit happens out there; I’d rather at least one of you be safe.”

“But—“

“ Please .” He firmly cradles your face in his hands. His gaze on you is unwavering. You couldn’t break away if you wanted to. “I’ve never asked you for anything,” he begs, “and I’m asking you for something right now.”

You tremble, staring at him. He’s waiting for you to say something.

And finally, you swallow and nod, a pang in your chest at the thought of being left behind. “Okay.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Two weeks pass in a haze.

Day fifteen is anxiety-filled. Day sixteen is excruciating.

You can’t be alone. Again.

So you throw yourself into work to forget. You work in the gardens by day, clean the large house by night. You sweep the floors, clean up twenty years worth of dust, erase the remnants of the last occupants.

The night scares you, alone in the big house, and many are sleepless as you toss and turn, ultimately sitting downstairs till you fall asleep on the couch.

Tommy sends people out after about two and a half weeks. Nothing.

Just be patient.

“Please…” you whisper some nights. You don’t know if you’re talking to yourself, or them, or someone above.

The fear is debilitating, makes your head pound some days. On the third week mark, you give in for the first time and cry. In bed, your face buried in the pillows as you sob. You’d never let them see you like this, so shouldn’t you stop?

You can’t.

If Ellie comes back, you decide you’re going to tell her she’s yours, that she always will be. You’ll tell Joel you love him

You can’t lose another family.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Cordyceps grows in the brain.

He feels like he wants to hurl as he stares at the tile floor.

“Take him out to the highway. Leave him with his pack.”

Her. All that matters is her.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

You’re done.

You can’t stand it anymore. You feel like you’re either going to scream or burst into tears.

There’s a tenseness going around the house today, not just a coldness.

They’d fought yesterday—Ellie and Joel—she’d said something rude, he’d yelled something about ‘showing a little goddamn respect.’

Everyone seems on edge, including you, and you know one thing for sure—this isn’t the family you’d found on the road.

You feel alone, stuck between some conflict no one will tell you of, and it’s slowly breaking you. Utopia gives too much time to think, and the well-functioning community around you drives you insane, for the situation at home is quite the opposite.

And Ellie also refuses to tell you anything—sometime it kills you how similar they are in some ways, and you can’t even count how many times you asked Joel about it.

This must be the millionth, as you stand before him, in the foyer for some reason, where this had all started.

He looks tired, and for a second, you think he’s going to walk out the door, leave you hanging. Again.

“You’re gonna tell me right now what happened,” you say, voice dangerously low. There’s a dish towel still in your hand, some mundane kitchen cleanup turned tense, one last avoidant flight before it could be avoided no longer.

He’s done pretending. “Leave it,” he hisses, turning around to walk off into the depths of the house.

You lunge out, grabbing his wrist. “Joel!”

He stops, still a modicum of respect left, roughly jerking your grip off of him. You stare back at him, a heat rising to the back of your eyes. He can be so cold.

“I deserve to know,” you bite out, your voice shaking.

“Will you just listen to what I tell you for once in your goddamn life?” he says, voice just a little too loud to be considered a normal volume.

Your eyes widen, fingers twisting painfully into the fabric in your hand as you shake your head. “All I’ve ever done is listen to you since you got back. And I’ve been waiting, Joel. I’ve been fucking waiting.”

Tears poke at your eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let it escape.

“I don’t know if you really realize this, but you’re my partner and she’s ours. I don’t know why we keep pretending we’re not, but that’s the fucking truth, and whatever the hell is going on between the two of you needs to include me.”

He falters, lip parting before closing again. He rests a hand on the railing of the stairs, like he’s having trouble keeping himself up, like the weight on his shoulders has just increased tenfold. “You don’t want to know,” he says quietly.

“You can’t keep this from me,” you exclaim, voice cracking. “You can’t keep this from me after you left me.”

His head snaps up at that. “I didn’t leave you—“

“Yes, you did, you fucking left me, Joel!” you exclaim, tears finally falling. You fall quiet, finally aware of how much pent up anger you have left over, how scared you’d been.

You grab onto the banister, burying your head in your hands. You become acutely aware of his nearer presence, as he wraps his arms around you, leading you to the couch.

“You can’t leave me and then not tell me what happened,” you say quietly into his chest.

He exhales, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I can’t stand it like this,” you gasp, shaking your head.

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he murmurs, wiping your tears away. “Don’t cry,” he mutters, hardly audible, his face twisted in something like pain.

It’s silent for a few moments, his chest rising and falling in something intense.

And then he tells you.

Cordyceyps grows in the brain.

I couldn’t let them.

“I killed them all,” he whispers. But his voice remains unwavering. You don’t think he regrets it. “I don’t know what happened…I just couldn’t let them.”

You let out a shuddering breath. You don’t want to even ask the number—twenty? Thirty?

“And then…then Marlene—she said Ellie would’ve wanted it…but I killed her too.”

Joel looks out the window instead of at you, into the street where people walk, completely oblivious to what had happened.

“And then, I lied to Ellie, told her they’d given up, that I’d rescued her from raiders attacking.”

It comes together as he continues, his hand grasping yours as you trace circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.  

“And I keep sayin’ to myself there’s no way she would’ve wanted that, and I keep sayin’ I would’ve respected her choice if she did, but I would’ve done the same. I would’ve done the same fuckin’ thing a million times over. I couldn’t let that happen to her—she’s just a kid.”

He hasn’t cried since the night before he and Ellie had left, and that had been in darkness. It’s light now, and he tries to hide. But it’s too much, the pull of the conflict on him, your still remaining tear streaks.

“And she knows you lied,” you say plainly, a confirmation.

He nods. “I know she fuckin’ knows.”

He turns, looking straight at you, and the fear in his eyes makes you swallow. It’s so foreign. Joel is never afraid.

“What if she hates me forever?” he asks, voice cracking on the last syllable.

You shake your head, a silent reassurance. It’s your turn to pull him against you. “She won’t.”

You don’t think Joel has ever let you hold him, ever let you treat him with the tenderness he deserves.

“You did the right thing, Joel,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hair.

Other considerations don’t even occur to you because this is right. It’s right to you because she’s yours—and no one takes what’s yours. No one hurts what’s yours—not even some stupid delusion of guilt, and you hold him as if you can soothe the pain away.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, in silence, against each other. At some point, he falls asleep, his head in your lap, a much needed rest.

You stare out the window, only the sound of his breath in the background. It’s green outside. Beautiful.

The sound of the doorknob turning brings your attention, Ellie walking in.

She looks at you, then Joel, that coldness developing in her eyes with the latter.

“Ellie,” you say as she’s about to dart up the stairs.

She freezes. “Yeah?”

“Let’s talk tonight.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

They return to you a month later.

Haggard, tired, lacking one less horse than they’d left with.

He wants to sob the first time he sees you again. But he doesn’t. Lets you do it for the both of them instead as you collapse in his arms, as he reassures you, as a million words rush out of your mouth, the flow of anxiety that had accumulated over the weeks. Your other arm is tightly around Ellie. “We’re okay, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re okay.”

He just wants to forget this first day back, for when he’s not in Ellie’s presence, he lets go, let’s that doubt creep in just the tiniest bit.

You’d revitalized the house, started a garden out back, and it feels like years had passed while they were out there. All except with you.

When night comes, he wants to drown in your presence, drown in your eyes, feel you, remember what home is like again—it requires three of you, together in one place.

The picture of the month he puts together for you is jumbled, vague—he doesn’t know what Ellie tells you, but you’d sat with her in her room for a while. There’s already an underlying sense of change, and he’d rather focus on the things that remained.

You. Only you, in his arms.

The bedroom’s been repainted, the curtains new. You’d rearranged too, the bed and dresser moved around. But now there’re undoubtedly signs of you—there’s clothes in the drawers, a bouquet of flowers on the side table, a bottle of perfume in the bathroom that he remembers smelling on you.

“Do you like the room?”

He turns from where he’d already been looking at one of the dresser drawer tracks that stuck.

“Of course,” he replies, throwing his jacket into the hamper. It’s dark out already, that same lamp illuminating the room, but it’s warmer now, the lightbulb changed.

“Go shower,” you tell him, a small smile twitching at your lips. “Then come to bed.”

He savors the hot water, but doesn’t take too long. He doesn’t know if you were really insinuating what he thought you were, but he hadn’t asked—he supposed he was fine with the surprise.

He’d said he wanted to drown in you, and it’s as if you can read his mind when you push him back, into the freshly changed sheets.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, your body resting on his. The admittance is not the first, but one of few, and he takes it in equally, murmuring it back.

He wastes no time in getting your clothes off, taking a second to admire, for you’ve gained some much needed weight, the dip in your waist and the curve of your hips much more pronounced.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against your skin, almost chasing you as you pull away to unbutton his softer flannel sleep shirt—he decides it was a waste of time putting it on in the first place.

Honestly, he’d barely looked in the mirror, so he forgets. He’s only reminded when you freeze, your eyes dead set on the gnarly scar in his lower right abdomen.

He shakes his head, meets your eyes, pleading with you. Don’t .

But —

Please .

And you oblige, dipping down to press a chaste kiss to the scar tissue.

“Come back.” He pulls you back up towards him, his hands wandering. You’re so soft, both your body and the way you seem to mould to him. Too delicate for him, too precious, but still, all he wants is you.

You giggle at his groan when you slip your hand past the waistband of his boxers; the corners of his lips twitch at the bright sound that leaves you lips.

But it turns to a gasp as your grip tightens, his body tensing in anticipation.

“Relax, baby,” you whisper.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

She’s lying on the bed when you come in, on her stomach, a comic clutched in her hands.

She scowls when she sees you, but there’s that apprehension hiding behind those doe eyes of hers.

“You’re not in trouble,” you assure her as you sit down in your usual chair near her bed.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m in trouble,” she bites out, sitting up cross legged.

“Sure,” you merely reply. Her scowl seems to deepen further at your nonchalant response—you’re not Joel, she’s never gotten a rise out of you.

You shift uncomfortably, for the room feels stifling despite the open window. The tension in your shoulders betrays your reasoning for waiting till night.

You take a deep breath, your palms flat on your lap. “Do you know what happened?”

She stays silent for a long moment. “Let me guess…it was for my own good, you’re gonna say.”

You flinch at that biting tone, letting out a sigh. You push her to the side as you instead sit on the bed beside her. “El’…,” you warn, looking her dead in the eye. She subtly gulps. She’s not used to this intensity from you. “Do you know what happened?”

“I know he lied,” she says, looking down. “I know it.”

She was always softer with you than with Joel, meeting you where you were at. You think it’s where she really wants to be.

“I remember…falling asleep, but they never told me anything.” Her voice shakes as she implies the thoughts that have been running through her head for so long.

A cool breeze blows in through the open window.

“But he fucking lied to me,” she says quietly. “Why? We’d gone so far. I…I could’ve fixed everything.”

You shut your eyes for a moment, your chest twisting painfully.

“Ellie….” You reach a hand out, tilting her chin up to make her look at you. “Sometimes we do things that….” You pause, struggling to find the words. “Sometimes we do things for each other that we don’t—“

“Mean? Mean to do? Things we don’t mean to be selfish?” Her interjection startles you, those doe eyes of hers suddenly seeming so dark.

You let out a quiet groan, massaging your forehead. But she’s not done.

“So you’re taking his side? I—“

“There’re no fucking sides here, Ellie!” you exclaim. She falls quiet.

When you take her hand in yours, you can feel the slight shake.

“Look, I don’t know if what he did was right,” you say softly. “No one here is expecting you to pretend everything is okay and no one’s expecting you to believe everything will be fine, but I just need you to understand….”

She just stares at you, a silent command to keep going.

“I’m sorry, El’.” You wipe away a stray tear with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry for everything, but at the end of the day, what matters is that you’re here. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I…I would’ve done the same.”

She deflates slightly at that. You don’t know how to interpret it.

“You know why?” you ask.

She pauses. “Why?” she finally croaks out.

“Because that’s what parents do.”

She shakes, her own tears falling, freezing up as if already worrying she’d heard it wrong.

“He told me what you said, y’know. That you had to do this, after everything you’ve been through and done. And…and I know you’ve never had anyone, El’. But I promise,”—your grip on her hand tightens—“you do now. And I want you to know that your life is worth more than some bullshit cure that probably wouldn’t have even worked.”

She’s stone still, the only movement her chest rising and falling with some unspoken urgency. And it takes you by surprise when she lunges forward, throwing her arms around you. It’s so unlike her, but the shock becomes irrelevant when you begin to feel her trembles, something twisting painfully at her reaction—the strength of which is a testament to how alone she’s always been.

“I love you, El’,” you whisper. “We love you. I hope you know that.”

Her face is buried in the crook of your neck, as your eyes fall to the doorway. You’d sensed his presence, somewhere between your insistent words, and he leans against the frame. You meet his eye, and he lingers, eyes on the two of you. There’s an inexplicable warmth to him.

“Joel.” You call him to attention, gesturing at the chair near the bed.

She jerks away at the realization, eyeing him warily. You keep an arm around her shoulders, easing away the tension.

He settles, that gaze of his always unwavering, intense.

“Ellie,” he says quietly.

She slowly leans into you, wiping her eyes. You give her side a small squeeze, a reassurance.

His eyes flutter for a moment, hands clasped tightly together. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, and for the first time, he looks away, head bowed in something like shame. “I couldn’t let them.” A direct mirror to what he’d told you earlier.

She seems as if she doesn’t know how to react, her head just laying on your shoulder. She looks tired; you’ll have to insist she go straight to bed after.

“And I’m sorry for lying,” he continues, fingers twisting together. “I keep looking for a reason, but I just…I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t….”

There’s a frustration to it, a struggle to convey what he means exactly. He makes the same switch as you—sitting on her other side, bridging the divide.

“We’re safe here, Ellie.”

You drop your hand down from her shoulder, grasping his.

“You deserve to know life like this.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

He’ll never get tired of that laugh of hers.

It’s maybe the brightest thing he’s heard in twenty years.

Some days he feels like he’s drowning in white, drowning in this purity. White sheets, white clouds, white-capped mountains—clean, beautiful. And he lets go. It’s a self-forced surrender, a difficult thing he thinks he’s finally overcoming.

“Here.” He kneels to the ground, pulling out a small switchblade to cut Ellie a small branch of blackberries. She still has some in her mouth, that bright smile of hers. It’s the first time she’s ever had them.

The adjustment can be harsh some days, shocking. But things improve, the normalcy, the slow mend of tensions—it certainly helps that you seem to take to this better than him.

“Don’t go through the whole bush, El’,” you call out, weeding the garden on the other side of the yard, a white-flowered honeysuckle bush to your right that Ellie equally adores. “You’re gonna give yourself a stomachache.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he watches her roll her eyes slightly. “Yes, mom.”

It’s in that usual sarcastic Ellie manner, but he swears he sees your nimble fingers pause for a moment before you continue your work. It makes him pause too.

“Better listen to her, kid.”

She nods, only snatching the switchblade from his hand to cut another small segment. He shakes his head, barely restraining a small chuckle as he walks nearer to you, sitting on the small garden bench you’d recently acquired, watching Ellie from a distance now.

“She’s getting better,” you say, softly enough that she can’t hear.

He only swallows and nods. For him, at least, some days it’s better, others the guilt is overwhelming, a deluge of thoughts that he can’t quite shake. She reminds him so much of someone else undoubtedly, and deep down, the thought of how he’d hurt her is agonizing. She’s so young, has so much right to be untouched by this world.

“Hey…” you say softly, bringing him back to the moment, where you’d come to sit beside him. “What is it?” He instinctively leans into your hand on his cheek.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. “Nothing, I just….” His voice trails off.

“I know,” you merely answer, resting your head on his shoulder. It’s one of those lazy summer days, a little too warm to run around town, just right to simply bask in the sun.

It’s all you and her—it’s why he wants to stay. Stay here. Stay out of his head. Stay present in this world that’s not completely broken yet. One to bring him back, one to solidify it. He doesn’t know what he’d do without both of you.

He remembers clearly the words you’d whispered a few nights ago, in bed, in darkness. The night of his apology to Ellie, her cold reaction. Not one for poetics, he still remembers, the feel of your hand curled around his wrist, the subtle disturbance of your breath, your words that will forever stick with him.

“We’re here now, Joel. We’re safe.”

He remembers his own breathing sounding labored almost, the way his hand curled around the back of your neck had gently tightened.

“I know you’re not used to this, but this is the only thing left, Joel, and then we’re on the other side.” You’d leaned forward, a small, chaste kiss. “Only love can save us now.”