Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joel wasn't much for pet names. No darlin' or sugar or baby when saddling the horses, or addressing you over the clamour of voices at meal times. Unlike Tommy, who almost played up his Southern roots, doling out affectionate, syrupy names whenever he could, Joel's painfully polite manners elicited a ma'am when he first met you. Afterwards, when he learned your name, it was all he ever used.

Ellie was the exception. She was kiddo most of the time; Joel only used her given name when he was trying to get her attention. Another time, it was baby girl. You remember the moment - Shimmer had reared in the yard, Ellie sliding straight off and landing awkwardly, spraining her wrist. He'd moved like lightning through the weathered rails, scooping her up from the soft dirt, the endearment wrenched from his throat in pain. He'd rushed her straight to the clinic, in his arms, Ellie struggling and shouting her embarrassment.

Behind closed doors, shielded from others, Joel was attentive and gentle. Away from the loose tongues of Jackon's small-town gossips, he relaxed and allowed himself to soften. In the street, at the stables, at dinner, he wasn't overly demonstrative. He sat next to you in the mess, his thigh kissing yours under the long tables. He held open doors and refilled your water glass. He held your horse when you mounted up, and adjusted your foot in the stirrup. But he didn’t hold hands, or kiss you in public. Another stark contrast to Tommy, who took every opportunity to touch his wife in front of others, to nestle his hand at the small of her back. To playfully push her braids behind her ear. To stop and kiss her in the street.

i don't need the whole town knowin' my business he'd grumbled quietly, when Ellie pointed it out to him. He was restringing her guitar by the window; Ellie was tapping the thin-beaked pliers against her leg.

it's not about the whole town, it's about showing your love for someone Ellie argued.

you want me to hug you more, is that it? Joel teased gently.

ew, no, not me she replied, irritation clouding her face. She jerked her chin towards the chair opposite him.

Your first night together, he was almost mute the entire time. An assent when you'd asked him if undressing him, and touching him, was okay. A thready exhale when you'd slid down on him, his eyes glowing in the lamplight. Later, a groan into your neck as you'd pulled his climax from him, his release painting your lower belly and thigh.

You were astride him, that first night, his fingertips wedged between your joined bodies. The sovereign curve of his nose pressed against your cheek; his other hand at the back of your neck, gripping it. A word, breathed into your ear, as you rocked against him, the knot of pleasure tightening in your abdomen.

sweetheart

A smile ghosted his lips at the memory. He cast his eyes upwards. You were watching him, over the spine of the thick novel in your hands.

they know he said quietly.

You winked, and went back to your book.

Chapter Text

Clouds were scudding across the sky, swelling and darkening, as they walked the last distance to Jackson. Two miles from the wall, the temperature began to drop, and an oily drizzle started to soak the ground.

Ellie was practically asleep on her feet. Joel dug into his pack and unfolded an extra flannel, pulling her arms into the sleeves. As he finished buttoning the front, he heard hooves approaching.

He stood, and two horses burst from the thicket to his left. The riders were young men, tall and gangly, each with a shock of curly red hair. They raised their hands in greeting, smiles creasing their faces. One of them slipped from his saddle, and clasped Joel’s hand warmly, before chucking Ellie gently under her chin. He opened his saddle bag and withdrew a canteen and a waxed paper parcel. He unwrapped it, handing out pieces of dried meat.

Joel shoved the strips into his mouth, refusing the water and gesturing for the boy - Ethan, Joel remembered - to assist Ellie. His brother removed a small metal flask from his boot and passed it to Joel. He made a slight noise of gratitude, unscrewing the lid and taking a sip. He coughed, and tears sprang into his eyes. He wiped his mouth and handed back the flask.

“Lookout post saw you over the ridge,” the brother pointed. “Radioed the town. Tommy sent us out, said you might want a lift.”

“He’d be right,” Joel replied. He glanced at Ellie, watching her nibble at the strip of jerky, eyes on her feet.

Ethan brought his horse forward, and Joel knelt to boost Ellie into the scuffed saddle. She felt fragile, like her bones were made of driftwood. Her face was grey. Joel gave her the reins and pressed her hands to the saddle’s pommel.

“Hold tight, kiddo,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. She needed a good meal and a proper night’s sleep. This time, it had been her murmuring in slumber, sitting up later and later, watching the fire burn down, and waking before him in the morning. He hoped that someplace safe - a bed, with proper sheets, a room with four walls - maybe it would make a difference.

Someplace safe. He scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

Ethan clipped a lead rope to his horse. “You want to mount up too?”

Joel waved a hand. “I’m fine. May I?” He reached for the rope. Checking Ellie again, the four of them started for the wall.

The gates of Jackson heaved open with a grinding noise that cut the chilly air. Ethan tucked the scarlet cloth he'd used to signal the spotters back into his pocket. As the gates yawned wider, Joel spied Tommy and Maria, their hands interlocked, Maria's other hand balancing on her swelling stomach.

Tommy engulfed Joel in a hug as warm as when they'd met months earlier. Behind him, Maria met Joel's eyes with a sharp gaze. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her hand continued to rub her stomach. Joel pulled himself from the embrace, settling his eyes on Tommy's face instead.

"Glad you're back," Tommy said, squeezing his shoulders. He looked towards Ellie, slumped in the saddle, eyelids heavy. "Hey there, sweetheart."

"Hey, Tommy." She managed a wan smile. Tommy eyed Joel, his face concerned.

"We should get her inside, get some food into her," Joel said, and Tommy nodded. He approached the horse and held out his arms, and Ellie slid off the saddle. Tommy had half a mind to gather her up in his arms, but she began walking determinedly on the packed dirt road leading to the town's centre.

Maria cleared her throat and gestured with her chin. "The rifle, Joel." He paused, and slipped the gun off his shoulder, handing it to Ethan. The brothers broke away with the horses, towards the stables.

There was a soft thud ahead of them. Joel saw Ellie's crumpled form in the middle of the road.

"Ellie? Ellie!" He broke into a sprint, Tommy at his heels. He scooped her into his arms. Her cheek was smeared with damp earth, and sweat dotted her brow. Her eyes were closed

"Ellie? C'mon baby girl…" Joel hefted her, tucking her head between his neck and shoulder. Tommy heard the murmured plea, and his heart clenched. Maria caught up to them.

"The house. You remember where it is?" She pointed. "Tommy, take them. I'll get some things, and meet you there."

The fire Tommy built in the fireplace had been burning for over an hour, pushing the cool, disused air to the back of the house. Ellie was tucked in on the couch, a crocheted afghan wrapped around her legs. Joel sat close, flitting between wringing his hands and fussing with the blanket.

Tommy threw more pieces of wood onto the fire. Behind him, he heard Ellie cough. Joel leaned over, steadying her as she struggled to sit up.

"Careful…careful," he murmured. Tommy went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of stew, and a tumbler of orange liquid. He handed her the glass first.

“Orange juice,” he offered. “Get you some much-needed calories.” Ellie took a sip, then began to quickly drain the glass.

“Glad you like it,” he chuckled. “Oranges are a rare treat around here.” He swapped the empty glass for the bowl of thick meaty stew, crouching next to Joel.

Ellie peered at the contents of the bowl. She gripped the spoon in her hand, hesitating.

“I had some earlier, Ellie,” Joel said quietly. “It’s okay.” He traded a look with Tommy.

“It’s venison,” Tommy supplied. “Shot the buck myself yesterday, on patrol. Ran two miles before he dropped.”

“You always were a shitty shot,” Joel quipped, reflexively. Tommy clucked his tongue, and Ellie smirked at their bickering. The smell of the stew beckoned. Satisfied, she dipped the spoon in the bowl, starting with small bites before scooping larger ones, the utensil scraping against the ceramic as she cleaned it.

“Alrighty,” Tommy said. “I can tell Maria you’ve eaten. I’ll leave you now.” He squeezed Ellie’s leg affectionately, before clapping his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in the mornin’.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel whispered. He took Ellie’s empty bowl from her.

“So, Maria has put clean clothes out for you. There’s hot water for a shower. Are you still hungry, I can get you some more if you’d like?”

“I think I just want to go to bed,” Ellie interjected over his prattling, rubbing a hand over her eyes. She started to stand, Joel offering his arm.

“I don’t need any help,” she said sternly.

“Oh. Okay,” Joel replied. “Uh, do you remember where your bedroom is?” But Ellie had already started for the stairs. He heard her footsteps stomp a little too heavily on the wooden boards, the sound dully vibrating in his chest.

Maria was sitting at the dining table when Tommy got home.

“How is she?”

“Um, she’s okay. Just tired I guess. Hopefully, she’ll relax now that she’s home.” He said it without even thinking.

“Did Joel tell you what happened?”

“Some,” Tommy replied. He poured himself some water from the pitcher on the table, before pulling out a chair.

“I thought Joel was delivering her to the Fireflies in Colorado?” Maria prodded.

He drained half the glass before answering. “They got to the university. There was no one there. Then they got set on by some raiders. Joel was hurt, pretty badly. The guys that attacked them took Ellie. You know how we’ve heard about those cannibal groups?” Maria nodded slowly. “Joel and Ellie barely made it out. That’s as far as we got, Ellie woke up after that.”

Maria pressed a droplet of water on the table with her finger. Tommy suddenly huffed a breathy chuckle.

“What?”

A smile briefly lit his face. “I heard him when he picked Ellie up. After she fainted. He called her ‘baby girl.’” He shook his head. “I haven’t heard that in twenty years. Not since Sarah.”

Maria’s face was grim. “Right,” she sniffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maria shrugged. “He had a job to do. That’s what you told me. Drop the girl off. He’s back here with her? Why?”

“Does it matter?” There was a note of incredulity in Tommy's voice.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Tommy stood from the table, angrily kicking a leg. The glass rattled on the table.

“He’s my brother. I’m not going to be upset about him being back. He’s my family. And she…”

“Is not his daughter,” Maria finished.

“She might as well be!”

“That’s what worries me,” Maria retorted. “He’s just adopted her? Taken her from where she’s supposed to be? From whoever she’s supposed to be with? Use your head, Tommy. You think this is a good idea? What if people come looking for her? What danger have you exposed us to? Joel is a killer, you know that…”

“Careful,” Tommy’s voice was icy. “I was a killer too. I’m not even close to being redeemed.”

Maria unfolded herself from the chair, using her arms to push herself to her feet. Her hand drifted to her stomach.

“We are your family,” she said carefully. “You have a child coming. And we don’t know why Joel didn’t complete what was supposed to be a delivery. Yes, she’s a girl, but he came through here with a job. A job he almost made you finish for him. You chose him over me. Over us. You invited him back, without asking me.” She pushed her chair into the table. “And invited God knows what with him.” She turned, heading towards the staircase.

“They’re on a tight leash. Both of them,” she threw over her shoulder, a parting shot. She ascended the stairs. Tommy watched as the darkness enveloped her.

Chapter Text

After a week and a half, Ellie’s disordered sleep hit a new low.

Despite his poor hearing, Joel had become attuned to her footfalls on the stairs in the dead of night. First, his hackles would raise and he thought of a potential intruder. He was probably the only person on the street that locked the doors and windows. As he recognised her sleepy shuffling, he’d will his muscles to relax, and he lay quietly, just listening.

He didn’t want to confront her. Things had been frosty since they arrived. Ellie wasn’t outright hostile, but she lacked enthusiasm for anything. Joel had urged her out of the house for a walk with him around the town, intent on her befriending the kids close to her age. She would watch, detached, while they gathered around the corral to see the new ponies that had been born, or giggle in a group at the a movie night. Eventually, she would slink away, and Joel would find her back in her room, re-reading the comic book she’s pilfered from Bill and Frank’s.

One night, Joel was ripped from sleep by a piercing scream. He immediately rolled out of bed, his hand scrabbling underneath before closing over the length of metal pipe he’d found in the mudroom of the house. He charged towards Ellie’s room, wrenching the door open.

She was sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, eyes bulging. The lamp was on. She saw Joel, and burst into tears.

“Oh, Ellie. Kiddo…” He lowered the pipe, and sat down next to her. She climbed into his lap and buried her head in his neck.

They both dozed fitfully until the morning, squashed into the single bed. The next evening, Joel dragged a mattress and his tattered sleeping bag into her room, and arranged it on the floor at the foot of her bed.

Joel found himself at the Tipsy Bison, nursing a glass of whisky and a bowl of peanuts, when Tommy dropped into the booth opposite him.

“Seat’s taken,” Joel groused.

Tommy dipped his fingers into the peanut bowl. “I missed dinner. How was your day?”

Joel leaned back, eyes on his glass. “My day was fine. Helped plan a new greenhouse. Lifted boxes at the commissary. I’d prefer a regular patrol shift though.”

“We’ll get you on the rotation soon,” Tommy replied. He scooped another handful of peanuts. “How’s Ellie?”

“Screams in her sleep. I’m crashin’ on the floor in her room. She won’t admit it, but she sleeps a bit easier when I do. Dunno how much longer my back can take it.”

A glass of whisky appeared at Tommy’s hand. “Cheers, Seth.” He took a swallow. “You taken her to the horses yet? She seemed interested last time.”

“I’ve pushed her to talk to the other kids at the corral. She’ll watch them for a while, but then she slinks off when I’m not lookin’ and holes back up in that damn room.” Joel drained his glass.

Tommy fiddled with a peanut shell. “You should take her to the stables.” Joel looked exasperated.

“Tommy, I’m tryin’-”

“I’m just sayin’...I think it’ll help. The grooms are pretty great. And the stable manager used to be a champion horse cutter and bronco rider. Originally from Australia, if you can believe it. Fallen off more horses than we’ll ever ride. Ellie needs more riding practice. If she works for them, that’ll take care of that.”

Tommy reached for the peanut bowl again, and Joel pulled it away from him. He emptied the remainder into his hand. He didn’t say anything, but looked he thoughtful as he chewed.

These early mornings - quiet and crisp, the sun not quite over the ridge of the mountains - they were your favourite.

Shimmer bursts forward on the lunge rope, kicking her heels as she starts running a circle. You laugh softly to yourself. She’s got a mean streak, but with a bit of help, she’ll be a sure-footed and loyal patrol horse. Dainty yet strong, she just needed to learn to curb her temper.

She lopes easily around the corral, kicking up the soft sand, blowing loudly. She keeps one eye fixed on you. You run her in circles, until her flanks are shining with sweat. She enjoys the work, even if she pretends she doesn’t.

Slowing her down, you wait until she is at a complete stop before approaching her. She paws the ground and nickers softly.

“Uh huh, I’m real scared,” you murmur, reaching in your pocket for the small knobbly carrots, harvested on your way to the stables. You offer it to her slowly. She tosses her head and bares her teeth.

“Oh, stop it,” you chide softly. Shimmer eyes you again, before leaning her nose in, snatching up the morsel. She happily lets you rub her neck and cheek while she finishes her bribe.

“No good playing hard to get with me, girlie.” You gather up the lead rope and cluck your tongue, leading Shimmer back to the stables.

The sun was peeking around the curtains when Joel stirred on the floor of Ellie’s room. He rolled over, and felt a twinge in his shoulder.

“Fuck, he whispered, squeezing it quickly, The tightness travelled up his neck. He lay still for a few minutes, massaging it until the pain settled. He had to get back into a real bed.

Satisfied he could move without injuring himself, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning loudly. He turned to see if Ellie was still sleeping. The bed was empty, an unmade jumble of sheets and comforter.

He got to his feet, knees cracking, his thoughts on coffee. As he went down the stairs, he realised what had woken him.

It was the quiet.

“Ellie?” He got to the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t see her in the living room. The shower wasn’t running.

He got to the kitchen. “Ellie?” It was empty, the sun streaming in through the window, reflecting off the sink.

Don’t panic, he thought. True, she’s not left the house without him prodding her. She was usually in her room, on the front porch, always within earshot. She’d lacked any sense of adventure since they got here.

Joel looked to where the coats hung by the door. The new parka Maria had given her, green like his own jacket, was missing.

Breakfast, maybe?

He pulled his own jacket on and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Half an hour later, Joel was worried.

Ellie wasn’t at breakfast, and no one had seen her. He jogged to Tommy and Maria’s, out of breath by the time he got there. Tommy didn’t seem concerned.

“Someone would have seen her, Joel. I’m sure she’s around.”

“This is still a big enough place for her to go off somewhere and get hurt.”

“Okay.” Maria hovered over Tommy’s shoulder. “You wanna go check the other houses on the block, see if she made a new friend?” Maria nodded, gathering her coat, and handing Tommy his own. “I’ll go get word to the wall, see if they spotted her. They have the best view.”

“What if she took a horse, slipped out before first light?” Joel asked.

“We'll find her, Joel. Come on.”

Chapter Text

You shut Shimmer back into her stall, rubbed down and nosing the net of hay hanging on the wall. You lean on the door, watching her.

“Saddle next, girlie. See if you can throw me off. Every other horse here has.”

Shimmer snorts, and turns to face away from you.

“Moody bitch,” you chuckle. You take the looped lead rope and are about to head to the tack room, when you hear a noise.

It’s a clatter, like metal on wood, up in the hayloft. The space was usually used for extra equipment storage, smaller items that were easy to run up and down the ladder. The barn cats also liked to hunt mice up there.

You take another step towards the tack room, and a sweet smell cuts through the air. You hear a loud sneeze - human, not equine.

Is that…oranges?

You rest Shimmer’s lead rope back on her stall door and pull the ladder into reach. Taking two rungs at a time, you get to the top and onto the hayloft floor. Peering towards the back, you spot a small figure, crouching behind a knee-high stack of boxes.

“Fuck,” she says loudly. She grips a mangled orange in one hand, a switchblade in the other. She’s dressed in a green parka, and her dark hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, tendrils curling over her proud forehead. Her eyes are rich mahogany.

She moves to stand, and you hold your hand out. “Everything okay? You hurt? Cut yourself?”

The girl stills, knife and orange still clenched to her. You slowly round a stack of wooden planks. Another orange, still whole, is next to her foot.

“That’s quite a haul you’ve got there,” you say lightly. You lean on the wall opposite her. The girl resumes hacking at the orange in her hand.

You groan. “Stop, I can’t watch.” You lean forward. “Hand me that other one. And the knife.” She freezes, half-heartedly pointing it at you.

“Give it, or I tell the kitchens there’s a thief. Ask them what happened to the last one.” You wave your hand. “C’mon”. She hands the knife and the second orange over, before using her fingers to tear open her own mangled one, sucking the flesh out.

You balance the switchblade in your fingers, admiring it. “Nice blade.” You slip it under the skin of the orange, gently slicing in a long spiral. “Sharp too.” The girl’s eyes are now watching you as you finish peeling the orange in one unbroken piece. You toss it towards her, and she smiles as she catches it, pulling it carefully. You flip the knife, and slice out a section, eating it off the blade.

“Holy shit, that’s good,” you murmur, loud enough for the girl to hear. You slice off another segment, passing it over to her.

“So,” you say, around your mouthful. You wipe a drop of juice from your chin and swallow. “You'd be Ellie, right?” The girl chews the orange segment slowly, but her eyes blink at the sound of her name.

“Only thing that travels faster than a runner around here is gossip.” You slice one more segment, then pass the rest of the fruit and her knife back to her. “I missed you last time you were here. I was offsite. Welcome back.” Ellie carefully sliced at the orange, her cuts lacking your finesse. She prises a segment free.

“Why are they gossiping?”

You smile conspiratorially. “Two long lost brothers reuniting after one of them crossed half the country to find him? Honey, we haven’t had that good a story ol’ Bruce Taylor fought off three clickers with a box cutter and his fists. Or was it four? I can’t remember. Nowadays if you asked him, he’d probably say it was six clickers with the disposable razor from his bathroom…” Ellie’s face breaks into a wider grin as you talk.

“I like your voice,” she says. “Sounds different.”

“Thanks.” You settle on the floor of the loft, crossing your legs. Ellie hands you another orange segment.

“I thought I was up early this morning, but I guess not,” you say. Ellie leans back against the wall.

“This seemed like a good place to hide,” she replies. “I like the smell of the horses.”

“Me too.”

Ellie looks at her feet. “I can’t sleep. And m…Joel, he keeps hovering. It’s driving me fucking nuts.”

“I couldn’t sleep when I first got here either. I used to sleepwalk, it was so bad.”

“Really?” Ellie finishes the last of the orange. “Where’d you sleepwalk to?”

“Here,” you reply. “Back before we rebuilt it. I climbed up into the hayloft, and fell through the rotten floor. Broke my collarbone and busted my cheekbone.” You point at your right cheek, where the bone is uneven compared to the left. “After that, I had to be supervised for a while.”

“How’d you finally start sleeping better?”

“Time.” Ellie scowled. “Yeah, I know. Boring. But it’s true. It just took time.”

“Hello?” A voice floated up from below them. Ellie shrinks back towards the wall.

“That’s Tommy,” she says softly. “They’re probably looking for me.”

You lift up from the floor. “Gimme a sec.” You shuffle over to the edge of the hayloft floor, peering over. Underneath is Tommy, and another man. Brown hair curling over his ears, tinged with grey, his face scattered with a thin beard and a moustache. His shoulders are broad, and his hands rest on his hips. His face is creased with worry.

“Gentlemen,” you say, and they both look up. “Looking for something?”

“Hey,” Tommy says easily. “Figured you’d be waitin' for the overnight patrol. You seen a girl up here? ‘Bout this high,” he gestures. “Brown hair. Foul mouth?” Joel tsks next to him. "It’s true Joel, the air is permanently blue around her…”

You clear your throat, and they look back up at you. You glance over your shoulder, and back at them. “I think I have someone that fits that description.”

Joel takes a step towards the ladder. “Ellie, get down here.” You hold up a finger.

“Hang on. She’s fine. Why don’t you give us a minute, and we’ll be down?” Joel scowls, and you see the similarity between him and Ellie, even though they aren't related. You catch a giggle in your throat, before straightening your face.

“Go on. Wait outside. We’ll be down in a minute.” Joel shoves his hands in his pocket and stalks towards the stable opening, Tommy following him.

You look back at Ellie. She’s pushing the remains of the oranges on the floor.

“You gonna tell them I took these?” she asks.

You shake your head. “No. I’m no snitch. That thing about thieves was an empty threat. Leave them there, I’ll clean them up.” Ellie slips the switchblade into her pocket and stands.

“There is another thing that might help the no sleeping,” you say, as she walks past you to the ladder. She looks back.

“Work. If you like the horses, then come hang out here a bit more. And everyone around here has heard my stories.” Ellie gives you a small smile at that. “Think about it.” She nods, and you follow her down the ladder, and onto the barn floor.

“Ellie, damnit,” Joel says, as he spots her. Her face darkens at the rebuke. He puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Ma’am, I apologise, I hope she wasn’t too much trouble-” She wrenches her shoulder out from under his hand and stalks away, not looking back.

“Ellie!”

“Cool it, mate,” you say. “Everything’s fine. Let her go. She was no trouble at all.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck, looking behind him where Ellie stomped her way from the stable. He faces you again, and you see his strong cheekbones, arrogant nose and the full bottom lip, a little crease at its centre.

Hello, handsome.

“Listen, I told her to come back if she wants something to do, so next time you lose her, try here first,” you offer.

“What?” Joel looks slightly taken aback. “Oh. Okay, yeah, sure.” He jams his hands in his pockets again. Over his shoulder, you see the main gates rolling open, horses and riders filing in.

“And that’s my cue. Overnight patrol is back. Gentlemen.” You touch the brim of your hat, and duck around the two of them, into the sun-drenched yard.

Joel watches you leave, then looks at Tommy.

“The champion bronc rider. Horse cutter. From Australia.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Tommy said, smiling.

"That's her?"

Tommy’s grin widened. “Yep.”

Shouts and laughter, underscored by the scrape of knives and forks against plates, fill the mess hall. The bulb lights strung over the exposed beams wink off the silverware. Plastic red-checked cloths drape the long wooden tables and music pipes from the speakers attached to the roof.

You shove another forkful of mashed potato into your mouth, letting the noise, the warmth, the community, wash over you. Shared meals hold a special place. Your uncle’s table at his ranch had always welcomed family and workers alike, everyone sitting down for at least one meal a day. Loud stories and big meals felt like home.

Mitch scrapes the last of the gravy-soaked peas from his plate, and drops the utensils with a clatter. He stands, gulping down the remaining water in his glass.

“I’m out,” he says, vacating the seat opposite. You raise your fork in farewell.

Your view unobstructed, you spot Ellie with Joel, Tommy and Maria, crowded at the end of another table. Both men are eating quickly, not stopping to talk. Maria is chatting to Ellie. The girl pushes half her dinner around her plate, looking disinterested in whatever Maria is saying.

She looks up then, and sees you looking at her. You offer a smile, and her lips purse, like she’s thinking about something. She leans forward and asks Tommy something, nods, and stands, lifting her plate. She makes her way over to your table. Behind her, Joel turns, watching her go. He catches your eye briefly, before he goes back to his meal.

Ellie puts her plate on the table and sits. She pushes her food again.

“What time tomorrow?”

You quickly swallow. “Overnight patrol gets back in, then we come down for breakfast. After that, we start our day. Meet us here when the sun comes up.”

“Okay.” She loads her fork, and eats the second half of her meal with some enthusiasm. She doesn’t offer any more conversation. You both finish dinner in silence.

Over her head, you look at Joel, hunched over his meal. Maria is watching you.

That night, the movie is Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Maria had argued hard with Jackson’s librarian and self-appointed movie guru, and after three days of deadlocked negotiations, had settled on screening it a little later than usual for the kids fourteen and up, while pairing it with Herbie Goes Bananas at an earlier time. She suggested individuals evaluate whether they wanted their kids to see one or both.

Tommy and Joel stood at the back of the room. Ellie was sitting with a group of other teens, a large plastic bowl filled with freshly cooked popcorn being passed around. The kitchen was still trucking out more popcorn and putting it on trestle tables at the side, for others to help themselves. Tommy leaned over to Joel, speaking quietly, so as not to disturb the audience in front of them.

“Remember this?”

“It’s no Curtis and the Viper 2,” Joel said dryly, but he had a slight smile on his face. “It’s a good one though.”

“I always fancied myself a Robert Redford to your Paul Newman.”

“You’re not tall enough,” Joel smirked, eyes on the screen.

Tommy pointed surreptitiously at Ellie, smiling and chatting with a girl next to her. She has a long thick braid, and her skin glows a soft golden brown in the illumination from the movie screen.

“That’s good to see.”

“Yeah,” Joel responded. “I want that for her. I want her to have friends. She’s never just…had a life, you know? She’s had FEDRA school, a cross-country trip, and more death than anyone her age should have to deal with. She’s never had-”

“Family,” Tommy finished, looking at him meaningfully. “A father.”

That word still felt alien to Joel after everything he and Ellie had been through. Twenty years of suppressing the only thing he’d ever been truly good at, this new version of it was harder. Darker. With higher stakes.

And he was already making a mess of it.

“No you’re not,” Tommy said, and Joel didn’t realise he’d actually spoken those fears aloud. His eyes were on the screen. “I think about the father I want to be, and when I do, it always looks like the kind of father you were.” He pauses. “The father you are.”

“Not the father we had.”

“God no,” Tommy cracked, his tone bitter. “No one deserves that.”

Joel was now watching the screen, feeling his throat tighten.

“Tommy…if you knew what I did. To get her back here. You might change your mind about modelling your next adventure on me.”

Tommy glanced at him. “I doubt it.”

A familiar silhouette appeared at the corner of his eye. The stable manager is filling a bowl with popcorn. Joel watched her, but she doesn’t turn around. She takes a seat next to one of the grooms, whose name he can't remember.

Tommy followed his line of sight, and grinned. “You always did have excellent taste.”

“Fuck off.”

Chapter Text

Ellie’s days began to blur into one another. She was up at sunrise, joining the stable staff and overnight patrol for breakfast. They were the rowdiest, wired from being up all night, their rifles lighter from shooting the infected hoards that prowled the perimeter. Once they departed, she spent the day mucking out stalls, cleaning tack, feeding and brushing the horses, and trying to absorb everything that you and Mitch were teaching her.

Evenings were her favourite time. An hour before dinner, she would saddle Shimmer under Mitch’s watchful eye, checking off each task to have her safely tacked up. She’d lead her down to the corral, where you were waiting, and you’d incorporate Ellie into Shimmer’s training. At first, it was walking around the corral, Ellie following the touches you taught her, communing her mind with Shimmer’s as they gradually became one. Soon, Ellie was cantering around the corral, Shimmer responding to her hand movements on the reins and her verbal and physical commands. When he could Joel would watch, out of sight so as not to disturb them. The bubble of her laughter on the wind made him feel like his heart would burst. He always crept away before they were finished, and was back home before she arrived, sweaty and smelling of hay and leather, shedding her shoes in the doorway and hitting the shower. At the mess hall, she’d put away a giant plate of food, talking with her mouth full to the table about her day. Tommy was astounded at the change.

“It was your idea,” Joel said to him later.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But the turnaround. It’s amazin’.”

“It is.”

Tommy punched his shoulder, grinning. “Told ya.”

A few night’s later, Tommy was banging on the door of Joel and Ellie’s house.

“Maria’s in labour!” he said breathlessly, when Joel pulled open the door, his eyes sticky with sleep. Hearing the commotion, Ellie thundered down the stairs behind him, tripping on the rug and colliding with Joel.

“Oh, shit. What do we do?”

“You go back to bed,” Joel said, steadying her with one hand and grabbing his coat with the other.

“Aww, but I want to see the baby!”

“You will,” Joel replied. “But this could take hours. I’m gonna look after Tommy, make sure he doesn't have a heart attack.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tommy said. His face suddenly dropped. “Oh, shit. I’m about to be a dad. Oh…” He leaned down, resting his hands on his knees.

“Come on, idiot. Let’s get to the clinic. Ellie!” he said, as she started following them out the door. “Bed. I will come get you when it’s over.”

She scowled “I want to see the baby first! After Maria and Tommy and you. Don’t show it to anyone else before I’ve seen it.” Joel shut the door, and he and Tommy headed towards the clinic. Ellie stomped back upstairs, knowing she wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The next day, Ellie stood at the door to Maria’s room, bouncing on her heels and wriggling like a puppy.

“Quietly, okay? Maria is tired. Just a few minutes. And indoor voice, okay? I know you don’t know what that means-”

“I know what it means,” she hissed at Joel. Tommy opened the door.

“Come on in, Ellie.”

She crept into the room, making sure even her feet were quiet. Joel smiled behind her.

Maria was sitting up in bed, her face tired but happy. The baby was swaddled and on her chest. Ellie leaned over to peer down at him.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s his name?”

“Luke,” Maria whispered. “After Tommy’s grandfather.”

“And Joel’s.”

“Yes,” she said. “And Joel’s.”

“Can I touch him?”

“Sure. Be careful”

Ellie touched a finger lightly to his head, fluffing the shock of black curls that crowned it. She giggled. The baby yawned and opened his eyes briefly, making a little sucking noise.

Maria swirled her knuckle in his mouth. “He’s hungry. I should probably feed him again.” Joel stepped forward to put a hand on Ellie’s shoulder.

“Come on, kiddo.” She touched Luke’s curls again and stepped back.

“Ellie?” Maria called softly as she adjusted Luke in her arms to feed him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.” She flicked her eyes to Joel as she said it. They were cold.

Joel sighed, and led Ellie from the room, Tommy beaming next to Maria at his new son.

Tommy is the centre of attention at the Tipsy Bison, accepting congratulations and pats on the shoulders about Luke. He grips a cigar in his hand, whisky in the other, his eyes slightly glazed and rosy apples in his cheeks.

You’d been drinking with Mitch and his girlfriend when he came in, all smiles and booming voice, Joel trailing behind. He instructed Seth to play George Strait’s The Best Day on a loop until he was shouted down, and Seth changed the CD. He’d stopped by the bar to chat with you, describing Luke in detail, and extracting a promise that you would visit them in the morning.

As the party gets louder, Mitch and Daphne bid their farewells, pawing and giggling at one another as they stumble outside. You signal Seth for another drink and watch Tommy and his group.

Joel is standing next to Tommy, a forced smile on his face, as he listens to another man go on to both of them about his own sons. Tommy is hanging on his every word, but the self-satisfied chest puffing grates on Joel’s nerves. He grips the whisky glass in his hand and has another sip, his other fist clenching.

He wonders how impolite it would be to punch this guy in the face.

Over the man’s shoulder, he spots the stable manager. She was watching the group, but as he catches her eye, she looks away, Seth depositing another drink in front of her.

Joel drains his glass. “Excuse me. Need a refill.” He elbows past the father-of-three and heads to the bar.

You take a sip of your drink as the stool next to you is pulled out, and Joel takes a seat.

“Whisky,” he says to Seth.

“Congratulations,” you say to him, lifting your glass. “I hear you’re an uncle.”

“The whole bar heard I'm an uncle,” Joel says, as Seth places his drink in front of him.

“True enough. But still, congratulations.” Joel doesn't reply. There’s an awkward silence for a few minutes as you finish your drink. You push the glass away.

“I should get going,” you say. “Early start tomorrow.”

Joel waves at Seth and turns to you. “Another drink if you stay ten more minutes, before I have to go back and watch Tommy act like he’s the first man on earth to become a father,” he says. Your eyes find his, and you’re struck by the aching sadness in them. Like he's about to suffocate from it.

You glance back over his shoulder to Tommy, who is heading back to the CD changer. The Best Day starts up again. Joel looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. He clenches his jaw, and his hand drifts to the watch strapped to his wrist. You follow the movement and notice for the first time, the watch's crystal face is cracked, the timepiece useless.

“Please,” he entreats softly, his eyes fixed on the mirrored wall behind the bar.

Seth is in front of them, shaking his head at the CD player being commandeered again. “Another?”

You nod at Seth. “Yeah. Another.”

Tommy leans heavily on Joel as they make their way back to the house. Maria opted to stay another night at the clinic, knowing the state her husband would be at such an uncivilised hour. They have about as much stability as a three-legged rocking horse as they wound their way to Joel’s. At the porch, it takes three goes to get Tommy up the steps and in the front door.

“You were talkin’ to her at the bar,” Tommy slurred.

“Who?” Joel said, playing dumb.

“Y’know. Miss Rodeo America. Or s‘that Australia? The Rodeo Queen of Oz…” He giggled.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yessir.” Joel half-drags Tommy to the couch, dropping him on it. Picking up the afghan, he throws it over him.

“When you puke later, do it quietly. In the sink, not on the floor.” Joel heads for the stairs.

“Hey, Joel!” Tommy shouted.

“Shhh, y’idiot. Ellie's asleep. What?”

He sits up, gripping the back of the couch to hold himself up.

“You should see more of her.” His eyes are earnest.

“Sure Tommy, I’ll do that.”

He flops back onto the couch. Joel turns to go, but he hears Tommy’s salvo.

“Maybe then you won’t be such a sadsack cunt.”

Joel froze, one foot on the step. He gripped the bannister, his knuckles white, anger boiling in his chest. Tears burned his eyes. Tommy loudly sighed and coughed, but didn't offer any more pearls of wisdom. Joel swiped his eyes with his hand, and takes the stairs two at a time, getting as far away from his brother as possible.

Chapter Text

“Breakfast in ten?” Mitch asks.

“Meet you down there.” You lift the last saddle onto the rack, ready for cleaning later. Patrollers were filtering out from the stables, jogging down to the mess for breakfast. The only other sound is horses eating.

“Hey,” you hear behind you. You swivel to see Joel, rumpled from the night outside the wall, bridle in his hand. There’s dried blood on his flannel. It had been a week since Luke was born.

“Mornin’ Joel.” You reach for the bridle. “Good night?”

“Uneventful.”

“Your shirt begs to differ,” you reply, pointing.

“This?” He scratches at the stiff stain. “Rabbit. Damn things were just sittin’ there. Got three.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence. You remember the night at the Bison, after Luke was born. The brief crack in his facade, the ache of something under the gruff exterior. You recall he doesn’t offer much in the way conversation, without it being pulled from him.

“How’re you finding Diamond?” you ask. His face is blank. “Your horse.”

“Oh, sorry, Yeah, he’s good. Smart. Got a smooth gait. Like floatin’.”

“He’s a beaut. One of my graduates. A popular boy.”

“Hmm.”

There’s more silence until Joel clears his throat.

“Listen, I…wanted to thank you for lettin’ Ellie work up here. Things are much better. She’s made a few friends, she hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks. She’s lettin' me teach her guitar. She’s also ready for swimmin’ lessons. Maria wants all the kids to swim--”

“Two hundred metres,” you finish. “Yeah, it’s a fair rule. We’ve had people go through the ice before on patrol. It makes a difference.”

He shudders slightly at that. “We’ll be avoiding that as much as we can,” he replies. “Also I…I wanted to thank you for the other night. The extra ten minutes at the bar.”

“Oh. Sure. No problem.”

“You didn’t say anythin' to Tommy, did you? About what I said? He was drunk, and gettin’ on my nerves…” Joel was rubbing his neck, a tic you’d noticed when he was stewing on something.

You shake you head. “No. I didn’t say anything. No business of mine.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Well…I’ll uh, head down to the mess then. You right with that?” he asks, pointing at the bridle. You heft it, gathering the reins.

“I’ll put it away. Ellie’s on cleaning duty when she gets here. I’m heading to the mess too.”

He steps closer. “I’ll wait, and walk you down,” he says.

Ellie ran over her speech one last time in her head. She could hear Joel and Tommy talking downstairs, and a muffled cry from Luke.

“Ellie, you comin’ down?” Joel voice floats up.

She takes one last look in the spotted glass of the mirror, and heads down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy says. His arm is around Maria, Luke snug in a sling around her chest. Joel is holding out Ellie’s coat.

“Before we go,” Ellie says. “I want to ask about the patrol boot camp.”

Joel pauses, the coat still bunched in his hand. Tommy and Maria trade a glance.

“My riding is much better, and I spoke to Ethan, and he said-”

“No,” Joel interrupts. His tone is firm.

Ellie barrels forward. “He said that it’s safe, and the area we’re going to won’t be swarmed by infected-”

“I said no,” Joel repeated.

Tommy steps forward. “Hang on Joel, maybe it isn’t such a bad-”

Joel pins his feet to the floor with a savage look. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He turns back to Ellie. “You’re not goin' outside those walls without me.” The camp involved the teens being paired with a more experienced patroller, for an overnight trip outside the wall. It was important that the pairs not be too familiar with one another. Relatives and friends were deliberately split up, to ensure that trust could be fostered among members of the community. Everyone needed to be able to rely on one another. The idea of Ellie being outside the walls without him, made his head ache.

Maria is quiet, her hand gently rubbing Luke in the sling. Ellie’s face is crestfallen.

“Joel-” she tries again.

“No.” He gestures to the door. “We’re going to dinner.”

Ellie’s face is thunderous. She spins on her heel and stomps back up the stairs.

“Ellie!”

“Let her go, Joel.” Maria says quietly. She holds a hand out to Tommy.

The next day, Joel is bent over a makeshift table, a sheet of butcher’s paper spread in front of him. A roughly sketched plan for a new classroom is scribbled on it.

“This part here,” Joel says, pointing. He hears someone behind him clear their throat, then his name. He turns, spotting Maria.

He picks up the paper plan and passes it. “You got that, Jim?”

“Yes sir.”

Joel heads over. She’s got Luke strapped to her again. Joel peers into the sling, and the baby regards him with his large dark eyes, cooing softly.

“Let’s take a walk,” Maria says.

It’s a brilliantly sunny day, the town alive with noise and activity. There’s the soft thunder of horses in the corrals, and squeals of children. Music spills out from the Tipsy Bison. With no cars in the streets, the entire area is available for people to walk and run, kids and animals tumbling and playing. The air is thick with the smell of loamy soil and pollen.

Maria sigh contentedly, as she and Joel slowly walk the length of Jackson.

“I wanted to tell you how wonderful Ellie is,” Maria started, her hand gently rubbing Luke’s back to soothe him. Joel shoots her a surprised glance.

“She’s kind, and she’s a hard worker, and is a meaningful member of the community. And that is, in part, due to you.” Joel’s eyes are practically ready to fall out of his head.

“You’re surprised,” she says, catching his expression.

“A little. I think you’re givin’ me too much credit.”

“I think I’m giving you just enough,” Maria counters. They loop around a cul-de-sac.

“Everyone here in Jackson has known loss,” Maria continues. “But you and I…we know the worst kind of loss. We know the loss of a child.”

Joel’s eyes fix on the road in front of him.

“It breaks weaker people,” Maria says. “I hope Tommy never knows that kind of loss. He’s not as strong as you. He wouldn’t survive it. Yes, he lost Sarah, as you did. But he didn’t lose her the way you did. He can never understand that. No one can, until it happens to them.”

Joel didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice breaking. He swallows it, as he sees Sarah’s image flit before his mind’s eye.

“When my water broke, all I could think about, was keeping Luke inside. Inside, he didn’t know pain, or danger, or cruelty. He only knew love. He was safe. Even if he was being born into the safest place he could be in this version of the world, it still wasn’t as safe as he was inside me.” A soccer ball skids across the road in front of them, followed by two boys, their voices piercing the air as they squabbled over it. Maria waited for them to move on.

“You protect them with your life,” she says. “You’d sacrifice yourself for them.” She looks at him now, a hand on his arm, stopping them both. “You’d kill anyone who tries to hurt them.”

Joel looks anywhere but her face. He can feel his cheeks getting hotter.

“Parenting is that unique blend of selfishness and selflessness,” she tells him. “There really isn’t a place where one ends and the other starts. It’s all a part of it.”

She begins walking again, Joel following her.

“How mad is Ellie about not being able to go on the overnight patrol?” she asks.

“On a scale of one to ten?” Joel replies.

“If you don’t want her to go, then that’s the decision. She’ll get over it,” Maria says. “There’s always next time, if not this one. But it’s like me with Luke. I couldn’t keep him inside. I can’t shield him from cruelty and danger because I selfishly don’t want to experience it. Because that is why I’m doing it.” She lightly touches his arm again. “I wasn’t just protecting him because I don’t want him to face those things. I was protecting him, because I don’t want to face them either.”

They arrive back at the schoolhouse job site. Luke is snoring softly in the sling. Maria raises a hand to someone waving at her across the street. She gives Joel a small smile, and walks away.

You're seated on the top rail of the corral, watching Mitch walk Blaze. The horse leans towards him, pressing a shoulder into him, and he stumbles.

"Lean back into her Mitch, she's testing you," you say as they pass by. "You're the leader. Nudge her back so she gets the message." He follows your cues, and Blaze straightens up.

"There you go."

Out of the corner of your eye, brown freckled arms slide between the corral rails, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. You swing around, sliding down off the rail, coming face to face with Joel.

"Need a horse?" you say, by way of greeting.

He shakes his head. "Need to ask you about something."

"Shoot."

His eyes follow Mitch around the corral. "This patrol boot camp coming up."

“Sounds like a statement, but yes, there’s a overnight coming up.”

"You think Ellie's ready to go?"

It was your turn to watch Mitch as he loops the corral again. "From a riding perspective? Yes. She's gotten plenty of time in. She and Shimmer are great together. But you know her better than I do."

"Some days," he said absently. "I don't like the idea."

"It's safe. They do target practice, hunt, drills, scare each other at night with stupid stories. And they form their network."

"Yeah."

You turn to face him again. "You’re not sure.”

“No. I can’t go, I have to let her go with someone else, have someone else be lookin’ out for her.”

“Bet you hate that,” you say, trying not to smile.

"Right."

"Mitch, she's done for the day," you say, as he approaches you again. "Couple of cool-down laps, then take her back up."

"Okay."

Joel leans forward on the rails.

"Tell you what," you say, as Mitch leads Blaze to the water trough. "I have to do a supply run tomorrow to the outpost. It covers much of the ground the pairs will do. Come up with me."

"You do it alone?"

"Definitely not. I'd usually take Ethan. I'm a decent shot from the wall, but less so on horseback. I hear you don't have that problem, though."

"So there will be infected out there." His fingers drum on the rail.

"Possibly. But sweeps are done regularly. Nothing is without risk. But at least you'll get an idea of what they'll be doing."

Joel popped his knuckles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Okay, then."

You smile to yourself, eyes fixed across the corral, to the wall.

Chapter Text

The sunrise is a luminescent peach and pink, flecked with gold, the few scattered clouds promising to burn away to a clear sky. You fix the packhorse to Starlight, your own favourite horse, a tall blue roan with a barrelled muscular chest. His shining eyes are framed with long feathered lashes.

“Beautiful,” you hear from behind you. You turn, and Joel is looking at you from over Diamond’s saddle.

“Sorry?”

“Your horse. He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”

“Oh. This is Starlight.” You brush his nose with the back of your hand.

“Suits him.”

You check the packhorse one last time, making sure her load is balanced. She’s eager, letting out a nicker as you tug at the straps. She pushes her nose against you.

“Okay girl, we’ll get going.” You position your foot in the stirrup, and suddenly feel Joel standing next to you. He gently grips your ankle as you swing up into the saddle, the other hand pushing under your heel.

“What are you-”

He adjusts your foot in the stirrup. “Force of habit,” he replies softly. He looks up. “I know you don’t need it. But it’s like opening your car door.” He shrugs. “Manners.” He made another minute adjustment, before releasing your ankle.

You look down at him, but he’s already turned and gripping Diamond’s pommel, pulling himself up. He gathers his reins and finally lets you catch his eye. You deliberately look away, smiling. Ellie emerges from the tack room, stirrups and a polishing rag in her hands.

“Whoa, don’t you guys look great together? A regular Butch and Sundance.” Her mood had improved drastically when she found out Joel was scouting the overnight camp route. It wasn’t a yes, but it was closer than a week ago. She’d resolved to be sweetness and light until he gave his final answer.

“Shut up,” Joel responds, a sardonic lilt in his voice. “No bein' lazy while the boss isn’t here, got it?”

Ellie salutes. “I’m her best worker. Right?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm. “No one I’d trust with the stables more.”

“I heard that!” Mitch shouts down from the hayloft. You roll your eyes, and Ellie laughs.

“Let’s get going,” you say to Joel. You touch a heel to Starlight’s belly, and he leads the way out of the stable.

“You two behave yourselves!” Ellie calls after them, and you hear Joel chuckle to himself.

The fire road is dry, the scrub on either side a brilliant green, and you walk in silence side by side for the first hour. Joel keeps his horse to your right. There’s a heady buzzing of insects, the sun warm when it breaks through the canopy, flooding the road with broad patches of light. The packhorse is sprightly, and she playfully nips at your boot as she keeps pace with Starlight.

You’re about to attempt more conversation, but Joel beats you to it.

“A champion horse cutter and bronc rider,” he muses.

“Tommy’s been telling tales about me,” you reply, swatting a fly from Starlight’s neck.

“You’re a long way from home.”

“Been here longer than I was in Oz,” you say.

“How did you end up here?”

“In Jackson?”

He elaborates. “How did you end up in the States?”

You shift in the saddle, eyes on Starlight’s ears, pointed and alert.

“Dad was raised in Georgia,” you say, and you feel the world begin to quiet around you, as you tell the story. “He found himself in Australia after the Vietnam War. He knew horses, liked the land, so he stayed. Ran horses and cattle for years, before he met and married my much younger mother.” You flick eyes to Joel, and he’s smiling slightly. “I’ve been riding horses since before I could walk. A few years before the outbreak, my brother and I went to Georgia, to my uncle’s ranch. It was only meant to be for a year, but we wanted to stay. So we went back and forth a couple of times. And then in May oh-three, we left Australia for the last time.” You feel Joel’s eyes on you. “And that was it. We…we stayed on the farm as long as we could. But it wasn’t long before we were in the Atlanta QZ.”

Joel whistled softly between his teeth. He’d heard the stories. Everyone had. The Atlanta QZ ran riot as a place of torture, rape and enslavement before a decision was made that it was beyond repair, and firebombed until all that remained were charred bones and concrete dust. Joel felt the burn of nausea at the back of his throat.

“How long were you there?”

“Almost two years,” you reply. You can feel your eyes beginning to prickle, even after all this time. You force yourself to look between Starlight’s ears to the road.

“Your brother?”

“He’s not in Jackson.” You can hear the faint white noise of the river up ahead. “We never got along, even after the outbreak. He didn’t see much difference between the walls of a QZ and the walls of Jackson. He didn’t stay long.”

“So he’s…”

“I don’t know. Was here one day, and gone the next.”

Joel’s looking ahead again. “That must've hurt.”

You sigh loudly. “Truthfully? It was a relief. Which…makes me awful. You’d think the world ending would be enough to bury your demons when it comes to family. But it wasn’t. We’re…we’re better off.”

You see Joel out of the corner of your eye, leaning back slightly in the saddle. His posture is comfortable, his hold loose on the reins, his other hand resting lightly on his thigh. His body moves in tandem with Diamond’s gait. He and Tommy may have spent most of their adult lives contracting, but he’s no stranger around horses. He grunts, and speaks.

“I came through Jackson thinking that Tommy was in trouble. That he needed help. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. And then I got here and realised, he didn’t need any help.” He looks over at you. “All of a sudden, I was out of a job. I’ve always helped Tommy. I’ve always saved him from whatever shit he found himself in. Bailed him out, loaned him money, thrown a punch when he needed me to." The fingers on his thigh clench into a fist. "Killed for him. But he’s got it all figured out now.” He says the last part bitterly.

“You have Ellie,” you say softly.

“I’m not sure for how long,” he replies. The creased, thoughtful look on his face looks almost like regret. His eyes are distant. There’s more to it than his concerns about the mercurial nature of a teenager. Something deeper.

You turn your eyes back to the unwinding road.

The packhorse relieved of her burden, you scan the logbook and do what your mother used to call a ‘last idiot check’ of the outpost building.

“That’s everything,” you say, heading out onto the porch. Joel is admiring the view from the elevation.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” you say.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. You draw closer to him.

“I told Ellie once that I wanted a sheep ranch. Somewhere quiet. Sheep don’t talk. But a place like this would’ve been a close second.”

“What about now?”

Joel gives a little sigh. “Jackson is loud. Sometimes too loud. But…it’s not all bad.”

You pull the door shut to the cabin. “We’ve still got several hours of quiet left. Lunch by the river before we head back?”

Joel heads to the horses. “Lead the way.”

The river is flat and still, the last few weeks of endless sunshine causing the levels to drop. The grass is thick near the bank. Midges dance on the water’s surface, and there’s an occasional splash as a fish jumps. The horses go between grazing, and dozing on their feet.

You take a bite of your sandwich. You’re thinking about what Joel said earlier.

“I don’t mind it loud.”

Joel turns. “What”

You finish your mouthful. “Jackson. I don’t mind that it’s loud. Especially meal times. I love the mess hall. All those people, and voices, and knives scraping against plates. It’s great. Reminds me of before. We always had a busy table at meal times.”

Joel licks his fingers of tomato juice, groaning quietly as he shifts his legs, his knee popping.

“I miss live music too,” you continue.

“They play live music at the Tipsy Bison every Saturday,” Joel points out.

“Not that kind. It’s fine, but I’m talking about the kind where there’s ten thousand people in front of a stage, and it costs eleven dollars for a warm beer that you have to wait half an hour for. The kind where your ears are ringing and your shoes are ruined and you back aches for three days afterwards.”

“Maybe they could play louder at the Bison? And I’m sure Seth wouldn’t object to you mortgaging your house for a beer.”

“Got it all figured out," you grin. He huffs a laugh.

“Tell me about Australia,” he asks. “Your dad had a ranch?”

“We called them a station,” you say, digging into your bag. You withdraw some apples, handing one to Joel, but he waves it away. “Cattle station, sheep station. Dad ran cattle and horses. We didn’t have the winters you have here. It only snows in a few places. But the droughts can feel never-ending. They break the hardest of men. Everything dies. It looks like hell. You spend half the time praying for rain so the place doesn’t go up in flames from a single spark, and then the rain comes, and you spend the other half wishing it would stop before the whole farm drowns. I can’t imagine adding a Wyoming winter on top of that.”

Joel’s eyes are on the river. “No halfway,” he murmurs.

“No halfway,” you agree. “All or nothing.”

He leans forward, pulling a flower from a tuft of grass in front of him. The petals are long and yellow. He gently breaks one from the centre.

“You ever think it’s still there?” he asks. “That Cordyceps didn’t make it that far?”

“We’d know by now,” you reply. “Twenty years.” You catch his eye. “No one’s coming. Even if they wanted to.”

Joel drops the mangled flower in the grass. “Fair enough.”

You hear Diamond whinny and stamp his foot behind you. The air is almost muggy, the grass feeling slightly damp under your hands.

“What do you miss about before, Joel?”

The question is out of your mouth before you can catch it. Your eyes fall on his cracked wristwatch, and you remember his face at the bar weeks ago, when Luke was born. You can feel Joel tense beside you, his hand shift to his leg, squeezing slightly over the denim. Between the moment at the bar, and the way he interacts with Ellie, you’d put together that he must have lost a child. Maybe even a wife as well. You hadn’t asked anyone, thinking it was disrespectful to mine into his past without his consent.

“I’m sorry Joel, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off. He pushes himself slowly to his feet, gathering the remains of his lunch. “We should get going.” He walks up the sloping bank to the horses, not waiting for you.

You’re an hour from Jackson when Joel holds his hand up, silently pulling Diamond to a stop. You halt Starlight next to him.

His eyes are fixed on the trees ahead. Diamond shifts under him. He points.

“See that?”

You follow the line of his arm, and then spot it. It’s a buck, almost camouflaged in the trees. He’s leisurely grazing, making no indication that he’s seen you.

“We’re downwind,” Joel murmured. “He can’t smell us.” He looks over at you. “The packhorse isn’t carrying much. We could get it back to Jackson.”

You look at the buck again. His tail lazily flicks, as he keeps eating.

“He seems so peaceful,” you say wistfully.

“We can leave it,” Joel says, watching the animal. You shake your head to clear your sentimentality.

“No. They’re stocking the kitchens and the tannery for winter. Rule is, if you can, bring it in.”

Joel reaches over, and his hand takes Starlight’s bridle. “You have a better angle than I do. Can you handle that gun you’ve got?”

“Oh, no, Joel, you should do it-”

“You’re better placed.”

“I’ve not shot a buck before,” you say.

He looks at you, surprised. “Really?”

You shrug. “Haven’t needed to. I’ve taken down infected from the wall, and I’ve put down a few injured horses, but I was always with others when it came to hunting food.”

“Oh,” Joel says. “Well, we’ll leave it. Best to not miss and have it bolt-”

“I - hold on. What makes you think I’ll miss?” you say, bristling slightly.

“I just thought - if you haven’t done it before, best not to waste the ammo-”

You slide down off Starlight’s back, your feet barely crunching on the road. You withdraw the rifle from the saddle's scabbard and click the safety off.

“Hold Starlight for me.”

You stalk forward slowly, rifle at the ready. You’re still downwind, the breeze picking up. It muffles your footsteps. The buck is still oblivious.

You raise the rifle the rest of the height, nestling the stock against your shoulder. You sight the buck.

“Come on,” you whisper, giving him one more chance to pick up on you. “See me. See me…”

You exhale and squeeze the trigger. The gun blasts, and a red patch blossoms on the buck’s coat, just behind the shoulder blade. A branch snaps as the buck falls. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

You lower the rifle, the smell of cordite mingling with the green smell of the forest. You hear the horses approach behind you. You step forward to get a better look at your kill.

He’s beautiful, his coat a deep russet colour. There’s a long healed scar on his neck, but he’s otherwise perfect. The wound at his shoulder wells and leaks scarlet blood.

Tears fill your eyes. You’d seen plenty of death. You’d taken life before. But the sting as you look down on the dead buck, you haven’t felt like this.

An ache that he didn’t see you. He never even knew you were there.

Joel approaches you. He’s got the packhorse with him, bringing her as close as he can to get the buck up onto her. The tears have slid over your cheeks, and you swipe at them angrily.

Joel doesn’t mention them. He walks towards the buck, kneeling down beside it.

“Come over here,” he says quietly. He hold a hand out. You rest the rifle on the ground and take his hand.

You’re both wearing gloves, but you can still feel the warmth of his hand. You realise it's the first time you've really touched, with intention. He draws you down next to him, pulling the glove off his other hand with his teeth. He dips his fingers in the wound at the deer’s shoulder.

“Your first buck,” he says gruffly. “We gotta mark the occasion.”

His bloodstained fingertips swipe down your cheek, and you inhale the gamey, coppery scent. The blood mixes with the tears on your cheeks. His fingertips are calloused, but the touch on your face is gentle.

“It’s normal to cry,” he says softly. His thumb and forefinger holds the point of your chin, and he turns your face carefully to one side, then the other.

“A hunter,” he says. His hand drops from your face, and he turns to the buck.

“Let’s get this boy loaded up.”

The buck is strapped to the packhorse, ready for the last hour back to Jackson. You let Joel boost you onto Starlight, and he adjusts your foot in the stirrup, like he did this morning.

You gather Starlight’s reins and are about to move forward, when you catch Joel’s voice as he mounts up.

“Sarah,” he says, as he swings into the saddle.

“What?”

He shifts, looking down the road, before turning to face you. “The thing I miss from before.” His eyes are an oubliette of grief. “My daughter, Sarah.” He flicks the reins, and Diamond starts for home.

Chapter Text

Ellie sits atop Shimmer, backpack and bedroll strapped to her. The ground in front of the gates is humming with voices in the afternoon sun. People are threading their way through the crowd, issuing last minute instructions. Laughter and good spirits blanket the group.

Joel checks Shimmer one more time. “You do everything Antony tells you.”

“Yes, Joel,” Ellie says, practically bouncing in the saddle. Shimmer pulls at her reins, eager to go.

“Don’t stay up all night with your friends. Sleep is important. You need to be alert.”

“I got it Joel.”

“You,” he says, whistling at Antony. He turns.

“She gets hurt, I'll kill you.”

“Yes sir.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “No he won’t.”

“Watch me,” Joel grimaces. The gates start grinding open, and a whoop starts up in the crowd. Ellie breaks into a fit of giggles.

“Damnit Ellie…”

“I’ll be fine Joel. Lighten up!” She gives Shimmer her reins, and the group starts to move, Antony behind her. They file out from the gates. Joel stands there until she disappears into the beyond, and they are pushed close with a resounding boom.

He wipes his eyes quickly, and he feels Tommy come up beside him.

“Maria thought you might like dinner outside the mess tonight.” Joel nods, and Tommy squeezes his shoulder, as they head away from the knot of people still shouting their farewells.

It’s late, and you’re about to turn in, when there’s a tap at your door.

“It’s open,” you call out from the couch. You drop your book next to you. The door swings open, and Joel is there.

‘Hi,” you say, quickly standing. He waits on the threshold.

“Hi. May I come in?” he asks.

“Of course.” You reach him, and push the door closed behind him.

You hadn’t spoken much since the supply run. A few words exchanged at the mess, the stables, polite waves and smiles at the Bison. Joel had spent most his time with Ellie, ensuring that she was prepared for the overnight camp. You’d rarely seen Joel without her close by. You’re not even sure what you’d talk about if you were alone. He’d confirmed your suspicions about his past, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to talk about it. You’d even briefly thought he was avoiding you.

“You don’t lock your door,” he chides, bringing you back to the present.

“No one locks their doors around here,” you reply.

“I do.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He leans against the countertop, looking at his feet. “You got anythin' to drink?”

“Uh, sure.” You reach up, opening a cupboard above your head. Inside is a glass mason jar, filled two-thirds of the way with a clear liquid. You take two mismatched plastic cups from another cupboard.

Joel’s tone is laced with amusement. “That’s not what I think it is?”

“Your finest, stable brewed by Mitch, horse grain moonshine? Sure is.” You unscrew the lid, and pour a generous shot into each cup.

‘I should’ve gone to the Bison. At least they have whisky.”

You pick up your cup and wave it under your nose. “Trust me. This is Mitch’s magic. It ain’t just rubbing alcohol. Smell.”

Joel brings his own cup to his nose. A sweet odour fills his nostrils, a pleasant scent that reminds him of the stables.

“Hay?”

“And molasses,” you smile. “Technically he’s not supposed to brew his own private stash, so no telling.”

“This’d actually be rum then, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not up to speed on the differences. Anyway, moonshine sounds cooler. Remember, snitches get stitches, right?”

“My lips are sealed,” he murmurs, tapping his cup against yours.

The spirit is strong, with a burn as it slips down his throat. It was indeed sweet, with a smoky taste left behind on his tongue.

“Okay,” Joel said. “I’ll give him that. It’s delicious.” You grin, and throw back your own shot, wincing slightly. You pour two more.

“What brings you here Joel?” you ask, setting down your cup.

He sips again before answering. “My house is too quiet,” he says. He huffs a laugh at your expression. “I know, after what I said about liking it quiet. Ellie’s on the overnight, and I’m used to her stomping around, or playing the few records in our house, yelling at me to get out of the shower. So I…I came here.” He finishes his drink.

“Where my house is quiet,” you reply, waving a hand towards the cozy living room. Joel scans the space. The walls are made up of bookshelves, with scavenged tomes littering them in no particular order. There are small stacks of CDs and dusty ornaments, remnants of the previous occupants.

“But you’re here,” he says, looking back to you.

You feel a heat creeping into your cheeks.

“She’s not back until tomorrow?” you ask.

“Afternoon, sometime.”

You pick up your cup, eyeing him over the rim. His feet are crossed at the ankles, one hand gripping the countertop, the other wrapped around his empty cup. You throw back the second shot, placing the cup down. You step closer, into his space now.

“What brings you here, Joel?” you ask again. His eyes flick up to your face, and you swear they are focused on your mouth. You close the distance further, standing directly in front of him, your feet on either side of his. He stands a little straighter, bringing his torso more in line with yours. He’s so close, you’d be able to kiss his jaw.

And then you feel it. The slightest pressure of his pelvis against yours. His eyes are still focused on your mouth, his breath puffing against your lips.

With one hand, you free the second button on your shirt, then the third. The other takes the empty cup from Joel's hand, setting it on the counter behind him.

His eyes fall to the skin exposed by the open shirt. You see the fingers on his right hand begin to twitch, rubbing together.

You repeat your previous action on the buttons of his own shirt, slipping two of them free. The worn flannel is down-soft. He draws in a shaky breath, pulling the oxygen from the room with it.

Your fingers encircle his wrist, peeling his left hand from where it grips the lip of the counter. It comes away easily. You step backwards, tugging gently, before turning.

He follows your lead, up the stairs.

Chapter Text

The bedroom is awash with soft orange light. It licks against the walls, like gentle fire. The faint tang of eucalyptus hangs in the air, rising from the sheets. The comforter is turned down, the pillowcases smooth and undented, positioned just so at the top of the bed.

You flick a gaze at Joel as you draw him closer. His eyes are already watching your face. Stopping by the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt again, carefully freeing the rest. He makes no move to help. You push it over his shoulders, sliding the cuffs over his large hands. It drops to the floor.

The singlet underneath is black, the outline of the hard planes of his chest visible under the thin material. The neck is ragged and frayed, small holes dotting here and there on his torso. You press one of them with a fingertip; the promise of warm skin underneath.

Untucking the singlet, it takes rising on your toes to pull it up and over his head. He obediently lifts his arms. His eyes are on your mouth. The material falls from your fingers, and you get your first good look at what's underneath.

The skin is paler than his arms and face, which have been flecked gold and brown by the summer sun. Light hair scatters his chest and belly, impossibly soft when you brush your fingers over it. The muscles underneath are flat and hard, the surface mottled with a myriad of scars. You notice a fresher one, an impalement of some sort, on his right side. The tissue is raised, a rough texture, flushed pink and almost burning your fingers.

You hear his breath change, a little quicker, a little louder. You find his eyes again. They're black in the low light from the lamp. Roses bloom in his cheeks.

"I can stop," you whisper. You drop your hands to where his jeans hug his hips, safe. Chaste. "If you want, I can stop."

"No," he murmured. He's staring at your mouth again. "Don't stop."

You gently feed his belt through the buckle, slipping it free. You slide your fingers to pop open the button on his jeans.

"You want me to take the lead." It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," he breathes, and his eyes slip shut as you brush the front of his jeans.

"You...like a woman to take the lead," you say, stepping closer. Another statement. Your breath hits his chin.

"Yes," he hisses through gritted teeth, his eyes still shut.

"I can do that." You kneel down to pull at the laces of his boots, and he lifts his feet as you work them off. You roll each of the bulky wool socks down and over his toes.

“Better,” you say, as you stand. He can see skin and a hint of cleavage peeking out from the bulk of your flannel.

His fingers reach for the collar of your shirt, rubbing it gently. Your hands go to the buttons, popping each one free. You hear a growl in his throat, as the column of skin from the notch at your neck, to your belly becomes visible. You’re not wearing a bra. You grab the shirt, pausing as you notice a muscle in Joel’s jaw twitch, and his eyes narrow slightly. You drop it from your arms to the floor.

The air in the room is pebbling your skin, causing your nipples to tighten. The maddening fact that he hasn’t touched you yet spurs you to action. You finish unbuttoning his jeans, your fingers feeling out his cock, pressing against the confines of his briefs. You run your fingers down either side, and his hips buck gently. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

You don’t waste any time, pulling his remaining clothes off and quickly shedding your own. With your hands on his hips, you push him towards the head of the bed. He understands, sitting with his back against the headboard, as your thighs cage him.

He meant it when he said he wanted you to take the lead.

You touch your cunt, wetness coating your fingers. His eyes are laser focused on your movements. His cock is thick and straight, laying on his lower belly, surrounded by a nest of wiry curls. You wrap your hand around it and pump it once, twice, swirling the bead of precum that wells from the top, mixing it with your own slick. He can’t stop the ragged groan it drags out, his hand fisting the sheet under him.

You’re embarrassingly wet, and the dull throb between your legs is making it hard to remember your own name. Moving closer, you hold him at the base and slide yourself down, burying him to the hilt.

A sound like oh escapes his lips, and his eyes flutter shut. You sit for a moment, feeling the stretch, the head of him pushed deep inside you, prodding your womb. It’s a delicious ache, your belly full.

You start grinding, slowly at first, his eyes snapping open at the movement. You brace yourself with one hand against his chest. His eyes rove slowly, over your exposed throat, your breasts, your stomach. Then his thumb reaches up, tilting your chin down slightly so he can see your face.

You don’t know if he says look at me, or you hear it in your head. His eyes are like burnt umber. Normally the intensity of someone’s gaze while you’re naked, riding them, the sweet, wet sound of your bodies joining, might cause some chagrin. But it feels so right, to have him look at you like this as your hips rise and fall on him, a sheen of sweat breaking through your skin.

You’re grinding yourself against his pubic bone, but the friction is not quite enough. You take one of his hands, turning the palm over so it’s face up, and bring it down between where you’re joined. You wedge his fingers between you, and your clit grazes the calloused tips with more pressure.

there

Your hips begin to move faster, the contact radiating heat into you. You pinch and roll one of your nipples in your fingers, the arc of pleasure connecting with the ones in your abdomen. Something dawns behind Joel’s eyes, and a hand snakes around the back of your neck, holding it firmly. He pulls your head down, while his fingers press and rub against your clit a little harder.

He captures your mouth in his, and the absurdity of the fact that you hadn’t yet kissed almost makes you laugh. But then, your mouth is enveloped in his, and that plump bottom lip is as soft as you imagined it. His warm tongue swipes inside your mouth. You feel your cheeks heat furiously, as he continues the languid kiss, not letting up until you think you’re going to drown in the taste of him. Sweet, like molasses. The fire in your belly is stoked higher, heating, licking, coiling tighter, and you moan, knowing it’s almost there.

almost there

He finally releases your mouth, letting you catch a breath, his hand still holding the back of your neck. His nose is against your cheek. That proud nose that you’ve obsessed over since you first saw him, the one your eyes drift to when you see him in profile. He holds you to him, and his tongue flicks out, the tip catching the hinge of your jaw. His breath is hot in your ear.

“Sweetheart…”

It’s enough. The coil inside you snaps, and you’re cumming, the feeling radiating from your centre. Your mouth drops open and you moan, feeling the fist in your womb contract, your thighs shaking, and sparks gather and fire in your lower back and thighs. Your fingernails press into Joel’s chest, biting half-moons into the skin. He lightens his grip on your neck, and you slump against him, your forehead to his shoulder.

He only lets you rest for a second. His hand grasps your hip, and he flips you, your back sinking into the mattress. He pushes your legs back until your thighs almost touch the bed, hooking an arm around one of your knees, the other bracing next to your head. You’ve barely drawn a breath before his hips set a brutal pace, snapping into yours, his head buried in your shoulder. His teeth are on your neck. He drives into you, the angle of his cock kissing that sweet spot, and you tilt your hips to meet his thrusts.

Oblivion beckons. You tilt again, and he hums his encouragement into your neck.

“Oh…fuck,” you breathe, as a second orgasm washes over you. Less intense than the first, like a wave gently breaking, but there, your cunt squeezing around his cock. He groans into your neck, and withdraws, and you feel his release spatter over your belly and on the inside of your thigh. He gently collapses, and he releases your leg, his cock laying warm and wet on your skin.

His breathing slows, and you feel him nuzzling into your neck, and his lips drop soft open-mouthed kisses, his tongue tasting the sweat. You run a hand down the slick pillar of his spine, and back up again, and he hums against your skin.

He lays there for a few more minutes, blanketing you with his comfortable weight, his thumb rubbings circles on your hip. He presses another kiss to your neck and lifts his head.

His eyes are hooded, his jaw relaxed, his eyes capturing yours again, like they can see into your soul. His mouth finds yours, soft still, his tongue curling inside. He pushes up from you, and heads to the bathroom across the hall. You hear the water running.

Your head is swimming, as you think about what just happened. You bite back a giggle.

Damn

You start to sit up, and Joel is back in the room, washcloth in his hand. He pushes you gently back down on the bed, swiping the warm cloth over your belly and thigh. He drops it on the pile of clothes on the floor.

He tugs at the sheets, and you shift, allowing him to pull them down and tuck your legs under them. He sits next to you, pulling at a curl of your hair.

You give him the out, even though it already hurts to say it.

“You don’t need to stay.”

He blinks. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“No.”

He slides into the bed beside you, rolling you onto your side, so he can fit himself to you. His lips are close to your ear.

“Then I’ll stay,” he whispers, and you smile.

His hand is splayed across your stomach, fingertips almost stretching to your ribs. His nose drags against your shoulder. His body is warm, almost uncomfortably so, but the touch of his nose and breath to your skin makes little shivers radiate down your spine.

“How many broken bones?” he gruffs against you.

“Not as many as people who make a career of it,” you reply.

“But you’re a rodeo queen,” Joel says. “The Rodeo Queen Of Oz. Tommy said so.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh,. “I told them that story once, at the Bison, after they came back late from a patrol session. Now they’ll never let me forget it.” Joel squeezes you closer to him, and you can hear a muffled chuckle against your shoulder. Your hand reaches up, filling with a fistful of his curls.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry about your daughter-”

“Don’t,” he says, his fingers entwining with yours.

“I…oh...” You feel your stomach drop, a flutter of anxiety against your ribs.

“Not now,” he whispers. “There’s time. We’ll talk about it. I..I want to talk to you about it. But right now, I just want…” He’s pulls your hands to your chest, his fingers entangled in yours.

The bird of anxiety in your chest isn’t going away. You shift, and he moves your arms to allow you to roll and face him. You and Joel had been on the periphery of each other’s lives for months now. Ellie as a buffer between you, or Tommy, providing excuses to keep crossing paths. But now, there was no barrier. No excuse.

So what is it?

“This isn’t something you’re doing because your brother made you feel like shit, is it?”

His eyes crease. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be something you’re doing because you’re…sad,” you reply. “I’m not a distraction. If you and Tommy have a fight, or you and Ellie have a fight, I don’t want to be the thing you do to not deal with it.” He nods his head, and a little smile creases his face.

“What?”

“You’re right,” he says. “Not…not about that,” he hurriedly continues, seeing your face. “You’re right, there’s stuff between Tommy and I. He was there…when Sarah died. And I blamed him. Think I still do. And Ellie, I’ve made some mistakes with her. And I know that’ll come around. The debt. It always does.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “The last person I…she…shit.” He paused. “I was dead inside. That’s not me exaggeratin’, it’s just the truth. And I used her to help fill that. As much as drink, as much as pills…she was a distraction. I regret that. I hurt her. I didn’t realise until it was too late.” His hand rests to your cheek, the pad of his thumb touching your bottom lip. “You’re not a distraction, because I have the things I need to keep going. I think…this time, there’s room for more.” He kisses your forehead again. “Room for you."

Your hands rest on his chest. “I’ve been thinking about the supply run,” you say. “The buck.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“I remember being about to pull the trigger. The buck didn’t see me. And I remember thinking ‘See me. See me’, just before. I thought I was talking to the buck. But…”

The tip of his nose touches yours. “What?” he breathes.

“I think it was you that I wanted to see me,” you confess, feeling the flush in your face.

Joel’s lips press to yours, soft, pliant. The tip of his tongue touches yours.

“I see you,” he says, his nose against yours. “I see you.”

Later in the night, you wake Joel. Dropping kisses on his shoulders, you rub a hand over his hip, your fingers sliding into the hair at the apex of his thighs. Your fingers wrap around his cock, and you pull your hand up to the tip, and slide it down, achingly slow.

He stirs, his voice rough with sleep. “What do you need?”

Your tongue freezes in your mouth. He likes to be told. You will it to speak.

“You, on top of me.”

He rolls, hands pinning your wrists, his weight pressing you into the bed. He pushes your thigh with his, opening your legs so he falls heavily between them. He ducks his head, capturing your nipple in his mouth without warning.

“Ahhh…fuck!” you yelp, as his wet tongue circling your nipple, flicking at the tip. You grind your hips against his and he gasps, burying his head into your chest.

“Christ,” he whispers, his hands squeezing at your wrists. He sucks your nipple into his mouth again, and you feel the heat travel down to your centre. He’s pulling at you, shockwaves skittering in your chest. His head rises, and he moves face-to-face-with you, his cock prodding at your entrance.

You press your heel into his ass, urging him closer.

“You need this?” he murmurs, his lips against yours. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He lines himself up, and he sinks into you.

It's exquisite, your back arching as he sheaths himself inside. He holds your wrists still, and slowly slides out, almost all the way, and back in. His eyes hold yours, slightly glassy, his jaw slack.

You can’t stop what sounds like a sob clawing its way out of your throat. His lips trail light kisses down your jaw.

“I know,” he murmurs against your neck. “I know.” He thrusts into you again, and you feel the stretch, the burn, of muscles not used. But your body doesn’t forget. It accommodates him. Like you were made for each other.

Sweat dots his neck and chest, the scent rich, and it might just be your new favourite thing in the world. Your legs grip him tighter, and you urge him on. He moves his hips faster, and you press yourself into him, chasing the high.

He understands, and he pushes up from you, letting go of your wrists to sit back on his heels. He drags his thumb in his mouth, and rubs it firmly over your clit. You hips buck and you moan, your orgasm blossoming under his nimble fingers.

He withdraws, fisting himself in his hand, before his hoarse moan punctuates his hot seed spilling onto your belly. His head is tipped back, one hand squeezing your thigh, his other holding his cock, his breath stuttering.

“Fuck…uh, fuck,” you hear him whispering, trying to ground himself. You use his arm for leverage, pulling yourself onto his bent knees, wrapping your arms around his neck. He folds his arms around you, his grip almost painful, fingers digging into your skin like he’s never going to let you go.

Chapter Text

On the edge of wakefulness, one foot still within dreams, there’s a itching tickle on your cheek and across your lips.

You wrinkle your nose, and jerk awake, your brief snore echoing in your ears. Joel is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, his hair damp. Light is creeping in the windows. He’s dragging a curl of your hair over your face.

“Stop it,” you mumble, and he sniggers.

“Mornin’. I have to go. Hopin’ to get more done on the new classrooms today. I used your shower, hope that’s okay.”

“Uh huh,” you say, your voice still thick with sleep. You had a vague recollection of the pipes groaning and sputtering to life. “I’ll give it a few hours before I use it.”

“You’re off today, right?”

“Checking up on me?”

“I heard Ellie say somethin’ yesterday.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Joel slides off the bed to kneel down next to you, groaning slightly as his knees popped.

“Watch yourself, old man.”

“Sshh.” He pulls at the curl again. “So, I have overnight patrol comin' up. And a couple hours at the schoolhouse each day. And Ellie will be about. So…”

“It’s okay Joel. I’ll see you when I see you. I might need a some time to recover, anyway.”

“That does wonders for my ego.” He leans down to kiss you, and you thread a hand into the damp curls at his neck. It’s slow, and soft, like he doesn’t want it to end.

“I’ll see you later,” you murmur, and he kisses you again, before standing.

“Enjoy your day off,” he replies. You find yourself holding your breath until you hear the door downstairs open, and click shut.

You throw the sheets over your head. “Oh my God!” you squeal, burying your nose in them. They smell of Joel, and sex, and you think it might be your new drug of choice. You rub your feet together in glee, and roll over, intending to get a few more hours of sleep.

When you go downstairs, you check the front door, noticing Joel has flicked the latch and locked it before he left. You touch it briefly with a smile.

“You look like shit, Joel,” Ellie says, around a mouthful of eggs.

He grunts, a rough bandage taped above his eye, another one strapped around his hand. He’d made Ellie run and get him a new shirt, the other one covered with too much blood, bone and fungus fragments to be appropriate for breakfast. The rest of the overnight patrol is in a similar state, weapons lighter, clothes ruined, skin bruised and split open, hastily covered. The hoards are starting to get more volatile as winter approaches.

“He did better than me,” Ethan said, holding out the bloody molar that was knocked out of his jaw during a scrap with a runner.

‘Oh God Ethan, save it for the Tooth Fairy,” you complain. “We’re all trying to eat. It’s bad enough, you all showing up like you took turns playing chicken with a woodchipper.” Joel hums his amusement at the quip.

Ellie leans forward towards Joel. “Tooth Fairy?”

“Long story,” he replies. You feel him gently press his leg against yours.

He’d followed you down from the stables, and spotting two chairs side by side at at the usual table, had stopped to hold yours out before taking his own seat. The boisterous laughing and slamming of plates of food around the table meant it went unnoticed. For the rest of the meal, he’d eaten and spoken with the others, but his leg remained pressed against yours, his foot caught around your ankle. You could feel the toe of his boot occasionally rub your foot.

“The Tooth Fairy is a thing parents do for younger kids,” you say. “Or at least they did. Kid loses their tooth, their parents would tell them to put it in a glass by their bed, and then they'd swap it for some money.”

“What’s the going rate for a tooth?” Ellie asks.

“My mom used to give me five dollars,” Ethan said proudly.

“Outrageous,” you reply. “I was lucky if I got fifty cents.”

“You know that sound you hear when you shake up a can of spray paint?” Mitch says conspiratorially. He leans close to Ellie. “That’s a kid’s tooth.” Ellie’s eyes widen, and you laugh.

“Oh man, remember The Simpsons? What a show. It’s okay, Ellie,” you say. “It’s a quote from a TV show. Mitch is just messing with you.” Her eyebrows descend to a less alarmed level. Joel is chuckling beside you.

“Five dollars a tooth,” you say, shooting eyes at Ethan. “Bloody inflation.”

“What’s inflation?” Ellie jumps in. She looks at Joel. He shrugs his shoulders.

"All I know is that when the cost of my buildin’ materials went up, they'd throw around that word," he replies.

“It used to be a thing that governments and banks would do when people were spending too much money," you say. "They’d raise the price of things, to try and curb people’s spending.”

“Why would you want to stop people spending?” Ellie presses.

“Because there’s such a thing as spending too much money,” you reply, looking towards Joel. He’s put his fork down, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. He’s looking at you, amused.

“You could jump in,” you shoot at him, and he shrugs.

“Nah. You got this. Why is there such a thing as spendin’ too much money?”

You look at your plate. “You know, I don’t actually know.” The rest of the table is grinning.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, and they start laughing. Ethan starts coughing, tears in his eyes.

“You should start an economics class,” he gasps, wiping his eyes.

“I’ll stick to horses,” you laugh. “You can lead Economics Hour tomorrow.”

“Why is money like dough?” Ellie interjects, grinning.

“Why?”

“Because we all knead it!” She dissolves into giggles.

“Six out of ten, kiddo,” Joel replies. “Only because it was relevant to the ongoing discussion.”

She mock bows to the table. “Thank you, thank you.”

“And on that note,” you say, licking your fork, and pointing it at Ellie. “You have work. You ready?”

“Ready.” She stands, plate in hand.

“Dawn Patrol Mongrels,” you address the table. “Sleep well. See you tonight.”

“What’s a mongrel?” Ellie asks.

“I’ll tell you later.” You untangle your leg from Joel’s, and leave the table. You know he turned briefly to watch you go. You can feel his eyes on you. You can’t help your smug smile.

“How come you’re so cheery?” Ellie says, catching it.

“Nothing, hon. Let’s go.”

After Movie Night, you’re nursing Luke while Maria chats to you. He’s already bigger, feeling warm in your arms, sleeping with his mouth open. He sighs occasionally, frowning.

“Damn, he’s a cutie,” you say. You’ve started rocking slightly from side to side, and Maria laughs.

“You don't have to have kids to know the rocking move,” she says.

“I know, it’s weird. It’s like instinct.” you say, still swaying.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joel chatting to Tommy. His eyes are on you. You think they look almost wistful, but he blinks, and it’s gone.

“Joel! Joel!” Ellie comes running up, grabbing him by the arm.

“What is it, kiddo?”

“Dina’s mom said I can stay over, is that okay?”

He looks and finds Dina’s mother, and she waves quickly. He looks back to Ellie.

“You have work tomorrow. You can’t be late.”

“I won’t. I’ll be on time. Promise. Please? They’re not far from us.”

He catches you eye, and you can’t help flicking your eyebrows up. Thankfully, Ellie isn’t looking.

“Okay. You be sure and thank Dina’s momma for having you.”

“I will!” she yells, already streaking away to where Dina and her mother were waiting.

Joel and Tommy drift back to you and Maria. People have mostly filed out now, going their separate ways. You gently transfer Luke to Maria’s arms.

“Take him before I run away with him,” you say. “I should get going.”

Joel steps forward. “Can I walk you home?”

“Um, sure,” you say, playing coy for your audience. “Goodnight all,”

“‘Night, you two,” Tommy says, grinning, as you leave.

Maria’s eyes are wide. “What's that about?” Tommy's grin became wider.

“You know what he did at breakfast last week?”

“What?”

“He pulled her chair out for her. Joel doesn’t do that unless he’s interested.”

Maria groans. “You meddled.” Tommy holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“I introduced them. Anythin’ else, is on them, not me.” His grin is still splitting his face. Maria shakes her head, but she’s smiling too.

“Come on. Let’s go home.” She pushes him towards the exit.

Chapter Text

The walk home is oppressively quiet; the only sound is your boots crunching on the gravel. It only fuels the growing fire licking the bottom of your ribcage.

As you reach your front door, you feel his hand on the small of your back, and his breath on your neck. You feel like your knees are going to give out with the anticipation.

Inside, he kicks the door shut, and seizes you, his hands pulling at your shirt, buttons popping free in his hands. Your feet struggle to push each boot off, your hands raising to link over his neck. His hands creep under your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra.

"What do you need?" he growls in your ear.

that word again

needneedneedneed

Your breath sounds like a roar in your ears.

"Mmm…your mouth. I need your mouth." Your voice is shaking. He nips your neck.

"Where?" His hands tear the button of your jeans, his fingers pushing inside, cupping you through your underwear.

"Ah…fuck…there!" You squirm under his hand. His fingers press, and he growls in your ear.

“I want you to say it.”

Your mouth is dry, and you try to unstick your tongue. “My cunt. I want your mouth on my cunt.”

You hear him sigh. "Good. Good." He pushes you towards the kitchen counter, pinning your hips to it, unzipping and pulling down your bottoms. He scoops your legs over his shoulders, tilting your hips, bringing his mouth to you.

"Oh, shit…" There's no preamble. His tongue drags down your folds, tasting you. You hold onto the counter for dear life, the other tunneling into his hair. You tug it, and he groans, the word yes breathed against you, the sound making you even wetter. He suckles at your clit, and he slides one, then two fingers inside you.

Your head is spinning, the feeling of his fingers and tongue pushing the air from your lungs. He curls his digits against your walls, pushing at that sweet spot, and your your body quickly shudders, with no warning.

“Fuck…Joel! Uh…I’m…cumming!” you shout, squeezing the countertop under your fingers so hard, you fear it will shatter and splinter in your grip. He rides it with you, hands and tongue still buried within until you’re whispering “stop…stop…” writhing under him. He emerges, panting, his head resting on your stomach, his hands squeezing your thighs. He’s trembling.

Your head is against the wall behind you. You let out a peal of laughter, clapping your hand over your mouth. Joel raises his head, catching your eyes, bright and shining.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you say, breathless. “I’m…fucking hell Joel, you’re going to kill me. In fact, this is so good, I want to die…”

He pulls you forward on the countertop, hands settling around your hips, kissing your flushed collarbone. He doesn’t say anything, breathing heavily into your neck.

You tilt his head up, your lips on his, tasting yourself. You run a hand through his curls again.

“We have to look after you,” you murmur against his mouth.

“No need,” he breathes, his hand taking yours, pulling it down to brush the front of his jeans, where they’re damp.

Your eyes widen. “You-”

“Yeah,” he says, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Hearing you, tasting you…it was incredible.”

You lean your forehead against his. “Wow.”

“We got time.” He pulls you closer to him, and you feel your heart rate slow.

He’d dragged you to the couch, insisting you stay there while he built a fire. The rest of the house was dark, surfaces glowing with an amber patina. Shadows curved up the walls, branching out over the roof.

You’re against the arm of the couch, Joel sitting between your legs. His head is against your chest. Clad in your shirt and nothing else, skin exposed, he inhales your scent, his ear over your heart. One hand is tucked under your breast, his fingers resting on your ribs. You pull his curls through your fingers, twisting them like a ribbon, coaxing the slightly greasy strands into a tighter and tighter coil. Tilting your head, you notice his eyes - not quite closed, the ubiquitous furrows on his brow smoother, more relaxed.

“I have to tell you something,” you say softly.

He nuzzles the soft mound of your breast. “Tell me.”

You chew on your thumbnail before continuing. “If someone had told me beforehand, what you were like in bed, I’m not sure if I’d believe them.”

He makes a little sound in his throat. “And how is that?”

You pause, searching for the words. “You…want to know what I want.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he says.

The words are stuck. You’re struggling to articulate it. “You want me to tell you. You get off on me getting off.”

“Very much.”

“I imagined you to be…more…uh…”

"Selfish?"

You don't answer.

“Is it a problem that I’m not?”

You’re floundering in the conversation, unsure how to proceed. You can feel a smile against your skin.

“Feel free to help me out, asshole.”

He tilts his head up. “What surprises you about my tastes?”

You pull at another curl. “Well…no one tells Joel Miller what to do. Joel Miller tells other people what to do. Most of the patrollers are terrified of you. They’d all throw themselves onto an open fire before they let anything happen to Ellie…”

“Good,” Joel growls, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, if they could see you now.”

He grabs the back of the couch and rises to a sitting position, tugging you into his lap, so you’re facing him. His hands flutter under your shirt, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you squirm in his lap.

“I think you answered your own question. I like it when you tell me what you want. Specifically. When you put your pleasure first. When you use me to take it. It…it’s good.”

You push away the hair falling into his eyes. “Well…that’s fucking hot.” The corners of his mouth lift. His hands brush over your breasts again.

“Always tell me what you want. It’s yours. I want to please you.”

You purse your lips, making an exaggerated thinking face. “Does this work…the other way? If I want you to…take your pleasure?”

His hand comes up around the back of your neck, pulling your ear to his mouth. The heat of his breath goes straight to your core.

“If you wanted to control my pleasure, that would work very well for me,” he says, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

fuuuuuuck

If you had to stand right now, you’re pretty sure your legs wouldn’t work.

It’s not until four days later you get the chance to investigate the idea, like a burrowing worm, he planted in your head.

Torrential rain was blanketing Jackson, relentlessly soaking the ground. Patrols had been cancelled, and at the town meeting, Jackson’s quirky unofficial meteorologist dramatically declared that according to his instruments, it would stick around for another week.

The mud was ankle deep in the streets, coating your boots as you try to take the shortest possible route between the stables and your house. Your hat and oilskin coat keep you dry, but the weight of the mud keeps slowing you down.

Arriving at your porch, you manage to knock the worst of the mud off your boots on the step. The water is flooding from the downpipe, soaking the lawn in front of the house, the uneven far corner of the porch almost underwater.

“Shit,” you say, watching the water lap. Nothing can be done now. You just have to hope it doesn’t get any worse.

You yank the front door open, shucking off your coat and hat, throwing them on a hook embedded in the wall. You turn to see Joel crouched in front of the fireplace, stacking wood into a pile.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” he says, striking the flint in his hands over the pile of kindling. It catches, and he begins arranging more pieces of wood.

“You broke into my house to set a fire?” You hop around, pulling your boots off.

“Is it breaking in if the door was unlocked?” he replies mildly. He stands slowly, coming over to you.

“Guess not.”

He rests his hands on your hips, and you tip your head back for his kiss. He smells earthy, like horse hide, tinged with the rich tallow soap in everyone’s bathrooms in Jackson.

He breaks the kiss, planting his lips to your forehead. “Glad to see you didn’t drown out there.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you quip. “Ellie’s on ark building duty tomorrow if it doesn’t let up.”

“Speaking of,” Joel murmurs against your forehead.

“Yes?”

“She’s at Dina’s again tonight. Wanna hang out?”

“Hmm. I could be persuaded.”

Joel goes behind you and begins pushing you towards the stairs.

It’s warm under the blankets, skin to skin, Joel’s lips mapping each crease, scar and mole on your body. You’d got to the top of the stairs, stripping off and dragging him into the bed, but you hadn’t gotten further than kisses and touches, breathing each other in, warming one another.

He was like a drug. You were addicted. Outside, the rain continued to slam down, thunder rolling every few minutes.

He’s facing you, kisses tender on your lips and cheeks and chin, humming softly as he does. You are thinking about what he said the other night.

if you wanted to control my pleasure…that would work very well for me

You reach down between the two of you, running your fingers lightly over his half-hard cock. He presses into your hands.

“Enough teasing?” he asks.

“Mmm…this is about you,” you reply, your hand reaching between your legs, slicking your palm. You take hold of him, sliding your hand up, all the way to the end, and down again.

His eyelids flutter, his mouth opening slightly, as you continue to slide, slowly, up and down his shaft. You feel it lengthen and thicken in your hands, the velvety skin throwing heat. He grows harder in your hands, the skin stretched tight. You can feel the plump veins just under the surface, the tip reddening, leaking precum. You establish a rhythm, sliding up and down, Joel’s hips pulsing gently into your hand.

After a while, Joel begins to softly pant, his tongue flexing between his teeth.

"Huh…I’m close.”

You let go of him, resting your hand on his hip. His brow twitches.

“Mmm…yes,” he breathes, his hand pressed against his chest. You drop a kiss on the end of his nose, waiting a few more seconds, before you take hold of him again. His hips twitch, and he sighs loudly as he feels your fingers on him.

You drag your hands up and down his shaft again, your thumb grazing over the sensitive tip. It’s soft and puffy under the pads of your fingers, compared to the rest of him. The hand on his chest is starting to claw softly at his skin. It doesn’t take long for him to reach the edge again.

“Cl…close,” he stammers, and you stop. He rubs his thighs together, toes curling.

“Fuck…fuck,” he breathes, His chest is flushed red, the colour creeping to his collarbone.

You lean close to his mouth, so he can feel you when you speak.

“On your knees,” you whisper. “I want you on your knees, when you cum.”

You might as well have electrocuted him, he moves so quickly. He throws the blanket off, drawing his knees underneath him, head between his forearms, his hands squishing the pillow in front of him.

You kneel behind him, slicking your hand again, reaching to take hold. Your left hand splays on his lower back. The skin is tacky and hot.

You start stroking him again, and his hands grip the pillow, his sigh more of a moan this time. You’re gripping him harder now, stroking a little faster, and his pants start to sound a little like whines. Sweat is dotting his spine, and you can feel his thighs shaking where they’re pressed against yours. Your other hand has reached between his legs, cupping and rolling his balls.

“I…I…Christ.”

You take this as a cue to stop, pulling your hands away entirely, putting them behind your back. You sit on your heels.

“Fuck!” he growls into the pillow, and you feel your hands shaking behind you. His submission, his vulnerability under your touch, makes your heart ache.

i'm falling for him

You run a hand down his ass cheek, squeezing gently. He hums softly.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I were to…” You run your finger lightly over his ass crack, barely there. “What if I put my fingers here?”

“Yes,” he groans immediately, his ass bobbing a little in the air.

“Inside you.”

“Dammit, yes,” he sighs. He’s sweating now.

"You tell me to stop if you want to stop."

"I don't want to stop. Please." He raises his head slightly to look back at you. You wink.

“Head down, baby. I got you.”

He buries his head back into the pillow. You draw closer to him, your left hand going to your cunt this time. Your fingers emerge, your slick sticky and opaque.

You grip his cock again in your right hand, and begin stroking, firmly, but slow to begin with. It already drags a moan from him.

You take the coated fingers of your left hand and press them between his cheeks, seeking the tight little ring. You massage it gently, and you feel him jerk his hips back into you, wanting more contact. You gently press your index finger inside the hole, and the groan from Joel’s mouth is louder.

“Unnghh…”

He seizes under your touch, and you begin stroking his cock faster, firmer, your finger gently pressing his inside walls. You hear him saying something, and you strain your ears to catch it.

“More…more…”

You withdraw almost fully, swirling your finger gently, before breaching the space with a second. You slide them both in, achingly slow.

“Fuck,” Joel whines, his breath coming in gasps, the tremors in his thighs almost a vibration. He arches his back like a cat. Sweat is now running down his spine. You gently pulse your fingers a few times. You feel his cock tighten in your hand. You bend, dipping your tongue into a droplet of sweat between the bones of his vertebrae.

“Cum for me, baby.”

He roars, his grip almost tearing apart the pillow in his hands. His back spasms under your chest, where you rest yourself, riding his orgasm. You feel his release coat your hand and fingers, catching most of it. You let go of his cock, and withdraw your fingers. His hips drop to the bed. You let him roll onto his back, before swinging your leg over his hips, sitting over him.

His forearm is thrown over his head, his breath almost wheezing. His eyes are glassy, his mouth slack. You make sure he’s looking at you, and bring your sticky release-coated fingers to your mouth, You deliberately lick them, slowly, tasting his salty spend.

His hand strikes out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it down to his mouth, your body coming with it to hit his chest. He tastes himself on your fingers, before grabbing your neck, manhandling you until he can mash your lips to his.

It’s brutal, teeth and tongues colliding. He bites your lip, cupping your head in his hands, not relenting until your lungs are on fire. He lets you come up for air. You drop next to him, sheened with his sweat. He’s still breathing hard.

You stand, heading to the bathroom to wash up. You come back with a cool washcloth and a glass of water. You set it next to him and straddle his hips again, dabbing at his chest gently.

“How you doin’, cowboy?”

Joel’s eyelids are heavy, and his hand brushes your thigh, gently stroking it. His face breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen him give. It’s like the sun breaking through clouds.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good.”

His hand comes up to rub his chin, and it traps a soft chuckle. He smiles again.

“But what about you? I don't…I don't think I can move right now.”

You wave a hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll collect soon enough.”

He takes the cloth out of your hand, dropping it on the floor. He pulls you down to his chest again, his lips finding your forehead, one hand stroking up and down your back, the other folding his fingers into yours.

“Countin’ on it.”

Another growl of thunder rolls outside, the timpany of rain steady on the roof.

Chapter Text

Joel had dressed quickly and slipped out of your house a little later than anticipated. Hunching his shoulders against the unrelenting rain, he walked as quickly as the precarious ground and his knees allowed. The town was stirring to life around him slowly, as the weather caused people to adjust their plans for more rain.

He let himself in the door, hit with a blast of heat from the fire roaring cheerily in his living room. Ellie was crouched over a bowl of canned peaches and the soured farmer’s cheese that she loved, but turned Joel’s stomach every time she ate it.

“Hey kiddo. Warm in here,” he said, grabbing a kitchen towel, wiping his face and scrubbing his hair. He pulled his jacket off to hang up. Ellie licked her spoon and tapped it against her chin.

“Didn’t think you’d be home yet,” he continued, ruffling her hair and pulling a face at her first breakfast of the day. He opened the fridge, snagging the pitcher of water and a glass from the cupboard.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“You get dressed in the dark?”

He paused. “What?”

Ellie’s turned to the side in her chair, trying and failing to wipe the smirk off her face.

“Your shirt.”

Joel set down the pitcher and followed her gaze. He’d missed the first button, the flannel uneven for the rest of the row. He tugged at the untucked hem.

“Huh.” He started straightening the shirt. Ellie’s eyes were boring into him. He busied himself with pouring a glass of water, avoiding her eyes.

“You know,” Ellie said around a mouthful of peaches as he sat. “You could tell me about it.” Joel shifted uneasily in his chair, leaning forward, his hands clasped around the glass.

“About what?”

“Joel. I’m not an idiot. Don’t pretend I am.”

He sighed, feeling his stomach flip. Less lies, the better.

“So, uh…" He cleared his throat, and tried again.

"I…might be seein' someone,” he said, his voice a little strained..

Ellie nodded seriously, and Joel noticed she had on her best ‘listening’ face.

“You like her?”

His mouth twisted. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“You gonna get married?”

“It’s way too early for that, kiddo.”

“What about a little brother or sister?”

“Ellie…”

She grinned, reveling in her slow torturing of him. She tapped his arm with the back of her spoon.

“Just fuckin’ with you. You gonna tell me who? Or,” she brightened her tone into a sing-songy voice. “Do I already know who it iii-is?”

“Wait a minute. Did you just acknowledge me…as your Dad?”

She shrugged. “We both know you’re the closest I’ve ever had. I’m not calling you that though. That’d be weird.”

“Definitely.”

Her shit-eating grin quelled. “It’s who I think it is, right?”

Joel sighed. “I don’t talk to that many people, kiddo.” He twisted the glass nervously in his hands. “Is this okay? I mean, she’s your boss, and-”

Ellie’s face beams.

“No, no, this is great! She’s perfect for you! She sure brightens you up when she’s around, Fuck, this is so good! She’s been fucking chipper as hell too, you should see her. Grinning her ass off when she thinks I’m not looking. She is hot for you Joel, big time.” Ellie wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Gross.”

Joel rubbed his eyes, willing the floor to swallow him whole.

“You gonna ask her over for dinner?”

“What?”

“You have to ask her for dinner. It’s polite. You have to…what’s that word? Mitch said he did it to Daphne. What was it…court her, that’s right.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ellie slurped at the peach syrup and remaining cheese in her bowl.

“I’ll ask her.”

“Ellie, don’t…”

“Oh come on, Joel. Shit, this is the healthiest thing you’ve done in ages. It’s normal. Life in Jackson has made an impression on you.”

“Is it too much to ask for a lightnin' strike, right here, in the middle of the house?”

“Yes. God’s not going to save you. You gonna hold her hand in public? Ooh, you gonna pick a song, play it at the Bison and slow dance? Man, old people are so gross.”

Joel shook his head. “Listen, kiddo, I mean this. You are the number one priority here. Nothing else matters. If this isn’t okay-”

Ellie sighed dramatically. “Joel, it’s good. C’mon, you need something else to do besides terrifying people and hovering over me. If she’s not scared of you…well, good for her. Get some.”

Joel gulped his water. “Don’t you have to get to work?”

“Yeah. Rain has eased,” she said, taking her bowl and spoon and dropping them in the sink.

“You gonna wash those?”

"I have to go to work,” she cooed sweetly. She put her coat on at the door, pulling it open.

“I’ll ask her here for dinner,” Joel said over his shoulder.

“Got it. This is good, Joel!” she calls behind her, as the door slammed shut. He fiddled with the glass in front of him, looking down at his now-fixed shirt.

It was good.

Ellie and Daphne lean against the stall door, watching you gently prod the inflamed soft tissue on Polly’s front leg.

“Will she be okay?” Ellie asks.

“It’s always hard to tell,” you say. “We do the best we can for our horses, but they still get injured, and sometimes they don’t get better.”

Ellie’s eyes are sad. “This sucks, Daph. I know she’s your favourite.”

“Thanks, El. You know, I think she’s going to be okay. She’s got the best people looking after her. We just have to wait see.”

“Good attitude,” you say, carefully reapplying the cool dressing. “Lots of rest and attention for this girl. She’ll be spoiled rotten at the Jackson Equine Spa.” You rub her neck, and she snorts softly.

“Hello?”

“In here,” Daphne shouted back, waving an arm. Joel appeared at the front of the stall.

“Ladies,” he grunts.

“C’mon Daph,” Ellie says, pulling her out of the stall. “Joel’s come a-courtin’.”

Daphne’s eyes bug out of her head. “Wha-”

Joel glared at both of them.

"So scary,” Ellie gruffs, dragging Daphne away. She’s whispering to Ellie and looking back as they leave the stable.

“I am scary,” Joel grumbles. You raise your eyebrows, smiling, giving Polly a last pat and leaving the stall.

“You told Ellie, I take it?”

“I may have arrived home with my shirt buttoned incorrectly and-”

“Oh,” you laugh. “Smooth.”

“Yeah.”

You head back to the tack room, Joel following.

“Accordin' to Ellie, I have to ask you over for dinner,” he says, holding the door open for you.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. It’s apparently the done thing.”

“I see. Do you cook?”

“Well, like every red-blooded American man, I know my way around a grill.”

“You know, red-blooded Aussie men do as well.”

“You see any around here?” You shake your head.

“Then you’ll have to settle for me,” Joel says. He pulls at your jacket, drawing you closer for a kiss.

“Slim pickins’ at the end of the world.” You raise your hands around his neck. The stables are empty of people. He takes advantage, prolonging the kiss.

“When’s your next day off?” he asks, pulling your hat off and nuzzling your hairline.

“Is dinner an all day affair?”

“No. Just thought you could stay over. Ellie will look for any excuse to hang with her new friends. Keeps talking someone named Cat now? Anyway, she won’t need any encouragement to leave us alone afterwards.”

“Three days time?”

“Works for me,” Joel replies, nose still in your hair. He sighs deeply. “Mmm. Smell good.”

“Take it easy, cowboy. This is a place of business.” He’s chuckling. You stand in the circle of his arms a little longer, feeling his beard tickle your cheek, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of your jeans.

“I have to get back to work,” you murmur reluctantly.

“Okay.” He pulls away, planting another soft kiss on your lips. “Three days?”

“Three days.”

“See you then.” You swear there’s a twinkle in his eye, as he departs.

Ellie’s a ball of energy when you arrive for dinner. She drags you outside to take a tour of the bedsit Joel has refurbished in the backyard for her own use. She points out the new shelves he put up for her, the bed frame he found and sanded back, and the new bathroom he attached.

“And Joel just fixed the heater, so I won’t freeze in winter, and look, the door opens onto the gate there, see? So I’ll be able to come and go, and you guys will have some privacy as well…” You’re smiling to yourself as she prattles on.

“Oh, and look at my desk! Joel built that as well. I have to show you some of my drawings! I drew Shimmer, and Joel, and here look,” she grabs a sketch from a pile. “Look, there’s one of you!”

You take the piece of paper and study it. It’s a side profile, your hat over your eyes, curls of hair falling over your face. Your eyes are fixed on a faraway point, a small smile on your lips.

“Look at that. This is really good, Ellie.”

“And this one of Joel. This is my favourite.” Joel is sitting, his foot propped on his knee, a guitar in his hands. His face is serious. The hands look a little wonky, but she’s perfectly captured the lines on his face, his pursed mouth and furrowed brow.

“Wow, Ellie.”

“You should have it!” she says.

“Oh no hon, you said this was your favourite-”

“Joel’s always playing the guitar when he’s not working, I can draw plenty more. Keep it,” she says, pushing it into your hands in a way that allows no refusal.

“Well, alright then. Thank you, Ellie. It’s lovely.” You carefully fold the drawing, slipping it into the pocket of your oilskin.

“Dinner’s ready!” you hear from outside.

“Cmon, let’s go!” Ellie tugs you towards the door.

You’re parked on the couch, legs tangled with Joel’s under a mismatched afghan. Billy Joel is spinning on a turntable in the corner. You’d brought a full mason jar of Mitch’s moonshine and were trading sips with him, not bothering with cups this time. Ellie had wolfed her food down barely stopping to chew, despite Joel’s warnings that she was going to choke to death. Afterwards, she chased you both from the kitchen and washed the dishes, before blowing out the door calling her goodbyes, slamming it shut so hard the old framed pictures rattled on the walls.

“She’s a different girl from the one I found in the hayloft with a couple of stolen oranges from the kitchens,” you say, swallowing another sip of the fiery spirit. You can already feel it flushing your cheeks. Mitch must have given you the extra strong batch.

“She did what?” Joel replies, eyebrows raising.

“Oh. Whoops. You weren’t supposed to know that. Yeah, that’s how I found her. She was hacking them with that switchblade, so I stopped her and showed how to peel one properly.”

“I seen her doin’ it with apples too. She has her tongue poking out, seein' how long she can get it. I wondered where she picked that up from.” He smiles to himself at the thought and accepts the mason jar from you.

“It’s you,” he says. “It’s because of you, that she’s different.”

“Joel-”

He holds up his hand. “No, it is. When…when we got back from Utah, things were…difficult. We weren’t doin' too good. But she’s a lot happier now, and it sure isn’t anythin' I did.”

“I just put her to work,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “I found work helped me. Hoped it could help her too, I guess. She was…sad.”

“Yeah.”

You accepted the jar. “I’ve heard from Tommy, that you were taking her somewhere. How did that come to be?”

Joel picks at his fingernail. “I used to be a smuggler in the Boston QZ,” he replies. “Mostly pills, booze, ammo, medicine - all the stuff people want when life is shit. I hadn’t heard from Tommy in weeks, and needed a car battery to get here. Ellie was the job to get the battery. It was only supposed to be a short trip to the centre of Boston to drop her off, we’d get our battery, and go our separate ways. But we got there, and they were all dead.”

“They?”

“Fireflies. She was goin' to them.”

“What did the Fireflies want with Ellie?”

“That’s a whole ‘nother story.” His eyes darken, and you don’t push it.

“So you and…I’m sorry, you said ‘we’ earlier-”

“Yeah. My partner, Tess. On the way to the drop off, we ran into some clickers. She got bit. By the time we got there, an infected horde was on its way. She…stayed behind, tellin' me to get Ellie to where she needed to go. Find Tommy, finish the job. She rigged the buildin' to blow, and Ellie and I escaped.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You hand him the jar.

“Thanks.”

“So, you came here?”

“With a few stops along the way, but yes, we got here. Tommy used to be a Firefly, did you know?”

“I’ve heard the stories. Tommy’s got a loose tongue when he’s had too much whisky.”

“Seen that,” he says, thinking back to the drinks for Luke. He takes a larger swig from the jar and hands it back. "No more for me.

“Tommy directed me to Colorado, but the Firefly group there was long gone. Packed up and headed to Utah. We kept goin'. Almost lost Ellie to a group of people who had started eatin' one another.”

“Jesus.”

He rubs a hand under his nose. “Never been so scared…wait, no. That’s not true. There was one other time.” He blinks, and continues. “Anyway, we got to Salt Lake City, but the dropoff didn’t go accordin' to plan. Ellie, uh…she had a different idea on how things would turn out. I brought her back here.”

You’re rubbing your finger around the rim of the jar, considering everything he’s said.

“It sounds like you did the right thing. Bringing her back.” He’s pulling at his shirt now, looking agitated.

“I don’t think she sees it that way.”

You put the jar on the table in front of the couch, and lean forward, climbing into his lap.

“You carry a lot of hurt and guilt, Joel Miller.”

His hands settle on your hips. “I’ve hurt a lot of people, and done a lot of things to feel guilty about,” he whispers, his eyes shiny.

“When you’re ready for some help with that, you tell me, okay? No need to carry it alone.”

His hand rubs your back, and you lean forward on his chest. His fingers sneak up your shirt, counting the hills and valleys of your spine. It’s quiet in the room, the turntable cracking softly. You hear his chest rumble underneath your ear.

“So. Last time we…were together…”

It’s a casual statement, but it has the desired effect. You roll it over in your mind, reliving it, your insides warm.

“What about it?”

“I was wonderin', if this time, we could switch it up?”

“Switch it up?" you ask.

He lays his hands on your ass, pulling you closer, so your ear is near his mouth.

“Let me drive?”

You wriggle at the thought, your breath coming a little faster. You can smell his skin, the tang of him. The air in the room changes. His large hands start massaging your ass, squeezing,

“I’ll take good care of you,” he says. “Look after you. Make you feel real good. How 'bout that?”

You can feel your centre starting to throb. You try to control your voice as you respond.

“Okay.”

“Yes?” Joel asks, fingers skating under your ass, pressing the seam between your legs.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Joel’s bedroom was much as you pictured it. Sparse, but inviting. The bed was in the centre of the room, with a heavy wood frame, covered in a blue and grey comforter. The sheets were dark blue, and a rug in similar colours lay at the foot. There was a large bureau made of the same wood, and a worn overstuffed chair in the corner. The peeling paint on the walls had been largely scraped away, and the floors were scuffed and scratched from years of neglect. The only other furniture is an ancient heater along one wall, knocking slightly but taking the chill off the room.

You’re swaying in Joel’s arms as he undresses you. His hands are tender as he rolls down your jeans, his hands massaging and warming the flesh on your calves and thighs, unbuttoning and slipping off your shirt and unclasping your bra. He undresses himself, leaving his boxers and shirt on. He pushes you towards the chair, spinning you around and sitting, dragging you into his lap, your back to his chest.

He arranges you carefully on his lap, and he gently grips your thighs, pulling them apart.

“Wider, sweetheart…there you go. Nice and wide, that’s it.” His chin is resting on your shoulder. Your head is tipped back, next to his, and he puts his mouth near your ear. His hands stroke your thighs, far away from where you’d prefer his fingers to be.

“You think about me when we’re not together?” he says softly, his hands still pressing and squeezing the skin of your thighs.

“Mmm…yes,” you reply. His body already feels hot. He always runs hot.

“You touch yourself, when you’re alone, thinkin' about me?” he growls, nipping at your ear.

You immediately feel your cheeks redden. “Y…yes,” you stammer.

He pulls your thighs open a little more. “Show me.”

You feel your head begin to spin. “You want me to…uh…”

“Touch yourself,” he breathes. “I want to watch. Like when you’re alone, and imaginin' it’s me.”

Your fingers hover at your stomach, slightly shaking. You’re aware of how exposed you are.

“Start slow, okay?” Joel purrs in your ear.

You slide your hand down, threading through the already damp nest of curls, to brush your fingers over your clit. Joel groans softly in your ear, and you swipe some of your slick over your fingers and begin to rub.

“Nice and slow.” You follow his direction, circling your clit with your fingers.

“How’s it feel?”

“Mm…good.” You swipe a little slick, and go back, pressing a little harder.

“Not too hard…there, that’s better. Good. You’re doin' well,” he praises, and you start to squirm a little on his lap. His chest hitches under your back. Your other hand grips his forearm.

“Joel?”

“Yes?”

“I need more.” His lips are at your neck.

“More?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Put a finger inside yourself. Slow, remember. Slow. Just one.” You slide your finger down, pushing it inside. You moan softly.

“Beautiful,” Joel whispers, watching you pulse your finger in your cunt. He slides a hand up your breast and pinches your nipple, and you gasp at the extra stimulation. He rolls it with his calloused fingertips, and pulls at it. You let out a whine.

"Two fingers," he says hoarsly, and you hurry to obey him, your index and middle fingers now pushing inside you. "Curl them in there. Good. How's that feel?"

"Mmm…"

"Tell me how your pussy feels, sweetheart."

"It feels…" You feel like you're on fire. You run your thumb over your clit and hiss at the spark in your belly.

"Hot," you breathe. "I feel…hot."

"What else?" Joel croons softly, his tongue darting out and touching your earlobe. He squeezes harder on your nipple, and your hips buck.

"Uh…wet," you gasp. You move your fingers deeper, swirling them inside you. Your thumb flicks your clit. Your thighs are starting to tremble and tense.

"Tight too. So tight for me. Feels so good when I'm fuckin' you." He suckles on your neck, his teeth dragging over the skin. You can feel him prodding into your back, hard and thick.

"Back to your clit now, sweetheart. Rub your clit for me." You whine as your fingers leave you, but as your slick fingers start swirling your clit again, you feel the coil beginning to tighten in your belly.

Sweat is dotting your upper lip, your skin aflame, as you circle your fingers over the little bud of pleasure. You're writhing harder on his lap now.

"You wanna cum?" Joel's gravelled voice travels down your spine. His breath is laboured. He now rolls both nipples in his fingers, and you can feel the tension building, building. As he pinches and pulls at you, it just holds off your peak.

"Yes," you gasp. You rub at your clit a little faster, trying to counteract the pressure from his fingertips. It's almost at the point of uncomfortable. You're panting, as he sucks at your neck again.

"P…please…"

Joel's mouth is at your ear.

"What was that?"

"Please. I want…"

"What do you want?"

Your fingers are rubbing faster now. "I want to c…cum."

Joel kisses you tenderly on your neck, and lets go of your nipples.

You feel the coil snap, like lightning down your spine. You squeeze your eyes shut. Your thighs seize and shake, a guttural moan punching itself from your chest. Your toes curl, and your hand scratches down Joel's forearm, leaving marks. Fluid gushes over your fingers, and stars explode behind your eyes. Your thighs twitch and your head is thrown back next to Joel's. You feel like your bones have liquified.

Joel wraps an arm around your middle and drags you to your feet, using his other hand to free his straining cock. He turns you around, pulling you back into the chair, facing him on his lap. He spears his cock inside you, grabbing your hips, lifting and slamming you down onto him.

You can't move, totally spent, your face in his shoulder, limbs like jelly. It only takes five or six strokes and he's groaning loudly, gasping, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks, cumming inside you.

You both lie there, intertwined in the chair and panting, for several minutes. His hands are stroking your hair and down your back.

He realises what he's done.

"Shit," he whispers. You hum happily into his neck.

"No, I mean," he says, and you raise your head. Your eyes are glazed, your lids heavy. He looks at you with concern.

"I didn't pull out. I'm sorry…"

"Oh." You push your hair out of your eyes. "Oh." You lift yourself up, feeling him slip out, his release dripping between your legs.

"D'you think it'll be okay?"

"Uh…okay. Yeah, I think so. Finished a couple days ago. So…yeah. It'll be fine.." You struggle to gather your thoughts. "Huh. Yeah, we should be more careful."

"Yeah," Joel echoes. "I got carried away. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…"

"No, no,” you assure him, your mind clearing, hand on his cheek. “It’ll be okay. You’re good. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

He nods. "It'll be okay."

You press your damp forehead to his.

"Joel?"

"Yeah?"

"That was fun."

He chuckles. "Good, huh?"

"Unbelievable. Can we do it again?"

"Not right away, I hope," He rubs his hands over your back, and you run your fingers over his jaw, kissing him.

"God no. I could sleep for a week," you laugh.

He pulls you in even closer, and you feel a desperation in his hold, his hands flexing over your skin, as if to reassure him that you’re real.

“Joel? You okay?”

He sighs loudly, a deep rumble into your neck.

“Yeah.” You catch a whispered “fuck”, almost inaudible. He lifts his head to look at you. You stroke the sweaty curls at the back of his neck.

“I could get used to this," he says. It's not hope in his eyes though. It's fear.

"So, get used to it. What's wrong with that?"

"Me and the good life? Not sure I remember what that is," he replies. "It's been a long time."

You turn yourself in his lap so you're laying across him, legs slung over the arm of the chair. Joel throws his arm over your legs and playfully taps the meat of your thigh.

"No one does," you say. "We had to remake it. It's not going to look like it did before. We remade it here. In Jackson. I think you still resist it a bit."

You hear him scoff.

"What?"

He looks at you, one eye mock-narrowed.

"Too smart for your own good."

"So scary," you say, mimicking Ellie. He pokes you in the ribs with a finger, and you gasp. He scoops a hand under your knees and stands suddenly, and you yelp.

"Joel!"

"Gonna take you outside and dunk you in the horse trough for that."

"Don't! Don't, please!" You kick your legs, and he braces a foot on the floor to stop you both from falling over.

"Fine, fine!" He totters over to the bed, dumping you on it, shimmying his boxers off the rest of the way. He drops his shirt on the floor, and grabs your foot kissing his way up your calf, your thigh, your belly and breast, and finally to your mouth.

"Ready for another round?" he murmurs against your lips.

You wrap your legs around his waist in answer, and he growls, devouring you with a kiss.

Chapter Text

When Jackson had gone to sleep, and it was dark, Joel would tell you his biggest secrets.

He told you about Sarah. His voice hushed, he'd talked of the pain of leaving her behind, streaked in blood, curled on her side in the stiff grass. His shoes, feeling like they were full of lead. Tommy's hand, urging him forward. His thoughts scrambled - unclear, unfocused, only solidifying in resolve when he picked up the handgun, and pressed it to his temple. How he'd spent a glacially-paced twenty years, cursing his weakness for flinching at the critical moment.

He'd talked of his love for Ellie. He couldn't say it to her face - she'd respond with a droll barb and flounce away, telling him he was old and soft. You could feel the curve of a smile against your shoulder, as he spoke of the weeks spent teaching her to swim. Her unbridled delight, after her initial resistance. The birthday trip to the museum, and the moment when he thought that they were finally going to be okay, after Utah. Of how his heart might beat out of his chest with pride at her uncocooning - an indelicate affair, sporting tooth and claw, spitting fire. You could almost feel it, swelling in between your shoulder blades, the tendrils of its warmth wrapping around your own heart.

When things fractured between them, he told you the full story of The Lie. Now locked in a bitter battle of wills, they were no longer speaking. His arms tightened around you, squeezing, as if to make you understand through physical force. His words ragged, still edged with fear.

i had to do it. i couldn't let them take her.

Your hands gripped his, holding them to your chest. His strong fingers kneaded your knuckles, almost hurting, as he tried to unburden himself. Like he was trying to rid his hands of the blood and sin.

i couldn't let them take her. so i took her from everyone.

A confession. You could hear it in his voice, how he grappled with it. His selfish need to protect her. Without her, he was the walking dead.

You realised the lengths he would go. For family. For love.

How far he would go, to hold onto his sanity.

He asked you about your secrets, too. How you carried your burdens. He envied you, he said. Your steps still looked light and free, at the end of the world.

I think he took them with him.

Who?

My brother. Ryan.

So you told him.

About the cowboy with the beautiful green eyes you fell in love with, three months before the world fell apart. How he'd promised to not leave your side. How he'd been torn apart defending the ranch - a place of work, not his home, but he did it because it mattered to you. It was Ryan who killed him, because you couldn't.

About you and Ryan leaving the ranch, when you could no longer hold it. He’d hastily packed your things, screaming at you when you resisted, eventually dragging you from the house. You hadn't wanted to leave. He died here. You didn't think you could go.

The Atlanta QZ. It was as bad as the stories Joel heard. Maybe even worse. Ryan quickly established himself, thriving in the squalor. The first man to seize his degenerate opportunity with you paid dearly. Ryan casually dumped the corpse, entrails spilling, in the square for the cluster of squats to see. He’d had fun with him, before he killed him. It wasn't the last. There was never enough food, enough water, enough space. Only an abundance of misery, violence and death. Eventually, after scratching out a hellish existence, Ryan heard that FEDRA had plans. The Atlanta QZ was done. It was time to move.

You told Joel about waking one morning in Jackson to find Ryan gone. You’d only been there two months. The kitchen ransacked of the food he could carry, a horse stolen. You had precious few animals in those days, and even less food. Maria's father was furious at the loss of resources. Jackson wasn't fortified the way it was now. You were a bunch of pioneers, frontier men and women, building the new world. It wasn't hard for him to sneak away. You told Joel you could breathe, after he left. It had been a blessing.

He asked you if you'd forgiven your brother. If you thought he was still alive. Somewhere, in your soul, you knew he was. You didn't know where. You told him you hoped you had the grace to try, if offered the chance.

In the dark, when Jackson was asleep, Joel told you he loved you. Whispered it, softly, like if he said it any louder, it would vanish. You told him the same. He was afraid of it, but you weren't. There was nothing left to be afraid of.

Or so you thought.

Chapter Text

Three Years Later

The house is dark when you walk in, the fire burned down to glowing coals. As your eyes adjust, you notice Joel, slumped in the armchair, a paperback resting on his chest. He’s snoring softly.

Slipping your boots off, you tiptoe to the chair, touching his shoulder lightly. He stirs, rubbing his eyes. Mired in sleep he looks younger than his years.

“Hey.”

“Hey, cowboy. You waited up?”

He yawned, putting the book beside him before stretching and sitting up. You pull the footstool out from his feet to sit down.

“When you weren’t back, and then I heard a few people talkin'…thought maybe I’d stay up until you got home.”

Tears start in your eyes again, and you knuckle them away.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You sniff. “Tarheel’s first sire, we had really high hopes. I don’t think the stable staff has been more excited about a foal. He just didn’t perk up after we got him out. And Red Sky, we had to get her out of the way so we could get in there and help, so that was hard-” Your head is in your hands. “Fuck, such a shitty fucking outcome, shit!”

Joel leans forward, taking your hands and pulling you to your feet and into his arms.

“I haven’t washed yet, you’re probably going to regret that-”

“I won’t,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head. “I don’t mind the mess.”

“I forgot, blood and guts isn’t a big deal for you.”

“No fungus,” he says, and you can hear a smile. “Bonus.” He holds you a few seconds longer.

“Want me to run you a bath?”

“Oh, a bath,” you sigh. “You don’t think it’s too indulgent?”

“Nah,” Joel drawls. “I think the tanks can handle it. Gimme 5 minutes, get it all ready?”

“I don’t deserve you,” say, pulling at Joel’s chin for a kiss. His hair is falling into his eyes. You push it off his face.

“I know, I should get it cut.”

“I kinda like it. Nice to know baldness isn’t a concern.”

“If it was?” he asked.

“Oh, dumped. Sorry. I have to maintain some standards.” You comb it down into his eyes again and laugh.

“There’s my girl. Come on.” He takes your hand.

The bath is almost scalding, the steam fogging the mirror and rising off your reddened skin. You’ve got a washcloth over your eyes. Joel managed to scrounge up a couple of the emergency candles and group them together on a shelf.

It was indulgent.

There’s a soft tap on the door.

“Can I come in?”

You leave the washcloth over your eyes. “Sure.” You hear him crouch by the tub, and feel curved glass press against your arm.

“Brought you somethin'.” You pull the washcloth up, seeing the jar in his hands.

“Aww. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.” You grip the mason jar, taking a mouthful, and make a face.

“Jesus. This must be the batch that doubles as an engine degreaser.” You take another grateful sip. “Still good though.” You put the washcloth back over your eyes and clutch the jar to your chest.

Joel strokes your arm. “I came in here for one more reason,” he says.

You lift the washcloth again and give him a beady eye. “Dirty old man.” He laughs.

“No, not that. Was wonderin' if you’re up to it, you might like to hear about my evenin'.”

You push the cloth off, letting it fall in the water. “You had an evening?”

“I did.” He adjusts on the floor with a groan. You take another sip.

“Then tell me about your evening.”

He keeps stroking your arm where it leans on the side of the bath, his fingers cool.

“Earlier, I was on the porch playin’-”

“In the cold? Masochist.”

“I was on the porch playin,” he continues. “I had a visitor.”

“Who?”

“Ellie.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“She came to see you? Voluntarily?”

“She sure did.” He’s barely able to contain the smile on his face.

“Joel, you’re kidding?” You hand him the jar, giving him your full attention. “Baby, you're smiling, this is good, right? You guys talked?”

“We talked. She did come over to chew me out. There was a run in at the dance with Seth last night, I’ll tell you about that later. And she started in on me about Utah-”

“You gotta tell her what you told me. That you don’t regret what you did-”

He holds his hand up. “I did. I told her.”

You take it, and he kisses your knuckles. “And?”

"She called me an asshole."

"Well, that's practically a term of endearment," you scoff.

"Then she said that ‘she didn’t know if she could forgive me, but that she wanted to try.’”

“Joel!” You grab his face in your hands, kissing him. “This is huge! So…what now?”

“I’m not gonna push. I told her I’d like that very much. Now I’ll let her make the next move. Only get one chance at this, I gotta make sure I get it right.”

You rest your head on his arm. “Joel…” He kisses your temple. “This is good. You guys need each other. You’re two aren’t whole unless the other is there.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, wiping at his eyes.

“It’s been so hard,” he whispers, one hand covering his eyes so he can’t see you.

“I know.”

“I miss her so much.”

“I know, baby. But you might be at the end of this now. She just needed a bit of time. Sometimes, people just need a bit of time.” He keeps squeezing your hand with his. You give him a minute to collect himself.

“You know, I was worried about today. Bad omens and all that.” He looks at you, surprise in his eyes. “I know I’m not that person, but I just thought…urgh, just that the foal was a bad sign. But this is such good news. I know this news makes you feel better, but it makes me feel better too. Thanks for making this day much less shitty.”

He shrugs, smiling. “I do what I can.” He begins the process of standing. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Absolutely not,” you reply. “Get your gear off and have a drink in this tub with me. We gotta celebrate.” You splash the water invitingly.

He smirks. “Just a drink?” You flutter your eyelashes at him.

“You want some action, old man?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You pick the jar up from the floor and take a sip. “Guess you’ll have to get in here and try your luck, then.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him get undressed so fast.

Chapter Text

The storm had rolled in mid afternoon, the wind steadily getting worse, whipping up flurries of snow and rattling the panes of glass in every window. As the light failed, the wind howled louder, the air cutting like blades on every piece of exposed skin. Training was abandoned, the horses not out on patrol locked safely in their stalls. You were struggling down the path to the town, hoping the wind didn’t pick you up and toss you into someone’s front garden.

There are shouts from the spotters towers on the wall, urgent waving and yelling. The gates start to open. The spotters become more animated, shouting louder.

“What the…?” You head towards the commotion.

Antony is first through the gates, leading Shimmer. Ellie is like a rag doll in the saddle, Dina behind her, holding her up.

You can see the blackened blood on Ellie’s face from where you are.

“Ellie?” you shout. “Ellie!” You move as fast as you can on the icy road. You stumble, falling forward, your knee striking the hard ground. You gasp at the pain that shoots through your leg. You haul yourself up and run, skidding to a stop as Antony climbs down from his horse.

“Jesus Christ Ant, what happened?”

Antony manages to get Ellie off Shimmer with Dina’s help. He lifts her in his arms, Dina jumping off behind him.

“Raiders, or something, I don’t know. We found her like this. Her ribs are probably broken.” She’s writhing in pain, blood covering her nose and mouth. She’s crying and hiccoughing, trying to catch her breath.

Over Antony’s shoulder, you see Tommy, his head bandaged, being helped off his horse.

“I gotta take her to the clinic-”

“Go, go,” you say to Antony. “I’ll meet you down there.” You take a step towards Tommy. You hear your name shouted behind you.

“In a minute,” you say distractedly, trying to get to Tommy through the throng of people that have gathered at the noise.

Your name is shouted again, and you feel a firm hand grasping on your arm. You turn. Ethan is there, his face ashen. He’s holding Diamond’s reins.

“Ethan, not now, I have to-” You stop, seeing Diamond properly for the first time.

There’s a long rolled canvas bundle lashed to the horse’s saddle. You notice he’s agitated, snorting and flicking his ears, eyes wide. Ethan steps closer, and you see that he’s been crying.

“Ethan, what are you doing? What is that?” You point at Diamond and his load.

The hand on your arm grips tighter.

“Ethan, why do you have Diamond like that? Where’s Joel?”

His shoulders slump, and he drops the reins.

You can’t hear the howling wind anymore. You’ve gone deaf. Ethan’s mouth is moving, but you can’t hear him either. Emptiness, like an oil slick, spreads through your chest. You look at the canvas roll again. You remember the foal. The bad omen.

Joel’s boots are visible, poking through a fold in the heavy material.

A piercing sound replaces the deafness in your ears, and you realise it’s coming from you. You feel your legs give out, Ethan holding your arm still as you slump into the snow. He crouches with you, forehead pressed against yours, but your vision has tunnelled to a pinprick.

You still can’t hear him. You can only hear your own screams.

Chapter Text

One Year Later

The ground is frozen crisp but there is no wind or sleet, the first break in the weather in days. The clouds are still heavy, so the respite is temporary. The snowdrifts bank on either side of the main road, plowed away before first light. It’s early but front doors are opening, people stepping into the crunching snow, their children bundled against the chilly air.

You’re walking slowly with Maria on the loop road. You're out of the house for the first time in a while. You feel the frosty air clearing the cobwebs caused by lack of sleep. In front of you Luke staggers in his puffy snowsuit, a plastic truck clutched in his mitten-clad hands. He squeals and laughs as a rabbit darts across the path in front of him.

You fiddle with the sling strapped around you.

“I feel like she’s going to fall out.”

Maria peers over, tugging the bound and tied portion at your back. It’s snug. “Nope. You’re good. They take a little getting used to. She’s fine.” She looks at the comatose bundle. “Sleeping.”

You sigh. “I don’t believe in God, but thank you, God. The lungs on her. Ellie says she definitely got Joel’s temper.”

“Oof. You have my sympathies.”

“I now understand why some animals eat their young.” Maria laughs, then tries to give you a chastising look, failing miserably.

“Oh, you’re going to Hell for that one.”

“Probably.” You turn left, following the long circle at the top of the town.

"Ellie gave me more pictures today," you say.

"I love her drawings of Luke," Maria replies. "We tried some old film we found in that Polaroid camera but nothing came out. It's nice to have pictures of him as he grows."

You rub the warm mass on your chest. "She draws Joel and the baby. Over and over. I must have thirty or more." Your voice breaks. "I cry at every one." Maria folds your hand in hers as you walk.

You hadn’t taken the news of the pregnancy well. Barely two months after they put Joel in the ground, your body started violently rebelling against you. You told yourself it was grief. Staying in bed for hours a day, eating erratically - it had to be grief. Weeks of feeling like death warmed up went past. Finally Maria sat you down and asked about the possibility you were stubbornly ignoring. She dragged you in for an ultrasound at the clinic, but the blurry little blob on the screen with its thudding heartbeat didn't quell the nagging desire to curl up and pretend it wasn't happening.

You were pretty sure it happened on the day he died. You'd made lazy love as the sun came up, golden light bringing his fuzzy features into sharp relief. In the years you'd been together, a handful of careless slips didn't yield any results. Too old, you'd told yourself, so it didn't matter. You'd laid wrapped around each other; joined, him kissing you tenderly all over your face, committing each line and curve to memory, until he whispered that he had to go.

By the time he'd showered and dressed, you'd fallen back asleep. But you remembered the ghost of a kiss on your cheek when you woke to feel the cold pillow beside you.

Pregnancy was a miserable affair. Riding was out, so your mood plummeted. Morning sickness was ‘most of the day’ sickness, and at night you railed against Joel out loud in your empty house for leaving. You were simultaneously terrified of having to care for a baby and of one or both of you dying during childbirth. People were supposed to do this in hospitals, with doctors and drugs and shining operating theatres. Not a remote town clinic after the apocalypse, where the best pain relief came in the form of a leather strap to bite down on.

Maria said you were being overdramatic. There were drugs in the clinic. You just thought you were being realistic.

Ellie arrived back in Jackson battle-scarred and exhausted, struggling to find meaning. She found it in you. In the last month before the birth, she barely left your side, even sleeping in your bed with you. She was determined to be within arms reach when things started happening. You were a terrible bunkmate, tossing and turning but she didn’t say anything. As the inevitable drew closer, you needed each other. You were grateful. You shared the same loss and the same fear of what was next.

“What do you think it is?” she asked one night. You were resting on your side, the tight mound of your belly jutting in front of you. She was kneeling at the small of your back, pressing her strong vengeful hands into the aching muscles.

You hadn’t wanted to know. Maria made you go for an ultrasound each month, and each time you were asked if you wanted to know the sex. You always refused.

In reality, it wasn’t that you didn’t want to know. It was that you already knew. In your heart, in your bones. It was a girl.

Joel was always destined for daughters.

You’d said that aloud and Ellie’s hands stilled on your back. You’d heard her sniff.

“Yeah. I think you’re right,” she said quietly.

You knew she blamed herself for Joel. That she had a burning regret at the time she had wasted spent angry at him. How reconciliation had been within her grasp, and was now eons away. No words comforted her so you didn’t try. You just let her be angry. She needed it. She needed it, as much as you needed yours.

Everyone wanted to know what you were going to call the baby. You had no idea. Naming her seemed to tempt fate. She may not make it. You may not make it. The reality, pressing at you from all sides, took from you the joy that you’d witnessed on the faces of other pregnant women in the town. Tommy would throw suggestions at you, trying to help, and you’d paste on a smile and humour him, but you knew she needed to get here in one piece before you named her.

When you could, you allowed yourself a moment to think about what she’d be like. She’d definitely be headstrong. With Maria and Ellie in her corner, there wouldn’t be a choice. She’d be outspoken. Ellie would see to that. You hoped she’d be kind. That would be Tommy. Stubborn. Passionate. She’d get hot under the collar easily - she was Joel’s daughter, after all. You’d entertain it for a minute, before you pushed it down lest it got carried away.

We both have to survive this first.

Your waters broke in the middle of the night. Ellie ran up the street hollering for Maria, barging into their house and up the stairs waking half the neighbourhood. Tommy stayed with Luke while Ellie and Maria walked you to the clinic.

The labour was an out-of-body experience. Ellie stayed by your side, squeezing your hand as you felt your insides unravel within. When you felt like you couldn't push anymore, she jumped up on the bed behind you cradling your face and kissing your forehead.

"You can do this. I know you can. She's almost here."

With Ellie's encouragement, you determinedly faced the fear. The veil between this world and the next began to thin, and you called your baby to come.

A few more pushes and you felt her slither out of you, the doctor laughing as he caught her. She entered the world howling and indignant, the doctor wrapping her struggling limbs in a fresh blanket and depositing her on your chest.

Her crying seemed very far away, as you processed the magnitude of the moment.

"Ohhhh, look," Ellie breathed. She pushed the sweaty strands of hair from your eyes, and the dam broke. You burst into tears.

"Look, she's perfect," she cooed, as the bundle on your chest continued to scream. "It's okay Lil’ Bug. It's okay, baby. We know you're angry like your daddy. You're okay." At the sound of Ellie's voice, she began to quiet.

You studied her. Wispy dark hair covered her head and you thought you saw a hint of Joel's strong nose. Her mouth was a sweet little rosebud, her hand resting on her swaddling blanket, impossibly tiny fingers and even tinier, perfect fingernails.

Ellie's head rested against yours.

"Wow," you whispered.

"Right?" she replied. "Fucking cool."

"I'm not ready for this," you confessed.

"It's okay," she said. "You'll figure it out. And you've got me." You felt her lips on your temple again. You both stared awestruck, before Ellie spoke again.

"You gotta think of a name now," she said. "I can't keep calling her Lil' Bug."

You thought about the book you'd tucked into your hospital bag a week ago. You'd found yourself nesting heavily, moving your few possessions around the house, wiping down every surface daily and alphabetizing the books in the living room for the first time. As you pulled them down and started sorting them, one caught your eye.

The last time you'd read the story, you'd been at school. You'd forgotten there was a copy of it in the house. The paper cover was faded and torn, the pages spotted, feeling delicate under your fingers. You'd turned it over in your hands, before opening it to the first dog-eared page.

A passage had been underlined.

"Atticus stood up and walked to the end of the porch. When he completed his examination of the wisteria vine he strolled back to me.

"First of all", he said, "if you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view -"

"Sir?"

"- until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

Outspoken. Kind. Intelligent. Stubborn.

You'd closed the book, rubbing the cover once more, and went to the hospital bag that sat by the door. You'd tucked the copy of To Kill A Mockingbird inside.

"Scout," you said to Ellie. You touched a finger lightly to your daughter's nose. "Her name's Scout."

The groan of the gates up ahead pulls you back to the present.

"Patrol's back already?" you say, squinting as the spotters in the tower mobilise, pointing their weapons down. Tommy and others are on the ground at the front, armed, giving the entering party plenty of room.

"Don't know," Maria says. Two horses emerge beyond the opening gate. They're wretched-looking creatures from where you stand, skinny and tired. A man sits astride one, a woman and child on the other.

"Travellers," you say. You see Tommy talk to the man as he slips off his horse, helping what looks like his wife and son off the other. They exchange a few more words, and Tommy gestures to them the holding cabin built on the fence line. He turns, seeing you and Maria, and begins jogging over.

"Newcomers?" Maria says as he draws closer.

"Maybe," Tommy replies. He shoulders his weapon and looks at you. "You need to come. Now. The man, he's asking for you."

"I…what?" you ask, disbelieving. Scout stirs in her sling.

"Says he's your brother."

You'd given Scout to Maria and are standing outside the holding cabin. Tommy was next to you.

"I'll be right here," he said. "Ready?" You nod, and he unlocks the door, swinging it open. You step inside the gloom.

For a moment, you're overwhelmed, remembering that Joel helped to build it. Evidence of his work is all over - every join, every panel, meticulously measured and fitted together. You suck in a breath and focus on the three figures at the table in the centre of the room.

"Ryan," you say softly, and he stands.

"Hey, Bird." You hadn't heard that nickname in years. No one else in Jackson knew it. He doesn't try to hug you, but his eyes are soft. His chin and cheeks are covered by a long and bushy auburn-tinged beard. The woman next to him stands as well. She's beautiful, her raven hair in a long braid, her eyes a deep blue. They're dull with hunger and exhaustion.

"This is my wife, Lila." She extends a hand, her smile warm. She has tears in her eyes.

"I'm so glad to meet you."

The boy is staring up at you now. He has the look of his mother.

"This is George," Ryan continues, and a smile twitches your mouth.

"Hi, George."

"Hi," he says in a small voice. You look back at Ryan.

"After Dad?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands back into his pockets, rocking back on his heels and chewing his lip like he always did.

"I had a kid," he blurted out.

"So did I," you reply.

"Oh yeah? Boy or girl?"

"A girl."

"How about that," Lila says, touching George's head. "George has a cousin. What's her name?"

"Scout."

"That's lovely."

"Her dad here?" Ryan asks.

"Uh," you stutter, your eyes on the ground, your throat filling up. "No. He, uh…he died."

“I’m sorry, Bird." He steps a little closer to you, his face becoming serious.

"Look, I know that we…we're not family the way we should be. And if you want me to go, I will. I'm not here to repeat the same mistakes. I'm here because I want my family together, and safe. All my family. When Lila found out about you, she wouldn't stop hounding me about what an ass I'd been. I told her everything that happened. She said we had to come here so I could apologise to you. And she was absolutely right. But if we can stay…or even if Lila and George can stay, I’ll go-"

You've started crying at this point, grabbing the back of a chair. Lila hovers at your side, helping you sit. Ryan kneels in front of you.

"I'm so sorry, Bird, for everything. I did so much wrong. I want to start doing it right."

You sniff and wipe your eyes. "There's so much work to do here," you whisper. You hold back the rest of the sentence, but he can see it in your eyes.

Maybe too much.

"I know. I'm ready," Ryan says. You grasp his hand, and his eyes are bright with tears. “One minute at a time?”

You remember what you’d said to Joel, about having the grace to try. You owed that to him, at least.

You owed Scout.

“Alright then.”