Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Modern day. September 28th, 2024.

Rays of peachy golden hues from the morning’s sunrise were beginning to breach the tall, rocky ridges that surrounded Jackson City when you dragged yourself to the front door. 

The wooden floorboards of the old house creaked underneath you with every step. It always annoyed you, but it was a small price to pay in times like these. At least you had a roof over your head. With the world as it is today, not everyone is as fortunate. 

Your movements were slow and heavy as you prepared to leave. You stumbled a bit as you slipped your feet into your beat-up boots, and clumsily missed the arm hole of your jacket a time or two before slinging it around your shoulders. You were so tired — funnily enough, considering you’d spent the entire night lying helplessly in bed trying to be tired. Ironic, isn’t it, when the body refuses to fall asleep when it’s meant to, only to suddenly grow sleepy when morning comes? 

You were used to it. Every year, the days surrounding when the cordyceps fungal infection first shoved its tendrils into humans 21 years ago were full of turmoil for you. Each anniversary of Outbreak Day you lived to see was a brutal twisting of life’s razor-sharp dagger straight in your heart. You always dreaded it. 

The haunting memory of that god-awful day when your life was forever changed for the worst plagued your thoughts when you were awake and your dreams while asleep. Despite the passing of time, you could still remember it vividly. Where you were, what you’d been doing. The initial fear, confusion, and doom that had quickly become all-consuming. You wished you could forget it. 

The Jackson community always did its best to make each anniversary as positive as possible. Beautiful vigils were held and heartfelt words for the fallen were shared. People tried to make the day a celebration of life, not of death. It never helped. You still struggled to cope. Often in the form of restless sleep — or lack thereof. By now, you weren’t sure you’d gotten in more than a few measly hours in the last two days.

But like everyone in Jackson, you had a job to do. One that was necessary whether you had shit going on in your life or not. So you pulled open the front door and started down the street, albeit groggily. 

It was desolate at this hour of the morning. It was one of the older neighborhoods, where those who’d been a part of Jackson for awhile lived, like yourself. At the time of your arrival here, they’d been a little bit younger, but now the majority of the residents on this street were considered seniors.  You rather enjoyed it. Their pace of life was slow and easy-going. It was a nice escape from Main St., the hub of the community, which was always loud and bustling. Or some of the newer streets that had been roped into the walls over the years where more recent refugees lived, a lot of them with kids. 

You didn’t mind the quiet walk to the stables, which were kept on your part of the town. You enjoyed the sound of only your boots scraping the ground and the occasional lonely call of a nearby mourning dove.  As you passed by, a few houses with early risers had their lights on. You caught a glimpse of Sherry—one of your favorite neighbors, if you were being biased—through her kitchen window, already working away on something baked you were sure would be sugary and delicious. You hoped it was one of her infamous apple pies.

As you approached the stables, you were greeted happily, albeit maybe a little antsy, by Jackson’s herd of horses in their stalls. Each of them had grown to know you quite well in the six years it’d been since taking refuge in the community. After all, you were the Head of Stables.

No doubt that it being public knowledge that you grew up on a fourth-generation ranch in Montana before the outbreak landed you the position. But you liked it. It was like second nature to you, even though prior to coming to Jackson it had been awhile since you were in the game. And in a painfully nostalgic but special kind of way, it made you feel closer to your grandparents who were no longer with you. 

The very grandparents who’d taken you and your sister in when your lives had crumbled untimely around you as young children. Just after your father passed unexpectedly, when you were five and Addy was only three. They’d cared for both of you when no one else could — or would. Your mother hadn’t been in the picture since before Addy had even turned a year old. They were basically the only family you knew. 

You’d only several vague memories of your father. You remembered him to be a good man and a hardworking single dad who liked to spoil his baby girls and let you pretend you were driving his old pick-up truck around the ranch as you sat on his lap in the driver’s seat. But that was about all you could recall of him now. He drifted further and further from your mind the older you got. You’d been so young when he passed, and then the outbreak happened, which only warped your memory even further. 

But you’d been lucky to have nineteen years with your grandparents — eighteen of which were normal, before shit hit the fan. So their legacy lived on much more vividly to you. And the longer you worked amongst the horses in Jackson, the more of them you found in yourself every day. 

Pushing being 30 minutes late for breakfast, you made quick work of fixing the horses’ blended feed before offering it to them in their buckets. Once they’d finished scarfing it down, you led all but those needing tending to into their respective paddocks for some grazing. Then you got to work with all the action items you had on your to-do list: re-shoe Summit, groom Ember, give Japan a bath. Surprisingly, the list wasn’t so long today. 

As time slipped by, you gradually powered through your initial exhaustion. The sun had grown higher in the sky now, warming things up with its light like a gentle hug, and you were no longer by yourself. Saul had come in to reorganize the disheveled parts of the barn and Ezekiel and Lucy had arrived to assist you with continuing the process of breaking Calico, the herd’s newest addition. 

After an hour or so of hard work with her in the corral, you noticed a figure hanging lazily on the sidelines, leg bent and boot-cladded foot resting on one of the wooden boards as he watched on.  You handed the reins over to Lucy so she and Ezekiel could continue working with Calico without you, then excused yourself. After all, the man lingering nearby served on the council, was the husband of Jackson’s elected leader, Maria, and was soon to be the father of her baby due any day now. He wasn’t to be ignored.

But all that aside, Tommy Miller was also just the closest thing you had to a best friend. 

You and he had arrived here in Jackson together six years ago. You’d met as a part of the Fireflies, a revolutionary militia group formed in spite of the Federal Disaster Response Agency’s questionable rule. You served several years together, along with Addy, there. They initially promised a glimmer of hope of developing a vaccine to cure the cordyceps infection, which was what had drawn you into their cause to begin with. 

But in all the time you’d spent with them, no cure had ever gotten around to being made and it began to seem as though the original call to action was changing for the worse. Gradually, you came to disagree with the Fireflies’ increasingly violent tactics to get the things they wanted. After they bombed the Denver Quarantine Zone, you both agreed your support had been officially lost. 

Looking to start over somewhere new and having heard whispers upon passing lips of some kind of rumored settlement in Wyoming, the three of you had left. You and Tommy had made it here to Jackson, the settlement in question. Addy hadn’t. 

You’d never quite been the same since the day she slipped through your fingers. 

“Tommy,” you greeted amiably, walking over to him. 

He was dressed in deep blue jeans—held up by a belt with a big silver buckle with a longhorn on it—and a casual maroon buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair, dark and not yet peppered with grey despite being in his late forties, was let down against the back of his neck today. 

He smiled and, like they always did, so did his deep brown eyes too. 

You had nothing more than friendly—brotherly—affection for him, but he was undeniably handsome. Thick eyebrows and long lashes. Full, pink lips below a strong nose. A mustache and an accompanying scruffy beard on his chin. Tanned skin, a bronze color still hanging on from all the summer days he’d been out in the blazing sun.

Tommy was charming too, all Texan twang, Southern politeness, and an easy-going disposition. He had a lazy drawl you’d be able to recognize anywhere, and one that got him far when it came to sweet-talking. It was low and so nice on the ears, fatal to most susceptible women. It hadn’t been long after you’d found harbor in Jackson before Maria, the daughter of the community’s first real leader, had taken to his flirting and been ensnared in his honeyed traps, and she was no easy target to begin with. 

It was true he knew his way around a gun—better than most here, you’d argue—and, like everyone, had parts of his past he’d rather not revisit. You couldn’t judge him for some of the things he’d done after the outbreak that he’d told you in confidence during your time as Fireflies. Neither of you would have survived this long after total societal collapse and global destruction if you hadn’t lost yourselves a bit along the way.

But despite the dark shadows of his life, ones you were no stranger to yourself, he was one of the best, most endearing people you knew. 

“Hey, you,” he drawled warmly. “Jackson’s finest wrangler.”

You snorted and came to lean against the opposite side of the wooden wall from him. You ran a hand through your hair, slicked just a tad at the roots. You’d long lost the hat and jacket you’d been wearing, having grown decently warm now that temperatures had risen somewhat and Calico had been putting you to work.

“She givin’ you much trouble today?” Tommy wondered with a jut toward the mare behind you.

“She’s coming around,” you answered. “Making real progress. I can feel there’s a greater sense of understanding now. Think we can move into the nitty gritty soon, start getting her desensitized to a saddle.”

Tommy kept his curious gaze over your shoulder, watching Lucy and Ezekiel continue working with the newest mare. 

“Good,” he nodded. “One step closer to bein’ able to ride with her. We need all the working horses we can get.”

You hummed in agreement before focusing the conversation.

“Need something?” you wondered. 

His brown eyes flitted to you. He gave a slight purse of his lips, a quirk he often did when he was deciding upon saying something he knew was about to put you off. 

“Wanted to check on you,” he said.

Just as he knew you’d do, you grew irritated and looked away. 

You didn’t like it when people were concerned about you. It was nice to know they cared, but it meant they viewed you as a problem they needed to fix. Meant your business was theirs, and you didn’t want it to be. Everyone in this town—on this earth—already had their own shit to deal with on top of the ever-looming threat of Infected. You never wanted anything you might have been going through to be something they felt responsible for. Your burdens were your own to bear. 

“‘N don’t go tellin’ me not to worry,” he was quick to add, taking you by the arm to demand your attention again. Of course he’d known your thought pattern. He knew you better than you’d like to admit. “Can see it’s been a bad week this year.”

“Sleeping’s not been great, but it’ll smooth out, alright?” you decided to admit with an indifferent shrug. “It always does. Just got to make it through the roughest part.”

“Oughta do more than that and take a break,” he frowned. 

“Don’t,” you told him not to go there, shrugging out of his hold. “You know that makes it all worse.”

Tommy gave you an assessing sort of look. Then he rolled his eyes and tiredly dragged his palm over his face.

“You just like me. Damn stubborn woman,” he muttered. “Can’t rest for shit. Always gotta be busy.”

“Yeah, well, there’s—“

“Shit to do, things to take care of,” he finished for you, familiar with one of your frequent sayings. 

“You of all people should understand,” you said.

“‘Course I do. Don’t mean I gotta go preachin’ it. Should at least try not to let my Head of Stables keel over with exhaustion.”

“I’m not gonna keel over,” you rolled your eyes. “I know what I can handle.”

“Sure as shit hope you do. Got enough on my plate as is.” 

With the last sentence, his demeanor changed. He bent over the top of the fence, one arm resting along the wood and the other hand coming up to rake his fingers through his hair. Something was gnawing at him now. 

You raised a brow.

“What is it?” you asked.

He sighed with a slight shake of his head, like he hadn’t meant to get into it. Didn’t want to be an inconvenience. But you knew he wanted to talk about it, so you prompted him again.

“Nothin’, just— things all comin’ to a point, you know,” he conceded. “Baby’s set to be born at the drop of a hat and Maria’s on my ass about startin’ to reel things back now that we’re so close. Delegate or whatever, so I can focus on us and the baby. But there’s—“

“Shit to do, things to take care of?” you offered, mirroring his earlier words. 

He snorted.

“Yeah. That.”

You were both hypocritical. Two sides of the same coin. It was why you were so close. You understood each other. 

After a second, Tommy’s soft smile slipped into a frown. There was more.

“‘N it’s not helpin’ that Joel’s bein’ a real thorn in my side too,” he expelled a deep breath. “Makin’ things extra difficult.” 

Ah. Right. Of course.

Joel Miller. The eldest of the Miller brothers — and a major ass. 

Joel had five years on Tommy and wore his superior, righteous older brother nature like a badge of honor. You’d learned Joel had a particular type of hold on your friend. One that couldn’t quite ever be shaken. He was kind of like the feeling of something stuck between your teeth and difficult to get out. 

You’d gathered through conversations over the years that Joel had always been like a protector to him. As kids, he was there to get Tommy out of trouble — covering for him when caught with marijuana, facing the brunt of punishments from their father who wasn’t afraid to leave bruises. 

The trend continued after cordyceps took over. For awhile, where he went, what he did, so did Tommy because that was his brother. His savior. The person who’d done so much for him. But Joel lost his only daughter early on in the outbreak, and it crushed him. Plummeted him into a dark place, Tommy had said. And he’d dragged his younger brother along with him. 

They’d survived all this time, yes. But by brutal means. Joel had said it’d been necessary. All those difficult choices they’d had to make, because in this world, it’s us or them.

All of it caught up to Tommy eventually. It was too much. Up until last year, he’d been apart from Joel for awhile. Decided he’d had enough of the Boston QZ and the way his brother was choosing to live. He was sick of the smuggling and the killing and all the devilish decisions they’d made whose consequences still plagued him to this day. That’s when he’d joined the Fireflies, only for that not to work out well either. 

Since arriving here in Jackson, he’d kept up with Joel from afar. They’d radioed now and then when they could, until Maria had insisted Tommy stop because it threatened to expose the settlement to the wrong sorts of people. You thought that had been a good idea. Believed it was good for Tommy to be forced to separate a bit from his brother and live a life out from the shadow of someone else for a change.

It was working, and Tommy had been slowly healing some of his wounds. And then last December Joel showed up out of the blue one day. He’d wanted to come here to Wyoming to find Tommy, make sure he was alright after he’d gone radio silent. But in order to have the means to do it, he’d had to agree to bring some bigwig Firefly’s daughter—a feisty teenage girl named Ellie Williams—to an unspecified base out west. 

With his previous connection to the organization, Tommy had pointed him towards Salt Lake City. Said should if anything were to go south, though, they’d be welcome to come back and be a part of the community. After all, Joel was family.  

Four months ago in the spring, they’d returned. The base had been destroyed and apparently the girl’s parents were dead. They’d taken Tommy up on his offer to stay. 

By now, the Miller brothers had made amends and settled the bad blood that had once been between them. You think Tommy was happy about that. He’d missed his brother. Swore Joel was much more improved now than he had been in awhile. Figured it might be Ellie’s doing. But in many ways Tommy was back in Joel’s clutches again. They’d assumed some of the roles they’d once had where Joel knew best. Where things were to go his way, or he made it a problem for everyone.

“What is it now?” you couldn’t help the bland, annoyed tone of your voice. 

It’d been one thing after another with Joel these days and, for your friend’s sake, you weren’t having it. 

Tommy sighed, glancing to the dirt under his boots.

“He’s scared off Elijah for good. Poor kid can’t hardly look at him anymore. Don’t know what he did this time,” he replied, shaking his head with frustration. “We’ve given him every patrol partner we can under the damn sun and none of ‘em want to stick with him. ‘N he’s got an earful to say about them, too. ‘Ain’t got a light on in his head.’ ‘Can’t shoot for shit.’ ‘Fuckin’ useless.’ ‘What idiot don’t know how to read a goddamn map?’” he rambled off quotes from his brother.

Sounded about right.

Joel was… difficult, to say the least. 

He was ever-looming — literally and metaphorically. Over Tommy and a lot of the community. Several inches taller than Tommy with a big frame and broad shoulders, he commanded attention every time he stepped into a room. Not that he wanted to. In fact, he’d rather everyone left him alone. He hardly spoke unless it was to voice an opinion or offer a sharp critique. But his presence was always felt anywhere he went whether he was silent or not. 

It was especially felt by his brother, who had to deal with his less-than-pleasant attitude and carefully crafted snark more than anyone. You, however, sure as shit didn’t put up with it. Joel may have been Tommy’s family, and Tommy was family to you, but you kept your interactions with him to a minimum — mainly just whenever he dropped by the stables to use a horse for patrols. You weren’t his biggest fan. 

“So take him off patrols if he’s going to be so fucking difficult,” you clipped. 

“Can’t. He’s probably the best man we got right now, you know that, even if he has lost some hearin’,” Tommy reminded you. “He needs to be out there. It’s just he wants a partner he can’t have. Wants someone on his level. But we got a system for a reason. The more experienced pair up with the less experienced for trainin’ purposes, and we have a lotta new, young guys at the moment that need all the guidance they can get. So he’s not gettin’ someone like him, and he just don’t wanna have the patience required for teachin’.”

You frowned at his brother’s selfishness. Tommy was an expecting father with a load of other responsibilities on his shoulders already. Yet Joel was giving him even more to deal with. 

“He’d be happy goin’ with me, and I’d compromise and do that for him under normal circumstances. But that ain’t happenin’ anytime soon. You know how Maria feels. Don’t want me out there. Not with the baby comin’ any day.”

“No,” you agreed. “I don’t want you out there right now either.”

“Just don’t know what I’m ‘sposed to do about it all.”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “Let Levi handle it. He’s your Second for a reason. You need to be listening to that wife of yours and delegating.”

Tommy gave you a funny look like you’d been stupid to have suggested such a thing. 

“Joel don’t like Levi at all,” he replied. “Wouldn’t go well.”

“Joel doesn’t like anybody,” you reminded him pointedly. “But he needs to learn to deal with the things he doesn’t like.”

“You’re mostly right,” he conceded. “I’m the only one that can get through to him — sometimes. But it ain’t workin’ right now. Keeps sayin’ if I can’t give him no one better he’d rather just go off on his own. But I can’t let that happen. We got rules. We go as pairs on patrols, end of story.”

You felt for him, but you weren’t sure how to respond. 

“I know this is frustrating. I’m sorry,” was all you could seem to offer up. 

“Yeah, me too,” he muttered. 

Tommy sighed defeatedly and returned to watching Calico in the middle of the corral with Lucy and Ezekiel. You leant against the fence beside him, knowing he just needed the silent support for a moment. 

Suddenly, he turned to you like a thought had just come to his head.  He drawled your name tentatively.

You quickly realized what he was about to ask. You stood straight and gave him a look not to even voice it.

“Maybe you  could go with—“

“No.”

“It’d only be for a little while,” he tried to barter anyway. “Just gotta get through the baby’s delivery and a hair after that so things can settle. Then I’ll be back in the game and the one to put up with him.”

“Tommy,” you pleaded for him to stop. 

“I know you ain’t do patrols, but you could. You’re more than competent. Got plenty enough experience to satisfy Joel. You don’t take shit, either — hell, you of all people just might be able to wrangle him. Pun intended,” he tried to throw in a joke.

“Doubtful,” you muttered. 

“C’mon. You’re the best rider we have. And you’re excellent with a—“

Your body went rigid.

“Don’t say a gun,” you warned him with a pointed finger, voice low. 

He decided to tread upon thin ice anyway. 

“But you are.”

“You know I can’t shoot.”

“Can’t or won’t?”  he shot back incisively.

The call-out cut into you like a blade. Stung like the kiss of a wasp. Tommy knew your repulsion towards guns. It wasn’t because you were bad with them and wanted to avoid the hassle. You’d been trained to shoot a gun when you were eight. You were on the same level as the best patrolmen, if not better, even though you hadn’t touched a gun in years. 

No, it was deeper than that, and he knew why. And you were aware he was right, but it still hurt anyway. 

“Didn’t you just say my brother gotta learn to deal with the things he don’t like?” Tommy said. “Same advice could be said to you.”

You looked away from him, choosing instead to narrow in on the ground. 

Tommy took a deep breath and dipped his head, hoping to get your eyes to return to his.

“Look,” he continued, tone gentler. “I know you got your issues. And I ain’t sayin’ what you went through was nothin’, cause it wasn’t. I can understand your hesitance. But in this world, you know you can’t shy away from a gun forever. We don’t got that privilege. And as much as I am askin’ you for a big favor here because I ain’t got many other options, I do think this might be a good way to get you back on the saddle… so to speak,” he winced when he’d accidentally made another horse joke. “Y’know, help you get over some things. Warm up to the idea of shootin’ again after… everything.”

You glared at him, but you knew there was truth to his words. Truth you didn’t want to admit. 

You felt the prickling feeling of tears wanting to come on. Your lack of sleep mixed with a topic of conversation you never enjoyed talking about was threatening to unearth a storm of emotions you always tried to keep buried. You rubbed at your eyes before any incriminating evidence could show itself. 

“Dammit, Tommy,” you whispered irritably. 

You didn’t want to agree to this. Really didn’t want to. For a multitude of reasons. But Tommy was under a lot of pressure and he was your friend. He was genuinely asking for some help.

“What about the stables?” you asked in one more feeble attempt to get out of this. 

“You got a Second too,” he answered, and tipped his chin in the direction of Ezekiel. “But I’d keep a watchful eye over things for you as well, as a deal.”

You sighed. You weren’t getting out of this.

“So will you do it?” he asked hopefully. “I’d be in your debt forever.” 

“You’re already in my debt forever for plenty of things.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled. “What’s one more? Please?”

You rolled your eyes half-heartedly.

“You know you mean a lot to me,” he then said more seriously. “Closest thing to a baby sister I ever had. I’m grateful to you. Truly. And if you’d agree to this… man, it’d be a real big weight off my shoulders.”  

You expelled a deep breath.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you caved. “I know you’re going through a lot. And I want you to spend time with Maria. She needs you right now. But I swear, Miller, if you were anyone else asking this of me…”

Tommy grinned.

“Glad to know you can’t resist me.”

You pushed off the fence and pointed a finger at him. 

“Don’t make me take it all back, you ass.” 

He smiled and covered your outstretched finger, taking your hand and enveloping it in his much larger one. 

“Thank you,” he told you sincerely, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a swift kiss.

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, get lost,” you said. “I’ve got shit to get in order around here if you’re going to be pulling me away.”

He nodded and let go of you. 

“Swing by the house anytime tomorrow morning,” he called out as you turned. “We’ll talk through everything then — get you prepped for Monday. ‘S when Joel’s set to go out next.”

You answered with a wave over your shoulder. 

“Can’t wait,” you muttered sarcastically under your breath.

What had you just agreed to?

Chapter Text

Warmth seeped through the cloth wrapped around the freshly baked loaf of bread you carried in your arms, leaving just the hint of a burn against your skin.

After the conversation with Tommy yesterday afternoon, you’d had another restless night. Your mind was reeling about the new arrangement you’d agreed to undertake: patrolling with Joel.

You’d managed to doze off on several occasions, but each time you were woken up half an hour later by one of your usual nightmares, slick with sweat and Addy’s frightened face imprinted behind your eyes.

After the cycle had repeated several times, you’d finally decided to give up on sleeping. You’d risen from your bed, patted downstairs to the kitchen, and spent the rest of the time before the sun came up baking.

In all the years that had passed, you still remembered each of your grandmother’s infamous recipes for bread by heart. Back in Montana, you’d assisted her with baking for her small business enough times to commit them all to memory for the rest of your life. You were never able to perfectly replicate them, given the current state of the world, but you’d come pretty damn close with the resources you had.

Of course, you were the only one who knew this. No one in Jackson fussed about your bread. You had numerous folks who traded you handsomely for a fresh loaf of any kind you chose to whip up. The only thing they complained about was how you wouldn't leave the stables for a position at the bakery to make them for the town more often.

Tommy’s wife, Maria, was an exceptionally loyal customer, especially since becoming pregnant. For awhile, a slice of your garlic and herb bread was all she seemingly craved. During that time, she went through several loaves a week. Tommy had been most apologetic, but you hadn’t minded. Baking them for her kept you occupied when you weren’t at the stables. It also made you feel happy that someone appreciated the gift your grandmother had passed on. It kept her spirit alive.

Maria had gotten back her appetite for other foods by now, but she was still delighted whenever you gifted her a loaf. Since you’d been asked to meet Tommy this morning at their home to discuss things, you figured you’d bring her one. You’d left the minute it had finished baking so that it would still be warm when you arrived.

You climbed the steps of the Millers’ front porch and rapped your knuckles thrice on the wooden door. After a moment, you heard the faint thudding of footsteps approaching from the inside. The knob turned and Tommy suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Half thought you might’ve run away in the middle of the night to get out of this,” he greeted you, lips upturned in a teasing grin. “Come in.”

“Me too,” you replied, and stepped over the threshold into the foyer. “I brought some bread. Rosemary and walnut, thanks to that group from the east. Baked it fresh this morning.”

“It’s Saturday, and it’s only eight,” he acknowledged, rubbing his eyes. “How long you been up?”

“Couldn’t sleep again,” you mumbled. “Is Maria awake?”

“In here!” a voice called.

You walked past Tommy down the narrow hallway and into the quaint kitchen, finding Maria sitting upon one of the island’s stools. She hadn’t yet changed out of her pajamas or taken her black dreaded hair down from the bun atop her head. She nursed what smelled like herbal tea in a pale yellow mug with one hand while the other rested casually upon her pregnant belly.

“Hey,” she flashed you a warm smile, and made to stand from her seat.

You rushed over and hugged her before she could, insisting she not bother getting up.

“It’s good to see you,” she welcomed your embrace. “Did you say you brought something?”

“Oh, just some bread,” you replied casually, slipping out of her arms and handing her the loaf.

She gasped, brown eyes widening with delight, and wasted no time in unraveling it from the cloth. She shamelessly pinched off one of the corners and popped it into her mouth. She tilted her head back and released a moan of pleasure, nodding with satisfaction.

“Smells damn good,” Tommy commented as he came to join you, noting the fresh scent clung to the air.

“Tastes even better. I think your bread’s the best in all of Jackson,” Maria complimented you as she extended the loaf to her husband for him to take a bite. “Don’t tell Adele at the bakery I said that, though. I know she does her best, but… I think she’s been losing her touch lately.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you chuckled, then jutted to her belly. “How are you doing this morning?”

“Same as ever. About ready to pop,” Maria replied, “and I’ll be so glad when I do. Can’t tell you how much I miss the feeling of not having to pee every five minutes.” She frowned like she’d just spoken the burden into existence. “Speaking of which, I’ll be right back…”

You laughed softly as she hopped up from the stool and practically waddled down the hall to the restroom. Tommy smiled.

“Coffee?” he wondered, rounding the island and heading for the pot he’d already brewed.

“That’d be great,” you answered.

He procured a mug and filled it for you before suggesting you enter the living room. After you’d taken a seat on the couch, he handed you the warm drink and then settled into the nearby armchair.

You took a sip of the coffee and sighed, remembering all the times in the past you weren’t able to have it.

Jackson was truly a luxury. It had its fair share of problems — raiders and bandits, occasional pressure put on by hordes of Infected. But all things considered, it was a stable community. Outside of maybe a QZ (though how many of which still functioned across what was left of America was hard to know), Jackson was the closest thing to what life was like in the before times that you’d ever encountered.

The fact that it had electricity, thanks to the connection to the nearby hydroelectric dam the town took great care to maintain, made a huge difference. A few established trade networks with smaller groups played a vital role too. Jackson didn’t hand out its trust easily, but it had been necessary to establish somewhat of a mutualistic relationship with others outside the walls. It was how you were able to enjoy certain rarities every now and then, like the beans that had made the coffee you were drinking.

“So,” Tommy began, getting into why you were really there. “Patrol. With Joel.”

“Our ray of sunshine,” Maria said with a sigh as she rejoined the pair of you from the bathroom and sat beside you.

“Have you told him about the arrangement?” you wondered.

“I mentioned it to him last night at dinner that he was to be expectin’ a new partner for his next shift. Didn’t say it was you,” he answered. “As I told you, had half a mind to think you’d come here this mornin’ and tell me you weren’t gonna do it.”

“I meant what I said that I’d help you out.”

“You’re a good friend to us. We appreciate this,” Maria said gratefully.

“You said Joel’s next patrol is Monday?” you asked, looking to Tommy.

“He goes out every Monday and Friday,” he nodded.

“For how long?”

“Your patrol shifts will be anywhere from six to nine hours a day, depending on where you’re goin’. You’ll be leavin’ around 8:00 in the mornin’ and gettin’ back to town before 6:00. You and Joel will be Wapiti this week.”

“‘Wapiti?’” you repeated.

“Ah, right. Forgot you ain’t familiar,” Tommy chuckled. “Wapiti’s your patrol name. It’s what you’ll hear us call you on the radio if we need you, because you’re mainly focusin’ on the old National Elk Refuge. It’s the word used by the Shawnee tribe for elk. There was a Native American man here awhile back who taught us that.”

“We like patrol names to discreetly refer to their outposts so that we know where our men are, but anyone who might be listening in on the radio doesn’t understand,” Maria elaborated for your sake. “And I’d argue the meaning of wapiti isn’t widely known by most folks.”

“Smart,” you murmured. “What’s the route?”

Tommy set down his mug and moved forward in his chair. He dug into one of the drawers of the coffee table, retrieving a map from inside. He unfolded it and smoothed his hand across the aged paper. You leaned in to get a closer look.

“Easy straight shot along U.S. 191, a little over twelve miles out and back,” he answered, running his forefinger over the interstate highway. “You’ll scan the National Elk Refuge as you ride north till you reach a big ol’ roundabout. Then you’ll take the westerly exit and spend some time scoping out the Jackson Hole Golf and Tennis Club just down the road,” he showed you another spot circled with red ink. “When you’re finished there, you come on home. Make sense?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Simple enough. And Joel’s done this route before?”

“‘Course. At this point, he’s done them all.”

“Great.”

“As for objectives,” Maria spoke up, “keep an eye out for anything suspicious along the way, clear any Infected, and if you think you can scavenge something, take it. That’s the gist. Joel can go over the specifics day-of.”

“All of which you know how to do,” Tommy said, trying to be encouraging. “Ain’t nothin’ different than what we always used to do before we got here.”

“And you’ll be given a horse—your pick—a knife, a revolver, and a shotgun,” Maria continued.

You instinctively tensed upon hearing the last two words fall from her lips.

“But I’ll tell Joel to check all of that out from the armory and bring it with him to the stables, where he’ll meet you Monday mornin’,” Tommy added. “You just pack a lunch and bring a jacket. Alright?”

“Alright,” you nodded, rubbing your palms over your clothed knees.

You could feel the twinge of nervousness already settling in the pit of your stomach at just the idea of all this. You thought Maria could tell. She leaned over and rested a hand upon your leg.

“I know it’s been awhile since you’ve been out,” she spoke softly, “but you can do this. Tommy’s told me you were great in your day. Not a hard run at all.”

“Not the logistics I’m worried about,” you mumbled.

Sure, it had been some time since you’d last left Jackson’s walls. You weren’t a patrolman, so you didn’t regularly venture outside. The only time you would leave was when you had picked up on the movements of some wild horses or other animals and were needed to wrangle them back to town.

But the thought of being away from the safety of the community didn’t scare you. And you’d done many exercises with the Fireflies in the past that had familiarized you with what would be required of you on a patrol.

No, you were anxious about the fact that you’d have a shotgun slung over your shoulder and a revolver in the holster around your thigh. That you might be forced to shoot one or the other for the first time since… since.

Maria sighed.

“Right. Joel…” she frowned. “He’s… well, complicated, as I’m sure you’ve already observed. But if you can ride a horse, read a map, and refrain from doing anything stupid—which I believe you’re capable of—it should be tolerable with him,” she tried to be reassuring.

You didn’t say anything. You let her think Joel was the reason for your reservations. Although it was true you weren’t particularly thrilled to be spending time with him, it was more than that. Maria just wasn’t aware. She didn’t know about your aversion to guns. She wasn’t briefed on what had happened before you and Tommy had found Jackson. She knew you had a sister—Addy—and that she’d died. But not how or when.

You didn’t talk about that. Not with anyone besides Tommy.

You stood up from the couch, abandoning your mug of half-drunk coffee on the table. Your anxiety was spiking from the topic of conversation. You could feel it in the quickening of your heart rate and the way sweat was building on your palms.

“Thanks for filling me in,” you announced, now eager to exit. “I’ll be ready for Monday. Enjoy the bread, yeah?”

Maria tracked your rushed movements with the slightest tug on her dark eyebrows. If she noted something was off about you, she didn’t choose to push.

“Yeah. Thank you again for all of your help,” she said kindly.

“Sure. You two focus right here,” you attempted a smile, gesturing between the couple and the entire house. “It’s the most important thing right now.” You laid a gentle hand to Maria’s belly for just a moment, then straightened again. “See you.”

Maria nodded. Tommy stood up from his seat to walk you out. He followed you as you departed the living room and moved down the hallway towards the front door.

As you opened it and stepped onto the porch, he lifted his arm above his head and leaned against the doorframe.

“Look, if this turns out not to work with Joel—“ he started.

“I’ll make it work,” you shook your head, offering another forced smile. “Take care of your wife and baby back here. I’ll handle your brother for now. As you said, it’s just for a little while. Then I’ll take you up on your offer to give him back to you, trust me.”

He nodded.

“About the other thing too…” he trailed off. He paused until he’d thought of the right words. “You’re bein’ brave, tryin’ to get comfortable again.”

“We’ll see,” you murmured.

Between you and God, you weren’t necessarily trying to do anything. You weren’t making any promises you’d actually lay a finger on those two guns — not unless you were truly forced to. Tommy didn’t need to know that, though. He needed you to take his brother off his hands for a bit — that was the biggest thing. And you were doing that.

He also wanted you to get over your fears while you were at it, but one thing at a time, right?

“I’ve gotta go,” you said. “It was Ezekiel’s turn to open the stables this morning, but I’m gonna swing by and do some more training today, I think. I still wanna spend as much time with the horses as I can in between patrols. Routine is good for them, and they trust me more than anyone.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t try to talk you out of it and tell you to take it easy. He knew it’d be pointless, what with having asked so much of you already.

“Gonna work more with Calico?” he wondered instead.

“No, gonna let her have a rest day. Shimmer’s due,” you answered.

He hummed.

“See you.”

You waved goodbye in return and descended the steps of the porch.

You walked to the stables after that in a bit of a daze.

When you arrived, you found Ezekiel had let all of the horses out of their stalls and into the paddocks to graze, as was usually done every morning. None of them needed any special care today, so he’d remained in the barn to make more feed with the oats, corn, and barley that the stables were allocated from the farms, seeing as yesterday things were starting to get low.

But when you walked out to locate Shimmer, a brown filly of yours, you found her with a young girl leaning towards her over the wooden fence. She was stroking the solid white stripe of Shimmer’s coat that ran from her forehead down her muzzle and mumbling softly to her.

You knew who the girl was from her thin stature, auburn hair tied messily into a ponytail, and the beat-up backpack she carried with several attached pins and trinkets she’d collected on her journeys.

“Ellie?” you called curiously.

She jolted just a bit as if having not expected to hear another voice, then turned your way.

You and Ellie Williams were on good terms. Not particularly close, per se, but you interacted amicably here and there when your paths crossed — usually through Tommy somehow.

You liked her well enough from what you’d observed. She had a good heart, you could tell. She was certainly a spunky teenager — very eccentric, opinionated, and a little reckless. Definitely loud. Her favorite words were curse words. But that’s what you enjoyed about her.

She was a handful, but she was unapologetically herself. It was refreshing. You admired her ability not to take things too seriously. In some ways, you’d wished you’d been more like her when you were her age.

“Oh, hey,” she greeted you, hopping off the fence. “Scared the shit out of me there.”

You smiled at her language. You’d heard Tommy and Joel scold her for it before, but you didn’t bother. She was fifteen and you certainly weren’t her mother.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchens?” you wondered.

Soon after her and Joel’s arrival in Jackson, Ellie had been assigned a job, given her age. There was the semblance of an educational program here in town, but it was really only for the younger children. By their teenage years, it was time for kids to start pulling their weight in the community. It was necessary in today’s world. Everyone had a part to play, no matter their age. They weren’t sent out on patrols until they were at least seventeen, but they were capable of working positions like herding, farming, textiles, or undertaking an apprenticeship with the blacksmith. Ellie had been assigned a position in the kitchens.

She rolled her green eyes dramatically, blowing an unruly strand of hair out of her face with a puff of air.

“I fucking hate the kitchens,” she grumbled. “I don’t like cooking. Or baking. It’s boring and I’m not good at it. I always fuck up any recipe I touch. And Elise is always on my ass, criticizing everything I do. She says I’m not patient enough.”

You hummed. Truthfully, Elise, who was in charge, was probably right. But in Ellie’s defense, the kitchens weren’t everybody’s cup of tea, and that was okay. That’s why there were other jobs. The fact that she’d had a pretty scary experience working there soon after being assigned probably didn’t help. She’d burned her right forearm terribly, enough to leave it mauled with a big scar. 

“I just wish I were older, so that I could go on patrols,” she said. “That’s the stuff I’m interested in. I wanna be out there, on a horse,” she gestured broadly with one of her arms. “Scouting. Taking down Infected. Being useful.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes as she said those words, like the thought of that was exciting to her. Alluring. It resembled that of a child who fantasized about their favorite superhero eradicating villains, but worse. It surprised you a bit, but you guessed this was another result of the nature of the world now. Children didn't have the luxury of growing up sheltered from violence anymore. In fact, they were kind of forced to befriend it.

“Most kids here your age would rather be inside these walls, protected, for as long as they can be. Not beyond them,” you commented.

“Yeah, well, I’m not like them,” she replied. “Joel and I… we went through some shit before we got here.”

You tilted your head, unable to mask your curiosity. You wondered exactly what she and Joel had experienced during their time together traveling across the country, in search of her long-lost parents who ended up being dead. You knew it had to have been a lot. But you didn’t implore.

“I’m capable. I’ve had to hold my own my entire life. I would be useful, I know it,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve tried convincing him and Tommy and Maria to let me go on patrol, but it hasn’t worked.”

“Give it time,” you decided to reply. “You’re still hardly settled, Ellie. It’s only been four months since you’ve been here. And before that, you went through a lot, like you said. You should appreciate the safety of being inside Jackson for awhile, and not rush being outside of it.”

Ellie frowned and turned around, redirecting her attention to Shimmer who’d still been standing idly by the fence. She clicked her tongue and the brown filly moved her head into the girl’s outstretched hand, accepting the rubs to her muzzle she wanted to give.

You glided to stand beside her, resting your forearms along the top of the fence. You watched the way Shimmer’s eyes fluttered as if thoroughly enjoying the touches and attention.

“Shimmer’s really taken a liking to you,” you noted. “She seems like she knows you already.”

Ellie kept her gaze on the young horse.

“Have you visited her before without me knowing?” you wondered.

She took a moment to answer.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’ve come by here a couple times when I’ve needed — I don’t know — a break from… shit,” she struggled to find the right words. “She reminds me a bit of the horse you and Tommy had given to us to use when Joel and I left here last winter. He was sweet, like her. I miss him. He shouldn’t have died the way he did…”

You’d figured when the pair had returned to Jackson several months ago without the horse you’d lent them that he hadn’t made the journey. It was an unfortunate loss. He’d been a very trusty steed and one of your eldest. You never asked what happened, and in the moment you almost took the opportunity, but you could tell by the change in her current disposition that it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about now.

For a beat or two, you just watched the way Ellie lovingly rubbed Shimmer. Watched the way she brushed her hair out of her eyes, which flickered with happiness when Shimmer sighed in content under her scratches.

And for just a split second, you saw the ghost of Addy in her. A young Addy, from back before. When you were still on the ranch and your grandparents were alive and no one had ever heard the word cordyceps before. They resembled each other. Not just in looks or mannerisms, which were sort of alike in certain ways. But they shared a similar spirited attitude. You’d also witnessed Addy form a connection with one of your horses just like this.

Something pinched in your chest. You missed your sister. You’d give anything to be close to her again.

“You know,” you began thoughtfully, adjusting your position so you were facing Ellie with your side leaning against the fence, “if you hate the kitchens so much… maybe there’s a job for you somewhere else.”

She turned to look at you curiously, eyebrows drawn together. Her right one was slit from a scar you didn’t know where she’d gotten.

“Where?” she asked.

“Here,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I’m Head of Stables. I could speak to Tommy and Maria about it, if that’s something you would be interested in.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up dramatically, a bright smile overtaking her freckled face.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, we could use the extra help,” you answered. “And you’re good with Shimmer, which makes me think you could be good with the others. Maybe, when you’ve grown up some more and are allowed to go on patrols, you could even take Shimmer with you. If you’ve worked hard enough around here, and if she’s ready.”

“That’d be fucking sick!” she grinned. “When can I start?”

“Let me see what I can do. I’ve got a lot on my plate next week, so I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see if I can’t talk with Tommy about it then,” you replied.

“Deal,” she nodded eagerly.

“In the meantime, you really ought to be in the kitchens right now, following the rules.”

She groaned unhappily.

“I was on my way,” she promised half-heartedly. “Had a few minutes to spare before lunch prep began.”

“Right. Get out of here,” you chuckled, knowing procrastination when you saw it. “I’ll be in touch.”

Ellie adjusted the straps of her backpack on her shoulders. She waved goodbye before walking past you.

You swiveled to watch her retreat and smiled to yourself.

Addy would have liked her, you thought.

Chapter Text

Monday morning approached a lot faster than you would have liked — probably because the sleep you’d desperately been needing finally caught up to you on the weekend and hit you like a truck. You were glad to feel a bit more rested, but damn it if it didn’t make the time leading up to a day you were dreading pass by quicker.

You stood at the front of the stables, back against the wall with one leg propped up. You were waiting for your shiny new patrol partner to show himself. You’d just looked at the watch fastened around your wrist and noticed it was 7:45 AM on the dot when the silhouette of a tall figure appeared through the early morning fog ahead of you.

Joel Miller.

Donning a dark scruffy beard that could use a little shaping and a full head of hair that began to curl softly at the ends behind his ears — both of which were earning wisps of grey throughout. Clad in scuffed work boots, dark jeans held tightly to his hips with an old belt worn from so much use, and a brown suede leather jacket layered neatly over a forest-green flannel.

His usual garb. All function, no flair. Masculine. The very image of the word in the flesh.

He looked very much like a man of the land, you thought. Like if it were up to him, he’d be fine tucked away in a cabin somewhere by himself, removed from what was left of civilization and free of trivial problems that weren’t hunting, chopping firewood, and finding creative ways to keep Infected out of his space.

And it worked for him. The rough and rugged, outlaw-esque look. Admittedly, he was handsome, in a fierce and untamed kind of way. Even you could agree. He had these depthless brown eyes. A sharp jawline always set so stoically. His brother’s same aquiline nose. Golden skin peppered with callouses and scars from years of doing things with his bare hands you probably didn’t want to think too long about. The muscles of his arms and upper back even made pretty shapes under the fabric of his clothes.

You might have been tempted to make a move when he first arrived in Jackson, if you weren’t such a lone wolf and he hadn’t proven to be such an ass.

As Joel approached you, you couldn’t help but take note of the way he walked. It was hard not to. Something about it just drew your eyes to it. His strides were long and his sure-footed steps heavy under the weight of his sturdy build. He carried himself with just enough confidence, or maybe arrogance, to deter anyone from getting in his path. It was obvious he was seasoned in life — not just in age but in experience, and the more dangerous kind. It made many people scatter at the sight of him coming.

And he was steady — he moved with purpose and direction. But never with ease. He was always stiff, like a wire pulled too tautly, daring to snap any second. He was in his early fifties, but it wasn’t just a matter of age that caused the deep tension he carried all over his body. It was the result of decades of guardedness that came from having to live every waking moment on high alert.

Strapped over each of his broad shoulders were two shotguns. One revolver sat in the holster on his hip while a second for you was sure to be in the backpack he wore. In his right hand, he carried a black thermos that you knew was holding coffee. Tommy had mentioned in passing before that his brother loved the drink more than anyone else he knew, and would often trade a ridiculous amount of goods just to get a hold of it. We all had our kryptonite, you supposed, and coffee was better than some.

Joel stopped in front of you and let out a soft exhale. Not necessarily one of annoyance from anything you’d done, just more out of habit. He always seemed tired. Like everything was a personal toll to him.

“Mornin’,” he greeted quietly, simply, just the same as he always did whenever it was you releasing a horse to him for patrols.

Whereas Tommy’s voice was light and smooth, his older brother’s was deeper and gruff, gravelly with certain syllables. Despite being cut from the same cloth, they sure did have many opposing qualities.

You pushed your leg off the wall.

“Hey,” you murmured back.

That was always the extent of your conversation. There was never any asking about how the other was doing, or if they’d slept well, or a vague comment about the weather. Nothing more than what was necessary was said.

The relationship was strictly professional. You didn’t have much interest in him as a person when he was often so surly. Whatever he felt about you seemed to align, because he didn’t try to get to know you either. The only person aside from Tommy that Joel made any effort to be decent with was Ellie. Somehow, for some reason, he’d taken her in like a surrogate daughter. There was love between the two of them, like a real parent-child relationship. Yet that love extended past nobody else, and Joel seemed to prefer it that way.

You turned on your heel and entered the stables. Joel followed silently after you. While you went over to the log book to sign out the horses you’d be using today, he went directly to the stall of his favored companion, Grim — a male with a coat solid black in color, hence the clever name that alluded to the Grim Reaper.

Grim was a typically fiery and unpredictable stallion, save for when around a certain few people; namely, you and Joel, oddly enough. Never mind Ezekiel or Lucy, who spent the most time at the stables aside from you. But Joel Miller. Somehow, the man had managed to weasel his way into the horse's good graces. It fascinated you.

Joel dropped his things and grabbed the lead rope you’d already fastened around Grim, guiding him to the tacking station. He retrieved a pad and his preferred saddle off a shelf and brought them over to the horse. You finished documenting the required information in the log book and went to do the same.

Having let out all the rest, you approached the only other horse remaining in its stall: your beautiful dapple grey mare, Phantom, who was named for her coloring that everyone thought closely resembled a misty ghost. You loved all the horses you cared for, but she held a very special spot in your heart. She was reserved but incredibly compassionate once she felt comfortable with someone, and was likely the most intelligent of the entire herd. You didn't trust another horse more.

“New person I’m leavin’ with ain’t here yet,” Joel muttered as he swung the saddle onto Grim’s back. “I don’t like it when they’re late.”

You didn’t know much about Joel, but he was punctual if nothing else. Consistent.

Every morning that it was your turn to sign out a horse for his patrols, he arrived exactly fifteen minutes before departure. Never earlier, never later. Always on time, funnily enough, seeing as the watch he never took off his left wrist was rendered unusable after something had shattered its face.

In the dining hall, Joel chose the same table at every meal. It was secluded, tucked away in the corner, just how he liked to be. But you’d noticed it wasn’t just to deter people from bothering him. It allowed him a strategic view of the entire room. Even here in Jackson where things were good and safe and calm—where people laughed often, loved without the crippling fear of loss, and most didn’t even carry a gun on them regularly—he was careful. Wary. Always vigilant.

It was important for him to be in control, you’d observed. You knew it was because there was a feeling of security that came with it. Of safety. And that was important in today’s world. When so much was out of everyone’s hands, people clung to what they could control. It made them feel like they weren’t completely helpless and insignificant. So he showed up to things on time. He sat at the same table. He dressed in a similar vein of clothes every day. He chose the same horse for his patrols. Those were things he could be in charge of.

“Good thing they aren’t,” you replied.

“What’s that mean?” Joel asked, attaching the girth of the saddle on Grim’s right side before rounding to his left and reaching for the latigo.

“The new person is me.”

He paused after having cinched the strap with quick, experienced fingers. Like you, he’d done this more than a time or two. He turned, noticeably taken aback.

“You?”

“Well, seeing as you’re having a bit of a hard time keeping partners,” you answered pointedly, finishing up your own work with your saddle, “Tommy’s had to call in some reinforcements.”

You felt the heaviness of his gaze on you as you slipped the lead off of Phantom, guided the bit into her mouth, and placed the bridle over her head.

“He gave me the fuckin’ Head of Horses as a reinforcement?”

“Stables,” you corrected absently.

“Same shit,” he brushed you off. “What the hell kinda good is that gonna do me? Have you ever even been on a patrol before?”

You faced him, gripping the horn of your saddle with one hand and placing the other upon your hip.

“Unless you count going out to wrangle,” you exhaled deeply, trying to rein in your patience that was already thin from the previous week, “then no. Not while I’ve been here.”

He winced like that response had been genuinely painful for him to hear.

“Jesus.” 

“Look, Joel,” you laughed shortly, although you were less than amused by this entire situation. “I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly ideal. But you forfeited your right to have someone a little less rusty than me when you decided to run off all the people we had whose actual job it is to patrol.”

“What’d you just say?”

You ignored the icy look he gave you that told you he didn’t like your tone.

“Tommy asked me to do this as a last resort, seeing as I do have some prior experience from when I was a Firefly,” you continued. “But if you wanna agree to quit being an asshole and just suck it up with one of the other guys he’s already given you because you’ve decided you’d prefer them over me, be my guest. I’ve got other things I’d much rather be doing around town, like being the ‘Head of Horses,’” you rolled your eyes at what he’d called it.

His lips were tight. He stared at you with a slight squint of his dark eyes, like he was assessing if he’d just heard you right. It was evident he was not frequently talked back to, or took what he perceived to be any sort of disrespect. Admittedly, you hadn’t exactly been polite with him. But he clearly wasn’t much of a polite person to begin with.

His gaze was hard, but you didn’t cower under it like you thought he was used to some people doing. You held your ground. You didn’t have time for this. For his attitude. You didn’t expect him to change it about himself—he was an older man set in his ways—but if you were going to be stuck with him for awhile, you weren’t going to yield to it either. If he was determined to be difficult, you could be difficult back.

“So what’s it going to be?” you demanded when he’d yet to respond.

With another sigh from deep in his bones, he turned back to Grim.

“Get on your damn horse,” he muttered tiredly. “Very least I know you can ride. More than what some of the others can seem to do.”

“Fine.”

You went for your backpack resting on the floor nearby. It was already packed with lunch, water, a flashlight, a makeshift first aid kit, and a few other supplies you thought might be good to have. You hoped you wouldn’t have to use most of them, and that this trek would be as easy as Tommy promised it would be.

You slung the bag onto your back, then stuck your foot in one of the stirrups and pushed up into the seat of your saddle. Phantom shuffled under your movements and gave a bob of her head that signaled she was ready to go, but you took the reins and held her in place.

You waited in silence for Joel to finish tacking up Grim. Once he was done, he went for his things and started to divvy everything he’d brought with him. He reserved one shotgun for himself, then lifted the other up to you. Naturally, you didn’t immediately accept the weapon from him.

“Christ, you said you were with the Fireflies. Tell me you can shoot,” he said warily.

“I can,” you muttered defensively, grabbing it and hoisting it over your right shoulder. “I was taught when I was a kid.”

Joel was partially relieved by that answer, but he hadn’t missed the fact that there was more to the story either. He didn’t miss many things.

“Then why did you just hesitate?”

He handed you what was to be your revolver next. Reluctantly, you slipped it into the holster around the opposite leg from where you kept a dagger strapped to you.

You were now brandishing two guns for the first time in years. Where the firearms touched your body, it felt like a sizzling heat burning through the fabric of your clothes. It was wrong. They didn’t belong there. Not anymore. The sensation was so uncomfortable, you wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“It’s just… been awhile,” you admitted quietly, fighting off a shudder.

Joel gave a look you couldn’t decipher. He didn’t say anything but sighed as if this was yet another disappointment he was faced with today.

It was quiet as he climbed onto Grim, except for the soft grunt he made as he settled into his seat. In fact, it remained quiet for the entire ride out of the stables and through Jackson’s streets, which were slowly starting to wake up.

When you reached the northern gate, Joel greeted the guards posted there. He let them know of your route and they opened the doors, bidding farewell. Once you were beyond the walls and the gate had shut behind you again, Joel slowed to a halt.

“Tommy tell you what our job is today?” he asked gruffly, turning on the handheld radio attached to his hip.

“We’re Wapiti. We venture about six miles up this road to the Jackson Hole Golf and Tennis Club. We scan the Elk Refuge and the surrounding area the whole way,” you answered.

He confirmed your words with a grunt, then clicked his tongue to signal for Grim to start walking. You nudged Phantom gently in her sides with your heels and followed after a few paces behind.

The quiet returned as Joel started to lead you beyond Jackson’s perimeter along the desolate US 191, what was once an important highway in and out of town. It was just one of many relics of a distant past now. The pavement was cracked and sunken in several places, with grass and other various weeds peaking through. Shells of hollow, rusted cars that hadn’t functioned in years lay to waste here and there along the sides of the road. Broken glass littered the ground underneath them.

Having been inside Jackson’s walls so consistently for so long, you’d almost forgotten this was what the majority of the world looked like these days. Bare. Bleak. Basically just a vast wasteland. An exoskeleton of something that was once beautiful and great.

It was depressing.

After strolling about half a mile, you passed by a barren strip mall on your left. You curiously took in each storefront: Jackson Hole Cigars, Creekside Market, Teton Backcountry Rentals, Grand Teton Fly Fishing, and various other goods and services, like a hair salon and a chiropractic center. All things from a time that no longer existed.

You noticed Joel didn’t give any of them much of a glance. You knew it was because they didn’t possess anything useful. Windows of every shop had been busted, most of the doors left open. By now, all of these places would have long been cleaned to the bone, picked over for any viable supplies. No sense in paying any attention to things that weren’t helpful.

He was better than you in that regard. Being able to tune out things that weren’t of priority had never been your strong suit. You always tried to. Tried to smother the unwanted thoughts when they arose. But they liked to creep in on you like fast-spreading vines, twisting and constricting, stripping you of breath.

It was happening now. As you moved through this desolate land for the first time in awhile, the things you saw, the sounds you heard, the feel of the guns against you — it all kept giving life to those painful memories of your past you always tried so diligently to keep stuffed away in a far corner of your mind.

The littlest things reminded you of your world before Jackson. Your grandparents. Addy. And when Addy came up… so did that day. Her colorless face. Her wide eyes laced with so much fear and confusion. Red everywhere, dripping between your fingertips and seeping into your clothes.

Just a little ways further up the road from the strip mall was a Dairy Queen. It looked just as rough. Its sign out front was missing a few letters. Banners on the windows that had once displayed popular menu items were faded and torn. It was almost sad, seeing the dessert spot in such a state. You could remember a time when it would have been dawned in a different light.

You hadn’t planned on striking up a conversation with Joel. Figured you’d move through the day much like how you normally did with him — which meant separately. Interacting only when required. But you needed out of your head. Needed a distraction from all your blood-soaked memories trying to resurface. So when you spotted the Dairy Queen, you took the opportunity to talk. Talking about anything, even ice cream, would surely lessen the noise in your mind right now.

“That summer before the outbreak,” you spoke up, breaking through the quiet, “I worked at a Dairy Queen back in Montana.”

Joel didn’t reply. He didn’t turn around to look at you, either. You didn’t know if he’d even heard you, but you kept talking anyway, if only for yourself. It was better than the alternative, simmering silently in haunting memories that made you feel like the earth was opening up around you.

“I did it as an evening gig after I’d finished all my work on the ranch. Everyday. Didn’t matter if it was summer break, or if I was already exhausted from being with the animals. Didn’t have a choice. Needed any extra money we could get.” You sighed at the thought of life back then. So trivial. “I hated it. Never knew just how sick I’d become of ice cream. It’s funny — I sure do miss all of it now. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what we took for—“

“Do me a favor n’ keep the nostalgia to yourself,” Joel cut you off, still not even sparing a glance over his shoulder. “‘Sposed to be patrollin’, not talkin’.”

You blinked, somewhat stunned, although you probably shouldn’t have been. You and he had never done the whole chit-chat thing before, even though you’d had the opportunity plenty of times. Besides, it was Joel. What were you honestly expecting?

Still, you countered, “For nine hours straight?”

The older man gave no response.

You scoffed, loud enough for him to hear, but didn’t attempt to say any more. You sank back in your saddle, a little defeated. You weren’t looking for him to share his whole life story. You didn't really want to know it. You didn’t expect much back from him — even short sentences would have sufficed. Yes, no, uh-huh. Just some kind of conversation would have been nice to distract you from your own thoughts.

But Joel wasn’t interested in anything other than silence, and he made that abundantly clear. So the two of you kept pushing onward up the road with the horses hooves against the pavement being the only sound that filled the air.

You were left with your own devices again, so you decided to focus on the weather. It was a serene day. Fair — some clouds, but enough sun. You appreciated the warmth of it. You knew these kinds of conditions wouldn’t last much longer. Autumn had arrived. Tomorrow was the first day of October and the first measurable snowfall never felt far behind after that.

You kept your head on a swivel like you were supposed to, looking out for any signs of unusual activity. But you didn’t see much at all. No Infected. No survivors. No elk. Only one lone deer, gliding smoothly through the tall grass in the middle of the refuge. Occasionally, a bird would fly overhead, but largely everything around was still.

The longer you rode on, the more you got used to the feeling of being outside the walls again and your anxiety seemed to wane. But every now and then, the calm ride would trick your brain into thinking you were back on the ranch in the before times. For just a moment, you’d relive the rides you and Addy used to take around the land on days just like these. Instinctively, you kept glancing to your side, expecting to see your sister trotting steadily beside you, wind in her hair, with one of your cattle dogs galloping happily at your horses’ feet.

But she was never there.

Instead, it was Joel you were with. And riding with him was much different. One glance at him and you’d remember the weight of what you were doing again. You weren’t in Montana. This wasn’t a peaceful ride around the property back home. For all intents and purposes, you were on a mission where your lives were at risk.

Where your mind was uselessly drifting, Joel was on alert. Constantly. You could see it in the rigidness of his back, in his tense shoulders he didn’t let drop. He rode with one hand grasping Grim’s reins and the other ghosting over the outline of his revolver at his side, like he was prepared to grab it and fire at any moment. There was a permanent furrow of his brows and a slight squint of his eyes as they scanned the land before him from left to right, over and over again.

Cautious. Diligent. Measured. Much like a dutiful sentry.

But he wasn’t scared. Or worried. You were sure there was likely to be very little in this world, if anything, that frightened Joel Miller. In fact, more things within it were probably afraid of him. He was imposing—intimidating—the way he sat tall upon Grim’s back. He swallowed the saddle, nearly as big in size and just as commanding as his stallion. Things were sure to run when they saw him coming, like birds fearfully dispersing into the air at the rustling of something big.

No, he just wanted to be ahead of the game. Be able to vanquish any perceived threat faster than it could do the same to the pair of you. His sole care was for the job you had. For your survival. There wasn’t any time to be daydreaming right now. No sense to it. The past didn’t matter anymore. His only focus was on the present.

It was no surprise he’d lasted this long after the outbreak. And you decided it wouldn’t shock you if he outlived everyone, like some cockroach that had been stepped on ten times but somehow still persisted. Either he was always born for a world like this, or he’d masterfully molded himself to it better than anyone else you’d come across. One way or another, he had come out on top of it. That much about him was admirable, even if he was an ass.

After three hours of easy, steady riding with no trouble whatsoever, you and Joel approached a low bridge over a river that extended far into the distance on either side of you.

Instead of continuing straight ahead, he guided Grim to the right and started veering off the highway toward the water. You followed after him on Phantom.

“We’ll stop here to let the horses drink,” he explained. “Give ‘em a few minutes to rest.”

Hearing his voice all of a sudden after such prolonged silence caused you to jump, but that was as much acknowledgment of his words as you gave. You didn’t say anything.

Joel looked back as the two of you wound your way toward the bank of the river.

“You hear me?” he asked.

You blew air through your nose, amused. He expected an answer from you, but of course he didn’t hold himself to the same standards. He’d had no problem ignoring you earlier.

You thought you’d remind him.

“Oh, I heard you,” you answered simply. “But I didn’t realize we were suddenly talking now. Thought we were patrolling.”

He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, like he couldn’t believe you’d seriously dared to have said that to him.

“That’s not how this works,” he replied flatly. “If I say somethin’ to you, you respond.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Right, but when it’s the other way around, same rules don’t apply,” you muttered. “Got it.”

You’d expected to be met with resolute silence that neither confirmed nor denied your statement but very clearly meant this conversation is finished — just like the last time you’d challenged something he’d said. But Joel pulled up on Grim’s reins, abruptly halting the horse. With him leading the way on the narrow path, you were forced to stop too.

He twisted in his seat to look at you fully. His features hardened with seriousness as he raised a forefinger in your direction.

“Let me make somethin’ clear to you before we go much further,” he began, voice low and rough around the edges. “I’m the senior patrolman here. What I tell you is important, and often determines life or death. So you do what I say when I say it. You answer me when I speak to you. Understand?”

You’d been mildly irritated already with his lack of communication today—not to mention Joel had simply just rubbed you the wrong way since he’d first arrived in Jackson—but that had just really pissed you off. Settled like a bad taste in your mouth.

It was possible you were feeling overly sensitive as a result of your recent bout of poor sleep and general exhaustion — after all, you’d handled many people with moods just as sullen as Joel’s with no problem plenty of times. You’d been taught to let things roll off your back growing up. But there was a level of condescension in his tone that bothered you. You weren’t a child, despite his words sounding an awful lot like he thought you were one. You were a grown woman, and one who’d never taken very well to being told what to do by a man.

And so maybe it was unwise, and definitely petty, but the derisively mocking words formed on your tongue before you could stop them.

“Yes, sir.”

Despite what you thought might happen, such a comment garnered no outburst. Joel’s expression upon his face remained nearly as impassive as it always appeared, save for the slight clench of his jaw.

However, his words were barely more than a deep rumble in his chest as he warned coolly, “I’d watch that smart fuckin’ mouth around me if I were you.”

Once again, your innate stubbornness got the better of you and another reckless retort slipped out.

“Or what, Joel?”

The silence that suddenly whipped through the space between you was almost deafening. Joel’s features still didn’t cave, much to your surprise, but you could read the anger clear as day in his eyes — those betrayed him more than anything else. You could discern the emotion simmering in them now like the glowing embers of a fire. His gaze was fiercer than you’d ever yet to experience, boring into you with such an intensity it felt like you were being slowly pressed between two walls closing in. It was almost as if he could sear you with just a look, because a literal flicker of heat ran up your spine.

A tingle of unease filled you, but still, you didn’t avert your own eyes. He wanted you to — you knew it. He wanted to make you uncomfortable, or feel guilty enough for having snapped at him, so that you’d look away. It would equal submission. And then he’d know you were another thing he could boss around in this town. Another thing he could control.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He’d been in Jackson for four months, you for six years. It wasn’t his town. You weren’t letting him win it so easily. Even if he had a hold on Tommy, on many other residents who found him dangerous and cold, you weren’t going to add to his list. Weren’t going to be another thing he could step on.

Tommy had jokingly said you might be able to wrangle him. Hell, maybe now you’d try. He needed to learn a lesson or two. Be put in his place. This world didn’t revolve around him. If he was going to live in Jackson, he needed to become a team player, and fast.

So for several moments that stretched for far too long, you stared down the other hard, much like the way you thought two bulls might before charging. The air was thick and electrified, settling heavy around you. It was like the two of you were opposing magnets an invisible force was trying but failing to push together.

Finally, you lifted a hand and gestured toward the river, prompting him to get out of the way.

“You going to move any time soon?” you asked flatly, raising a brow. “Like you said, the horses need to drink.”

Something in his jaw jumped, but without another word Joel faced forward and nudged Grim into motion. You let out a small breath. You’d won this round. You continued down the path, but the lingering tension was tighter than a bowstring.

When you reached the river, you both dismounted. Grim and Phantom immediately clopped into the shallow water and began to drink.

“Watch the horses,” Joel grumbled without looking your way, shrugging his shotgun off his shoulders. “Gonna patrol the perimeter of the woods, make sure I don’t see nothin’ lurkin’.”

He’d already started to walk off toward the nearby treeline before the last word had even fallen from his tongue.

You didn’t stop him. Not only was it obvious he was itching to put some space between you after your recent heated confrontation, but you could tell he wasn’t someone who could sit still. After all, he’d started patrolling for Jackson just a week after his and Ellie’s arrival. Probably didn’t like to be alone with his thoughts. Made sense if Tommy was the same way. The busier, the better.

You happened to agree, which is why, after taking a seat on the bank, you reached into your backpack for the journal you’d brought. You kept it with you all the time in case you ever needed to occupy your mind. Make sure you had an outlet if the flashbacks ever crept in. Sometimes you vented in it. Occasionally, you’d doodle. Most often, you made a list of all the shit you needed to do because there always seemed to be something. 

After the conversation you’d had with Ellie on Saturday, you decided to spend this moment thinking about how you could put her to work around the stables like you’d promised. You were still planning to speak with Tommy and Maria about it tomorrow, but you were sure they’d be fine with switching her out of the kitchens.

You really just had to brainstorm some tasks you could give her. Figure out how to get her trained. She was sure to be somewhat comfortable around horses given her journey with Joel, but there’d still be a few things she’d need to learn.

After jotting down some ideas, you tucked your journal away and grabbed an apple you’d packed. A granny smith, of course. Your personal favorite, even though Addy always gave you shit for liking them and their tart flavor. You’d argue with her that there was a subtle sweetness to them too, but she’d stick her tongue out to disagree and proclaim pink lady as the best kind.

Your teeth had just broken past the green skin with a crunch when a pair of scuffed brown boots stopped at your side. You looked up to find Joel had returned from his walk, casting a shadow over you as you sat below him.

That had to have been some sort of metaphor for the way this patrol shift had gone so far.

“If you’re gonna stand there, could you move just a hair to the left?” you wondered innocently, using your hand to shield your eyes from the sliver of pesky sunlight he wasn’t fully blocking with his frame.

He didn’t find that amusing, nor did he budge. You did, however, and didn’t bother hiding a smirk.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, hoisting his shotgun onto his back.

You moved your head fully into the shade and gestured to your apple.

“I don’t know, Joel. What’s it look like?”

“We’re not stoppin’ for lunch yet. Let’s go,” he rolled his eyes and walked off, taking your shade with him.

It wasn’t lunch, it was a snack, you thought indignantly to yourself. But after one more bite, you returned your barely-eaten apple to its spot in your backpack and pushed onto your feet with a heavy sigh you didn't bother to conceal.

The day was far from over, and judging by the way the morning had gone so far, you had a feeling the remaining hours were going to pass more slowly than time had ever ticked by for you before.

Chapter Text

Joel had mounted Grim by the time you’d tucked your apple away and caught up with him. The second you’d climbed onto Phantom, he was already on the move, eager to continue with the rest of the day’s patrol.

“Didn’t see anything by the trees?” you asked about the walk he’d just taken near the woods.

“No,” he answered quietly as he led you back to the main road. 

“Do you normally?”

“Sometimes,” his response came entwined with a tired sigh.

“Think we’ll come across something at the club?”

One hand came up to wipe down his face. 

“Christ,” he muttered with clear annoyance. “Do I look like I can predict the future or somethin’?”

You pursed your lips, frustration of your own flaring up. 

“I was just wondering,” you replied indignantly. “You’re the senior patrolman here, remember? I don’t know shit about where we’re going. Thought it might be useful to prepare myself.”

He expelled a deep breath like he realized you were right, as painful as that may be to him. 

“We keep the place locked, but that don’t mean there ain’t still a possibility,” he conceded. “Now quit talkin’. Talkin’ draws attention.”

You might have been left irritated by him telling you to shut up for the second time today if it were not for the words that had come before. 

You bit your lip. You hoped you wouldn’t be met with anything unsavory at the club. It’d mean you’d have to use your guns. And that… you’d been trying real hard not to think about this entire trip. So far, you’d been lucky not to have to worry and you prayed with everything in you that the good fortune wouldn’t run out. 

After walking for another mile or so, you came to a large roundabout, just like the one Tommy had described to you. If you were to continue northward, you’d find yourselves at Grand Teton National Park first, then Yellowstone just beyond it. But you weren’t trekking that far. 

You and Joel took the westerly exit and began moving through the long-deserted neighborhood that surrounded the large, now overgrown golf course. 

Much like the trek along the refuge, everything was quiet. Maybe it was just the additional clouds that had been steadily rolling in since you’d left the river and the shady coverage they brought to everything, but something about the stillness of this particular environment felt different to you. A little more eerie. 

In a previous life, the abandoned cabins you passed by would have been lovely, you noted, with their log siding, stone chimneys, and charming porch swings. You were sure they were well enjoyed once. But today, left in ruins, they just looked cold and creepy. Nature had taken back what man had once claimed; every cabin was enveloped in unruly vines and bordered by tall grass that hadn’t been cut back in two decades. Even mailboxes and the old cracked pavement of driveways were sprouting with untamed foliage.

You couldn’t help but imagine what happened to all of the people who used to own these places. If any of them were still alive — where they were now. You wondered if anyone had ever come across your ranch in Montana and thought the same thing. You wondered how much of it was still there. If it had been completely ransacked or somewhat left untouched because of its seclusion. If people had discovered it and now used it as their own home. 

Just like your place in Jackson.

You hadn’t arrived in town that day with anything other than Tommy and the clothes on your back. In the six years that had passed, you hadn’t accumulated a whole lot more to your name than that. There were a few personal things littered about here and there, but largely the interior of the house was likely as it had been before the outbreak.

In a way, that was nice. The curtains, the books, the paintings on the wall — they were little luxuries still intact that made things feel normal. Like the world hadn’t ended. 

But then you’d remember you hadn’t picked any of them out yourself. You didn’t choose the throw pillows that resided on the couch, or the rug in the front hall. The quirky handmade quilt you’d initially found on one of the top shelves of a closet that you slept with each night hadn’t been stitched by you. 

You hadn’t decorated the house, even though you lived in it like you’d always been the one to have owned it. It was yours now, but it didn’t use to be, and in a way it still wasn’t at all.

Everything in it had once belonged to someone else. Meant something to them. Maybe these pieces of decoration had been heirlooms. Maybe a wedding gift. Maybe they’d been acquired on a memorable trip somewhere foreign. They all came with a story you had no clue about. 

They reflected someone else’s life and experiences — not yours. Someone who could very much be dead right now. And you’d just assumed all of their worldly possessions one random day six years ago, like that was a normal thing to do.

That was weird, when you really thought about it. 

“Club’s just right there,” Joel’s low drawl tore you from your wandering thoughts.

You followed his gaze, fixated to your right, and spotted the two-story clubhouse with a circular drive in front. 

It would have looked rather charming in its day. There were the remnants of a crumbling moss-covered fountain in the center of the circle, surrounded by overgrown flower boxes where you imagined bright and cheery floral arrangements were once displayed. Several wooden rocking chairs, last used long ago, rested idly under the covered awning of the front entrance, probably covered in a layer of dirt.

The horses’ hooves clipped rhythmically against the pavement as you approached the club. At the foot of the front walkway was an old, rusted bike rack that Joel guided you over to. 

“Hitch ‘em here,” he said, slipping off Grim’s back.

Once the horses were secured in place and already stretching their necks to the grass by their feet, you followed Joel to the entrance. 

You smacked straight into his solid back when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

“Shit, sorry—“ you apologized.

He lifted a hand to tell you to hold your tongue. You stepped to his side, curious to know what the matter was, and followed his downward gaze. On the ground at the foot of the two front doors—one of which was half open—rested a metal chain and a heavy-duty combination lock twisted open. Judging by the curious pull of his dark brows, you figured you were meant to find things looking a little differently. 

You cursed yourself for asking earlier if you’d run into anything. Knowing you, you probably jinxed things, speaking it out loud. The universe did always like to laugh in your face.

“Are we still going in then?” you wondered quietly.

“‘S our job. Have to clear it,” he said. 

Of course it was. Of course you did. What a stupid question. This was the whole reason you were out here. 

“C’mon.”

Joel grabbed his shotgun, letting his rough hands move into position with ease like they were always made to hold such a big weapon. He took one step forward then paused, throwing you a look. 

“You gonna grab that gun of yours too?” he grunted. “Or do you got a death wish?”

Realization sank in. You were about to enter a building that was supposed to be locked, shut off to the rest of the world, but strangely wasn’t. There could be any number of things that had gotten in and were waiting inside — bandits, infected. Of course you had no choice but to get out your gun.  

“Right,” you nodded, and reached for it. 

It was heavy as you brought it into your arms — you weren’t used to the feeling anymore. There was a time you could move it around like it weighed nothing. Like it was just another part of you. Now it was foreign. Alien. 

Your hands were shaky as they slid into place — one grasping the grip on the stock, pointer finger ghosting the trigger guard, while the other came to rest around the forend. 

It should’ve been so natural. 

Long before the outbreak, your grandfather had sat you down and taught you gun safety as a young child. It had been necessary to know on the ranch. You practiced with him regularly until you’d mastered shooting, then you continued on your own just to keep up the skill. Suffice to say you were well and truly prepared for self-defense when the outbreak occurred.

It’d been years now since you’d last held a gun, but even still, it should’ve been something you fell back into without issue. Should’ve been as instinctual for you as breathing. And yet it felt as if you’d never done this before in your life. 

As you glanced to the shotgun in your hands, you realized your breath was labored. Your pulse was thrumming fast under your skin you didn’t know had grown slick with sweat. And then the thoughts started to creep in, just like the tendrils of the disease that had ruined the world, taken your family from you—

“I thought you knew how to shoot,” came a sudden voice, yanking you back down to reality before you could drift too far into darkness. 

Joel was staring at you, features taut. There was a mixture of something like frustration laced with apprehension in his eyes as they leveled you.  

“I-I do,” you promised, but when the words came out kind of hoarse, you were sure you sounded unconvincing.  

“Then act like it. Don’t got time for this,” he muttered, facing forward. “Let’s go. And stay fuckin’ quiet.”

Lifting his gun into position again, he used the toe of his boot to kick the door open further and slinked inside the club. You fell in line behind him, taking a deep breath in an attempt to relax.

You could do this.

You would do this. You’d promised Tommy you’d help him out.

You entered into the main reception area first, a wide room with high ceilings and several leather couches and armchairs dotted around a large stone fireplace. Fortunately, it was empty. Nothing jumped out yet. 

“Sweep the left side of the building. Both floors,” Joel instructed quietly. “I’ll take the right.”

“Got it,” you breathed, adjusting your grip on your shotgun. Your hands were still sweating.

Ever the astute observer, he tracked your nervous movements. Then his dark eyes flitted warily up to yours. 

“Can you handle that, or do I gotta babysit you, cowgirl?”

“No,” you replied with a glare, ignoring the uneasiness that was blossoming in your stomach. “I’m fine.”

He nodded once, barely noticeable. And then he was gone, having disappeared down the hall to the right. 

You were on your own.

You allowed ten seconds to collect yourself. Ten seconds to shut your eyes and catch your breath and will away all the thoughts that were supposed to stay buried. Then, when your pulse slowed to a relatively steady rate, you started off in the opposite direction Joel had gone. 

With your right cheek glued to the buttstock nestled into the pocket of your shoulder, you crept slowly down the hall. You were careful to avoid anything left behind on the floor — broken glass, pieces of paper. Anything that could make a sound when stepped on and alert whatever else was in here to your presence. 

Cautiously, you went through the first floor, searching the main office, several coat and storage closets, a daycare room still littered with a few forgotten children’s toys, and a restaurant that had The Grille printed on its doors in chipped gold lettering. You were reminded of the early days of the outbreak as you did so. When your grandfather was still alive and you survived as a family. You thought of the training he’d given you during that time that had been so fundamental to your success all these years later. 

You’d been a good aim then, but he’d had to teach you and Addy many other things about staying alive. Stealth — how to move without being seen or heard. How to ambush when necessary. How to block and defend unwanted attacks. How to build traps, for prey and humans alike. He’d shown you most of everything you knew today. 

The reason you’d survived as long as you did had largely been him. He was old at the time, and perhaps slightly out of practice, but he was a veteran. And veterans never truly left war, even if they were no longer active soldiers. Those skills he was forced to hone when serving, he never really lost. And maybe that was a good thing. He instilled them in you, and you were sure as hell better off for it. You’d likely be dead if it weren’t for him.

When you found the first floor was empty of any sort of life, you located the nearest staircase and glided slowly up the steps to the second, praying none of the creaks the old wood made underneath the weight of you would draw too much attention. 

You came across a large event space first. Inside, a dozen round tables on the outskirts of a wide open floor were draped in decaying white frilly cloth. Scattered on the ground around them were fragments of fine china and other pieces of decoration warped by time. Off to one corner of the room were abandoned and battered musical instruments, as well as a microphone stand lying on its side. 

The remnants obviously suggested some sort of big party had been taking place at the time cordyceps hit. And, after a quick glance at a faded sign on an easel with the printed words, ‘Welcome to our wedding,’ you determined it had been a pretty important one. 

What shit luck, you thought to yourself.

Seeing nothing else around you but the depressing state left over from what should have been someone’s special day, you were beginning to think your side of the clubhouse was clear. Maybe whatever had broken in had already left. Got what they—or it—needed and moved on without much fuss, and there wasn’t going to be anything for you and Joel to come across now.

That’s what you hoped for, anyway. But you never did have the best of luck. Whatever higher being that presided in the heavens above—if there even was one—had a nasty habit of making a joke out of you, like you were its own little personal puppet it loved to string up and humiliate for its sheer entertainment.

You whipped your head towards the exit when the sound of glass shattering on the floor echoed from somewhere nearby. Lifting your gun in front of you again, senses on high alert, you made to uncover the source. After peeking out into the hall, you tiptoed quietly to the next room over — a smaller cocktail bar and lounge, named after some wealthy man for his ‘generous donation’ to the club, as per the plaque on the wall outside.

The door was left slightly ajar. You gently kicked it open enough to poke your head in. That’s when you spotted the culprit: a clicker. Rummaging blindly around behind the dark oak bar.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You’d forgotten just how disturbing this stage of Infected were up close. It was hard to remember they were once human. That they wore clothes and had eyes and hair and names. That they, like you, had a family, friends, pets — even a job once. 

Now they just looked straight out of a nightmare. Like they were not ever something that had come from the same planet as you.

Aside from a grotesquely frail frame and ragged skin covered in mold and scaly wounds, there was a massive fungal growth that had erupted through this poor soul’s skull, right where their nose and upper lip used to be. All that was left of the face was a maw of jagged, blackened teeth. You couldn’t see the eyes — they’d long been swallowed by the cordyceps fungus, rendering them blind. But this stage of Infected had learned how to manage without vision. They’d honed echolocation skills by making sounds with their mouths, earning them their namesake. 

You nudged further into the room to get a better look. For a moment, you merely observed the clicker. It had been such a long time since you’d last been in the presence of one. You’d forgotten how horribly fascinating they were.

You watched as the thing stumbled around passively, clicking and croaking obsessively in search of anything living nearby it could get a hold of. Now and then, it would twitch or convulse erratically, sometimes even so much as claw at its face, as if somewhere deep down there was a person inside still trying desperately to fight off the fungus that had hijacked their brain. 

You weren’t sure how likely a possibility that was. Realistically, the fungus had probably taken over all of the parts of their mind that had once made them who they were. While it was sad, that’s what you wished for. You wished the people weren’t still in there and suffering without any control over their own bodies. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than that. You’d rather die. 

That thought reminded you of what you knew you had to do next. Whether it was out of mercy or because it was simply your job to clear the club, the clicker had to be killed. Saving it wasn’t possible and there was certainly no coexisting with it. 

So you slowly raised your shotgun again. But as you switched off the safety, looked down the barrel, and lined up your target—just as you’d done so many times before you couldn’t even keep count—you froze in place. Suddenly your aim wasn’t set on the clicker anymore. It was Addy at the end of your sight instead. Just like you’d seen that day.

The momentary slip between reality and the past in your stupid, jumbled mind drew a shocked gasp from your lips. Evidently, it was loud enough to blow your cover. The clicker materialized in your vision again, but this time it was angry and thrashing, clambering over the bartop and running right for you.

You knew you needed to eliminate it. Knew if you didn’t take a shot in the next several seconds, it’d find you and bite you. But you couldn’t seem to move. For some reason, your body was helplessly locked in place. Stuck after that little blip in time where you remembered Addy the moment she’d died, and you didn’t know why. 

Or… perhaps you did. 

Maybe, deep down, some horrible, twisted part of you inside didn’t want to move. 

Maybe, even after six years, the guilt of having lost your only baby sister by your own hands was enough for you to hesitate in the face of certain demise. Just for a second. Because maybe this was the fate you deserved. To be ravaged by this ruthless clicker, taken by cordyceps, and forced to turn into the physical embodiment of the monster you already felt you were. 

A sudden bang erupted from beside your left ear, loud enough to leave it ringing, and then the body of the clicker thudded heavily against the ground as it fell just a few feet away from the tips of your boots. You didn’t need to look down to know its fungal-warped head had just been blown to bits by the close-range fire of a shotgun. 

A heavy hand gripped your arm, just above the bend of your elbow, and forcefully spun you around. Dazed, your gaze slowly drifted upward until it landed upon a familiar, very confused, very angry face. 

Joel.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?!” he demanded furiously. His tone was sharp and unforgiving, like a slap to the head, bringing you right back down to earth. 

Not ‘What happened?’ or ‘Are you okay?’ like most people would have asked first. But ‘What’s wrong with you?’

A lot, you thought honestly to yourself, shame curling in your chest behind your ribs, because he was completely right. What was that? Had you really almost just let yourself be killed today? 

“Damn clicker almost got you!”

The clicker did almost get you. It was true. But you quickly decided it couldn’t be. You wouldn’t allow it. The implications… you couldn’t entertain them. 

What’d just happened was only an accident. You’d frozen, but it was just because you weren’t used to this kind of thing. It’d been awhile since you were put in a situation like this. You were just shocked. Caught off guard. It didn’t mean any more than that. It didn’t mean, for just a split second, that the darkest parts of your fucked-up brain almost won and you nearly willingly let death take you by the hand. Right?

Yeah. Right. 

“It didn’t,” you shook your head, “I had it—“

“The hell you did!” Joel shouted. “You were just standin’ there! If I hadn’t shown up—“ 

I probably would’ve died.

“I would’ve been fine,” you interjected, willing your voice to be firm and final, so much so that you nearly believed your own delusions. 

You couldn’t appear weak. Not to Joel. Not to anyone. You had to save face, especially as a woman, because the minute you showed weakness, that’s all people saw in you. Like a shipment, you were labeled ‘fragile’ and cast aside, only to be delicately touched.

In today’s world, being perceived as weak was the same thing as being useless. And you were determined never to be seen as anyone other than someone who could take care of herself. 

You’d slipped up one too many times with Joel already today — you needed to get a grip.

“I was handling it. Been awhile since I’ve used this thing, is all,” you continued, gesturing loosely to the shotgun still in your hands. “Wanted the clicker to get closer so I wouldn’t miss the shot.”

It wasn’t that bad of an argument. But it wasn’t good enough either. Joel was too smart. You could see it on his face that he didn’t believe you. Not fully.

You redirected the conversation before he could argue any further.

“Left side of the club’s clear,” you said, tucking your shotgun on your shoulder again.

He was silent for a moment, like he was debating whether he wanted to quiz you. 

“So’s the right,” he eventually conceded.

There was still a level of skepticism—distrust—simmering beneath the surface of his exterior. But his anger seemed to have faded back into his normal level of general irritation with the world. 

“Find anything unusual?” you asked. 

Joel shook his head no. 

“N’ nothin’ we keep here is missin’.”

“So…?” you wondered, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s the official assessment, senior patrolman?” 

He narrowed his dark eyes, unamused.

“Pretty damn sure the official assessment’s that the last patrol group didn’t follow fuckin’ protocol on the way out,” he grumbled. 

He loosed a tired sigh. His eyes flitted briefly to the dead clicker behind you before returning to yours. 

“Let this be a lesson to you, cowgirl. Lock up when you’re through with a place.”

“Mm.”

“‘Less, of course, you want a repeat of what just happened,” he chided, looking you once up and down with disapproval. “You certainly are actin’ like you’re ready to go with God today.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

Funny man.

Joel retired his own shotgun to his back and then turned, walking towards the door. He beckoned you to follow with a curl of two fingers over his shoulder. 

“You still got that appetite?” 

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ♡ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Back in the main reception area, you determined that eating lunch with Joel Miller may just have been more uncomfortable than the ride to the club. 

At least then there were other things to fill the space. The sound of the horses’ footsteps as you walked. Their gentle breaths. The call of a bird in the distance. You didn’t even have to look at Joel. He rode in front of you with his back to you the entire time. 

But here, you were perched on opposite ends of an aged, dusty couch in front of a coffee table and there wasn’t anything else to act as a buffer between you. It was just you and him. Sitting in the kind of silence you thought you might find only in death. There wasn’t even a clock that ticked away somewhere in the background. Just the sound of the two of you chewing and the occasional twisting of the lids to your metal thermoses. 

And you could only imagine what he was thinking about. He was surely still cursing you in his head for having been so reckless earlier.

You decided those 20 minutes before Joel wiped his hands with a cloth, gathered his things, stowed them back into his bag, and stood up may have been the longest of your life.  

“Got more work to do,” he muttered. 

The awkward tension didn’t subside after that. You wondered if it was ever going to, given the kind of person he was. He didn’t say much, never allowed too many emotions to show through on his face. He was kind of like a brick wall, except for when his buttons were really pushed.

So different from Tommy. Tommy wore his heart on his sleeve. He knew how to be serious, how to take charge and scare when he needed to. But most things he did with warm words—usually a joke or two thrown in—and a smile. 

A smile. 

You’d never seen such a thing on Joel before. You thought it likely Ellie could bring one out of him, and surely his brother could now and then as well, but your mind went blank trying to think of what it might look like.

He sure did like to frown, though. As the afternoon went on and you trailed behind Joel as he ticked off boxes on the patrol to-do list, you quickly determined from this day forward you’d always be able to envision that in your mind because of how often one surfaced on his lips. 

Everything you did seemed to garner a frown from him. If you asked one too many questions about any instruction he gave you (which, by the way, was always in as few words as possible). If you didn’t ask enough questions. If you were standing too close. If you were standing too far away. If you weren’t doing something his way. 

He even had something to grumble about the entry you made in the log book towards the end of the day, even though you’d followed exactly what others before you had written. You documented that there had been no encounters with people, one clicker cleared, and there was nothing in need of repair. Never mind that you had logged things before, too — there was a book kept in the stables where you wrote very similar entries. There wasn’t much room to mess up here. But still, in his eyes, something about your response just wasn’t quite right. 

Tommy had been correct when he said his older brother didn’t have the patience for teaching. And everyone who had ever been stuck with him was also right for saying he was so damn difficult to work with.

“Jesus, Joel, any other criticism you’d like to make today?” you eventually snapped, pushing the log book away from you and spinning around to face him. “Like how I hold this fucking pencil, perhaps?”

The older man frowned again but said nothing. 

You rolled your eyes, exhausted with his behavior.

“Are we through here?” you sighed exasperatedly. “You said logging was the last thing to do.”

Your patience had seriously waned. All you wanted was for the day to be over already so you could be rid of Joel. You two were clearly a match made in hell. 

“Yeah,” he grumbled, the word like music to your ears. “We’re through. Get your stuff.”

“I was actually thinking of leaving it,” you muttered sarcastically, brushing past him to the couch where you’d dropped your bag earlier.

When you heaved it and your shotgun onto your shoulders and turned around again, Joel was glaring. 

He did that a lot, too. Frowns and glares. His two signature looks, apparently. 

God, how did anyone ever put up with him? 

It was safe to say neither of you spoke a word on the return to Jackson, and when you finally made it back to the stables, you certainly didn’t linger. As much as you loved the horses, you gave them a grateful pet and booked it back to your little house on the quiet side of town.

You wanted far away from Joel and far, far away from those damn guns you'd been carrying for too long. 

Chapter Text

The day after your first patrol shift marked the first of October. As if on cue, the weather had suddenly turned characteristically autumn with the arrival of the new month. A cold front had moved in overnight, bringing a crispness to the air and a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves on the trees that were changing color fast. Very soon now, all traces of green would be gone entirely and everything would be a vibrant burst of crimson, orange, and gold. 

The horses seemed to have picked up on the dip in temperature. They were extra energetic while you spent all day with them at the stables, trying to carry out your typical duties. You couldn’t help but smile watching them romp around and enjoy the cool air, even if their playfulness made accomplishing some of your tasks more difficult than usual. 

Working with the horses was always the best medicine for you when you needed to catch your breath. It focused your thoughts and helped you filter out the less important ones whenever you had something big on your mind. Things were always peaceful and quiet, too. You weren’t often bothered then  — it was usually just Ezekiel and Lucy around and the two of them were capable of knowing enough of what needed to be done not to interrupt you unnecessarily. It was like your form of meditation, and you’d really needed one today. 

After getting home yesterday from patrol, you’d had nightmares about Addy all throughout the night  — the worst kind. Not just ones that left you clutching at your chest and your skin burning up under the covers you’d been thrashing around under. But the ones that pulled a wrecked sob from you as you came to that you were only finally able to get under control once your throat felt like you’d swallowed nails and every last drop of tears had been squeezed from your ducts. The kind of nightmares that continued to play over and over in your mind as you got ready for the day, ate your breakfast, and walked all the way to work. 

So when you’d first arrived at the stables in the morning, you’d felt so exhausted and broken down you were very close to calling off the agreement you’d made to patrol with Joel. You didn’t want to be a quitter. You didn’t want to appear weak, like you always made such a point of doing. But how could you keep going on with this if the first shift had left you as such a complete mess? You didn’t know what to do.

But as the afternoon slipped away, your perspective slowly changed. By the time the sun had set and you were able to leave, the horses had worked their inexplicable magic on you. You didn’t know how they’d done it, but after finishing with them you were no longer thinking so rashly or pessimistically. You’d gone home with a much clearer head and a fresh bout of determination you weren’t going to waste.

In the end, after a lot of reflection, you decided you were going to continue patrolling. Not just because you’d made a promise to Tommy and you despised not keeping your word, especially when it came to him, but more importantly because you decided it was finally time for you to heal. And, contrary to what you might’ve originally thought, backing out of the deal wouldn’t help you with this. It wouldn’t stop these nightmares. In fact, it’d probably only make them worse. 

Because running away had been your problem the entire time — you just hadn’t been able to see it until now.

The truth was your unresolved issues—ones you should have managed already by now—had nearly cost you your life at the club, and that should not happen. Grief would never go away, that was certain. But it’s not supposed to nearly kill you. And the reason it almost did was because you’d never taken the time to truly sit with it. Your preferred method was to always pretend it didn’t exist. Avoid the fact that your sister was gone because of you at all costs. Deny it every time someone asked if you were struggling in the wake of her death. 

But that’s exactly why, you’d realized, everything had been so momentarily crippling in the first place. The fact of the matter was you’d hidden from your pain for so long that finally being forced to confront it again felt earth-shattering. If you had faced these things from the start, and accepted reality for what it was instead of constantly living in avoidance, you wouldn’t be this far deep into a hole.

The patrol was a desperately-needed wake-up call that you’d been living a shell of a life for the last six years, and Addy would be so pissed if she saw you like this. This behavior was so unlike you — the person you used to be. That girl wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t run off with her tail between her legs, even when things were challenging. Back before everything happened, you used to be truly brave. Strong. It was time for you to be those things again. 

And while it would be scary, you knew it was for the best to do this. It would force you to get comfortable again with the things you’d been avoiding for so long. It was hard to accept it at first, but the arrangement would be beneficial for you. You realized it now. You just had to see it through. 

But Joel Miller sure as hell wasn’t going to make it an easy task.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ♡ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The next day, Wednesday, you decided it was time to pay Tommy a visit. Not only because you still needed to ask him about switching Ellie out of the kitchens, but because you realized you hadn’t seen him since the weekend. He was sure to be curious to know how the patrol had gone and, if you avoided him any longer, he’d likely be concerned it had sent you into a spiral. You ought to make sure he knew you were alright. 

Tommy was dressed in a deep red shirt with a brown jacket when you’d tracked him down at a work site in the early afternoon. 

The population in Jackson was steadily growing with each passing year, whether because couples felt safe enough to start families or due to new refugees being admitted. More people meant more space was needed, so the town had a division that worked to safeguard and fix up new houses brought into the walls. When he wasn’t looking after patrols, Tommy was spearheading construction plans and repairs. He was often assisted by his older brother on the days throughout the week Joel wasn’t patrolling. The Miller brothers had both been carpenters back in Texas before the outbreak. 

Tommy’s back was to you as you started up the drive of the quaint, two-story, faded blue house he and his team were working on today. He had a clipboard in one hand and his other directing one of his guys stood atop a ladder.

“Surprised you’re not the one up there,” you called out to him teasingly, approaching with your hands tucked into the front pockets of your blue jeans.

Tommy swiveled in your direction and smiled.

“Nah, I’m good down here,” he said. “I did my time doin’ the work myself. Goal was always to be contractors, Joel and I — be the ones givin’ orders. Just never got the chance to work our way up the system, so I’m makin’ up for lost time. Besides, I’m ‘sposed to be delegatin’, aren’t I?” he joked.

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly and smiled. 

“Glad you showed up,” he changed the topic. “Wanted to ask how things went on patrol. First time I’m seein’ you since. Where you been?” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was too tired that night to do anything but crawl into bed afterward,” you replied simply. “And yesterday I just felt like I needed to check on the horses. First time I’ve left them for an entire day in a long while. Not to say Ezekiel and Lucy aren’t capable of handling things without me, but you know how I feel.”

You were only half-lying. Those two things were true, but you were indeed intentionally leaving out the rest of the story. If you could help it, you wanted to keep Tommy in the dark about the details of what had happened on your shift. If he knew of it, he’d likely regret ever having asked this of you in the first place and would feel guilty that he’d pushed you too hard to do something you clearly weren’t ready for. But in reality, he’d pushed you just enough.

Tommy hummed and turned towards a nearby group off to the right tasked with cutting some wood, beckoning for one of the men to come over. 

“Watch this for me for a second, would you?” he asked the man, gesturing to the ladder. “Don’t need no unnecessary injuries from Donny here fallin’ off somethin’ unstable.”

When his spot had been replaced, he suggested you follow him inside the house, saying he needed a swig of his coffee he’d left in there. You trailed him up the steps of the front porch where he held the rickety screen door open for you. Once inside, he brushed past you to lead the way to the kitchen. 

It was empty when you entered but there were muffled voices coming from upstairs that let you know there was another crew working on the second floor.  

“Joel isn’t here, is he?” you asked Tommy.

“Nah, he’s at a different house on the south side,” he answered, reaching for his drink on the counter next to a bunch of miscellaneous papers. They were littered with scribbled notes and sketches that you knew were genius but made no sense to you. 

You must have let out a sigh of relief loud enough for him to hear because he looked to you over the rim of his mug and lifted his brows. 

“What?” you feigned innocence. 

He set his coffee down and shook his head. 

“You’re happy he’s not here,” he chuckled. 

“Well, I think most people would be.” 

“That just ‘cause my brother’s an asshole?” 

“Mostly."

“Or is there somethin’ else to the other day you ain’t mentionin’?”

That last remark was too quick and seemed awfully crafted, like Tommy already knew things were more nuanced than you were letting on and was probing you to admit it. Maybe he did. Still, you played hard to get. 

“Not particularly,” you deflected carefully.

“That so? Didn’t seem too keen about all this on Saturday. It really went off without a hitch?”

You folded your arms and shrugged casually.

“Yeah. I mean, was it fun? No, but I told you I’d make it work. It went fine.”

There was a pause. Then, after a moment, Tommy sighed.

“Look, come off it. Joel told me,” he said.

Your gaze snapped to his again. 

“Told you what?” 

“That he had to shoot that clicker runnin’ at you in the clubhouse ‘cause you weren’t goin’ to.”

Damn it, Joel. 

“That’s not true,” you refuted quickly. “I was going to.”

Technically, you were.

“But you didn’t. You froze. Right?”

You went to open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but this time nothing came out. He’d got you there. 

“You froze,” Tommy stated resolutely, your silence having confirmed it for him.

He was right, even though you wished he wasn’t because that reality was so embarrassing. Hesitation wasn’t something you ever struggled with before. You’d always been fiercely sure of yourself — even before the outbreak.

Call it being the eldest daughter, maybe. But there was just some sort of inescapable expectation put upon you—to be a good role model for your younger sister, to succeed, to prove others wrong, to survive—that meant there was never any room for error in your actions. It wasn’t an option for you to freeze. You had to just do, and be confident about it.

But you changed in the crumbling shopping mall on the outskirts of Cheyenne that day when you hadn’t thought twice about trying to kill that man. 

That man — the one who swore he had no ill intentions. The one who had begged for your mercy. The one you’d judged as a threat to yourself and your loved ones that needed to be eliminated anyway because, in this day and age, deceit was far too common. It was much better to be safe than sorry, you’d thought, no matter what people pleaded in the face of death. So you’d made the split-second decision to execute him. You didn’t hesitate, you just acted. Raised your gun and fired a bullet meant to breach his skull. And it would have breached his skull, under any other circumstances. But you hadn’t realized something would jump in the way before it could. 

Ever since then, you weren’t the same fearless person you used to be. Now, you wavered. You would overthink. You froze.

Naturally, you contemplated continuing to deny Tommy’s accusation. But then you remembered what you were trying to work on: being honest about your pain. Embracing your struggles and faults. Besides, who were you kidding? When it came down to it, this was Tommy standing before you. Not only after a decade of friendship would he be able to see right through your deceit anyway, but you’d long stopped being able to withhold the truth from him for too long in the first place. 

There wasn’t anything left of yourself to hide from him anymore. He’d already seen you at your worst. When you were utterly broken — exposed and vulnerable like a crab without its shell. When you’d been self-destructive and as unpredictable and reckless as a live wire. He was there through it all. There couldn’t be a side to you left for him to discover worse than that, so why lie?

“Fine,” you sighed. “Yes, I did, alright? It was because I saw Addy. When I looked down the barrel, I saw her in my mind instead of the clicker,” you bucked up and admitted. “Just for a brief second. That’s why I… paused.”

The shift in his curious expression to one of sympathy made you cringe. That was exactly why you despised telling people these sorts of things — it garnered pity, and being pitied always made you feel so weak. 

“But it’s not a big deal. I’m fine,” you were quick to assert, hoping he wouldn’t back-pedal.

Then you realized that was only a half-truth, and half-truths weren’t going to cut it from now on. Owning up to shit was going to allow you to heal, you reminded yourself. 

“Well, it felt like one in the moment…” you conceded. “But I’ve reflected on it and… it’s happened. It’s done. I can’t dwell.”

Silence filled the air for several beats. 

Then Tommy said, “I shouldn’t have put you up to this.”

One hand went to his hip and the other ran through his hair. Just as you knew he would, he felt you’d been hurt and that he’d been the cause of it, and now he had another problem to fix. 

“Don’t say that. Nothing for you to regret,” you told him. 

He frowned.

“Wasn’t right. Shoulda forced you to see Gail like you shoulda done from the start, not throw you into the deep end,” he shook his head. “Not thinkin’ clearly. This baby stress is gettin’ to me.” 

“No, you were thinking just fine,” you countered. “Speaking with a woman who was a therapist twenty years ago is only going to do so much for me, Tommy. Sometimes the deep end is the only way. It’s a reality check, and I needed this one. You didn’t make a mistake. In fact, you did exactly what you should have done as my friend. You gave me the courage I was struggling to find.”

His eyes slid curiously to yours.

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?” he asked. “You weren’t exactly the most enthused about all this to begin with, and then you tell me you saw Addy. Don’t you want out of it now? I’d think you’d be dyin’ to jump ship.” 

“Maybe not anymore,” you let out the words through a big exhale. 

“What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m saying this has made me realize it’s been six years and I still haven’t coped, Tommy,” you replied. “I need to move on. You were right the other day. The only real way to do that is to stop bolting from the things I’m scared of and tackle them head-on. I can’t keep pushing it all down.” 

His eyes lifted to yours, imploring, as if waiting for the catch. 

“You serious?”

“I’m serious,” you nodded. “I don’t want to back out.”

Tommy ruminated on the thought for a minute. 

“Fine,” he said. “I think that’s real brave of you. But just… maybe we don’t face these things on patrol, alright? ‘M not sure that was the best way to start.”

“How else would I get back into the swing of things?”

“I’ll help you,” he suggested like it were obvious. “You 'n me — we’ll go somewhere on the outskirts of town, practice 1-on-1 with some guns. And we’ll talk about things, too. Get it all out. It'll still be a step in the right direction, but much safer than havin’ you out there where things are unpredictable and I can’t be there if you need me.”

“What about Joel? He still needs a partner,” you reminded him. “Part of the whole reason I got myself into this.”

“I’ll find someone else to be with him. I’ll look at the list of guys again 'n figure it out,” he brushed off the thought. “Tell him to get over himself. I’ll handle it.” 

“But with what time would you do all this, Tommy?” you countered. “You said it yourself, you’re spread thin already and it’s starting to affect you. You’re exhausted. As nice of you as it is to suggest this, it wouldn’t work. Especially when the baby comes.”

He said nothing but dragged his hand over his face tiredly, an obvious gesture to you that deep down he knew you were right. With a frown, you slipped around the counter and pulled his hand away from his weary eyes, taking it in yours.

“Besides,” you urged more softly with a gentle squeeze. “You can’t keep picking me up off my feet forever. You’ve done that enough to last a lifetime. We laugh about you being in my debt, but really it’s me who’s eternally in yours.”

He pursed his lips like he’d disagree. He looked down at where you held onto him and brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“You know why I do it,” he murmured. “Why I don’t mind.”

The word love was always heavy on Tommy’s tongue, as it often was on your own. After all the loss and pain of the last twenty years, it was hard to say you loved someone aloud these days, even if now you lived in relative safety. It was almost like an unspoken fear that if you voiced it, the act would summon something bad and that person would be taken from you, just like everyone else had already been.   

You knew he felt it for you, though. Knew you meant more to him than most other people. And you knew he understood that about you, too. You were each other’s best friends. He was practically the older brother you’d never had. But the affection didn’t necessarily have to be spoken — it was always implicit. You could feel it. And that was enough.

“You’re family,” he said, even though the reason was already clear.

“I know,” you nodded. “But… I’ve thought a lot about this, and even with all the help given in the world, some things you have to work out for yourself. I think this might be one of them.”

Tommy still looked torn, like something inside him just couldn’t quite fully agree with this, even if he was aware you had a point. 

You sighed.

“Look,” you reasoned. “Going out there after so long — something was bound to happen. It was inevitable I’d be hit hard the first time. But I need to do this. I have to. For myself and for Addy. And now that I’ve ripped the bandaid off, it can’t be that bad. I know what to expect. So I’m good,”  you assured him more firmly. “Stop your worrying and your pitying. You know it weirds me out.” 

Tommy cracked a small smile. 

“Alright,” he gave a nod.

He never tried to control you. He protected you, yes. And maybe at times he made it obvious he disagreed with some of your ways. But at the end of the day, he knew you were going to do what you set your mind to, and he respected you by trusting you to discern that it was the right choice for yourself to make. 

“But if anything changes,” he said sternly, “if you have second thoughts, you tell me. Don’t try and push it all down 'n suffer through it. Talk to me about it. We’ll find a way to make it work. You hear me?”

“Promise,” you agreed with a smile. 

He nodded again and let go of you, reaching for his coffee. The conversation was left there. A content silence filled the space until you remembered what you had originally come here for in the first place. 

“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” you said. “Whole reason I stopped by today.” 

“What, didn’t come just ‘cause you missed me?” Tommy teased, the air between you lightening up fast. 

“No,” you chuckled. “I got to talking with Ellie the other day.”

“Mm? ‘Bout what?”

“Found her at the barn with Shimmer,” you explained. “Turns out she visits a lot, even though I haven’t seen her around there much before. Said it’s a nice outlet for her, being around the horses. So… I offered her a position. She told me she hates the kitchens, and I don’t want her to be miserable. And an extra pair of youthful hands around the barn wouldn’t be a bad thing. But of course, said I’d speak to you about it first.”

Tommy shrugged and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“I don’t got a problem with that,” he replied. “Works out, actually. Elise’s been yappin’ my ear off about how Ellie ain’t the best protégé, but to be honest, I just hadn’t gotten around to doin’ somethin’ about it. Probably a good thing to move her. Best to keep her happy and occupied. Seems the type to get into trouble when she feels bored or tied down.”

“Mm,” you nodded. “I mean, what she really wants is to be able to go on patrols.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’,” he said shortly. “She’s too young.”

“I know. I told her the same thing. Figured my offer was a good compromise,” you chuckled. “She’s certainly got spunk, I’ll give her that.”

“Sounds a bit like someone we once knew, huh?” 

“Addy?” you asked, to which Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

“Could have been a duo, them two,” he laughed. 

“A scary one,” you agreed, smiling softly.

The pair of you shared a tender, nostalgic sort of look, even though it felt like your heart was being squeezed in your chest at the same time. 

Talking about Addy still hurt. Even after all of these years, the subject of her still felt a bit too touchy. You weren’t sure that was ever going to change. But refusing to reminisce about her entirely—especially with Tommy who’d lost someone just as important to him too—felt like an insult to her memory. So you allowed it every once in awhile, but only with him. Maybe one day soon you’d be able to work up to telling other people about her and the kind of person she was. It could be another goal of yours.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” you announced, preparing to exit. “I’ll break the good news to Ellie tomorrow. I was thinking I’d tell her she can join me starting next week. Let her finish out what she needs to around the kitchens.” 

“Good plan.”

“She’ll be happy you agreed,” you smiled.

“And I’m sure Elise will be happy she’s out of her hair,” Tommy laughed. “Win-win.”

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ♡ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅

“No.”

“But Joel—" came a whine.

“Look, you’ve barely even given the kitchens a shot, Ellie,” Joel sighed deeply.

He pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table late Thursday evening in their home at the end of Rancher St., not bothering to keep the legs from scraping against the worn floor. He settled into it with a grunt and the wood mirrored him, creaking under his weight. It was tired and old, just like he was. 

He’d picked up an extra patrol shift last minute for a guy who’d spent a little too long at the Tipsy Bison bar last night — enough to leave him with his face in a bucket of half-digested food and his wife knocking at Tommy’s door this morning asking if anyone else could cover for him. Tommy had gone to his brother.

Joel didn’t mind the opportunity to get out — it was better than dawdling around all day at a worksite like it was still 2003 and things were completely fine in the world. Admittedly, he was struggling to get used to the air of normality and passiveness about Jackson after recently trekking across the country, surviving day to day by tooth and nail, and all the years of lawless smuggling before that. 

Still, it had been a taxing day. In addition to a lot of other things going wrong, he’d had to take out a horde at the old ski resort by himself after getting separated from his incompetent partner. Several years ago, Joel could have handled such a feat in his sleep, leaving with hardly a scratch. He could still do it, but not with the same ease as before.

Now that he wasn’t having to run on adrenaline every single day, and had time to spare for once, he was starting to realize his 53-year-old body was beginning to catch up with him. Things were cracking in places he didn’t even know possible, there was always this lingering pain in his lower back, his hearing in his right ear was shit, and his endurance wasn’t what it used to be. 

And he was about to wake up and patrol all over again tomorrow, with you. A major fucking thorn in his side already and he’d hardly spent much time with you. 

Sue him if he wasn’t in the mood to be confronted by Ellie—with the energy of a jackrabbit, mind you—about something the second he’d stepped through the threshold of the door. Especially not something that had to do with you. 

“I’ve been doing it for four fucking months, Joel, not just a few days. And it sucks ass,” Ellie retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Language,” Joel scolded wearily. “Jesus.”

“Elise doesn’t want me there anyway,” the auburn-haired girl continued, unperturbed. “I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” he replied, bending over stiffly and beginning to unlace his muddy boots he really should have taken off at the door.

“You wouldn’t know. Trust me, she does,” she grumbled. Then she dropped her arms and demanded, “Oh, come on, Joel. Why are you so against this? What bad could come from me working at the stables? I wouldn’t cause any problems while I’m there ‘cause I’d be working for someone who actually seems to like being around me, and it would be so much more fun.” 

“Nothin’ bad, just think you need to stick with hard things, s’all,” he shrugged, kicking off his left boot. “You’re givin’ up on something too easily just ‘cause you got an unfriendly boss. Welcome to the real world.”

“Seriously?” she scoffed.

Joel shrugged as if sticking by that being the sole reason as to why he wasn’t too keen about this proposal. In reality… well, it was more complicated than that. 

A job at the stables would only play into Ellie’s larger fantasy of being a part of the community’s defense. She’d be running into guys coming and going on patrol every day, able to pry them for the glory stories of their shifts. It would only make the idea all the more tempting, and if he could help it, Joel wanted to snuff that dream out. 

He was just trying to keep her safe. After everything that happened at the hospital in Salt Lake City… he didn’t want there to be any more chances for him to lose her. He couldn’t stand to lose anyone else in his life. When she was in Jackson, she was protected. He knew where she was. Knew no one could try and hurt her because this town wasn’t a threat. But if she went beyond the walls patrolling, that was a different story. 

He knew it was selfish to want to keep her in a perfectly mundane position like the kitchens. He knew he really had no fucking right to stop her from doing anything — he wasn’t her father. But damn it, he was the closest thing she had, and he just wanted to ensure the kid stayed alive. Was that really such a bad thing? He didn’t think so. Too many things in this world had already tried to take her throughout her life and she was only fifteen. Anyone with a fucking mind should want to keep a girl like that safe.

Ellie deserved better. Deserved to stay far away from the darkness that had ruined him. 

Joel never thought living the way Jackson does—so close to life pre-outbreak—would ever be possible. He’d never seen it before. Never considered there was still a trace of humanity left anywhere after the world fell. Now that he’d realized there was, that’s all he wanted for Ellie.

Patrolling, living out there in the wild — it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Hell, maybe at times he still felt a longing for it, but that was because he was too far gone. There was no hope for him after twenty years, but Ellie — she was still young. She didn’t have to live the way he’d had to. She could have the beauty and ease of Jackson for the rest of her life. And that should be what she wanted. She shouldn’t be dreaming of the exact opposite.

Joel knew there was a very real possibility that he’d lose this battle. That Ellie would turn seventeen and still be set on defending the community, because her will and determination were something else. And there wouldn’t be anything for him to do — he had no real parental say and seventeen was the town’s legal age to join patrols. He just hoped with everything in him he could convince her not to in the next two years. Convince her to settle down with a simple job that didn’t require her to step foot out of Jackson’s walls, that way she'd always be safe.

But you going around throwing out the opportunity to come work at the stables and putting ideas into Ellie's head wasn't exactly helping to make that possible. And who gave you the right to step into their family business in the first place? You didn't even really know her — why were you suddenly acting like you cared? Not to mention what made you think you could suggest a huge switch-up in their routine first before speaking to him about it, knowing he was the one who'd assumed the role of taking care of Ellie now?

He wished you'd stayed the fuck out of it.

Ellie’s features morphed into a scowl, the top of her freckled button nose scrunching up. 

“If you really think I’m capable of doing ‘hard things,’ you’d let me go on patrols,” she clipped.

Joel paused his movements. He lifted his head very slowly and gave her a warning look. To anyone else, it’d be enough to have them shrinking back. But this was common in this household, and Ellie was different. She matched his cold glare, keeping the pressure on. She was one of the few people who did. 

You being another, apparently.

“That ain’t the same and you know it,” he answered lowly.

“Bullshit.”

Joel dropped his right boot and sat straight, jaw set with frustration. Unmistakable anger flashed in his eyes. He controlled it, though, choosing instead to let it brood dangerously beneath the surface in a bottle that the world should pray never got opened again like it did in Salt Lake City.

Several beats passed between the pair as they stared each other down. Then:

“We’re not doin’ this right now,” Joel muttered. “You’re stayin’ put at the kitchens.” 

 “But—“

“Ellie, I said no, damn it,” he snapped, words as sharp as a blade. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was final, hitting with the same weight as a train. “Drop it.”

The sound of stomping up the stairs and a bedroom door slamming shut harder than necessary followed soon thereafter, rattling the walls of the old house. Joel leaned back—or slouched, rather—into his chair and exhaled, exhausted. He swiped a still-dirtied hand across his face and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

After having lost his only daughter Sarah on Outbreak Day, he never thought in a million years he’d be where he was right now again — having to deny a teenage girl of something she really wanted and endure the absolute wrath that followed. 

He wondered how he wound up in this position. 

“Damn it, Tess,” he muttered, only for the painted owl on his coffee mug still resting on the table in the exact spot he’d left it this morning to hear. 

Tess — his… person. The level hand that steadied him for a period of time that was longer than what he’d had with his daughter. The one thing in the world that had been worth saving for nearly the last decade and a half, until Ellie came along. 

This was all your idea anyway, he thought. Why’d the hell you have to go and leave me? 

It was hard to believe it’d been a year since she’d died. A year since she'd guilted him into taking a girl he'd just met across the country on the basis of an overly optimistic rumor. In ways, that day at the Capitol building where she was bitten felt like a lifetime ago. In others, it felt like hardly any time had passed at all between then and now.

Sometimes, Joel swore he still saw her silhouette round a corner. Still occasionally heard her voice in his ear, guiding him like she always did when he wasn’t exactly sure what to do, or offering a smart remark that managed to coax his normally straight lips upward into the hint of a smile. Sometimes, when he was lying on his side in bed at night, Joel was convinced he could feel the ghost of her fingers. The ones that used to slip through his hair at the base of his neck in the wee hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep and didn’t know that he was awake, too. 

They seldom shared such tender moments like that, in the sake of self-preservation. The stakes were too high back in Boston — for themselves, for their smuggling business's reputation. It was risky to feel deeply in the apocalypse. It means you have something to lose, and where there's something to be lost, pain is sure to follow. They'd each suffered enough already, so they tried desperately not to care.

But they were human after all. Every now and then, the lines between them would blur, especially at night when the darkness and quiet so often came with a suffocating kind of loneliness—emptiness—that was hard to ignore. They'd become a mess of gentle caresses and whispered secrets. Or ragged breaths and soft moans. And only when the sun rose and reality sank back in would they untangle themselves from each other's arms.

They could try to pretend otherwise, and they always did, but deep down there was a shared craving for intimacy, for connection, that couldn't be stamped out completely. It was why, when the rules did bend, it was never the last time, even if they always said it would be.

Despite better judgment, Joel had fallen. He'd loved her. And he was sure Tess loved him back. But they were both stubborn, and remained so until the very end. They'd never talked about it, never truly confronted it, but he was certain—in their odd, special way—that the sentiment had been there between them for years.

But now she was gone, just like many others were in his life, and again he was rendered alone in the deep end, left to care for a kid all by himself.

He hoped he wasn't fucking it up this time. Hoped he wouldn’t fail Ellie like he had Sarah.

With a heavy sigh, Joel pulled himself from his thoughts and pushed away from the kitchen table, standing up. He didn’t bother to move his boots, just stepped over them and tiredly dragged himself upstairs. He cast a long look at Ellie’s shut door, frowning, on the way to his own room. 

He wondered what kind of trouble you’d give him come tomorrow.