AN: Set sometime after Pittsburgh, before Wyoming. Gonna be doing a few little one shots here and there as they come to me, while I gather ideas for the longer story I want to start. This one is set in Ellie's POV.

Let me take this opportunity to clarify something. I have not, nor will I ever, entertain the idea of a Joel/Ellie romance. C'mon, seriously. Hit the back button up there if that's what you want, because you won't find it anywhere in anything I write. Gross. There is such a thing as a love that is not romantic, okay guys.

I own nothing, blah blah.

It seems that the longer we walked, the easier it became to talk to Joel. His answers were still stiff and short, for the most part, but I think he's getting less annoyed with me now.

At least, I kinda hope so.

It's not like we're best friends, or anything. Hell, we barely know each other. But after everything we've been through since leaving Boston... after Tess, and the hunters, the countless close calls with Infected... after Henry and Sam... shit like that bonds people together. In a fucking weird, twisted way.

We were in some rinky dink town with a name that didn't matter all that much... I think Joel said something about crossing into Iowa earlier this morning. It was afternoon now, judging by the sun and how hot it was. He had been lucky; no sign of anyone, hunters or Infected, since we first found this place. It was rare, to find a town completely devoid of life whatsoever, even demented life.

It's called luck... and it's gonna run out.

By the time the sun set, we had made it to the edge of town. We had spent most of the day scavenging for food and other stuff... some of the crap Joel picked up and stuffed in his pack made no sense to me, but I'm sure he had his reasons.

We, or he, I guess, had decided that this house was a good place to stay the night. It was one of the better ones still standing in the area... almost no broken windows! We were still holed up in the biggest bedroom on the second floor though. Joel had pushed a broken dresser in front of the door for the night, I guess to keep anything from getting in while we slept.

There were no beds in this room, but that's not a big deal. Beds are kind of a novelty to me at this point. But we did find a couple of old blankets. It's not that cold tonight, anyway.

I was sitting against the wall opposite the door, my back leaned up against it. Joel was doing the same, on the wall next to the blocked door. His eyes were closed, and I knew he was straining his ears in the way he does, listening for odd noises. He did that a lot.

I fiddled with my pack, my fingers pulling the zipper back and forth as my mind wandered to the houses we had rummaged through earlier. They all sort of ran together by now... I can't even remember which ones were from this town. But something that did always stick with me after going through old houses were the names. Most of the houses had some kind of name linked to it. Mailboxes, lying broken and smashed on front lawns, or piles of faded envelopes on tables. One house even had a painted message on a wall outside, the untidy scrawl black and chipping. That one would be hard to forget. The Morgans LIVED and DIED here. I tried not to think of who had written the words.

"Ellie."

I jumped, my fingers stilling, and looked up, my heart thumping wildly. But Joel was still sitting, so there must not be anything wrong.

"Joel." His mouth twitched, but the smile never broke. He gestured to the backpack in my lap. Oh. "Sorry." I set the offending object next to me on the wall and brought my knees to my chest.

"Somethin' botherin' you?"

"Pfff, nah. Just thinkin'." I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my chin on my knees.

"All right then." He pulled his pack towards him and opened it, stuffing his hand in and rifling around inside. I could hear bottles clink together and something crinkle when he moved. He pulled out some blades and a roll of tape and set to work.

We sat in the companionable silence we shared often while he worked. He finished doing the Joel thing and put his supplies away before leaning his head back against the wall again, his eyes half open.

"Joel?"

"Hmm." Typical Joel-grunt that I had come to associate as a sound of affirmation .

"Did you... I mean," I stopped, trying to figure out how to bring it up. This seemed to catch his attention more, though, because he sat up and focused his eyes on me.

"What was your name? I mean, before the world turned to shit and all." If he had been expecting anything, I'm willing to bet everything I owned it wasn't that. He stared at me for a while, his mouth a hard line.

"My name's always been Joel."

"No. No, I mean -" He held up his hand, his expression cold.

"I know what you mean. It doesn't matter. No one uses last names anymore."

"But -" Why was he getting so pissed?

"Just drop it, Ellie." He grabbed the blanket he had tossed aside earlier and bunched it up, using it as a pillow as he laid on his side, his back to me.

His reaction, while completely unexpected, was not altogether a surprise to me. Joel didn't open up about, well, anything. I couldn't help but feel disappointed and hurt, though.

"Okay. Sorry." I said softly, not wanting to piss him off more than I already had. The only response I got for that was a deep sigh from the other side of the room.

I pulled my pack close and laid down, resting my head on the lumpy material, my eyes on the ceiling.

I guess I fell asleep after that, because I woke up to a blanket being laid over me. I opened one eye and saw Joel walking quietly back to his spot by the door, his back to me. I smiled and closed my eye again, pulling the worn blanket close.

I woke up again a few hours later. Soft light was filtering in through the grimy window, and I could see the dust particles swirling around in the nonexistent breeze. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, groaning softly.

"G'mornin'." Joel's morning voice was always a lot deeper and more gravelly, and it always made me smile a little.

"Morning." I stretched my arms over my head. The blanket slipped off my shoulder and piled on my lap. "Oh, yeah. Thanks. For that." He shrugged.

"We should probably get goin'." He stood, grimacing as he did so. It always made my heart skip when he made faces like that. But I guess sleeping on shitty floors day after day will do that to you. I wasn't feelin' too hot, either. And Joel was old!

I stuffed the blanket into my pack and stood up, slinging the dirty straps over my shoulders. He did the same, his weapons swaying lightly from their holsters as he did so. I double checked the room for any of our supplies while he pushed the old dresser out from in front of the door, the heavy wood grinding loudly against the dusty floor. He frowned, but kept at it until the door was clear.

And then, we heard it. It drifted up from the floor below, the sound carrying clear.

Ccckckcckkkkkkkk.

Well, shit.

Joel crouched, his eyes closed and ear pressed to the door. I stood frozen, afraid to breathe, afraid to alert the clicker of our location. Every sound seemed to amplify now, and I knew that from our spot in this upstairs room, every sound was three times as loud to the clicker downstairs. After a half a minute, Joel opened his eyes and looked at me, saying everything he needed to with that look. After being with him this long, some conversations didn't need words anymore. Stay behind me, it said. Cover my back. I nodded, pulling my pistol from my back pocket and checking the chamber. The click made me cringe, but it was done.

He opened the door, the old hinges miraculously quiet, and we edged out of the room, into the hallway. I could hear the clicker bumping around downstairs, letting loose the occasional click-click-screech, but it seemed to not have detected us. Yet.

Joel held up a hand, and we stopped. He stilled, his eyes nearly closed, and I guessed he was trying to pinpoint the clicker's location. The shuffling and clicking was loud, but not horrible, meaning it was probably just one.

"I think it's just the one." He murmured, his body in the same position. I nodded, my eyes on his. He returned the gesture before inching slowly around the railing, his eyes scanning the bottom of the stairs.

Ah.

The clicker was lumbering around in the living room, it's back to us; it stumbled around upturned furniture and debris, letting off the occasional click-click. The back door we had come in through the night before was wide open. Dammit.

Joel crept slowly down the stairs, his steps slow and sure as he tested each step with his weight, trying to determine how loud they would be. We made it more than halfway down before any noise leaked out of the worn wood, and he froze instantly, his arm thrown out in front of me. The clicker had heard it, though, because it spun around, the fungal plates on it's face smeared with blood as it swung it's head around, click-click-clicking.

But after a minute, it seemed to forget, because it turned around and twitched down the hall, towards the kitchen. I let loose a breath and shook my head a little.

Once we were down on the landing, Joel listened again. He nodded, indicating that it was still in the house. He looked around the corner of the hallway, trying to spot it, and I swung around into the living room, trying to get the angle.

It happened too fast.

My back collided with the corner of a shelf, and the impact sent the empty vase toppling to the floor. The resulting explosion echoed around the living room, and then all was quiet for about 0.24 seconds. The horrible screech-clicking was back, three times as loud and just as furious, and before I had time to register what had happened, it was on me.

The stench of decay and fungus and death rolled off the thing in waves, making my eyes water as I grappled with it. It's clammy hands scrabbled at my arms and shoulders as I struggled to keep it's disfigured teeth away from me, but it was gaining power.

"Ellie!" Pounding footsteps, a shwing of something arcing through the air, a thud, gargled moaning, and silence.

The whole thing had lasted twenty seconds, tops.

I lay on the floor, trying to breathe normally, my hands shaking. Too close.

"Ellie. Are you okay?" I wanted to laugh, but couldn't muster the effort.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm great." I sat up and brought a hand to my forehead. He offered a hand, and when I took it, pulled me to my feet. "Fuckin' shit."

"C'mon. Let's get the hell outta here." He still clutched the baseball bat, his knuckles white.

"Lead the way."

We had put a couple hours distance between us and the little town before stopping. We were on a highway again, the cracked pavement congested with plant overgrowth and broken cars.

Joel stopped next to a bus, sliding to the ground in the shade and closing his eyes. I slid down next to him, mirroring his exhausted sigh.

"Miller." He said after a while. I opened my eyes and looked at him, wondering if I had imagined it. He was still leaning into the bus, eyes closed.

"What?" He opened his eyes then, glancing at me from the side.

"Joel Miller. That's what my name was before the world turned to shit." I couldn't believe my ears.

"Oh." I smiled, shutting my eyes again. We sat there for a while, the silence comforting in a way only people who have survived together like we have are able to achieve. "Thanks for telling me."

"Hmm."

"I just... It helps, y'know? People's names. Helps keep a space between a person and the Infected."

He nodded.

"I know."