AN: Hello, so this is something I wrote a while back, on the prompt "bitterness" with Ellie. I've been meaning to post it here for a while, but never got around to it until now. However, this is bordering on anti-Joel, just to let everyone know before they read it. I have a lot of ambivalent feelings about his character. Anyway, here it is.
It'd been two years since they arrived at the dam. Two long, almost boring (by comparison) years. She'd grown during that time, becoming tall and thin and well muscled. Not quite a woman, but more than a half-grown kid. A young lady, as Maria had put it.
Even after two years (three since she'd been bitten), Ellie still often found herself tracing the scar on her arm. Every month it seemed a little less prominent, the tissue less puckered, paler, fading.
If only other things faded as easily.
She had nightmares, almost every week. If anything, they'd gotten worse since they'd settled in at the dam, as if actually being able to rest when she wasn't dead-exhausted had left her mind more active at night, more able to conjure up things she'd rather forget.
Joel had asked her about the dreams, on occasion, on the mornings when she came stumbling from her bedroom with circles under her eyes, or flinched at loud noises.
She never told him what they were about. She didn't tell him much of anything, really.
She could barely look at him anymore.
After that conversation on the ridge, the lights of the dam beneath them, they'd never talked about the Fireflies again. When they were mentioned, Joel would find a way to steer the conversation away, or would absent himself with some grumbled excuse. Every time, Ellie could feel something twist in her gut, her stomach in her throat. That fucking bastard.
Ellie, admittedly, had a temper. Riley had used to tease her about it, little half-hearted jabs and nicknames: hothead, grump, poor sport. But, in spite of her volatile nature, Ellie had never been one to hold a grudge. She was sure she could forgive almost anything, given a few days to mull it over, or an apology.
Except this.
She'd known he was going to lie before he'd even opened his mouth that day. The hospital gown and the lingering scent of alcohol and soap were a giveaway right there, even without Joel's hesitance in answering, his story that didn't add up in the least.
It couldn't have been for nothing.
She'd spent those two long years trying to guess what could have happened (none of her theories made sense, but, then again, none of what had happened did), and never working up the nerve to ask Joel, all while feeling more disgusted by the day.
And, during those years, she'd gotten angry.
No, angry was the wrong word. Anger was sudden. Anger was shaking hands and clenched fists, a lump in your throat and gritted teeth. Anger was a fuse: it ignited and then it exploded and was done. It didn't linger.
This was something else. This was hearing Joel mention Tess remorsefully and wanting to hit him for missing her when he'd broken his promise to her. This was holding Riley's pendant in her hands, the metal tarnished from the year it spent being jostled at the bottom of her backpack and from being twisted and turned and held in her fingers during lonely moments, and realizing that she'd failed her; realizing that she'd be dead if it wasn't for Riley ("Let's just wait it out."), that Riley had given her a chance and it'd been for nothing; realizing that her death hadn't meant a thing.
This was feeling bile rise in her throat as she realized, one afternoon about a month after arriving at the dam, that whatever had happened at the hospital had been bad, bad enough for him to not want her to know, even after everything she'd seen, everything she'd done.
This was slow burning; a mold creeping across her heart, making the edges decay.
This was thinking of Joel sometimes, and realizing she almost hated him.
And she hated herself, too. Guilt ate at her incessantly, chewing at her stomach, creeping into her mind. It was almost unbearable, but she had gotten better at ignoring it. Endure and survive.
They'd lost part of a small group to infected last year, four killed and one alive and bitten (Joel had put him down) during a supply run. Ellie and Joel had been with the group, and Ellie had gotten sick afterward, leaning against a tree with her hand against her clammy forehead until she'd been able to pull herself together.
Another time, she'd found another robot on another supply run (the same brand as Sam's, but a different type), and wasn't able to stomach her meal that night.
Joel had learned not to mention Tess in front of her. It only earned him a cold shoulder, or a dark look.
No one mentioned Marlene (Joel was especially careful about this), but Ellie often wondered about her, as well. She hoped that she had nothing to worry about, that Marlene was somewhere safe, still leading the last stragglers in her group toward "restoring the country."
Ellie really doubted that, though. Either way, she refused to feel guilty over someone she wasn't even sure was dead. However, Joel seemed really afraid of talking about her. All he'd ever said was that "she wasn't there" when Ellie had asked if he'd seen Marlene at the hospital.
Ellie sometimes thought of Riley, of her warm, amused eyes (they'd been bloodshot and glossed with unshed tears the last time Ellie had seen them. Neither of them had known turning would hurt so much), of her quick, I-know-something-you-don't smiles, and wondered what Riley would do, were she in her situation. Riley, with her grand, poetic advice, would certainly have an idea. At the very least, she wouldn't have spent two years deciding what to do.
Not that Ellie had spent her time doing nothing but wavering. She'd become a vital part of the community in that time, helping Maria keep things managed, holding the place together. People loved her. She had friends. She was happy.
Being happy hadn't stopped the guilt, though.
It was a month after the two-year anniversary of their arrival at the dam when Ellie decided it was time for a change.
She didn't know where she'd go, or what she'd do, or who'd she'd meet. All she knew was that she couldn't stay.
She'd figure it all out. She was sure of that.