AN: Okay, after countless edits and reedits, this is finally complete. I've dedicated this oneshot to a few people, you know who you are. And I also want to thank everyone, all the people who've taken the time to read my stuff over the past year. I can't believe it's actually been that long. Wow. Crazy. Anyway, you're all awesome and thank you.
Enjoy.
It was way past six, the hour in which he normally returned from a day of labor at the wall. The house was quiet and lonely, nothing but a barren, crumb dusted cake pan on the nearby coffee table, the electrical hum of a fluorescent ceiling light above, and the ticking of a nearby clock to keep her company. The clock only made it worse, though. Far worse; the evil thing was a persistent reminder that it was only getting later and he still hadn't returned.
She glanced at it, again, for the umpteenth time, then drew in a breath and squinted her eyes, gave it an irritated glare.
Ticktock. Ticktock. Tick - oh fucking stop it will you...
Part of her wanted to pick it up and throw it against the wall, putting to rest that tormenting sound. But then she'd have to explain to him why the only clock in the house was now lying in shambles on the floor, broken into fragments of metal and shattered bits of glass. Explain why she got so upset the idea even struck her in the first place. Destroying it did seem quite enticing though, but that was just the illogical Joel-less Ellie thinking and trying to stay occupied.
Well, at least her eyes were keeping busy. They'd been darting back and forth between the front door and that stupid clock over and over again. The door. The clock. Door. Clock. Door, clock, door, clock. Maybe she was being ridiculous, but at six on the dot, when he hadn't walked through that entrance, that's what her evening resorted to. And she'd been doing it for exactly thirty-six minutes and seventeen seconds...
Okay, probably not exactly seventeen seconds, but she knew it had to be close.
Twenty-one now...
And at least the couch was comfy. Sort of. It'd be comfier if he were here with her, like he normally was at this time of the night. The giant thing was old, had a funky smell to it and a few rips in the fabric scattered about, but was still the spot they retreated to at the end of the day. Always together. And now always out of habit, like it was a scheduled regular occurrence. Only now it felt... colder than normal, not as soft, lonelier and less inviting for obvious reasons.
She curled up, brought her knees into her chest and wrapped both arms around the front of those skinny denim-clad legs. Within seconds the anxious side of her had those sock-covered tiny toes absentmindedly flexing and straightening against the cushion as a nervous act to stay... moving; keeping still was far too difficult. She glanced towards the front door, again, only to be let down, again, then huffed in disappointment, the airy sound rife with anticipation because where the fuck is he!?
She closed her eyes, rocked her head back, rested it atop the backrest, tried to calm herself with a slow breath. "Everything's cool," she said quietly. Then another deep breath, purposefully slower, in some feeble attempt to tame the nerves that had a pit forming in her stomach. "Everything is totally cool," she continued, eyes popping open to the sight of a dusty and stained off-white ceiling.
Whether she consciously did it or not, she made a face, and not a happy one. "He is okay... right?" she asked, head cocking to the side a bit, unsure as to whom she was asking the worrisome question. But in a strange way she thought perhaps he'd hear her; wherever he was, whomever he was with, and in the midst of whatever the fuck he was doing that apparently was keeping him away from home. Away from her.
She lifted her head and bit her lip, reddish strands of ponytail all frizzy and sticking to the couch. Her mind began to wander and she slowly nodded, eyes wide with a blank, detached stare ahead, as if she were trying to convince herself that everything was indeed just fine.
Yeah, we're okay, he's alright, just a longer day than normal. Nothing to worry about.
Nice try. Didn't last long, and she was already shaking her head in disagreement, no this is taking way too fucking long something has to be wrong I just know it, because she was worrying. Gut was churning, mouth was getting drier, skin beginning to moisten from a cold, nervous sweat and oh god this is the night he doesn't come back because he's been shot or bitten or -
She buried her face into her knees, hot and heavy breaths fluttering against her skin through the holes of her torn up jeans. She slowly counted to ten and thought of every moment he swore he'd never abandon her, never leave her. It was working, barely. But now she felt a bit guilty, because was this how he felt all the time? Worrying to no end? About her? About her well-being? About anything and everything?
How exhausting. And fuck she questioned how he managed to function, live, or even breathe with... that pummeling his psyche every day, because worrying was what he did. Always. He never stopped. But there was also something a tad empowering about it now that she'd tasted it for herself.
She cringed, the expression natural and reactionary, because she did feel guilty for making him worry so much. Oops! Sorry dude!
Getting into trouble, or going on the hunts for food, or gashing her arm on a branch, and making him worry had become just sort of... "a thing." And she chuckled at the irony of it, because now his overprotective ways made some sense when applying even a sliver of context of her own.
Though, she'd experienced it for herself in spurts here and there. The university. The winter. The raid on Jackson during the summer.
She gulped, felt a shiver crawl down her spine, clutched her legs harder and curled into a tighter ball. And in an attempt to stay in the present, forced her eyes to make a quick tour around the room.
It was clean... ish...
The two of them did their best to keep the house in a clean state, but a lack of modern cleaning supplies made it difficult. He always said the condition and cleanliness of a person's living space, or even their car, were reflections of themselves, their character. And she always snickered a bit at that, not being the tidiest girl in the world, evidenced by the mountain of her clothing that collected on the floor of their bedroom as days went by.
Although, he was definitely cleaner and neater than most men she knew, especially his brother. Tommy was a slob, big time. But so was she, sort of, not knowing any concept of keeping stuff organized, or keeping track of things she claimed as hers while growing up in various spots around Boston. Never had to. Never had the opportunity to. One time, on a night kind of like this, she tried to tidy up the house. But in the end all the clutter simply wound up in "organized" piles. It seemed like a successful endeavor. Until he came home, and told her that just because she'd migrated the shit to different, semi-logical spots, it didn't mean the house was clean. All in jest though, and with that taunting smirk of his across his face, like always.
Apropos, though she'd changed him, affected him, rubbed off on him in many, many ways during their time together, perhaps he'd also rubbed off on her as well. Maybe even more than she originally thought too, since she was making more of an effort to keep things tidy and organized. Hah, that sneaky fucker.
She smiled at the thought, chuckled to herself, still blankly staring ahead and getting lost in the patterns on the wall across the room. Then...
Ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock. Oh goddammit...
She rolled her eyes and groaned, "come on Joel!" A pained cry, desperate even. And with both feet firmly dug into the cushion, knees and thighs tucked into her chest, she perched an elbow atop the armrest, planted the side of her head against her palm and blew a raspberry. She made a face and sighed, eyes lowering from the patterns on the wall to the coffee table. To think you used to live all by yourself without his old grumpy ass.
Then suddenly, just when she thought the anticipation within her was approaching critical mass and becoming painful, the sound of boots against the porch echoed from outside. It was him. It sounded like him, had to be him. An excited tingle shot through her gut because it feels like him, it has to be. She knew what he sounded like in every aspect, every way. Knew exactly the sound and pattern of those footsteps and that lumbering but confident gait of his.
Her head darted around, eyes tethering to the door. And she quickly inhaled, heart skipping a few beats, a sense of relief tempering her earlier worry. Her nerves tingled, in that familiar way she only felt during moments like this one. Waiting for him. Anticipating his return. The separation anxiety almost unbearable.
Joel!
She jolted forward, and before she knew it was already scrambling, clambering and crawling across the couch to the other side. She knelt on the cushion, all happy and eager to see him while perched atop the armrest with her forearms. Eyes wide and sparkling. Head perking up. Mouth agape and lips grinning with joy. Tongue nearly hanging out. Tail wagging and smacking against the couch like a puppy overflowing with excitement at the sound of its owner coming through the front door after a long day of isolation.
It swung open and in he came. Slowly. Too slow, in fact. He was red in the face, filthy, covered in sweat and grime. And grimacing too, while cradling a bandage-wrapped arm with the other in a tender manner.
She sought his eyes, but could tell he was avoiding her, then watched him immediately make an attempt to relax and hide the injured arm behind his back. The gruff Texan was already trying to squash the expression of discomfort across his face.
Her smile withered. The wagging of her metaphorical tail abruptly terminated and she sharply inhaled at the sight of him, the sight of his arm covered in a bloody bandage. Their eyes locked onto each other's, finally meeting, and her jaw gradually dropped as nothing but a wounded gasp escaped from the shallow depths of her throat, brain still scrambling to put all the pieces in place.
He swallowed hard, wiped his brow, tried to shoo her off with a wave of a hand. "I can explain. I'm okay. I promise," he said, tone a bit shallow and shaky, because he knew she wasn't going to let this fly.
She regained her composure, crossed both arms and sat back on her heels, treating the couch as a throne. Her eyes squinted, pierced him, and she gave him a leer, leveling him with a look.
The girl and her deadpan stare was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He went rigid and stared right back at her, didn't speak. And neither did she. A battle of wills as a grueling moment of silence took hold of the room, nothing but that goddamned, persistent, insufferable fucking clock.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
He was the first to break, like always, and cleared his throat while taking a cautious step forward, hand raised in a defensive gesture. "I'm - I'm fine. I swear." He brought the injured arm out in front, unsheathed it from behind him, grimacing again during the motion. "Ack... Jesus..." he muttered under his breath, teeth gritting and eyes shifting towards the floor.
Hers were far too intense, filled with fire, intimidating even, and he could already feel their machine-like persistence to reattach to his. And part of him wanted to kick himself to last week for causing that look to engulf her face. For causing her to worry. Asshole. The nerve.
She made a strange noise, some attempt at words but not, then cleared her throat. "Where were - what the fuck Joel!?" she shouted, voice strained and brimming with concern. Wasn't mad, more... fucking terrified as the question burst from her lips in a frantic manner, like it'd been pent up for hours just yearning to be set free. And it had been, certainly. It wasn't much of a warm welcome, but her brain was still attempting to wire everything together, and saying something was better than nothing. In a weird way it seemed to stave off the sickening pit growing in her stomach.
He shuffled to the couch, felt her eyes lingering on him every step of the way, then gingerly lowered himself onto it. He grimaced as he got settled, still cradling his bloodied arm. And before he knew it she was already crawling on all fours across the cushions faster than a bullet to be at his side, to be so fucking close to him.
She propped herself up on her knees, sat back on her heels and grabbed his arm. "Let me see it," she said, tugging on it a bit too hard.
He flinched, pulled away, inhaled sharply with a hiss. "Easy! Christ." Then another grimace as a pair of small hands scrambled to reattach themselves to his bloodied sleeve. He resisted again. "I said I'm - "
"I said let me see it!" she interrupted, eyes wide, round, and cutting through his defenses imploring him to obey.
"An' I said I'm fine. This is fixable. Don't worry," he said, tone taking a softer turn as he finished, still trying to hide his discomfort.
She snorted at that, returned her distressed gaze to his arm as she scanned every inch of it. "That's real funny coming from you," she spat as curious and dexterous fingers resumed their inspection of the wound.
He snorted too, lightly shook his head and looked away, letting her fondle it because he knew she was right. The girl did have a point, and he'd already resigned himself to her investigative touch, wasn't sure why he kept resisting. He'd behaved the same way a few months ago when the roles were reversed, after she came home in Tommy's arms all bloodied and bruised after falling from that stupid tree. Which, by the way, he was still considering hacking down for its horrid transgression...
So giving in to her current state was only fair. Besides, the shaking in her hands appeared to wane at the touch of him. The touch of his shirt, skin, hair, whatever it was, seemed to put his little girl at ease. And of course, her well-being usurped all other matters, even his.
"Oh god," she muttered, voice stumbling over the early stages of a lump forming in her throat.
He leaned back, easing into the couch, rolled his eyes and sighed as he relaxed his arm, letting her twist and turn it, inspect it until she deemed it okay.
She gently ran her fingers across the blood-soaked bandage, involuntarily letting loose a quick, scared noise at the sight of how much blood had turned it from white to a deep, dark shade of red. Seeing Joel bleed was still... too hard to handle. Too much to bear. A bleeding Joel was something horrible. Something out of the darkest parts of her imagination; just the idea of it shook her to the core. And as she scanned the wound, the synapses in her brain flooded her mind with memories of the times she did see him bleed. The times she nearly lost him.
Scary they were. Terrifying. Harrowing. Scarier than any pack of infected, hunters or cannibals. Because losing him? Losing Joel? Losing her purpose? That... that wasn't something she'd ever considered. Joel wouldn't die. Couldn't die. Nope. Never, because he's - he's Joel! Right!?
A chilling shiver slithered down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her skin and she shuddered at the thought.
She closed her eyes, another bout of silence filling the narrow space between them, nothing but the internal alarm ringing between her ears and of course, that ticking clock.
A deep breath rippled through her diminutive frame, and she dropped his arm into her lap, cradled it with a hand as if it were a precious jewel, intertwining their fingers. That seemed to help, and the tension in her muscles waned a bit at the touch of his palm. His arm. His sleeve. His... alive self.
He turned his head back around, looked at her, scanned her up and down. She'd yet to look up at him, those round, flawless eyes still gazing at the fresh laceration, fingers tenderly gliding over it, lips even trembling a bit at the sight.
He cleared his throat, shattering the silence between them. "Well, give it to me doc. Am I gonna live?" he said, voice deep and raspy as always, also a bit playful. Well, as playful as Joel Miller could be. But it cracked ever so slightly on that final word, losing consistency as if it crumbled into pebbles. And there was something in it that said he regretted the stupid quip immediately, because now those doe-eyes were looking at him. They were wet, glossy, crystallizing with the building of tears as if he'd just said the worst fucking thing imaginable.
Realizing his mistake, he gulped, slowly reached out a hand to cup her cheek. "Ellie, I was just - "
She gritted her teeth and socked him in the shoulder. Hard. "Don't fucking joke about that!" she blurted out, delicate, little fists of stone quivering from fear at that thought as they thudded into his burly frame. Still clinging to his arm like her life depended on it, she sat back on her heels again, torso wilting to the side as her thigh pressed against the backrest of the couch.
She huffed, made a face as if her brain were still struggling to find the right words, then shot him a look. "You had me worried sick you asshole."
He wiped his brow and chuckled.
Dumb ass, because her eyes went wide and she flinched towards him, auburn bangs quivering a bit as she stared him down and leveled him with a glare that congealed his chuckles into molasses that lodged in his throat.
"It's not fucking funny," she said, grasp tightening around his arm.
He cleared his throat again, fixed himself into a more rigid posture, nodded. "Yes ma'am." But he couldn't restrain the lopsided smirk forming across his lips, which of course irritated her even more.
"I'm serious!" she shouted, breaths gradually rising in frequency and taking a panicked turn. Her fingers formed a death grip on his sturdy rock-like hand, squeezed it until her knuckles went white in some attempt to stabilize herself; stabilize herself via him because her imagination was beginning to spiral out of control.
The smirk on his face washed away completely, like a sandcastle swallowed whole by an overzealous wave at the beach. He'd obviously dealt with way worse. Like when he was a kid and getting into all sorts of trouble with Tommy. Bicycle accidents, fractured legs and arms, or deep cuts from playing with swords or sharp objects they shouldn't have. Just random, dangerous things boys did when young and stupid. When they felt... invincible.
Though right now he'd taken it a bit too far, because the look on her face, the fear of abandonment and losing him that was rapidly filling those innocent eyes to the brim, were far more painful than a broken bone or some silly gash on his arm. He wanted to punish himself, slash or gouge his other arm in some way as an act of repentance for behaving like such an inconsiderate shithead and making her feel in ways that he never intended - wanted - in a million years.
He took a deep breath, and with the hand that wasn't trapped between both of hers, pushed aside that pesky lock of auburn hair that always draped down her perfect little face. "I know sweetheart. I'm sorry," he softly said, thumb affectionately rubbing the small, endearing scar above her eye.
She relaxed a bit, the tensile grip around his arm loosening, expression shifting to relief but still boiling with concern. "How, when and what? Is this why you took so fucking long?" she asked, voice stern, demanding.
He gave a short nod in response, rubbing some of the sweat and grime off his face with the wipe of a hand. "Snagged my arm on some barbed wire up on the wall. Tommy, he uhh..."
"Wait, Tommy did this!?" She lurched forward, curiosity aplenty. "What'd he do? I swear to god I'm gonna kick his ass if he's the reason."
He snorted, scratched his brow with a thumbnail and looked towards the floor as he made a face. "Yeah, boy was sayin' somethin' about that," he muttered under an exhale, voice low, maybe even hiding a touch of humor.
She gave him a leer, clearly not amused.
But a snicker almost slipped across his tongue, because it was sort of funny; watching Tommy's hands nervously shake while he patched him up, the younger Miller constantly reminding him that an irate little redhead was probably going to exact... some sort of revenge for the bumbling mistake. And it went on for minutes, even the whole walk home, his younger brother saying all sorts of things like "that girl of yours is gonna have my goddamn head on a pike by tomorrow." Or, "reckon I should lock all my doors an' windows tonight right?" And his personal favorite, "can you at least let Maria have the final say on where my corpse is put in the ground?"
Another small smile, in reaction to the humorous memory, crept across his lips. But she wasn't smiling in the slightest. Nope. Not one bit, still just leering at him as if he'd strangled a kitten. So he quickly forced it away, fixed his posture again.
"Well at least he knows as much," she finally said under a sigh. "So what the fuck happened?"
He shrugged. "Nothin' really. Clumsy ass just tripped an' fell into me, knocked me right into the crap. It's just a flesh wound though, ain't serious. I'm okay, promise."
"Did you clean it out?"
Another nod.
"And who patched you up?"
A short pause, coupled with another grimace. "Tommy," he said, face tense in an obvious attempt to rein in the subtle expression of pain. The wound was minuscule, but deep, and fuck did it sting.
She made some noise of disapproval, clearly unimpressed. "Well he did a shitty job. We're changing it later and I'm having a look for myself," she said, lifting her chin all proud and confident. And she gave him a look, eyes tethered to his, I won't let you say no, so don't even try.
He rolled his eyes again, pushed a forceful exhale through his chest. "Fine."
A reluctant agreement, since she sure as hell wasn't going to take no for an answer. That much was obvious. But he had to bite his tongue and rope in any ounce of sarcasm or tongue-in-cheek because she'd just calmed down, didn't want to get her all riled up again.
Those pliable little fingers currently dug into his sleeve uncurled a bit, knuckles regaining color, and her small form relaxed some as she drew in a breath. Her other hand remained in his, their fingers woven together like a wicker basket.
"You have to be more careful," she said, voice going soft, gentle, and desperately concerned. It wasn't a suggestion. No, a command. And the pain still clinging to her expression told him so more than any words could.
"I will, but it's just a stupid cut, it ain't - "
"It's just a stupid cut now! This time!" she interrupted, volume rising, breaths gradually becoming quick and heavy, hands resuming their earlier shaking state. She gulped, pulled away and crossed both arms, still sitting on her heels atop the cushion adjacent to his.
"This - this time it's only a flesh wound," she continued, voice starting to crack. "What if it gets infected?" She swallowed hard. Again. The lump in her throat growing in size. "What if next time you fall from the top of the wall and break your legs." Chest now violently expanding. Breathing panicked, fast hot quick, useless, arms shaking so hard she could hardly control them. "Or - or - or you fall off your horse and - and get trampled!" Voice even higher now, fatally wounded, breaking cracking stuttering and stumbling through every frantic word.
He lurched forward, eyes widening, arms instinctively reaching for her. "Holy sh- Jesus Ellie - "
"Or you - oh god!" She was nauseous now, wanted to throw up, face flushing with heat, eyes turning red and filling with tears. "What if you lose a limb and - " Breaths harder, faster, shallower, more forced, that undersized frame of hers now hyperventilating. "And can't walk or - or you crack your head open!" she shouted, struggling to breathe while sucking air like a turbo in a car engine working double time.
"Ellie!"
"Next time you could die! And then - oh fuck!" She squealed, flinched away, watery eyes leaking fluid.
"Ellie stop!" He shot a hand out to pull her to him.
Her eyes were wide and round, darting around the room in terror and unable to settle on anything, tears freely dripping down her cheeks. "And and and th-then - " She choked, spluttered, retched, throat seized up, couldn't finish and let out an involuntary short sob.
For possibly only the second time in her life, Ellie Williams actually sounded broken.
He shifted towards her again, closer this time, haste of a ninja. "Woah woah hey hey, J-Jesus girl," he stammered.
Then with the speed of a cobra snatching its prey, he threw himself forward and gently latched onto the fleshy part of her arms, just below her shoulders, tried to corral her frantic and terrified state. "Hey hey hey," he softly said in that all too familiar and caring tone.
His strong, protective hands slowly climbed their way up her arms, shoulders, neck, eventually reaching her face. He gently held it in his palms, rough and rugged fingers cradling soft and supple tear-stained cheeks.
With her chest still convulsing from violent breaths, the room spinning around her like a hurricane, her eyes finally settled, anchoring to his. And those deep dark browns that housed a lifetime's worth of sorrow gazed deep into her like she was his everything.
"Hey. Hey. C'mon now, where in the hell is this comin' from?" he asked, voice soft as silk, palpable with care and... love?
She was crying, quietly, not sobbing, but still hyperventilating, each hasty breath rocketing out of her with such force her tiny frame was wheezing and shaking. And in a strange way the subdued crying was far worse than the alternative. He'd dealt with that before, after... winter. But this... this was different. The silent tears punctured his heart with needles after each one dribbled down her cheeks and nose. It felt like his rib cage was being crushed at the sight. He'd grown to numb pain, all kinds of it, but not the pain of seeing his Ellie cry. Nope. Never.
"Shh, easy," he soothed, scooting himself closer, firm and large palms finding their way to her shoulder blades as he pulled her into him, like he just couldn't get his arms around her soon enough.
Only lifting a hand off her back for a quick a second, he lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. They were crystallized, sopping wet, and they wilted, somehow more than before, and the poor things squeezed out another pair of sizable juicy droplets that trickled down her freckled cheeks.
His throat constricted, as if something had just clamped it shut, next breath nearly wedging itself in his chest, lips quivering at the sight because seeing her cry really did fucking hurt. "Oh Jesus honey." His voice cracked, sounded broken like a scratched record, and he swallowed hard to collect himself, struggled to find his next breath.
"C'mere baby girl. C'mere sweet pea."
She choked back another sob, the force of it too strong though to retreat without a noticeable fight.
"Shh it's okay. I gotcha. C'mere," he cooed, voice fragile and quavering as he gently pulled her deeper into his embrace, clutching her small self against him.
She pressed the side of her head against his chest. Felt the fiercely protective touch of his hand that cradled the back her head, the other firmly wrapping around her back and holding her in the best way.
Her arms were limp, holding onto nothing and simply resting in her lap while he held her close, breakable chest still struggling to suck in oxygen as it pressed against his. Tears dripped down her cheeks, crashing onto his jeans like mini waterfalls. Rapid breaths escaped through her lips and fluttered against his shirt with a hot fury. Watery eyes blankly stared at some stain on the floor as she focused on his heartbeat, his breaths, his scent, his... presence.
He lowered his lips, dug them into her hair and gave her a kiss. "Shh it's okay. It's okay," he softly said, words muffled against the auburn strands. "I'm here. I'm here an' I ain't goin' anywhere." He started gently rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back.
She sniffled, then tried, but failed, to stifle another wave of tears, hands blindly and frantically seeking to latch onto any part of his shirt.
"Shh baby it's alright. I've gotcha, everything's fine. Just listen to my heartbeat. Listen to my voice. Follow my breaths. Nice an' easy. I ain't goin' anywhere."
Gentle instructions. Loving even. And soft assurances. Soft assurances that he was there, holding her tight, never to leave or abandon her, and how the fuck did he always know what she needed? She wasn't sure, but thank god he did because it was becoming increasingly more evident by the day that living without him was something hard to fathom. Something... beyond abstract, and quite simply, inconceivable.
She loved him. He loved her, told her many times since that dark, dark day a few months ago when they finally broke down and admitted as much. When he finally came clean about his lie. When everything that built between them reached the tipping point and exploded into a fiery mess, nearly ending in utter disaster. That day when she thought her whole world, the one thing she did know and trust, was crumbling away beneath her feet, only to leave her horrifically and helplessly alone.
But she didn't end up alone. It didn't crumble away, because holy fuck did he love her to death, that wonderful and new feeling of butterflies flooding into her stomach every time he said those magical words, "I love you." And perhaps he'd already accepted living without her would've been difficult - impossible? And perhaps rampaging through that hospital to save her was the first sign of it.
So maybe, just maybe, clinging to a connection with someone, a real connection, a real bond stronger than any substance in the universe, was okay. Good in fact. Great. Maybe even required in a world hellbent on brutally punishing everything in its path.
A human connection. An emotional connection. A real connection. A bond so strong and rare there weren't words for it in any dictionary of any language. A bond with him, Joel. Now that was a soothing thought.
She went still, too petrified to move, too afraid he'd let go if she did. But her breathing began to calm, chest shaking less and less. The glossy trail of tears on her cheeks began to dry and she closed her eyes, focused on his heartbeat, his breathing, just like he said. There was always something so calming, so stabilizing, so... grounding about him. He gave her life. Fed her soul. Was her rock. Her foundation. Her nest she could always retreat to for safety and comfort.
It was a strange feeling, to finally be the center of someone's universe, the center of someone's attention. To be the centerpiece of their life. To be their whole world. To be the only thing that mattered. To be the most important. To receive nothing but their undivided care. And to be... loved. But fuck it felt good. Wonderful even, because she finally had something - someone - to call her own. Him.
He was hers. Unquestionably. Unconditionally.
He felt her relax, felt her lighter-than-featherweight self ease into his embrace further, listened to a series of deep breaths leave her petite form. "There ya go. That's it. Breathe baby, breathe," he soothed. He had to be absolutely sure each one went off without a hitch.
The large, strong and weathered hands rubbing her back, the reverberations in his chest as he cooed to her, the beat of his heart, the feeling of his lungs inflating beneath her as life coursed through him and the gentle pendulum-like motion of rocking in his arms were hypnotizing. She focused on them. Let herself be entranced by them. They were soothing. And unlike everything else in the current state of the world, it was easy, like walking. Easy like everything was when he was at her side.
He kissed her scalp again, really kissed it, gave it a lengthy and audible smooch. "Easy now. Easy sweetheart. We're alright. We're okay. We're perfect," he said, eyes closed, lips firmly glued to her hair, scarred and callused hands continually massaging her shoulder blades, back and neck.
Before long her heartbeat was in sync with his, muscles absent of tension and breaths slow, calm, painless and easy, just like he said.
She sniffled, a fragile peep, the first sound of life from her in minutes, then wiped her eyes against his shirt. "You better be extra careful from now on or I swear to god I'm putting you in a fucking bubble," she said, voice nasal and muffled from her face being buried into his shirt. But it was also a bit playful, maybe even tripped over a few teary-eyed chuckles with a small smile, because that's actually a really fucking awesome idea. Put his crotchety ass in a bubble then we never have to worry.
Dimples formed in her freckled cheeks, lips stretching up as her smile widened, and he felt it all happen against his chest. He smiled too, lips pulling taught like hers as they curled upwards, sliding against her hair. "So this damn bubble of yours, I take it irredeemable fuckwits like my graceless jackass of a brother ain't ever allowed inside right?" he asked, tone jovial and sportive, stumbling over a few chuckles of his own.
She unhitched a laugh. Loud. Boisterous. Happy. A typical, signature, Ellie-laugh, spitting, snorting, face rolling against his chest with dimpled rosy cheeks and squinted eyes. "Yu-yup!" she said, barely managing to push the terse response through her giggles.
God he loved that sound. Those giggles, that laugh. Yeah, it was teary-eyed, nasal and all clogged up, sure, but it was still the greatest fucking thing in the universe. The purest sound.
He pulled his head up, leaned it to the side in the hope of seeing her face. "There gonna be room for two?" he asked.
She sniffled again, wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and pulled away, just enough so she could tilt her head back and look up at him. A thinly veiled smirk stretched across her lips and she shrugged, the brief and subtle motion masked by his enveloping arms. "Maybe."
A lopsided smirk of his own, mirroring hers, grew across his mouth as well and he interlocked his fingers behind her back, refusing to let go of her or let her pull away too far. "That so huh?" he said, tone a bit suggestive. He made a face and shrugged too. "Guess that means no more piggyback rides an' - "
She guffawed, loudly, flinched in his arms and jolted backwards like he'd just twisted a knife into her gut. "There'll always be room for me you dick!" She gave his shoulder another light jab, a playful thing. The mere idea that they were actually two separate entities hadn't even crossed her mind.
He laughed, didn't even twitch or attempt to dodge the bony fist that smacked his shoulder. Didn't want to.
Her eyes were still wet, cheeks still red and stained from her earlier crying, but her lips were curved upward in a smile. And her face was lighting up, because maybe that thought, living in a bubble with him and only him, them and only them, perhaps seemed freakishly enticing. She'd have him all to herself. And her to him, safe and sound with no threat of danger to speak of. If there was a heaven, that was it. Sure was her heaven at least, certainly sounded like it.
Though, their current state, where they were now, huddled away in their home, their nest, wasn't too far off. She thought so at least, and maybe he did too, because now his smile was growing in width like hers.
She watched him playfully tilt his head, watched the widening of his smile, felt two thumbs wipe away the remaining tears on her cheeks like a pair of windshield wipers. Like a puppy trying to cheer up its crying owner after an emotionally distressing day with high-pitched dog whines, a wagging tail, wet nose and tongue licking up tears off of glossy cheeks. And she made a sound, some fragile, airy and giggly noise to express her appreciation.
He leaned away, looking quite pleased with himself, then sunk into the corner of the couch and relaxed. "C'mere you cute little thing," he said, beckoning her over with a hand, one arm atop the armrest, the other unfurling and awaiting her impending arrival.
She smiled, even let loose an involuntary chirp of delight. Couldn't have held it back even if she tried.
It was a rare sound from her. But she knew he liked hearing it, knew it told him that she was actually happy and experiencing some... moment of joy or something like it at least. Which in the current state of the world was something to cherish. So she stopped trying to rein it in awhile ago, because it was just him, just Joel, and being vulnerable was... okay.
And... wasn't that the whole fucking point? She could be herself around him. Hell, she could be whatever the fuck she wanted around him and he'd love her to death regardless. He was providing for her in ways that... well, she was so horribly robbed of her whole life. Originally just another poor, unwanted orphan that the world basically discarded into the trash, with no caregiver whatsoever, with no one to really hold her when she was scared or cold, no one to really love her, she finally had something, had someone, to do... all of that.
Yeah, she'd seen him choke the life out of other men, watched him put bullets into people who may or may not have deserved it. But this man... oh this man, Joel, was so fucking gentle with her. So loving. Always.
The demonstrations of it were small at first, subtle, sneaky and hardly noticeable. But lately? Far more blatant. But he was okay with that. Like her, he'd basically said fuck it because she deserved every ounce of everything he had to give. And he cherished her like she was the most precious, exquisite creature to exist. And she was, definitely, especially to him. She knew so, felt so, with every tender touch of his hands, every affectionate kiss, every smothering hug and every word that left his lips.
So at this point, instead of playing coy and pretending to act aloof about the whole "snuggling" thing like she used to, she just said fuck it and dove right in. Like... right now, because she was already crawling his way, goofy smile and all.
She nestled into the couch and him. Well, more him really, tucking underneath his armpit and curling up between his arm and torso. She got settled, made herself comfy like he was her home, then sighed happily, the lovely sound full of content. Then to top it all off, rested her head on his chest and stretched a small hand across it, petite narrow fingers grasping at his shirt.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her tighter against him and rubbed her outside shoulder. Within seconds his nose was dug into her hair because he just had to take in the addicting scent of it. He gave it a generous peck. "How's my baby girl?"
She sniffled once more, wiped her eyes again. "Mmm... better," she said with an uncontrollable smile, relaxing into his much larger frame as if it were a nest.
"Good." And he'd do anything to fix it if she said otherwise. They both knew that.
A gentle rain started to fall outside, and they sat in silence for awhile as they listened to it, enjoyed the simple sound, the simple nature of the moment. Enjoyed the fact that it was wet and cold outside, but here they were inside, warm, dry, cuddled together, his hand absentmindedly stroking her hair, curling strands of it around his fingers at its tips. If she could freeze this moment in time, hold onto it forever, or even just live it over and over again, she would, because are we already in heaven? Maybe not, but it sure as hell felt like the closest thing to it in a world like... this one.
She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, took in his scent as well, and smiled. Snuggled together in their current position, cuddling on the couch after a long hard day, had become routine now. Habitual even, like brushing ones teeth in the morning. It was an unwritten rule, a silent understanding between them that this was how the day was supposed to end. It was law. And whether she knew it or not, he enjoyed as much as she did, the normally reserved Texan showing glimpses of satisfaction here and there.
She clutched him, anchored herself to him, because there really was something so grounding about him that made her feel like everything was okay. Perfect in fact. And don't you dare fucking move because I'll bite you if you do. For real.
He wouldn't. Nope. Wouldn't dare to.
Not another soul was near. It was just them. Like it basically had been for over year a now, since that fateful day in Boston. No one else. No one to answer to. Nothing to bother them. Well, nothing other than that ticking clock, which actually had ceased to become a nuisance at this point. But this moment, curled up on the couch with the sound of rain pelting the roof of their home, the sound of their heartbeats, their breaths, was... well, it was something. Serene maybe? Probably. Because it was perfect. It was heaven. And her smile widened as she took all of it in, her earlier panic attack already nothing more than a distant memory.
And after what seemed like forever, though neither minded, he broke the silence, cleared his throat. The hand that had been petting her hair came to a rest on her shoulder, fingers dangling mere inches from her cheek. "You eat yet?" he asked, concern behind his voice, because much like worrying, he never stopped caring.
She nodded, paired it with a lengthy and squeaky yawn.
He softly chuckled, smiled and shook his head in amusement at the sound. Tssht, adorable.
They'd learned when she didn't regularly eat her body did strange, unsettling things. Like randomly passing out. Or suddenly getting shaky, noodle like limbs out of nowhere. Or a serious blood sugar level crash that incited a weakened state and made her tired and drowsy.
And he'd always notice, practically having a heart attack every time something seemed off, the alarms in his head flashing red and going wild when she'd tell him something was wrong. And he swore to himself that if it got any worse, he'd drag her to the H.C. to get a checkup, even if it meant she was kicking and screaming all the way there.
Although... that would be quite the task all on its own, given her - their - condition, the pesky scar engraved into her arm. He couldn't bear to think about the logistics of... that whole process right now, but assumed they would need all the sneak and subterfuge to pull it off. Regardless, she did eat, like he'd hoped. Neither of them were particularly adept at taking care of themselves. The other? Sure. Absolutely. The best even. But that was something... something different, something hard to explain.
He smiled and looked down at her, admired the reddish mound of hair that appeared to be growing out of his shoulder like some bizarre flower. "What'd my Ellie decide on?" he asked.
She shifted, adjusted herself to her liking, wiggled deeper underneath his armpit. "Mmmmm..." she paused, then smiled. "Cake. The one Maria made for me the other day." She blushed, face warming with heat as she anticipated his disapproval.
He choked on a cough. "Again!?"
Yep. Definitely disapproval, because she could already feel his agitated gaze drilling into the back of her skull.
He snorted and shook his head. "Christ. You really are somethin' aren't ya?" He paused, let out an annoyed sigh. "You know you can't live off that crap right?"
"Pfft - says who?" she said with a shrug, looking up at him as she unearthed her head from the depths of his smothering branch-like arm. A good kind of smothering, though. The kind of smothering that always made her stomach tingle in warm ways she didn't think were possible.
"Ellie..." he scolded, but didn't sound all that mad.
She guffawed. "Oh what the - no, you know what? No. No way. You can't 'Ellie' me after coming home late and scaring the shit out of me you ass hole!" She poked him the side, scrunched her face in annoyance. "That was so uncalled for. Fuck you."
He rolled his eyes and huffed. "Fine. Reckon I'm too tired to fight about it anyway."
"Pssht - like you'd stand a chance even if you did," she said. She stuck out her tongue, looking quite girlish.
Part of him wanted to reach down and pinch the pink little thing, pluck it off of her as if it were a piece of candy since he knew she was right, sheesh, feisty today. But he resisted the urge, resorting to pinching her nose instead because he couldn't let that braggadocious claim go entirely unnoticed.
The freckled thing crinkled from the affectionate pinch, only this time she didn't wriggle it free like normal; just let him hold it for as long as he pleased.
She cleared her throat. "So..." she started, fingers beginning to mindlessly fiddle with his shirt once again.
"Yes darlin'?"
"Speaking of your ungraceful brother..."
"Oh what the hell now..." he groaned with an eye roll. What the hell else could Tommy possibly be responsible for?
"He came by earlier today, asked if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow with Maria, him, and that... other chick. Don't remember her name. Whatever, you know who I mean," she said. She sure as hell knew her name, even knew more about her than Joel did, but pretended otherwise. And there was something uneasy in her tone, a minor sense of dread behind every word, because she was... wait, was that... jealousy talking? What the hell brain!? Don't do that!
If it was, she wasn't exactly sure why. Though the idea of anyone, even Tommy, borrowing her Joel, her old reliable stallion, for any period of time did make her queasy.
She quickly tried to hide the whole thing like a stealthy ninja, tried to cover it up with a nonchalant toss of her ponytail and another clearing of the throat, wasn't sure if he noticed, didn't really care if he did. And actually, there was a teeny part of her that wanted him to notice.
He did, even smirked at it a bit, but made no mention of it, then sighed, awkwardly fidgeted and rubbed his brow. "Yeah, he ain't ever been one for subtlety."
She wiggled against him, all delicate, bony and dainty-like, the motion acting as some strange gesture of gratitude, deliberately exhaling in relief. "I take it grace and subtlety have never been Thomas Miller's strong suits huh?" she asked, pulling up her eyes to look at him.
A very quick but boisterous laugh burst from his gut. Short-lived and loud like gunfire, but rife with hilarity. "Missy, that boy wouldn't know grace or subtlety if it slapped him across the goddamn face."
More signature Ellie-laughs. Spitting. Snorting. Face tumbling into his shoulder once again as the girlish giggles poured out of her. What a lovely sound. And Joel seemed quite proud of himself, smiled like he'd just done some good deed.
The laughs gradually dissipated as she collected herself, then readjusted to get comfy against him. She sighed in content, still smiling. "Yeah. Yeah he really wouldn't."
He kissed her hair again. "Nope." Another pause. "He's... he's good people though. Just, you know, my goddamn brother, Tommy."
"Yeah yeah, I know. He is. But he better fucking watch it from now on," she said, tone sharp as a razor's edge.
"Tssht - I'll be sure to let him know."
Then more silence. But this time, for some reason, also more tense, their fingers rubbing, poking, prodding and fiddling with each other's as if the things had taken on a life of their own. Though neither seemed to notice or mention it.
"Sooo... " she drawled. "You gonna go?" There was obvious hesitation behind the question, and part of her wished she'd roped in the inquisitive words before they left her lips. Oh well, too late now.
A smug smirk gradually crept across his lips. "Don't we got a sign outside the door that says weavin' spiders come not here?" he said with a wink as he gave her a gentle squeeze.
Completely involuntarily, she perked up in surprise, eyes widening as if she'd just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Hey! There's no weaving going on here! I was just asking," she said, voice high-pitched, squeaky and playful, feigning innocence.
"Mmhmm..."
He couldn't get anything by her without going unnoticed, but it went both ways.
"Pssht - what the fuck ever. So? Are you?" Persistent she was.
He shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno."
A tepid response. And she seemed okay with it... sort of. "So am I gonna have to start sharing you now?" she said with a grin, tone all mischievous and kittenish as she nuzzled his shoulder, skinny forearms and small, but surprisingly strong, hands constricting around the crook of his arm.
His hand resumed stroking her hair, as if the callused thing was created to do just that and only that. "Reckon there's only so much of me to go around."
A perfect response. Because as far as Joel went, that was the closest thing to a hard no she'd get out of him. And she couldn't keep herself from smiling, and tucked into his embrace a bit more, but did her best to conceal the obvious satisfaction humming under the surface in reaction to his response.
He glanced towards the clock, realized how much later it was than he thought, then yawned and rubbed his eyes, feeling his stomach grumble for food. "Anyway, I'm tired an' hungry as hell. There any of that cake left?"
"Nope. Ate it all," she answered with a quick shake of the head, eyes still mindlessly staring into the woven mass of JoelandEllie fingers sitting in her lap. And there was a weird sense of pride in her voice, because she did pretty much eat the entire thing by herself, the little sprite having a ravenous appetite like no other.
He snorted, lightly shook his head. "You know, it's generally polite to share," he said with emphasis in a chiding tone.
She lifted her head, rested the back of it on his shoulder, ponytail bunching up by his neck. And she looked up at him with a bright, doe-eyed expression, those greenish-blue marbles of hers big, round and sparkling like fucking glitter, still a bit wet from earlier, but glistening and glowing like the stars on a crystal clear night. And his eyes trailed downward, only to find the bug-eyed things gazing up at him like he was the entire damn meaning of her existence.
She bounced her eyebrows and grinned, a cheeky and impish little thing, the whites of her teeth shining up at him. "I don't share what's mine."
He laughed, freely uncorked it from his gut. Loud, genuine and lively, head cocking back and that boastful retort of hers forcing him to smile as he patted her on the back.
Because he knows it's true. Ellie doesn't share what's rightfully hers. And they know it's good for him.