Joel is a light sleeper and an early riser. The latter has been a trait of his for most of his life; the former, however, developed by necessity once not being able to jerk awake the instant something went bump in the night became a death sentence. Both of these qualities together means that he rises before the first rays of sunrise stream into his room.
He throws on stained jeans and an old shirt. Scrubbing a hand across his bleary eyes, he lumbers into the bathroom. Once done in there, he heads downstairs and to his front porch, sinking into the rocking chair there with a sigh.
He opens the worn science fiction novel he's been making his way through for the past week or two, quickly thumbing through the brittle brown pages before finding the one he dog-eared the day before. He wasn't a big reader, back before everything went to shit, but he had been known to pick up a sci-fi or western, sometimes even a mystery novel, every once in a while.
Joel reads in the soft morning light for half an hour or so before he exchanges the book for the guitar that has been resting by the front door. He lazily strums a few bars of a couple different songs, humming. Ellie will be awake soon, and it's their morning ritual that when she comes down he helps her practice for a little while before breakfast.
Contrary to his expectations, Ellie doesn't make her appearance. A familiar anxiety, one he feels less and less often the longer they stay in Tommy and Maria's compound, clamps down on his chest. He stands and leans the guitar against the wall, the instrument making a discordant twung when he drops it less than gently in his hurry. He stalks into the house and through the barebones living room, eyes on the stairs to the second floor as his footsteps quicken and the clamp squeezes, squeezes, squeezes—
He jerks to a stop when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around to peer into the kitchen. Ellie is sitting there hunched over at the table, nibbling at a piece of buttered toast.
Suddenly Joel feels a little foolish. His heart is pounding, breathing shallow and quiet. He forces himself to take two slow breaths in and out, feeling the clamp slowly release, lungs expanding and taking in air once more. Finally, he says, voice nearly steady, "There you are, kiddo. Thought maybe you were still asleep."
Ellie startles, looking up at him with a sharp intake of breath. (He's surprised she didn't hear his heavy footsteps into the house from the porch, actually.) Her shoulders relax again when she sees him. "Morning," she says and returns to her toast.
Shaking off the last of the adrenaline rush and deciding he may as well join her for breakfast, he pads into the kitchen and starts getting out supplies for omelettes, thanking his lucky stars the hydroelectric plant has been providing the town with electricity, and therefore refrigeration, consistently for the last few weeks. "What do you want in your omelette?"
She doesn't answer.
"Ellie?"
"Hm?"
"What do you want in your omelette today? I got some more green peppers from the garden yesterday, and we've got some ham, believe it or not—"
"I'm just going to have the toast today."
"That all?"
"Yeah, I'm not really hungry."
"You sure?"
"Mm-hmm."
He leaves it alone and goes back to making his own breakfast. Usually Ellie would be chattering up a storm by now, but when he's nearly finished with his omelette and she still hasn't said a word he finds himself speaking again. "So, didn't want to do guitar today?"
Silence.
"Ellie?"
"Yeah?"
He sets the omelette on his plate and brings it to the table, taking a seat to her left. "You alright? You seem kind of out of it this morning."
She shrugs. He notices she hasn't made much headway on the piece of toast. "I'm fine. M'just tired. Didn't sleep much. What did you ask?"
He quirks a doubtful brow. "I asked if you didn't want to practice the guitar today."
"I just thought we could...take a break today."
He nods, and returns to eating, deciding once again not to push the issue. By the time his plate is clean she's finishing the last few little bites of the toast. They both stand to wash their plates and utensils. Per routine, Ellie washes and Joel dries.
Concerned with the continued silence, he decides to give one last try. "So. It's Sunday. Got any big plans?"
"No, don't think so," she responds.
"Not gonna go see Jessie, or, uh, Dina? Or anyone?"
"Nah." She scrubs at a pan mechanically. "I think I'm just going to stay in and read a book."
"Alright, then."
They finish up, and Ellie heads upstairs to her bedroom. He goes to bring the guitar back in from the porch, then stands in the middle of the living room for a minute, feeling a little lost. Finally he sighs and heads out back to weed the vegetable garden. He can tell it's going to be a quiet day.
Every once in a while, something—a nightmare maybe, or maybe a bandit attack, he can't always figure it out for sure—will shake Ellie. She'll retreat into herself, go quiet and distant. She'll be spacy and—well, he isn't sure what else to call it but flat. Which is decidedly not Ellie-like.
He's learned that if he tries to push too much, if he tries to convince her to get out of the house or to talk to him, she gets cagey and defensive. So, even though he hates to see her light so dim, he gives her space and makes sure others do the same. Sometimes she'll reach out to him of her own accord, looking to talk or a distraction in the form of a guitar lesson. She's usually back to herself by the next day.
It's lunchtime once he's weeded the garden and patched up a few wobbly posts on the porch railing, a continuation of his ongoing attempts to renovate the house. He heads up the stairs and to Ellie's door. He raps his knuckles against it twice. At her affirmative response, he opens the door and pokes his head in. "I'm thinking I'm going to head to the mess for lunch. You hungry?"
She's laying on her bed in a loose fetal position, facing the door with a book lying open in front of her at an angle that suggests she hasn't actually been reading it. "I'm okay."
"You sure? You didn't eat much for breakfast."
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
"Suit yourself, then." He almost shuts the door, then remembers something else. "Hey, Tommy mentioned something about a roof needin' fixin' yesterday. He might try and drag me into helpin' him with that after we eat, so it could be a couple hours before I get back. That okay?"
"Mm-hmm."
He doesn't worry; he knows it'll be a few hours at least before she wants company. "Alright. See you later."
Tommy does drag Joel into helping fix a roof, and it takes almost three hours, but he finally finds himself at Ellie's door again.
He knocks on it, twice again. "Hey, uh...just wanted to let you know I was home."
"Okay," she responds through the door.
"...I'll be downstairs."
When she doesn't respond, he walks away, intent on continuing his ongoing Sunday project—fixing the floor in the downstairs bedroom. He's been replacing the busted up hardwood in the downstairs bedroom little by little on Sundays—when everyone gets the day off in town, with the exception of a regular rotation of necessary jobs like patrol duty. It gives him something to do.
When it gets close to 5:30, according to the cracked, flickering display on the oven, Joel squares his shoulders and heads back to his familiar place outside Ellie's door.
He knocks, asking "Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
He opens the door to see that she has shifted onto the floor, leaning against the side of the bed that's facing the door, a book in her lap. He thinks she might have actually been reading it, which is a good sign.
"About time for supper. Ready to head over to Tommy's?" Sunday night dinner at Tommy and Maria's place is a regular part of their routine. Joel and Ellie host dinner on either Wednesdays or Thursdays, depending on the schedule.
She shrugs. "Eh, I'm not really hungry."
Joel's already decided that he is going to press the issue this time. She seems a little perkier, so he figures it should go over okay. "All you've had today is some toast. And they're expectin' us."
Ellie pulls a face. It's not as exaggerated as usual, but it's close. "Do I have to?"
He jerks his head in the direction of the door. "Come on."
She sighs and pulls herself up off the floor before shoving her hands in her pockets and trudging out the door. He follows behind, the twitch of a smile on his face.
Ellie's still quieter than usual at dinner, which earns Joel questioning looks from both his brother and sister-in-law. He just answers with a shrug and a meaningful look, which they accept, already having witnessed a few of these days before.
As they finish up their lasagna, Joel goes ahead and suggests watching a movie. He knows Ellie loves the compound's movie nights just as much as the little ones.
"Can we?" she asks eagerly, a familiar spark flickering in her eyes.
Tommy and Maria look at each other. "Well, sure. Why not?" Maria says.
They clear the table quickly after that and select an action movie that Joel is pretty sure he caught on TV one night ages ago when Sarah was at a sleepover. The pang the thought sends through him is quick and biting, but the way Ellie bounces in her seat on the couch with anticipation helps him put the thought to rest once he recognizes it.
He takes his seat next to her. Ellie starts out resting against the arm of the couch, chin propped in her hand, but by the beginning of the movie's second big action sequence she's shifted to lean into his side. He adjusts so they're both a little more comfortably settled into each other, his arm draping around the back of the couch.
Neither of them move for the rest of the movie, except for when Joel's arm shifts to settle around her shoulders.
By the time the credits roll, it's dark out. They walk through the cool fall night back to their house. Joel is glad to see that the movie night has helped Ellie perk up to her normal self. She babbles about the film's effects and discusses the story's various plot holes and inconsistencies. For his part, Joel mostly just listens and occasionally responds in agreement.
"I mean, what even was the bad guy's plan?" she asks. "The bald asshole kept babbling about missiles or something, but I'm pretty sure he never actually said what they were going to do with the missiles. Right?"
"Don't believe he did," Joel responds.
"And why did that one agent think going in without backup was a good idea? I mean, yeah, it was badass, but it was obviously going to fail from the beginning."
"Don't rightly know."
"And for pete's sake, why did the woman agent not have pants on for half the movie?"
"Because the people who made the movie were gross old men, probably."
Ellie snorts. "You're probably right."
They lapse into a companionable silence for a few minutes before Ellie suddenly leans over to nudge Joel's arm with her elbow. "Hey."
"Hm?" he questions, turning to give her his full attention from where it had been scanning the night sky—as far as he can tell, the single positive effect of the apocalypse is the decrease in pollution, including light pollution, which means the sky is blanketed in stars no matter where you are.
She sticks her hands in her jacket pockets, looking away with flushed cheeks and scuffing the heel of her shoe in the dirt before turning to look him in the face. "Thanks, Joel."
He doesn't need to ask what for. "Anytime, baby girl."
I liiiiive! Feels good to publish something for the first time in...a year, actually, as of yesterday. I've had a busy and stressful year, though I'm sure a lot of you can relate.
Anyway, I just love TLOU (as much as someone who has only watched playthroughs of it can), and I especially adore Ellie and Joel's dynamic.
Thank you for reading!