Ellie is fidgeting. Joel can't see her face - her whole head is swallowed up in the jaws of the imaging tube - but her fingers drum out rhythm after rhythm on the white plastic table or tug and toy with her hospital gown or meet across her body to twiddle. For the fourth time, she starts humming, the little ditty almost lost in the whirs and clicks of the PET scanner.

Jerry huffs a sigh and stabs the intercom button. "Ellie, we're studying your speech centers. Every time you start singing, we have to restart the scan."

She falls silent and switches to drumming her knuckles on the plastic. Anderson's teeth grind. He's on edge, and it's putting Marlene and Joel even more on edge. The surgery is scheduled for the next day. Joel still can't look at Marlene ever since she gave her consent for it, but at least she's showing up for the pre-op appointments.

Ellie starts whistling. It's one of the tunes Joel taught her for the guitar, or at least it's trying to be. Anderson rolls his eyes, looks at Joel, and waves his hand as if to say do something. Joel sighs and presses the intercom button. "Ellie, it's been a long day and we're almost done. How about you buckle down so we can finish the test and get you out of that thing?"

The whistling cuts off. "Sorry!" Ellie calls out.

"Restart the scan," Jerry tells a technician, "And let's maybe check her for ADHD while we're at it."

Joel gives him a look. "She does fine when she's not cooped up in a twelve-by-twelve room twenty-four seven." His voice isn't as sharp as it would have been a week ago. Jerry shrugs off the implicit criticism.

"Well, here's to freeing Ellie, then," he says.

"I'll drink to that," Marlene says tersely.

Ellie is tugging on her last two fingers so hard Joel is afraid she's going to pop them off, but she stays silent. After five minutes that feel much longer, the technician looks up at Dr. Anderson and nods. "We're good."

The scanner cuts off. Jerry touches the intercom button. "Okay, we're done. Let's get you out of there."

Joel is the first through the door once the overhead warning light cuts out and it unlocks. The padded tray holding Ellie is rolling back out of the machine, but she can only stare at the ceiling, her head immobilized in a brace. "Sorry!" she says, "I didn't mean to mess up the scans."

"You did fine," Joel tells her, "Now, let's get you out of that contraption." Before Mia and Nancy have made it into the room, he's released the straps of the brace and is helping her to sit up. She wavers a little and holds her stomach for a moment. "You okay, Ellie?"

"Yeah," she nods sharply, "Just a little nauseous all of the sudden."

"That's from the contrast media we gave you," Anderson says from his place near the door. He jerks his head. "When you two are ready, let's chat in my office. We need to go over the plan for tomorrow."

Joel looks around, planning to invite Marlene, but she's already gone. He turns his attention back to Ellie. She's a little woozy, whether from the contrast-whatever or from lying on her back in a noisy metal tube for two hours, he's not sure. It takes her a few tries and a few minutes before she's able to stand and support herself. She stubbornly refuses Nurse Mia's offer of a wheelchair, so Joel stays close, almost but not quite touching her.

It's a short walk down the hallway to the space that Anderson long ago claimed for his projects and research. It's cluttered with battered medical books and binders stuffed to bursting with reports and graphs. An antique computer - pre-outbreak vintage - hums in the corner. Anderson's desk is littered with papers and manila envelopes. But here, too, they find the first hints of personal effects from the doctor: a large zebra poster pinned to the far wall, an old baseball bearing an illegible signature, a framed photo of a scowling toddler who must be Abby, swathed in a frilly pink dress.

There's a couch and a few chairs arranged in front of the desk, all equally covered with boxes of files. Joel moves a few of the boxes to make space on the couch to sit. Ellie tucks in close beside him. Neither of them speaks.

Anderson sits down across from them and brushes aside a few of his reports. "Okay. Let's talk about the plan. I think plans make things less scary." He looks at Ellie. "Morning meds are at six AM. The surgery starts at ten, which means we'll need to start prepping around nine. No breakfast tomorrow and no fluids after midnight because of the anesthesia. Sorry."

Ellie shrugs. "No biggie."

Joel settles an arm around her. "We'll have cake after. Spotted this old grocery store a few blocks south. Bet they've still got cake mix."

She laughs and shoves at his arm. "Dude, do not fucking die because you wanted to make me a 'good job on your brain surgery' cake."

Joel just smiles. "Cake."

Anderson clears his throat. "Ah, eventually you can have cake. We'll need to be very careful about your food intake over the first couple of days - just until we're sure you can swallow without problems. That'll probably mean a liquid diet. Maybe a feeding tube."

"So, Joel has time to negotiate with the clickers over twenty-year-old Betty Crocker. Got it."

"Anyway . . ." Jerry pulls a large, orange pill vial out of his desk drawer, "New medication. Phenobarbital. It's to prevent seizures. You'll feel a little sleepy on it for the first little while, and it might make you more thirsty."

She picks it up and reads the label. "How long do I have to be on it?"

"As long as you don't have any seizures, we'll taper it after a couple of weeks."

She nods and pockets it without glancing at Joel.

"Now, let's talk about the procedure. Ellie, have you ever been under general anesthesia before?"

She shakes her head. "Doctors in Boston were about as common as zebras."

"Well, it's nothing to be scared of. You'll be asleep for the entire procedure. The nurse will have you breathe some gas while counting backwards, and the next thing you know, it'll be over." He pulls out a plastic model of a skull and sets it on the edge of the desk. Ellie leans forward for a closer look. He points to a spot over the left side of the skull. "We'll make a small skin incision here, then make a burr hole. That's a very small hole drilled through the skull. After surgery, you'll have a couple of sutures in your scalp and a soft spot on your head that'll take a few weeks for the bone to fill in. Don't pick at it."

"Will you have to shave my head?"

"Only a tiny spot. Shouldn't be noticeable with your hair down."

"That's too bad. I always kind of thought I'd look like a badass with a shaved head."

Jerry glances at her as if he's not quite sure if she's joking. He moves on. "We need to get a sample of the fungus with a biopsy needle. That's a long needle . . ." he holds up a pen to the skull to demonstrate, "which goes through the brain and then releases," he clicks the pen, "to collect a sample. We remove the needle, stitch up your scalp, and that's it."

Joel grinds his teeth. "If you get the right spot. Forgive me, doc, but this kind of sounds like fishing blind for one particular seed in a watermelon."

Ellie snorts at the comparison.

"We won't be blind. We'll be using fluoroscopy - that's . . . like a continuous, moving x-ray - to guide the needle placement."

"Cool. Sounds futuristic." She looks at Joel. "You're gonna have to tell me what that thing actually looks like."

Anderson clears his throat. "Actually, Joel can't be in the room for this one."

"What? Why not?"

"It's a tricky procedure. We need complete sterility. Having more people in the OR will just complicate things."

"He's worried I'll sneeze on your brains and not cover my nose," Joel tells Ellie in a conspiratorial tone.

She looks at him with a little anxiety creeping through her shields. "Joel . . ."

"Hey, it's nothing to worry about. They can't keep me out of the recovery room. I'll be there when you go to sleep and I'll be there when you wake up. You won't even know I'm gone."

She swallows and nods, still brave. She looks back at Anderson. "And after the surgery?"

"You'll have a headache. We'll have you on pain medication - the good stuff - for the first couple of days. Hope is to have you back on solid food within twenty-four hours and off of all injectable medications within three days. Strict bed rest until then, and after we'll gradually get you back on your feet."

She glances down and draws a slow breath, looking much older than not-quite-fifteen. Joel squeezes her shoulder, but she doesn't look at him. "Okay. Let's do this."

Poorly concealed relief washes over Anderson's face at her lack of objection. He nods. "If you go see Nancy, she'll draw up your final pre-op lab work."

Ellie stands and turns to Joel, but he shakes his head. "You go on and get your tests done. I'll catch up with you before bedtime."

She bites her lip, but nods. "I'll see you later, then."

In her wake, Joel's shoulders slump. His face sags and his spine curls as he bends to drop his forehead to his hands, elbows on his knees.

"Joel? Are you okay?" Anderson's voice is worried.

Joel shakes his head - not a denial so much as shaking off the concern.

Jerry hesitates. "You're good with her," he says at last, "You kept her mind off of the scary stuff and kept her focused on the future. That's what she needed from you."

Joel lifts his head. He knows his face is drawn and haggard, and he doesn't care. "What happens if she does have seizures?"

"Sorry?"

"If the pheno-whatever doesn't work. She could have a seizure from the surgery. What then?"

"We have medications for that. Odds are, any problems would go away within a couple of weeks."

"And if they don't?"

"It's . . . possible that she could have a long-term seizure problem. Again, we have medications to treat that."

"Long-term seizure problem?"

"Like epilepsy. Some people just . . . have seizures every once in a while. It's not that dangerous."

"Maybe before the outbreak. Not anymore. How's she supposed to survive out there with epilepsy? It'd never be safe for her to travel."

"You never know. It might be very safe. Especially after we cure Cordyceps with what we learn from her."

Joel closes his eyes. "Yeah. Cure Cordyceps."

"Joel, I know this is scary for you -"

"What's the worst case scenario?"

Anderson's brow furrows. "What?"

"You only told her about what you expect to happen. There's risks. Complications. What are the worst ones? Could she die from this?"

Jerry pauses for long moments. "It's extremely unlikely." At the look on Joel's face, he holds his hands up defensively. "Hey, there are no guarantees in medicine! 'Extremely unlikely' is the closest we ever get to a 'no.' But, yes, there's a chance she could die under anesthesia or have an anaphylactic reaction to one of the drugs. Sometimes the brain swells for no reason we can determine. If that happens, we might need to drill more burr holes. If that doesn't work, we can still do a craniotomy to relieve the pressure."

The worlds are flying past Joel like blurred cars on the highway. He shakes his head to clear it. "Tell me what could happen. Not this doctor-bullshit. What are you scared of? Because, this does scare you. I can tell."

After a long pause, Jerry sighs and turns to his computer monitor, gesturing for Joel to come close. Joel stands and stares over his shoulder as he pulls up a 3D model of the brain, colored with a shifting kaleidoscope of reds, greens, and purples. "This is from the PET scans we did today. From the speech studies." He freezes the image at a particular moment and points to an area in the left side of the brain, towards the front, lighting up highlighter-yellow. "Broca's Area." He clicks forward a few frames and points to another area, seemingly a few inches behind it. "Wernicke's Area. Between them, they control speech. Any damage to either of these areas, and the patient is either unable to get words out or completely unable to understand language. And, between them . . ." He clicks a button and a tumor-like lump materializes, glowing purple. "Her Cordyceps growth. We'll have to thread the needle between them and hope we don't cause a bleeder. And at the growth . . ." He hits another key and the brain turns translucent. At the base of the Cordyceps growth, a faint red tube curls like a python. "The internal carotid artery. The Cordyceps infection somehow altered its normal course. It's feeding the fungus. Hitting it . . . would be bad."

He closes out of the imaging program but continues to stare, sightlessly, at the blank desktop screen. He has the look of a man in the confessional booth. "That's the worst case scenario. We hit the carotid, she could have severe bleeding causing massive brain damage. Maybe a craniotomy would be enough to give her a chance to recover, maybe not. We hit the speech centers, she could be permanently disabled. That's worst case, and it scares the fuck out of me. That's why I'm doing everything in my power to keep that from happening."

Joel takes a moment to absorb that. He walks back to the couch and sits down heavily. Anderson waits, silently. At long last, Joel looks at him. "Tell me that this is the only option."

Jerry hesitates for a long moment. "It's the best of several bad options," he says at last.

Joel looks away. There's no fighting this - not unless he wants them to take Ellie away from him for good. He stands and heads for the door. "Glad we had this talk, doc."

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"Okay, hold still a minute longer."

Ellie is already dressed for sleep in a loose-fitting tee shirt and trunks. Her auburn locks are so silky they almost slip through Joel's fingers. He gathers a few more strands up towards the crown of her head and sets to weaving them together. It's been a long time, but muscle memory kicks in. Sarah gave him plenty of practice at French braiding before she turned eleven and decided long hair was too much trouble. He braids a long track, like a railroad, along the top of her head, tucking most of her hair out of the way. His fingers slide down to her temple, and he gathers more locks - these much finer and more wispy - and gathers them into a braid as well. In between, he leaves a two inch section of untouched hair. He gives the loose strands a gentle tug. "This'll be your bald spot."

Ellie's lip twists. "Still not as cool as a shaved head."

"We are not shaving your head just so you can look cool."

She's not quite ready for sleep. Joel leans back against the white incline of her bed and she tucks herself against his side. He drops his voice to a whisper. He's always halfway paranoid that Marlene or Jerry might have secret microphones in here. "You know you don't have to do this."

She leans her head against his shoulder. The crude braids make her look like a Viking shield maiden. "Yes, I do."

"Look . . . If you don't want to . . . If you're ready to be done? You can be done. I'll make it happen. Shouldn't be Anderson's decision, or Marlene's, or anyone else's."

"You're right. It's my decision. And, I can do this." She looks up at him and smiles, though it's a little shaky. "C'mon. I'm saving the world. Surely, you're not gonna deny a kid a chance to save the world?"

Joel closes his eyes. "At what price, though?"

She tenses a little in his arms. "You mean, 'what if Ellie becomes a blithering idiot?'" His eyes pop open and she holds out her hands to forestall any confrontation. "Yeah, I know about the risk to my speech centers, or whatever he called them. Dr. Anderson came to talk to me yesterday. He talked about all the possible complications. Guess he talked to you, too."

"Ellie . . ."

"Stop. It's okay. It's risky. I know that. I still want to do it."

"Ellie, what if this goes wrong?"

"I . . . I don't know." She's staring at the ceiling. "If something happened, if I ended up brain damaged . . . I honestly don't know what I'd want to happen next. But, I think I'd want to keep fighting. If I could. Even if I couldn't understand it anymore." She looks at him. "I had this friend . . . she'd tell me to fight. For every minute of life I could get. Even if it hurts. Even if it's never gonna be like it was." Her eyes cloud. "But, sometimes? I feel like maybe that's being selfish. Like, you shouldn't have to deal with that. You shouldn't have to sit around staring at this husk that used to be Ellie if . . ."

"Hey, stop! Stop it!" She falls silent. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. "You don't need to be talking like that. Hell, you don't need to be thinking like that, I shouldn't have asked. You're gonna be fine."

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I know." She looks at him. "I'd still want to do it. Even if I wasn't gonna be fine."

He swallows past the knives in his throat. The only thing that keeps him going - that keeps him from snatching her up and running for the exit and fuck anyone that gets in his way - is the chance that this might be the last thing they need from her. One more surgery. One more unacknowledged act of courage, and maybe that'll be enough. The damn Fireflies will have what they want. And, Ellie can . . . just be.

"I know," he whispers, "You're stubborn like that."

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"Okay, Ellie, I want you to count back from ten." Nurse Mia holds a clear plastic mask against her face. Ellie breathes deep.

"Ten . . . nine . . . . . . eight . . . . . . . se . . .ven . . ."

Her hand goes slack in Joel's. He gives the nurse a questioning look. She nods. "She's responding normally. We'll take good care of her. You should go."

Joel swallows past razor blades and nods. As he steps to the door, he tries not to notice the electric buzz of clippers. He doesn't turn back to watch her hair float to the floor.

The hallway is empty. There's no one to see Joel sag against the wall. He lifts two trembling fingers to his temple, but there's no rubbing away this tension. God, if something goes wrong . . .

He pushes the thought away. Anderson knows his business. She'll be fine. And then it'll be done and they won't need her anymore . . .

Joel needs it to be done.

The light, determined click of footsteps announces an end to his moment of solitude. Joel opens eyes he doesn't remember closing. He folds his arms across his chest and scowls. Marlene is undeterred. She leans against the wall beside him, thumbs hooked in her pockets, a gesture that looks far too studiously casual.

"Y'know," she says quietly, "They make some pretty good hooch down on the sub levels. Command turns a blind eye to it, and we get repaid handsomely. What do you say we go collect a little hush-booze?"

Joel snorts. "At ten o'clock in the morning?"

"It's not exactly a normal day."

"It's just one more procedure. She's had a dozen already. No reason to make it any more than that."

"I get that. I do. I'm just saying . . . might be better to wait with somebody."

"And you've got all the time in the world, huh?" He watches her flatly. "Where was all of that moral support a couple hours ago, when Ellie could still have visitors? How come she ain't barely seen you in weeks?"

Her expression is suddenly guarded. "It's complicated."

"What's so complicated about sayin' a few words to a scared kid?"

"Look, Joel, you're not the only one this is hard on!"

"Aw, don't give me that crap! The Anderson girl showed up, an' she's just a kid herself. You telling me that teenager is just tougher than you?"

"If you don't want the drink, suit yourself! And I guess fuck me for showing a little human concern. But, you ought to spend the hours with somebody."

He's shaking his head, his lips curled in a bitter twist. He straightens. "We've got at least four hours. Might as well get some work done. There's a cache I can hit down at the Whole Foods. I can be there and back, two and a half hours, easy."

Her eyebrows shoot up, but he's already moving past her. "Seriously, Joel? You're going outside the wall?"

"I go outside the wall five days out of the week."

She falls in beside him. "Pick one of the other days, then! I don't think you're in any state of mind to be tangling with infected."

"My mind is fine. Ain't nothing stopping me from doing my job today."

"Fine! Do what you've gotta do. But, Joel? Take a minute to think about what happens if she wakes up and you're not there."

Joel leaves without a word.

tbc