AU with an OC that runs into Joel and their paths just can't stop crossing. Rated M for sexual content and canon-typical depictions of violence.
The cabin was off the beaten path and clearly past its prime. A perfect spot to lie low should it be unoccupied.
She crouched in the bushes and waited. If someone was to come home, they'd do it now with the sunset.
But no-one did. It might have been her lucky day.
She stood up from her post and quietly made her way to the door, looking around to make sure that no-one was behind her before pulling the knob.
The door didn't open.
She pulled a bit harder and they still wouldn't budge, so she decided to lean her body against the door and push instead. It was closed shut, probably sealed with planks. Someone must have locked themselves inside during the initial outbreak and if the planks were never removed… Well, that was never a good sign.
She slid the knife out of her backpack and started to walk around the house, looking for an entry point. It wasn't a lost cause yet. Cabins like that usually had structural damage - decades of abandonment leaving their mark. Then it was just a matter of killing whatever was inside and she'd have a safe space to survive the winter.
She was rounding the walls, her hands searching for a compromised plank, but none came loose. One window seemed to be unplanked though. As her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, she could see that windows on the opposite side of the cabin were not planked either. Since someone didn't finish their job, the possibility was that they left the house rather than succumbed to infection inside.
She braced herself against the wall and reached for the window. To her surprise, it gave in with a small squeak. She lifted herself with a small grunt and slid in softly enough not to attract anything that might have been inside. She lit her lighter and looked around.
A kitchen.
The fire was reflecting against counters and utensils scattered around, none of them raising alarm. Survivors didn't need mixing bowls or rusty kettles. She quietly moved forward, scanning her surroundings - listening to possible noises from within the house.
It was quiet.
She relaxed a bit as she entered the living area. The moon was shining through the unplanked windows and things lying on the coffee table caught her attention. She hid her lighter and bent over the couch to examine. A few bandages, some peroxide, and ammo.
Someone was living here.
Fear settled in her gut. She straightened herself in a hurry and her back was struck by something hard.
"Move and that'll be the last thing you do," a male voice spoke from behind her.
She slowly inhaled. If he was a trapper, she would already be dead.
Another survivor was little consolation though. She had no choice, but to try and talk her way out.
"Relax," she spoke finally. "I didn't know someone was living here."
"Tough luck," the voice replied and she huffed.
She slowly turned herself around, the rifle now pointing directly at her chest. The man didn't flinch, his eyes scanning her suspiciously.
He was visibly older than her, his face roughed up by time and, no doubt, experiences.
"Are you just gonna stare at me?" His expression was blank. "I have no time to play. Get out. Now."
The gun was still pointed at her.
She didn't doubt that he'd drag her out if she didn't move, but her survival instinct was stronger than anything else, and she knew that getting out into the night was too much of a risk.
"You must know what happens after twilight. Let me stay the night and I'll go first thing in the morning," she said quietly but firmly.
His face hardened.
"Ain't happenin'. Get out."
She waged her options—she could still attempt to sway him, but the gun pointed at her chest said on wrong move and you're dead. She raised her hands in defeat.
"I'm leaving. Lower your rifle."
He looked at her for a few more seconds and slowly did as she asked.
"Thanks," she said while walking to the kitchen.
She turned the corner without looking at him.
"You can stay this night," he said as she was reaching for the door. "But you leave tomorrow. Either willingly or I'll drag you out."
She smiled under her nose. He wasn't a total monster then.
She came back to the living room and settled into the couch. Her stomach rumbled and, for whatever reason, it made her feel embarrassed. She reached into her backpack quickly and fished an energy bar. As she was unpacking it, she could see his back, the rifle holstered safely over his shoulder. He didn't trust her and he was right to do so - most survivors were ruthless, no matter how innocent they seemed.
"I'm gonna cook some meat. Eating those destroys your stomach," he said without turning around.
She didn't know was whether it was an invitation to eat with him or a lecture. She put the bar down either way. He finally stopped whatever he was doing and marched into the kitchen.
She sank deeper into the couch, her muscles finally relaxing. Past weeks consisted of her sleeping on the ground with one eye open - the squeaky, dusty couch was an upgrade.
"Come on," he said without looking at her.
It seemed that he did invite her to eat after all.
She knew how to hunt. Her group - when she still had one - never stayed in one place for too long, and it was a useful skill. Unfortunately, she was terrible at skinning animals, so she preferred to scavenge for cans and dry foods. Less hassle.
The taste of fresh meat was amazing though and she devoured it with no care for manners. Not that anyone cared about them in these times. The man, however, was slow and gentle while eating. She assumed that he had it often.
"Been living here long?" She asked as she finished chewing a piece of meat.
He didn't look up from his meal.
"What is it to you?"
"Nothing, just making a conversation."
There was a brief moment of silence.
"Just short of a month."
She stretched her back and looked around.
"I'm moving North. Want to get to Boston before winter comes," she said.
It wasn't entirely true. Her original plan was scrapped as the cabin turned out to be inhabited.
"You will die before you make it to Boston. The surrounding area is clear in maybe 4-5 miles radius. Beyond the river, it's trappers and infected."
She huffed.
"What makes you think I can't deal with trappers and infected? I made it this far."
For the first time, some emotion crossed his face. He was either amused or irritated, she couldn't tell.
"Then the weather will kill you."
Her eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't pursue the conversation.
They returned to the cabin and as soon as she sat on the couch, she started talking. Her irritation with the man had passed, and whether she liked it or not, she was starved for human connection.
"I never got your name."
"Joel," he answered as he sat in the armchair standing opposite of her couch.
"Jane," she said even though he didn't ask.
He didn't acknowledge it either. It was as if he didn't want to know her. As if she was just a nuance. The harsh truth was that she was - it was a world of strangers you didn't want to share your space with.
Joel eased into his armchair and studied her face carefully.
"How old are you?" His question came as a surprise.
"25," she answered truthfully. "How old are you?"
"46," he said without looking at her.
She assessed him well then. He was older.
It seemed like the conversation died there though, so she lifted herself off the couch and asked:
"Is there some water I can wash my face with?"
He grumped under his breath.
"Bucket by the door. There should be a cloth in one of the drawers."
She felt relieved. It's been a few days since she had access to clean water. She stepped into the kitchen and quickly removed her jacket, along with a blouse that she had underneath.
She placed the bucket by her legs and wetted the cloth. Then she leaned over the sink and started cleaning her face - it felt good to get rid of all the sweat and dirt. She wetted it again and slid the cloth down her neck and cleavage.
She could swear she felt his gaze on her back the entire time, but she didn't turn around to check. It didn't matter anyway. It was his place and it wasn't as if bathrooms worked out there in the woods.
When she was finished, she put the blouse back on and came back into the room.
"You can sleep on the couch," he said. "I don't use it."
"Thank you," she said but all she got in return was a dismissive grunt.