Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s early December in Jackson and well after midnight when a young woman gasps and garbles from behind the walls of her heated sleeping space. She bends sharply at the waist, her palms carving divots into a set of worn sheets beneath them. The girl doesn’t linger or look outside – she knows what awaits her there – but in such a fervent state, such facts are of little concern.

For now.

The sky has dropped three feet of snow in the last twenty-four hours and yet even with this lengthy assault, an endless blizzard rages on into the thinness of night. She curses the storm in her usual foul-mouthed manner as a time-beaten door slams by her rear; an echoing cccrk from the its aging, scarred wood is consumed as a Wyoming winter barrels onward.

Almost immediately her body reacts to crystals of subzero air as they adhere to the shocked tissue of what feels like her lungs; she winces as a thousand shards of broken glass stab the base of her throat, her breaths laborious, overcompensating for the frost. Whatever oxygen she is able to manage, the girl seeks in arrhythmic heaves through impossibly stiff inhalations. Yet she does manage, of course – she’s been in worse situations by far.

She tries to focus as well as anyone might in such a precarious circumstance, and in doing so, the girl hurries from one step to the next without a thought to the otherwise. A grimace marks her features as she finds her feet; there’s a familiar pair of boots clinging to her extremities for dear life as they are neither tied nor secure to her ankles. She simply slipped them on and fled.

It doesn’t help that her footwear is pitiful – soles already dreadfully overworked prior to this particular encounter, yet they do their damnedest to hold on, to hold out. For her. They fight, outlasting the iced-earth long enough to carry and deliver her to the place her soul aches to be.

Partway to her destination though, she abruptly stops – until to this very second, she hadn't realized her legs are…bare, nude, absofuckinglutely unclothed. Somehow, in the midst of every heart-pounding, exertion-soaked minute, she laughs. She laughs in spite of – or perhaps as a result of – everything; this may very well be a prank, a trick, a gotcha scenario for her, by her. No doubt the result of a devilish subconscious she’s been heard to possess from time to time.

People in town love to talk, or so the grapevine whispers.

In any case, Ellie is much more frightened by the deeply-set horror of her psyche than anything winter – or chatty townsfolk – may lay waste to.

Her bones rattle as her mind severs from a nightmare that feels realer than real. Real enough that the taste of iron and guilt sit heavily upon her tongue – real enough that her eyes sting by the swarm of unshed, boiling tears.

Ellie’s skin hurts, not from a kiss of the cold but rather from the grotesque clutch of the River Styx.

It feels close, it all feels far too close.

As she resumes the trek and pushes the heavy cost of fear aside, Ellie blindly tops mounted snowdrifts and other piles of shoveled white; a threadbare flannel clings to her, slowly freezing as a pair of petite, callused hands grip tight to such a battered, ragged thing. The oversized – man-sized – shirt is her favorite of all favorites but it’s useless against the season's spiteful elements. She is not warmed by its presence this time.

But it battles, desperately and at no fault of its own, to shroud her upper half from the storm. But the frayed ends tear more and more, the threads rapidly coming apart now; every compromised stitch blows backwards by the abusive winds as she runs harder and farther from the garish terror of her dream.

Buttons begin to pop, though she unknowingly ignores them, forgoing each bit of broken plastic as the sound of their demise proves too weak to reach her ears. There is no time to pay attention to these inconsequential details. Ellie is being hammered – an assault by the darkness of her nightmare-stricken mind and the fist of a cruel storm that just won’t quit.

Adjusting her directives – or at least attempting to – she thinks of the inadequate, albeit beloved, garment that whips across her pale form. It was his, an old, red and black-checkered “sad lil’ thang,’ or so Joel once coined it. She wishes her chilled muscles would allow her to smile, alas.

Ellie succumbs to the roar of emotion that crashes into her and chokes on a sob, chokes on regret. Her thoughts are no longer on the present as it exists but on whether or not she was the sad lil’ thang all along. Wondering if she's the cause of this, of every fissure, every cause and effect, every damn fracture between Boston and this exact, precise pinpoint on the map.

She wants to cry, wants to howl full force of the gale but refrains – tears will offer her no respite nor resolution, so the girl pushes herself beyond limitation. Her naked legs are all but numb and lost to her though, despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. It’s a short distance to his front door, not a minute or so in typical conditions. But tonight is anything but typical.

The winter whiteout, a lapse in judgement with clothing, the horrifying nightmare… One obstacle begets another.

At last, she makes it to the entrance and…promptly halts.

Ellie stands motionless, suspended by more than just Mother Nature now. Her right hand shakes by a sudden bout of tremors as it lingers above the doorknob; two pond-green eyes shut as echoes of his screams and memories of his pain, of his cries for help – his cries for her – cascade through whatever calm she came in search of.

”No, nononono no….” she begs, in silence both to and for herself. It’s a colossal effort, a fruitless endeavor to stow some of the unwelcome dread back into its designated box. Back into the dream box that tells her it wasn’t really real. That Joel isn’t in a basement, isn’t…gone.

Ellie needs to know for sure, needs to witness him in this new reality versus the one concocted by a fetid ghost of a girl. She wants to hold him and feel his warmth bleed into her every pore versus the blood that seeped from him after – when she held onto all he had left behind.

She longs to breathe in that distinct Joel-scent of wood oil and leather, longs to listen to his heart and feel the scratch of his beard on her forehead, her cheek, her throat. Anywhere, everywhere.

Craning her neck, there’s a crack in the architecture of her spine and it’s abrupt enough that she turns the handle over. Stepping in, Ellie doesn’t know what she may find but hopes against hope that it won’t be emptiness. The girl can survive nearly anything but emptiness right now.

In she goes, quietly closing and latching the door behind her. She’s frozen, her limbs, lips and skin ashen by a blue tint that would be worrisome at any other time but the present.

She doesn’t delay in the presence of caution or the un-wellness of her health though. More pressing matters to tend to.

So up the stairs she ambles, hushing her footfall while calculating her ascent; long ago she memorized which of the boards creaked and those that were solid and sound. She doesn’t want to startle him awake; Joel should be asleep after all – he should be laying on his side, an arm beneath his pillow, supporting that perfectly intact head of his. There should be low vibrations as he softly snores, his lips parting ever-so. Peace. He should be resting peacefully.

Ellie remembers all those nights spent beside one another, her memory not limiting itself to the wooden staircase in Joel’s house but rather to everything-Joel Miller.

As she makes her way, an amber glow washes the topmost steps and the railing she's tethering to – she surmises he must be awake. Joel never had a hard time falling asleep, it was the staying asleep part that was difficult for him. She thinks of that realization now as well. Once she realized towards the end of their journey to Jackson which part of sleep was hard for him, Ellie did all she could to help. And for the most part she succeeded.

All it had taken was pressing a palm to his heart. He would sleep on and on, sometimes so much so that she needed to rouse him in the morning – Joel would curse at himself for the burned daylight, grumbling his way through a hasty breakfast. Ellie never minded the loss of day though, not really anyway. It had meant a gain of him and that meant more to her. Well, back then it did.

Music filters through the hallway then and it snaps her from a not-so-distant past right back into the here and now.

She rounds the banister and pauses, again, only this time the girl pins herself directly outside his wood crafting room. The door is partially ajar – Ellie can hear the song much better and discovers it’s a country tune – Crosby, Still & Nash by the sounds of it. Joel loves their albums and oftentimes would play here and there at the church hall for festivals, holidays and the like.

No matter how angry and resentful she’s been towards him over the last two years, Ellie always loved listening to Joel sing and strum his six-string. Some things remain permanent.

She waits there, listening as he hums a little, sings a little, hums a little more and Ellie just…cries. She cries in quiet and clutches her chest, gripping her shivering form and his shirt and all they have between them for dear, precious life.

He is alive. He’s alive and singing and in his creature comforts. Not beaten, bloodied, skull crushed, leg blown half to hell. Not wasted on a frigid floor in the middle of nowhere.

Not gone, not gone, not gone. Joel is alive.

She sniffles, hard, uncaring whether he hears her or not from this point onward. Still, what she’s seeing and hearing is not enough, not yet. She still longs for the physical element. The contact. Ellie needs Joel to carry her the rest of the way home from the nightmare, to carry her back to the place where they may both share space and time again.

With her face marred by cold tears and a dribble of clear snot pooling on her upper lip, she releases herself the grip of death and pushes into his calm reverie.

“J-Joel?” It comes as a whisper – a strangling wisp of sound that’s barely above any discernible levels.

But he hears it. Of course he hears her.

He turns in his chair and Ellie initially avoids his eyes, opting to study Joel in all the ways she can before he demands attention with those piercing hazels of his.

The black hair on his arms is dusted with wood shavings both big and small, like slivers of needle-fine grain blown carelessly about. She notes one of his hands holds a carving tool while the other is locked around a block of spruce. He’s shaping the insignificant piece of nature into something more beautiful, something closer to his version of delicacy.

“...Ellie?”

Haphazardly, Joel lays his creation and his instrument of choice off to the side, his eyes on her the entire time. He’s calling for hers now, just as she knew he would.

She looks at him and all but withers as his brow furrows; his eyes are focused and wholly alight, but fearful, too. Mostly fearful, actually. She must look a fright to him.

He rises, looks around and beyond the girl nervously, then worriedly, and finally protectively.

“Are ya…are you alright?”

Rushing towards him, she feels her desperation mounting, suspects that even this scene will inevitably prove to be a farce – just another terror to rip her apart at the seams. That a Joel-less world awaits on the other end of this brief delight.

The girl jumps into his fold, locking her arms behind his neck and pretzeling her legs to his middle. She loops and binds herself to this man, clinging closer to force out every bit of air and space between them. She is trying to undo the horror of her fearful mind and the years spent estranged from one another in one breathless embrace.

He grunts as she leaps and molds to his person but doesn’t shun the contact one bit, instead wrapping his arms to her in return. There’s an icy sensation leeching his skin as he connects with her and it worries him in ways he’s afraid to acknowledge aloud.

Ellie feels him shiver as he works his hands into her chilled hair – he’s trying to get her to look at him again. She’s not ready yet.

Instead she thinks of him as he is and not as she expected to find him.

Joel is bare from the waist up, his lower half clad in a pair of old sweatpants and tube socks – his “wood carving pants” (or so he says) and as always, warm footwear. Familiars.

But right now the girl is thankful for the ancient hobby-sweats. It leaves him partway naked – leaves them mirroring each other; the opposite ends of him are exposed to that of hers, thus giving more of him for her to feel.

Joel is alive. It had all been a dream. A cursed fever dream. Nothing more.

“Baby, what’s....did someone hurt you? Talk to me…” he whispers into her hair, his lips so close that she trembles from the heat of his air. He tightens to her, trying to calm the girl’s shivering, shaking frame.

Reveling in the weight and presence of his arms as they envelope her, Ellie begins to relax; his limbs are strong, like solid oak growing around her – but they’re thick and purposeful and deadly and his and now forever hers. Still, she knows this silence cannot last.

After neglecting to answer him twice with either clarification or reassurance, she finds that all she can do is nod. So she does. She bobs a couple of times to indicate that at the very least she is still in one piece and has come to no harm.

It’s enough. She feels Joel exhale and ease them down into his chair.

The alarm in him is starting to fade.

The girl settles down on his lap as he situates on the stool. She wiggles to fit his form, reconnecting her ankles to one another at the rear of his back before burying her head into the bend by his neck. She breathes and breathes and breathes him in. Inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. He’s here.

“You’re scarin’ me, girl. You got barely nothin’ on with that dang blizzard outside an’ I reckon ya came here this way. Did somethin’ happen? What’s got you so riled? C’mon. Speak up.”

His voice is brimming with urgency and inquisition, so much so that she knows the time has come for an actual answer. But now that she is with him, that she’s in his arms, against him, she feels ashamed to admit that what led her to this precise point was…a bad dream.

She’s not a kid anymore – never really was, truth be told – but even still, she had run to the only safe harbor Ellie’s ever known. Him.

The girl pulls away as her face falls with embarrassment; her cheeks blush with a fiery shade of crimson and once again, she knows when she meets Joel’s gaze that she will crack wide open.

She’s afraid she’ll never stop cracking now.

Which is probably what he’s expecting and thus waiting on – she knows him well enough that she can feel it all in him as he sits below her.

And then she feels her time fully run dry.

Unable to withstand one more second of silence, Joel releases a hand, using it to tilt her head and level their eyes before, “Talk, Ellie.”

It’s a command, not a request.

Ellie presses her jaw into his palm as she finds her voice and, “Can…we just go to sleep? To…to your bed? I promise I’ll tell you in the morning, or later, whatever. I just–I can’t be away fr-from you tonight. I need to…be close. Is that okay?”

Joel’s chest caves inward, his lungs deflating – not from defeat but rather a final straw of relief. An absence of trouble that once appeared to be so vividly on their horizon is now, for the most part, gone from the equation. He knows she was not physically harmed or hurt and it’s enough for him. For the time being.

“Mmhm. C’mon.”

He doesn’t set Ellie onto her feet but instead stands, lifting the girl and adjusting her weight against his; he flips the workbench light off and tilts the space heater with his foot to trigger its auto-off sensor before slowly walking them out into the hallway and his bedroom shortly thereafter.

Entering the sleeping space, Ellie sighs – it’s warm and feels utterly wonderful to her. She notes his bed is half-made and huffs quietly at the sight of it. Of course. Joel was asleep for some time, probably a short amount of time at that, but did not manage to stay asleep.

The shock of this – that he’s likely not slept a full spell in nearly two years – cuts at her renewed sense of peace. Shame and regret return tenfold, the waves of these dreadful emotions coming in such quick succession that the young woman all but gasps as she’s seated onto his mattress.

“I’m...sorry, Joel.”

“Now I don’t know what’s what, Ellie, but what I do know is that you ain’t got’a thing to be apologizin’ to me for, understand?”

Bobbing her head, Ellie closes her eyes as she digs her nails into the soft edge of the bed, knuckles shining white from exertion and exhaustive force.

Joel doesn’t think before reaching out and rubbing his palms atop her fingers in an attempt to loosen her fervency and aid in some measure of relaxation.

“I got you, okay? You’re safe with me. Whatever it was, ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you here, girl.”

The tension of her iron hold releases at his declarations and Ellie opens to glimpse Joel right there, kneeling before her. Waiting on her, waiting on what may come next. She realizes he would wait there forever, if she needed or asked this of him.

Her throat hitches at the gravitas of such a thought and then hitches at the sight of him; for there, etching across his beautifully weathered face is love and adoration – and worry – for her. Always and only for her.

The permanence of Joel Miller is ethereal.

Ellie swallows and, “Lay with me?”

He licks the length of his bottom lip and brushes his forearms free of wood-shavings as he considers her request; finding reason fast enough, Joel nods, climbs onto the bed and tentatively slides behind her. Joel spoons Ellie, laying his left arm protectively over her middle, albeit loosely. But it doesn’t take but a minute for the older man to detect the tremor that snakes through the girl by his front. So he does what he can do – what he knows she wants but would never dare say aloud – and brings her closer.

Joel pulls the frightened girl to his chest and presses his chin to a partially bare shoulder as their lower limbs intertwine beneath the duvet. From there, he adjusts, anchoring more of her to more of him; he eases the rough part of his palm into the concave between her hip and her rib cage and grips it just tight enough to ground her, to affirm his presence. His other hand slips below their pillow to reach around and enfold Ellie’s searching fingers.

She sighs as they weave together in a hallowing noiselessness; he’s always been good at reading her, at knowing what she seeks but might never find the words to say.

Ellie tries to work at steadying her erratic heartbeat, works to let herself fall into his familiarity and succumb to him in all the ways he’s offering. Everything was alright. It would all be alright now.

As she seats into this calmer state, it occurs then that the way of this togetherness, the way they are here in this room right now, was never how it had been on the road four years ago. Joel was always prickly about that – his back to hers or her front to his back only. Those were the rules.

But this, this feels nice, natural and good. He’s almost as close as he can be without being damn near inside of her and it’s both life-giving and…life-altering.

’Inside of me? Did I-did I just really think that?’

A small spark ignites in her belly and it’s a shift, a something-new she dares not name or examine. Not tonight.

Joel carried her home just as she knew he would. The spark and all of its curiosities can wait.

There’s a subtle exhale by her throat and heat permeates from her head to her toes before she hears, “G’night, darlin'.”

Tomorrow she will share the terrors of this night. She’ll talk of wicked dreams that brought a young, blond woman with murderous intent into their fold. A person who destroyed Joel and distorted all that Ellie once was. She will tell him of his phantom killer that took everything, that stole what meant the most to her.

But for the remainder of this eve, Ellie will sleep soundly. Safe and loved.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

Chapter Text

Ellie’s eyes slit open to see Joel’s bedside table level with her line of sight. There’s a colorful book with something-something Space written on its cover and a pair of reading glasses nearby. The lenses appear cloudy, with scratches and imperfections aplenty. But before Ellie muses on what Joel might look like wearing his “readers,” a sleepy smile spreads on her face; her heart warms to know he’s learning more of that subject on his own – for her, no doubt.

Instinctively her grasp tightens on the languid hand that’s still in hers; his arm must be all but dead weight as it sits in the crook of her neck and yet he’s not moved since settling, like this, a few hours ago. Her heart warms again.

The girl burrows deeper into him and curls deeper into herself as her emeralds shun the big bad echoes of the dream that doesn’t belong.

She didn’t burrow fast enough: The terror of that word – dead – takes a swing and almost renders Ellie powerless. In the chasm that cracks wide apart after, the nightmare rushes in, drowning her in splashes of red and an acrid scent of metal. Every second that passes suspends itself as those cursed images linger in the air; it’s heavy, its weight so punishing that Ellie buckles under the pressure. It pulls and pushes her down, beckons her to relive and accept, but then...she stops.

Ellie stills and steals herself; she knows what she needs to do.

The girl eases her lithe body around, mindful not to wake Joel; he’s likely slept soundly in the handful of hours they’ve spent side by side tonight, but he could always use more. Deserves more. It saddens Ellie to know that he will probably spend the rest of his life chasing an ever-elusive slumber.

Her movements happen fast and suddenly Ellie is a few inches shy of Joel’s bare chest; as she settles, the girl keeps his left arm just as it’s been all night – flush to her midsection – and it dawns on her: The press and heat of his limb – of his bulk and scarred skin feels...right. Thinks of how he feels right.

The warmth begins to spread from her center – pumping into her extremities one heartbeat at a time.

Ellie braids her lower limbs with his as she studies his sleep-laden features up close. She flattens her hands to Joel’s breastbone lazily, her palms flush with the gray and dark hair that grows in abundance there. She discovers that it both fits him perfectly and stirs at the unnamed entity living inside the cavern of her deepest self.

Again, she dares not examine it. Not yet, anyway.

The woman looks on from there, her eyes lips and nose mere inches from his as she leverages her upper half and...sees how he’s changed – how he’s aged, really – in the two or so years she’s been, for the better part, absent from his day to day.

His beard is thicker with far more white and gray than before – his hair longer with a similar pattern of color, too. There’s more wrinkles to his weathered face (she’s seen those in passing now and then) but right now he’s relaxed and so those are shrouded by the softness of sleep.

She remembers how stern and hard-set his features were in those first few weeks...months...they traveled together. Joel never let himself off the hook, never lowered his guard, even in sleep. But here is not there and as Ellie contemplates all the outward ways he’s been changing, she sees beyond to the semi-peaceful man in her embrace.

Or maybe it’s that she’s with him. Maybe a small hand pressed to his heart all those years ago provided enough sustenance for an okay-night's rest. But maybe it was only the tip of his iceberg. Maybe he didn’t believe he deserved more. Maybe he still doesn't.

Ellie idly wonders if he does deserve more, too.

In this sacred palace of past and present, her mind flicks through dusty memories, tiresome days and endless roads as if it were all an old fashioned movie reel.

Walking, walking, making camp. Laundry, supply and ammo checks, food, food, food. He was always so quiet at first, barely any eye contact and almost no talking – well, save for her and those pun books she adores to this very day. Ellie snorts as she pictures just how far those hazels can roll into his head; Joel’s exasperation for her was evident but was as shallow as a puddle. She knows now (as she suspected then) that those gruff protestations were nothing more than a ruse.

He was never worse for the wear after a single one of those silly jokes. Or her, for the most part. That first winter there was an exception, of course. And well, other things she can’t seem to place in the midst of this cozy remembrance.

She curls her fingertips in to feel him and smiles at the affection that blooms in her belly.

At Ellie’s feathering touch, Joel exhales a low rumble and somehow manages to bring her body nearer; his right arm adjusts and wraps at the apex of her spine, his hand engulfing her petite shoulder in its expansive grasp. The heat of this covetous seeps through herhis flannel in steady, soothing waves and Ellie shivers at this, shivers at the gravelly sounds he's emitting. She nearly whimpers as that unknowable spark rises higher to the surface. It begs to be acknowledged, to be understood but she wants to remain...blissfully ignorant.

Despite the rising tides of this...elsewhere, the young woman enjoys that the togetherness is what his subconscious craves – like hers. Admittedly it’s far different to the norms of their past, and yet, this type of familiarity tempers her all the same. Like he always did.

Ellie ruminates that this is what intimacy must be, to hold and be held completely – to be close and to need that closeness much like the air in their lungs. With just one person. With their only person.

Gently, the girl runs a hand through Joel’s unkempt hair; she doesn’t weigh her actions, doesn’t want to, only longs to reset his presence as something solid and real in the halls of her mind. Something akin to what he once was to her. Like he was because of her.

A breaking man’s voice cries for help – cries her name. The screams tear through her again and again. She shakes in his arms.

When will this stop?

’No. No. He’s alive, he’s alive.’

Ellie clamps her eyelids as the din of the nightmare rushes in, threatening to cycle back; it’s a feeble effort meant to expel the horror that’s haunting, despite its devilishness and false existence. It isn’t real but the fear is palpable to a degree that makes it hard to tell what is heads or tails. But the longer she tethers to Joel, the easier it is to believe that those awful things that supposedly happened...didn’t actually happen.

Left to wade its feral wake, she instead immerses into what saves her, and for Ellie, that’s Joel Miller.

The man in her arms. He’s so well known to her in many ways and yet, an enigma, too.

She realizes she wants to piece things together while she can. While she’s still rearing up against the shattering of bones, longing to lay it all to rest.

The girl knows what to do.

Her advances are aimless at first but she roams with purposeful intent; her calluses graze through a mess of his thick hair, then down his scalp and over the soft spot of his temple. She chances a touch to the peak and bottom of his ear where she pauses, spends a moment to trace a scar that lives on the lobe there. It’s an old one, undoubtedly from a history Joel protects and jails to his heart like it’s his prisoner.

Ellie resumes the journey after that brief respite and meanders to a bushy eyebrow, then his eyelashes, his nose, his cheeks; Joel’s skin feels warm despite the heavy drifts of snow surrounding their room-cocoon. She keeps touching, feeling his hair both coarse and plentiful and checking time and again that his skull isn’t misshapen or beat to an unrecognizable pulp. A breath hitches as a lump grows in her throat; suddenly she’s being hoisted by the neck and thrust into murky pools of blood as her wails and pleas for mercy are drowned away.

Fiercely she reacts and strangles the siren that sings for her utmost. Again.

‘No, no, he’s here in my arms. He’s right here. And he’s good.’ Ellie battles viciously and without remorse and does all this in total silence; her pulse increases as her veins flood and bang with the spill of urgency by what would be her greatest loss but…she’s unafraid now.

For unlike last night when the deliverance of her reality remained uncertain, Ellie knows she can, and will, rise above and conquer this abhorrent ghost.

And so she does.

Loosely she cups his chin, holds her eyes on him and lowers a palm to his heart. The thump-thump is steady and even – it’s her most favorite thing in this Godfucked of a world and she accepts – no matter what comes – that she will never take it, or him, for granted. Not ever again.

She begins to feel at peace by this, but this young woman knows that such a hellish reverie won’t fully be laid to repose until she shares the details with him. Until she speaks it aloud.

But until that happens, Ellie is content to just…feel Joel.

She leans in closer to the rugged physicality of him but takes note of the solace that these explorations have already given. They’re grounding and reassuring in tandem – so much that even his expression appears a bit more at ease now than prior to her pawing at him.

Ellie knows it won’t last though; Joel is a heavy sleeper (once he’s good and asleep) but not so much that this voyage can go on for any substantial measure of time.

Still, the girl persists and dances her fingertips through his beard; somewhere far inside, she wants to rouse him with these unfamiliar affections, wants him to join her in this waking space of theirs, to see those hazels and hear that voice. So she presses and rakes her nails against the wiry hair, tugs a little on the lengthier parts and repeats the process a few times.

Eventually, the young woman brushes a knuckle across Joel’s slightly-parted mouth and unexpectedly gasps as she does this. It isn’t until this very second that Ellie realizes his lips are...kind of voluptuous. She tries to stifle a giggle but makes the mistake of being just a decibel too loud with it; the sound, of course, sees Joel opening two heavy-lidded eyes and, “Somethin’ funny ‘bout my face, girl?”

Ellie hides and sinks against his chest; she’s too embarrassed to make eye contact but knows the shy game won’t placate his curiosity whatsoever.

“No,” she mumbles between her hands, unable to drag herself out of the pit of shame yet.

“Have out with it. Woke to you touchin’ my face an' laughin’ like a loon. Am I that ugly?” As he speaks, his voice rumbles, his chest like booming thunder. Ellie thinks it might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever felt and heard.

Two deadly serious eyes fly to his and she shakes her head, “No, stop that. Don’t be ridiculous, Joel. I just...I guess after last night I just wanted to–I don’t know, fff-feel you?”

One of his eyebrows ticks up questioningly and once again Ellie suspects she’s gone tomato-red from the foot she’s jammed into her mouth.

“I mean...I–you–we...”

Joel laughs – actually laughs – as he puts her out of her misery and rolls onto his spine, partially detaching from her. It’s just enough that she doesn’t have to stare at his ...parts and it allows her to breathe and recenter. Regardless, there’s a newfound surprise at how she misses being so close to him already.

“I mean with what happened last night. Thanks for...letting me be here with you. For, I don’t know, giving me time.”

Joel’s hand – the one not underneath her – situates on his firm belly as he looks at her. There’s patience but even alongside that, he sighs, “Ya gonna tell me ‘bout it?”

Ellie shifts and goes flat on her abdomen, employing both elbows to angle herself so that she’s sort of gazing down and off to the side at him. The grapefruit-sized mass reforms in her throat as she struggles to get through this next bit. But she did promise that she would share what riled her up all those hours ago and so, here she is. Sharing.

“You’re gonna think I really am a loon, Joel. But...I had a nightmare. Well, a fucking night terror, really. Hard to explain it but – I’ve never experienced something so fucking...vivid. It was–you were–” Ellie stops as her lips quiver and her jaw flexes. Saying it out loud feels as though the murder will actually come to life and it leaves her woefully helpless as to how to get through this.

‘He’s alive. It wasn’t real. Speak it out loud and it’ll go away, just say the fucking words.’

“Take your time. I ain’t going nowhere.” He offers her a side-smile as he puts one of his arms behind his head to prop himself up.

That does it. The dams break, the levees shatter and Ellie crashes ashore with all her broken-hearted ramblings: “There was ...a girl. Um, maybe a little older than me but yeah she, she was being chased by a pack of clickers and runners and ya know, those infected fuckers, and you and Tommy were on patrol and found her–saved her. It was a blizzard like the one outside right now, too. Which also fucked with my head when I woke up, by the way, because I couldn’t tell what was real and what was the dream. But this blond girl–I recognized her from the church hall last night but I don’t remember her name. No, wait, it was...Gabby or Abby or something like that, I didn’t talk to her. But she–you saved her fucking life but she ended up turning on you in this big mountain mansion. Reminded me of the Baldwin Mansion up north a ways. Anyway, she had a crew of people and they knocked Tommy out first, then that asshole…Gabby or Abby, whatever, blew one of your legs halfway to hell and she...she fucking beat you to death in front of me–because I showed up at some point–with a goddamn golf club, Joel. I was–we couldn’t even say goodbye because your h-head, it was–you were and I–”

Ellie sobs and the words are lost not even partway through the retelling – she wants to continue, wants to get to the why of it all. But her heart breaks at the recollection – explodes at a near-loss that is so real she can taste the rust on her tongue even now.

Joel angles onto his side – even though he figures she’s no closer to the end of the story than its beginning – and rubs her upper back gently, soothingly. He tilts in and, “Oh, baby, it wasn’t real.” He whispers the words almost directly into an ear, pets her hair and moves it away from tear-streaked cheeks so he can get to more of her.

She sniffs, sucking in a glob of clear fluid while he bears her weight for a moment before, “I’ve never...that’s never happened to me before, Joel. There’s so much more to that fucking nightmare but I mean, I remember touching you after you...were g-gone. I remember coming back to this exact fucking room and taking your watch to keep it because Tommy..or maybe Maria, no it was definitely Tommy...put it in a shoebox for me – a fucking shoebox. It was in there along with your revolver and that blue loopy scarf you wear which had blood stains all over it and then I wandered your empty house and I smelled your jacke–” Once more she ends in the middle as hot tears sting the edges of her eyes, her air coming in heaves and spurts.

Ellie doesn’t like to cry as a general rule of thumb but with Joel? No way. Crying is not something she feels at ease doing, especially if there are others around. It’s not that she views it as an exposed weakness but rather it’s the vulnerability of the act itself where her hesitance lies.

Although with things as they are, the younger woman supposes none of that pomp matters anymore. Not after a night spent in each other's arms. Which, considering this, as fresh as the experience is, already brings a measure to their union she can’t quite define.

In the silence, Ellie tries to absorb the calm emanating from Joel; her body’s response to his open tactility is a clear sign that she’s yearning for more. He gives it unquestioningly: An arm slides across and over her back, while his lower half is set off to the side of her hips. A portion of his chest leans on her person, too, but he’s careful with his weight; she’s such a little thing in comparison that he doesn’t want to smother her while trying to get the girl to relax. Isn’t sure if he should be too physical with her, either.

She cries into his pillow, her shoulders pitching forward into the mattress by tremors she can’t quite get a handle on. He just lets her go on, knows that this display is rarer than rare but whatever she needs to work through this, he is there for it.

Ellie grips the fabric fervently and tears tiny half-moons into the gray linen, “Your fucking watch, Joel. I...I held in my hand, I slept with it every night, even tried to cut my fingertip on the broken glass to feel something other than dead inside. To focus on something else other than the sounds of your screams and your skull being crushed. That sound won’t ever leave me, ya know? Real or not. I close my eyes and see, hear and smell it for fucks sake. I–I watched it happen and they fucking SPIT on you after it all, they cursed at you and I couldn’t do a fucking thing–I was weak and caught off guard even though I KNEW I knew I should have found a side entrance but the pain they were putting you through sounded so–Fuck, I was blind, impatient. I was...I regretted so much. I regretted everything. And you–you opened your eyes when you heard me yell for you to get up, Joel. Somehow you knew it was me there, I don’t fucking know how but you knew and they say that about people, I guess, don’t they? That when folks are about to–that they still know when their people are there, right? I don’t know, I prayed you did, prayed I didn’t make it worse and I hated God so much and I swore I would end every single one of those fucking bastards for taking you from me. I swore to Tommy, to Dina, to fucking everyone. I just...if you ever leave me–I know what’ll happen now and I can’t–Joel…”

Joel rests his forehead at the nape of Ellie’s neck, closes his eyes and inhales her panic; he wishes he could take it all from her, to bear the burden of this lucid event so that she doesn’t have to. He shushes her in a calming manner and whispers instead – it’s all he can do. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.”

On any other day he would give anything to be in her heart again – not physically attached as this certainly wasn’t their norm, although he wasn’t hard-pressed to break away either, which was something he’ll grapple with later – but this.

This is...he understands why she was so crazed and overwhelmed last night. Joel knows that he would share the same state of mind had the nightmare come to visit him instead of her. Though whether or not she would be his source of comfort in such a desperate hour is a thought he immediately purges from his brain. Now’s not the time to be a selfish shit.

“Ellie, I’m still with ya. None’a that happened. Breathe for me, girl. I need for you to breathe,” he pleads as his fingers draw imperfect circles atop her shoulders. Pleads as his hands squeeze here and there, docking her to his safe harbor. Pleads as his lips come so close to brushing the exposed skin near a mess of pretty red hair.

At the last, Joel surfaces and checks in with himself as a wave of emotion comes dangerously close to cresting; he pulls apart and slows his touch, resting his hand against the small of her back for safe keeping. This is Ellie…

‘I can’t–what in the hell just came over me?’

“I know, Joel. But you get why I was out of my fucking head, right?” The voice is muffled and low but not mad or full of disgust.

‘None the wiser to what I’d nearly done.’

She peels her cheeks from the soaking pillowcase and shifts to look at the man that’s mostly behind her, “I needed to know you were...alive. And when I saw you, I don’t know, it-it was enough but it wasn’t enough?”

Joel nods but is now uncertain as to whether he should say what’s on his heart or just let her continue. He almost always gives Ellie the room to ramble on whenever she gets going but this is all so different. Their dynamic is...different. Things have changed in the two years they were estranged and so how to proceed hangs like an enormous question mark hovering above him.

She goes quiet and he understands it to mean she’s waiting on him to say something, say anything. In the past he would have simply ignored her sometimes, or thrown out a grumble to placate and quiet her down – he hates himself for that crude behavior more than he should, but that was then. It’s been a long journey and a lot of years since he was a cold prick and she was a constant pain in his ass.

“Was bein’ here-,” Joel gestures to the bed and himself, “-enough?”

Ellie shifts, flips herself from prone to supine and as she does this, there’s zero consideration for the position she’s put them in; the girl knows only that she needs to see him face to face while mulling his question over. Needs to reabsorb the intimacy of this space and his presence. She leads with her gut, with instinct and determination. Acts on her survival skills and plugs a hole that drip-drops blood but is, mercifully, no longer gushing.

He taught her that.

Joel anchors his arms on either side of those petite shoulders; she’s halfway beneath him, laying on her back, and intentionally keeping his bulk off of hers. He also becomes acutely aware of his lack of clothing from the waist up and that they’re poised in a way they’ve never before been.

‘Shouldn’t be like this. Or, least I don’t reckon I should…”

After considering his words for a long while, “Mmhm, it was. It is. For now, anyway. I mean, I won’t ever forget it. Can’t unsee that...trauma.” She furrows her brow before, “Don’t be surprised if I break into your house all hours of the night going forward, is all I’m saying. Just a Joel Miller proof of life sort of thing. No biggie.”

A smile fractures Joel’s features and it vents some of the tension building in the harrowing echoes of her vivid dreamscape.

Still, there’s a pink elephant in the room and he wrestles with whether or not he should be the one to try and call on it or just let it...be.

He decides he wants to open this dialogue between them again. He’s missed her for so long, has been empty for months – years – and realizes, somewhere deep in the chaos of these last six or so hours that it’s come down to now or never.

He recounts their terse, stiff conversation from last night on his porch and, “Ellie, I–I can’t help but wonder at the timin’ of this-”

Before he’s able to finish the sentence, sharp knocks bang against the hardwood front door. Joel curses inwardly, sighs outwardly and lets his head drop in resignation. Ellie snorts at the poor timing as she reaches for the hair that’s fallen in the crook of her neck. She instinctively weaves her digits into the softness of it and tugs just-so, same as she did when he was asleep. Or, when she thought he was asleep.

His eyesight casts south, his forehead damn near resting on her collarbone, Joel sucks in a hiss of air; he didn’t plan for this and feels awkward, no, not awkward. He feels afraid to look up too quickly as he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Afraid to make Ellie think he’s glimpsing more than he’s supposed to. Because he is.

Joel sees her flannel is split down the middle of her chest, sees that there’s a few buttons missing and a crude patchwork here and there but that’s not what grabs his undivided. It’s that she’s naked beneath his old shirt. And there’s a constellation of freckles between her–’No, dammit. This ain’t right.’

His cloudy eyes rise but the man doesn’t react beyond that, simply watches for a spell as he sets his mind straight. Joel knows what he’s thinking is wrong – he can’t...he shouldn’t have seen – but this whole night and their morning has been...upside down. Even as he muses he notices how content Ellie is as she teases his mess of black and gray. It’s like she’s up in space again, with Apollo and all her stars. She’s up there but she’s here, too, tracing his ears, padding the sides of his floppy bed-hair only to go around and orbit again.

She even pays extra attention to the short, albeit longer, hair at the bottom of his skull and grins up at him as she does this; it’s as if her body is trying to form a link to his so much that the thought of him leaving to answer his caller causes her to react this way.

But there’s so much unsaid, so much to work through that these touches and his confusing thoughts, though not all unwelcome, are...offsetting.

The emotional range this girl elicits is both foreign and intriguing to Joel, and though he desperately does not want her to stop – though she should – he swallows and says, “Tommy.”

“What?” The name rips her from the serene reverie and Joel could cringe at himself. After that hell of a dream, the last thing he wants to do is startle her. And yet.

“Tommy’s at the door. We have a shift today. Teton Valley.”

“Please don’t leave, Joel.” There’s that fear. It returns tenfold and Ellie fills to the brim with a flash of fright, her eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them. Her hands pulling and gripping around his neck.

“I gotta answer him or he won’t leave. ‘S’alright, Ellie.”

“Stay home today? Please. Please? Make me breakfast? And lunch and dinner. We–I–” She stumbles as a barrage of words come cascading in all at once. Every syllable damn near screams to how badly she’s begging him to stay. Not out there. Not in the cold. Not vulnerable.

“Okay, okay. But I gotta tell that boy to get. An' to find someone to take my slot. Stay put, yeah? I’ll be right back.”

Ellie nods and watches as Joel springs out of bed like a man a quarter his age might. He’s still in those gray sweats and nothing else and it reminds her: the poor choice of clothing, or lack thereof rather, could have been utterly disastrous. In more ways than that bitch of a snowstorm.

Lifting the duvet, Ellie takes stock of her partially-buttoned red flannel and the faded black panties clinging to her bottom. And...nothing else. At some point from the garage to his house, she removed her boots but Ellie can’t pick the useless memory out and figures she doesn’t care enough to.

’Collateral Bootage.’

It’s after this speedy bout of self-berating that the men's voices carry to where she is; they’re both muffled and direct – Tommy’s probably annoyed and Joel, well, Joel is just...Joel. He’ll tell Tommy he owes him one but if the younger Miller keeps pressing, the bigger sibling will tell him exactly where to stick it. Besides, Joel never misses shifts or takes days off. Everyone knows that – Ellie’s always known it. No one man is more reliable than Joel Miller.

After a few more minutes of inaudible man-sounds, one of Joel’s windows creaks as air circulates in the house; with his front door and the cold shut out once again, he’s trekking back to her two steps at a time. Not walking like a man his age typically would, but jogging. More tells of his incredible stamina.

Joel prefers to keep moving, or that’s what he always told her during their cross-country journey whenever she begged to sleep in some mornings. It’s just his way.

She smiles and ponders the days that feel so far from them now. Finds she misses them – when it was just them.

“We owe Tommy a double shift next week because apparently you had patrol today, too. With...Dina, I think? He wasn’t too clear ‘bout that. Oh, an’ there’s a town wide meeting scheduled for Thursday we gotta be at.” Joel slips into silence and pats his bare belly as he looks to her curiously. He’s trying to get back to the topic before something, or someone, interrupts him again. It seems to, for the most part, work this time.

Ellie grits her teeth as Dina and their kiss and that whole bigot issue with Seth unseats the nightmare and forces her focus elsewhere. And then, of course, she remembers Joel’s humiliation in front of everyone – she being the source of said humiliation – and the...difficult conversation they shared on the deck afterwards.

Every scene in her visual Rolodex flips as though they're over a thousand years old, right up until that night terror kicked its way in and spat out a different version of her.

Or...did it? Is she the same Ellie?

As she flips through the events at a lightning-fast speed, she wonders what and why and how all of this has come to be. They’re only half a dozen or so hours out from that cumbersome talk and yet, it feels like a lifetime. She’s forgotten the animosity so quickly because of a stranger named Abby – or Gabby – who killed Joel, in a dream.

That is everything that’s actually come about. It sobers and jettisons Ellie back to earth, back to the place where they have so much uneven ground that’s settled between them.

The girl sits up in bed and draws the blanket to her torso protectively; her eyes are downcast and sad as her heart begins to tear anew. Nothing’s wholly fixed, but she is overwhelmingly grateful that Joel’s alive – that’s true. The nightmare-scape was just that and nothing more. It’s also true that he was there for her, both comforting and reassuring right on through to the morning. To right now even.

Still, there are miles to go and leagues to dive and endless wounds to mend when it comes to this man and their relationship to one another. In the dissociative wickedness that came to visit her, Ellie temporarily misplaced Joel’s lies, the Fireflies and the utter heartbreak and betrayal of it all.

It returns to her, given back like a gift she never wanted in the first place. Still, she meant the things she said to him. Both outside and in the time they’ve spent here.

“Right. Dina.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Joel eases himself onto the mattress next to her, his eyes peeking at the girl through weary lashes. He fusses with his hands, collapsing each one into itself; he feels like he’s losing purchase after only, in some way, getting her back. He can’t – he won’t lose her again.

“No...not yet or ever, maybe. I don’t know? I think it’s a deadend with Dina because of her relationship with Jesse and my heart feels a little bruised after, ya know, everything at the church hall and then our talk and then the fucking dream. I mean, yeah, I like her, but listen, Joel-” She breaks, leans forward into him, “I told you last night I would try. I meant it. So…” she clears her throat and smacks at her tacky, tear-stained face before, “How about breakfast now and a movie later tonight? Just us?”

Joel exhales and brings his chin down onto his chest; his throat tightens and his lips shake a beat before, “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

“Damn, Joel, that hit the spot…” Ellie rubs her tummy approvingly and smacks her lips in delight at the breakfast he’s conjured up for them. Joel just watches her, his hands clasped at the nape of his neck, belly full of eggs, bacon and the fluffiest pancakes this side of the west. 

Because even with the woeful absence of a morning coffee, Joel can’t help but agree with the girl that yes, this morning’s spread did indeed hit The Spot. 

“Thank you, kindly,” he mumbles, palms sliding up and down his unkempt hair while yawning wide and animatedly. Ellie looks on and thinks a spell; he appears...comfortable, at ease to a very visible degree. As if there’s a distinct lack of that notable Joel-tension that’s always lingering within his firm disposition. As if having her here, in his kitchen again, is making him lighter all of the sudden.

She gives their past, that ever-present pit in her stomach, a swift flyover and then consciously chooses to ignore it; this is her offering him another chance. Offering them as a cohesive unit another chance. 

And besides, she does like it. She enjoys this ease, this lighter space they’re sharing. 

“Any ideas for later? What would you’d like for dinner tonight?” Joel posits, letting his hands slap to his thighs before absently kneading the roped muscle there. 

Ellie’s nose scrunches in consideration – Joel wants to laugh but instead gazes away; he’s missed that exact expression so much it...hurts to see it fill her features so care-freely. As if he hasn’t been caught in a holding pattern for close to two years all the while hoping for the wholeness this girl brings to his everyday.  

It occurs to him idly that maybe, just maybe, he’s undeserving of the peace she so effortlessly imbues. That maybe the ice outside his windows is all he’s truly worth to her. To anyone anymore. 

“Joel?” 

He snaps-to, brings his eyes to greet hers, “Mmm?”

“You just mentally took off after asking me about dinner. Are you thinking of brisket or wait, no—it’s something even more delicious I’m not aware of, isn’t it?” 

He laughs through his nostrils, angles forward; his elbows rest on the table and Joel muses on whether or not, again, he should attempt That Conversation. He longs for reconciliation and prays for forgiveness but ultimately, whatever will be, will be. In this moment, all he does know is that it’s a start and if that means starting over, then he will do whatever it takes. 

“Sorry, Red–Ellie. Suppose I got to thinkin’ a little too hard ‘bout dinner, didn’t I?” 

She bobs her skull but doesn’t acknowledge his slip of the nickname he once frequently used for her. Instead, Ellie drags a fingertip through a savory mix of bacon grease and maple syrup that’s pooling on her plate – Joel’s homemade batches are a point of pride for the town – and then brings it in for a taste. 

“Mm...yew ded,” she mumbles with a digit in her mouth, swallowing the delicious concoction before snorting, “Sorry. Yes, you did. So, what’s the meal that’s got you so contemplative. I wanna know what we’re gonna be dining on while we watch–Oh–we gotta pick a movie, too! Hmm...” Ellie wipes away warm saliva on the fresh flannel she’s wearing – hers was a tattered mess after last night and so it came as no shock when Joel offered a replacement. There’s also the oversized flimsy pants she’s dressed in – also his and so big on her petite frame that they’re pooling at her ankles and even the idea of running is close to an impossibility. 

Regardless, she bounds from her seat, hoists the slacks’ waistband to damn-near her chin and sets course. The girl makes a beeline for the growing collection of VHS tapes in his living room, her energy and focus redirecting from their cozy food nook to the evening plans that lay ahead.  

The entire scene gives Joel a belly-laugh this time – before he promptly averts his eyes as every thought reverts to the constellation he discovered upon her skin. He wants to unsee that beautiful patch of scattered stars on her pale breastbone, wants to purge all these foreign, unclean meanderings from his mental locker. Or at least he tells himself that's what he should want. But the lure of starry-skied variants and celestial patterns is a gravity well – the force drawing him in one molecule at a time. 

Joel swallows as he holds unsteadily at a crossroads: Not only is he actually entertaining such thoughts but there’s hope blooming alongside them as well. Hope that he may learn every secret that hides beneath those faded clothes she’s barely managing. Hope that they may return to the impenetrable level of trust they built one mile at a time. Hope that he’s not fucked in the head to want both of these in tandem. 

‘Christ almighty you crooked sonuvabitch, what in the hell is happenin'?”

His field of view shifts to the front of his house as he rises and folds back into reality. Doesn’t trot in after the girl but instead places their dishes into the sink and wipes his tacky hands on a used towel. He lends himself a respite as sounds of weathered slip-covers and plastic are summarily sorted through; she’s rifling through the meager stockpile of his 80’s-90’s action-slash-horror collection while sassing his tastes as she goes. 

“Gremlins?! What the fuck is a Gremlin? That can't be a real word…”
“Ohhh...this is about an Air Force fighter jet school and there’s a hot girl in this one…” 
“This movie has a dude dressed in a jumpsuit and he has a knife? It’s for Halloween though, or no, it’s called Halloween, so no. Scratch that, it’s too close to Christmas for that scary shit...” 

Joel listens in silence to her delightful rhetoric but knows it’s only a matter of moments until Ellie’s hollering to get his ass out there – likely in those exact words. Still, pending that, he’s stalled by the counter, his mind aimed at just how he is able to unring the bell that booms like a warning in his chest. Because he’s too old to jump so quickly from A to Z and not end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Or...worse. Abandoned again. 

Something else nags in the midst of this growing inner turmoil: Joel thinks it’s funny in that not so funny way as to how quickly they’ve taken to old patterns and familiar rhythms. Even how lighthearted it feels. Well, minus last night’s spooning and this morning’s...touching session. That definitely was not part of their old habits. 

He struggles to name the weight roiling in his gut but the acid runoff tastes like embarrassment: Was one night of fervency and panic enough to tip his fragile psyche over an edge he didn’t know was there? Was one morning of her physical affections all it took for him to see this girl in a much, much different light? 

Joel stops – realizes how weak-minded and starving for her attention he must be to let go and float so far up the creek of...whatever this is. 

The breakfast in his stomach churns and sinks further; he’s uneasy, his emotions upended, unsure of what or how to proceed from here. Should they have a movie night, should he cook her dinner… Is he overreacting, did he have a stroke? 

He makes a decision. 

“Ellie?” Voice so soft he almost hopes she didn’t hear him. Almost wishes she won’t reply in kind and find him so woefully shameful. Wishes to continue on as they have already this morning and then get to share an evening of contentment and unimportance side by side. 

“Joel! Found the sequel with that time-traveling beefcake machine dude that tried to kill the son of his enemy who wasn’t born yet so that Judgement Day, or whatever the fuck it’s called-was that like Outbreak Day? Anyway so that still happens and the cyborg uprising can conquer earth and slay humanity. I think I’ve got that right? But we never watc–” 

The girl grinds to a halt with the movie in her hand, her brow-line pinching as she absorbs the sorrowful sight of him. Her expression immediately falls, the VHS lowering to rest against her thigh. 

“What’s wrong?” 

His mood descends alongside the Terminator 2: Judgement Day tape and he peers away; he has a choice here, just as he did at the outskirts of Jackson four or so years ago. Joel can tell the truth or he can hide it and pretend it all away. Can shield his heart and stow whatever these newfound...feelings...are for her far and away from this seemingly successful reunion. 

“Nothin’s wrong. It’s–you’re here an’ things feel better is all. A bit like whiplash, too, an’ I’m afraid I’m not keepin’-to well enough.”

Not a lie, not the whole truth either. 

As Ellie approaches, she places the tape onto the kitchen island, her steps tentative, her limbs fidgety until, “We’re trying, Joel. I’m trying. You have to try, too. Is...maybe it’s too fast though? Maybe it’s too much? Should I go?” She signals to the front door behind them by twisting her torso towards it, effectively breaking eye contact. 

Without thinking, Joel reaches for her, thumbs the moth and wraps his remaining fingers around the rest of her arm, “Please don’t.” 

Ellie tilts into the hint of desperation laden to his low tone. It’s a rare thing to hear that octave from Joel and it’s been so long that she’s forgotten the massive effect it has on her insides. She covers the hand that’s gripping fast to her tattoo – the tattoo for him – and works her fingers into his. They’re warm and strong and grounding. As is the rest of him. 

“Then let’s decide on dinner now-since I picked the movie already-and then, I don’t know, have a good night? You and me. I’ll leave for a few to shower and change into clothes that actually fit and we’ll have the whole day and night to just...try. Sound good?” 

Joel nods but doesn’t speak, not fully trusting himself to keep any knee-jerk commentary to a minimum. Besides, emotions and talking have never really been his thing. She knows this, of course, because somewhere along the way Ellie found a road beyond it all – all the bravado, all the boundless fury. Still, it’s been many moons since she torched his lockboxes and cut past every length of caution tape he’d layered in the decades before her. 

Once upon a time it unnerved him to his very core but now, now he implores the universe to help her forget how to see everything in him. Most especially this new...phase that’s come on like the swing of a golf club – the same sort that supposedly ended his life in her dream. For despite her tactile reflections and loving attention this morning, Joel’s uncertain that those are of the same kind his brain keeps steering him towards. 

There’s simply no way Ellie, his Ellie, would...want that. Would want him like that. 

“Okay?” The girl repeats as she steps closer and looks north into his crestfallen eyes.

His head bounces as he offers a smirk in place of any words that may tumble out and thus ruin her. Again.  

“Okay, good. So...dinner? What’ll it be, Chef Miller?” 

“Well, I was thinkin’, you mentioned brisket but it’s too late for that. Gotta let those beasts marinate for a while beforehand. So how’s ‘bout good ol’ steak and potatoes? Side veggies bein’ yours for the choosin’, of course.” 

Ellie’s eyes light up as though Jackson’s council just popped the switch on the yearly Christmas tree directly in front of her – a ceremony which takes place next week, Joel remembers, and immediately wonders if she’ll go with him. But damn, her smile is bright and real and all for him. His own spreads across his face but then he looks away. She’s simply too pretty with those green eyes and red li–.  

“Steak? YOUR steak, oh yes. Ellie like. Veggies...hmm... How about carrots and green beans? I can make a casserole. That is...if you don’t mind sparing some kitchen space. Have you’ve learned how to be less...growly about kitchen companions?” 

He laughs and releases her forearm, “Done an’ done, but let’s save the casseroles for closer to the holidays. You’ll...you’ll be back celebratin’ Christmas this year, right?” 

He swallows an unexpected lump in his throat, rakes a hand through his wily grayblack mop, exhales, and waits. Does so many things in the space of a few seconds that he loses count; his wheels are spinning – Joel needs her to say something, say anything. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Or wherever the festivities are held this year.” 

Ellie shines with a warmth that harbors no deception, but there’s something beyond the horizon of her light that Joel can’t quite name; it’s an evocation closer to apprehension than anxiousness. 

It’s right then that Joel understands with absolute clarity that she’s not thought long-term insofar as their relationship or where this new beginning may see them. 

Which is okay, of course, but dashes the secret hope of a more intimate sort of closeness by nearly half. Which is also okay, because once more, Joel reaffirms that he’s undeserving of that kind of...love with her. That he doesn't have the right to even have such curiosities and unfounded, baseless desires. Especially after one night where nothing happened. 

A vision of pale skin and cinnamon stars tear across his skies, moving through him as though he were glimpsing them again in real time. 

‘No, goddamn’it, no.’ 

He makes a decision: Joel is going to imprison it all, dig a grave and bury these hidden wants way, way down into the depths of the earth. It’s where they belong. 

So he clears his throat, peers low on his person and pats a hand to his chest, steeling himself; yes, that’s where his heart was meant to go – into the ground. 

‘Maybe her nightmare wasn’t just a dream but a...thing that’ll be. Maybe I shoulda went to work today...’  

It’s a sick notion but the last two years have been fraught with daily heartache, regret and sorrow. It’s his new normal, not this morning or last night. Not the beautiful universe he wants to collide into or the way she felt at him so needfully. Not the heat of her breath on his chest, on his soul, as he pretended to sleep. As he drank in the nearness that left his body riddled with a new set of aches. 

None of that is his normal. None of it can be his normal. He just needs to readjust, that’s what it is. 

“Joel? Um...I’m gonna go and get cleaned up and I’ll be back over in a little while, yeah?” 

“What? You’re leavin’?” His hazels snap to her and he finds actual apprehension there this time. “You don’t gotta change. We’re cookin’ and movie watchin’. Who you tryin’ to impress?” 

He regrets that last bit immediately but then she laughs and he regrets it a little less. 

“You keep, I don’t know, spacing out on me. Figured you want time alone? I know you used to need that...before.” 

Joel scratches an eyebrow as he rummages around in their history; he can’t remember ever wanting to be away from her once they left well enough alone and became...whatever it was they were. He sighs in total resignation – he can’t call up a single memory in his archival search. 

“When was I ever needin’ to be away from you?” 

“Well, it was more when Tess was alive and soon after she was killed. A couple times you’d just wander off and I’d remember back to when she’d just shrug and say something like, ‘it’s just what he does, what he needs,’ and that was that. I never understood because you’d leave me alone, which was cool I guess, but I was too afraid to ask why after a certain point.” 

“Afraid of what?” 

“...You.” 

Joel sniffs deeply, closes his eyes – the rough start to their past is revealing itself but neither could have known any of it would lead them here, all these years later. Broken at the start, broken now.

“I didn’t...I don’t want to be away from you, Ellie. Even then it wasn’t ‘bout that. I–” 

The girl hushes him with an embrace. Her arms wind around his taut waist and she pulls herself into him, and pulls him into her. They sink into one another and remain, suspending themselves above days that are long gone but linger all the same. 

She whispers into his blue cotton, “I know, Joel.” 

He returns the hug, slides his limbs about her and simply hangs on. Joel’s lips settle onto the top of her head and he breathes her in; it calms and returns him to the present in equal measures. It also stirs something inside, a specific piece he must have overlooked when those plans to entomb his feelings initially came to mind. 

He’ll circle back to it eventually but for now, he’ll accept this and doesn't think much past it.  

She tilts her head to look up but doesn’t release him yet, “Okay, it’s only 8 am. I’ll go and be back by 2ish? I have to find Dina and…talk with her a bit, too. Do you want me to pick anything up from the general store? For dinner or snacks–Ohhhh!–Joel! What the fuck are we having for dessert?” 

This girl and her love of food, Joel muses, his abs flexing against hers as he laughs, “How ‘bout you surprise me with your choice of sweets?” 

“Deal.” She smiles, still looking up at him, still looking up to him and it feels as though his breast bone fractures; how can he think of her that way. It was just a nightmare that led her to blindly grab at him like some fossil they once found in a museum a couple years ago. Intrigue, curiosity, reality. She was just reaffirming he was still here. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing at all more.  

This mental badgering continues unbridled until she leans on the balls of her feet and presses her lips to his cheek. It’s quick and over in a flash and then she’s out of his arms before he’s able to process what she did. After, there’s a giggle-snort that echoes in tandem as she clings to his giant sleep-pants that appear to have fallen in the midst of their hug. 

“Well that’s just fucking embarrassing…” 

He doubles part way forward at her misfortune as pressure releases from his lungs like a kettle whistling; he slaps a palm down onto the kitchen island, “Ya better bring them pants back tonight. We could use some’a those embarrassin’ snorts...” 

“Oh, fuck you, man!” Ellie laments as she stumbles towards her boots sat by the front door – ’So that’s where they wound up…’ She doesn’t mean the insult and they both know it, but it’s distinctly her and he can’t help the tightening in his chest. He’s missed that, too. 

She’s about to exit, with fistfuls of soft, fraying fabric desperately trying to stay wrapped to her lithe hips. 

“Keep laughing, old man....I’m eating the last of whatever delicious treat I bring. You can bet your ass on that.” Boots on, she focuses on the door.

“We’ll see. 2ish, right?” 

She doesn’t hear him. Instead, the girl stands motionless, a brass doorknob burning in her grasp; a hand trembles by the intense fear returning tenfold – the horror growing with every second that passes. Ellie closes her greens as she attempts to push past the hollow memory of an event that’s never come to pass. Tries to convince herself she’s not about to languish in a basement full of screams and loss and blood and regret. 

“Ellie?” 

He steps forward into the hallway and catches sight of her there, silent and iced-over like the snowy landscape that awaits beyond the wooden barrier.

Exhaling loudly, her shoulders drop, falling into one another in a cascading avalanche of relief. The sound she makes isn’t exactly a sigh but rather an hiss of air signifying she can continue to breathe, because his voice is real. Real and beautiful.

The girl finds his features awash with concern, his brow pinched and lips forming a firm line, “You alright, girl?”

Ellie gulps but doesn’t shroud the tears that are beginning to swell. He’s too far off to see them anyway.

“Joel...don’t ever leave me?”

His chin angles into the crook of his neck and he’s...wordless and worried simultaneously. His hazels are squinting at first and then he ambles towards her with a purposeful gait. But she forces a smile and leaves right as he’s about to reach her. He didn’t get there in time. 

She’s gone but she’ll return. He knows it.

The water is lukewarm and dribbly by the time Ellie comes back to the present. She's spent the better part of the last ten minutes musing on Joel and their night and that curious spark as she laid in his arms and what it all means and how to get past the dream, how to get past their shared but separate trauma – how to get past his lies. She’s torn between hitting the reset button so hard it’ll never need striking again or easing into a rhythm that lessens the gaps of their years apart by taking it one day, one hour, one minute. Because he hurt her, he lied and destroyed the only solid foundation she’s ever believed in. He did that, he consciously made that choice for her. For them.

Still.

He saved her. 
She saved him. 
Time and again. 

But now...today she’s finding it impossible to forgo the feel of his soft, long hair, or the memory of just how deep and worldly the lines on his face truly are up close. How the scars on his body form a map of his life, of the years he’s fought tooth and nail to survive. She longs to trail a fingertip from one unique point of interest to the next and listen to the story of every single journey beneath him. Beneath a canopy of blankets. 

She ruminates about the scars on the inside that haven’t fully healed, too, thinks she doesn’t want to be one of those for him anymore. He has enough. Had enough long before she came crashing into his world wholly uninvited. 

Even knowing all of this, the girl finds she’s at a loss. She wants something but doesn’t know how to want so all she can do is move through and offer what she’s capable of, whenever the situations present themselves. 

Which is precisely why she’s been keeping to a lighthearted, easy demeanor since waking up beside him. It’s not a facade or an act but more of a way for the girl to seat herself into that place she once was with him. Still, Ellie knows that line of thinking is fruitless; you can never go back, you can only press onward. And their onward already appears far different than their backward ever did.

The droplets on her freckled shoulders feel wonderful, or they did, but now the water is chilly and uncomfortable and there are things to do and people to chat with before afternoon winds around. She’s glad for the distraction.

There’s a knock to her garage door then and she guesses it’s likely Joel; now that they’re speaking again – having fun and making plans like they used to alongside this newer stuff – he’s bound to start his old routine of “just checkin’ in,” from time to time. She doesn't mind the thought of it. 

“One sec,” she sings from the bathroom, reaching for a clean towel and securing it to her person. Her hair drip-drops onto the floor as she meanders towards the entrance; she pauses, takes stock of the mess her living space has become. ’Oof.’ She hopes he won’t notice and if he does, won’t pay any attention to it. Not that it matters, but.

‘Maybe the whole naked-in-a-towel thing will distract him? Oh fuck, Ellie. What are you even saying…’  

She cracks open the front door and peeks outside. It’s not Joel. 

“Oh hey, Dina,” Ellie’s expression drops and a hint of pink paints her cheeks. She leans to the rear and opens the door the just enough, “Come on in.” 

“Did I catch you at a bad time? Or maybe it’s a good one?” Dina emphasizes this with an arch of one of those killer eyebrows as she moves past Ellie. 

The girls laugh as they walk into the open space of Ellie’s garage, “So...about last night.” 

Ellie pushes out her bottom lip and averts her suddenly shy, green eyes – last night and their kiss. Not last night and Joel. Not the nightmare. She winces. 

“Oh damn, that bad, huh?” Dina jests, but there’s a trace of vulnerability there, too. 

“What? No, no, I–something else made me...made my face…do that. Really, I wasn't cringing about our kiss.” 

Dina flops onto the couch and sighs, “Well, of course it wasn’t about the kiss. It wasn’t that bad.” 

Ellie sits beside the girl and leans back, “That bad? You're saying it was bad but not as bad in comparison to what...Jesse’s?” After a beat of silence, the pair breaks into a low laugh as they look to one another. Ellie likes this girl, has for a long time, and after last night, there’s obviously a possibility of...more. And now she’s here, in her place and sitting with a look of...anticipation? Or maybe that was just Ellie’s own crush bleeding out into the space between them. 

She’s finding more and more that she’s unsure of just about everything and everyone in her small bubble. Or maybe just uncertain with herself. What she wants, who she wants… it’s all a mystery and even the idea of it confuses her.

“So, got any plans tonight? Wanna, I don’t know, go to the bar and rile Seth up again with a good old fashioned make-out sesh?” Dina taps Ellie’s naked kneecap and waits, eyes expectant and hopeful. “I mean, since you bailed on patrol today, I got the day off. Jesse is trying to do me a solid or something, not sure what he’s up to. I just know I have oodles of free time now.” She inhales and twists to face her friend – waits. 

“I’m...I actually have a movie night with Joel on the books. He’s cooking dinner and we’re watching one of his favorites. An ‘old action film with heart,’ he calls it, or did, back after we watched the first in the series. We’re just now getting around to the sequel.” Ellie pries her gaze away from Dina’s dark browns and stares at the floor; she feels guilty but doesn’t all the same. More confusion.

“Oh, that’s cool. So, you guys are what, like okay again? Last night you were really pissed off at him. Can’t figure that out still. I know things haven’t been kosher between you two but that was...harsh.” The girl bites a nail and shrugs at the flex of Ellie’s jawline, “It was, Ellie. He was sticking up for us. Actually, he was defending me, and you just–” 

“I know. I shouldn’t have said what I said–but Joel and I talked last night after I left the hall. We’re trying to work things out. Or, I’m trying now. He’s always wanted...well, yeah. Anyway.” An awkward silence fills in the emptiness between their seats and neither knows what to say. 

Dina’s never been great with awkwardness or the quiet and so, “Well, I hope you guys enjoy your night. Sounds fun and I’m glad you’re mending things. But...are you good? You seem a little out of your usual sorts. You can tell me if it’s me or last night. I won’t be offended or anything.” 

“No, I mean, yes, I’m alright-” she pauses to breathe and calibrate, “It’s been sort of crazy the past few hours? But it’s nothing to do with you or the dance. Promise.” After this, Ellie leans forward and scratches a phantom itch on the right side of her face, unsure of what to do or say next.  

“Okay, well, if you finish up early at Joel’s, come find me. He goes to bed at like, six, right? So you might have time after to hang…” Ellie snorts and grins at her friend by her back, “Nah, Joel’s actually more of a night owl since settling in Jackson. But if it shakes out that way, I’ll track you down.” 

Dina scoots down to the end of the cushion and levels a look to Ellie, “And I know you can.” The dark-haired girl winks and rises as she makes to leave. She hovers by the handle a moment and then looks over her shoulder, “I had a good time last night, by the way. Maybe not tonight, but I’d definitely like to spend more good times with you at some point, Ellie.” 

Ellie smiles and nods, “Me, too.” 

Dina gives a bright, toothy grin and then exits, pulling the door with her. 

Once again, Ellie finds herself alone, in this room with all her thoughts and the whirlwind that is her heart. She does like Dina and yet there’s that spark that’s poking and whispering words of something new, something unfamiliar. With someone else. It’s alluring.

As is Dina. 

Ellie stands and cuts a path towards her bureau; Joel’s well-worn slacks are folded neatly on top and she doesn't fight the happiness that spreads inside of her. She’ll bring them over and wear them when it’s movie go-time, but for now, she changes into something that’s her. It forces her to focus on a menial task and not a single thing beyond it. 

The girl welcomes the mental respite. 

“Ready to get this classic goin’?” Joel sucks a crumb of the delicious blueberry pie Ellie brought off of his finger and chances a peek over at her. There’s a blanket that’s looping around her shoulders and upper body like a thick scarf, and his sleepwear comfortably returned to her legs. She’s really here – all content, full from the meal he made and ready for some 90’s action. With him.

“If you need anythin’ else from the kitchen, you’re on your own from here on out, missy.”

“Haven’t you seen this like a dozen times? And we can pause it, ya know.”

“More. But there ain’t no pausin’ Terminator 2. Maybe The Terminator but this here is a perfect film. We ain’t pausin’ perfection.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, settles in to watch the greatness that he’s so lovingly bestowed upon said sci-fi film. Suspects he’s almost certainly full of shit, but will save that for later when she’s able to tear the movie apart.

Ellie wipes another round of tears and sniffs generously, “Okay, what the fuck, Joel. He sacrificed himself and then the hand going into a fucking thumbs up as he went under, Jesus. Why not just gut me next time and be done with it.”

Joel’s belly pushes out a bit as he laughs, his head leaning onto the couch cushion, “Told you. Perfect film.”

“I mean, it had its moments like what even was…or when that guy…and fucking when she…no, dammit. You’re right. It is a perfect movie.”

The girl sniffs once more and uses the rear of her hand to wipe away a few tears that don’t seem to realize it’s time for them to quit.

“I wish we’d done a bet. You’d be doin’ laundry for a week, girl.” He shifts, brings a leg up onto the couch and curls it under his other, then props his head onto a balled fist.

“Pssh, you can just keep on wishing. If I ever smell your pond-scum, stanky boxers again it’ll be the end of me, Joel. I swear it.”

His laugh comes loud and heavy, his head thrown back with the pair of his hands shrouding his face, “Touché, Red, touché.”

She looks to him with eyes the color of olives, olives twinkling in the dim lighting of his living room; there are no lamps on and the sun has long since set. It’s only luminescence from the movie credits and that thundering dun-dun-dun-dundun cadence in the background that accompany them. Ellie watches him as he rubs his eyes, pinches his brow and cracks his neck.

That distinct sound of his bones popping permeates through the air and she can feel fear creeping up on her again like a reaper. It’s nighttime, closer to that dreamworld than she wants to be.

She wants to crawl six or so inches and sit in his lap, on his lap, anywhere just with him. She’s craving that connection, knows only he can cease the waves before they crash ashore and drown her anew.

“Hey?” He says, waving a hand in front of her face, “Earth to Ellieee.”

She blinks a bunch and refocuses, “Sorry. It’s just…I don’t know. Late.”

He looks at the clock on his wall and makes a clicking noise, “That it is. Best we say our goodnights? We took off today but tomorrow we’re back on patrol again. Tommy stopped by earlier when you was at your place and said we’re on shift together. Hope that’s good?”

It’s exactly what she needs to segue into her next bit, “Um, yeah, no that’s good. But…c-can I stay here again? This way we can just leave at the same time and–”

He reaches to her and touches an exposed part of her cheek, “If you’re scared to sleep alone in the garage you can always stay here. You know that.”

She gives a hopeful half-smile and leans into his hand; Joel glances away because he’s certain of what he should do next, knows what he needs to say.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the whole bed to yourself. How ‘bout that?”

Ellie looks to the tv and the brightness of its screen is suddenly blinding. She hears him scream her name. Ellie looks out of a window at the falling snow. She sees his body collapse into itself like a dying super-giant. Ellie looks south to her hands as she clutches and pulls the yarn apart, decimating a square of the blanket. She hears his skull fracture sees the blood spraying sees his limbs twitch as the last of his life fires through him from tip to toe.

“Joel…” Her voice is lower than a hush, swelling from pain and so afraid she can hardly breathe.

He’s there in less than a breath, his arms around her, his lips close to her ear just like before, “Okay, okay. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll both have the whole bed together…”

Chapter Text

The stairway stretches endlessly, getting longer with every panicked, descending step. His agonizing cries – Help! HELP me, Ellieeee – rise to her, but she’s too far away still.

The door becomes smaller the nearer she gets to it. The hallway narrows to a point as its walls press in and suffocate her. The stairs claw around her feet, rising steadily to swallow her ankles, calves and knees like a venomous mud.

She’s racing against time, fighting more than an unkillable enemy. Ellie cannot win if she’s late; Joel won't be saved if she's unable to break free of the plaster and wooden beams lassoing to her like wicked ivy.

She screams and flails at nothing – Ellie just needs to get to him. If she can reach him, she can save him. She knows it.

Fuck time and all its vile passage. Fuck the torturer, fuck the demon forced between them – a shrew that laughs on and on, its shadowy cackles cutting lines on her wrists and holes in her heart.

Finally, she’s at the cursed door, grabbing the handle with both of her gloved palms. It slips as she tries to turn it over, but the girl doesn’t quit. She thrusts a shoulder into it again and again, screams his name in utter despair – Joel...JOEL! – but it’s no use. He is in there and she is out here as helpless as she’s ever been. Helpless, useless and failing him.

She can’t get to him. She can’t save him.

Ellie! Ellllllie...help me-ahhhHHH–

The wood rattles as she assaults the door with a series of one-two shoulder strikes and hard lunges. She feels her arm dislocate and the stinging swell of heat as the pain registers – but she will not cease this siege. So long as he’s alive and calling to her, she will not cower in the face of this trial.

Ellie switches sides and employs her unbroken joint – JOEL, fucking get up, open this fucking door, Joel, I’m here, I’m right goddamn here…!

She hears a watery gurgle in the infinitesimal margin of error between her shoves. Following comes the sickly sound of shattering bone and then...nothing.

A guttural scream explodes from the very abyss of her soul – she falters from the collision of this great and formidable noise; realizes in the haze of this horror that such a universe of sound has come from within her and not some other feral creature.

Her lungs burn, her muscles ache, her body trembles but she cannot succumb. She won’t.

Ellie resumes her desperate actions with what little strength is left available to her; a shower of spittle hits flaky hardwood alongside the barrage of her sheathed fists and then just like that, the door swings wide on its hinges.

The air that rushes to greet her is charged and fetid. Swollen and sorrowful. She nearly doubles over and gags at the convergence of iron, urine and saline – liquids from Joel, each taken violently and without remorse.

And then she sees him.

Joel.
Alone, so absolutely alone.
Abandoned.
Dead on the floor surrounded by a pool of inky-black fluid.
His blood.

No no no. NO! JOELJOEL–Joelllll–nooo, please no please no–

“Ellie! Ellie, c’mon wake up, girl!”

She runs to the felled man, her feet, hands and heart raw and bare now. All the inorganic tethers to her body have sloughed off. She falls somewhere along the path and begins to crawl.

Her jeans tear against cold cement as she drags her body to him.
The skin on her palms peels away as she pulls herself hand over hand.
Her nails grind down to bloody stumps for how slow and impossible this journey is.

No…

Ellie’s arms are thrashing, her legs kicking, her heels digging into the mattress; she’s ensnared so wholly into the nightmarish maze that Joel can’t seem to rouse her from its grip.

She’s by his side and handles him gently, like a delicate thing she’s afraid to touch, and afraid not to touch. Her hands twitch as they try to lay flat against his mutilated skull but the shape is concave and won’t allow for it. So she molds herself to it, tries to undo the damage, tries to hide it and reverse it all the same. To fill the depression in with all she has left to give.

He’s still warm but she knows that won’t last very long. Ellie craves his warmth as though all the world is a frozen globe, lost to a man who was the sun.

A dying star that held her lonely orbit.

Joel...J...oel–jus’ wake up, please? I need you to get up, J–

“Joel! Joel!! No…no…” she hollers, then whimpers, her throat on fire and fists so tightly curled into themselves that fingernails have bored half-moons into her flesh.

He grabs midway on her arms and suspends them above her head; his hold is firm but not so much that he’ll leave marks or further terrify the poor girl.

“Ellie, open your eyes, darlin’,” he repeats, his voice low and close. He leverages himself above her like he did the night before – half on, half off – and uses his legs to pin hers beneath blankets that are barely hanging on. She’s still caught in the clutches and he’s afraid the girl will hurt herself worse than anything she might do to him in her fervor.

He slides from her forearms to her wrists and wraps his fingers around the small bones, taking great care not to grip too hard as he angles them above and away from her head.

“Easy, baby, easy,” he voice a pitch higher than before. Joel's worry is mounting, the ache in his chest rupturing into a chasm of fear that this hellscape won’t ever end. He thinks briefly on what that might mean for their future but pushes it away. Now is not the time for forward thinking or plan adjusting.

She presses flush to his side, wraps his dead arm around her and joins their foreheads; her hand still masks the final blow that took him from her – it’s too ugly a sight and he’s too beautiful a person for anyone else to see him this way.

She wants to be wherever he is now, wants to beg, borrow or steal so that an evil phantom can send her to that next place, too. If only so he could hold her again – if only to be there with him and know that forever is nothing more than a word, since time no longer exists.

His thumbs rub circles into the soft thin space where her pulse races like thundering horses, “C’mon, girl. Ellie, come back to me,” he says, voice raising in tandem with his panic. Joel doesn’t want her young heart to peter out before they have a chance to...get to wherever it is they’re going. And that’s the least of his worries. Or the most selfish one, he can’t decide.

Either way, the nightmare’s had her for long enough.

It’s when he sets his forehead onto hers that something seems to change. It’s as if a ripple of recognition spreads from the center of his girl and flows outwards to the rest of her body. He sees it in real time but needs her to come home from this shadow land that keeps her hidden from his truth.

“Ellie, open’em pretty greens for me. I’m here, we’re here,” he speaks, his lips so close to hers he can practically taste the fear seeping from her very being.

‘Closer than you should be, ol’ bastard.’

Since he’s put himself so near to her, Ellie is visibly calming but she’s not quite there, not yet. The thrashes have ceased, the screams, too. Now there lives only a whimper on her tongue – a sad, awful thing that Joel never wants to hear.

She deserves so much more than this. She’s always deserved so much more than him.

It’s a frightful experience for him as well. It’s as if he’s alive but enduring his death alongside her. Joel thinks it’s a surreal sensation of the highest kind and decides he’s had plenty of it for this lifetime, and the next.

“Ellie.”

It’s said both forceful and commanding – a tone much more in line with what he used at the start of their journey to Wyoming all those years ago. It’s been a while since he’s heard her name on his lips like that and Joel winces instinctively; any time he thinks of how he treated her – how cold and callous and mean he was – the pit in his belly drops a little bit more.

But, just like it did then, the tone works today.

Her eyes flash wide as though she were caught red-handed and guilty of sin itself and yet, her body goes lax in his stead. She knows.

“Joel?” She’s breathless with fluttering eyes, each orb looking this way and that before she settles onto the one thing she needs to see: Him.

Joel gulps as her vision hones in on him; it’s here that he realizes how physically attached he is. He wasn’t intending to be so on her but the situation clearly called for...this.

“I’m right here, girl. Shhh, breathe with me. It’s gonna be alright, okay? I got ya.” He affirms and soothes and holds tight without moving an inch. Nothing’s changed: Their foreheads are touching, her wrists in his grasp, Ellie's legs pressing into the sweaty sheet beneath their sticky skin. But the weight of him is comforting in ways she’ll never find words enough to express.

“Joe-l…?” She chances again, voice breaking on the lyrical end of his name – it was too much this go around, just like it was too much the night before.

“Mmhm, ‘nother nightmare, I reckon...”

She swallows and nods, closes her eyes as she eases her arms from his grip. He releases them without preamble and sets his elbows near her rib cage to prop himself up.

“I–It was...I wanted to–”

They both understand that she won’t be able to get through the rest of that broken sentence, not this close to the waking of the aforementioned nightmare, so he offers a sad half-smile and waits.

“I fucking hate this,” Ellie murmurs as she physically unravels from such heaviness. She gasps and chokes on his name again and both arms rise quick to wind around his neck. She pulls so hard she brings Joel down onto her, brings her up to him, and the girl just...clings, sobbing silently into his hair.

He slides a knee between her parted limbs so she can get to more of him – he knows it's what she needs. He’ll give her whatever she needs, no matter what it is.

And Ellie takes it.

She wraps a leg to his waist and bends, forcing the empty space between them gone. She expels and repels these voids as though they're burning her skin right before his very eyes. After, she molds to him, filling the remaining gaps and hollow areas with skin and bones and breath and hair and hands legs arms lips mouth...

Joel lets his body fall onto hers, lets this happen and doesn’t think of anything beyond giving this girl the comfort she is plainly desperate for. He feels her hands everywhere on him; his shoulders, his biceps and forearms, his ribs and hips and abs and chest and throat and face and then...they settle in his hair for the longest time. She keeps touching the left side of his head over and over, as though it's a relic to be worshiped upon. She smooths her palms down his temple, over his eyes and cheekbones and cycles back in this repeating process of woeful fright.

It’s eerily similar to yesterday morning, of course, but there’s a greater urge for intimacy and it’s of the kind that he’s never felt with anyone else. He knows this beyond any shadow of doubt.

It frightens him in ways he’s too distracted to think of at present. Ways that will call on him in moments when she’s not in his arms, or even nearby. When he’s cooking, cleaning his weapons, chopping wood, showering. These thoughts will consume him in private and condemn in earnest.

But for now, Joel holds on, his arms under her and curling upwards to cradle her head. He keeps her lips close to the heated skin of his neck as his fingers lace into her messy pile of auburn; he just wants to make it better. Somehow.

“Shhh...you’re safe now. Ellie, you’re ok, girl. Wasn’t real.” He whispers this as though he were on vinyl, circling round and round but their song doesn’t sound the same. His heart certainly doesn’t feel the same, of that he’s sure.

They separate a measure as she sniffs a glob of clear fluid. Immediately her nose scrunches with embarrassment, her cheeks pink and warm as she hides a beat until, “Let’s...can we stay this way for a while? It’s not...the sun isn’t up yet but I don’t want to go back to sleep. Don’t think I can. I’m sorry, I know you’re tired, Joel. You...you can fall asleep if you want. Just don’t let go?”

He tilts his head and reconnects his brow to hers, “Whatev’r you need. This is a mighty vicious dream that’s got ya. I know what those’r like. I do what you want. That’s that.”

He moves and lifts off of her just enough so he can set the girl onto her side, curl against her spine and wrap himself around her; Joel exhales deeply, willing all the intrusive space she hates so much out and away from the emptiness she aches to fill.

It’s worrisome that he can’t help but wonder as to what other empty places she might need filled in their future.

‘No, dammit. Don’t...jus’ don’t.’

“Hey, here’s somethin’ for ya,” he playfully pokes her firm belly as he says this, focusing their attention elsewhere. She laughs hesitantly, her mind so inundated by the nightmare that she’s not sure how far there’s left to travel before she can start putting it all behind her. Joel was the one to teach her that – the past stays in the past. Though, even he acknowledged once that, ‘no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape your past.’

She remembers that afternoon well – the day she gave Joel the photo of him and Sarah at one of the girl’s soccer games. It took the wind right out of his lungs but not his sails and that’s when Ellie understood she was far more meaningful to Joel than she originally suspected. Even after the Farmhouse.

“Oh? Something for me?”

Joel’s nods against the rear of her neck and she swallows as a shiver tears through her; his breath is hot on the exposed skin that meets at the point of her shoulders – her unbroken, unbeaten shoulders.

A disturbing pop echoes in the prism of her mind as she recounts using her body as a battering ram.

‘No.’

His breath is there again – and did she feel his lips brush against her? Was she imagining things while awake, too?

He successfully pushes the nightmare away without knowing but replaces it with that spark; it ignites anew and she wants so much to know what the fuck it is, what it means, what it’s signaling. She’s learned all about signal flares and fires and sparks and how to best utilize each facet of these for optimal survival in the wilderness but this? This is all new and...unfamiliar.

“Mmhm. Ready?”

Even laying on her side with him spooning her, she’s able to turn enough to see him in the dark; she catches a glint of moonlight on his midnight eyes and a hint of mirth on the rest of his features.

“Ready...I think?”

He clears his throat and, “I’m readin’ a book 'bout anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.”

There’s a pregnant pause that’s lengthy enough for Joel to think he’s missed his mark – until Ellie sags into his chest and laughs so loud he’s not sure she’ll ever stop. Not that he wants her to.

“Oh...how ‘bout: I started sleepin’ in our fireplace. Now I sleep like a log.” The girl cracks, bows in on herself and damn near howls; Joel hears himself titter in response and can’t help the toothy smile that's come. It’s such an abrupt shift in a short amount of time but he’s grateful for it. Her laughter has always been an excellent diffuser and tonight’s no different. It recharges the room and offers a respite they each desperately desire.

“See? I knew you always loved when I would share those punny jokes.”

“Love is a strong word for the type’a affection I got for puns, Red.”

“Keep telling yourself that, old man. But...got anymore?”

“Mmhm. Let’s see...Alright. What washes up on tiny beaches? ...Microwaves.”

More laughter comes as morning light slowly seeps in through the curtains.

“Another?”

“Ugh. It’s cold. And so quiet out here.”

“Quiet is usually good. Means we ain’t in danger.”

“I guess. Snow really dampens it all. Hehe…see what I did there? Snow. Dampens.”

Joel shakes his head from over on his horse and smiles, “I shoulda never told you all those dang puns. I fear I set myself up for nothin’ but puns now.”

“You did start it.”

He laughs and doesn’t mask any of it, his belly bouncing against the thick layers of his winter wear. He thinks to their morning and tries not to make more of it than what it was on the surface. No cinnamon stars, no pale skin. None of that.

Joel’s a man in control and it’s not about to change any time soon, if he has any say about it.

“That I did.”

Still, she seems to need him in a way she never has and while it may be different to what they’ve shared prior to their falling out, it all comes down to...love. He won’t say as much and neither will she but that’s what it is between them. Love’s moved in and out of various stages and is now changing faster than he’s capable of keeping up with but even she wouldn’t refute it.

“So...wanna have dinner tonight or do you have other plans?” Ellie’s eyes are looking everywhere but at him.

It’s intentional but cute as hell. Joel can do nothing but snort, “You just want me to cook for you again, doncha?”

She latches onto his rescue line and looks to him with something like relief in those green eyes, “Yep. I can’t be blamed for your master culinary skillz, Joel.”

“Fair, fair. An’ no, I ain’t got no plans. Think maybe we oughta invite Tommy an’ Maria, too? Whaddya think?”

“That sounds good to me. I’ll see Maria back at the guard shack after I’m done here. Heard she was looking for me for some reason. So I can ask her then?”

Joel bobs his head in agreement and directs his line of sight to the pathway ahead of them. Their trajectory for the past hour has been Jackson’s East Gate 2, as their shift is coming to a close for the afternoon, and things have been abnormally calm for the most part. Not a Runner or Clicker in sight. It’s nice but it’s unnatural, especially for the smaller hordes that tend to flock to these local areas this time of year.

“Ya know, I’m gonna chat with Tommy tonight ‘bout that Town Hall Meetin’ on Thursday. Wonder if it’s to do with how quiet things been lately.” Joel scratches his beard and runs a hand through his unkempt, long hair and Ellie feels a bubble of bile in the rear of her throat.

The girl burps unceremoniously before, “‘Scuse me. But do you think Hunters or Raiders are out here mobilizing while picking off the Infected for us in the meantime?”

Joel huffs but doesn't answer right away, “Stranger things have happened, trust me. Jus’ think we oughta make mention of it, is all.”

Ellie’s lips pucker as she tightens her hold onto worn, leather reins, “Maybe the Infected are finally dying off? It’s been twenty-five damn years. It’s gotta end eventually right? Cure or not.”

They both fall silent at the mention of the C-word. Joel looks at her tentatively, peeking at the girl through downcast eyes. Uncertain as to what he should say here, or if he should remain silent altogether.

“Ellie…”

“Shh…”

“What?”

“SHHH…” She holds a closed fist to him and then depresses a finger to her lips, “Do you hear that?” Her words are barely above a whisper but Joel’s heard whatever IT she wanted him to hear.

“We’re nearly to Jackson. ‘Nother half mile or so. You head on up an' alert the tower guards.” He’s as silent as she was while his gaze scans the endless forest. Searching, seeking. He swings his Winchester around and flips the safety off. Just in case.

Joel notices then that she’s gone silent and as he looks to Ellie, he finds sheer terror glaring back at him. Fear is carving canyons so deep and vast that he damn-near drops his rifle by such a rapid shift to her appearance. He would prefer a punch directly to his gut over this any day, any time.

Eventually, she finds her voice, “Joel…No fucking way I’m leaving you. So either we go alert the guards together or we go and investigate what sounded a fuck lot like people walking in the woods. And we know no one from Jackson should be out here. So what'll it be?”

They make the trek to East Gate 2 in a few minutes’ time and warn the tower personnel on duty. It’s Cedric and Max. They radio for reinforcements – just as a precaution. Better safe than sorry is exactly why Jackson has stood and thrived as long as it has. As long as it intends to.

Joel dismounts his stallion and walks to its rear, a contemplative expression burrowing into the age lines of his face, “I gotta find Tommy an’ tell him ‘bout the business in the woods. An' you gotta go see Maria. But hey, you’ll be at the house for dinner?”

“Yep. And...Joel?”

He’s slipping his backpack onto his shoulders as he reaches for the reins distractedly, “Mm?”

“Thank you. For back there. I...I know I’m–I know it’s not...I–”

He steps to her and molds a hand to the tense curvature of where her shoulder and neck meet, pressing just enough to reassure and comfort his girl, “Hey, it’s just you an' me. Got it?”

Warmth spreads from that same source of light, the glow growing inside of her more and more. She smiles, “Just you and me.”

“It’s bitterly cold and we gotta walk half a mile to that smelly-ass Town Hall. I swear, Ellie. If this isn’t Jackson telling us we’ve won free bullets or TP for a year, I might lose it.” Dina raises her scarf up and over her mouth for a minute, too cold to even complain anymore.

Dina, Jesse, Ellie and Max – another man near their age who works the tower shifts and idolizes farm life to an extent even Joel finds amusing – are walking from Dina's house down the main thoroughfare towards said stanky Hall. Each are bundled in their thickest outerwear and yet their jaws rattle like ceremonial tin cans dragged from the bumper of an aging pickup.

Which was something Ellie had only heard of from Joel until she saw it with her own eyes after Rita and Ben Jensome got married last Spring. Wild stuff. Or weird, she still couldn’t decide.

“TP or bullets for life would be fine. I’d prefer an abundance of seed if we’re allowed to choose. When it’s time to plant and you’re empty-handed, that’s a sorry feeling, let me tell you.”

Ellie and Dina look at one another and roll their eyes, “Mmhm. I doubt it’ll be that. Or bullets or TP.”

“Such a Negative Nancy. Seriously though...anyone have any idea what the hell this is all about? We have the Christmas Tree lighting ceremony this Saturday so I’m hoping they won’t tell us we ran outta Douglas Firs. Or Spruce-something or other. I don’t know. I’m tired.”

Jesse pauses and cracks his neck, then smooths a mitted palm over it.

“Long day?” Dina’s beside him, her eyes kind and far warmer towards the man than the last time Ellie saw them. Something’s changed in the few days since the dance. Since their kiss. She’ll make a point to ask about it later. Maybe.

“Not bad. Joel, phew, that guy. He’s got more stamina than I do and I’m less than half his damn age. Ellie, I don’t know how you ever kept up with him.”

Ellie snorts and pulls her chin into her chest, pretends to blow hot air into two sheathed, albeit freezing, hands. “I managed. I mean, I was a spritely little shit and kept him on his toes, lest he forgets that. He should be thanking me, is what it sounds like. I keep him young. And in that same vein of thought, sorry, Jesse.”

The quad laughs and Max playfully pushes Jesse’s shoulder. Silence descends upon the group as they round the corner and discover the big repurposed warehouse with a small line of Jackson’s citizens waiting out front.

“The fuck. There’s a line. It's the apocalypse, or no post apocalypse, how are there lines?” Jesse grumbles and kicks his boot this way and that to heat his extremities.

“Appears so. Anyone have any booze?”

“Y’all talkin’ ‘bout booze at four pm on a Thursday?”

Joel saunters by and Ellie catches his gaze, smiling at the rosy hue to his cheeks and the easy-going rapport with her friends. Her stomach dances a spell but not from tension or aggravation like before. Now it’s from...something else.

“It’s fucking cold, Joel!”

“Well, c’mon now. Reckon I can smuggle y’all in. I’m sorta tight with a few of the council members.” He smirks and places a hand on her shoulder, then ushers Jesse, Dina and Max to walk ahead of them.

“Do you know anything about this today, Joel? I know I asked you last night but...it just feels, I don’t know, out of left field – if that’s the correct use of context.”

He nods and slides his palm to the opposite shoulder, “I don’t know what it’s ‘bout. Tried to weasel a detail or two from Tommy this mornin’ but he’s more tight lipped than I am, that little shit.”

Ellie sighs and leans into him, happy he’s here and happy he’s warm and alive and they’re on the right road again. She’s slept at his place every night this week, and every night she’s woken up in sweat and tears and he’s there to guide her back to a safe shores. With his arms, his weight, his breath. And his jokes. He’s far funnier than she’s ever given him credit for and secretly, Ellie can’t get enough of it – of all of it. Though, she is a little suspicious as to where he’s pulling these jokes from but she’ll save that for later when the dust settles and this new normal is just their normal.

Secretly hopes the nightmares start to ebb while the nights continue to flow.

“Should we be worried about anything? You don’t think they’re gonna out me about…ya know,” Ellie asks, her eyes looking to her right forearm. If she possessed the ability of X-Ray vision, Joel knows it would be the mangled skin through her jacket, through her clothes, beneath the tattoo and the chemical burn that she's quietly surveying. The Secret.

“No.” He stops and waves the others forward, a signal to continue on without them a moment. He pulls her from the crowd and into a blistering wind tunnel off to the side of the cement structure. It whips and howls here, which is perfect for their conversation.

“You never have to worry ‘bout that. No one but you, me, Tommy an’ Maria know. Tommy an' Maria’ll take it to their graves an’ you know I’d do anythin' to prot-well, ya know where I stand.” He squeezes her biceps and squares his jaw, “You good?”

She swallows and works to unfurl the worry rooting in her. She lets it leak one breath at a time as she steels herself and steps into his space. Ellie twines both arms around his center and lays an ear to his chest. She can’t hear his heart through the layers but she knows it’s there, knows how strong and steady and reliable it is.

Knows she can’t wait to press herself to it later tonight and fall asleep so contentedly, so blissfully. Until...well, she doesn’t want to think about the ‘untils’ right now.

“I’m good.”

He rubs her back before moving apart from the girl, feeling a slight drag on her posture as he does this. Loves to be needed so completely. Hates that it’s on account of the cursed night terror that won’t quit.

“C’mon. Let’s see what all this hubbub is ‘bout.”

Joel is occupying an end seat in the front row – orchestrated by Tommy and Maria. They left a tag on the metal chair with his initials on it signaling that that spot wasn’t up for debate for any other townsfolk. He idly wonders why.

As he waits for the council members to start whatever this is, Joel feels a tinge of disappointment that he’s not beside Ellie, especially after the harrowing, albeit brief, moment of panic in regards to her bite.

Unfortunately for him however, when Dina and the others entered the building, they sequestered just enough mismatched chairs for the four of them and no more.

Joel gets it, of course. Still.

Ellie is grumpy at this, too, finding it sort of rude that Maria didn’t once think to place her next to Joel; she knows it’s likely because the woman isn’t clear on the state of their relationship these days. A few folks have made notes that things seem to be improving but they’re not privy to the why or how fast it’s all happening.

Ellie thinks everyone can go fuck themselves since it’s none of their business anyway.

He turns to catch a glimpse of her; she’s five or so rows back – another thing that makes no sense in Joel’s brain, or hers, but again, that’s for later – and wearing the most apprehensive expression he’s ever seen. Her skin shines paler than any winter he’s ever known and the green in her eyes is militant and mossy.

The bite. He knows a part of this girl might yet believe this could all revolve around the Runner bite and that instinctual distrust gnaws at him something fierce. He could calm, reassure and trample the fear that keeps bleeding into her like a poisoned wine but unless she believes it, it won’t ever take.

He gives a quick side smile as Maria finally settles at the Jackson Council table and taps a dent-riddled microphone.

“Is this thing on?”

The crowd of three hundred or so souls responds with a low rumble of laughter. The leader of their community always starts the same way and an ease instantly blankets a pocket of high-strung Jacksonians. Ellie’s included in that mix.

“Well, hello everybody. I know it’s close to Christmas and we have a bunch of community-driven activities planned that are right around the corner. All that to say, I know this meeting might feel a little...out of place. Let me first confirm that the Tree Lighting Ceremony, the Christmas Lights Festival slash Home Decorating Competition and of course, the Ho-Ho-Hoedown are all still on the docket. We hope to see everyone at each of these events and your homes all glitzy, too. Some of y’all really go for it and we look forward to the results every single year! Quick aside: Make sure your winter-wear is properly sorted and prepared – Jackson's in for some major storms over the next few weeks. Like always during this time of year. Visit Cara if you're in need of extra supplies.”

She leverages her breaths for a moment and peeks to the pile of papers stacked beneath her hands. She see-saws a pen back and forth on the flank of her thumb and picks a crusty pie crumb from the late lunch she ate at her desk. Tommy is beside her, looking at his wife curiously, while the other council members – Rosa, Rhoda and Terrence – all exert similar outward dispositions.

Everyone seems happy...but cautious.

She clears her throat with a slight cough, “Okay now that I’ve gone through all that, I wanna pause and open the room to any questions before we move on to why y’all are here for this. Minus the patrol crews and tower personnel. Whom we’ve already scheduled a separate session for once they’re off shift.”

Maria folds her hands and peers around the expansive open room. There’s faded paint peeling on every surface and cracks littering the cement floor in abundance; she’s been meaning to assign a crew to each of these as a start to its remodel but...it’s slim pickings as of late.

She peeks up as the silence from her community stretches on; sees exposed I-beams that appear sound and solid but she knows the roof outside of those is in poor shape. Another to-do that’s been nagging and becoming progressively more cumbersome as the winter months, and years, pass by.

This exact warehouse was Ground Zero when Jackson first formed almost fifteen years ago. This building kept the original group of post-apocalyptic settlers safe and under her and her father’s charge. After a while, she believed it best to keep the original structure but build the town up and around it. So far it’s proven to be one of her better plans all these years on.

“So, questions?”

Joel scratches an eyebrow and leans forward in his seat a bit; a metal bracing squeals, filling hushed air with a swift but true pierce that betrays the collective anticipation. He doesn’t want to burn time on questions about what sort of berries can be used for decorating versus baking. He just wants to get to the heart of the matter and see Ellie’s internal mess put to an ease.

Right when he thinks they might be in the clear, a younger woman with long blond hair rises and raises a tentative arm. Bethany Fleurs. He sighs. Of course it's Beth.

“Actually, about the Ho-Ho-Hoedown...is it ugly-Christmas sweater only? Or can we find formal wear and make it a little...special? Maybe even commission something elegant?” There's a few people sitting between Beth and Joel and as he angles forward to see what she’s on about – so much so that a town-wide meeting is being held up – the woman makes eye contact with him. And smiles. Damn near bats her eyelashes.

The older Miller shifts away and all but rolls his eyes. He won’t disrespect her like that, not so openly at least. Instead he grumbles bitter nothings under his breath and grimaces, mindlessly playing with a patch of his beard to avoid that woman’s heady stare.

The room falls silent as each council member processes the shallow line of questioning in their own way.

Joel thinks that if God descended from His pearly perch and informed him that a chorus of Angels is about to whisk him away to that next place, he finds he might very well acquiesce. Beyond that, the eyes from a few of the others bore into him as though he is somehow responsible for the hold up on Council high. Tommy finally puts his brother out to pasture with a curt laugh and, “I suppose y’all are free to go with either. So long as it ain't your daily or work-wear. We wanna make this fun an’ holidays are worth goin’ big for.”

Beth nods with a confident smile dressing her pale, frost-nipped face, sitting pretty as though she's won something here today.

From a few rows behind, Ellie has a mind to stab the woman and can’t quite figure out why.

“Any more questions?”

The room remains peaceful and Maria knows it’s time to get on with it. She looks to Tommy, Rosa, Terrence and Rhoda to affirm whatever silent agreement she needs to press onward – she isn’t left wanting. They bob in unison, each offering a small smile in turn.

“Go on,” Tommy whispers, his mouth turned away from the mic and the crowd. That was just for his wife. It’s rare she seeks anything outside community approval and so this wavering of confidence is enough for him to pick up the slack. Happily so.

Maria speaks.

“Y’all know who I am. I shoot straight, I tell it like it is and I don’t play games. So I won’t do that here today. It's time we talk Jackson’s population numbers. First, Jackson is doing okay. We got a good system in place with experts in just about every field to help keep us running. Our security has never been better, our barns are full, our fields are rich. We’ve got weapons, ammo and all the fixings we’d ever need for you Molotov fiends out there – you know who you are. But what we don’t have, or rather what we’re losing, are people.”

A murmur vibrates through the crowd as folks fidget in their seats; some crack their knuckles, others tilt their heads with curiosity while a handful more cough or sniff. All of them, slowly or not, begin to realize how distracting the symphony of their movements are.

Maria bounces the pen.
Tommy crosses his arms.

Joel pinches his brow.
Ellie digs cold hands into her down-stuffed coat.

“So, me and the council have been figuring how to properly and safely increase our numbers. Before we get into that, I wanna say this much: Our meeting today will be the first. Over the next couple of months we will hold several public forums and hope everyone that is here today will join us again at those. Because we all trust in transparency. And I’ve always believed in providing power to the people. Especially given how so many of us were forced to live under the tyranny of Fedra after Outbreak Day.”

Joel swallows and tilts to view his folded hands. Thinks they’re looking old and weathered. Thinks the last twenty-five years have gone by in a blink. Thinks of Sarah. Wonders if she would be beside him right now, had she survived that night and the thousands that have since followed.

Maria pauses and flips a few sheets of paper before absentmindedly clicking her tongue. Stoic. Reserved. Weary.

The next bit will tackle the direct cause for all her lousy sleep the past few weeks. Her townsfolk will either hate her and hightail it right through the front gates, or an even greater sense of unity will happen. Or, more reasonably, things will settle somewhere in the middle.

Maria Miller has a strong distaste for the color gray.

“And so with that, there will be a Mandate put into effect. Once details are ironed out and we arrive at some form of collective beneficence, we will officially enact, and enforce, this Mandate.” She exhales the full weight of every soul in this building as she switched over to read from a loose script, “So this is where we’re headed: We pose that all able-bodied women and men who are in committed relationships, or otherwise able to work out proper consent and means, are to consider procreating. If you fall into that category but willfully choose not to have a child, you will be required to go beyond the walls for three weeks every other month on SSPs – 'Scout and Supply Patrols.' These will allow you to bring any important or necessary restock back to Jackson while vetting any small groups of travelers along the way. Of course we will have strict quarantine and probationary periods for all new potential citizens – along with a team in place to handle the influx – but those details will be rounded out later.”

She stops to give herself a wide berth as the crowd falls soundless in her wake. Maria scans the room looking for anyone familiar and she settles onto Joel: It’s a mistake. He looks as though he’s caught sight of a ghost he’s been meaning to kill for the past decade or so. His jaw is so tight she fears he’ll crack his teeth, his fists balled so firmly she fully expects to hear an echo of broken bones throughout the muted air.

She’s seen enough.

“We understand and have taken into account the many extenuating circumstances that may and will prevent some folks from taking part in either of these mandated duties; we’ve tried to consider all areas, all considerations and every facet possible. Again, this is just the first public meeting. There will be one held every week after the first of January. There will be incentives, as well. As a result of the supply surplus we’ve managed to maintain, each household and family will receive a monthly stipend of their choosing. Again, this is another bullet point that we’ll ask your input on at a later time. This Mandate is a collective effort and can only and will only succeed with the support of our entire town.”

Joel rubs his beard and lets his head hang in an attempt to field his fury. He stares at his boots, his jeans and the fraying bits of his flannel shirt (the same one Ellie slept in the other night). He stares at everything but his sister-in-law ahead and the young woman a few lengths behind.

He’s able-bodied.
So is Ellie.

Fuck.

Joel twists his eyes shut. He understands why Tommy’s been so skittish now. Why the younger Miller managed to pull off an Olympic-worthy performance avoiding his concerns about today and dodging his dinner invites.

He should have known about this. They should have told him. Hell, they should have told him and Ellie together.

“We have a lot more to get through before this wraps, but please know that we’re aware of how divisive and complicated this is. But our town will not survive another fifteen years if we don’t take any drastic measures now. Those are the facts.”

Joel cranes his neck and resigns himself; he’ll listen to Maria's hellish, delusional speech and contemplate the ideals of duty. Duty that looms like an enormous shadow and tastes of dirt and rust. He knows as soon as this charade concludes and the surrounding space empties, he will continue to sit right where he is and wait. Wait until his brother walks to him and starts a conversation they should have long shared by now.

Yes.

Joel will wait and then break Tommy’s goddamn jaw the second he opens it.

Chapter Text

“Do you feel better after knocking him around, Joel?” Flecks of emerald glitter in the low light of his bathroom but the girl's voice sounds tired and weary; she dips a torn piece of cloth into a wash basin and gives it a tight squeeze. Ellie grimaces as diluted bubbles float to the surface and break apart at their end; a tint of salmon spreads throughout the lukewarm pool of liquid, the color light but very much there.

She twitches as a stray droplet of red sinks like a broken heart, disintegrating and holding less and less of its former shape as it descends into the murk.

Ellie’s never been one for blood but her distaste for it now after days of unnerving nightmares is growing like a wicked weed. It's this familiar part of everyday life she wants to erase – droplets she longs to pour back into the veins from whence they came. The girl aches to physically put his blood back into him so that she's no longer forced to face the harsh sight of it. Not ever from him. No more.

Every time she taps the wound and it swells with fresh beads of scarlet, there’s an echo, a sense of malice hellbent on tormenting her. As though a wraith is tethering to the very spines of her soul; she feels its darkness closing in and the agency of her power failing with every bit he loses. Drips or liters, it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same. And it must stop.

All she can do, or rather what she allows herself to do, is wince and try to avert any rising tides. So the girl sucks in meager lungfuls of air as she continues on, dabbing the split lip delicately, wearing a stoic reverence even Joel can’t quite name. Or is too fearful to name.

Through all of this, he’s given little to no reaction. Neither to the pain itself nor the stinging aftermath that comes with each press of her attentiveness. She realizes then that he’s barely said more than two words since they came home. And those words were, and she quotes, “Fuck them.”

Still, the broken skin isn’t that deep, but it is a new mark for his upper lip, a clearly defined slice through a patch of his mustache. When she stares at it – all swollen and dark and cruel – the sight takes her out of this room, out of the quiet warmth they’re sharing and into the black hole of a chilling memory: one of the many injuries Joel sustained from the night terror looked exactly like this. Same spot, only less severe in real life, thankfully.

That other laceration came when his mouth had been hit so hard by a fucking golf club that not only was his lip mangled, but a part of his facial hair was torn right off.

She winces again, but not from his fluids this time.

“No.”

“What?”

“You asked me if I felt better for knockin’ that boy ‘round. No. I don’t.”

“Figured. You never do.”

He sighs, clears his throat and catches their reflections in the spotty mirror behind the girl. Sees her kneeling in front of him, the petite form situated in the v of his legs as she expertly tends to his brother’s lucky one-off. Joel attempts to avoid – and fails – at watching all of her; her hips and the firm roundness of her backside as she tilts and bends, the muscles in her lower back and triceps that move and shift as she works.

She’s beautiful, he’s always seen that, but now it’s a beauty that’s revealing something more.

He remains uncertain as to whether he wants to recover from whatever distortion the last few days have led him to believe. Can’t seem to understand any of it but with this Mandate looming on the horizon, he’s afraid of just about everything at present. Afraid to hurt her, afraid to feel too much, afraid of losing her again, and more than afraid of this girl not feeling the same way, should he dare to confront this...pressing issue (there’s simply no way she ever could).

To top it all off, there’s this idea of a baby or the road lingering between them, which introduces a whole new set of sentiments – individually for him – and personally for them. Still, Joel doesn’t have a single inkling as to where Ellie’s head is at with this, but given the announcement and the fight and a week of broken, perplexing sleep, he’s hit his limits.

Looking at her isn’t helping so he averts his gaze to anything else in the bathroom; his sink, shaving cream, the towels and sheets piled on the shelves. But it doesn't last long – how could it?

His eyes shift to the bowl of water on the floor by his foot; he watches the rippling crimson as she submerges and lifts her hand in a habitual pattern. They’ve been in this position before together, although it’s been quite a while since their last go-around. And even then, no matter who had the injury, she was never so...resolutely between his thighs and near to him.

Joel swallows. Redirects for what must be the thousandth time.

He remembers that day well and can recall with unease and clarity the moment he found out Ellie had caught the flank of a broadhead arrow against a bicep. It was an accident, of course, but Joel all but hammered Cedric into the side of the stables when the girl showed up bloodied but unbothered. What was worse was that she was mad at him for his flash of anger and the threats he delved out to that idiot with half a brain in his punk head.

Of course, there was cause for her reaction: this happened during the early days after their fallout from Salt Lake; they hadn’t spoken much since, just terse hi’s and byes from her and the occasional patrol run together which was often met with icy silence or awkward stammering.

But that day Joel didn’t give two shits about anything other than helping her. And he did. He damn near had to drag her by the hand to his house, where he sat her at his table and proceeded to clean, stitch and then cook for her.

Those were his terms and Ellie had been too exhausted to fight with him. Too exhausted to fully ignore him either. He remembers offering pain medication to ease the ache in her arm and it took a while, but finally she gave in. Antibiotics, too.

She left shortly after their meal, barely making eye contact but appreciative of his taking care of her well-being. That was the last time they were in a manner such as the one they’re in now.

He hisses at an especially strong bout of pain but it serves to return him to the here and now.

“Sorry,” Ellie whispers, momentarily tucking her bottom lip beneath her front teeth.

Joel quietly observes the scene that’s unfolding, looking closely at her knitting brows and a stern set to her mouth that rivals some of his best – but there’s no anger in those features. Only concern. And something else. He thinks to fold a towel and slide it underneath her bones so she can rest comfortably as the cleansing proceeds, but he can’t seem to focus on the right words and speak this care aloud.

So he resigns to sit on the porcelain edge of the bathtub, and stare at everything but those ocean-deep eyes of hers and the tiny freckles that dance atop her pale skin.

This distraction works for a while.

The space around and between them is warm and the world outside is still – more snow is falling, blanketing the discontent of Jackson with an orchestra of silence. In here there’s only the sounds of water droplets and their breath and his heart. Joel feels the steadfast thump-thump inside the cage of his person and wonders if she can hear it, too. Wonders if hers is following a similar cadence that they may share common ground upon. If he opens up and says something, says anything.

Regardless, the room, the scene, her physical presence – all of it would be far more hypnotizing in that unfamiliar way if his thoughts weren’t an overall mess with what’s taken root the last hour or so. Mess of his emotions towards her and the disaster at the Town Hall.

He grumbles at the thought.

A flame burns so hot and bright over Maria, Tommy and the rest of the Council’s Mandate that it’s filling Joel to the brim; his corded muscles firing like live wires and tension lines running him through shock by shock. His body can do nothing but tremble from the adrenaline and an acrid permeating taste of it all.

He thinks of the admonishment and curses he hissed to his brother, thinks of his fists, too. Thinks of all the words he didn’t yet have the chance to say to his brother. There's much that needs to be said but with Ellie, Maria and the remaining Council members watching and listening – before separating the two grown men – it just wasn’t the appropriate time.

“Almost done.”

“Mmhm.”

“You gonna talk with me at all tonight?”

Joel considers the prompt, gives the girl a once over – again – and reaches for Ellie's wrists. He wraps his hands to them and holds her still, massaging the warm runoff into her skin as he works on what to do next. Knows he must hold himself steady and accountable all the while.

He pushes her arms away measurably but without force.

“I think it might be better if we don–”

“If we don’t talk about the Mandate and how I have to choose between a baby or potential death while on the road again? Don’t talk about that, you mean?” Ellie takes back her arms and lets the rag loose, the rest of her rising in haste.

The soaking-wet cloth falls into the basin with a muffled ploomp, splashing water and the remnants of Tommy’s one-shot onto Joel’s socks and the side of the tub.

“Ellie–”

“Joel.”

She dries her palms by digging them into the aged fabric of her fitted jeans, both eyes going wide with every second they stare at one another in a charged silence.

“Maybe we should jus’ get some sleep.” He wants to reach for her, wants to tell her that everything will be okay, that he won’t allow anyone to force anything onto her, so long as he’s alive and drawing breath. Wants to but the state of their world appears a lot more uncertain than it did only a few hours prior. Hell, the state of his relationship with everyone appears uncertain, more like.

The girl crosses both arms to her chest and shivers – the once tepid and pleasant space is now cold and woeful in ways her body is unable to adequately adapt to. She bites her bottom lip in consternation, focus lost to a thread of thinking that neither of them would dare try to utter in the open.

“Should I go? I should probably go.”

Ellie turns on a heel and makes for the exit but only gets as far as his bedroom door when an arm circles around her waist from behind.

“No, I–I dunno what to say, Ellie. This ain’t ever anythin’ I coulda dreamt up.”

The girl lets herself be halfway held but keeps her limbs languid and to her sides for the moment. She’s not mad at him, instead she’s angry at the world and caught too tight to the tunnel vision of what this new future may look like.

He pulls just enough for her to know what he needs this time and she gives in. Of course she does, taking into account all that he’s been doing for her these past five or so days. These past five or so years, really.

Ellie leans against Joel and slides a palm the length of his forearm to grip knowingly, reassuringly, before continuing onward. She finds his hand placed at the small curve where her hip meets her middle and she swallows. The feeling of him in this way is something she never wants to lose, never wants to take for granted or abandon or let down.

She weaves her fingers into his and swallows, absorbs his solid structure for how beautifully sound and resolute it is – the only foundation and the only home she’s ever known in her sad, sorry life.

She’s careful not to nick the fresh scabs that are forming on his knuckles – the ones she has yet to clean – and it’s a reminder of the scuffle with his sibling that was definitely not long enough ago. But as she takes in every scar, every hardened, callused and weather-struck inch of his skin, there’s a whisper on her lips saying it’s not enough. She won’t ask for more, not with a voice she knows will sound dreadfully infirm and unsure.

Still, if her voice cannot be trusted, then she will take to the familiar roads she’s always traveled. No, the girl won’t forgo the immediate and vivid imagination that arises with this overflow of sensation as a result. Doesn’t want to.

Ellie’s always reveled in the gift that is her lush, overactive fantasy-mind; she would go to space and back again when she was younger, or imagine both parents by her side whenever something worthy of praise and accomplishment was deemed appropriate. She’s lived and died a thousand lifetimes apart from the one that’s her own and while she attributes some of this to her love of novels and adventure, she also blames childhood neglect in tandem. The girl has had to fill the empty holes of her life to make up for what she’s lacking, so it’s no surprise that she finds herself doing that here, tonight.

But that history plays no role, and so she forces those ghouls away for a later time. She can only hope it’s forever.

She grips tighter and Joel squeezes her a bit harder and with it comes a slight growl as paper-thin skin on one of his knuckles reopens.

“Sorry, Joel,” she mumbles, still silently crying out for more, still wanting to sink into the unreality of whatever her heart is telling her to feel.

It works.

An image of their slow movements erupts in her, this mental portrait rushing on like waves giving life to a drought-stricken seabed; she glimpses their fingers, their hands, even their air joining together in tendrils of endless color. It’s changing into this fine, vibrant fabric, woven by the very atoms that created every suspending star that lives far, far above them.

Ellie thinks that they’re crafting a tapestry with no name. She smiles at this and holds tighter still.

The girl presses her thoughts to the limit, shutting out the room, the walls, the roof, the stairs – pushing it all away and honing her attention onto how her heart is beating right now. At how beautiful this wild and unforeseen painting of two lost souls appears – at how it feels to know it’s seeping farther and farther into her marrow.

It’s as though this, or the bones of it, have existed long before either of them were even born.

Joel steps in and pushes his front to her rear and it’s all they can do to exorcise any feral ghosts that may linger, thus risking ruin. Whatever this is that could be ruined, anyway. He’s afraid of how much he can read her, of how much he wants to give – especially that last.

It’s a dread made even more obvious given the events of tonight and the past few nights. It’s not altogether the same but they’re not wholly separate from one another either. Which is worrisome to a degree that he’s not taken to all that well.

Yet, despite every alarm bell sounding in his head, Joel brings his other arm around to enfold her, enveloping Ellie as though she was always meant to be here, with him. Just like this. No more, no less.

He smiles sadly when she mirrors his hug and turns to his shirt. They remain there, standing at his doorway, holding and being held and not wanting a single thing to happen beyond this.

Ellie breaks the reverie: “You should let me patch your hands, Joel. You’re about to drip onto my jeans.”

He doesn’t say anything for a spell, doesn’t move either, just keeps himself to her as he presses his nose and forehead to the side of her throat.

His breath is hot and unsteady as she waits for what’s to come next, waits for his reply or denial of care-taking. The girl thinks to the other night in bed when she believed his lips might have grazed her; she wasn’t certain so she makes a finer point to pay attention now, hoping it happens – again – but isn’t clued in as to why this is so.

She releases an arm and sifts through his hair, palms his beard and tugs on his ears – she needs to reassure herself that all is still right in this world, regardless of what lies beyond their purview. It’s her grounding strategy, a buoy, her lighthouse.

He sways them a half-measure but it’s not quite like slow slow dancing. It’s closer in line to him deciding something, pondering at a snail's pace. She likes it all the same. He sighs as she rubs his scalp and moves in tandem, their bodies in sync and hers vibrating with crackling light.

Still, he’s too quiet, even for him.

“Joel?”

A woeful exhalation and, “Don’t worry none ‘bout my hands, girl. I’m good. But I...I think maybe I oughta sleep downstairs tonight. I’ll come if anythin’ goes sideways, but Ellie, this-” Joel pauses as her lithe form goes rigid against him, “-is a whole new everythin’. I gotta adjust. Can’t keep up, if I’m bein’ honest.”

The last frames of Ellie’s fantasy recede to a shadowy world of ice and neglect – where her parents and outer space and every other grandiose mental meandering now resides. Her stomach drops a canyon-length alongside her wandering limb but she steals herself before he can fully note the shift in her demeanor.

So she tilts her face towards the mouth that just spoke those words to her, “Okay, but I am cleaning your hands first.”

His skull moves infinitesimally as he closes his hazels, not willing or able to view the hurt that’s so perceptible in her tone and physicality all the sudden. He also knows that any strength he might possess in respect to her emotional shift will flee the moment he glimpses the ruby-red of her lips so close to his.

‘You can’t. ‘Specially not now.’

As Ellie watches him emotionally retreat – she’s privy to all his signs – all she can do is harden herself from the frail defenses of feeling unwanted again. Unwanted by someone she cares for more than anyone else. It hits her that even at their worst and their best, she’s never felt this way with Joel; it’s all so new that her reaction and responses are something she’s learning in real time.

She doesn’t want to stay in his house but can’t entertain the idea of leaving. Not like this. Not when she’s tearing up from the inside out by a confusion of legendary proportions.

“Ok, c’mon. We’ll get to sleepin’ after.”

Joel disentangles himself and makes for the bathroom without another word.

Add to that a neglect of legendary proportions.

His embrace gone, it feels as if snow is falling directly onto her face; the bite of the frozen Wyoming air is no longer encumbered by reliable panes of glass and trustworthy walls but rather free to reign. Those same necessities that, until a few moments ago, were managing her warmth and offering a wholeness beyond any quantifiable means.

But the chill that creeps into the place he’s left is already masking her in a shroud of cold, lining Ellie’s veins with blue fire and an endless regret. She feels foolish but more so, childish, cut down to size and feeling as though she’s uprooting bulbs that have only just been planted.

So many unknown feelings, so many of them emanating from the same source – the spark.

She purses her lips, scratches her cheek and inhales purposefully.

Idly, the girl prays to no one and nothing that this will be the first on her own without any of those nightmares.

Another sickly stone of fear and doubt drops in her gut and she knows, she knows tonight will be worse than any that’s come prior. But she won’t share that with him. Not right now.

“I’m–I’m just gonna go sleep in my...sleep in the garage tonight.”

“Ellie, it’s a damn blizzard outside an’ that garage been cold for days now. You’ll freeze while waitin’ for those dinky space heaters to catch up to ya.”

“No, I’ve had one running since earlier. Don’t want the pipes or water to freeze. Plus I got...stuff in there that extreme cold will fuck up, ya know? Consoles and s-such.”

“Mmhm. Those same consoles that sat for twenty-plus years alongside the extreme elements that seem to be workin’ just fine?”

“Yep. See, you get it. Anyway, goodnight, Joel.”

Ellie spins abruptly and slinks through the doorway, faster than the last, just in case he tries to stop her again. She’s not wanting to feel this hurt anymore, not after the euphoria of being so near to him. Not after the gut-wrenching rejection despite the fact that she herself hasn’t taken too narrow a look at said ignition that keeps lighting inside of her like a testament.

“Ellie, you don’t hav–”

“No, it’s cool, Joel. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast at the Tipsy Bison? 6 am?” She barely peeks over as the flimsy invite is spat out into the pregnant emptiness between them. She doesn’t wait but instead takes the steps two at a time until she meets the landing.

Cold, impersonal. Almost what the past two or so years felt like for him.

He follows her down the staircase, not about to let the girl traipse off into the wintry wild night on her own. Not ready to be without her. Again.

Joel finds her kneeling in the front walkway, slipping her boots on in earnest. She’s hastily trying to tie them but when he gets nearer and she catches his eye, Ellie panics, rises and stumbles towards the coat rack. “Fucker,” she mutters under her breath, shoving her arms into the weighty thing as though she were punching a teddy bear.

“Ellie.”

He’s by her side and gains a handle on her shoulders to first still the girl, then slides his arm south and covers her palm with his. They wait with their hands atop the doorknob, the surrounding darkness and the whipping sound of northern air echoing on the other end of his door. Joel waits for the right words to come, waits for the right inflection to deliver them gently and without accusation or implication.

“Please stay.”

“Why?” It’s a whimpering noise as her hand shakes under his with shoulders pulling in on themselves. Just like they did when she came here that first night earlier in the week. It hits at his core something fierce and true, and he hates himself for it. Hates hurting her. No matter the extenuating circumstances. No matter the complications and ramifications that could result from him speaking out of turn.

“‘Cause I want you here with me. My not bein’ able to talk or sleep beside you don’t mean I don’t want you here. I do.”

A minute goes by, and then another.

Finally Joel makes the decision for them. He reaches to unzip her jacket and turns her to face him as he does this. It’s a daring move but he knows she’s too frightened to be alone, too upset with him all the same and too tired to deal with everything else. It’s a perfect storm of one needing to weigh their options but neither has the capacity to do that well tonight.

But there is one thing he can do that’s right, “Please? I’ll stay upstairs with ya. I’m sorry if I made you feel...I’m sorry.” He darts his eyes to the stairs and offers her a side smile of the smallest caliber.

“Okay. But we do need to talk about...the Mandate soon. I already know what I’m gonna do. Just want to know where you’re at.”

Joel’s brow pinches as his curiosity piques – he wants to inquire but won’t. Not on this night.

They need to rest and rest fully at that. And this is IF her terrors allow them to sleep soundly.

“C’mon,” he says, hanging her puffy coat back onto its hook and kneeling down to work on her boots.

“Joel, I can do that.”

“So can I.”

She twines a palm into the place that represents peace and breathes a sound of release, of relief, before closing her emeralds. Ellie falls into the here and now as best she can, surrendering to the hope of a better night than she otherwise would have had on her own.

Heavy-lidded hazels gaze down at the girl squatting between his knees. Her mouth is full of him, her hands, too. Slippery sounds of wet and want fill the lodge’s room from corner to corner. They’re not quiet, they never are. He doesn’t care.

He hits the back of her throat and grunts...and then she takes him a little farther still. “Fuck,” he growls, all ten toes pulling up towards his ankles as she brings him closer to the razors edge.

Two seams of mossy-green rise to capture his – he knows she’s in the mood to play games but is serious about her efforts all the same. There’s a mischievous mirth that lives there, an unholy prayer or protestation that turns him on to the point of pain. He likes that. Cock so hard and balls so full he feels every beat of his heart with every pass of her tongue.

She pulls him from of her fucked-red lips, gathers a bulk of her own spit and coats her palms and fingers generously. The liquid is thick and drippy, just the way she likes.

A freshly-slick hand encircles him while the other ventures south between her glistening folds to tease an achingly-empty hole.

“Ya playin’ with yourself, girl?” he manages to growl, the stirring of an orgasm already tightening the muscles in his lower back at the mere mention of it.

She laps the head of him and sucks in a leaking droplet of pre-come, “Mmm...tastes so good,” she whispers, before going down for more. The girl continues on...teasing, stroking, squeezing and releasing in a chaotic rhythm she knows he loves. His dick bobs there a moment as she licks only the tip, her hands elsewhere. She cups and squeezes her full breasts with both eyes on his as she takes his cock a half-inch at a time. Slow, so very slow.

“G’dammit, woman.” He reaches into her mess of auburn and feels the red all but burn his skin.

It won’t be long.

A hand returns to grip him just a little harder as the other travels south again, encircling the swollen belly above on its way; she slaps her opening one-two times before noticing a slight shift as Joel tries to bend forward a measure.

“Fuckin’ hell...that sounds good. I wanna see.” He levers to gain a better angle but she swallows his cock, bottoming out, and he can’t do anything but lean against the seats rear cushion as his hips snap in response.

“Holy...wha’ in the...fuck...”

She pays herself a few more swats and proceeds to push and pull two fingers in and out of her drooling pussy. It's a rhythmic cadence of sex sounds but it doesn't stop there. His woman mumbles something then he can’t discern – and it doesn’t matter – but feels a line of tension on the verge of snapping. It's a high-voltage cable yanked from its moorings, sparking wild and uncontrollably by the vibrations of her throat.

“Oh, fuck, jus’ like that.”
He heaves in air and claws the arms of the chair in desperation.
“Baby–I...gonna–I’m comin–”

Joel shoots awake and stares at the ceiling as he struggles to place himself. He rises in an uncoordinated series of jerky motions and flattens a hand to his heart; normally he can never recall his dreams but tonight he remembers what it was that led him to the state he’s in.

He doesn’t need to lift the duvet to know the current situation in his sweatpants either.

Nevertheless, Joel palms his erection and immediately sighs at the dryness that greets him. He hisses, too, from the meager attention a simple touch of contact offers, idly wondering when was the last time he’s taken care of that. He releases his hold and exhales a great plume of air before shaking his head in relief; the dream was intense but he didn’t actually come in his clothes like some inept young buck who can’t control his pleasures.

“Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing his eyes while stifling the arousal as best he’s able.

‘Oh fuck – Ellie.’

He directs his view to the girl sleeping beside him and finds her snoring softly. She’s not faking it – he would know. After nearly six nights spent so close to one another and all the miles they put on the road behind them, Joel is more than aware of how this girl sleeps and when she’s not.

He takes in the full sight of her, begging for camaraderie with the quiet of the room, begging that it may calm his fervor, too. It doesn’t.

She’s on her stomach, a leg bent, an arm under a pillow, with her full, auburn hair laying unkempt and wild across gray linen. He thinks it's a bonfire that could light up all the world. But no, it's only his world.

Still, he moves on from there to her flannel – his flannel, actually – and studies how it's pulling low on her neck and a shoulder. Joel wants so much to kiss her there. Knows how soft and warm it would be ...similar to the inside of her mouth from the explicit dream and yet alluringly different all the same.

‘Fuck, maybe someone should bash my damn head in.’

The man thinks a beat as he weighs his options; he could slip downstairs and take care of his situation – he'd be far enough away that she wouldn't hear him coming (or going). But if she has a nightmare and he isn’t here, that might spell embarrassment while simultaneously showing a whole new side to her. Pretty much the last side she's yet to see.

Though the results of that last option and how it might go is anyone’s guess at this point.

Joel knows something is happening between them but the extent or the intent has yet to expose itself. Mainly due to the fact that neither he nor Ellie have done much in the way of discussing key topics beyond food, movies, daily patrols and her nightmare. During the day, it mostly feels normal, or whatever this new standard has become after their alienation, that is.

But nighttime is...a whole new undertaking. They’re so intertwined and connected that he sometimes can’t perceive where he stops and she begins.

“Joel?”

Shit.

“‘S alright, get to sleep. Go on now,” he drawls, smiling at her as she looks up through sleep-laden eyes.

“You ok?”

“Mmhm, jus’ a dream is all. I’m good.” He pulls the flannel and covers her shoulder, a fingertip ghosting the pale bare skin as it travels. She lays down at that and snuggles into the softness beneath her and drifts away.

He gently rubs the base of her neck for a few moments, then dances his touch down to the tiny spokes of her spine, letting his hand rest by the small of it.

His cock is soft now and his heart rate returning to a healthy pace but he doesn’t want to forget the vividness of everything left for him to recall. Feels sick that he doesn’t want to forget it either.

Joel goes supine with a resignation to relieve himself at a later time. It’s neither annoying or inconvenient, it just is. The illicit moment is gone and he needs to be here more than he needs to get off.

His breaths go steady as slumber drowns the waking world into a mirage of ocean blues and murky blacks. He treads lightly but surely as he sinks into its familiar depths; into the warmth of this shared space and the beautiful girl by his side, too. He doesn’t want to contemplate the days ahead, doesn’t want to imagine this changing so soon. Or ever.

But as he’s right on the precipice of repose, a single frame of the dream resurfaces: Ellie, squat between his legs, her belly no longer taut but swollen with a life inside her. A baby. His baby. Somehow he knows this to be true.

Joel’s eyes split wide and for the second time in ten minutes, he’s thrown so far off his axis that all rational thought flees like a stalker caught in the light. Albeit for another reason entirely. Though not altogether separate. It’s a recognizable thread weaving through a string of fractured pearls and he’s starting to gather the remnants and see them for what they are.

He sits and swivels, bending his limbs at the edge of the mattress and gripping its sides to contain his inappropriate stupor. Joel watches the snowfall on the opposite side of the window in this confusing respite, all the while hearing nothing but the rhythmic cadence of Ellie’s breathing.

Though he’s never been a man to believe in dreams or premonitions and hocus pocus like that, even he can clearly link A to B without assistance.

They’re getting too close.

With the Mandate and a mountain of words unsaid and decisions yet unmade, his subconscious is marrying these newfound desires with a pressure that appears wholly unavoidable.

‘Gotta ease off the gas, Miller.’

“Dammit.”

He’s not sure why, or rather cannot choose one reason over the other, but he leaves the bed for his bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He locks it.

Ellie opens her eyes and watches as the last of it happens, hears the latch as it clicks into place; she pulls her limbs to her torso and tries to compact her body to take up as little space as she can possibly manage. She wants to feel less in the midst of all this loneliness.

A few tears slip at the remembrance of the terrifying dream – the same dream plaguing her night after night this week. The gruesome show was just starting another performance when she felt his exodus happen in real time. She’s grateful for his unintentional rousing but woeful given the wake of whatever brand of turmoil emanating from him.

He doesn’t return for what seems like forever but she adamantly does not go and check. Senses he needs a breather and time to himself. So she hoists the blanket closer to her chin, lips and nose and inhales. Ellie feels him in everything and wonders if it’ll all be a memory by morning.

“What’s the special today, Liam?” Ellie hangs from the edge of the bar-top, twisting her body into a crooked position to earn a better view to the kitchen and her friend.

“Hush up, Williams. You wait and see.” The young, twenty-something year old catches the girl’s eye and winks as he flips a delicious mystery meat on the fryer. It sizzles and pops as grease burns away and the aroma of it is so strong, it wafts past the counter and into the Tipsy Bison’s packed dining area.

“Screw you, man. I’m wasting away here. Stomach consuming itself. Least you can do is give a girl a hint and spare me the dramatics,” she whines, but smiles all the same. She likes Liam, always has, and they’ve gotten along well in the three years since he’s come to Jackson. He’s taller than her but not by much, with dark hair and light eyes – he’s fairly lean with a good look about him and a wit that damn near matches her own.

He laughs, swipes his fingers on the towel looped at his waist and shakes his head, “Get lost, Ellie, you’re gonna spoil the surprise.”

“Oh, breakfast is a surprise now, is it?” She waggles her eyebrows and smiles at his exasperation, “Okay, okay. But this better be good or you’re owing me...something. A game or bullets. Just...something.”

“Sure, sure. Absolutely will definitely get right on that.”

Ellie hops off the metal footrest and snakes her way through the crowd to her and Joel’s table. It’s quieter than usual, despite the large number of people, but the tone isn’t as somber as she originally thought it might be.

“What’re we eatin’ today?” Joel asks, raising a cup of chicory coffee and fighting the urge to grimace with every ensuing sip. It’s just not the same.

“Fucker won’t tell me. I tried but failed in my lofty quest.”

Joel huffs and licks his teeth – the bitter taste of the brew is lingering far longer than it should.

“Got it. Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine an' fillin’.”

The girl rolls her eyes and gulps a mouthful of hot water with lemon, with an impression of exasperation to boot. “Fine and fillin’ ain’t exactly what I’m in the mood for, pahtner,” she mocks, giving her best Texan accent to rile the man or at the least, make him smile. She’ll take either or.

He’s gone mostly mute since this morning and it’s unnerving to a degree that unseats Ellie. She wants to know what that “Dammit,” meant and why he stalked off to the washroom like an angry thing lost to the his fury. Wants to know why, when he slipped in again beside her, he was spaced so far apart that she didn't feel him again near to her. Wants to know why he won’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. She just…wants wants wants.

“Ha ha. Not too bad, girl. I think you’re finally pickin’ up on it.” He pantomimes tipping a phantom cowboy hat and throws her a wink for extra emphasis.

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders, “What can I say, some of your good habits must be rubbing off on me, old man.”

Joel swallows at the nickname – it’s not that he minds it, more that he doesn’t know if it’s just a nickname or if she really thinks of him as, in fact, an old man.

“What? What’d I say?” Ellie quips, leaning forward on the lacquered table.

“No, it’s noth–”

Liam appears, in that same witchy way all servers do when awkward or tense conversations occur over a meal. In his upturned hands he’s holding a breakfast plate with a full spread: fried ham, eggs and hash browns mixed together with a side of sliced peaches.

Ellie’s eyes tumble in their sockets as she mouths a silent ‘oh my God.’ The scent alone is damn near heavenly; she caught Joel licking his lower lip, his hazels all but making love to the peaches – his favorite. He sits impatiently as she receives her dish and watches him, she knows he may very well gulp his own whole meal in one fell swoop. Men and food. Not that she has any room to talk.

“Thanks, dude! This looks divine. Henceforth, you do not owe me anything.”

The older man peeks at the passing comment and looks quickly from Liam to Ellie and back to his plate again. He knows this guy, knows he’s Ellie’s friend and doesn’t particularly mind him, but...those sentiments were a part of the before. Before things...before this week and the other stuff.

Joel pipes in, “Yeah, this is good. Thank ya, Liam.” It’s curt but not unkind and the younger man's grin is wide in turn; appreciation from Joel goes miles in Jackson and Ellie knows everyone reacts similarly whenever he shows a modicum of emotion. She muses on how often and easy it is to receive that from him, how moving a truth it is to possess the key to his ...everything. Her grin eases into a smile that spreads far across her pale features.

Liam leaves then but her happiness carries on.

Joel sneaks a look at Ellie through low lashes and his stomach plummets. He realizes that maybe, just maybe, all the stray and stranded bits are beginning to come together but the structure isn't sound enough to reveal its true essence yet. Of that he’s finally certain. It's another reminder – an imploration – of the need to ease back on the gas for the time being. Not entirely but enough that he’s not over encumbered by salacious, cock-sucking dreams of a pregnant Ellie every night. That won’t do. He won’t survive it.

“So, are we on patrol today? I can’t remember if you said so before the meeting last night.”

The lines in the corners of his eyes cut deeper at the mention of the Town Hall and he nearly stalls; Joel has to sideline the whole ordeal until they have more information and less time overall to decide what’s what. He doesn’t want to wait it out, per se, but doesn’t want to talk about it either.

“We are. Saw it on the board earlier when I couldn’t sleep an’ uh, went for a stroll. I was supposed to be with Tommy but...not today. So you’re stuck with me, girl. Teton County should be quiet, I reckon.” He shovels another forkful of food before averting his tiresome eyes; to top it all off, he's noting a soreness, too. His mouth, yes, but more so his knuckles from the minor scuffle with Tommy not twelve hours ago.

Ellie watches Joel as he eats like his food is going the way of the dinosaurs. An apocalypse will do that to you, she guesses. But his mention of the early morning walk has her awash with a whole new batch of questions.

She wants to know why he thought it smart to walk in icy temperatures, before sunrise, alone, without anyone knowing. Without her knowing. Wants to ask when he even went on his walk and why he kept himself apart from her upon his return to bed. She doesn’t inquire about any of these though as it’s all starting to go round and round the same sphere – she knows it, he knows it.

Instead she opts for the lesser of two evils.

“So, the Mandate,” Ellie inserts, sipping from a mug of lukewarm water and swooshing it for a few seconds. ‘The poor man’s mouthwash,’ Joel once coined it. They had been in Nebraska and ran dry of baking soda for over seventy-two agonizing hours. Ellie hated not being able to brush her teeth properly at least once a day so on that second evening, when her complaining reached static levels of noise in his head, Joel offered her a swig of Vodka. Told her pointedly ‘not to swallow it, girl, I swear,’ but to just swish it around and spit it out. It wasn’t much but it did what it was repurposed for.

Joel sputters a cough and scrutinizes the room, catching other Bison patrons doing their best to make it appear as though they’re not paying attention, as if they’re not waiting on what Joel Miller and Ellie Williams will say regarding That Topic.

They most assuredly are listening and he knows it.

He wipes his mouth – mindful of the fresh wound – and smooths his beard with a mostly-clean cloth. He shakes his head and, “Later, okay?”

It’s not up for debate. She curls in a lip and quietly concedes.

They exit their table and make towards the front desk – where a cashier might have once stood in another place similar to this. In another time as well. Seth’s there tending the books.

Joel stops, raises a brow but doesn't say anything. Doesn’t need to. He’s here to see where he and Ellie are at with their December ration numbers after today’s meal. Not here to punch him in his fucking face for what happened at The Winter Dance last weekend. No, Joel’s absolutely not thinking about that at all.

The curmudgeonly man sets his view in line with Joel’s but his voice is shaky, his hands fidgety. “You’re both good here. Next week we’ll need-uh...two deer and a half dozen rabbits, alright?”

Joel tilts his head, grabs a toothpick from the counter and sticks it into the corner of his mouth. He twirls it a spell and stares at Seth in a threatening type of silence. “Come on,” he eventually hears Ellie say from somewhere by his side, as the weight of her hand presses to his flannel-covered chest.

“Mmhm,” he rumbles, before moving to usher the girl through the door first.

He sutures the teeth of his tan Carhartt and tugs the blue scarf higher to his throat and chin as they set a path towards the stables.

“Fucks sake, it’s as cold as a witches titty out here.”

Joel barks a laugh at the delivery and vivid visual of a classic phrase. Slapping his tummy, Joel winks an eye and, “Didya really just say what I think you said?”

The girl trots ahead and spins, firing off dual finger-guns at him, “Like that one, eh?”

“Girl, that joke’s older’an me, but yes, yes I do. Takes me back.”

“To...witches titties?” Her head lists to the top of a shoulder blade with lighthearted curiosity and it costs nearly everything in him not to bring her close. He wants her to feel the happiness she’s pouring into him and never let go, never stop these moments of simplicity that ring with a resonance so pure and true.

The response to the comeback is, of course, more laughter, albeit a little lower this time. It’s still deep and rumbly, and Ellie loves it, has always loved that roll of thunder. When she met Joel, she thought he had never laughed a day in his life. The pun books were ice breakers – more for her than him – but even with those, his frigid resolve was damn near impenetrable.

These days though, or rather the years prior to their falling out and the past few days, she doesn’t have to try so hard. She still likes to though.

“You’re a funny one, Red. An’ yes, s’cold. Gonna be a long day, too. How’s ‘bout a hot dinner when we get home?”

She doesn’t miss the tonal redirect; the girl tucks the witch into a box and stows her for now, hoping for another opportunity to conjure her when he’s least expecting it. That’s when Joel laughs the hardest. When his cheeks run flush with crimson and the veins across his forehead protrude like a neon highway. Ellie daydreams a tick as to when, or if, she might ever see those luminous maps again.

Regardless, Ellie’s not found satiation yet, “How’s about we play hooky and have that hot dinner now?” She adds to the enticement with mischievous eyebrow movements, driving home her flexible stance on work versus play. Her preference of being with him above all else.

He swallows and sidesteps a faint memory of her and that exact expression from his dream.

Feels a twitch in his jeans as he fails to fully eradicate the image.

Hears a sudden warning in his head stating that as good as such an act from her could feel, it’s not right.

The laugh that finally arrives is more of a strain than anything jovial; he’s still working to subdue the arousal as they walk together in a slow stride, his poor lack of sleep and the endless mental gymnastics all starting to bleed into one.

Fortunately for them, the winds are far more tolerable than they were earlier but the snow remains, blanketing the earth in sizable tufts of frozen white.

A deep inhale, “An’ miss out on all the fun? I don’t think so.”

“What fucking fun, Joel?”

She says this as they arrive at the stables to find Keane, the on-shift manager from the ‘other side of Texas’ (Ellie thinks it endlessly funny, the elitism of Texan men). He’s busy tacking what appears to be Jesse’s steed but her friend is nowhere in sight.

“Hey, you two. Y’all plannin’ on fun? In this bullshit? Oh, Joel I replaced his shoes. So he’ll ride nice for ya.”

Down the thoroughfare she glimpses Shimmer and Joel’s stallion, a Tennessee Walker he named Balboa, already saddled, watered, fed and waiting for their riders.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Just be sure to bring some’a that fine steel back from your journey, should you cross paths with it.”

Joel clicks his tongue as he approaches Balboa and pats the horse's muzzle, “You got it.”

Ellie follows suit and does similarly, adding a few extra rubs, pats and affectionate whispers to her favorite mare.

Looking around, the girl has yet to see her friend and, “Hey, Keane. Is Jesse on patrol today?”

The gruff stable worker pulls on a cinch as he flips his head around to look at Ellie. The man’s long hair flies this way and that before, “Oh, no. Just outfittin’ his mare with a new saddle is all. Leather’s stiff.”

“Gotcha. Well, thanks, dude. See you next shift.” She smiles, grabs a handful of carrots and then leads on towards the exit, with Shimmer and the two males in tow.

Once they’re by the front gate, they do a final weapons check, stow their backpacks and mount their horses. They’re as prepared as they've ever been.

“Got all ya need, El?”

She smiles at the abridged version of her name on his tongue and catches herself; feeling every bit the loon she clearly is, Ellie promptly shifts her survey elsewhere and wonders. Wonders why these sweet nothings pool in her belly like warm waves, making everything seem as though it's summer all around them?

Although the girl doesn’t understand it, and won’t understand it until she's alone long enough to examine these moments of pause, she replies with an even-keeled, “Yep.”

Just then, Joel notices Tommy walking towards them, his face partly swollen and bruised – far worse for the wear than Joel’s. He might have a shred of remorse one day, but today is not that day.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice is heavy and his eyes are hard.

“Hey. Y’all headed to Teton?”

Ellie chimes in, “Yep. My first time out there in winter, actually. Pretty excited, all things considered.” She’s terse but not as cold as she suspects Joel would be, should the man ever open his mouth to speak again.

“Be careful. Folks reportin’ some recent activity near that ol’ Baldwin place. Don’t know if it’s Clickers or Hunters.”

“Thanks.” Curt. Just, curt.

Tommy digs both hands into the loose pockets of his jeans and suspires a great plume of air; his steam rises as it carries the winds of winter but it’s the silence that leaves Ellie damn near close to popping a blood vessel.

“Sure thing. Be safe out there.”

“Thanks, Tommy. WE appreciate the heads up.” She knows Joel is fuming and to a certain degree she is as well, but the man’s extending an olive branch and if the older brother won’t reach, she will.

These Miller men.

It hits her again that she hasn't spent any private moments ruminating on this Jackson-sized mess, least not fully on her own yet. It’s true that she craves the closeness and reassurance of being with Joel, but the Mandate and all its open-ended circumstances are starting to settle into her psyche like lead weights. Rash decision making is the very last tactic she should approach this with. So, she won’t do that.

Ellie muses that after dinner tonight, when they’re alone and twenty-four hours out from the Mandate meeting, when they refuse to discuss it at length (because she knows he’s not primed for that yet), she will leave. Not from anger or neglect, or fear and confusion. It’s not a punishment or a penance. No, she’ll leave because this is bigger than a nightmare and they need time to process. Apart.

This is huge, this is her life on the line. His, too.

Again.

“Waitin’ on you, Red.”

The spark glimmers in her tummy as she looks to meet his eyes, “Let’s do this, Joel.”

Chapter Text

The ride is arduous and the weather bitter, with Balboa and Shimmer’s energy fading as the hours draw on. Joel and Ellie’s patrol checks have been quiet and mostly empty, too. Well, the majority of them at least. A few miles back there were two Runners by a row of double-wides but other than those, there's only the steady snowfall and a deep silence to accompany the pair.

Even still, Joel thinks it's too quiet, should the girl outright ask his opinion. All logic and reason say it’s merely the winter storm but his gut has been sensing something untoward for a while now. Something he’s not been alluding to on this journey north – because he fully believes she doesn’t need the additional stress. Especially stress deriving from an instinctual source that is, at its very nature, baseless.

He’s keeping his mind tuned to the elsewhere but his focus must firmly remain in the here and now.

“We oughta check them houses for any supplies an’ the like.” His voice barely carries beyond the Walker’s ears but Ellie knows him well enough to surmise what he’s optioning.

“I take left, you take right?” Ellie hopes he declines and offers to go left with her but she won’t voice this. She’s trying with all her residual willpower to stave the swells of fear and fright that spill into her at the mere idea of separating.

This illogical fear and the craving for him is beginning to trouble her; it lays so resolutely atop her shoulders, as though her brain is oozing the dream onto her naked bones like the slow dripping of a cement chute. One globule at a time. Yet somehow, the weight is tolerable and even comforting in a very otherworldly sense. She discovers sustenance and structure there – a reliability that sings of its truth. Permanence.

Joel is permanent.

“How ‘bout we stick together on this one, Red?”

Relief.

“Deal.”

The girl finds a Superhero card in the rubble of a dilapidated drawer that was once part of a boy’s computer desk. She wonders idly what his name was, what might have happened to him, how long he survived – if he’s still alive – even mulls on what his favorite card might have been. Ellie ruminates often whilst on patrols – her mind drifting to those who were alive and old enough to understand the severity and the catastrophe of Outbreak Day firsthand.

Thoughts of Joel always form front and center whenever she’s swept away on these drifting waves of wonder and fantasy. What he was like before that night, what he became in the days, weeks and months following. What he did and what was done to him. She’s learned a little bit through the years, be it from Joel himself or Tommy secondhand – mostly Tommy – but she’s never had all of it in one lump sum. So she fills in the blanks and tries to build something better for him, something kinder and easier.

She does all of this despite knowing the truth of what his life was, of what it is.

Ellie runs a gloved finger along the edges of this new card and shakes herself loose of the mental wanderlust. Pivots from a dark past to a frozen present in the tick of a few seconds.

Still, it’s not long until the simplicity of these little nothings swoop in to warm her; she thinks of the growing collection back in the garage and smirks knowingly; she found one a while ago that’s in “mint-condition,” – a prized possession – but she’s never told anyone. Not entirely sure as to why that’s so, but Ellie likes to believe that some wins should remain for her and her alone.

The girl flips the aged cardstock and studies its hero scale and biography without fully reading it; she’ll save that for later when she’s alone and in search of comfort food and mindless pleasures. Knows that when she leaves Joel for the night, she’ll seek the familiar wrappings of her homestead more than ever.

Tonight.

A gasp hitches in her throat as her inner dialogue chews on what awaits, once the midnight hours bore on and her heart succumbs to the parting of ways; when the horrors that are certain to sniff her trail like a wild beast hunting its prey come to visit. When that beast tracks her down and captures her to a symphony of screams and blood and agony.

When she’s well and truly possessed by it and loses the handle of reality to loss itself.

A twinge of pain washes across her features at such morose meanderings. She swallows, leverages her breaths and cracks her neck.

Patrol with Joel. This house. The card.

She turns it over again to catch the name but sees first the image of a small, golden creature gracing its front. He has adorably goofy ears with little sprouts of fire-red hair atop his domed head.

“The Child. Hmm. Don’t have this one. He’s pure good. Powers include...healing, protection and being fucking cute as all hell.”

“Wha’s that? Oh, them cards you been collectin’ a while now, yeah? Does it really say that ‘bout it bein’ cute?” Joel stands behind the girl and peers over her shoulder to the colorful, albeit fading, collectible in her palm.

“Nah, I added that last bit. Look at him, though. Who could resist that face? I’ve been healed of all my troubles, all my worries, Joel. One look at that cutie and it’s no wonder everyone fell prey to his loving wiles.”

She tilts to look, angling the card to better align with his sight and catches on to just how close he’s standing to her. Notes a radiating warmth coming off of him in waves that feel like...speckled gold dancing in sunshine. It’s as though his heat is melting the icy barrier of her frozen home planet one beam at a time; thawing her wasteland of worry and doubt as though it were nothing more than a thin layer of decaying atmosphere.

Ellie knows she can never keep him on the dark side of the moon again.

“Hmm, s’a cute little weirdo, that’s for sure.”

His eyes are with hers as he says this and she laughs fully as a genuine smile spreads across her face, dismantling the final traces of tension from before.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, the cutest.”

They stare at one another as The Child lingers between them, all searching and supplies forgotten for the moment. It doesn’t last long.

A bedroom door that belonged to a boy who once was begins to bang back and forth on rusted hinges; it's a particularly strong gust of wind that undoes the pause amongst the pair, and Joel jolts to one side. A clang of metal on metal pierces through the bite of weather and...that something else they were temporarily sharing. The moment has come and gone.

“We should get goin’. Gotta get to the Baldwin place an’ back before dark an' it ain’t gonna get any kinder out there.”

Ellie’s mossy-greens sink as she slips the meaningful trinket into her backpack for safe-keeping.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

He huffs and makes towards the exit – they’ll need to jump to the landing below from the semi-unstable second story; the staircase rotted years ago, he guesses, which means more hell on his knees and overall exertion but he’s used to it. Has long since been accustomed to this rigorous lifestyle and thus, shares no complaints. Neither does she.

At the doorway he turns, takes inventory of her gazing around the abandoned space and touches her arm, “You good?”

“Mmhm. I just...I like to imagine an idea of who was here before...before everything.”

Joel offers a melancholic half-grin and sniffs deeply, “There was a whole lot of livin’ that happened here an’ all around us, Ellie. Don’t mean we should spend too much time gettin’ lost in a fantasy of who might’a been. It’s ‘bout who is and who will be now.”

He doesn’t wait for any part of that commentary to register, and truth be told he’s not fully certain as to what he meant by that last – or is scared to admit what he might have meant. Joel just knows her, knows what she needs is to feel comfort and connection, so long as he’s here, as long as they’re here together, he will give of it freely.

Once outside the house and into the whiplash of Wyoming wind and snow, they trot parallel to one another with a set heading towards the Mansion. They travel in silence, hoods shrouding their heads and scarves masking as much skin as they can manage while still keeping close to their throats and chests.

The girl groans from a combination of utter despair and a bone-aching weariness. It’s freezing, getting darker and she doesn’t know this route. So, should they be separated, she’d be far worse for the wear than he would; the pathway has gone all but invisible as it lies buried beneath fresh mounds of white. She tries to draw on something, on anything to supplant this fatigue with distracting flights of fancy. To help carry her onward and keep pace with Joel’s brutal threshold to withstand just about anything. Crushing winters be damned.

She mulls on the sensation of the Spring season, contemplating the suspended earth underneath all this winter; it’s there, waiting to sprout anew with vigorous life and vivid color – with pollen and flowers and bees and the tallest tall grass she once found herself lost in as a child.

A young girl comes to the forefront of her mind, appearing to be no more than two or three years old. She’s petite but sturdy with shiny black hair and sparkly green eyes that fill with joy as she glimpses someone standing near; it’s not Ellie in this vision the youngling is seeing but instead another being that this little one knows by heart. There’s a smile, too, of the kind that’s tentative yet loving and goofy all in the same. She feels...familiar to Ellie...but her features show a multitude of angles, shapes and proportions that are someone else’s as well. Someone she knows from this real world and not the imaginative place she’s fallen into.

Even with all of that, Ellie gleans that this little being of light is her own person amidst a world of want and neglect. Thinks that despite the bounty of hell surrounding her on all fronts, this toddler is well loved, adored and cared for so completely that she feels like home. To Ellie.

Right as she smiles at the crystalline portrait of this phantom girl, a squall of wind slams against Shimmer's left flank. The mare rears in response as its eyes go white with terror and an instinct to flee. And so it does. It circles once, twice and proceeds to race in the direction they came from, running at a full clip until Ellie yanks on the leather straps and halts the spooked horse.

The mare bounces on its hooves a few times, denoting a threatening gesture – a warning; she’s priming to rise up and eject her passenger, Ellie knows the signs, but the girl steels herself and calms the beast between her thighs. She pats, pets and squeezes gently, lying almost prone in the saddle to shield herself from the elements and the fearsome display of her steed.

“Easy girl, easy now, shhh, it’s okay, we’re okay.” She slips into this pattern of reassurance as the lovely imaginative world seeps away, one droplet of knowing at a time. Until all is summarily lost.

No warmth, no aromatic garden, no beautiful girl. Just this winter and the nothingness that expands and contracts, that whips and whirls all about. Assaulting her over and over again.

“Ellie?!”

She hears Joel’s voice above the din of sounds and peers in every direction to search for its source. Frantically she howls with, “Over here! Joel! I’m back here! I can’t see you!”

Somewhere in the haze of her daydream and her horse hightailing it, they veered off the trail and apart from each other. She has no idea how far away he is or how far she’s backtracked.

But then she hears it.

A horde is descending from the south. Right to her position.

Their footfall is loud enough to match the storm, this collective static rivaling Joel’s fevered calls; Ellie races against the roar of her heart as it thrums behind caged bones. A distance and a dissonance happens all at once as her blurry, confused state crumbles one intake of icy air after the next. She doesn’t normally panic or falter, doesn’t pause-stop-halt or take leave of her faculties in moments of urgency. But that was before this week. Before…

“JOEL!”

Ellie lifts off of Shimmer’s withers and screams herself hoarse. She would absolutely make the pun if she weren't lost in a battle against the sky and a collective of undead fuckwads that can’t seem to grasp they shouldn’t be alive. That they should be icing over like gory virus cakes molding into the soil, leaching back into the void where they belong.

”Joel!! She cries his name over and over again as she sets her mare into a chaotic gallop. She doesn’t know if she’s heading the right direction, or any direction for that matter, but it’s ahead of the horde and that’s where she must remain. Keep ahead, keep moving, endure and survive. Get to him. Get to him.

“Ellie!?”

She hears his voice and it’s marginally closer now – she’s going the right way. He’s okay, he’s alive.

She keeps going. To Joel. To safety.

Finally she spots a gray-black smudge ahead on the horizon; it’s moving, shifting this way and that albeit severely out of focus. Still, as she goes towards it, she notices the gap between her and that hazy mirage is expanding, unbeknownst to the man leading its charge. He’s on the hill, about ten or so yards from her, no, fifteen, twenty now – she realizes he’s going the wrong way. Ellie curses the powers that be and wishes so much she could fire a flare or rip her lungs out and throw them at his head. Anything to get his attention. To get him back beside her.

Ellie surmises he’s just as panicked as she is, fearful he’s lost her in the whiteout brutalism of the weather.

“Shimmer, I know you’re scared, but I’m asking you to give it all you’ve got for the next five to ten, okay, girl? I know you can do this.” Ellie turns in her leather cradle and clocks the roving mass: they’re closing in quick and their numbers are staggering.

“Where the fuck are you coming from?!” The girl hollers, her windpipe straining with a rally cry that’s instantaneously absorbed into the mountainous ether. She kicks Shimmer’s barrel and leans in, forging north towards the last location she caught sight of Joel’s shadow. She knows there’s more than just the impact of the Infected’s gait as it draws near. Can almost feel their gnashing teeth and hear their gnawing growls. Can even smell their sickly rotting scent and the alienating dreadfulness of their clicking.

She shivers but it’s not from the cold this time.

Up a ways the pierce of a gunshot cuts sure and true but dies almost as swiftly as her primal exclamations did. She goes to it like a needful thing in dire straits – because that’s exactly what Ellie is.

As she bears down and dredges plumes of powdery white behind her with each hoof crashing into a dead earth, Ellie hones her attention forward. She locks onto a shape that’s becoming more Joel and less of a Rorschach but feels a loss of control the nearer she draws. He doesn’t look to be moving like he was, or maybe it’s Balboa who isn’t moving? But that was only a few moments ago and...no. There was only one shot heard.

She can’t be sure of anything anymore, not even the weighty resonance of his revolver. This storm is too much, the horde is too vast and her heart is too inadequate after a week of heaven and hell.

Finally she sees him as clear as she can manage with the winds battering them so badly and, “Oh thank fuck. Joel, are you okay?!”

She pulls harshly on the reins and Shimmer stops, bobs a few beats and begins to circle in a show of protesting discontent and blinding fear. Her human is acting quite wily but the steed is incapable of understanding one form of panic over the next. It’s all just...frightful. Still, there’s an urgency the beautiful beast can sense – she knows to keep moving. To be free of this mania and onto a safe place, like a barn or a...barn. Most importantly, the horse means to keep the human astride her safe, too. The mare likes this one a whole lot, what with all the delicious sugar cubes and carrots she treats her to.

“What in the hell happened, Ellie?” The girl straightens her position and is now beside Joel as the man kneels by his felled horse. By the line of pines, there’s a pool of blood and dead Infected littering an otherwise pristine hillside. He hastily paws at the snow in an effort to recover his backpack from under Balboa’s impressive hide while patting the steed in irregular intervals.

The Italian Stallion is wasting on the ground, hefting great, laboring breaths as it fights to live, as it whines to die. “Oh, no. Joel, what happened?”

The girl makes to swing a leg over the side of Shimmer but Joel barks at her, “Ellie, don’t get off! Balboa ain’t gonna make it. Pack a’Clickers rushed from the pines. Bastards got’im bad before I got them.”

A cacophony of feral sound permeates the space to the rear of them, a deadly reminder of the reaper on their backs.

“Joel, hop the fuck on! We gotta go, we gotta go right goddamn now!”

His pack finally free and on his shoulders, Joel rubs Balboa’s muzzle once before pulling the trigger. One round was all it took to end the last woeful suffering of his steed. The man does nothing else, speaks no words and shares no hint to the pain briefly filling his chest. Now’s not the time.

Anchoring a single foot into a temporarily vacant stirrup, Joel hoists himself high and settles behind Ellie as firmly as he can. Once secure enough, he loops a limb around her waist as his hand white-knuckles the horn and, “RIDE!”

Shimmer sets off in a palette of chestnut brown, her color the only thing burning a trail that separates the living from all else. The trio flies, racing northward and putting themselves apart from the lifeless forest and a dead friend. Apart from the horde of monsters that call to claim what they feel is resolutely theirs.

The horse carries on, faster and faster still.

The thundering cadence rolls through packed snowfall, creating a muted chamber of wild drums – an organic orchestra wholly in sync and yet hellish all the same.

Shimmer moves with a precision she’s never hit before; fearful of the frightening noise behind her, sad for the friend she’s left behind – she doesn’t like that one bit and doesn’t understand why, not really – yet protective of the weight pressing atop her still. Her humans seem to know where to go and so that’s where she’s going. The mare trusts without so much as a second guess. Still, if there was some way she could turn around to bring her friend with her…she thinks they would be alright with that. Surely they would?

The horse whines but in her brief moment of hesitation, a slight sting from somewhere by the rear replaces all other thoughts. There is no going back.

Forward. Onward. Run.

Ellie holds tight to the leather in her sheathed hands, she knows they’re shaking despite being unable to properly discern such an inconsequential truth at present. She doesn’t feel the sweat trickling down the small of her back, beneath her breasts or by her temples either. She doesn’t feel the burn in her lungs or the fear laden in every bit of marrow that makes her. The girl just goes.

“Almost there! Shit–There’s more comin’ in from the sides!” Joel yells into her ear, his voice barely audible in this scene of manic tumult. He’s holding so tensely to Ellie’s waist that he fears he’ll leave bruises when this is all over; his body fitting to hers so uniformly he’s certain they might be all but stuck together, permanently.

Ellie offers a boisterous nod to acknowledge him as she finally glimpses it: Baldwin Mansion. The Chalet. They forge a pathway using a long and winding road but the final destination remains in sight the entire time: The front gates. She pushes her beast a measure more, trying to draw as much power and strength as she can without killing the beautiful equine in the process.

And at last, they arrive.

They soar beyond heavy wrought-iron and see themselves galloping through an open garage bay door. Ellie eases the horse back as Joel hits the ground running towards the gates without preamble. He secures them and sprints from one end of the yard to its opposite, looking to seal off any additional entry points to stem the swell of this swarm.

“Ellie–Molotovs!”

The girl races to him, leaving Shimmer to settle in this new place alone; each of her hands are full with a bottle prepped to ignite the moment she’s ready to be without them. Which was when this whole charade began not ten minutes prior. There’s been plenty of action for one day though – it’s time to end this.

Still, neither is yet paying any consideration to their plan for when it’s time to leave all this and return to Jackson.

Ellie firmly plants her feet, standing near the center of the entryway; Joel lights each cloth wick and stands apart. She growls something inaudible before launching one bottle and then a second at the burgeoning row of Clickers, Runners and whatever the sickly amalgamation that occurs after the disturbingly rotten infection sets in.

“Die you FUCKS!”

“Two more if you got ‘em!”

“Only have one left, Joel,” she hollers across as she lights the thing and heaves it so hard her shoulder pops. The glass shatters upon impact and both Ellie and Joel watch as the spray of alcohol catches fire and inflames the cursed unreality. Wretched screams and deathly gurgles fill the air for a minute or three before a hallowing silence begins to replace it.

They stand there, Joel with his shotgun, Ellie with her switchblade. Armed with adrenaline and experience.

“Fuck.” She’s first to break the silence. She’s always first.

The girl pitches forward abruptly, trying to grasp and release great lungfuls of air but finds it’s next to useless. Her heart is beating too fast, her hands shaking too hard, her whole body too wracked to calm just yet.

“I mean, fuck, Joel.”

He walks towards the flaming gates and double checks its bolted latch with the business end of his machete. He does this while seething at the murky landscape that stretches out all around them; he’s looking for any stragglers that may be lingering about – Stalkers are slightly more cunning than the others. Still, with the snowstorm and his visibility extremely limited, it’s just bright enough to note that there are no more outlines or shadows to be found on the horizon. Not now, anyway.

“C’mon, let’s get inside.”

He lays an arm atop her shoulders and ushers them towards the garage, towards the lodge and all its quiet and safety. Joel knows as soon as they’re inside, he needs to get a fire going to chase the chill that will otherwise root in them if they’re not careful; the last thing either he or she needs is a nasty cold, or worse.

“We gotta clear the house, make sure there ain’t no one livin’ here. Patrols only come this way once a month but with the storm, we need’a be extra thorough, yeah?”

Ellie’s trembling but her focus is steadily returning; shes rubs the frost from Shimmer’s coat with the cuff of her own and pats the good mare affectionately. Trying to ground herself, trying to ground them both.

“Okay.”

“Hey, you good?” Joel angles his head to the side to gain a better view and waits, unsure of what she needs. He’s seen her afraid but never to the extent in the lead up to right now.

She bobs her head but doesn’t physically offer anything beyond that, “Sure. We gotta check this place. My clothes are soaked and my stomach is empty and I just–I wanna get settled for the night, since it looks like we’re not going anywhere any time soon.”

Joel takes one step away and then another as he opens the room for her, allowing Ellie to move as she pleases without any constriction or expectation from his presence.

“Stick together this time, Red?”

The girl’s emeralds rise to join his as she swallows a stone of tension - a mango-size rock that’s been choking her since Shimmer unintentionally separated them.

“Yeah, let’s. And Joel? I’m sorry about Balboa. That’s...I’m just sorry.”

“Some folks been stayin’ here recently.” Joel’s revolver is at his side, his finger by the trigger but not on it as he scans the spacious living room. They haven’t started sweeping the chalet yet, but both know that proof of life this early could derail any comfort and much sought after rest later on.

“Litterin’. Bits’a trash left behind. Hell, someone even forgot their damn rucksack. We’ll need to go through that at some point. Seems they was in a hurry to get outta this place. Horde coulda been the reason. Or somethin’ else.” He chews on his bottom lip as he peruses, taking a mental inventory of all the minor disruptions these phantom travelers have caused during their stay. He claims no ownership over this place, but with Tommy’s warning regarding recent activity and the massive mob that's just chased them down, concern sits like a lead sinker in his belly.

“We need to check the second floor, start from the top and work our way from there. Patrol protocol. Shore up the entrances, windows and barricade everywhere else for however long we’re gonna be here.” Ellie’s blade is poised to strike as she runs through the list aloud, her radar eyes scanning the locale while she listens for the faintest hint of movement.

Joel nods, “Mmhm. Let’s hush ‘til we’re through with this sweep. C’mon.”

They ascend the staircase, her at his six to protect him against any form of attack from behind, as he assumes a precise crouch and moves upwards methodically. Despite the years that have gone by since their last full-location clearing, there’s a seamless pattern of behavior they’re falling into. They’ve done this routine a thousand times, more so than most everyone else in Jackson, if she’s in a one-upsmanship frame of mind – she’s not – thus this place is of no contrast.

The semi-tactical sweep proceeds smoothly and without incident. The loft is clear and seems to have been kept mostly clean through the years, with a pool table Ellie can't help but ogle at; Joel sees her staring and knows it’ll only be a matter of time until she asks him to rack ‘em up (and he will). There's a smaller bedroom already cordoned off so there’s little purpose in disturbing the pile of soggy cardboard boxes set at its front.

But once inside the master suite, something becomes hilariously apparent: Whomever had been here in recent days or weeks did not put the accommodations to proper use in the most basic sleeping sense of surviving.

Ellie’s eyes cast south as she halts in her tracks and snorts a great sniffle of a noise. It slices through the quiet in short order and she knows a barrage of fits is all but upon them now.

The girl finds herself in too perfect a situation all of the sudden and so the rules of silence are summarily forgotten: on her designated side she’s come across a few curious items laying abandoned on the room’s solid oak flooring. They lure her undivided and she cuts a line towards one specific thing – but pauses before touching it. She’s motionless for the second time and takes the opportunity to peer around; by all appearances no one is home (save for her and Joel) so she shifts her attention back onto the object and leaps at the chance to make him laugh or squirm...or both. Hopefully both.

All the girl’s suspicious action lends Joel to his own bout of intrigue; he wanders over to get a better look at what she’s hovering above and brazenly snickering at.

“Ellie, quiet now, we got a lotta lodge to check still.”

She huffs and then bumps purposely into Joel’s shoulder, redirecting his gaze to the deserted item that's broken her inhibitions and rule abiding. She leans nearer to him, her mouth adjacent to an ear and whispers: “The Clittorghini: Voted World’s Fastest Climax! Joellll, can I take it home with me?”

Ellie shifts and looks at him all doe-eyed and pouty, her full lips shiny with a sheen of fresh spit; she’s so close to him...she’s too close to him. There’s a dangerous disintegration of his resolve rising from the heaviness of that stare and the thoughts that the adult toy resting by their heels is putting into his head. He knows she’s taunting him, of course she is – the girl’s done this a few times in their past just to elicit an awkward response. It’s clear she loves those from him.

Every single time he falls into this witty trap and he knows, once again, he’s about to descend into the embarrassing snare she’s put into place.

In all this consideration – and surprise – he gets lost for a spell, his mind flipping through the dusty novel of their journey West to Wyoming. Where the humiliation really began.

The first was in Pittsburgh with Bill’s stolen magazine, the second was when they unintentionally looted a porn shop somewhere in central Ohio (he still swears she swiped a VHS or two). The centerfold conversation wasn’t too bad but after the store, his cheeks were flushed for hours and his words remained wholly absent for a solid day or so. Ellie, of course, happily filled in the quiet; the girl couldn’t seem to help herself – she commented on everything from the ‘fake dicks ranging in what-the-fuck size,’ to the various types of paddles used for spanking (she talked about those a lot, if he recalls correctly).

But what really sent the girl into a fit of frenzy was the sex swing. She couldn’t quite grasp the benefits of that – of a swing just in the house somewhere – being used for fucking. He didn’t explain its mechanics no matter how many times or how many different ways she poked at him about it – Joel knew she was a smart girl. She’d figure it out eventually.

There’s plenty of these inappropriate memories from all of the roads they’ve trekked and the time spent in close proximity. He thinks it's humorous, secretly, how she’s always been so delighted by the sexual exploits of those from the old world. From before.

Still, back in those early days, Joel would just listen and walk ahead, praying for God to strike those indecent experiences from the record or make her mute. Anything to spare him the trouble.

But that was then. Now – now everything’s…not what it was then. For him, at least.

In those days her rhetoric was an annoyance, something childish and adolescent that Joel merely tolerated while gritting his way through it all. It never occurred to him to educate the girl, least not how he should have as the adult in charge. In his defense, however, everyone living in a post-apocalyptic world should be prepared for all facets of human life – sex and reproduction being a must despite such a chaotic existence. He always assumed she just...knew what she needed to know and that was that. It wasn’t his job.

But in this suite, surrounded by a wasteland of personal items from an expired life, what she’s poking at proves that his assumptions from years ago were, to some extent, correct. She knows what she needs and thus, naturally, is turning it into a lighthearted moment of torment to earn a reaction.

He clears his throat, scratches his beard and bevels part of his bulk onto an opposite foot, “I...I’d maybe suggest against it…what?”

The girl slaps a palm to her mouth to silence a roar that, he suspects, would bullhorn a whole new flood of Infected, should they catch note of it.

“Shush, girl, keep it down,” but on that last even he breaks and, “You’re always...ya just…you. Aren’cha?”

Ellie grabs hold of his bicep and bends at the middle as she attempts to control her laughter; her chest constricts as she stifles wave after wave of impermissible, unstoppable giggling. This triggers her own bout of remembrance: Sometimes, as a young girl she would find herself in similar circumstances while pretending to pray away the boredom in the rectory. She could expertly feign obliviousness to the whims of her fellow undesirables and avoid being caught and called on by the powers that be. It was a skill and a point of pride. Regardless of the honed skill, sometimes she succeeded, sometimes not.

These youthful antics took place back in an endless time of glibness spent at one of Boston’s Orphanage Outposts; she would be forced into hours of kneeling, sitting, standing – languishing in the name of Jesus Christ because the Nuns were too preoccupied with keeping them safe to do much in the way of child rearing. But oh, in those rare moments of untouchable glee when a friend or foe found themselves in a tight spot – with reprimands and whippings that would extend for country miles the result. Ellie remembers how it felt as though her cheeks were set ablaze, the painful watering of tightly sealed eyes and how every breath burned as she fought the good fight.

Because in that place, laughter spelled trouble with a cane and a missed meal and those sort of punishments just wouldn’t do. Even for a rebel like Ellie Williams.

She muses on it but also how insurmountably strenuous a task that was, keeping her explosive laughter imprisoned inside. Thinks what she feels here in this room is identical to that and it makes her want to let loose all the more.

Ellie pats her belly, releases his arm and points to a disgusting pile of yellowing garments, “Did you catch that crusty pile of socks over there…or how about the furry handcuffs and empty bottle of lube from a century ago? And that thick, silver ring-thing...think that’s involved in this scenario somehow? Fuck, Joel. What the fuck were people doing here? Jerking off and wearing handcuffs...? I mean, that’s one big pile of dirty laundry, too. Lotta co–”

“Alright, alright. I get it. This room’s a self-servicin' den. If we sleep in here, you’re welcome to this side. Now let’s get goin’.”

Ellie hoots and snaps her neck to the rear, “You’re so easy to rile, old man.”

’There’s that Old Man bullshit again. Never bothered me before. Shouldn’t bother me now. I am an old fuckin’ man.’

“An' you’re loud. Now c’mon.”

Ellie sighs and pulls a lip in disappointment, “Fine. Fine.”

Joel exits the room, head shaking and shoulders tense as he goes. He doesn’t see the girl kick the stimulation device beneath the bed frame with a victorious smirk. It’ll lay there for all eternity now, set amongst the dust and the devils of time as it passes by.

The rest of the chalet’s sweep is less illicit and far more quiet after exiting the den of iniquities. They each fall into a calculable routine as they rifle through drawers, line up potential supplies to either use soon or stow for later while triple checking that no one is lingering in any of the smaller crevices.

“Think there’s just the basement left, Ellie.”

The girl hears him but neglects to respond; she’s sorting through canned goods – four tins of peaches and three of roast beef ground hash – all hidden behind the plumbing of the mud room sink. A score if ever there was one. She knows what their dinner and dessert will be tonight.

Finally, “And then can we change out of these sopping-wet clothes. I’m freezing my ass off, Joel.”

He looks at the girl then, finding her lips a paler shade of pink than what they were wearing upstairs. Her eyes are too dark as well, a militant, dull green akin to the color they were when she ran into his arms earlier in the week. That first night. She was so cold and scared; he still can’t believe she fought her way to him in nothing more than ratty work boots and an old flannel. Tougher than nails, this one.

“We’ll make it quick.”

He moves to the basement door and grips his revolver. He chances a look over a shoulder to see her standing by the kitchen island, waiting to descend and assume her role in the guard. Habitual, practiced.

“Stairs clear.”

Joel silently approaches the wooden steps, leveraging his body weight before every press of a foot to ensure minimal noise, should anyone be lying in wait beyond the second door at the bottom.

Ellie follows and almost instantly, an inundation of recognition swells in her throat like a strangled cry. Her eyes roll dangerously in their sockets as she struggles to reconstruct one side of this cavern from its opposite. As she implores the very hollow of her bones to find solid ground and cease this sudden unreality. To stem the rivers of fright the way he’s been trying to teach her all week.

Nothing is working.
For this is the end. This is really the end.

The edges of her vision go blurry as a vignette of panic peels the last remnants of her steely resolve. The light is leaving her, fading from the edges of her vision; the only thing that remains are fine particles of matter that glitter and glow from an ambient source she’s unable to locate. Her sound is the next sense to be stolen; she hears little else above the daunting pace of her hammering heart and all the air she can’t seem to exhale.

She doesn’t know what it signifies, only that she can’t let him go into that godfucked room. She can’t, she must do all she can to stop him. He'll die if he does. She knows it.

Ellie sits and descends one plank at a time on her rear end, the girl forcing herself to move despite the severity of this panic attack and the supernaturally-long stairwell.

All she wants to do is scream for him, to wail his mountainous name and save Joel from the death that awaits on the other end of the doorway. But he’s moving farther and farther away in a series of slow-motion footfalls, oblivious to her emergency.

“Joel…” Her voice is painfully low and laden with an intense apprehension – everything is wrong. She never woke up – there’s only ever been this moment – all their roads have led to this ruin. She’s powerless and failing him. Just as she’s known she would over and over again this entire week.

“Shhh,” he hushes, paying little mind to the collision of a waking nightmare and its hellish nightscape.

’No, no…’

Her breathing intensifies, her heart at its maximum output as she glimpses the landing twenty stories below. He’s not looking at her, he’s not hearing how overrun and overwhelming her quiet has become. He trusts she’s keeping to her duties, just as she always has.

’Look at me, Joel. Just look at me and you’ll see. Don’t go in there. We can’t go in here.’

Her hands finally succumb to the nerve-wracking hysteria. They cramp and change into a grizzly pair of misshapen claws, turning on and into themselves. They’re withering, useless appendages, spectacular failures with every pump of the terrorized organ in the center of her chest.

Her semi-automatic pistol wobbles and nearly drops before she snaps-to well enough to enclose it in between a disfigured grasp.

”Joel.”

“Ellie, s’okay. I don’t hear anyone. We gotta clear it otherwise we can’t stay here an’ there ain’t nowhere else for us to go.”

“Mmm…” she mumbles, her mouth as dry and arid as the cracked earth in Death Valley. She’s incapable of swallowing or speaking to release this terror.

She’s gone mute. If only Joel knew his wish from years ago has finally come true.

After laying an ear to the wood for a minute or so, he twists the handle and steps inside, confident there’s no one they're missing. The man keeps a subdued profile and shores his footing, planting each boot firmly in place should someone or something move to strike. He roots himself and waits, listening closely as he angles his weapon and his eyes from one corner to the next making quick, analytical work of this space.

There’s a door off to the right – he doesn’t hear Shimmer but assumes it’s another garage or storage space just the same. High market mountain lodges as big and grandiose as this tend to require empty excess to store all those goods the owners wanted but never needed.

He notes cabinets and tables running the length of the room on either side and straight ahead, an impressive view to the wilderness at the rear of the chalet. Each pane of glass – all three still intact, which is nothing short of a miracle these days – have snow drifts piling to damn near above their center mass. It’d be beautiful in a different era, under a different set of conditions but even this far out from the end of the world, beauty in any form is easy to find, should one allow for it.

His spine is to her as he takes in the sights, still unaware of the deteriorating situation directly behind him. Yet.

“J-J…oel.”

“What’s–?” He turns at the pitiful tone and finds Ellie shriveling in on her person – she’s crumbling fast and he needs to get there before she crashes and shatters into a million broken pieces. He watches the pistol slip free and it hits the ground with a hollow clunk; there’s no bounce, no metallic echo, it’s just down and done for. As she nearly is, that much he can see and sense. This image of her in this state of undoing shocks him loose of their tactical operation and jettisons him forward in a mess of disjointed, fitful steps.

He gets there in mere seconds and falls to his knees before the girl, fearing the worst – that she’s been stabbed, shot (somehow without him having heard it), or some other unsuspecting health condition – like a heart attack or worse. Something physical he means to fix and fix quickly.

“Ellie?! Hey, what’s the matter? You hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.” His hands cradle her face and pull her closer to him, nearer and nearer still. He’s trying to redirect the attention of those pretty greens onto him and nothing else. Wants the room and all the cold, dark space surrounding them to evaporate and disappear long enough to give her fervency a respite. For her to see and feel him – to find comfort in him just being here as she’s done in recent days.

But Ellie's trembling is so profound he fears she’s been left adrift to the violence of a stormy seascape for far too long; her wreckage lost amongst the wake of a nameless hurricane that’s claimed her for its own. This is something he’s far too afraid of to properly gain a handle on with the familiar tactics, he knows that’s certain now.

The vibrancy of her eyes is gone, there’s a bottomless black staring into a nothingness; he sees his worry and an emptiness filling her all at once. It’s a certain brand of torture to think he’s unable to rouse her, that the precipice sings louder than he is.

This is...this is new and after a week of firsts with her, he feels as inadequate as ever.

He pushes onward still and, “Are you injured? What...what is happenin'? Ellie, baby, c'mon I need ya to talk...”

“D...drea...m,” the girl stutters, voice nearly gone amidst the descension of darkness falling upon her. He touches her lips, runs a finger along the shale, discoloring edges as he goes. Trying to wake any part of her, trying to get any one area of Ellie to respond to him.

“You mean the nightmare? What’s...why’s it–okay, just breathe. I’m here. We’re here. Just you an’ me.” He soothes her by repeating these words, holding tight, touching generously and keeping his proximity as close as he can without physically becoming one with the girl.

“Th-this..ss is-the p-pla-ce, J...oel. It’s-I saw it hap-pen here, I-I-you, oh God…” Ellie trails off and goes lame against him. She surrenders to a symphony of choking gasps and gut wrenching sobs; her head rests to the firm corded muscle above his breastbone as her desperate hands seek to grab anything she can get a hold of. She digs into his damp winter coat and squeezes, twisting the thick fabric and pulling, needing more.

Each of his arms twine to her and pull, lifting her part way onto his lap and whispering all the words he can to tourniquet this wound from something that’s never happened. Something that shouldn’t be haunting her as persistent as it has and yet.

“Shhh, darlin’ I’m here. It wasn’t real. I dunno why this is happenin’ but I need to...I gotta–ya tell me what to do, Ellie. Tell me.” He rocks them as his hands glide along the studs of her spine, snaking through her loose, icy hair. There's a worry so great, he thinks only a drastic measure might be the way to undo all this emotional torment.

He resigns and pushes every rising protestation and sound to the wayside.

Joel lifts the girl and tilts her face to his with the tips of his fingers, “Hey, baby. Remember what I said to you in that burnin' place so long ago? After...after that fuckin’ monster–do ya remember?”

He doesn’t rush the girl to speak, just looks at her and feels his heart stir in a way it’s never done before. Add to that how she looks right now and Joel can feel the earth rumbling beneath his very bones. Calling to him to put it all on the line. For it cuts him to glimpse the waterfall of tears carving pathways across her smooth, speckled cheeks. She nods eventually, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away the dissonant saline from her chilled skin.

“Yo-you said you’ll ne-never leave me again.”

“An' have I?”

Her expression softens before she’s all but languishing to his person again, but he doesn’t allow that to happen this time. He keeps his palms to the delicate curve of her jaw and forces her gaze onto him.

“Have I?”

Ellie studies his features – the scars and weather-beaten skin, and the peaks and valleys of his graying beard that she suddenly longs to trace a fingertip to. She swallows another dose of malaise and moves her skull with fragmenting but definitive motion, “No, you haven’t. But–”

“No buts, Ellie. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

With that, Joel leans in and kisses her.

Chapter Text

Joel returns Ellie from a phantom loss that is rooting in the very atoms of her person. There is no other choice, no salvation adequate enough for what’s needed in this high altitude of emotion.

There’s no blood, no screams of agony or tidal waves of tragedy crashing upon her shores. What exists is this room and an endless moment stretched beyond what she can see. Steel arms hold her as ferric fingers braid life into the glassy strands of her crimson hair. But as he dances amidst those frozen reeds, he loses the measure of his movements and time itself.

For his lips are still...with hers.

Ellie doesn’t register that the kiss is a kiss, not initially anyway. The girl doesn’t know what’s happening or even where she is, only what it feels like to connect to this man in a string of hastily-synchronized physical responses. What it tastes like, too. There’s a tinge of iron on her tongue from the split of his lip and she pins a mental note to be mindful of that swollen area. But it’s...

’...Good, so good. It feels right. Don’t stop this, Joel. Don’t let me go.’

Her mind alight, her body unmoors; it’s as if Joel is rescuing her from the maw of a mythical beast, guiding her to the only safe harbor she’s ever known. But it's remarkably different, whatever came before is made anew; in this maelstrom of fear and want, of loss and scorching heat – they merge and interlace as the howls of a pain that never was becomes a whispering noise and nothing more. It’s as though his lips, his hands, his grip on her – all of Joel – supersedes an acrimonious aftertaste of her terrifying week.

But as the whirlwind tears her panic asunder, that rising cascade of recognition taxis her to a place from then. She glimpses Joel there, saddled on his horse, riding in a peaceful quiet towards a mirage of azure and gold. Joel, making breakfast and tossing the last strip of bacon onto her plate, even though she knows how much he loves the stuff. Joel, wrapping her in his favorite red and brown blanket as she drifts into dream, waking briefly to note the serenity on Joel's features.

Her seas rage on, reflecting the brilliance of his hazel as water rushes in, and all is summarily lost to an unfamiliar void reaching for her.

No blood, no agony, no screams. No hurt, no gaping chasm in her chest. Just this. All of this.

Joel’s mouth moves with Ellie's as though they’ve done this time immemorial; his lips are chapped from the winter wind and there’s a nagging sting by the wound his brother gave him but otherwise they’re full and warm and she feels so good. They press to hers – lingering, seeking admittance – a silent attestation for more.

He feels her go rigid against him in the eons between seconds but it doesn’t last; shock and surprise affects even the most wanting, jarring the senses into inaction before an explosion of momentum. Ellie opens like the blooming fields of Jackson during Spring, her hands twisting harder into his jacket as she kisses him. She clings to Joel as though it were the first time again after years and miles and worlds spent apart.

And maybe it's a testament to the provenance of their desire; after years fighting to remain separate, starvation has led to magnanimous hunger – raw, untapped need. But the sun of their initial eclipse is already beyond the shadows now.

A sound of desperation seeps from the girl – was it a moan? a groan? – and Joel is feeble to stave a shiver rippling from tip to toe; they’re so close, so inseparably close. Her air mixes with his and it's as though her heat is mimicking the high summer star; only he is privy to such warmth in the season of unending cold.

Joel wraps a hand to the base of her head and silently pleads for more, more of Ellie, more of the tangible. This vigor for her, for what they’re sharing, ignites in the hollow of his belly; a forest fire rages, its embers catching and consuming the unreachable winter within.

The longer their movements carry on, the faster his heart beats like a wild thing of nature; every fevering thump-thump-thump-thump pounds with the pace of racing hooves. He runs with them, ignorant to their panic and instead, throws himself to the inferno wholeheartedly. Joel welcomes these unrepentant actions because he knows now.

Knows he does crave her – that what he’s feeling these past few days is not a farce but rather something undeniably real. The want, the longing, the physical aspect – all of it. Real. He won't turn away from this revelation, no. Instead, Joel acknowledges evidence that is wholly present and irrefutable: His body answers in ways both frightening and alluring as he chases the euphoria named Ellie Williams.

And so he tastes her, revels in this river of sensation and nothing beyond that.

He gives in.

The girl’s tongue slides with his in a languid, exploratory style. She's enjoying this, he knows that much at least – hopes she knows he is, too. He allows the deluge of their togetherness, so long as she continues to allow for it. Right now there is no thought to consequence nor a shred of inner reprimand – all protestations have been laid to rest. In that vacancy, Joel eagerly seeks the softness and the slick of her, the fullness of her kissed-red lips and her desperate plight as she sucks wisps of air in between.

But as she makes that same keening noise for a second time, this sigh-moan, Ellie’s head abruptly juts away. He holds her green eyes in his and discovers an expression so infinite that it halts the mechanics of their bodies between breaths. He’s never glimpsed a look like that before. Not from anyone.

“Joel?”

His expression wilts as Joel's physical self vents every unsaid emotion he never intended on sharing; he leaks like a pierced balloon struck at peak volume, his resolve failing as silence stretches on. His arms lose their purchase as well, hands woeful and empty in her wake.

’Fuck. I–I shouldn’ta done that. Shit.’

“Ellie, I–”

She doesn’t let his sentiment persist, instead she eases onto her knees and unfastens the metallic teeth of his damp Carhart. She pinches the zipper and pulls it faster than the pace of their kiss but slower to emphasize a blatant resolve – or to work up the courage to continue what she’s doing. Ellie’s not sure which is which in this case.

He looks at those petite hands as they reach the end of the line, anxiously notes how her fingers dither by his belt buckle and the only other zipper left intact. He swallows and taps the pads of two fingers to her chin, redirecting her attention to the surface than anywhere down below.

’This is goin’ too far. Stop this. I jus’...needed her to know. I needed her to understand.’

“I think maybe–”

She cuts him off again, almost toppling the big man onto his spine as she links to him with renewed urgency. He’s never experienced this prior to now, not with any other woman at any point in his life. Not even with Tess after that night on the docks when everything went to hell and he thought he’d lost her to Lee and his pack of mad-men. God only knows what would have become of her had they gotten their hands on her. But that unique experience – how they collided into each other once they found their way back to the safe-house was the closest thing to passion he’s ever known.

But this unfathomable moment – here in a palace surrounded by ice with Ellie – runs laps on that memory and then some.

It scares him.

She grabs his jaw with one hand as the other wanders into the long, chilled mess of his hair; she delights in how thick and full it is, at how much of it she can pull and hold onto, how it draws sounds from him she’s never heard. Sounds she never knew he could make.

Joel emits these rumbling, tantalizing exhalations that rattle Ellie's foundation; each vibration elicits an ache to the very fibers of her celestial being – an ache that feels foreign and familiar just the same. It’s the spark, this new wondrous thing, lighting up an instinctual desire within. A hidden facet to the remnants of humanity, yes, but this now includes Ellie, too. Everything intertwines with where she’s come from and what she hopes to create, what she prays to possess in all those secret hideaways that have been so stark and disconsolate. It's a long time coming.

Joel lets slip another exposing noise as her nails scrape his scalp with just enough pressure to share the wanton ache she’s burdened with. She murmurs as she tugs and kisses on him – to his temple, his ear, even chances a bite to his jawline – anything to earn those pleasurable sounds. Ellie drifts through the illusion as she touches and kneads these distinct beautiful nuances of his.

It’s not nearly enough.

She moves onto his lap and makes a mental notation of every reactionary detail he responds with.

Ellie places her legs astride his waist with room enough to change her mind, should she want such a thing to occur.

There's an instinct to this act, to all of these acts, and her senses sing that this is where she belongs.

For a brief moment though, she severs her lips to look south at him and grins mischievously. She lazily traces those peaks and valleys of his beard, his graying eyebrows and semi-droopy ears. Charts his textures to memorize as much as she can; something inside speaks to the impermanence of this union, something not necessarily sinister but shrouding its light just the same.

Ellie fights it by leaning in, nipping at the corner is his bottom lip and sucking a spell. She runs her tongue along its edge, stopping before the broken skin, as her hands meander in tandem. Hands that have since journeyed from his hair to inside the canvas jacket, ready to stake their claim on the buttons of his flannel. She knows they need to free themselves of their snow-soaked clothing, knows they’ve been needing to do this since they first entered the chalet, but...that would have broken protocol.

’Technically this isn’t protocol either. But he’s not stopping...whatever it is I’m doing to him. Please don’t stop this, Joel.’

As she clouds his every sense with how supernaturally natural it all seems, Joel descends into another realm, an altered state of being. In this elation, there comes the betrayal of another low groan; it’s the rolling and rumbling type, sounding more like a growl from somewhere deep as he sinks lower and lower still.

It’s at this precise moment when Joel is unable to recall if his hypothetical vehicle has working brakes or not. Probably. Likely not. Maybe?

’You should...stop…goddammit. She’s too upset to know bett–’

Ellie pulls a mess of darkgray again and his willpower vanishes.

It’s been...years since Joel relinquished himself to the pleasures of a woman and the physical tethers that result from such primal behavior. He’s lived on his own for so damn long that it's a struggle for him to partition what is right versus what he wants. He finds most of his previous desires have been forgotten amidst the emptiness of his heart and the loneliness of his nights.

But in the chaos within his chest and the lightning in his veins beneath tacky, thin denim, Joel realizes all the world is here in his arms. The world is petite and lithe but strong, so incomparably strong; a girl – a woman – as wild as a wolf and as untamable as the sea.

Both hands glissade to the flanks of her thighs as he grips and pulls her in, an effective expulsion targeting the last remnants of space between. It also ensures that she can feel all of him. He bites at this, too, lick-kissing the girl in needful, albeit subtle ways; he runs his tongue along with hers, continuing the melodic dance known only to them.

She whimpers – a conclusive throaty sound this time – and it lends more to the depth of Ellie's truth: She wants it, yes, but she wants it as much as he wants it, no matter how impossible it may appear on the outside looking in. But as this vibration booms through and into him, Joel drops farther beneath the light refracting above his head – all inhibitions sunk to an unseeable ocean floor far from where they currently exist.

He kisses Ellie with every effort he's able to give in their fervent, frenzied joining; an imbued endeavor, as though the air in their lungs will stymie the darkness she's suffered through all week. A darkness ushering them safely away from a precipice while thrusting Joel and Ellie into an unmapped universe altogether.

Ellie’s movements are a mess of haste and inexperience; she doesn’t know what she wants to touch, what she needs to feel first, only that she has to keep pushing these boundaries with him.

’With Joel Fucking Miller.’

She smiles at this inner musing, her eyes closing the world away; Ellie descends into an imagination of his heart and hers as a still-life with one another, the amalgamation hung behind impenetrable glass like a priceless work of art. She builds a museum in her mind, studying this brand new artwork to find its nuance and vulnerability. Discovering its beauty.

The frame that protects their sculpture is painted in a vibrancy of color she cannot truly comprehend; they're a union set to a spectrum so vast that its wavelengths are much too extensive to absorb and honor with just a solitary visit. Ellie will need seconds.

Of all the ruins she’s walked through and all the wonders of a planet gone straight to hell, this place is by far the most beguiling.

’Look at us, Joel, look at how far we’ve come. Show me how far we can go...’

Ellie whispers his name as he tastes the chilled skin by her collarbone; her pulse hammers a rabbits-pace and he nearly breaks the zipper on his jeans in response. That sound, his name on her lips spoken in such a manner – he knows it’s nothing shy of a miracle.

“Mmmm…” Her arms loop around his neck, hands cradling that which she’s seen obliterated time and time again these past few nights. It keeps her fervor at bay and allows her to be present with him, to understand the truth that he’s never left her. It keeps her apart from the basement, away from the horror and a tragedy that may steal him at any moment.

’No, it’s just you and me, like our song. No one is taking you away from me.’

She feels his strength surge as he tightens his hold on her hips, feels him move her like waves cresting in rhythmic patterns, one roll after the next. Only this time, he's going far slower and with practiced purposeful now.

“More…” she drives, the girl’s voice lower than it’s ever gone.

He gives her more.

Joel traverses from her waist to her rear, palming each side of her with firm, needful grasps. His hands are almost too big for how small she is, and when he finally thinks about how it feels to have her this way – before the shame sets in like a poison, before he makes a mess of it all – he will remember how perfect she is for him. How every bit of this woman feels as if she were made for him – just as every bit of him was made for her.

But he’s not thinking of that yet, that will come later. Instead he squeezes her flesh and pivots her center onto him again and again. He presses himself up to meet her as he does this, rocking Ellie against his hard outline as she grinds on him and mewls for something beyond this. Something to fill the boiling ache between her thighs.

He kneads the tight muscle of her backside and wants so much to have every part of her – wants to submit to the seduction calling for them like sirens upon a strange seas.

He craves this friction in a way he’s not craved it before; yearning to be inside of her, to be in that sacred space and feel the heat of her furnace burn him without hesitation. Her head eventually drops to the rear as they go harder on each other, those blushed-lips parting as Ellie comes undone by the man moving beneath her. She never wants this to stop. Never wants to return to Jackson or leave this new universe she’s found in his embrace.

“Joel…”

At the whining desire so laden and overwhelming to her tone, Joel joins her in this parallel place of unreality where all tension and control rises to its peak; the man releases a hand and brings it down onto her with a light smack and a feral grip to match. She yelps and hisses as she sets her forehead to his, “Oh God...fuck, Joel.”

Joel growls and their lips collide, all teeth and heavy breathing with an generous echo of wet at first; they’re tasting, sucking and nipping at one another with reckless abandon. He angles her onto him with precision, knows the sensitive area he strikes despite her jeans, knows what it’s doing to her by the rousingly rich sounds she’s squeaking out.

He focuses on an image constructing in his mind – of them going further and how he wants to see what it is he hits one gyration after the next. He damn near gasps at the mere idea of this but then finds the girl roaming freely over his upper body – seeking what’s hidden from her. What she knows is there after so many nights beside him.

It’s when those small limbs slide under his arms and her nails return – this time dragging across the corded muscle of his back – that Joel believes he might have found himself in real trouble this time. That any sense of discipline or experience will ultimately amount to not a single goddammed thing. Not with Ellie.

He lets her explore as he does just the same; Ellie intertwines her hands with his hair before anchoring onto his shoulders to ease her trembling and ground her body in a different way to him; they don’t stay there long. After a tick or two, she rides south of his midsection, separating a row of buttons along the way.

She moves lower and lower and lower.

“Ellie…”

“Yes. Please...”

“We–”

A blast of muted energy steals his focus in one fell, bombastic swoop: A bird struck one of chalet's tryptic windows and it startles Joel directly back into the present. The Chalet, the storm, the horde, Balboa’s death – everything crowds to the forefront in a fitful pictorial of their recent events. This, of course, leeches all traces of desire and lust almost instantaneously. For the moment anyway.

Peering around militantly, Joel twists to check the windows and spots the dying creature laying atop an ever persistent snow; the sorry creature is twitching as its nervous system slowly ceases its duties, one final sputter, a gasp of air and then stillness. After its death, Joel moves on to the door by his left, the only space he’s not checked thoroughly yet – an exposed entrance that could have cost them dearly – before he turns his gaze to her.

Ellie’s hands are halfway on his throat and halfway on his jawline as she tries to return his ardor; she’s not been properly thieved from their moment and though she can’t place the beginning of their quasi-tryst, she knows she doesn’t want it to end so soon. Not on account of a bird's mistake that is of no consequence to her.

Joel levels his breaths but shifts his palms to index much safer territory – her ribs. He doesn’t want to stop, not really, but the questionable nature of what he’s already done with her is beginning to slither into his psyche. It comes on like the hiss of a reptile as it leaps towards his ankles, its fangs piercing holes into the soft flesh there; the venom reaches his brain in a second or so and Joel comes to a realization: He’s going to fuck up again.

But he won’t share this with her.

Another toxic dose surges through his blood as the distaste for omission – omission being the lesser of two evils – pours into Joel. It weakens him, the idea of withholding anything from her anymore, and this sits in his gut like a burdensome weight dragging him down.

“Baby, I...we should sto–. We need’a get outta these damp clothes 'fore we catch a chill.”

She hears his stuttering but chooses to pretend it away, to pretend he’s not done with her or worse, hosing the fire that sears her apart as if she were made of match paper. Ellie offers herself willingly as she tilts forward and traces the rails of his bearded jawline with the tips of her fingers.

Her mouth opens slightly and she levels her height with his before, “I want this.”

Joel swallows and closes his eyes, pressings his forehead to hers while securing both arms to her middle – an embrace to restore just enough courage to keep going on this one-way heading. For her, for him, neither knows for certain.

She moves and pushes her lips to an ear – the one with the scar she loves to paw at as she’s falling asleep; she drifts within the safety of those ferrous arms that are fit to protect her always but has unique quirks that complete the experience as well. Ellie kisses the fine mark on his lobe before her teeth pull at it and bring the malleable flesh into her mouth. She's reacting to her arousal in ways she’s never done before – with anyone – and it feels more right than she could have ever imagined.

Joel doesn't stop her, nor does he open his eyes and encourage her. He just sits, holds on and feels.

The venom is pulled from him with every bit of her suction and he longs with great ferity to give her what she wants, what he wants.

But.

He senses the exact moment her intentions deepen; she moves south on his throat, tasting and breathing him in, hands wandering just as they were prior to their avian disruption. She shifts lower, all confidence and bravado on full display, and runs her teeth to the pronounced collarbone there, her fingers prying the v of his long-sleeve shirts part-way open.

’Fucken...Christ alive, you feel so good, sweetheart.’

She murmurs something as she reveals more of his skin, repeating the rolling-rocking motion with her hips just as he showed her how, angling down onto him a measure harder each time.

Joel’s palms glide across her, pulling her in again of their own accord; he cradles that beautiful face of hers and quietly begs for more, hoping that if he makes a go for it, she will give it all in return.

But he hears a warning – somewhere in the recesses of a mind that’s spent far too much time away from this girl – he knows this needs to stop. For now, for the night. For...ever, maybe.

“Ellie.”

”Joel.”

“Mmmph, g’ddamn. C’mere, girl.” Whatever remains in the tank of his steely resolve and uncompromising self-control, the man now bleeds dry. He grabs and stills her waist and leans away, breaking her contact almost entirely. He’s still achingly hard, his balls tight and insides aflame but this – capitalizing on her fright and fear – is not the way it should be. Not the way things should begin, should this really be their beginning.

Ellie deflates in his lap, visibly and viscerally. She knows the sorcery that brought them together has been cast aside in favor of caution and...something else. Something unreadable she doesn't have a name for but bears the acrid, familiar scent of fear. Her chest sinks as her emeralds cloud over, crestfallen; her features are a frown short of despondent and Joel finds himself submerging alongside her.

“Hey, look’a me,” he says, tipping her chin to raise a pair of melancholic mossy-greens to meet, “This ain't 'cause I don't want you. I do b-but we gotta get clear of these soaked dressin's. I can see an' feel you’re freezin’. So listen, we'll scrounge up some clothes an' get’a fire goin’. I'll make us some dinner, too. How’s that sound?”

He sees his girl bounce in a jerky acknowledgment but the room is blanketed by a mutation of this new quiet. It’s bound to become a heavy stillness, a consuming soundlessness, should he allow for it.

To stem the vacancy, Joel tries to gain insight into her emotions, to gauge how far he’s set them off course in a matter of seconds; to find how much distance she’s preparing to place between him and her; this is all new for both but especially her. At least, he thinks as such, despite being almost completely unsure as to her experience and history. He only knows of his own and theirs from right now.

He redirects, praying to anything that may listen to fix a modicum of what could be breaking right before his eyes. He can’t do this to her. Not like this.

“Listen, we gotta sweep that. Got my six?” Joel arches an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder at the aforementioned room, then back to study the girl. Waits. Gives her time.

She swallows, runs through the wily collective of her cooling red and pulls on her bottom lip a beat. All while avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah. Sure.”

She rises after and massages a knot in the base of her neck before coming face to face with a black void: The staircase. It glares at her like a vile demon crouching in the shadows, watching and waiting for her to return to the nightmare. She shivers and forces the entity from her thoughts, but the sickly-white ivy and an infinity awaits; Ellie knows she’ll have to trek the ghostly corridor when it’s time but not a moment sooner.

She turns and finds Joel motionless, eyes brimming with that same something as they bore holes into her bones. She wants to understand and process all that’s gone on this entire week – from the terrors of their nights to the Mandate and now...this. With him.

“Right. Let’s get this over with. I’m cold and these clothes are becoming a part of me.”

With the lodge verifiably free of Infected, Hunters and any stragglers that may or may not have found themselves in such a grandiose place, Joel and Ellie start their search for dry dressings. Fresh clothes that aren’t moth eaten or insect ridden are incredibly difficult to come by, especially within hidden gems such as the Baldwin Mansion. But there’s enough in each of the accessible rooms to properly cover and, hopefully, keep them warm for the night. Blankets, too.

The house now fully secure, Ellie seizes an opportunity to insert distance between her and Joel. It’s not time yet to pour through every event, but she recognizes a high chance of wrecking the last vestiges of her heart, should she dare to speak anything of substance. Which is all that’s on her mind at present.

It won’t bode well to boil over.

“Gonna go to the bathroom...or whatever, and get out of these rags. Starting to chafe in all the wrong areas.” The girl doesn’t allow for a reply as she takes to the stairway, gaze set on the level above and a respite she’s desperately seeking.

“Alright. I’ll...do the same an’ get some food goin’. Fire, too.”

Silence is the only thing that greets in her wake.

They’re intentionally self-isolating – her upstairs, him downstairs – and in this division that’s evolving like a widening canyon, Joel swallows a great bout of unease; the house is suddenly too big and too small, and his heart is beating too fast and too slow. The impact of what he’s done – or might have done – in this forgotten palace amongst the din of a shattered world loops like a video of shame.

But he’s unsure if the shame is from giving in – to help the girl at first – or if it was removing himself when the physical acts culminated to a level he believed was...unacceptable. He never takes advantage of a woman in this kind of situation, regardless of circumstance or however willing a participant may be. Well, doesn't anymore, rather.

Joel grimaces, pats his belly and inhales as deeply as his lungs permit. Today’s been an exhausting day; his bones ache, his balls are sore, his clothes are uncomfortably damp and he’s hungry as all hell. He makes the conscious decision to stow his emotional rhetoric for the time being and lead with the analytical side of his brain instead.

Walking to the fireplace – a grand sight of finely crafted oak – he kneels to the hearth and tosses a few logs into its belly. He’s thankful to whomever was recently here for the inventory of chopped wood and has a mind to dedicate a toast to them one day. Small victories.

Joel swings his backpack to the front and it hits him then: Through all of their transgressions in the basement, they each were armed to the teeth. He laughs at the irony and retrieves his lighter from the bag's abyss, triggers its ignition and sets the splintered kindling ablaze. He tosses it in, uses the poker to shift it this way and that for a minute or so, losing time to the crackling pops and floats of orange embers. It’ll be warm enough to sleep in the living room tonight but he’ll need to tend to it and ensure it keeps.

He scans the expansive room and inventories what they’ll need when it is time to rest but for now, Joel ruminates that this might be one of the most comfortable places they’ve ever marooned. And he and Ellie have certainly seen the worst of the worst along the way. Rabid rodents hell bent on their blood, rotten and fetid organic matter he’s happy never to think of again and all the other elemental discomforts to match. But this is a...palisade worth appreciating. Worth returning to one day down the line.

Joel rises, puts the flame in his rear view and assesses the leather couch: It’s intact, minus a few dry-rotted splits from years of sitting in and out of direct sunshine. He wonders if the cushions are amply pliable to use as bedding and goes to check as such; they’re firm from the temperate contracting and icy conditions in this space, but not so far gone that he can’t make them work.

After, he catches sight of what he needs at the opposite end of the sofa and nods to no one; it’s time and the farther on he goes without shedding his damp clothes, the more he runs the risk of sickness.

The man sorts through a meager pile of garments collected from various bureau searches; he settles on a dark wool sweater that’s mostly in good shape along with a pair of thick red sweatpants. They’re dingy and the color is noticeably faded, but they’re in his size range and dry. He sniffs the fabric and shrugs – the scent isn’t all that bad, just musty with a distinct odor of...time. It’s clear they’ve been abandoned for years, lost to the days and nights, forgotten by all else save for the lonely cries of savage wolves at the door.

Joel groans as he sits on the couch, groans as he leans forward to unlace his boots one at a time. The cold is hell on his joints, his muscles stiff and acuity more than ready for the day to come to a close. But he knows that’s a ways off yet. He groans dejectedly.

Methodically, he undresses, mind purposely full of nothing but the task at hand.

He pushes his scarred and blood-splattered footwear to the side and removes his socks next. He’s happy to know that there are a few clean pairs in his pack, fortunately for him; he didn’t prepare for an entire overnight stay but he’s avid in his tactics of avoiding trench foot or frostbite whenever possible.

The jacket is next to go, his flannel after that, but luckily, Ellie’s already undid the majority of his buttons and makes this menial chore all the easier.

’Ellie.’

The nothingness fades as Joel thinks of those slight hands on him and how desperate and wanting the girl was – just as he had been.

’No. Focus, you ol’ asshole.’

He knows there will be time to consider what's happened here – so far at least – as well as the past few days, but for right now, Joel forces away the temptation of her. He tramples those predilections as far south as they can go without removing them entirely – for he doesn’t want that either.

The price on this level of indecision would be shocking, he had the wherewithal to acutely sort through it at present.

Which, he doesn’t.

The last top layer, a ribbed undershirt, comes over his head and he shivers from the early evening chill, in spite of the roaring furnace at the hearth. His chest hair is matted and flat, his skin cool and far too pale. He rubs there a moment, using friction from his palms to instill a warmth similar to the kind her touches had offered him.

At the thought of the woman – again – he rattles and immediately stems the attention he’s paying himself. It won’t do Joel any favors to linger and fantasize about that which he no longer has. Least in this moment.

’In any moments, ya shit.’

His belt buckle, jeans and boxers are the last adorning pieces and as he looks down, he falters a tick; did Ellie really get so far as to slide the loose end free of its metallic clasp? He sees the evidence plain as day but he can’t rectify how far things went in such a short amount of time. Like a collision of connection, each drove the other farther down that winding path of passion – but even knowing that, he still feels himself taken aback by the image.

...Of his belt part way undone.

Joel wonders what she might have done to him had she succeeded in her endeavors – wonders how it would feel to have her touch him that way.

’Stop. It.’

Grumbling, he sloughs the rest of his clothing and kneels by his pack, naked as the day he was born. His balls are still tight to his body – the cold doesn't help this one bit – and an ache is starting to buckle the trust he has with his infallible control. He’s contemplating relief – of taking care of this discomfort in a quick and hasty manner but knows, again, it is simply not the time for that.

He groans...again.

Still, the man didn’t intentionally lay himself bare – he’s too cold to knowingly do that and he also doesn’t know when Ellie might take the steps two at a time to find him like this. No, it’s that he can’t seem to locate the reserve boxers he definitely stowed and while it’s not altogether upsetting, it will make it...more difficult to hide things, should–’No, ain’t none’a that happenin’ no more.’

He silently berates and slings cruelties full of despicable connotations at himself but he knows, Joel knows he doesn’t mean a single syllable of it. It’s empty calories of the conscience and his morality suffers as a direct result.

But what he doesn’t understand is...why. Why he wants but why he’s trying to trick himself into thinking that he doesn’t want. He has an idea but not a full resolution and that above all else prickles like the tiny thorns of a shelf cactus. It doesn’t hurt but it doesn’t feel all that good either.

’You’re in trouble. This is a troublesome situation.’

Resigning that he somehow did not bring an additional pair of underwear along, Joel unfolds the clean socks and slips them on in short order. Then the red sweats – they catch on his hair at first, what with how immovably stiff they still are – but he pats and irons his hands to them, working the fabric into a passable state of comfort.

“Hey.”

Joel spins, still only half-dressed but adding wide-eyes to his wardrobe now. He finds Ellie at the base of the stairs looking on curiously; her eyebrows are arching but there’s a smirk to her lips that confirms she was almost certainly sneaking a peek. He pointedly ignores that for the time being.

She’s wearing a pair of light blue overalls that are much too big for her frame and an ostentatious Christmas sweater featuring Santa front and center. That classic wink on the big man’s red face is leering at Joel and judging him all the while. He’s apparently seen something of his body, too.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear ya.”

“I know.” She shrugs at that as she hops off the last step and walks towards the fire.

“It’s nice and cozy in here already.”

Joel notes the shift in her attitude but can’t deduce if it’s a positive or a negative, not yet anyway. She was stony and downtrodden the last they interacted and that was only a half hour or so ago. Could there be that much of a change in such a minuscule length of time? What might have happened in the bedroom to result in a shift like this?

He supposes anything is possible, remembering that affair in the basement and how it went from zero to one hundred in less than five seconds flat.

“Mmhm. Needed it. We oughtta keep close to this part of the house for the night. Gonna start dinner. Roast beef ground hash an’ those peaches you found. Whaddya think?”

She watches Joel pull the sweater over his torso and paw at it once the clothing is fitted as well as can be; it’s not his size and is running a little high at the waist but it’ll do the job.

“Sounds good. Want help?”

“So you’re telling me that not only were ice cream trucks driving around in the summertime blaring creepy music, but that there was direct-to-your-door food delivery...for most times of the day? Jesus fuck, I’m jealous. Man, having my food caught, cooked and put right in my hand without doing fuckall for it? Ugh. You suck.”

Joel licks his spoon and smiles as he finishes the last of his favorite side dish. The hash wasn’t all that bad but the peaches were what he was really looking forward to.

“Mmhm, all kinds’a food, too. Pizza, wings, Chinese, BBQ...you name it.”

Ellie scrunches her nose and grits her teeth in a mock growl, “You guys had it so good.” She sighs before, “Okay. If you could have one of those magic food vans deliver any delicacy in the world to you right now, what would you choose?”

Joel clears his throat and presses his back to the couch; he runs both of his hands through a mess of puffy, unkempt hair and pulls at it as he indulges her whimsical game.

Ellie’s breath hitches.

’No. I said I wasn't gonna think about him like that until we’re home. Not until I can make heads or tails of this craziness.’

“Um…” Joel pauses for a second time and then closes his eyes, “Oh, I got it. Franklin Barbecue brisket. Was this great place in Austin. Me an’ Tommy used to go damn near every weekend when they opened a few years before the Outbreak. Best damn pits you could buy, too. Never could afford one but I reckoned when I was old, like I am now, maybe I’d treat Sarah an’ me.”

He touches his watch face and Ellie’s brow falls, “I didn’t mean for...ya know.”

Joel sucks his sore lip and bobs his head once, twice, “No, no. ‘S’alright. Anyway, s’what I’d order. Damn, could I go for that brisket right now.”

He rubs his tummy, exhales a laugh and Ellie feels the sensitive tension spill away, falling off the edge of a cliff they rode by but didn’t stop at. He’s better at that these days. Better at managing a lot with certain emotions.

“That sounds delicious. I’ve never had brisket. Maybe you and Tommy could build a...pit, whatever that is, and you can cook it for me. Ya know, being the Master Chef that you are and all.”

Joel nods, relaxes a bit more as he lays his hands in his lap, “Maybe. What ‘bout you? What’d you want?”

The girl puckers her lips and blows through them, the gesture fully animated and silly with no hint of an answer to his question yet. She scratches her scalp and shrugs her shoulders before finally, “How the hell should I know? Actually no. I just want chocolate. Chocolate is godly. Was there a chocolate delivery service?”

“I’m certain there was. Just can’t recall off the top’a my head.”

After, Joel rises to a symphony of popping bones and walks their plates and spent utensils out to the kitchen counter. He’ll clean them tomorrow before they leave, or before he hopes they can leave.

“Well that’s what I want. A bucket of chocolate chips and Harry’s Kisses.”

Joel tilts at that and looks back to her in utter confusion, hoping to locate a clue as to what in the world she’s talking about.

“H–Harry’s...Kisses?”

“Yeah, ya know. Those cute foil-wrapped drops of solid chocolate? I’ve never eaten one but they look delightful as fuck.”

Joel bends at the middle in a fit of laughter and actually slaps a thigh as he returns to his spot nearer to her. Through the din of his mounting glee though, he sees the pink flush of embarrassment seep into her pale cheeks and knows it’s time to put her out of her misery.

He curls a fist and places it to his cheek, leans and looks at her, ”Hershey’s Kisses?”

A wash of complete dumbfoundedness marches across Ellie’s features before it hits her, “Ohhh. Yeah, those.”

She laughs along with him before throwing a dirty sock at his misfit of a sweater – it’s dry from sitting in front of the fireplace during dinner but the heat did no favors for its unpleasant smell.

“Making fun of me! How was I supposed to know exactly what they were called, you fucker.”

He laughs harder at that and lobs the filthy garment back at her.

She catches and returns it to the floor, but first wipes away the residual condensation that was gathering beneath it. She likes that she knows all his tips.

’Speaking of tips…’

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw your boxers at you.”

“Mmhm, lucky you, more like. Anyway, reckon we should get some sleep. Sun’ll be up later than I’d like but I could use the extra hours, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Actually, I was wondering if we could...talk? Just for a little while, then you can catch all the z’s your alphabet heart desires.”

A lead weight drops in Joel’s gut and he gulps; he comes close to clutching his abdomen in an effort to purge the pocket of nerves gathering there all of a sudden.

“Alright then. What’s on your mind?”

The girl eases closer to him, crossing her legs and leaning her elbows onto the soft hollow spaces by her knees. She picks at her nails and worries her bottom lip before, “Why did you stop, downstairs? I know...I mean I don’t really know too much of what the hell I was doing but I thought it felt good. Really good actually. Di-did I do something wrong?”

He leans forward and scoots to her, grabs the side of her arms and rubs his thumbs affectionately; the sweater is so soft, somehow, and thick, she’ll keep warm through to the morning even when the fire runs low.

All this mental sidestepping is meant to spare himself time to gauge what it is he should say here.

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t do a thing wrong. It felt amazin’, you felt amazin’. But Ellie, you were outta sorts an’ panickin’ an’ I was an asshole for takin’ advantage of that. It wasn’t my intention, I promise. I just wanted...I needed to calm you down an’ after a week of us bein’ so close, it...it felt like the way of things. I shouldn’ta done that.”

She pulls away a measure, retaking her limbs as she works to discern the unwritten novel inside those hazel eyes...and to go beyond the typical surface tension that’s always there. He’s guarding himself, she knows that for certain. But from what remains frustratingly cloudy and questionable still.

“Okay. So...you regret it?”

He looks up to the ceiling and drifts; Ellie fixates on his Adam’s apple and stares at the rise and fall of it as he wars with himself. Her insides mirror his own, only he can’t glimpse as much and isn’t looking at her; now that she’s considering it, he’s hardly made any eye contact since before they did that...stuff in the cursed cellar. Well, not his usual amount in any case.

“I...just maybe it wasn’t right. What this week’s dealt s’been a lot. The nightmare, the Mandate, and the horde. Now we’re stuck here, down a horse, an’ this is, if I’m readin’ it correct, the exact place that's hauntin’ ya. Ellie, I’ve seen ya scared. I ain’t never seen that before. I didn’t know what else to do.”

She swallows a burning swell of bile and steadies her voice as best she’s able, “So yes. You regret it.”

He reaches for her but she jumps up and stalks towards the sofa, all clenching fists and rigid muscles now.

She makes a clicking noise and unleashes, “Ya know what, no. You don’t regret it at all, do you? You enjoyed it, Joel. You wanted me and I felt that – how could I not have felt that? But you’re cowering 'cause you’re scared. And blaming it on what? That somehow you took advantage of me? Sure, let’s say that’s true for a second. That maybe I’m screwed in the head after watching you die night after night in that fucking hole in the ground and maybe I’ll wake up one day and see I’m laying next to you and wonder how the fuck I got there. Or maybe, just maybe, after two years apart from you, the universe saw fit to remind me of what I’d thrown away. But now things are different. I’m not that little girl that needs your protection anymore, am I, Joel? But then again I guess it's not all that different though, is it? Because you’re still that old man making decisions on my behalf. Or maybe I read it all wrong because how would I know anything for sure? Right? Is that what you’re saying?”

The girl stops pacing and plants a palm to each of her hips as she tries to steady her fervor and gain control of the emotional turmoil firing in her every synapse. She’s so angry, so ferociously mad at this man but she knows it’s beyond mere rage this time. He’s rejecting her...turning her away, again, just like he partially did in his house last night after the Mandate meeting. Only this is far worse. There’s more on the line now than there’s ever been. More because of his choice to kiss her. No matter the reasoning.

“Ellie–”

“I think you’re right, Joel. We should get some sleep.”

He stands in front of her, his nerves vibrating by the aftermath of her visceral, targeted diatribe. It's clear she’s been holding onto most of that for a long, long time. But it pisses him off, too.

“No. I don’t need another two g’ddamn years to pass before you come knockin’ on the door in the middle of the night. I ain’t decidin’ nothin’ for you. I just think if there’s to be a right time for...this, it ain’t right now. It ain’t while you’re practically breakin’ down in front’a me every night. When have you ever needed me the way you have these last few days, Ellie? An’ what kinda man would I be to try an’ help you while helpin’ myself to...whatever coulda happened?”

Joel’s pointing to the kitchen and the cellar door in tandem, his chest rising and plummeting in an arrhythmic show of discontent and disbelief. He can’t have her leave his life but he won’t acquiesce either. This is not the time; she’s not okay from the deluge of nightly fear and with a new Mandate looming and intense choices yet to be made, the last thing he will do is apply pressure to a deeply-set wound.

The fingers on each hand fidget with one another atop her belly as she prepares herself for what’s to come. It’s a nervous tick she takes to whenever there’s uncertainty on her horizon.

“Joel, do you regret kissing me, or not?”

His eyes languish to the wooden floor as a once great and luminescent fire burns into fine particles of ash. He’s withering, teetering on a high-wire of what’s right and what he wants – of offering the girl his truth or ceasing all of this with another lie. Another lie that will either end them when she inevitably moves on from Jackson or one she will believe but not take kindly to.

“Ellie, it’s not that simple. It’s not ‘bout regret or what I want, it’s ‘bout what’s right.”

“Just answer the question. Please, Joel. I have to know.”

He steps to her, she doesn’t move away this time.
He grabs her anxious hands and intertwines his fingers with hers.
Holds her a moment – holds onto the moment.
Partially lets go – tilts her chin north so their eyes meet.

“No. I don’t regret a single moment of you. But...it was a mistake. We can’t do this. Not right now, not with a...baby Mandate on the line. And I dunno when, an’ maybe when it’s right you’ll have moved on, an’ that’s...well, that’ll have to be okay, won’t it? An’ I’ll always be here, you know that. But...until things settle, until we talk of that fuckin’ Mandate, I won’t put you in a position you might not really want, Ellie. Don’t ask me to do that.”

Joel doesn’t mention his age or hers in all of this – it wouldn’t do either of them any good to spout irrefutable facts. Facts she’s clearly paid little to no mind towards this evening but ones he can’t seem to stop thinking of.

Her features soften but there are tears pooling in the corners of her beautifully sage eyes.

“Okay.”

She rises to her tippy toes and loops her arms around his neck; it’s not what she was hoping for – even though he is right: She has no idea what it is that she wants exactly. From him, from this most especially. Her body may already know, but that accounts for only a few threads of their nameless tapestry, not the entire tessellation itself.

Regardless, he didn’t lie to her and that’s a testament to their growth – a testament to all they’ve learned in the months and years spent so near but so far apart from one another.

Ellie embraces Joel wholeheartedly and hangs there a beat longer than his willpower is comfortable reasoning with. He feels his body reacting of its volition and Joel wants nothing more than to run full-tilt after the arousal but thankfully, she separates before that’s an option.

“Speaking of, we should really talk about that whole Mandate mess, huh?”

Joel chuffs as his arms drop from her and crash at his sides. He turns away and stealthily fixes himself in his sweatpants so he’s not embarrassingly obvious and takes a seat on the nearest couch cushion. He bends a leg just in case. As he rubs his weary eyes and coarse beard, he rolls his neck in a series of stretching exercises and thinks of how many twists and turns this day has led them through.

He hears the creaks, cracks and pops of his structure that betray his tiresome state.

’Too damn old.’

It’s now or later and he doesn’t think she can do anymore laters.

“Well, what’re your thoughts on it?”

Ellie occupies the open space next to him and pulls her legs into herself, hiding Santa’s cheerful judgement while shuttering the barriers of her unease simultaneously.

“My thoughts are I’m pissed Maria and Tommy didn’t say dickall to us. This is clearly a thing they’ve been planning for how long now? But I know you feel the same about that. I mean, you did punch him in the face not twenty-four hours ago.”

Joel leans and rests against the sun-split leather and nods, “That I did. He got me, too, lest we forget.”

He gestures to his burgeoning lip and rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance. Of all the wounds and physical atrocities he’s endured, this latest is of no consequence. It just is.

“Why’d you go after him like that?”

Joel juts his chin forward and raises his eyebrows, “You know why.”

“Because of me?” She unfurls and bends her legs beneath her backside. Sets an elbow onto the top of the sofa and looks at him, waiting for a response.

“Of course. I don’t like the idea of you bein’ forced to do anythin’ let alone...that. It ain’t right. Havin’ to bring a child into this world or choosin’ the roads again. An’ with your...immunity, well, it makes me concerned is all.”

Ellie offers a half-smile as she absorbs his words and chews on them a spell. Wonders if there’s more to it than that, wonders about himself in all this, too. So, she inquires.

“And you? This can’t be easy for you either, Joel.”

Scratching at a phantom itch on his worn red sweats, Joel tables a leg onto his other and, “Ya know, I don’t think I have an answer to that. It’s a...lot.”

Ellie gives that same side-smile but it’s remorseful on this go around; there’s no pity to her gaze but rather a knowing sort of sadness that’s permeating. Her heart extends and is sympathetic to him but she can never truly empathize. God forbid she ever has to. She shivers at the thought.

“Can I ask what side you’re leanin’ towards? It maybe ain’t for me to know but with everythin’ else goin’ on, I suppose askin’ ya might not cross too many lines.”

She laughs at his last and it feels good – they’re not full up on bitterness or acting callously towards one another and her anger is all but diminishing; Ellie’s trying to navigate these new seas as best she can so she relies on what remains in her arsenal: Humor. She resigns herself to take it minute by minute, hour by hour if need be, one diffusing bad joke at a time.

“Leanin’ on a prayer, mostly.”

He doesn’t see the humor in that, despite an expertly delivered Bon Jovi pun.

Ellie realizes that until she’s alone to process and write of this in her journal (which she desperately misses doing), she won’t understand the story of her heart just yet.

Flashes of Joel’s semi-rejection come to her suddenly and she remembers. Remembers how his arms were holding her apart and those bruising and busted lips called it all a mistake. How the time isn’t right, that the here and now is just not ideal. That he would be taking advantage of her. That she was too distraught and off her axis, essentially, to want him or want whatever it was they were angling towards.

Then there was the restlessness of every sleepless night once she learned of his truth about Salt Lake. Then the lies he told, over and over and over again, and the way he misled and abused her trust. The way he decided for her. How angry and betrayed she felt for so long.

Ellie takes in the sight of him with this wash of recent and vivid memories plaguing her, and notes the exact second every emotion inside of her spills overboard. They splash in a subversive show of necessity and self-awareness.

She has to do what needs to be done. Just like he did.

The girl hardens herself and makes the choice to sever the future days of heartache that loom like a dangling noose.

“I don’t want kids.”

The whites of his eyes shine for the briefest moment but it isn’t so quick that she misses the surprise there. It’s evident he didn’t expect her to say that. There’s something laden there as well, but it flees before she has the chance to hold onto it for another time.

“So, the road then?”

The girl affirms as much but turns away from him; she stares unblinkingly into the hearth and feels the cold burrow into the hollow of her bones, coveting and casting shadows on all the bleached bits quietly accosting her.

“Seems likely.”

Joel licks the distending bubble of broken flesh on his mouth and winces ever-so, thinks of Tommy and Maria and the Mandate and Ellie not wanting kids and the road that seems so far and endless ahead of him again. He knows now what he’ll do when the time comes to choose new life or probable death.

A pregnant silence swells in the space between them. He doesn’t know what to say and neither does she.

“Wanna get some shut eye, Mr. Claus?”

The girl snorts, caught off guard and appreciative of his successful attempt to lighten the mood. She picks at her Santa sweater and smiles, “Thinking of wearing this to the Christmas party next week. What do you think? Suits me or nah?”

Joel leans in and smiles, “If you don’t wear it then I will. Now, c’mon. I’m sore everywhere an’ dead on my feet.”

Ellie inhales, ignores his too soon of a quip regarding his life and sinks to the floor where a stockpile of blankets and pillows await. She settles onto her knees and unhooks the metal clasps on her overalls; she slides the jean one-piece down and tosses it towards the fire. Joel’s there currently stoking it while adding a few more logs to the count for good measure.

He doesn’t see her undress, doesn’t need to. He knows what she’s comfortable sleeping in, no matter the temperature. Reckons it’ll be agony and wonders if he can slip away at some point in the night to allow an ounce of relief. The chalet is large enough, after all.

“That should buy us a few hours at least. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“I can wake up and do the work, too, Joel. Let me. Just come over here and sleep, okay?”

’Fuck.’

They settle beside one another, face to face, fingers laying curled on the comforter beneath them. Neither is certain as to what protocol is now, so both are just there, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Ellie does and Joel’s instantly grateful for that.

“Just because you don’t wanna make out with me anymore doesn’t mean we don’t get to resume our battle positions come nightfall.”

He snorts but brings her into his woolen sweater and wraps his arm to her middle. She molds to him, their limbs intertwining; it keeps them together and that’s all either of them really want or require at this moment.

“Fair enough, Red. ‘Night.”

“You good to go?”

The girl applies ample pressure to his middle to signal that she’s ready to put this place in their rear-view. They’ve packed their belongings, plus a handful of new things, including that military-grade rucksack, his red sweats and Ellie’s Santa sweater. And the peaches, too, of course.

Joel asked her three damn times if she stowed his precious cargo, much to her chagrin.

Secretly she loves how much he loves the stuff. Anything that snags Joel Miller’s favor is to be given the utmost respect and honor – from him, that is. Even cans of peaches. Especially cans of peaches.

“You ready, Shimmer?” The horse neighs and clocks a hoof onto the cement – even she’s eager to get going.

Ellie feels a sting of guilt over how woeful Shimmer’s morning meal was. It was a mix of whatever they could manage, really – which wasn’t anywhere in range of the horse’s typical rations – but it should be enough to suffice. The ride to Jackson shouldn’t last more than three hours and the blizzard’s died down quite a bit in the night.

Joel tightens his hold on the reins and, “I hope the storm stays this weak, just like now. Until we get home.”

“Well, yeah but the tree lighting ceremony is tonight. I don’t wanna miss it on account of the same snowpocalypse that keeps circling back like a soapy bag of dicks.”

“Interestin’ visual. No bags of dicks, got it.”

The ride to Jackson is much calmer than yesterday.

They pass Balboa’s frozen corpse and the half dozen Infected that Joel came up against yesterday. All of the dead are partially obstructed by the snowfall but there's enough visible for a moment of sadness. Ellie squeezes his waist a measure then, but neither vocalize any pangs of despair that come with such a sight. Horse or not, the life of a reliable friend was taken and that emotional attachment is what separates the living from those parasitic abominations.

A thought comes to the girl then and she leverages her height and gets close to an ear, “Hey, what was that one round you fired off? Before Balboa, I mean. I heard a gunshot from your position up ahead.”

“Oh, I uh, was lettin’ you know where I was.” He wipes a gloved hand to his face and waits for what he knows is bound to come.

“But...wouldn’t that-That–that’s why they came out of the woods and attacked you and Boa. Damn, Joel. You gave away your position?”

He shrugs in nonchalance but she knows the grief he’s still experiencing over the loss of his steed. “C’mon. Ya know you’re more important.”

She lays a cheek to his backpack, slips her hands into his pockets and listens to the quiet of the world all around them.

They travel the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence, happy to be safe, happy to be going home together.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. We were worried outta our minds. Couldn’t rustle up a search party or go nowhere ‘cause’a that god awful snow. What happened? Where’s Balboa?”

Tommy and Maria are there in the stables, waiting as Joel and Ellie dismount and detach their gear and supply caches in a practiced, habitual pattern.

“One minute. Hey Sunny! Shimmer needs a whole lot of TLC today. And slip her an additional treat or two, yeah? She kicked all the ass yesterday and had barely enough food to keep her from killing and making meals of us two.”

Sunny, a spritely sixteen year old from Washington state who takes initiative better than anyone that age should, bobs their head eagerly and smiles wide.

“Sure thing, Ellie. On it!”

Joel pulls the straps on his shoulders, slings his rifle and his shotgun and reaches for the rucksack.

“We got run down by a horde. Made it to Baldwin an’ holed up. Found this there. We need to go through it an’ see who’s within pokin’ distance that might be usin’ somethin’ this high quality.”

Joel pushes the pack into Tommy’s chest and stares a moment. His eyes are hard and set – there’s no squaring off between these brothers, not yet anyway.

Tommy sniffs and clicks his tongue, “Glad y’all are alright. We’ll take this in, sort through it an’ let you know what we find.”

Joel nods and drops into the impenetrable silence he’s so famous for as he waits for Ellie to join him.

Maria leans against a wood post as she studies the tension between the siblings – and her and Joel, too – but doesn’t want this to continue for fear of it festering.

“Will you both be at the ceremony in a few hours or do you need to rest up?”

Ellie takes in a terse pull of air and then, “Mmhm. We’ll be there. Gotta decorate the house still for that contest that’s...on next Wednesday, right?”

Maria brightens at that and uncrosses her arms, “Yep. If you need help with anything, I...actually can’t help, never mind. Bias and all that. Oops.” Her arms go up in an animated goofy sort of way, but most of her family remain less than enthusiastic about it.

Case in point: Tommy laughs but he’s the only one. Ellie wants to laugh but can’t muster energy enough to do so. Be it out of exhaustion or general malaise. Joel just wants to leave.

So he does. And Ellie follows.

Once they make the short trek home – after running into a fervent-Dina and a relieved-Jesse – Ellie and Joel find themselves on a split pathway. It shouldn't feel like a massive ordeal, shouldn’t feel like anything at all, and yet it does. Like they’re abandoning this privacy bubble they’ve been sharing over the last day or so. It wasn’t all pleasant but it was just...them.

Like how it was before arriving in Wyoming, although the dynamic is starkly different now.

“So, I’ll see ya in a few hours for the thing in town?”

“The Christmas tree lighting, Joel. It’s a Tree Lighting. Get into the spirit or I’ll steal all your peaches.”

He chuckles, “I’d like to see you try that, girl.”

“One day. Just you wait. But yeah, I’ll come around four and we’ll go? I gotta shower and get out of these stiff clothes. The fireplace dried them but they stink like your filthy socks.”

“Funny. Sounds like a plan. See ya then.”

It’s 4:15pm, the sky as dark as though it's midnight; all of Jackson is huddling in the town square. There’s a wholesome buzz radiating throughout the townsfolk; they’re shoulder to shoulder to one another, combating the wind and keeping warm amidst the light flurries falling. Everyone is eager and the mood is electric as they surround a twenty-eight foot spruce that rises above them; it’s tall, full and waiting to be switched on for the holiday season.

Maria poses beside the grandiosity of the lush perennial and waves to her people, “Hello Jackson! It’s good to see everyone here despite the dang cold! I know we could all use a bit of cheer, too, and so when I say our team worked really hard and went above and beyond their normal call of duty this year, phew, just you wait and see. Special shout out to the gardening gang and the daycare center – your little kiddos crafted some beautiful ornaments that are surely to become traditional baubles going forward! But I won’t stammer on anymore...for now. Let’s light her up, shall we?”

A swell of joyful exhalations fill the air as Maria rallies her charge. She knows they need this after the Mandate announcement, knows she needs this after that complex meeting and the flash fight between her brother-in-law and her husband. Everyone needs more Christmas tidings than normal, or at least, this is what she keeps telling herself to boot and rally the vitality of this town.

The hush that descends upon everyone as they wait expectantly, almost reverently, is paramount. Joel and Ellie are together near the front, him at her rear with a hand pressing atop her shoulder to keep close proximity in the thicket of bodies all around them.

She’s bouncing on her heels and giddy – he’s long known how much this woman loves all things Christmas but it still delights him to watch her affection unfold in real time.

And then it happens.

A sizable red button is clicked and the spruce explodes into a kaleidoscope of color with glittery, shiny trinkets hung from tip to trunk. There is no branch left open, no gap left unfilled and all the faces that are looking on reflect the wonderment of just how gorgeously simple decorating a tree can be.

Joel directs his gaze south at Ellie and catches the shimmer of a thousand colors on the surface of her jade eyes. He feels his chest tighten and his heart start to race, feels an inclination to lean in and press his lips to hers. He won’t, he can’t. Not here, not now, maybe not ever again. That last pains him in ways he doesn’t want to bear, so much so that he pointedly refuses to acknowledge the truth that he’s thought of it twice now.

What he says to her and what he whispers to himself are two variables with the same name. His. To lose her would be to lose himself. But to lose her after knowing...what he knows now feels like a fate worse than death.

She bumps her rear end into him and, “It’s so beautiful, Joel!”

He smiles and steals himself before returning his line of sight towards the tree, towards Maria and her microphone. But his attention is divisively split and his heart is secretly elsewhere. Sure, the tree is pretty but it’s nothing compared to the girl against his chest. Nothing in range of the smile she's giving him, as though he were the object of her adoration.

He can’t keep his hazels from her for too long though. Or his sentiments to himself, apparently.

“That she is.”

Ellie’s lips part as she marks the double meaning to his words and he knows what’s about to happen. Knows he should pull away but she’s getting closer and closer still. He needs to stop this, no one can see, no one’s to know. There’s too much at stake.

“Hey Ellie!”

Just then Liam arrives, squeezing through the mass and popping up in front of the pair like a disruptive Jack In the Box.

“Liam, hey!” Ellie reaches for her friend and hugs the young man warmly, not realizing Joel’s hand has fallen from her or that she’s left him in a state of whiplash and want.

“Oh hey, Mr Miller. Tree is pretty awesome, right?”

Joel grins but it’s of the forceful kind and not at all the reception this guy deserves. Joel doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey, so after this whole tree thing is done, me, Max, Jesse and Dina are heading to the Bison for a few rounds. Wanna join?”

The invitation extends to Ellie and Ellie only, Joel knows as much, expects as much. The older man dips out of their conversation respectfully as he aimlessly looks through the crowd; he spots Tommy and Rhoda off towards the west end and they’re laughing about God only knows what; he suddenly realizes he wants to be home, or heading home at the least. With her.

“Yeah, um, that sounds cool. You going there now?”

Liam shrugs and uses his jaw to angle towards the spruce, “Nah, not yet. Wanna get closer? I’d like to peep all those ornaments and I brought a camera with me this year. To commemorate or whatever.”

“Oh...yeah, give me a minute? I’ll meet you front and center.” The girl smiles but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

Liam returns with his own dose of happy greetings, then waves at Joel and slips away.

“Hey, do you mind if I…?” Ellie leaves her statement open-ended – she doesn’t have to say much more than that for him to see plainly what it is she’s intends on doing for the evening.

“You don’t need to be askin’ me, Red. Go, have fun with your friends.”

“But what’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Now get.” Joel purses his lips and pushes his chin outward, bumping her lightly with an elbow to show he means it. To get her going before he says something untoward or wildly out of tune.

The girl lingers for a minute before bumping him back and twirling on her booted heels. She soars off through the crowd in a flash and is very much out of sight within a few seconds.

Joel stands there, alone, left behind and wondering selfishly if she’ll be coming home tonight.

Chapter Text

“Hey, listen. Are you listening?”

The girl pitches forward but quickly recovers by the sturdy grip she has of Dina’s shoulders; she squeezes and hangs onto her friend, balancing a pair of sea legs before circling back to a collection of disgruntled sentiments that sit on her tongue like a suspended dose of poison.

“Okay so lissten…I’m–I dunno about you but if Mmaria Miller expects me to be changing shitty diapers, she better be doing the same a year from now, too. Or t-trekking the dusty Clicker roads with bells and whistles on. Wait, no, that’d be unsafe. Whatever, all I’m saying is what the shit, ya know? It’s…excuse me? No fucking way.” She slaps a palm to the lacquered bar-top and sucks her lips with an attitude that only reveals itself when she’s with some of her favorite people. And firing on all whiskey cylinders.

After, deep sage shines glassy as she observes the smoky room and feels the world tilting just-so; a decent imbibing of amber has softened some of her basic motor skills but after a week of torment and stress, she’s more than welcome to the carelessness it brings.

The drink of choice tonight, and all nights, is a cheap, bottom-shelf booze – but it’s plentiful, reliable and stronger than the high noon sun on an August day. But she doesn’t mind one way or the other; the liquor is doing its job of distracting her – and everyone else in the Bison – and at the end of the day, that’s the only concern.

As a running gag between her, Dina, Jesse, Max, and Liam, there’s the argument that the waning lack of control over their faculties is a result of the wintry slush being dragged into the bar – and not any alcohol consumption, of course. Or so they like to tout as such. So whoever is first to utter the night’s drunken decoy word must buy a round for all five of them. Those are the rules.

Ellie comes close to saying the rally cry, the words that would cost her – YA SLUSH! – but she won’t. Not tonight. Her mind is a mass mob of Mandate, Joel, Babies and Nightmares to add a liquor debt to the overwhelm.

She realizes then that her friend has yet to say anything, so she prompts the girl with the nudge and reiterates, “Right??”

Dina’s browns flash wide as she animatedly agrees and continues to slurp from the fresh whiskey Jesse has given to her, “Oh sorry. No, I’m with you. I mean, what kinda bullshit is that? Hey there healthy women of Jackson, Wyoming, have a baby or die! The fuck.”

Ellie’s dulling emeralds loop so far into the rear of her skull that she can no longer discern anything beyond the realm of frustration and complaint. It’s where all these ill words about a woman she cares for and a man she can’t get out of her mind now reside – a bubbling endless prose on the horizon of indifference, priming to pour like an overwrought spillway.

A river to wash away all the rest. Or at least she expects as much given the nature of these permanent currents.

The girl’s aware she shouldn’t broach this topic with anyone until she’s set time aside for a proper sojourn into the events over the last few days. But under the spell of whiskey and warmth, those bulbous hazard signs appear far less clear on this road to perdition.

“What’s Jesse think of this fucking Mandate mess? You...you two seem to be cozy again...” It’s a prying non-question-question and Ellie knows it, despite her imperfect acuity at present; Dina knows this as well, but neither make any fuss over the matter. Now is not the time. The bar is too loud, the drinks are too good and the girls are far from offering additional ammunition to the bigot bartender currently on duty.

A curtain of dark hair falls to the wayside of Dina’s face, hiding half of her from the crowd as she focuses solely on Ellie. “He’s not...thrilled, I guess. But he’s not said much about it either. I don’t know. We have a little bit of time before the forums start en masse next month and I think until then we’re just gonna...visit the Bison and drink ourselves silly after shifts. Until we run out of options will I then, and only then, have a better answer for you. And for myself, too.”

“And uh...you and Jesse?” She puts the tumbler to her mouth and sips slowly, allowing the liquid to coat her insides with a heat she’s desperately chasing. There’s a chill brewing within her, an ice seeping into her veins that’s unfamiliar; it’s an ominous murmur that convolutes the very darkest recesses of her psyche. She wants to frighten that cold shadow, to expel the slippery entity that tastes like false truths and deception.

Her false truths and deception this time.

Ellie’s wise to the origins of this demon she’s invited inside, recognizing how new and foreign this entity is, despite her hidden willingness as its host.

Thankfully, the drink helps her forget the self-preservation practices she’s put into motion – to placate and push away all the falsehoods and pretend. Pretend that she’s not the one lying now, not the one misleading and hiding the true nature of those silent desires growing inside of her. She surmises the reason as to why she's doing what it is she's done and yet, with the alcohol coursing through her blood one pump at a time, Ellie just wants to lay it down for the night. Just for tonight.

Or ever, maybe. Possibly.

But that’s not how these things tend to go.

Still, the whiskey lends its usefulness in other ways, too; there’s a finer tip to the edge of her tongue and Ellie appreciates this byproduct now more than she ever has before.

But in this conversation, Ellie’s not entirely certain as to why she’s pushing for an update on Jesse and Dina’s relationship. So much brilliance has come to light in the last thirty-six or so hours that this situation with her friends should, by all intents and purposes, hold less of an influence. That he should be the one on her mind and not the flippant kiss with one of her best friends. And he is...he really is.

Dina pauses and steals a beat before, “We...I don’t know. I was so damn worried after you didn’t report in yesterday and then bumped into Jesse right as he was about to search for you and Joel. Before the search was called off, I mean. I was in the stables and we just... I guess it’s over but it’s not all the way over? Still, I have wanted to spend time with you this week but you’ve been busy with everything and with the new schedule changes all of a sudden and this never-ending blizzard. I get it. It’s easy to fall into our comfort zones when shit sorta hits the fan, ya know?” Dina shoots the last finger of her libation as she absentmindedly chews on a bottom lip that’s partially numb. She’s unclear of what else there is to say or if what she said was enough...maybe it was too much?

Ellie scratches at her jawline and swallows a revelatory response before leading on with just enough. For now.

“No, I-I get it. After the past few days, I definitely understand the whole ‘falling into our comfort zones’ thing. But I’m sorry to have worried you, honestly. It’s...yeah, it’s been a week for me, too.”

Dina turns and tries to position herself closer by leaning towards the girl; she’s on the cusp of asking what might be between all those lines Ellie’s choosing not to read aloud. Or what those unspoken words could imply insofar as...whatever it is that may or may not be happening between them. Or happened between them. She’s a little hazy on the details now as well.

“Ell–”

“Hey, ladies.” Just then however, Jesse bounds into the conversation as though his name were a siren on the boozy bar-winds.

He’s there, standing behind Dina and all but wrapping an arm to her waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it is.

Ellie doesn’t want to look at this familiar exchange but can’t manage to force herself from staring at it either. There’s a longing for that intimate normalcy, a longing for simplicity – to be able to embrace the one you want for all to see.

She doesn’t want to examine the implications of taking this trail, doesn’t want to consider what a world would be like if she could be lucky enough to have that. With someone. With...him.

There’s a great and gruesome exhale as she wades through these cascading waters; everything is happening so fast this week – from the Winter Dance incident to the nightmare and night after night wrapped in Joel’s arms. Then the Mandate announcement and her and Joel’s...kiss, or rather, their foreplay, she deduces. The girl is too inexperienced as to what is what when it comes to sexy...stuff. There’s not been many encounters for her to pull from – none, actually – so she’s hesitant to read that moment for what it might very well have been.

...And then there was that almost kiss-not kiss by the lights of the Christmas tree. Joel’s hazels shone with a conveyance both full and bare for her to see – a torn but wonderful expression all the same. She wants to know more about that, wants to see it again and again for the remainder of her days on this stunted earth.

’Fuck. Dina and now Joel...fuck.’

Yes, it’s certainly been A Week.

Ellie turns away – from the not-a-pair-pairing and drowns the rising noise of this place out of her; tries to ignore the ache inside of her at the mere contemplation of those intimate moments spent with Joel. Of how she wants...more of those.

Anger will detract. Anger always works.

The girl pierces Seth with a jade lance then, reorienting herself with the fury she’s harboring in regards to that nasty, embarrassing scene he caused. Fury that’s yet to ebb.

The cowardly bar-man dodges her resentful glance as he works on a duo of whiskey neats; Ellie waits and grimaces, her thoughts drifting as hair-band music from a century she never knew throttles loud and true. She hums a few of the unforgettable lyrics to the iconic anthem, Love In An Elevator while absentmindedly peering around the room.

Max, Liam and Cedric are laughing boisterously by a community table with a meager spread of finger-foods; everyone knows portions aren't a commodity to waste on drunken bellies and the town’s businesses, fortunately and unfortunately, vehemently agree with this ideology. Regardless, with the tree lighting only a few hours ago, there’s bound to be exceptions made to even the strictest of rules. And since Jackson tends to believe that any cause for celebration is as good a cause as there ever will be, the rules are thus bent.

It’s these types of community events that make this place what it’s become, and though a selection of food can run scarce, especially this time of year, no one abuses these rare treats.

Ellie muses on what the appetizers might be but doesn’t care enough to meander and find out. She’s here for the ample supply of liquids over a tray of tiny hotdogs (in blankets?) any day. She does, however, wonder idly what the guys are chatting about and whether or not she should abandon her post and go socialize with them. She would love a few laughs now more than anything, especially after interacting with the town homophobe and an all-around miserable human being. A vile toofer if ever there was one.

There’s a momentary swell of stale silence as the jukebox switches from Aerosmith to Bon Jovi – it’s a 1980’s night, apparently – and in that empty space, Ellie’s thoughts roam once more into the fray. To Joel. But not of the hours they spent at the Baldwin Mansion together.

No, this time she’s gone off on a different sort of wonderment – recalling what she had seen as the man was leaving earlier tonight. The girl, inebriated and mentally elsewhere now, doesn’t pause the spiral of thoughts that come from tapping into this fresh memory.

Instead, she takes a microscope to it as she tries to dismantle the mystery of his demeanor.

When he left, Joel’s disposition held a curious sort of lumbering, as if his movements were heavy and fast all in tandem. She saw him pass Tommy in the direction of his house, his jaw firmly set with both hands dug into the pockets of his puffy winter coat. She thought it odd; not how his brother tried feebly to speak with him, despite knowing fully well how Joel wears agitation like a shield. No, Ellie knew the older sibling wouldn’t dare entertain the thought of pleasantries just yet.

What is curious to her now was Joel’s pacing and rigid physicality; there was something spindling into the tension of his gait, something Ellie noticed at the time but didn’t lend any additional mind to.

Not until this very moment was she able to see it for what it was.

A distinct air of urgency.

His shoulders rode abnormally low as he stalked onward, farther and farther from the collective cheer and tidings within Jackson’s center. Ellie could almost glimpse sparks of crackling energy as his determination and anger simmered like a severed power line – his storm was on the inside but his charge shone like a cautionary warning amidst the colorful illumination of Christmas decorations.

All this musing is, of course, revealing the visible, almost dire need he had to get gone, to get away from there, from everyone. Joel could act like that sometimes. Still, this incident felt different to her.

Something stirs within as she replays his exodus, something that sings of desperation and...a moreness he would be reticent to acknowledge. She knows him well enough to realize such truths. But in all of this, Ellie will not resist tugging on a very specific thread dangling ahead of her vision: The girl’s interest is officially piqued as to whether or not her friends contributed to that wiry traction of his – a traction that plays so vividly in retrospect.

But here, now, in the Tipsy Bison, the girl doesn’t pretend to know the reasoning or the cause for his vehement footfall, only that the scene is tickling the corners of her ruminations. That it’s widening the margin between the risks she’s willing to take and the chances she’s not ready to let go of.

She mentally, and thus quietly, dances alongside such reflections, persistent in these thoughts of him that are so very telling as a part of her begins to play with an idea. That maybe, just maybe, he’s far more needful than he lets on and utterly jeal–

“Helloooo, Wyoming to Ellie…”

Ellie snaps from her reverie to Liam waving directly before her spacey-greens.

“You gonna grab those whiskey’s or are you waiting for Seth to drink them for you? Because ya know he will.”

The girl laughs and purses her lips, “I’d thought of it, only so I could coin him a thief and skip out on next week’s ration drop-off.”

Ellie throws a hard look at the bartender as she finishes her rhetoric and proceeds to retrieve the tumblers of alcohol immediately thereafter. Excitedly, the girl faces her circle of friends but pauses, wondering why she's unable to recall when they found themselves so near to her person. Ellie wants to berate herself for the unintentional lapse into a daydream as a spike of panic races through. A daydream of Joel. In front of her core group.

’If they only knew… Oh, fuck. What if they find out? What would they think?’

Inwardly, she brandishes an iron sword to expel those thoughts beyond this realm and into a slideways – into an otherworld she’s not yet ready to journey through. Or leave. Ellie is woefully indecisive.

She coughs to clear her head, not her lungs and, “Here ya go. You’re buying the next round. I’m too damn good to you.” Ellie places the drink into Dina’s palm and grins, holds it a moment before feeling a series of tap-taps onto her elbow. It’s Liam. Again.

“So, what the hell happened yesterday? You never came back and then all of a sudden you’re here with Joel for the tree lighting. Everyone was pretty freaked. About you two not returning, I mean.” He leans in, firms his grip on a beer bottle and tries to listen above the din of the surrounding atmosphere.

“Oh, yeah. We were chased by a horde. Hunkered down at the Baldwin place for the night after roasting a couple dozen of those clicky fucks. Wasn’t a bad night after that bullshit, all things considered.”

At the last, an abyssal sense of dread slithers into the hollow base of her spine; it rises up, filling her one vertebrae at a time until it spreads out and out and out. It snakes along the curves of her rib cage as it crushes inward, this inky, viscus cold infecting and carving trenches into her – tainting her marrow one molecule at a time.

There’s a ghoulish breath that passes by the cartilage of her ears, a sickly-sweet scent that tells her none of this is real, that she’s still asleep, that Joel’s dead and nothing of the last week has ever come to pass.

Ellie shivers and steals herself as she quietly disentangles from the tendrils of that horrid wraith. The one she came face to face with in the basement of the lodge. All snarling, gnashing teeth and growling fervor.

The girl’s vision snaps when the Tipsy’s front entrance slams shut – she exhales and pauses the world for a moment, calming her nerves as best she’s able amidst this swell of adrenaline and turmoil surging inside.

’The goddamn door opened. That’s why it got so cold. That’s all it was. Nothing else. Get your shit together, Ellie.’

Liam, noting a quick splash of fright and...something else filtering across the girl’s features, lands himself at a personal crossroads, “Ellie? Are you alright? Di-did something happen while you were there? With Joel?”

She returns from the grip of her hellish repose to a pair of slate-blues full of kindness and concern waiting there. To reply, to share, to offer more than she’s willing. Not that he knows that.

Odd that he would name Joel specifically though…

“What? Nno, no. We jus-st cleared the place, had some dinner and turned in for the night. I’ve not been sleeping great this week so I keep s-spacing out like a fucking wierdo. Sorry about that.” She hiccups and emits a bubbly, snorty laugh as her eyes focus on anything but the way he’s looking at her right now.

She likes it, she doesn't like it.
She wishes it was Joel, or even Dina but not Liam.
Or...maybe Liam?
Because this feels kind of nice, too.

He tilts his head as he leans in closer, “Anything I can do to help?”

Ellie puts a few inches between them as she looks north, caught off guard by his suggestive, albeit wholesome, tone, “Liam Brooks, are you hitting on me?”

He taps the base of his beer to the rim of her glass in response, his demeanor changing to suit the mood that’s being set, “And if I am?”

“I–I uh...”

“Ellie! Get out here and dance with me, ya pain in the ass!” Dina is standing at the end of the bar and moving her body this way and that in the limited space available to her. There’s not an actual dance floor in the Bison but folks tend to gravitate towards one corner in particular and claim it for their own. Dina’s the one to do that here tonight, apparently.

“Hold that thought?” The girl bites her lip and saunters off, splashing a few drops of alcohol as she treks the short distance to her lively friend.

“Thought you could use some saving. Not sure you’re into him that way?” Dina winks and wraps an arm around Ellie’s lithe waist. Jesse is nearby, drinking and talking of fishing techniques with Max, and Liam, who’s just joined them for another round of a local home-brew.

“I...I mean he’s never s-shown any interest in me that way before, has he? Not so...ya know, up in my personal bubble, at least.” Ellie shrugs and steps in time to a song by Duran Duran, a tune she knows well but can’t seem to name for the life of her. Likely the whiskey. Either way, she enjoys it and doesn’t care for the collateral fade of memory.

“So...d-do you?” Dina quips, finishing her beverage and haphazardly pushing the empty glass onto the bartop. The dark-haired girl wraps her other limb around Ellie’s middle and moves in a mirroring pattern.

“Do I...Do I what?”

“Do you like him…?”

Ellie borrows a few seconds by bouncing in a noncommittal show of acknowledgement; she lets the music pour into their shared space, let’s the warmth of the establishment and the start of the holiday season bleed into the very air that surrounds them.

No more nightmares, no more death. No more bad things. Not here, not ever.

’Do I like him?’

She thinks of Joel and sways to the rhythm of this new song – a love song. She wonders what the older man is busy with, if he’s awake and drinking, too, or maybe he’s carving or watching a dumb eighties movie she definitely doesn’t ever want to watch. She remembers his lips on hers, how he tastes and the sounds he emitted when her hands pulled, played and burrowed into his thick, long hair. Thinks of his hard chest and all that dark and gray hair and the muscle that lays beneath and–

“Yes. I do.”

Dina’s smile goes sideways as she angles to gain a clearer view of Liam, the focal point of this exchange. She’s not envious of Ellie’s affections, per se, but not not a little jealous, either. Still, she understands why; Liam is tall and lean, with eyes of ice and a bright smile that’s a staple to his general demeanor. People in town consider him 'one of the good guys' – so much so that most folks flock to Liam’s shifts at the Bison, more than anyone else. His cooking is delicious, his antics often lighthearted, and he’s genuinely warm to anyone he interacts with.

He’s the embodiment of what this town and all its residents seek after years of surviving the unsurvivable. Kindness, regard, respect.

“Well, good. He’s pretty easy on those greens of yours, too, huh?”

Out of her fantasy, Ellie tracks from Dina to Liam and she knows this bout of daydreaming will likely nip her in the bud; her answer wasn’t about that man, the one nearby, but instead, another. But her girlfriend doesn’t know that. Won’t know that. Can’t know that. Maybe, possibly not. Ellie’s unsure as to what protocol is in such uncharted waters.

“Oh, yeah, uh, Liam. He i-is, I guess.”

Dina’s brow furrows, the muscles of her face pinching in as she watches Ellie scramble. The girl’s eyes are everywhere but on her, with a physical presence that’s both discombobulated and jerky. A reaction that speaks to...hidden truths.

“Wait...are–we are talking about the same person here, right? Liam? As...as in that L-Liam Brooks?” Dina gestures with a smooth lean in the direction of the counter but doesn’t break contact for fear of Ellie taking off. Ellie’s not a runner but with the drink flooding her senses and her system – and the last day or so having wrecked a certain level of havoc – Dina can’t be too careful.

“Oh no, yeah. I like him, I do. Ssorry. Just getting a little tired of all the noise in this place.”

Dina doesn’t believe her, not entirely anyway, but stows her curiosities for a later time. A time when whiskey and Wham aren’t competing for her utmost and they can have an actual conversation with one another again.

“Wanna get out of this place? Go to your garage and chill? I think Max has some weed.”

Ellie sniffs and wipes the rear of her hand to her lips, “Definitely. I have more booze there, too.”

“Sweet. Let’s round up those drunk boys and get the fuck outta dodge.”

As they’re exiting the Tipsy Bison, Ellie catches sight of Beth Fleurs interacting with a blond woman by the roaring jukebox. Beth is laughing obnoxiously, emitting a high-pitched pierce of a noise that tells Ellie and all the rest of Jackson just how much she’s been drinking tonight. Fortunately, everyone’s quite adept at tuning the woman out when she’s reached this shrill of a peak, for the most part.

To Ellie however, there’s something not quite right about this seemingly innocuous scene. But the source of this unease isn’t Beth this time – lucky for Fleurs, given the mood she’s falling into the longer she contemplates these two women. No, it’s the friend, or acquaintance, that the annoying woman is standing with that draws Ellie’s attention. There’s something familiar about the younger girl that’s engaging so warmly with Beth – something familiar but different all the same. Something she can’t place.

She steals one last glance before Dina pushes her through the doorway and out into the wintry cold of Jackson. Her skin tingles as the frigid air and...something else needles at her.

Joel leans against the cushion of his worn leather chair as he descends from the summit of his release. He’s trembling just enough that he feels partially silly as a result, but after a week of stifling a basic need, and given how hard he just came, the tremors aren’t all that shocking. It’s the kind of orgasm he hasn’t experienced in more years than he cares to admit. Not routine or boring, but explosive and...excessive.

His cock lays in his right hand but is now going soft, his come pooled and cooling on his bare belly; Joel rests his head atop the comfort of his seat and he lingers there, exhaling a great sigh of relief. He tries to steady the fervor of his racing heart and the aftermath that's slowly ebbing but tiny cracks of lightning continue to surge within. The intensity of this surprises him, and yet doesn’t all the same.

After a few minutes, he looks south on his body and grumbles; he doesn’t like to shoot on himself but tonight was a rush of needful, hasty arousal and he was barely able to lift his clothing in time for the mess he made.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He clears his throat, removes his hand from the tacky, sticky center and sighs again; there’s a slight chill emanating from the thick, ample liquid sitting on him, impatiently calling to its owner to tidy up already. Bu his legs feel lost to him now, all the muscles, tendons and bones have separated and disappeared entirely. Mobility a distant memory.

’But memories of her aren’t. Of that perfect little ass bouncin’ up an’ down on me… of her whimpering my name on those fucked-red lips…’

Joel scratches his beard in exasperation and pushes the fantasy of the girl – his girl – away, away, away. He doesn’t want to feel remorse for the salacious images he used to throw himself over an edge he was already tumbling down. Doesn’t want to regret how sexy and willing and...in lov–how intense the imaginations of her were. Doesn't want to revel in the idea of Ellie craving him with the same tenacity, knowing what it is he wants to give and do to her now.

'Don’t deserve her, not like that, you ol’ fuck.'

This inner berating pummels him into the ground like the crushing currents of a waterfall, its ferocious curtains doing their best to douse the last remnants of his sexual desires. It’s a harsh reality inundating him all over again; sure, she kissed him and by all appearances had sought more, what with those wandering hands that went so far as unfastening his belt part-way. Not to mention her pretty mouth that pleaded with his through every bite, nibble and moan.

But this was all the result of her thinking he was about to die a horrific death and she, panicking and rendered utterly powerless to cease the inevitable event – just as she’s been in that godforsaken nightmare. He took advantage of the situation and now he’s gone and used her fervent lust as lubricant for tonight’s handjob.

He scowls at himself, clicks his tongue and peers around the bedroom for anything to employ as a temporary cleaning solution. He’ll shower soon as he’s done, soon as his limbs remember to do whatever it is they’re meant to be doing. Walking, he thinks. Yeah, that sounds right.

Finding nothing suitable to the task, Joel slips his flannel button-up and the thermal long sleeve off one at a time. He tosses the beige undershirt onto his mattress and uses the other to wipe his belly as dry as he’s able. He notes the volume of it and shakes his head – it’s a...lot. Far more than his average and he knows it’s not just because of how long he’s gone without jerking off.

Tonight Joel was...excitable and turned on to a level he doesn’t remember feeling in such a lengthy amount of time. If ever.

All because of that girl. That beautiful, green-eyed, auburn-haired, funny, loving girl.

“Ellie.”

Her name is a prayer on his tongue, a whisper of what the world could be, of what he might have been able to share, if only circumstances were vastly different. If he wasn’t fifty-two years old and hadn’t decimated her foundations two years prior. If he hadn’t lost his only child twenty-five years ago and vowed never to become a father again.

That last and crucial promise taints his emotions far more than the rest now. He sinks as thoughts of the Mandate surface in its silent vacancy; these town changes have the potential to upend and deconstruct the final barriers to his immutably shattering heart...or to, in a very literal sense, end him. Either way, Joel is playing at a loss.

He could lose his life on the road or lose his girl to some young punk with a willingness and a want to start a family with her. He could lose her in that same literal sense, too. Out in the surrounding states looking for new Jackson citizens and ancient supplies...or by her immunity and what that could result with. That being if she ever chooses to change her mind and bring a son or daughter into this world.

Ellie as a mama. He knows her babies would be beautiful, but not his. Joel swallows what he can only guess is a newfound remorse; there’s just no way she would ever consider him.

'An’ she damn well shouldn’t. You’re fuckin’ thirty-three years her senior.'

The man throws his spent clothing onto the floor in frustration and rises in earnest. He’s annoying himself, his head overflowing with one too many contrasting ideas faster than the next. He needs a shower and a distraction until she either sneaks into his bed or he sleeps alone. For the first time since last week.

Once in the bathroom, he preps a bucket, a hose and gravity begins to do the rest.

He doesn’t waste any time within the confines of his porcelain stall – doesn’t think, mull or muse. Just washes free of the day’s grime and the tangy, lingering scent of his come. Scrubs and laves it all away in the hopes it may end the bitter feelings that cling to his skin like an allergen.

He can’t be with her the way he wants, can’t entertain such thoughts of it anymore either. No matter how desperate and aching his balls may be on any given day. No matter if she asks to sleep beside him for the remainder of his nights.

Joel won’t ruin her life by damning the girl with his. He just won’t do it.

A rumbling, woeful sound gurgles from inside of him and he releases it into the quiet of the night. It’s an echo of finality, a choice he must keep resolutely firm to. Even if it tears him apart every single time he’s with her. Even if she’s wearing a dress and dancing the night away in the arms of another, all bare feet and flowing lace and pure happiness for the future. Even if her belly is swollen and made more beautiful by someone else’s seed.

It’s for her own good.

’It’s for her own good.’

After this pathological mantra, he runs a towel and a wooden brush through his wet hair, cleans his teeth and gives himself a once over in the speckled mirror. His body has never been, for lack of a better expression, out of shape, but Joel takes care to keep accountable to this. His daily regimen of a healthy diet and exercise keeps him toned and fit, yes, but fast and ready for the horrors that lie in wait outside the protection of their walls, despite his age.

He’s done here though, so Joel nods to the ghosts of a tomorrow he’ll never know, hangs his bath towel on its hook and walks to his closet. He shivers – the storage room is chilly, he’s naked and in search of his creature comforts.

Spotting them, Joel forgoes boxers in favor of an oversized pair of sweats. He pairs that with a ratty, threadbare tee and fresh socks. He’ll be cozy for what he wants to do next. What he needs to do.

With half a glass of bourbon nearby and Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues coming from a small radio in the corner of his workshop, Joel’s finally curated a modicum of peace for the evening.

He’s carving one of Ellie’s gifts and though the reference photo is detailed in color, scale and texture, he wants to be sure this particular creation is done right. He has a little more than two weeks before the deadline – Christmas Day; painting and polishing the object is an agonizingly slow process and so despite a sizable head start, he worries nevertheless.

Gifts for her have always been a point of pride with insurmountable happy returns for Joel. For Ellie’s birthdays – even the two he was kept apart from her – he views them as a testament and a challenge to go above and beyond. To spoil her in all the grandiose ways that his poor lack of articulation can’t seem to allow otherwise.

The first time he was able to give her something substantial was for her sixteenth celebration. That was a perfect getaway – seven days in total they spent on that trip; three days to get to the Wyoming Museum of Science and History, one day IN the museum itself – on her actual date of birth – and then three days to get back home to Jackson in one piece.

After they left the magic of aeronautics and the fear of a rogue boar behind, they made camp in the woods shortly thereafter. He sang the birthday song as she hummed and smiled the whole way through, her eyes glittering half-moons of pure delight. Then he cooked them a meal of pork (the irony), beans and rice, before surprising her with a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar. After, Joel and Ellie settled in for the evening.

When night had fallen and their campfire burned low, she listened to her cassette tape over and over again; Joel bore witness as the girl ascended, drifting on the wisps of the sparkling skies above; her heart brimmed so visibly, he felt his might very well explode. She was so happy, so full and content and outwardly affectionate towards him. The girl hugged him that night...actually wrapped her arms around his person and held so long he thought she had gone to sleep in his embrace. Turned out she was probably not – definitely not – hiding tears from him, because never would such a cataclysmic event happen from a baddie like Ellie Williams. He made no comments, just held her through the rare release and hoped she knew how much she meant to him. It was all he ever wanted her to know.

Eventually that ended and the world turned to ash all around him. Again.

After their relationship was severed, her eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays were an antithesis to the welcome warmth they once shared. Joel and Ellie went from greeting the great giants of the past and rocketing to constellations high above to...a totality of nothingness the likes he’d never encountered before. Every day after their revelation brought a hollow emptiness in ways that Joel, to this very moment, cannot accurately describe.

Despite those two birthdays being blacked-out occasions, he still laid gifts on her doorstep first thing in the morning, along with a card, a chocolate bar and a scribbled note that her breakfast and lunch at the Bison were already taken care of for the day.

Joel’s unsure whether or not she ever opened those presents and as he carves and shapes in the here and now, he gnaws on whether or not he should ask about it when they’re in each other’s company next. Which will hopefully be in a few hours’ time.

’Knock that shit off. You should just go to sleep. Now. Alone.’

As he works, there's a silent wish to completely disregard the darkness from those months and years apart, but it’s only been a week since all their strain came to a close. And even that isn’t wholly truthful either; Joel knows there’s much yet for them to discuss and work through but so long as they continue in the heading she’s set, he’s more than happy to be along for the ride. Even if it’s...a much different sort of continuance than before.

A wild opposite of what it was, if he’s in an analyzing mood.

He feels his cock stir as it hangs free in his pants and instantly shuts his hazels at the deluge of such inappropriate notions; he can’t maintain this incessant berating, as it appears to have little to no effect on things or his thinking of her in that way. His body responds to the barest hint of having her and he’s beginning to hate what his mind is helplessly hoping for as a result.

Joel needs to talk to her and make things clear once and for all.

’It’s for her own good.’

In the silence before the song changes from Cash to the opening of Rogers’ The Gambler, Joel hears a howl of voices echoing from his yard, by Ellie’s garage. He spins the knob on the old music box and listens a moment, making sure it’s nothing untoward or dangerous; regardless of the cozy, protective conditions in Jackson, he’s aware it can end at a moment's notice and he’ll be damned to fall victim to such an amateurish turn of events.

The tones aren't threatening or that of a predatory war-cry. Rather, they’re loud and boisterous, full of an energetic, devil-may-care attitude beholden to the rash considerations of drunk folk.

Ellie must be bringing her friends home with her. Interesting.

He hangs there a spell and listens as best he’s able and his best is good enough; no matter it’s the dead of winter and numbingly cold outside, no mind that his windows are latched, which keep him safe from the punishing winds of this cruel December. No matter the winds themselves. Neither the fortified nor the natural can defeat the obnoxious joy of inebriated youths. They make it easy for him; he can discern their individual voices as though each of them were circling on all sides, talking around Joel as if he isn't there at all.

He wonders idly if it’s intentional, at least on Ellie’s part. But no, alcohol amplifies. He knows that. Knows that well.

Joel sips his bourbon and clicks his tongue after; it’s been awhile since he’s drank himself silly. Perhaps a night of blissful abandon is in short order.

“You’re a fucking asshole! Nno way Captain Daniela would have lost to Lt. Astra. Do you even understand the chain of command? Astra never would have tried it. Not ever. You suck. Shut up.”

Joel smiles as Ellie defends her most beloved fictional character from a universe he doesn't quite understand just yet, even after all these years – despite his numerous attempts to glean a clearer picture in past conversations. Comic books were a form of media consumption he was never able to get into, not even as a child in the eighties when they were expressly popular. Still, he knows he doesn’t need to understand it, just love how she loves it – passionately at that.

“And YOU suck and no I won’t shut up because Lt. Astra was passed over for a promotion a million years ago. Just because Captain Daniela made rank before Astra don’t mean a damn thing. That was a shit move on Commands part and I’ll go down on that sword Ellie. I swear it.”

Joel’s smile fades as he recognizes the responding voice. Liam. Again with that guy. Only this time he’s going tête-à-tête with Ellie in respect to one of her favorite pastimes.

Joel grumbles and drops his flat knife. He blows on the tabletop and watches a cloud of sawdust and wood shavings billow to the other end of his work area. While he does this, he's deciding on whether he should go to bed, clean the whole damn room or turn the music louder. Maybe he should do all of those things at the same time, he just knows he doesn’t want to hear anymore of their inebriated rhetoric. Or their...flirting.

“Shut your face, Brooks. Daniela is the shit and you know it. Astra was just a jealousss old pain in the ass. That’s why she got skipped over. Couldn’t see beyond her own fuckery.” Ellie hiccups and laughs, pushing on one of Liam’s shoulders as she ushers him and the rest of her friends into the warm living space of her home.

From his position, Joel’s unable to glimpse the physicality of that last bit; as soon as he realizes they’ve gone inside, he sits motionless in the quiet, lonely house and reasons with the universe for absolution. When that doesn’t arrive, a sickness groups in the tar-pit of his stomach – his insides bubble, churning over what should have been nothing beyond a harmless exchange, and yet.

He knows that even if Liam were to lower her onto her couch by the small of her back, to press his mouth and his body to hers and love the girl the way lovers do, he would have no right to feel the way he does at current.

Desperately, he redirects.

Knows that beyond the context of the comic being sadly lost on him, Joel can’t cease the wince as Ellie’s words about an ‘old pain in the ass’ take root; he doesn’t want to acknowledge it aloud, but from this bout of unintentional eavesdropping, he believes to be more Astra and less Daniela in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps this is the case in her perceptions, too – and why she opted to leave him alone in a swarm of people after a moment that could only be described as...charged.

“Go to sleep, you bastard. She’s havin’ fun with her friends. ‘S a good damn thing. You ain’t good for her. Ain’t never been good for no one, least of all her.”

He gives in and surrenders before exhaling and wiping both hands on an errant towel lying nearby. As he does this, Joel switches the light off and exits the room, leaving its stillness with an aroma of wood oil and spruce permeating throughout. It’s a cacophony of earthen scents, a small space he revels in often and has found respite to the tumultuous days of the past. A place he spends a decent amount of life within that has seen him through the worst over the last couple of years.

Before entering his bedroom, he peers over the staircase and white-knuckles the banister. Joel listens – there’s nothing, no one there. Just a disparaging quiet and an emptiness to match; there’s only the beat of his heart to remind him that he’s alive but entirely on his own. Like always.

He turns on a heel and steps into the room, shuts his door, shuts the curtains, shuts a pair of worn and weary eyes. She’s not coming home tonight.

Joel hopes he can sleep.

“You’ve spent the last few hours getting crossfaded and you’re wondering why your heart’s on the fritz? Look at your choices, you fucking idiot.” Ellie giggles as Dina tears Max a new one while simultaneously tapping the base of her glass to earn the last of its contents.

“And? You’re drunk as shit, Deedee. We all are. Speaking of, I’m gonna bounce. I gotta shift in the a.m. and I don’t wanna be DOA by the afternoon.” A wobbly Max reaches and retrieves his jacket, dons a knit cap and makes for the entrance. He high-fives Ellie and Liam who are sitting on the couch together but at the last, he turns to flip Dina and Jesse off before leaving the garage ass-first.

Liam laughs and turns to face Ellie as the room divides into equal halves. There’s an immediate tonal shift as he bumps her thigh and, “So, this has been a fun night...”

Ellie huffs, holding the middle of herself until she gazes away. She glimpses Dina giving her a look but it’s not the sort of expression she’s expecting to discover there. It’s partly encouraging, yes, but there’s a weariness as well – a concern that the mossy-eyed girl is too incapacitated to differentiate. She’s of a mind to march over there right now and extract whatever the truth is that’s clearly breaking Dina’s emotional surface.

But just as it was at the Bison, now’s not the time for such things.

“Ellie?” Liam pats a knee and it successfully reverts her attention from the pretty girl across the room to the dark-haired man sitting at her side.

“I’m sorry, huh?”

“Tonight’s been fun,” Liam repeats, chuckling tentatively while his icy-blues remain on her. The girl takes in the sight of him and finds she can’t resist a game of comparisons: Liam’s face has enough hair to qualify as a beard but that's where the similarities start and stop. There are missing elements that, simply put, have her longing for another. Still, he is cute, kind, funny and warm. But there’s no gray or years of weathering in the corners of his eyes – no deeply-set scars or tales of heartache written into the beautiful features that only one other possesses. There’s no true history here, no solid connection.

There could be, if she allows it.
She can sense as much emanating from him.
Ellie doesn't know quite what she wants. Only that she has an innate want but Brooks may not be the person she wishes to explore this with.

“Yeah, yeah. It is. Ssorry, I’m just a little out of it. Booze is flowing and all, ya know.”

Liam nods and shifts in his seat, brushing a leg against hers in the process. He settles his elbow atop the couch and smiles that wide, bright grin of his. Something’s happening, or about to happen, Ellie can tell.

“I...like you. I hope that’s alright to say? I know at the dance you and Dina kissed and if it’s a thing you both want, I get it...but I dunno. Have things between you girls gone back to square one already? Shit, that’s none of my business. Although, she was out of her mind yesterday when you didn’t come home. A lot of us were, actually.” Liam’s blues drop as he scatterbrains all over himself. He waits, picks at a stray fuzzy on his wool sweater and nods his head to the low music playing in the background.

Somehow the guy knows that looking at her will ultimately prove fruitless; Ellie’s difficult to read in general, even more so with the amount of liquor she’s been drinking all day.

“Worried about me and Joel?”

’Joel.’

“Well, yeah, but..mostly you. I can’t speak for anyone else but I know I was pretty freaked.”

Ellie offers a side-smile and leans onto the arm of the sofa, a few more inches apart from him, “Well, all ended on a high note. Thank fuck. Or...mostly. We lost Joel’s horse to the horde. That sucked. Still sucks.”

Liam emits a sad breath of sound and nods in a knowing way, “Those things happen sometimes. Sorry for him, but again, I’m just glad you’re okay. That you’re here...with me now, I mean.”

The girl’s eyes level to his and she clocks a change in his expression that feels a lot like...chance. Their normal ease and air of conversation is beginning to change into something outside the terms of platonic friendship. She can sense it, has been sensing it, and feels a tiny swell of disgust prickle at the ends of her but makes no more of it.

All that to say, she wants to stop this. It’s not that she’s not curious or attracted to him, it’s that she’s far too torn and far too inept at grappling with even the idea of this. And kissing three people in one week is two people too many. There’s that, too.

“So...maybe I could see you more? More than just the Bison for breakfast and the occasional hang?”

She swallows and scratches a nail to the seam of her pants; she clumsily pulls and twists at the fabric as she mulls on what to say – on how to deconstruct what is occurring between them.

The drink is clouding her judgement but Joel is suddenly clouding the rest of her; he’s on her tongue like the taste of peaches and fresh spring water, his touch on her skin like the wild dance of embers and an untamable nature that’s come together as one.

’Joel. Fuck.’

“Yeah, maybe. I–I’m kinda tired though. And way too loaded. I’ll be crawling to the diner for some of those delicious eggs tomorrow after service, eh? Ehhh?”

Ellie ends the chummy speech with a grin, though it doesn’t make a full journey to her eyes. She stands and throws her arms into the space above her head, “Alright, love you all. Get the hell out. I’m exhausted and wasted and we have church in the morning. Now get.”

Dina, Jesse and Liam laugh at first, until yawns and exaggerated stretches take up the last moments of their celebratory, holiday kick-off.

“Jesse, wait outside with Liam a second?” Dina gestures to Brooks who is at the door, letting all the cold air in while the heat can do nothing in the way of combating this.

Jesse bobs his head, pats Ellie’s shoulder and offers a poorly executed salute, “See ya tomorrow, Williams. Bright and early in the house of our Lord and Savior. Amen.”

“Dork. Get out and shut the door, for fucks sake,” Ellie barks, but it’s lighthearted and teasing. They’re all close enough with one another that this style of ribbing is new to no one in their small group, especially after an evening at the Tipsy Bison and hours at Ellie’s place.

Once the room is free of the guys, Dina grabs Ellie’s biceps and raises an eyebrow, “Okay, I know we are all like...kinda destroyed but you’re not into that dude at all, are you? Buuuut when I asked you at the bar if you liked him, you said...with shiny stars and all the floaty planets captured in those clover eyes of yours...that you did like him. So which is it? Or...wait. Is-is there someone else? Another ’him’?”

Ellie worries her lower lip and masks a vulnerability leaving her nearly desperate to impart the novel secrets of her heart. Before this week, she might have entertained Liam’s flirtatious extensions. Maybe. Or hit on Dina until she was purple in the face. But now? Now everything is so...unfamiliar and upended.

“I-It’s...uh–”

“Dina, I’m freezing my goddamn nuts off out here. Can this wait until morning?”

Jesse bounces in the crack of the doorway, the steam from his mouth floating like gray smoke, a stark contrast to the deep midnight hues coloring his surroundings.

“Fuckin...Ellie, we are talking about this tomorrow. Okay?” She lowers her eyes and gives a one-two bob to reaffirm her assertions. She won’t let whatever this is linger on any farther, not after the awkward display that unfolded before her very astute and knowing gaze.

Ellie nods, Dina hugs her and then just like that, her friends have gone.

The girl suspends herself for a minute or so, looks about her empty bedroom and sighs; there are beer bottles, semi-full ashtrays and a few sticky tumblers littering the table space. She can’t care about any of it right now. Ellie just wants her pajamas and her head on a pillow.

As she finally sets in the direction of her dresser, her footfall a bit more wobbly than she anticipated, there’s a subtle knock.

“I swear to God, Dina, if you forgot your hat or a glove I’m gonna shove it up your as–”

“Hey.”

It’s not Dina.

“Oh, uh, hi, Joel.” He’s wearing a pair of sweats again and a thick, puffy jacket, but despite the comfortable appearance, there’s a sudden swell of irritation in Ellie’s chest.

“Can...can I come in? ‘S’cold as hell out here.”

Ellie steps aside and widens the area around her person, trying assiduously to steady herself amidst a fresh bout of lightheadedness. He reaches but she instinctively angles away – more from habit than anything else. She thinks. He hopes.

“You alright, girl?”

She nods, “Mmhm, boooooze. Was a fun night. What’d you do after the tree thing? How come you’re here? It’s so late. Mind if I get changed?”

It’s a string of consciousness and he smiles as the chaotic scene develops: Ellie roams her quarters with a pace set to the ease of Sunday morning, which, it technically is. But she’s going from the doorway to her dresser, from her mattress to her bathroom, rinse, repeat. In, out, around and back again. It’s as though she’s unable to sit still or stay in one place too long. He hopes it’s just the booze and not discomfort over his being here.

As she walks, he stares at an ocean of auburn; it surrounds the pale shores of her face which sees him marveling at the girl; he steals glances and covets these moments in her haze of preoccupation, suspecting that he never should have come over. That he should have listened to the screaming protestations in his head that this was bound to end poorly for his heart.

Joel walks to her desk and loops his winter coat over the neck of the empty chair to do something versus just standing there stock-still. He moves to move with her but she’s too wiry and uncoordinated.

“Hey, hey. C’mere, Ellie. Where’s the fire?”

She halts at his request but ignores him at first; she tugs on the wooden drawer and retrieves an old tee, a fresh set of socks and clean panties.

“What? No, I mean. Wait. You didn’t answer any of my questions, Joel… Why are you here? Did you come here for s-something pacific?No, hold on. That's not right. I meant s-something SPEcific?”

He sits on the edge of her coffee table and focuses on the floor, at the slush he’s brought in and the melting puddle forming around his work boots as a direct consequence.

“Wanted to check on you is all. You was out late an’ I...I’m sorry. Should I not’ve come?”

Ellie rises and puts her back to Joel as she stands by the unmade bow of her bed. “Ha, like you wouldn’t have anyway.” The words come as a hiss beneath her breath and are pointedly biting, but she’s not sure he’s close enough to hear.

After, she slips her shirt over her shoulders, tosses the garment towards the laundry bin and takes to her jeans from there. In a few short moments, she’s all but naked, save for a fading, albeit provocative, ruby-red bra and matching lace panties. She discovered these unscathed and wrapped in plastic at a department store they looted a few years ago. He hadn’t seen her swipe them then but he’s sure seeing them now.

She peeks behind and catches him watching her, his hazels on her taut but ample curves – those eyes set on the indent of two dimples that shadow the apex of her round globes. He's staring at the crimson lace as the elastic band frames her flawless spheres at the join of her thighs.

Joel exhales and fists his hands.

“Ellie, thinkin' I should go.”

“Go then. I’m just getting into bed, Joel. For another night of hell probably but hey, at least I’m d-drunk enough to sleep deeper tonight maybe? Whaddya think?”

He rises and goes to her in a few short steps, his proximity close enough that he can recognize the mix of alcohol and shampoo. He knows he shouldn’t be this close. Not when she’s...not like this.

“You mad at me for somethin’?”

She unlatches the clasp of her bra and spins to face him directly; her eyes are a storm, a swollen sea of jade that dares to collide with a burning ring of fire as their waves begin to crest. She holds her breasts with a forearm as she defiantly pitches her jaw out in exasperation.

“You think it was a mistake, huh? You’re not pissed at yourself, you’re pissed that it happened at all, right? What-what is it? Am I not pretty enough for you, J-Joel? I seem to be alright for other people but you...I guess not. Just a dumb girl who wants someone who doesn't want her.”

Joel’s head hands; if she only knew. But it was his fault she didn’t know.

His hands begin to twitch – hands that are aching to touch her, to hold and share in every illicit fantasy he’s envisioned on this night and all the ones from the past week together. Ones that go against principles he never thought he’d waver on. Principles and promises that have made him the man he is today.

“Ellie.”

“Touch me.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re afraid.”

He sighs, there’s no winning this, so, “Let’s...get you to bed, alright? You got hardly nothin’ on an’ it ain’t exactly summertime in here.”

“Coward.”

“Now c’mon. That ain’t fair. I ain’t takin’ advantage of you again. Not on account'a nightmares, especially not on account'a booze. I mean, shit, we almost kissed in front’a the whole of Jackson tonight. An’ you think, ya think what, that you’re not pretty enough for me? Look at you, girl…”

He steps closer, traces his fingertips to the smooth curvature of her waistline before drawing across each of her hips. He stops at the decorative band by the summit of her panties, hooking his thumb inside ever-so and...waits.

She heaves a lungful of air and shivers at how deliciously exposing this all makes her feel, at how much she likes it; she marvels at the blatant reactiveness of her entire body to even the most minimalistic contact with him.

“I’m serious...look’a you. Look’a these...sexy things on you. Ya got no idea what it’s takin’ for me to be a good man right now.”

Ellie looks up at him, uses her free arm to embrace and angle Joel into her, right where she likes this man to be. The girl senses a tensity rolling through him that betrays his sudden silence – his arousal is obvious in all ways, as she can see and feel it alongside the truth of all those unsaid words. She lets her other arm fall at this realization but it reveals next to nothing of her chest; he’s ruefully blind to her breasts due to the position they’re standing in. Once she’s done settling, the woman rests an ear to his heart and closes her dizzying eyes.

The cadence is faster than normal and more beautiful because of it somehow.

“Stay here tonight?”

“Mmhm. But...baby, please, put a t-shirt on.”

She laughs against him and squeezes his middle harder. What a turn of events this night has taken – the past seven nights, if she’s counting. She is.

The girl recalls how Liam just asked to start something more than a friendship with her in a daze of drunkenness and the mirth of good times. Yet here she is, not an hour out from that offer, in the arms of this man. Nearly nude at that and yet, he’s able to resist her for all the right reasons.

Ellie may not like it, but what she does know is that it’s enough. For now.

An edge returns to her voice as she leans back, “Let’s get something clear, Joel. You keep turning me down, I’m gonna stop offering one day, got it?”

He nods, “Noted. Now spin around an’ get a damn top on before I rethink my stance on things.”

She does.

He watches.

After a few last minute bedtime routines, they slip into a mess of sheets and blankets together, easily falling into their designated positions. Her rear is to his front, an arm beneath her pillow, their hands and legs intertwining until both are content enough to drift away.

In the suspension of a moment or so, Joel kisses below her ear and holds his lips there, feeling her pulse quicken and her body rolling against his instinctually. Her limbs, hands, and fingers grip onto him a measure tighter before she breathes out in disappointment: One of his strong hands closes onto her hip and stills the girl. Dangerous, this one.

’This woman. Reckon I never knew a girl who took to every little thing I do quite like she does.’

“Ya tired?”

She turns her cheek to face him and nuzzles closer, “Mmhm, I guess. And...I’m sorry I called you a coward. I’m...I had a lot to drink and it’s been a fucking shitstorm of a week, ya know?”

“I know. Don’t worry none.”

She stays there and he knows what she wants, decides if he was strong enough to resist her once – resist her naked, at that – he can do it again if need be.

He kisses her and it’s soft and slow and swollen with all those emotions neither of them are adept at outright saying. They’re dancing cirlces around and above the truth, brushing nearer and nearer to it each night and yet neither have been able to speak the thing aloud.

And they won’t here tonight either. There’s too much on the line. Too much to lose.

He breaks the kiss once he feels her grinding into his front, seeking what she knows he’s trying to hide away.

“Mmph, girl. Okay, alright. Time to sleep. Goodnight, babydoll.”

“Goodnight, Joel. You suck.”

“I know.”

She’s been asleep for a while but Joel can’t seem to settle properly into a similar state of repose. Not for his lack of needing rest, no. He’s exhausted from...everything but he’s struggling too much with the truth that’s laying so raw and untamable within and without his heart.

In the space where sound and light amount to less than the movement of souls, he feathers a kiss to the constellations that adorn the girl. Her shoulder, her neck, and a portion of her upper back – he kisses them slowly, romantically. He even dares to taste her skin with the tease of his tongue ever-so. Joel’s careful not to press too hard and stir the girl though – he doesn’t want her to wake and see him so hopelessly lost to the afflictions of his affections.

All of this is but a hindrance and a hell as he tries to ease the bottomless ache blooming in the depths of him more and more the longer he remains beside her.

The man knows what this is, knows what’s igniting inside of him like the spark of new life or the pledge of brand new beginnings. Knows its name, knows its place and its origin. Knows of it from his past but has never known it to feel quite like this.

He’s fearful of how strong and permanent these rising tides appear to be, simultaneously fearful of the storm and fearful of the calm. Fearful of loss. Of gain. But he’s most afraid of mistruths and falsehoods tearing him down to his studs like before. He won’t allow that, knows he would never recover, should the inclination to lie rear its feral teeth at him again.

So as pale, winter moonlight pours in through azure fabric and as the warmth of the girl in his arms radiates to claim him as hers, Joel finally welcomes the untold secret of his heart.

He leans his forehead to the bend by her neck and whispers, “I’ve fallen in love with you, baby.”

Chapter Text

The December sun rises but it’s early yet; with the faintest hint of amber on a distant horizon, the weary world greets a new day through its sedated lens. But as the souls of Jackson, Wyoming begin to stir, the last vestiges of nighttime do their best to lure its dreaming, its restful, its tired back to the promised land of ataraxia.

The morning light remains dull and dim – a painting of steely blues and bleached grays that blend the scenic landscape with the cruelest acrylics of winter. The temperature hangs somewhere around unforgiving, much like life in this world of woe and want; it’s a bitter type of cold, with feathery flakes of white that float languidly from a diffuse sky to an icy earth below.

In the calm of a colorless hour there lies a man who’s not quite awake though not fully asleep either. There’s a peace he feels, a totality fusing with the very fibers of his person; it’s of a sound and clarity he’s never known, has never been privy to in his sad, sorry life.

The girl in his arms is the cause, the source, his reason; she’s breathing evenly, a softness to her cadence that tells the sunken depths of her slumber. He knows she will likely sleep for a while, and so he revels in the notion of staying here, just like this. Somewhere between the waking light and the warmth of blissful unawareness.

Peace.

He’s aligned with her small frame, holding tight to silent truths and this woman he loves so vastly – this woman he is in love with. Those words and their meaning linger on his lips and his tongue, tasting real and right in ways both foreign and familiar. He muses on them, on their powerful temptation and seductive intrigue – it’s an unfathomable belief that has somehow become reality.

Once on the cusp of sleep, long after Ellie abandoned consciousness, Joel whispered his convictions over and over again. It wasn’t meant to convince himself, no; he’s always been resolute when it comes to decision making and matters of the heart. Even an abused, tortured heart like his understands what it is to love.

No, those murmurings were a way for him to acknowledge the shock of this admittance as a whole, to hear the words spoken and thus descend into the well of its gravity – to accept that it is really happening to him. That it’s not just a byproduct of her fever dreams.

Love is never an afterthought.

But here in the serene shallows of low tide, Joel must carefully wade still waters; he cannot allow himself to go under too fast or drift too far from shore. Not yet, anyway.

’My Ellie.’

Saying her name in the quiet of this space is enough to move him; Joel presses a kiss to her mess of auburn and inhales an alluring cacophony of linen, mint and rum. He kisses her shoulder, too, his mouth parting over the caramel stars dancing across her pale skies. Pretty. Just so pretty.

He doesn't want to keep his eyes open for too long though; Joel’s fearful to break the spell that haunts his heart. He knows its name, what it looks and sounds like, but is struggling to discern whether or not this phantom has visited him before now. He doesn’t want to frighten the thing. He’s been known to frighten things from time to time.

Instead, he ignores the ghost in favor of tracing the warm flesh at her waist; he moves his thumb in a spherical pattern while teasing the edges of her panty line with each passing rotation. She seemed to have liked that a few hours ago, when she was basically nude and asking for more than she ever has.

He swallows at the thought, swallows how this girl seems to take so well to all he does, no matter how meager or controlled his tactile responses may be. Meager and controlled for the time being, he thinks. He hopes.

There’s an inclination to slip his hand beneath the thin fabric separating her from him, to slide his callused and worn hands over the soft skin that is so painfully within reach. To feel her heat – her furnace – and celebrate the exacting seconds with which she would burn away the rest of his reticence. He wants Ellie to consume the last dregs of doubt whispering of how this can’t possibly be real, that this can’t be where he is right here, right now – that fate's injustice is not playing its final gambade on him.

Still, he is here and each of these infinitesimal touches are embers fanned into wild infernos; his mind is a waking paracosm of the world he wishes to share, a world where age, ravaging disease, loss and betrayal have no roots. An imaginary otherways, a time of peace and an abundance of togetherness. And...family.

The man nuzzles into the bend of her neck, submerging into this tranquil sea that is so close and so far from where his fitful desires moor. As he lays there, Joel is on the cusp of letting go completely, of pairing this new acceptance with the physical manifestations of what he feels for this girl.

But he won't do that. For now, Joel will do nothing beyond what she’s already allowed, neither will he take anything he’s not been explicitly given; this is enough, this, here with her, is more than enough.

Joel exhales, steals himself and inserts space between his front and her rear then, just as he’s done every morning for the past seven that have come and gone. The combination of unstable fervor and his early day erections are his concern only, not hers. The thing would exist regardless of his lewd musings, but it’s certainly been made all the worse – or better – because of them. Today especially.

He’s straining in his sweatpants, his body and balls aching just as they did prior to his release last night. A shiver lances through at the thought of that vigorous orgasm; how desperate he was to relieve himself after a week of extenuating circumstances that left him purposely going without. And yet, here, now, barely twelve hours out and the tight circle of heat simmering low in his belly begs for attention.

Joel sighs as he recalls, again, the moment she stood in front of him, clad in those lacy red panties and nothing more. How her skin felt chilled and warm at the same time – how her breath hitched when the tip of his finger dipped into her waistline.

But it wasn’t only that subtle movement…it was her petite, lithe frame and how she fit into his embrace in ways his most vivid fantasies could have never accurately recreated. How she pinned and poised her breasts against his chest and gazed up at him with a knowing look – a wicked expression of mischief to those jade eyes as she dealt with the fury of misunderstood rejection.

’Stop, stop this. Get outta this bed an’ go...shower. Calm down, man.’

Joel doesn't move.

As he lays there in sheer torment and stunting indecision, so close in proximity now that it hinders his thought process. He wonders if he shouldn’t leave but rather return to her again. To let Ellie feel the full extent of him without having to hide or shift around like an embarrassed teenage boy.

Immediately following is a question as whether or not she would even want to have him against her in that way, if only by the nature of his body versus anything overtly sexual. To which this moment certainly is the latter...for him.

Joel doesn’t leave the bed to shower but doesn’t move closer either.

Instead, his mental meandering takes a journey to the Baldwin Mansion and how Ellie ground her center onto all she was able to access of him in that position. It wasn’t much at the time, considering Joel’s damp jeans and the cold floor they awkwardly knelt upon. But if she were to feel him now, or any morning thereafter, he ruminates on if she would like that, if she would enjoy it and maybe...grab or grip him the way he aches to be grabbed and gripped by her.

As Joel sinks farther into his harrowing present, this profound realm of newness, he hears Ellie mumble in her sleep; it’s a content sort of sound, the kind people emit when they’re comfortable and resting as they so deserve. And she does deserve a deep, deep rest.

It strikes him then that they’ve gone an entire night without Ellie waking from the nightmare – exactly one week since it initially occurred. He hopes this is the result of more than a blissful sail on booze-soaked seas, but regardless of the reason, he’s happy for it. Being beholden to the pain that swarms and fuses to this beautiful woman is unlike anything he’s ever born witness to. To see such terror happen night after night – to calm and hold her through the grasp of fear and grief that should be as hollow as the bones of birds, has been a trial unto itself.

There’s relief to this realization that he prays she shares, once she’s awake and recovering from her alcoholic adventures.

He squeezes tighter at that and feathers more kisses to her earlobe, her throat, and temple as he tastes and gives of himself in this space between worlds. Joel holds, clings, and continues this rhythmic pattern of want. An urgency he has no right to or warrant to have. Especially with this girl.

The man clears his throat a measure and reseals his hazels, trying feebly to temper the boiling well of physical desire; he knows any additional sleep will elude him now, knew it the instant he woke to his dick diamond-hard and pressing to the small of Ellie’s spine. He might as well have been thrusting, given how solid and...ready he was before deciding it was better to pull away.

Though, from that moment on, he’s done nothing but work himself further into a tizzy, his thoughts ensnared between the enormity of his lust and the angst of bone-crushing dismissal. Both paths appear so vividly on the horizon just up ahead; he’s standing at a precipice, a plateau with only two viable choices – he can keep on, dive over and pray that the leap he’s willing to take will outfit his body with wings.

Or.

He could turn back, retrace his steps and deny all that he feels; bury the love, lock away the want, and refuse the silent aches that plead without reason or justification.

”I don’t want kids.”

Ellie’s revelation slams into him like the angry swell of a stormy sea, one wave befalling him after the next, after the next. She spoke those words directly to him, her voice clear and concise. A creed. That was what it was.

He believes her, needs to believe her, has to believe. Lies have no residency between them anymore.

So if he stays and if Ellie miraculously chooses to have all he’s open to give, all he chooses to offer, that would mean going against her wishes, against her creed. He won’t do that to her; Joel knows now that he’s willing to sever the promises he made to himself these past two and a half decades but Joel won’t force her to do the same. Won’t lead Ellie into a life that may result in the same road of perpetual grief and an emptiness so endless it has no name.

The sigh he lets slip is a sad and woeful thing, an acknowledgment that his love bears far too much weight in much too short a time; the exertions from such emotional olympics are taxing, burdensome and mind-numbingly confusing. He goes from one extreme to the next and back again, torn and made whole and asunder again – round and round and round he goes.

He loosens his arms and opens to view the girl that lies within them; weak rays of sunlight bleed through the cerulean curtains and it’s this soft ambience that allows him to view more of her. Dawn frames her face in a palette of blue and gold; her hair is shiny and messy, partially spread and painted a mix of reds and browns across her pillow. He loves this image of her, vulnerable and peaceful – finds there isn't much he doesn’t love about this girl.

Despite the excitement over just how much there is yet to discover.

Joel wants to recede into the waiting embrace of this moment, to transcend to that other place he’s building in the prism of these faraway thoughts. He’s nearly there when he hears a bang beyond the walls of this space. A knock to the rear door of his house.

“Shit.”

The man rises slowly, disentangling his limbs and his love for the time being. Joel moves quietly through the converted garage but with a practiced haste; he knows whomever is there will likely come to Ellie’s place soon enough and if they find him here, half dressed and half asleep – and half hard now – he’ll have far too many questions to answer for. On top of that, he doesn’t want anyone to wake her. She’s been in need of this restful night’s sleep more than anyone else in this town.

He hears naked knuckles on wood again, harder this go around, and hurries himself. His time runs thin.

Joel tosses his tee shirt and coat on and zips himself in before bending to pull his boots up around his ankles. He thieves a fleeting second or so to look at his girl lying comfortably cozy in a pile of body-warm blankets. Asleep still and so beautiful his chest hurts.

The man smiles and makes towards the exit, ready to growl at whomever thought this hour was appropriate to show up unannounced and uninvited.

Of course it’s his brother.

The frozen air pierces Joel like a thousand shivs cutting in quick succession – if only he could be so lucky to craft such grandiose stock in the road days of yore. He winces at the weather’s assault, levels a stern gaze to the man on his porch and, “What’re you doin’ here, Tommy?”

“We need’a talk. But...wha–what’re you doin’ at Ellie’s this early?”

“Ellie an’ her friends went drinkin’ last night. Was just checkin’ to make sure she's good, is all. An’ what do we gotta talk ‘bout?” Joel pulls the collar of his winter jacket closer to his throat as he strikes a direct heading to his front door. The rear entrance – the one Tommy was hammering on – has a pile of laundry baskets blocking the other side and he’s not in the mood to fight with menial tasks at this hour.

“Joel, now c’mon. We need’a get our shit straight ‘bout the Mandate an’ the town hall meetin’. Can we talk over coffee?”

The older Miller stops and stretches his neck, exhales a balloon of steam before, “I ain’t givin’ ya any of the good stuff. An’ I got shit to do before church. So let’s get a move on if we’re gettin’ our shit straight’.”

“We–I–shoulda told you. An’ Ellie. I know that, knew it all along. But my hands were tied, Joel. Maria an’ the rest of the council woulda had my hide if I said anythin’. We got a fine structure here, order. Just ‘cause you’re my brother an’ she’s...well, she’s Ellie, don’t mean I can be droppin’ bombs ahead of the mission, ya know?”

Tommy sips his coffee – chicory, not the good stuff – and sucks noisily at his teeth. The grinds are coarse and gritty but it’s warm and not without a pleasant taste; after the freezing walk to Joel’s and damn near breaking into the man’s house for fear of something gone awry, he finds he’s hard pressed to complain.

“You think we woulda said somethin’ to anyone else? C’mon boy, that’s bullshit an’ you know it. I had to sit there an’ listen to your wife go on an’ on ‘bout prosperity an’ duty – fuckin’ hell. Duty? Havin’ kids is now gonna be part of Jackson’s duties? That it?”

Tommy sighs and leans against the wooden rails lining the kitchenette’s chair.

“Havin’ babies ain’t what the duty is an’ you know it. You’re warpin’ my words because–”

“Because?”

Tommy stops at the fit of fury that flashes across Joel’s features – a warning sign. He knew they were bound to broach the topic of his niece sooner or later, but this feels...too soon. Somehow. Twenty-four plus years on and it seems as though now is still far too close to the events of that night.

“Joel, I don’t understand that kind of loss, ya know that. But this...this ain’t that. We ain’t forcin’ folks to make babies or sendin’ them to their deaths if they don’t. It’s not–I’m not…”

The younger man loses the fight and gives space for his sentence to drift; it’s a shared knowing between these two, an understanding that needs no additional words to speak it into existence. It’s already there.

Joel pushes his empty coffee mug away, mirrors his brother and tilts; he smooths his beard with the palm of a hand as he thinks on what he’s meant to be saying here. Thinks he’s not the one that needs to be talking in respect to this conversation they’re having.

Stubborn. Bullheaded Joel Miller.
Just like always.

“We got a lot to work through in these future forums. It ain’t all set in stone yet. The incentives are good an' safety is important. We ain’t riskin' lives to bring more in. Ya gotta know that much.”

Joel grumbles as his hand slaps the tense muscles of his thigh.

“I don’t know what I know anymore, to be honest.”

Tommy purses his lips, takes a swift swig of the cooling brew and angles in, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’. Just means I don’t know what the hell is up or down lately.”

The older brother rises and walks his cup to the sink, rinses and sets it to the side for later. He wishes there was more coffee but that last...was the last. His bartered reserves from a couple weeks back have been depleted.

There’s always chicory.

Joel grimaces.

“Got anythin’ to do with Ellie?”

“Hmm?”

“Ellie. Y’all definitely seem closer all of a sudden. Did somethin’ change? I mean, you was visitin’ her this damn early? On a Sund'y. After a night of drinkin’ with friends, no less.”

Joel doesn’t turn around to answer his brother, just places his hands on the edge of the counter and grips. Hard.

“We’re fixin’ things. An’ I was checkin’ on her to make sure she was alright. Because of the boozin’. But listen, I gotta figure out dinner for tonight an’ get ready for service still.”

The sibling knows when he’s being dismissed and right now, he’s being summarily dismissed.

“Before I go, me an’ Maria are gonna be at the dinner tonight. Same as every Sunday. We okay for now? Okay for dinner?”

“Mmhm. But Tommy, I’m still pissed off. It ain’t right, what you did. Aside from knowin’ what ya know of Sarah, you know of Ellie, too. Did either of you stop to think of what a mandate like this might make her believe? Might make her think?”

His hazel eyes are cutting and controlled, his words firm and precise – Joel does not mince.

Tommy nods, “More than you know, Joel.”

With that, the younger man puts his used mug in the sink and exits the kitchen without a glance or a closing word.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Joel calls from behind, but it’s a futile effort: Tommy’s through the door and out of range.

Emerald orbs and flares of liquid gold break through heavy lids, lids lazy to unseal the night and grant the day its due.

The girl yawns, stretches a length and glides her touch across the smooth plane of her belly. Low, to the space just below her navel – to the place he lingers and holds to like an anchor, moving Ellie through surging seas and still waters. It’s the spot that seems to ground them when all else fades into a maze of what dreams may come.

She dances feather-light tips to her skin, channeling their melody as she seeks the reassurance of Joel's weight and the soundness of his pressure.

There is nothing.
Her belly is empty.
Void of him.

Ellie rolls supine and sees the space beside her is hollow, without Joel – Joel who was most definitely there when she fell asleep and most definitely snoring through the night – the noise stirred her a few times. She never minds it. He only snores so deeply when he feels safe and a deep slumber has claimed him. Or this is what it looks like from the outside in.

She sits and peers about, eyes searching for any trace of him, demeanor as accusatory as it is curious. She doesn’t find Joel but instead notes the littering remnants of her evening prior to his arrival: Cloudy shot glasses, sticky tumblers, ashen ashtrays...all par for the course. Her friends are messy sometimes.

But still, no Joel.

Giving it another once-over before she calls it what it is – 'maybe he’s in the bathroom?' – she wraps the blanket to her and, “Joel?”

Silence.

He’s well and truly not here.

She sighs and rubs her eyes, careful to remove the tiny pieces of human from their edges.

“Well fuck you then.”

There’s a flash of annoyance at his absence, a frustration met with a surprising level of disappointment at first. Yet, it’s not the only thing vying for her utmost; a twist in her abdomen is beginning to unspool and expand with each passing moment. It’s a whisper of want. A whisper of need.

Despite these sensations, her skull is hammering with limbs heavy as lead – undoubtedly from a generous consumption of alcohol – but it’s that otherness overthrowing all the rest. It’s a silent furor pushing the exhaustive affects of her hangover aside as sirens beckon louder – whining for Ellie’s attention and acknowledgement.

She knows what it is but initially opts to deny the urge; she’s not of a right mind to touch herself, to play with all the parts Joel continually finds reason and cause to ignore. "Too upset, too drunk." Blah blah, fucking blah. Or no-fucking, rather.

As she begrudgingly slips from the warmth of her sleeping cocoon, an echo of pops and cracks greet the surrounding quiet; it’s colder than it was the day before, but this is nothing new. The space heaters and wood-burning stove can only do so much without hourly upkeep through the night; she woke several times from a need to use the bathroom, his rumbly sounds and to curl deeper into Joel’s embrace but beyond that, Ellie paid little mind to static sources of warmth other than the man in her bed.

The man in her bed...

The desirous spark fractures outward at the mere thought of him, of his expanse and how close he keeps to her from the time they fall to the time they wake...today notwithstanding, of course. How grounding that hardened, scarred bulk of his is and how tight his body feels when he gets exci–’Stop it. You’re mad. No, not mad. You’re annoyed. He left you without a note for fucks sake. Eugh. Don’t want what doesn't want you, don't want what doesn't want you...’

The girl pleads to the gods of discipline and determination as she scrubs her way through a lukewarm shower, mind torn between snuffing seduction or giving into it completely. The act wouldn’t require a substantial amount of time and is likely to ease the overall tension building; ever since their first mind-blowing kiss at the Baldwin house two nights back, Ellie’s cravings have skyrocketed.

Now free of the washroom, she peeks the clock and notes there’s a half hour or so before church. Plenty of time to get this over with before she’s most likely face to face with him again. Before she has to temper and hide the raw nature of her emotions again.

Ellie teases a mess of damp auburn, turns an aging knob two clicks on the electric heater and tosses another log into the stove for good measure. After, she walks to her mattress, drops her terrycloth towel and leans forward. She uses an arm for support, her palm pressing flat to the soft sheet that’s grown woefully cold from Joel’s absence.

’...Joel.’

As it passes the razor edge of her tongue, his name is a chimera of forbidden tastes; there’s anger, annoyance and a rooted history living within its weight, yes, but there’s more. So much more now.

The more is what she focuses on at present.

Using her free hand, Ellie teases a hard nipple but hastily brushes beyond it for the time being. She’s aching to be handled – to be cupped, squeezed and sucked as though his life depended on the very act of it.

“But he’s not here…”

Ellie scowls at the inconvenient truth but pushes it aside, opting instead to visualize him...in different ways.

Ways that serve to remind the girl of just how hard his cock gets when he’s near her, when he's asleep, too – and how much she wants to grip him with more than just her hands.

Of how his breath hitched when she pulled on his gorgeously-thick hair and how his hips snapped in immediate response. It was a slight thrust but it was there and she felt its unbridled power.

Of how he likes to kiss and taste her when he believes she’s sleepily unaware.

Of how his hands slapped her ass just enough to let her know he’s unafraid to be rough with her.

Of how Joel seems to like it rough.

At that last, Ellie employs the pads of her fingers and runs them through the slick pooling between her legs. She hisses at how wet she is, how needy and swollen and ready.

She repeats the circular motion onto her nub generously, applying pressure as she goes down and more when she comes back up again. Her hips rock ever-so with the cadence she’s set, each of her lower limbs bending in response to how good it feels. She wants it to feel better.

Ellie parts at the knees and widens enough to penetrate the empty hole dripping like an ill-tended faucet.

“Fuck…”

She knows her pace must quicken, that the clock is winding down and Joel could very well show at her door any second. To walk together to church, no less.

The mere idea of him coming...here sets her teeth on edge and her blood to boil; to be caught with his name on her lips and fantasies of his mouth on her...lips is the latest addition to her expanding, albeit brand new, explicit Joel library-'EJL for short.' A momentary giggle steels her, though it's short-lived.

Ellie whimpers as a slippery pair of fingers enter and hook inside of her; she eases in and out, keeping rhythm and gaining momentum with every pressured motion. Her hips whine onto her hand, too, failing over and over again to fill the deepest recesses of herself. To fill a void that is desperate for more.

She knows what she has is not enough and immediately starts to tickle the premise of who would be more than enough. This rambling arousal become less and less clear as she continues, her body readying itself for what is to come.

It’s happening fast, so tantalizingly fast this time.

Ellie revels in the friction from the heel of her palm, but it won't fully deliver what she yearns for.

’...fucking s-stretch me, Joel…fucking ope-n m-me...ah, God...'

She adds a third finger and nearly crumbles as the flexible ring tightens evermore – it’s too much but she wants to take it, wants to prove to herself that one day she can, and will, greedily accept his cock, no matter how tight or inexperienced she may be.

’Teach me to take it, Joel…’

As these hidden longings begin to spiral and merge with the physical depths of her, Ellie succumbs. To her frustrations with his ghost, her anger at his silence and his reticence to give in. But above all though, she submits to the fiery passion growing dangerously apparent with each and every moment.

“Oh, fuck, ohfuck…”

Ellie grits her teeth, grips the bedsheet, and curls her toes as a fevering orgasm tears through; waves of concentrated heat descend and flood at her ground zero, filling all ends of the girl with fractal beams made of pure light. It’s a harrowing experience as this climax steals her air and replaces it with a plead of what she hopes self-pleasure will feel like from now on.

“What the hell…” Ellie mumbles, her voice unsteady and thin from a momentary lack of oxygen. Two of her digits are still within as she begins to come down from the whirlwind that damn near swept her off her feet – literally. But the intensity of this situation will yet cease: She chooses a look towards the window opposite her bed and immediately drops to her knees and gasps.

Joel and Dina are right there, standing twenty-odd feet or so in front of her field of view and talking together. Prior to falling, Ellie caught the rear of Joel with Dina standing ahead of him – from what she can glimpse, she looks pretty, he looks clean.

A sniff-snort escapes as she considers her immediate surroundings: Her flimsy curtains weren’t parted all the way but if either Joel or Dina were there for any length of time, each would have seen the x-rated show she never intended to put on. She laughs from her place on the floor and fumbles with the towel, groping around for a damp spot still; wiping her tacky hand, she releases the terrycloth and shuffles forward, using the mattress as a shield.

After waiting a beat, she stands at the dresser, safely hidden from the window, and retrieves a fresh set of clothes for the day. Her nakedness hidden for now, she creeps to the nearest curtain and notes, with a rush of surprise, that Joel and Dina are no longer within view.

“Hmm. Where’d you two go?”

As she poses curiosities to the ether, Ellie returns to her drawers and pushes older panties aside in favor of a particular pair. They’re hunter-green with a lining of transparent-mesh the front and rear. She doesn't know specifically why she wants to wear these today, but surmises it's to do with the explosive orgasm that’s blown every vein in her body.

As she slides them over her taut hips, she notes the time again and sees there are only ten minutes remaining for her to make it to the church on time.

“Shit, shit, shit. Pastor Pedro is gonna vex me with the unholy glare if I’m late again.”

As she reaches the end of her inner fervency, a light knock sounds from the garage entryway. A perfect sign from above if ever there was one.

“Gimme a second.”

Joel or Dina, most likely.

After yanking a pant leg up and hastily zipping, she dons the rest of her attire and cuts a swift track to greet her visitor.

Visitors.

Joel and Dina.

“Oh, hey...you two.” Sage eyes wander and look away from the four fastidiously staring at her.

Dina is in front of Joel and though both share warm smiles, despite the frigid winter, her friend – her girlfriend, that is – appears all the worse for the wear.

“You ready yet? Ugh, I feel like ass. Wanna go and get my God on and get back home and sleep until shift tomorrow morning. I swear I’m gonna. What the hell did we even drink last night and why do you look like you’re not hungover at all?”

Ellie and Joel’s eyebrows mirror one another as they arch true north, absorbing the barrage that is Dina Pereria in the cold light of day.

“Uh...wow. You're a whole bundle of joy today, huh? And I don’t know, I showered and slept great...anyway, let’s get going. We’re letting all my warm air out again. You’re the worst at this.”

The trio exits using the back yard gate, and walk silently through the town’s bountiful greenhouses as they head towards the playground. The old wooden church is right beside it and while they know it’s likely slim pickings for seats – if you arrive on time, you’re late – they’ll make due with what they have.

Joel trails behind Ellie and Dina as they carry on, his unsheathed hands like concrete as they dig further into wool-lined pockets; he tucks his chin to his chest and combats the cold, his eyes squinting to ward off the wind – anything to stay warm...and distracted.

It hardly works.

“How’re you feelin’, Ellie?” His voice is far more calm than it has any right to be and seeing him after being annoyed and horny – and half awake for both – reminds her that she...didn’t have the nightmare. This fact sees her abruptly stopping and he nearly bounds into her before catching his feet and grabbing her shoulders to keep both of them from toppling over.

“Whoa, ya alright?”

Dina turns and stops, watching curiously but remains quiet nonetheless.

“Yeah, I–um...yeah. I’m alright. Sorry, just uh, just thought of something.”

Joel swallows and pointedly avoids looking directly at Ellie. He can safely assume what it is that threw her into a state of stunned reflection. Could be any of these, really: Perhaps the striptease in front of him last night or some of the words she lobbed at him after that failed attempt, words full up on fear and accusation. It could also be the pleasant relief in knowing she didn’t wake in a panicked state today (he's guessing at this hypothesis)...or maybe, just maybe, it was how she fucked herself good and hard on the bedside not ten minutes back. He glimpsed just enough on his way to meet her and couldn’t fathom what he was seeing. Utter disbelief, initially.

As he spun away and began the trek for Sunday service alone, in an effort to offer Ellie privacy – in spite of the siren in his jeans and just how turned on he was seeing her in that state – he bumped into her friend, Dina.

Joel coughs, abandoning the fresh memory for the present, and slides a hand through his unkempt hair, “I hope it’s a good thing?”

Ellie nods and looks to the wayside, mildly concerned with Dina's chestnut gaze boring into hers. She glances away and forces a smile, “Yeah, it's-I’ll...let’s chat later sometime?”

Joel lends a side smirk and squeezes the girl’s shoulder, noting strands of semi-dry hair sticking to her neck and the scent of clean soap – a shower; the visualization of her writhing in bliss crashes to the forefront again and Joel is both thankful and haunted he didn’t espy much from his vantage point. Nor did he stay to watch, feeling it wrong to voyeur on such an intimate act, but oh. He saw enough of Ellie's face, her breasts and the way her arm was moving to know he wants to see more. So goddamn-much more.

A tightness within his belly happens this time and he feigns another forced cough; a simple tactic meant to distract and it does, for the most part.

’Gotta stop. This is ridiculous. Ain’t a'little teenage shit. Control yourself.’

Licking winterized lips, “O’course. Dinner tonight? It’s Sund'y…” Joel lets the question linger as he anxiously awaits her response; even after a week like this, a week of being with her in ways they’ve never been, he’s still weary to assume anything. Especially having to leave her in a rush this morning with no time yet to explain.

“Mmhm. Absolutely.”

“Uh, Ellie, Joel? Service is starting in about ten seconds and unless you want that small pastor man putting us on blast, we should go in. Also, I somehow feel more ass-ish than before.”

Dina captures the exact moment the older man and her best friend return to the here and now; it’s a revealing sight, the kind that tends to happen when folks are swept so far out by an undertow and they themselves haven’t quite realized it.

Folks sharing stories without the utterance of a lone word.

“Right. Church. C’mon there, ladies.”

“Did you ask him about tonight? That we’re coming to dinner to work through all this recent nonsense?” Maria Miller idles beside her husband and greets some of the service’s congregation as they filter out. She likes to wait in the vestibule afterwards and catch friends and familiar faces each week – the town seems to enjoy it in tandem.

“I did. He knows we’ll be there. Man’s plenty pissed at me still though.” Tommy touches his split lip and the wound above his left eye to further emphasize his statement. Tokens given by his older brother, free of charge. The swelling's gone down and they’re less mean looking overall but still present and painful whenever he manages to forget about them. Which is often.

“He’s always pissed at something. Needs a woman in his lif–Oh, Beth! Meant to tell you! We really enjoy the faux blueberry and cherry wreaths on your windows! I know we aren’t coming around to judge until Wednesday but I saw them the other day and I might ask you to make us one. You’re too dang creative and I’m the absolute worst when it comes to that stuff. Ask Tommy...he knows and he’ll tell you.”

Tommy shrugs noncommittally and, “Now don’t go trappin’ me, woman. Maria here is real good at a lotta things, that’s what I know.”

Beth laughs a hoarse, high pitched cackle and flips a wave of amber as she pats Tommy on the flank of his arm.

“Fine man you got, Mrs. Miller!”

Maria chortles and teases a smile but it falters halfway; most days she doesn’t mind Beth’s bubbly, over the top antics but it is enough to wear on any soul if left to its own devices. Though the Mrs. knows she brought this on herself by complimenting Beth.

Still, it's all an act, of course, because the woman’s been surviving the last two and a half decades doing quite well, all things considered. Just like everyone else that’s migrated and settled in Jackson through the years. Dangerously humane nowadays.

“Mmmm. Fine yes, but full of shit,” Maria jokes, nudging a playful elbow into the center of her husband's chest. The trio share a round of revelatory glee as Maria and Tommy spot Joel, Ellie and Dina standing by the exit. Two-thirds of this current company are ready for this interaction to come to a close.

Beth follows their gaze and grins as she hones in on the big man and his nutmeg winter wear, “How’s your brother doing, Tommy? He seemed pretty upset on Thursday.”

Maria’s eyes flash in a knowing manner as she shifts to gain a better angle of the man at her side, silently awaiting his rhetoric.

“Joel’s good. I mean, my face took the brunt of his bein’ upset but it coulda been worse, I suppose.”

“He’s a pretty intense man, huh? Guessing that news caught him off guard like the rest of us. What with him obviously included in the – what was it you said? – able-bodied populous and all.” Beth’s undivided lingers on Joel as she says this, a fuzzy-mitten brought close to her lips in contemplation.

“Mmhm. Intense is a word for Joel, sure. But he means well. Pain in my ass, but he’s alright.” Tommy studies Maria as she pinches her brow and partially rolls her eyes. Not any comments in reference to Joel, Tommy knows, but rather Beth’s obvious attraction to the older Miller.

“Well, I gotta get home. I’ll drop that berrycherry wreath off at your office sometime this week, too. Happy to make one for the Millers! Good chatting. Have a great Sunday!” With that, Beth Fleurs politely exits the conversation and the minuscule hall – but not before stopping by Joel on her way out.

“Hey Joel! Hi Ellie, and is it...Diana? Right?”

“It’s Dina. Hi Beth.”

Ellie’s jaw flexes as her teeth grind themselves into what she hopes are micro shivs; the bubbly blond cuts into their conversation wholly uninvited and once again, she remains shamelessly clueless as to just how annoying she is.

Joel tips forward a pitch in a practiced greeting and, “Ms. Fleurs.”

Beth giggles at that, actually giggles, and lightly grabs onto Joel’s bicep, “Beth, it’s just Beth. No need to stand on pomp with me.”

Joel snorts and dons an empty side smile, before angling himself far enough apart to ensure Beth’s grasp falls from him naturally.

“So. I’m wondering if you have a few minutes to spare this morning, Joel? I have this nasty leak in my closet wreaking havoc from all this heavy snow. I know it’s last minute but I seem to recall back in the summertime you volunteered for the construction crew and helped rebuild the row of houses off Baker Lane. So maaaaybe I could borrow you? I have a couple bottles of beer and steak sandwiches in the fridge!”

The woman bounces on the balls of her feet as she opens and closes her hands in an overtly anticipatory fashion.

Joel side-eyes Ellie and finds her features partly flush and sternly set; he’s about to feign regret and turn down the request when Dina links an arm to her friend and smiles, “Excuse us, you two. Ellie, I have that thing I've been meaning to talk to you about, remember? About that person who went to that place and did ALL that?”

’Fuck.’

Joel watches the duo of younger women walk past the doors and out into the town, Ellie’s gait tense and stiff all the while. He watches and mulls on jealousy before setting his undivided onto Beth.

“Remodeled. I didn’t rebuild, I remodeled. You’re givin’ me much too much credit, Ms Fleurs.”

The woman’s features start to gleam as she breaks into a flirty smile, eyes all blue and skin frost-nipped to match. “But you know what you’re doing, and I need a man who knows what he’s doing.”

Joel swallows and scratches his cupid's bow, his hazels glaring at the wet, rubber floor mats everyone treads snow in and out on.

“I do know, yes.”

“So...you’ll help me?”

“Sure. Leaks are bad news.”

“Okay, we’re talking right now, you and me, Missy. Get your bony-ass over here.”

Ellie hangs her winter coat onto its rack, taking an inordinate time to do so, before spinning to locate Dina sitting in the middle of the couch, both arms firmly folded across her chest.

“I thought you were going home to sleep because you, and I quote, ‘feel like ass’...or was it ass-ish? I think it was both.”

Despite this, Ellie joins the girl and situates comfortably; she leans back, crosses her legs and shifts to face Dina, “So. What’re we talking about?”

“Joel.”

Two sage orbs avert their gaze as her unsteady hands fidget with a ratty throw pillow; she pulls on its fraying threads, untwisting the thick, soft fabric with every tug, pinch and roll between her worrying fingers.

“What about him?”

“Ellie, look at me.”

She does.

“Did something happen at the Baldwin Mansion? You’ve been acting a little odd the past week, ever since you cursed him out at the dance, actually.”

The auburn-haired girl is steadfastly silent at first, wondering how much, or how little, she should reveal and what she wants to hold onto for herself. Not everything need be shared in one go, of that she’s absolutely certain. Still, it is Dina and she trusts her implicitly. Dina would never betray her.

Though, there was a time where she thought the same of Joel.

The girl scratches the side of her cheek, sighs in resignation and, “Yes and...no. After that bullshit at the Winter Dance, I...well, I took off, left you there and came back home. But stopped at Joel’s first. He was outside playing his guitar with a cup of coffee. It looked fresh enough so I figured he hadn’t been out there that long. I think he was waiting on me, to be perfectly honest. The back door of his house isn’t really used as a back door so now that I think of it, yeah, he was definitely there hoping we could talk, that sneaky bastard. Anyway we did. Talk, I mean. About you and Jesse and Seth. But also...we kinda started to clear the air between us. I can’t really go into too much detail about that part because it’s a long fucking story and God knows we are both too goddamn tired for that right now but just know I was sorry for what I did to him in front of everyone. Still cringe at that shit when I think about it.”

Dina curls her legs beneath her lower half and leans in, “Okay. But how does that relate to you and him getting Clickered-in at the Mansion?”

“Well, it’s kinda fucking stupid what happened. After I left Joel’s porch and went to sleep, I had this really awful nightmare.” Ellie sighs and pauses, searching for the right words to share this with someone other than Joel. It’s strange, weird and feels as though she's being thrust forwards faster than she's able to keep up. As if her axis is upending. But there's something there beyond that...something that feels like readiness. Ellie feels...ready to share. Maybe the more people that know about her nightly curse, the less power it may hold in the long run.

“A nightmare? Like...you had a bad dream?” Dina’s eyebrow peaks as she rubs her knees and waits in lieu of an answer.

“Yep. But it...to call it that makes it sounds like some childish, boogeyman bullshit. It wasn’t that. It was–fuck. Dina, Joel was...he was so brutally murdered in front of me. Like, his head was caved in, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, just...k-killed right in front of me.” Ellie stops and cups a hand to her mouth as the lucidity of the horror churns her gut like a rotten afterbite. It’s a poison, a venom, an incurable illness ravaging an infection within her. It was too soon to talk about it, too soon to share.

She wants to flee to Joel, to see him and be seen by him. To hold and be held. Love and be loved.

“Hey, hey, Ellie, are you alright?” Dina raises onto her knees and leans into her friend, a hand on either one of Ellie’s cheeks.

“I’m...I can’t talk about that yet, I’m sorry. It’s too much. I know, I fucking know it didn’t happen, know it’s not real, but something about it, something doesn't feel right still. I mean, up until today, I’ve been waking from panic attacks every time I go to sleep. Joel brings me out of it every time and I’m so fucking grateful for him but I know it’s a lot and he must think I’m crazy as well.”

The girl stops and stares at a string of white lights glittering behind her; she inhales and exhales as she plays with the green cord, rolling the plastic bulbs in between the pads of her fingers as she works to settle down.

“You’ve been sleeping with Joel?”

“What, no-we-I… what?” Ellie’s attentions snaps to Dina, her focus solely on the expression on her friend's face, but there’s no judgement or consequence living in those rich pools of mahogany. There exists companionship and curiosity and nothing more.

“You said, ‘Joel brings me out of it,’ after mentioning you’ve been screaming awake every time since that first go around with the dream. I’m just wondering if what you said means you two have been spending your nights in bed together, which is exactly what it sounds like, by the by. AND it’d make sense, given everything that's been happening. At least everything that I’ve seen at least.”

There’s a pause that hovers in the hollow space separating them, it stretches, retracts and returns to cycle anew as these women sit in silence.

Finally, the girl with raven hair cuts into the mounting quiet, “Ellie, I’m not judging you, or him. I’m trying to understand. I want to help you, too, ya know. If I can.”

Ellie’s shoulders sink as she eases into the serene waters of a friend’s unconditional support; it moves her, allows a respite for her to properly relax, to steal her fear and share what is truly on her heart. It’s why she’s always liked Dina, why she knows she loves her and always will. No matter how their affection has or may change, that one thing will remain resolute.

“Yes. Most nights were at his house. And then Baldwin was...well that’s part of what I can’t fucking manage because I’m stupidly unable to get through it without wanting to literally fucking die because of it. So later for that one.”

Dina reaches for Ellie’s hand by the string of twinkling lights and holds onto it, “And last night? He stayed here, didn’t he?”

Her head tilts a few degrees as Ellie ruminates on the question, trying to discover how she’s arrived at that conclusion. Joel wouldn’t have shared such a fact with anyone, let alone Dina, but that aside, the only opportunity he might have had to do so was when the pair were outside before church. Would he have mentioned their sleepover in passing conversation? Surely not.

“How did you know? Did Joel tell you?”

Dina laughs at that, the throaty, belly-bouncing kind and Ellie’s brow arches in an animated, stupefying sort of way.

“Did JOEL tell me he slept in your bed last night? Joel-as in, barely speaks unless he absolutely has to-Joel Miller? That same Joel?”

Ellie slaps the other woman’s knee lightheartedly and bobs her head, “Okay, okay. Fair. But seriously, how did you know then? And what did you and him talk about today before knocking on my door?”

“Well look whose being nosey now! Kidding, kidding. Don’t give me that look, Williams. I might just smooch you again. But anyway, I sorta bumped into him – metaphorically not like actually – walking to your door last night after Jesse and I bounced. He must have thought everyone went home because it quieted down over here. Said he chanced a visit to see if you were doing okay, ‘to check in on her,’ were his exact words. He seemed a little embarrassed at first, like he’d been caught red-handed. Which, in hindsight, is what led me to put two and two together like the math wiz I am.”

Ellie pats her lips as she processes the rush of new information. It wasn’t much but it was enough, revealing the sole cause of Joel and Dina’s conversation earlier – a rarity if ever was one and, surprisingly, it turns out it was a follow up.

“Well you’re a regular fucking detective, Dina Pereria. Putting it all together right under our snoots and us, none the wiser. Not that we were or are sneaking around with anything. It’s not like th–”

“Oh don’t you start lying now, Ellie. You’ve told me hardly anything at all but thankfully this big brain in my beautiful skull is able to fill in the blanks. So okay, you can’t and don’t want to talk about the dream – I get that. But let me ask you this, and maybe you honestly don’t know yet, but...are you-is there more going on with you two? Maybe I’m mixing signals but he said something in passing today that I thought was pretty damn interesting…”

“What’d he say?”

Dina chews on the haste intonation as she considers Ellie's inquiry; the girl is dodging most of what she’s been asked but that’s not entirely out of her wheelhouse either. She knows her best friend well. Knows when to push and when to pull. Still, despite this knowledge, she forges ahead.

“You first.”

“Dammit.”

“Mmhm.”

Ellie gathers her limbs and mimics the position of the company beside her; she cracks her neck, her knuckles and billows a few lungfuls of air.

“Yes. There is. But I don’t know what IT is yet. When I do, I promise to tell you.”

Dina’s eyes flash with realization – Detective P is hot on the case. “That’s who you were talking about when I asked you if you ‘liked him,’ last night, wasn’t it? It’s not Liam...it’s JOEL.”

Ellie shrinks a measure but nods her head, “You can’t tell anyone anything, please. It’s...it’s so complicated and nothing’s really happened yet and I have no clue what the fuck he even wants – I mean where it concerns anyone else knowing. No, never mind. I do know, he wouldn’t like it. He’s intensely private. Too damn private, but that’s his way. So, lips are SEALED, you got it? You have questions, you come to me and me only.”

Dina throws each hand up in surrender, palms mockingly stretched, “Jeez, don’t worry, alright? You know I’ll never say a word about this to anyone. Just you.”

Another pregnant pause visits after their trust solidifies but then it’s Ellie who chances a backtrack.

“Your turn. What did he say earlier that got you so intrigued and sniffing out the right trails and what not?”

Dina smiles and pulls her hair free from an elastic band; she plays with it a beat, fluffs it outward and turns her head this way and that before, “Oh, he didn’t. I just knew I had to toss some bread crumbs down to get you talking to me.”

Ellie’s jaw goes slack as those words hit home, “You son of a bitch. You trapped me! What kinda crap...”

Dina darts the the hair tie at her friend's face and wiggles her very dark, very pronounced brows, “Gotcha.”

After an hour spent pouring over the finer details: Ellie’s overwhelming feelings, a shameful tendency towards jealousy and of what the situation could ultimately change into (worrisome complications leading this expansive list), Dina eventually left. Her hangover became too beastly a burden and it was difficult for the girl to focus on endless objectives. They made tentative plans for a quick nightcap after their shifts the following day but until that time, Dina made it clear she and her mattress were to be unified.

Ellie completes a speedy clean of her living space, switches into a worn set of flannel bottoms and one of Joel’s button-ups before situating at the desk. She sits and retrieves her journal, distractedly picking at aged leather while suspending for a moment; the girl exhales a sigh of release now that she’s alone and has time enough to think, write and sketch about recent days and events. To retell the stories, to try and make sense of a heart swimming beneath miles of salt water, to write of her fears, doubts, and hesitations. Of her resolve, love and desires.

The girl is not verbose, nor is her prose purpled, but when she indulges movements of the mind and allows lyrics and raw imagery to channel themselves through her, what often remains is a gratifying experience.

This time should be no different.

Joel.

My heart is a tempest
Full of sea and the crush of sound
Is it him you?
Is this real?

The softness in your feral hazel arms
Hold to me
The thunder of your submerged love
Keeps me safe from all other storms

Will I break beneath the crash of waves?
Will you break me again?

As she begins to lazily draw a few pieces of the man on her mind – of his face, his hands and what she’s come to learn of his body – she considers everything that's led to these exact musings.

The fight at the Winter Dance and their terse conversation afterwards. How the soft sound of his music met her furor and didn’t waver in its stead. She winces at how that night on his patio could have been the last time they ever spoke with one another.

But of course, thankfully, it was not.

The nightmare arrived next like a ghoulish kiss slowly intending on killing her. Followed immediately by nights of cocooned limbs and lungs, each vying to memorize a new cadence of being kept in each others’ arms.

Then arrived the Mandate and a subsequent brawl with Tommy. Angry droplets of blood tinting the water salmon as they corrupted a small bowl set atop cracked tile. Joel when he begged her to stay with him – ‘please don’t go.’ She remembers studying every minute inch of Joel Miller as he knelt and laid himself so beautifully bare before her. The mental replay of this moment flits across her lined pages like an ethereal, glowing apparition.

After came the Mansion and the deluge of visceral, crippling horror. And an earth-shattering kiss alongside Ellie's first, true sexual awakening. She shivers, remembering the ghost of his touch as its memory echoes upon her skin; every bit of her body was set aflame as he gripped and guided her in ways she hadn't known she could move. White-hot liquid fire coursed through her blood at his experienced actions, eliciting a dangerous hunger within and a selfish plea to never get to the end of it all.

But it did end. He ended it. In spite of his cessations, the night wasn’t a total loss.

At the grandiose lodge there were also inappropriate jokes, a delightful surprise of peaches, and, most disappointingly, a divisive, definitive argument. Highs and lows. So many ups and downs they've shared the last five years. Ellie believes it might be unnerving if she wasn't so accustomed to its pattern by now. Maybe it’s just their way.

The girl pauses, her pencil hovering above the last sentiment as she continues to muse on that night; not the basement or the way she nearly had him unbuckled, no. Nor the overwhelm by which she circled so closely to the deathless death by his lips and sounds and hands. All of these moments are imperative to the grand scheme, of course, but right now she magnifies the actual night and the way Joel held her by the subtle glow of the fireplace.

It had felt different – he felt different...melancholic. Joel hadn't been standoffish or aloof – two of the most likely reactions she anticipated from him, instead he felt sad but close. Nearer to her heart but fighting doubts and demons in silence. Whether the cause was the jarring stop to their first physically-passionate experience together or the outright, bold-faced lie she threw at him about not wanting kids, Ellie couldn't be sure. She doesn’t suspect he saw through the cruel subversion concerning the last part of their talk though.

A cascading avalanche of shame floods her belly, instantly replacing the warmth of their shared hearth with icy disappointment. It hurts knowing she’s been false with Joel, that after all their time apart and all the punishment she dolled as a result of his monumental betrayal – his lies – she now appears to be no better than he was.

Ellie grips the edge of the book and hastily sketches a self-portrait, her movements rash and jerky. She assesses the drawing for a spell afterwards and a dark scowl begins to mar her face; Ellie grabs a pen, breaks it in half and dribbles droplets of ebony ink over her lying, inanimate eyes – every line on the paper becomes blurry, disproportionate.

Flipping the page, she smooths the underside of it with the heel of her palm, blotting and scattering the midnight liquid in the hope of disfiguring such deceitful features.

As the wet splotch of black seeps through the leaf of paper up onto her skin, she lifts her pencil and scribbles on the opposite side of the book:

I want what I shouldn’t want
What I know you can’t won’t give
I see them, I see every one of them
Black, red, green, hazel
What could be
Who might be

My soul vibrates to your chords
Your melody is golden, like sunlight sunbursting gradients

My lips are dishonest
My lies fetid
Please don’t ever go

A tear snakes down Ellie’s cheek, tracking shiny scales far enough to carve the shape of her dishonor; she brushes it aside, incidentally transferring an ink stain to her pale skin...but it’s no matter. She doesn’t care, can’t care.

Of all the things she was looking forward to writing and reveling in – things in need of sorting, events to acknowledge and try to understand – it’s the falsities reigning supreme. She longs for a return, a do-over. Longs to scream at herself as though she were outside looking in on the performance of a lifetime. She wants to run to Joel and impart the truth in all its scary, magnificent glory: Ellie wants to experience and share everything with him – a whole life, a whole lineage. Quietly she hopes she is worthy enough but at present? It remains to be seen.

'Clearly you’re worthy of shit, you fucking liar.'

She slams the journal shut and rests against the back of her chair; a huff of bone-deep frustration and woe slips from her trembling mouth, she's on the cusp of tears. Metal squeals and whines under insufficient weight, just as it always does and it feels like the business end of a cruel joke: Fix things that need fixing, even the simplest of tasks, has never been her best strategy.

Joel is the one who has learned to correct and set it all right. He knows how they'll move past this – despite the fact that he knows nothing of it yet.

Oh, Joel.

She wonders if he’s home yet, wonders whether or not that shrill woman left him at the church and went about her day. Ellie grumbles at an absent Dina, annoyed that she practically dragged Ellie away from Joel – essentially inviting Beth into Joel’s bedroom. Or Joel into Beth's room, either way.

'A little dramatic, Williams. Pump the brakes.'

She wants to flee these dreadful musings and go to him, check his home to see if he’s there and if so, is he busy or not? Maybe ask to watch a movie together before dinner prep...maybe he’ll allow her to help with dinner prep this week. As she spins round and round on her screeching stool, she decides there are no more seconds in the day to waste. They’ve been apart for years and she doesn’t want time – or another lie – to steal a single moment that could otherwise be theirs.

Ellie wants to tell him the truth, to lay it all bare and move forward in any way they’re able. Will gladly accept whatever recompense may arise, in spite of the nagging fear gathering in the farthest reaches of her mind.

A fear that tells her it might not be as simple as that.

“Thanks for all your help, Joel! I know you’ll be swinging over sometime later to actually fix it but even checking the damage brings me peace of mind. I really appreciate that!”

Joel nods but stays resolutely quiet. Wind is whipping the exposed cartilage of his ears so he’s having a hell of a time concentrating on much beyond the bite of that. He didn’t want Beth walking him home either; surely the man didn’t ask or need it, but she mentioned a visit to the greenhouses and with his place on the way, “Why not share a few more moments in the mean ol' cold?”

He doesn’t dislike the woman, not really, but her obviousness towards him is off-putting more than he would care to admit. She's too much in all the wrong ways, to him at least.

Once they’re by the front of his house, Beth notes the stunning lack of Christmas decor and uses this as an opportunity, “So, I’m making a holiday wreath for your brother and sister-in-law, would you also like one?”

Joel snorts and bounces on stiff boots as his extremities grow colder as he stands static in the snow, “Oh, uh. Ellie an’ me are plannin’ on decoratin’ tomorrow. I think we got enough in storage to do the trick. Wouldn’t wanna put you out.”

Beth turns to face him and smiles – a real smile this time and not one oozing with an abundance of people-pleasing sweetness. It’s a switch for her and not wholly unpleasant.

She links to his forearm and hangs there longer than she should, “It’s no trouble at all, Joel. But hey, if you change your mind, or you run out of decorations, you know where to find me.”

A wink comes after that.

At the conclusion of her flirtatious sentiments, a younger woman trots the last leg of the street’s curve and waves at Fleurs, “Hey, Beth, on the way to Charles’?”

Beth spins and greets the rosy-cheeked girl, eyes brimming with mirth and friendliness as the veil settles back into place.

“Oh, hi Abby! I was just offering my thanks to Joel here for taking a look at that groddy leak. You know, the one in my bedroom closet. But yep, on the way to Greenhouse five for my weekly pickup. You’re sure Charles is on duty today? I didn’t see him at service.”

Joel smiles between the women and denotes his exit with, “Well, best be on the way. Too frigid for my blood.” Joel slinks far enough apart to emphasize that he is, in fact, leaving, using his dusky hazels to look at the frozen earth as he does this.

The other stands beside Beth and watches Joel from her peripheral; she politely nods but her jaw tightens ever-so. Neither Joel nor Beth notice this.

“Joel, is it? I’m Abby. New in town. Good to meet ya. And yeah, it’s too damn frosty in these mountains. Not used to it one bit.”

He laughs, idly wondering where she hails from and whether or not he should ask, but thinks better of it for now. Instead, Joel clicks his tongue and smiles, “Hmph, that it is. Nice to meet you an' welcome to Jackson. Now if y'all excuse me. Have a fine day, ladies.”

Ellie squeezes the doorframe until Beth and her companion walk off – it’s the same blond who was laughing and singing with Fleurs at the Bison last night. The same girl that feels...wrong somehow.

She frowns.

A chasm forms in the darkest spaces of her heart, the propensity for jealousy rearing its ugly head, yes, but something past all that noise, too. Glimpsing Joel and Beth side by side is upsetting on its own but that isn't the only anchor sinking Ellie into the depths of despair. Another weight goes unceremoniously into murky waters and it, the leaden object in her gut, bears the appearance of this stranger. This person she’s noted twice in less than twenty-four hours and is, somehow, still in the dark about. She doesn't know her name, doesn’t know her place or where she’s come from. Only that she’s here in town and feels familiar in crooked and concerning ways.

Despite these banging echoes of jealousy and loud bells of warning, Ellie's confusion leaves her incapable of speaking with Joel at present. She needs to placate her nerves, sort through these unkempt emotions and find reason amidst the illogical swarms in her head. To avoid drastic measures and unintentional strife – for her and...others.

The girl takes a last lingering gander at the empty sidewalks and Joel’s house, all is still. She steps into her garage and slumps against her door.

Chapter Text

The medical clinic has a place. It's a forbidden realm of shadow and waste, buried in the underbelly of every hospital and triage center. A dark corner where few venture – a black hole sequestered by nothing more than a steel door. A foreboding blockade that separates the living world from those who have recently departed.

It’s not a scary place, at least not on principle, but it’s not welcoming either. It’s the last stop before the last stop. Before earth swallows the lifeless and returns its kin to a celestial void singing songs of the lost.

“Joel.”

Ellie stands on the other side of the light, her eyes stinging, sore and swollen, her soul on the verge of cataclysmic implosion. She stares blankly at the brushed steel, memorizing its dents, dings and an inevitable fatigue by overuse. Studies its mallet strikes and the filthy smudges of bare hands that turn the handle up and down, up and down, with every entry, with every exit.

She knows he’s in there. Knows he’s alone, cold and farther away from her than he’s ever been. Even in the days before they truly knew one another, he was still closer than he is now.

A boiling bead of saline drops woefully across pallor flesh.
A pair of sage eyes close, sparing themselves a moment of baseless respite.
Warm air pushes through gray lips and wide nostrils.
Panic begins to set in.

“You don’t have to do this, Ellie.”

The voice is nearby but watery, unclear; it’s a muffle originating by her right side. There’s a soft depression on her forearm to match, a pressure betraying its owner's close proximity, of its owner's care, but for all she can comprehend, this other might as well be a figment of her imagination. Everything and everyone feels so far away now. Swept out to sea after the tsunami had run its course.

The girl steps forward, frees herself from her passenger and touches a palm to the thin veil between heartbeats and heartbreak. The door is freezing. She pushes weakly and exhales a great expulsion of disbelief.

All time begins to slow, grinding to the finest grain as a bulb of foul bile crests in her throat; Ellie gags and places her clammy forehead against the steel to settle as best she can. Still, there's a moment where the impact of acid sears her innards, imbibing a fire that burns and tastes of hell. She coughs, gasps and cries out, pitifully helpless to the gravitational well that has siphoned her into its orbit. It's tearing the girl asunder, her corporeal seams consumed by the singularity of death.

It’s as if every molecule of the universe and Ellie are on the precipice of a colossal collapse. Two dying things in the hallowed presence of the one who is truly dead.

She reticently moves along the languid, murky passage, desperate to deny everything, despite all evidence to the contrary. For herself, for her soul. For him, too.

‘This isn’t real. I’m not here. You’re not in there. We’re not apart, not like this. Not like this.’

But the mind can only refute the truth for so long. A truth smelling of formaldehyde and watered-down bleach.

Of blood and saliva. It's sickly.

Ellie reaches for the metallic handle and presses it down and down and down – holds it there with an undue exertion of force. She’s strung up between the breadth of reality and unreality, pausing a measure more than she should but shorter than she could ever wish.

“Ellie, don-“

“I have to. He would. I don't want him to be...a-alone.”

She enters on that last and sees the gurney. Sees only his gurney and the blackest black surrounding him. It’s as if he were floating, suspended above a shattered husk of broken promises and shameful regret. It’s Ellie’s summit he wavers upon, her mountain to ascend in the hopes of crashing into him. Fresh wounds that will never heal make the journey impossibly arduous – this is deaths intention, the reapers grim.

Inside now, she stumbles upwards, unsteady for the climb but eager to find him again. It’s useless, though. A folly that may cost her more than any wicked imagination might conjure.

She looks and wonders how many others have upon that rolling aluminum plank before and decides she doesn’t care, not for those dead or their scars nor the brokenhearted ones left to fend for themselves. She cares solely for Joel.

That it is now and always Joel’s Gurney. His and his alone. Thinks idly if the thing – if THAT exact one – was bound to him, to be the object that keeps Joel in an interim state between this place and whatever comes next. Whatever has come for him already.

There’s a white sheet laying atop him, but it’s slick with a red so deep, so vivid, that it appears to be more black than crimson. She knows what it is; knows the wider stains by his severed right leg and his mutilated head betray his pain, his suffering. She winces.

There’s too many parts of him that display the ruins of his last moments. But something about this scene is...not right.

In fact, it’s all wrong. He shouldn’t be bleeding still. He can’t be bleeding still. It’s been hours and hours. He’s been gone far too long for the amount of bloodletting Ellie is witnessing.

She walks deeper into the tomb and sinks her nails into the cloth – it’s soaking wet. The girl desperately sucks at the air as a keen rips from the hollow of her bones at the discovery.

“No, no. Who’s hurting you? Who's doing this to you?!”

A flash of fury steals through her and she yanks the covering from him in a haste, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. It’s so heavy and weighed down, so saturated; it lands in a loud slap, smacking the scuffled tile with a cacophony of wet sound and one final, sickly slosh as it spreads and settles. There it will stay. There it will rot and fester and disintegrate.

She turns away from the shroud and he’s there – dead. A dead human being she loved so angrily.

She sees his stained, tan winter coat and the splattered blue scarf, his soiled leather gloves and tattered blue jeans. His marred brown boots and faded brown belt and a hazel eye that is no longer a mossy caramel but instead an eldritch gray.

The leaked remnants on his person – from his person – are dry and caked and there’s solace to that: he’s not seeping, draining or losing it anymore in waves of antagonizing scarlet. What’s done is done for him. He’s given all he’s had and then some.

‘But why was the sheet so...soaked?’

Ellie places a hand onto his belly, her palm flat, pressing to a spot showing fewer signs of his torture and demise.

“Hi.”

Silence.

“It’s me.”

Silence.

She edges in closer and closer, until her abdomen is flush to one of his hips. Connection.

“I wanted to see you before they…I just wanted to see you. Before, ya know...”

Silence.

Ellie shifts and moves higher up his flank, angling awkwardly over him. She’s seen his head and touched it enough to know the sight of it will never ever leave her memory. It haunts her now and will always haunt her: All his swollen, misshapen parts that Joel has no need for anymore.

This isn’t her Joel.

She’s not fearful touching him, no. Not afraid to feel how heavy this loss is, either. She already does. What she’s afraid of is to forget. Afraid to spend the rest of her days without him. To live a life without Joel is to live a half life, if any at all. She’s astutely aware of this...too late.

There’s a clear and distinct murmur to this truth and it stabs at her; he wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want her to languish in sorrow and shame. She knows as much but blatantly disregards it, on account of grief or selfishness, she’s uncertain.

But he’s not here anymore. All that he wanted, all that he longed for and tried so desperately to keep and protect is now none of his concern. All his memories, his experiences and stores, all his hurt and all his love – vanished.

The girl swallows and glides her hands along his body; she touches his pockets and grabs fistfuls of fabric as she roams without impediment. As she goes, her dirty nails catch on the square emblem of this coat he so loved – the coat that will burn with the rest of his begrimed clothing. She thinks about this for a spell and an instant surge of vehemence roils inside the girl; she doesn’t want any part of his to be taken away and trashed, no matter how destroyed it may be, no matter how gory either.

Her breath hitches as a low whirring noise disturbs the disquiet all of a sudden. It’s the cooling unit, of course. She doesn’t want him to hear that though, doesn’t want him to freeze in this forgotten range of darkness and inhuman machinations. He deserves more, deserves the familiarity of those he loved and those who love him in equal measure.

Ellie bends and she brings her lips to his unsplit ear. She stills herself, musters whatever modicum of control she can rouse and, “Can you hear me? I’m with you, Joel. You’re not alone. Don’t listen to anything else, okay? Just listen to me.”

Silence.

She focuses on his beard afterwards and, shamefully, hesitates before touching him there; he’s so fractured, so disfigured and marked she doesn’t know if this really is Joel Miller. For an infinitesimal moment of blossoming hope, the idea that the body lain in front of her may be a sick practical joke to earn favor again. She will wallop this man in a way he’s never known if that turns out to be the case.

But it’s not the case, as it were.

It’s a futile denial, a wasteful, tactless stave against the impenetrable passing of time; it’s been many seconds, endless minutes, and fathomless hours since he left her without so much as a parting word. Aside from his screams – of which ceased the moment she fell onto the frozen floor of that hellfucked basement – there was nothing more he could say. But there as everything left to say.

She touches him in spite of the facts, knowing the seducing pip is nothing more than that – a lie, an apple plucked from the forbidden garden in her mind. She won’t bite. He wouldn’t want her to.

Anger floods, filling her with blind furor in every vacant space from her ankle to her skull.

“Tell me who she was, Joel. I need to find her. I can’t...this isn’t over. She’s gonna pay.”

Silence.

This quiet is an overwhelming burden, a whisper from his side of the grave, or soon to be grave. It’s too much. All that remains is the hum of a machine within this cursed space and its dry, icy air; it begins to chill her – this room, this moment, this man loose of the beautiful soul that for fifty-three years made him. She wants to warm him, to keep him from freezing to death now that he’s unable to do it himself.

To protect him from the beyond, yes, but to feel his warmth, too. She loved how he ran a little hotter than most. She never told him that.

She lays her head to his chest and wraps an arm around his waist. Clutching, clinging, embracing. Ellie presses an ear down as hard as she can to the spot directly above his heart.

There’s only a permanent silence. A disturbing soundlessness.

Until there’s not.

“Eh...El...lie.”

“Joel..?”

She lifts in shock to find his eyes boring down at her – both of those hazels instead of just the sole, unexploded one. Feels those big hands cradle her head as his mouth emits a ghost of steam. He’s trying to speak. He’s come back and he’s trying to speak.

She can only imagine how hard it must be with his lips grotesquely split in half, his jaw dislocated and partially hanging loose. Not to mention the feral chasm cutting across his forehead that is somehow still expanding. This is an insurmountable feat he’s undertaking but Ellie knows Joel. Knows his resolve.

Regardless, Ellie can’t help but cry out in stupefied horror as she stares at the haunting scene: There’s blood seeping from his broken mouth, blood dripping from his lacerated nose and bloody tears falling from his eyes; the whites of which fill with red more and more the harder he attempts to talk to her.

Gravity is a reaper and it is collecting its due.

Ellie waits and waits, gripping his wrist tighter and crying harder still, but says nothing all the while.

It feels like a millennia passes by as she arrests between of the living and its afterlife. Wonders not for the first time if she is also dead as well.

Finally, fleetingly, Joel speaks.

“W-win-tah De-nce.”

“Win...? W-winter Dance?”

“El...lie.”

“Joel! Winter dance? Winter dance what? What does tha–”

“...Ell...ie. H-lp mm-”

“You said Ellie was comin' for dinner, right?” Tommy fidgets with the scab on his lower lip and winces, picking the healing skin is doing nothing to help it actually heal; the sting of his wound comes with a reminder of the divide he once had with his brother years back. During a time when he didn’t know if Joel was alive or dead or somewhere in between. Those were long, fearful days spent nearly a country apart, his worry always present despite the anger he held towards the older man.

“Mmhm. She said as much.” Joel takes a peek at the wall clock and sighs, rubbing a sore knee while emitting a grumble of exasperation. It's not annoyance but it's not not annoyance either.

Maria rejoins them then, hailing from the downstairs washroom to settle beside her husband on the sofa. She glances between the brothers, eyes deciphering more than all the words they’re not saying, “If you’re talking about Ellie, I can go check on her. See what the hold up is.”

Joel rises, scratches at the base of his hairline, cracks a few of his knuckles and nods, “Nah, I’ll do it. Gimme a few.”

“It’s no trouble, Joel. You and Tommy can chat while I’m gone.” Maria’s not-so-subtle endeavor to help the siblings open a cordial discourse falls flat – a valiant effort but the results have little to no effect. Which she should have expected.

“Appreciate it. But I’m sure he an’ I will chat plenty this evenin’…”

He leaves mid-sentence, thoughts a mess of why his girl is close to thirty minutes late and if something went wrong and why didn’t he think to check sooner and is she okay? He muses over and over on a plethora of possibilities – each more worrisome than the last – until he’s standing at her door.

It’s still all around, including her garage, and with it is a curious absence of light: There is only darkness in her house as far as he can gauge. Not even the outside bulb is on – an immediate cause for concern.

He knocks tentatively and holds his fist to the aging wood.

Silence.

Knocks again.

Silence again.

The worry mounts, his breaths coming short and fast. This isn’t normal, not for her. Even in their separation, even with the meager distance between structures, her routines and habits didn’t change all that much. Lights went on at sundown, signaling she was home. Simple, reassuring. Whether she had done it for him or for her own sense of normalcy, he won't ever know and he’ll never ask.

But this very reason is why his heart is climbing into his throat - this lack of a routine practice. He entertains the idea that she finally abandoned him for good – that the past week was a farce, an imagination of a mind so hungry for something, for anything from this girl that it took to conjuring...everything it conjured.

He gulps the guilt, squeezes the wooden frame on either side of his person and with lips to the crease, “Ellie?”

His mouth is practically part of the door as he sternly speaks her name; he doesn’t want to raise his voice and trigger any alarm in the way of his brother and sister-in-law over hearing. The last thing they need – he and Ellie – are questions about seemingly innocuous, or just plain forgetful, behavior. From a nineteen year old nonetheless.

A nineteen year old. Joel shakes his head and pushes the invasive concern away as fast as it arose.

He knocks again, albeit less soft than the first go; his subconscious must man the helm of this chaotic vessel before it runs aground.

“Ellie, it’s me. You in there, girl?”

He turns the knob just enough to test the thing and discovers it’s locked.

’Fuck.’

He knows she only flips the bolt over if she’s on shift work or is in for the evening. But with the lights extinguished and it being Sunday night, he has no idea what to make of this.

Urgency and rationalizations begin to mix and merge as he bargains why it’s unlikely she would negate her word, and so quickly at that. Their last two years notwithstanding. He swallows, gazes around the snowy yard and shivers a spell.

He’s wearing his coat but didn’t take the time to zip it – he didn’t think this would be whatever it is turning into.

His mistake.

“Ellie.” Joel’s voice is firm, booming even, but still willfully reserved given his increase in panic; he doesn’t want to break in – that would breach the fragile trust they’re building. He also doesn’t want to slip off the deep end either. After all, she could have forgotten and made other plans in the interim.

'But the porch light is off...'

As he’s about to turn away, both begrudgingly resigned and justifiably rattled, he hears a shuffling from the opposite corner of the garage. The outside lantern shines then and is followed by the creaky clangs of a deadbolt sliding against raw wood – it’s an orchestra of sound and light that sees him all but dancing.

And then she’s there.

And in his arms.

“Fuck. You’re okay? You’re okay.”

Ellie pulls Joel into the unlit unit one backpedaling step at a time and blindly shoves the door shut behind him. It latches with a shaky bang but its echoes are drowned by the wintry wind that whips beyond their barrier. Beyond the sphere of Just Them lies everything else.

“What?”

He holds onto her, buries himself into the crook of her neck as a molten flow of relief pours into him.

“Let me see you…” Her breaths are uneven and fitful, eyes shining as black as the flat ice on all neighboring roads. He glimpses half moons of silver light catch and reflect every once and again, but she’s too wild and wiry to make out any more than that.

She touches his throat, paws at his beard, his lips, cheeks and ears before marrying her fingers with the thick forest of his chilled hair. Her fingernails drag along his scalp as she moves and he instinctually closes his eyes. It shouldn’t feel this good, not now especially, but it does.

He knows then what this is. Should have known all along.

“Reckon ya had the nightmare?”

She nods and he can feel as much but it’s not enough, “Baby?”

“Mmhm, yeah. Fucker was a real bad one, too.” Ellie lags against him as she works to steady her air intake – her head feels fuzzy; using an ear, she listens for rhythmic murmurations beneath his breastbone that will make it all okay, affirmations to lead her back to the only reality she’ll ever need.

“An’ here I hoped we was in the clear after last night.” Joel keeps Ellie close to him, an arm molded to her waist with the other holding her head to his chest. He closes his eyes and relaxes in tandem; she wasn’t hurt, she didn’t leave. Everything is alright. Minus the jawbreaking adrenaline, of course.

They stand as one, swaying slightly in each other’s embrace and blissfully unaware of the world outside these weathered walls.

After her hands and hearing have had their charge, she tilts and gazes north, “Hey.”

His belly flexes as a laugh rolls through and with it, he kisses her forehead. With lips still pressing to the soft, warm skin, Joel smiles and, “Hi.”

“The knocking and your signature ’Ellie’ woke me from that bullshit again, by the way. Though, it was worse this time. Different, too. Wasn’t in that fucking basement.”

“Oh?”

A wince and, “...Jackson’s morgue.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Joel pulls away but his lower half remains as is – connected while giving space enough to do what he deems necessary. He slips a hand along the side of her throat and cups her face, angling Ellie just-so to ensure that even in this absence of light, she sees him, “I’m right here, girl. It wasn’t real. We’re together an’ I’m holdin’ on to you. You feel me holdin' you, yeah?"

The girl sighs and sinks into the calm cadence of his deep voice, permitting a moment to fall into its bottomless depths end over end. It’s the gravelly Texas twang serving as a reminder of how even the most basic truths to this man are made all the more beautiful somehow.

A cut of crimson and a shattered mouth steals her, returning from a terrorizing nightworld; it forces the young woman to grasp onto his solid ground before submerging too far down all over again.

She grimaces from the disturbing imagery but slowly regains a handle on things; with Joel present all trials become less arduous.

“I-I know. But you...you woke up, Joel.” Ellie sucks on her bottom lip and grabs his wrist, squeezes, pulls and holds firm for a spell. A tremor works its way from tip to toe as she tries to stomach the fervency filling all cavities of her aching heart.

“I...what?”

She swallows and nods, “Come here with me?”

Ellie separates from the man and makes towards her mattress; they do this part in silence, but despite the short distance, she holds tight to him all the while. Once there, Ellie twists the knob on an old oil lamp and watches, mesmerized, as its glow splashes the space with pure warmth. It paints the room in a symphony of sunset yellow, lengthening their shadows and deepening the contrasts of what lies beyond this illumination and what exists within it.

Ellie focuses on this and its peculiar soulful emittance, focuses on how his fingers braiding with hers feels exactly the same right now. Joel is her warmth.

As the lamp flickers and reveals more of her, Joel notes then that she’s only partially clothed – 'wonderful.' Although he’s familiar with Ellie's unique style quite well from their rested midnights, it's a delightful sight each time.

This habit of hers, to don skimpy sleepwear as if temperatures outside weren't subzero, regularly consists of the following: Colored panties paired with a mismatching, ratty top – be it a tank or loose-fitting tee – and tube socks that eventually become bunched and rumpled at her ankles. Exquisitely simple and yet wildly sexy to Joel.

He grins – the shirt she’s wearing is one he found and gifted to her years ago during a shift patrol with Tommy and Jesse. The thing had been neatly folded, albeit dusty from decades of neglect, sat on a lacquered, sticker-covered countertop in an old mall store. The shop was best known for selling grunge apparel with odd trinkets and weed paraphernalia to boot – all of which held little interest to him. But that top, a Savage Starlight branded item with a Captain Daniela design set in space, was just lying there, for all to see. For him to find.

So, naturally he snagged the thing for her, summarily stuffing it into his backpack and never uttering a single word to his companions. This was much to the chagrin of said others, who teased and taunted Joel the whole journey back to Jackson that evening – somehow they had found out about this particular haul. Joel didn’t care one bit for any of their nonsense and even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered; the second he saw the happiness in those emeralds, everything else became ancillary noise.

Still, rediscovering the shirt is one thing – and the joy he feels knowing she’s held onto it all this time – but it's not the sole area of focus: Captain Daniela being the current choice of pajamas is thieving the last vestiges of his inner resolve.

He looks on and ruminates as to just why she’s wearing something so…noteworthy. Ellie’s undergarments are, for the most part, normal – normal in the sense they have one job to do and they do it well. Minus the lacy pair she displayed during her alcohol-fueled outpouring, the sight of which he’ll put to use in the next vivid fantasy he entertains; when the urge to grab his cock and release to a mighty finish overwrites all else.

Joel clears his throat and readjusts his posture; last night was difficult enough to get through but these bottoms – of which he only now fully caught sight of – are...far from the routine sort. They’re not as outwardly provocative as the red pair and yet...they’re far and away more tempting in their own rite.

Try as he might, Joel feels an inherent weakness in his knees and realizes he’s feeble to take his eyes off her. So, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to come off as a creep though, doesn’t want to blatantly stare at her body and yet he can’t find the willpower to divert his gaze towards anything else – to miss a single second of this girl in those feels like a crime against church and state.

It’s...the color and the way they look on her…just everything.

They’re hunter-green – his color preference – with a mesh, transparent lining at the front and rear. It’s a translucent screen of sorts that isn’t doing much in the way of hiding...things. And they’re riding so low on her hips he’s afraid they might up and drop down at some point. Not that he would be remiss if such an event happens.

“Sit?”

“Hmm? What?”

Fortunately for Joel, Ellie has not yet caught on to the inappropriate ogling and now that he’s been summoned from beneath the wayward magical spell of see-through-heaven, he realizes why. He ostracizes inwardly, all fury aimed at his lengthy, wrong-time, wrong-moment inappropriately guttered thoughts.

’But that little tuft’a auburn...Christ, alive.’

He sits and bends forward far enough to conceal his erection from Ellie's sorrowful eyes. Hoping against hope it’ll go away so he can concentrate and pay her the attention she deserves.

Ellie occupies the spot beside him and, “You were dead Joel, you were dead like all the other times you were dead in my dreams. But then you were...fucking resurrected somehow. And you sat up and grabbed me...gargling a-as you tried to speak. But then you could – speak, I mean – and all I could make out was 'winter dance,' and 'Ellie, help me,' from your broken, bloo–”

She stops and slumps, burying her face into sweaty palms, “I can’t take this, Joel. Why would you talk to me about the Winter Dance? Why specifically talk to me about that? Why does this keep happening? What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

The girl breaks, not from the potential loss this time but from stress and a heartache that isn’t real but is very much felt nevertheless. Her shoulders rise and dip as she measures breaths and settles amidst the misery as best she can on her own.

Joel sees her wither, watching the submission happen in real time and moves ever closer. He wraps an arm to Ellie's middle and pulls the girl to him, his other limb tugging at the pair of saline-slick hands hiding her face, “Hey, look at me.”

She does.

He pauses, giving her a moment to fully focus on him until, “I ain't got any’a those answers an’ I've no idea why this keeps happenin’. But what I do know is that I'm not goin’ nowhere, alright? You need me every night, I’m here, or there, whichever. You wanna work every shift together? We do that. Whatever it takes. However long it takes.”

Ellie nods and he wipes stray tears from her cheeks with the callused pad of his thumb. She sniffs and wilts in the bowl of his hand before, “But d-do you think it means anything?”

“Means anythin’? The nightmares?”

“Yeah, like, what if something is gonna happen to you and I don’t know, I’m dreaming of it like-like a warning. Ugh, that makes me sound like a fucking lunatic.”

He snorts and moves in to kiss her forehead for the second time since arriving, “I think we all know how much of a loon you are, girl. But that’s part’a your charm.”

She elbows his bicep and raises her gaze just as his lips come off of her, “Pssh, you like me because of it.”

“Maybe I do, Red, maybe I do.”

Ellie hooks her arms around his neck and leans against the warm space between his Adam’s apple and collarbone. She breathes Joel in; there’s a familiar scent of wood and gun oil but also an aroma of rich, earthy tones – a food of some sort. It’s pleasant and comforting and exactly what she needs right now.

“It makes me happy you like my crazy the most, Joel. Don’t ever stop liking it, okay?”

He smiles, leans slightly and tips her chin upwards, softly pressing his mouth to hers. Joel’s not sure whether she wants this – if he’s being too assuming in his actions – but it’s all he can do to stop from saying too much, too soon. He doesn’t want to scare her away or invite any additional pressure beyond what’s tolerable insofar as where they’re at. Which he’s wildly inept at discerning right now. Or ever when it comes to her.

She wants this.

Ellie pushes in and inhales sharply, deepening the kiss and severing the last of the dream’s tethers – this frightful connective tissue Joel is so naturally good at dismantling for her.

’Maybe he’s right, maybe the only way past this is to go at it together.’

The idea of her and Joel as a cohesive unit ignites the inside of her like match paper – she burns from his words and the impressive physicality of him.

Ellie needs more.

She immerses all ten fingers into the ample mess of his salt and pepper and pulls. Her tongue dances alongside his, tasting the sweet sting of desire and it causes Ellie to unabashedly whimper. She gets in as near as she's able from this angle, clumsily putting her upper body onto his as a hum of need, an aching vibration grows louder and louder within.

Everything begins to sear from how hot their friction already is. Oh, how needy and willing she is.

’Fuck the dream, fuck that nightmare. And fuck Beth and that blond bitch. I just want you.’

She tries to crawl into his lap, to feel what she knows is waiting there and be felt by him all the same. Ellie recalls the orgasm from earlier and trembles, her composure fleeing in an untamable exodus; she cares little for appearances though, and maybe, just maybe, he revels in how quickly he turns her on, how intensely at that...at least, she hopes that’s the case. She thinks it is probably the case, but can never be absolutely sure without asking... and now is not the time for questions.

His hands are at the curve of her waist, set right above her panty line and below the hem of her tee. Joel grips, pushing ten divots into her beautiful flesh, priming to give in and give his all. And he is on the cusp of doing just this: Bring her onto the place he knows she’s laboring to get to, but it’s, once again, not the right moment for intimacy.

“Mmph, we gott-Ellie…”

“Joel, don’t stop, please? Please...” She bites his lower lip, still mindful of the wound healing on the opposite end, though she's glad to see it’s getting smaller with each passing day. She balances on a knee next to him, her other leg hanging atop his thigh in a salacious quest for more.

His exhale is a frustrating rumble and after, Joel licks the part of his mouth she’s bitten before doing what she’s asked him not to do, “Red, I don’t wanna stop, trust me, I mean, really I don’t want to stop. But Tommy an’ Maria are at the house an’ I been gone too long already. Was supposed to be in an’ out with you. Because someone was late for dinner.”

Ellie pulls apart, her browline raising, “You can be in and out of me, Joel…” She finishes, not realizing the full impact of her statement and how difficult of a situation it is for her partner. Or maybe she does. Either way, the girl lowers and nips at an earlobe, sucking his throat and finally the side of his mouth thereafter.

Joel moans ever-so, his eyes clamping shut. “You’re gonna end me, girl, not that damn dream.” Joel says this and slides his touch farther down her body. He wants to palm those panties, wants to smack her supple ass before coming all over that sheer fabric but surmises it might be too early for that last part just yet.

Still, the shock of that thought is enough to, somehow, snap him out of it and into the present, “Baby, we got all night yet, yeah? I don’t want those two comin’ here an’ hearin’ all these sounds yer makin’ for me… All these words, beggin' me an' what not. That ain't for them. That's mine.”

She sits upright and settles onto her heels, resigning that maybe, just maybe, he’s right to call it. For now. Only this once and final time will she accept a stoppage. 'But his words...my God, Joel...'

“Oh, for fucks sake. Fine, Mr Practical. I am sorry for being late though. I got...I was annoyed earlier so I laid down for a nap and then that scary bullshit happened and here we are.”

She eases off the bed and straightens her shirt, smoothing it down over a taut, toned belly. She watches him as he watches her do this; her nipples are hard and it’s obvious she’s without a bra. Obvious though it is, he likes what he’s seeing, if the sizable indication in his jeans is any justification.

He reluctantly tears away but quickly frowns in question, “Annoyed?”

“Yeah...uh, it was nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It don't matter or you don’t wanna share?”

Ellie ignores him and stalks into the bathroom. There's a brief pause and then he hears a brush as it rakes through an unkempt, delightful poof of bed-head. A spigot goes on after and a different brush is being used for her teeth.

He stays put, wondering what's bothering her, wondering if she’ll tell him if he asks again. Wondering if his dick will ever stop being hard around her.

’This is ridiculous. Get a hold’a yourself, man.’

Roaming the room now in clear search of something, Joel directs his hazels to the auburn girl as she fervently bends and stands – bends again, stands again. It’s torturous and he almost believes she is completely oblivious to it. The irony.

He shifts and forces his attention elsewhere; he notices a scattering of scars on her thighs, both front and rear, and all the feral, cutting shadows of the bite-mark-turned-chemical-burn on her arm. The tattoo of their moth is there, of course, but it's a shapeless shadow as nighttime thieves more and more of the day's light.

“Fuck, I can’t find my jeans. And I can’t go over there in my skivvies.”

“You did a week ago.” He winks at her when she acknowledges the playful remark; there’s mirth to her features now, a lighter residency in the space left vacant by her momentary bout of fear.

“Well now, that was different...”

“Mmhm. My brother an’ sister-in-law weren't there at the time, you’re right.”

Ellie laughs and tilts her head; she walks to him, the mission to locate her pants temporarily abandoned.

“No, they weren't. And I’m glad for that. Still, you really think they’ll check on us if we’re gone too long?” She’s directly in front of Joel as she feigns innocent curiosity; the girl tea-pots both arms upon her lithe waist, skinny fingers leaving tiny imprints as she slouches on a heel. She’s posing and stalling for time, he knows. He’s seen her do this before, albeit in a variety of contexts, all wildly different to the one happening here and now.

He bites his lip and grins at the salaciousness, “Mmhm. You better get some clothes on or two more Millers are gonna be seein’ a whole lotta ya.” If Joel couldn’t get off the bed earlier, he will absolutely make no attempt at it now. The light of her lamp is practically all on her, exposing more of Ellie’s Christmas crotch – and what a sight it is. Her center is slightly south of his sight line, earning him an unencumbered view of dark red through a diaphanous green.

’Fuck fuck fuckme, calm the hell down.’

She bends and locks their eyes, “Well, since we don’t want that, would you do me a favor, Joel?”

The man brushes the undercarriage of his chin and nods, deciding it’s best not to speak too many words at present. Decides it’s best to pay attention to those mossy greens instead of the hunter between her legs.

“Scoot. You’re sitting on my pants.”

The exhalation he releases nearly gives it all away but he knows her Achilles, knows how to recover a shred of his sad, waning dignity, “Ahh, my evil plan almost worked.”

The room booms with Ellie’s rowdy laughter as he lifts a thigh and removes the pile of denim from underneath his bulk, “There ya go.”

“Thank you kindly, good sir." The girl winks before, "So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

Joel shakes his head and tries to see beyond their hyper-sexual, flirty haze and on to wherever the hell she is now; she leaps so quickly from one beat to the next and it’s been a challenge to keep mental pace. Just like her, just like him.

“Uh, steak, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole – Maria made that before you toss any daggers at me, woman – an’ roasted carrots.”

“Fuuuuuck yes. I’m starving.” She’s by the exit now, her pants, socks and sweatshirt on in record time – no bra though. Joel suspects this dinner might very well be the longest of his entire life.

Ellie retrieves for her snow boots and looks over a shoulder at him, realizing he’s yet to follow or even rise from the edge of the mattress. She studies a tick and tosses the footwear aside carelessly. Walking, again, the girl squats in front of Joel and grips the back of his calves, catches the movement immediately as his hips jut forward a little too fast at her touch.

“You gonna join me? Or do I need big tits and bleach-blond hair to get your ass moving?”

Joel’s brow furrows as he fails to find focus between her position between his thighs and the odd, unsolicited comment, “Huh?”

“Nothing. Now listen, you’ve got me horny and hungry and I’m either gonna eat or…”

Joel snorts and nods, “Is that right?”

Ellie smirks and looks south, eyes flashing for a few seconds before she rises. She tugs on his hand and, “Come on, big man. Let’s go.”

“Well shoot, we done thought y’all got lost or somethin’. 'Bout to send out a search party an' all.” Tommy pops the caps on four bottles of a local brew as Joel and Ellie walk in through the porch door.

“Ha ha, but fair. My fault. Totally my fault. I was dead asleep and I’m not the most pleasant person to wake up. Bless Joel’s heart for being the bravest messenger.” After, Ellie bounds into the dining room and finds Maria at the table already, looking pensive but positively curious. All the food, utensils and various odds and ends have been set – it’s clear they were waiting for the cook and his tardy girl to show.

“You feelin’ alright? Joel mentioned you tying one on pretty good last night.” Tommy sits the beverages beside each of the four place settings and smirks as he looks on with anticipation. Everyone knows 'hair of the dog..' is the only cure.

Ellie takes her seat on one side of the rectangular table and pulls a hearty swig of beer, “Mm, mmhm. Oh, shit that’s good. And yeah, I’m feeling better. The nap helped. I know this food will, too.”

“Damn straight it will. So less chattin’, more chewin’.” Joel winks from his position beside her and smiles as he takes the first bite of his steak.

Ellie returns the gesture and proceeds to honor the abundance before her without the barest hint of composure. Between the alcohol from last night, waking alone in bed, the frizzy Barbie doll of doom sighting followed by the nightmare, she feels thinner than ever. Food is a tangible fix she allows the respite and the impatience to see it as such.

There’s a stretch of quiet but it only extends as far as their not talking; there are clanks and squeaks of metal on ceramic, sounds of suction as glass meets mouth; the orchestra of family dinner fills the air in lieu of conversation. It’s the musical arrangement of the hungered and to Joel, a most treasured melody.

The peace doesn’t last long, however.

“So, did I hear that you and Liam got a little, for lack of a better expression, familiar last night, Ellie?”

The girl’s fork wobbles between her fingers as she pierces Maria with an intimation that is equal parts aghast and startlingly confused, “Say what now?”

“Oh come on now, you know everyone in this town likes to talk about everyone else and apparently you had Max in your drinking crew last night. There’s a neon red flag if ever there was one. Anyway he had an early shift and might have mentioned you and Liam getting to know one another, is all. For the record, I think it’s a good thing, Ellie! Max says Liam is, and I quote, ‘really into her.’ Her being you, to clarify.”

Ellie’s heart races as every ounce of blood drains from her skull, a mass pooling in a matter of nanoseconds; she wants to refute this, wants to outright deny the absurdity of it but Liam did hit on her in the garage. Probably would have continued to had she not kicked him and everyone else out with nary a thought to the otherwise.

“Uh. I, yeah, we were hanging out. I mean he did...but not, no. No, it's not like that.”

Joel clears his throat and shifts in his seat, grabbing his beer and tilting to the rear ever-so. The girl wants to reassure and put his mind at ease with a wet, messy kiss or an indecent gesture to show she means business and wants him and only him...but she can’t. Or shouldn't. So she doesn’t.

“Ahh, I see. That’s a whole lot clearer now. And what about you and Beth, Joel? She seemed pretty happy when you two left after church this morning. Together.” Maria rests against the wooden rails of her chair and stretches an arm across Tommy’s shoulders.

“What’s with all this gossip? Ain’t normally your style, woman.” Tommy stares at his wife with a mixture of tentative curiosity and amusement – he means well with his statement but there’s a trickle of truth to it just the same. She knows it, they all know it.

Maria pinches her man’s short ponytail and, “Well, we missed last week’s dinner and a lot’s been going on in the meantime. I just thought I could be nosey for a few while sitting with my family and enjoying a meal. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers.”

“Mmhm, sure sure. Maria Miller an’ ruffled feathers? Never heard a concept so rare.” Tommy glances over, mouth full of carrots and sarcasm – he’s in a playful mood but the mounting tension on the other side of the extended leaf is palpable.

“Aside from the Mandate, how am I known to ruffle anything other than your long ass hair? Go on, speak your peace now, Mister.” She laughs and pokes his ribs, rolling her eyes and turning to face the other two who are, even for them, abnormally quiet. One of which hasn’t been at these dinners in far too long a time either.

Maria grins and it’s a real, true exhibition of emotion before, “Anyhow. It’s good to have you here again, Ellie. You’ve been sorely missed at our Sunday meals.”

Ellie proceeds to drink the last half of her beer while pushing the remaining morsels of food around on her dish. She’s irritated by the mention of not only Liam and Beth but by this heartfelt declaration for some reason, too. She’s not sure what’s gotten into Maria to prompt the woman to be so...obtuse – she certainly doesn’t buy her ‘nosey’ argument whatsoever – and feels ready to be on her way back to her cozy space.

“Yeah, me, too. Glad to be here, I mean.”

“So you two are working things out then?”

“Maria.”

“Tommy. What? I’m allowed to make light of obvious changes between two people I care about.”

“We’re workin’ things out, yes.” Joel finally speaks, simultaneously resettling on his seat, shining a tight smile to match but nothing more. The food is good, the house is warm but the conversation isn’t faring that well.

“Good. I’m really glad to hear that. Maybe you and your brother can work things out, too?”

Tommy's blues tumble as the man sharply inhales, “You’re in a way tonight, aren’t ya?”

“I just think there’s so much unsaid going on between us and with so many changes on the horizon, maybe we ought to just say what we need to say and be done with it. I mean, look at both of your faces. A fist fight, really? Grown men. Grown brothers. You’ve both been through enough to see how useless that sort of nonsense is. And to be clear, I know that talk y’all shared this morning was fine but it was far from a fix-all.”

Tommy bobs his head a few times and peeks at his older sibling through a line of fair lashes as he mulls. Finally, “Fair is fair. Joel, what’s it gonna take for us to clear the air?”

The older brother cracks a few fingers and folds his arms across the expanse of his chest, “Ya know little brother, despite my knowin’ better, I do think poppin’ you in that face’a yours an' talkin’ this mornin’ helped. But I’ll say to you now, if there’s any more surprises like the one on Thursday, you an’ me ain’t gonna be right, understood?”

Tommy uses a napkin to wipe his mouth and acknowledges Joel with a tight, “Roger that.”

“Good.”

Maria pats her husband’s leg in privacy and breathes a weighty sigh, “Well, that was shorter than I thought but better than I hoped.”

There’s an energy to the room now, a blue elephant in the corner and its name is Obligation. Such an odd guest to this party but an invitee deserving its due nonetheless. Everyone knows this great and impressive beast, can feel it stare in earnest despite what Joel’s said; it calls for more attention, pleading for the unspoken things to be aired and thus mended as best they’re able.

Still, things are okay in the sense they’re not falling apart anymore and that’ll have to be sufficient for the foreseeable future. Not a step up the rung but not a step down either. Status quo.

Ellie can no longer withstand a single second more of this high tension though, this barricade of what can be shared and what can’t be; it has her questioning whether she should return for next week’s gathering already. Has her wishing, for the second time in as many minutes, that she was back in the garage with Joel’s hands on her and a pair of panties forgotten on the floor. The girl sighs and groups the spent utensils into the center of her plate; she needs to say something, anything.

“Uh, I’m done, gonna go start washing.”

The girl rises, grabs her dirty dishes and empty bottle and turns to Joel, who’s also finishing the last bit of his casserole. “I can take that in if you’re done?”

“Sure, thank ya. Appreciate it.”

“Thanks for dinner, it was delicious, as I knew it would be.” She lingers a beat too long, her eyes looking from his lips to his arms and down to the metal clasp of his belt buckle. His legs spread and she can’t help but wish hers were as well.

“I’ll join you. Cook should never clean.”

Tommy breaks the spell and as Ellie’s focus darts about nervously, she glimpses Maria busy with her own stack of soiled dinnerware and Tommy halfway to the sink.

’No one saw a thing. Good.’

But returning to Joel, she sees his hazels look right through her, his lids heavy while hiding it in tandem. He bounces a leg and drops a palm to the strong muscle she knows lays beneath his worn denim. She follows his actions and journey’s south again, can see he’s...

She looks away, slicks her lips and fights a knowing grin, “D-dessert? Is there dessert? And if so, you want some?”

“There’s gingerbread cookies somewhere in the pantry. Help yourself. I’ll enjoy some later.” Joel makes sure Maria is none the wiser as he winks on that last sentiment; he knows she knows precisely what he means, or at least he hopes his girl does.

Green eyes return a tell of just how good, and sneaky, his remark has her feeling.

She tilts her chin and coughs a shaky sort of laugh, “You better.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Ellie, you wanna wash or dry?” The younger Miller shouts from the kitchen, his voice a singsong tone that lances the secretive, budding tensity.

Going from knowing to rolling in swift succession, Ellie half-yells with, “Wash!”

Maria walks over to the girl and taps her on the arm, “Would you mind? I’d like a chat with Joel, if that’s alright?” The woman is asking Joel, not Ellie, but there’s a note of hesitancy and resistance laden within. Not of or towards the man, nor Ellie, but of what she likely wants to discuss.

“Sure. I think that's it from the table, too, so I’m good to go.”

Maria watches the girl trek away but before the water’s fully filled its waiting sink, his sister-in-law's eyes are deadlocked onto him.

“Listen. I knew you'd be mad, Joel. Maybe I underestimated how mad but still, don’t think we didn’t pull the wool over our own eyes with this whole Mandate thing. So, yea, I’m sorry we didn’t share with you or Ellie. But you gotta know that this decision was difficult enough and even Tommy didn’t know about it for months. Months, Joel. It was only me and the rest of Jackson’s council. But mostly I just don’t want you upset with him and only him. I also would appreciate it if you weren't upset with me either. Or...upset at all. Which I know is an impossible ask, I get that. Or get it as best as I can anyway. Please understand it’s an incredibly tough position I’m in, personally, and I’m aware this can be said for you and many others. But I promise you, if we could have told you, we would have.”

The woman waits and picks the pale threads on the cuff of her jeans, her eyes never breaking from his. She won’t waver, not for him, not for anyone. She can’t.

Joel blows out his cheeks and peers about the room, gathering his thoughts, gathering the abridged version of his truth.

Then, “I know. I don’t like it, but I mostly understand. Reckon I’m real curious 'bout those forums startin’ up in January though. Until then, I’m gonna enjoy the holiday season an’ put it outta my mind. If that’s alright by you?”

Maria cracks a half smile and places her elbows onto the table; she bows her torso and breathes a sigh of something that sounds a lot like relief, “Of course. We’re – Tommy and Me, I mean – doing our best to do the same. I feel like I haven’t slept in a year with this whole mess, but, and I know we’re not talking about it, I think it’ll bring a lot of good to Jackson. I really do.”

Joel studies her from of the corner of his peripheral and can see the raw, bare honesty; she’s not trying to mislead or misshape facts to fit this situation or an agenda that best serves her favor. Maria is a direct woman, it’s just who and what she is – what she needs to be, given her position within an oasis amidst a wastelanded world.

“Ya know somethin’, I truly hope it does, too.”

“You dry too slow, Tommy. Look at that full rack. I’m gonna put these pots on your damn head if you don’t speed it up, I fucking swear I will.”

Tommy laughs and snorts, “I dare you to try it, girl. An’ anyway, where’s the fire? What you rushin’ for? Sick’a me already?”

Ellie mockingly spins her sage as she resets to task, “No. Now hush up and dry.”

“Alright, alright, boss lady. It’s the cookies, ain’t it? You been eyeballin’ those sweets since ya came in here.”

“Maybe. I like gingerbread, so?”

“Hmph, Joel too, it seems. But hey now, I ain’t judgin’. I’m just here, mindin’ my business an’ doin’ my work. Speakin’ of, ya really feelin’ alright? Ran into Joel as he was leavin’ your place this mornin'. Seemed in a hurried way, too.”

Ellie swallows and huffs a quick breeze, “You Miller’s don’t think I can handle my liquor, eh? Between Joel dropping in that damn early to check on me, Maria’s comment during dinner and now you, I’m starting to believe y’all might be the ones who need a real night out on the town. Or whatever the old folk used to say.”

Tommy’s neck snaps at the blatant agism, the spatula in his damp hands turning end over end as he wipes the droplets free from it, “Ouch, callin’ us all elderly in one fell swoop? That hurts, I’ll have you know, what with my youthful glow an’ all.”

Ellie widens her eyes and turns towards him, “Then drink some booze and call me in the morning.”

“Touché, Ellie, tou-damn-ché. Anyways, how you two really doin’? I talked to him this mornin’ an’ he was his usual vague self, but things appear to be on the up an’ up?”

This time a slippery plate slides free and sinks into the soapy water below, her hands searching for it while she privately measures her words. She doesn’t know all of what was talked about between Tommy and Joel, only that he ‘checked in’ and that was that. Anything she says now could very well contradict his story and put them in an awkward position with one another.

It's all so delicate.

“Uh, we’re doing better. Honestly, it was just tiring, ya know? Being resentful and mad all the time while hiding it from everyone else? Exhausting. Realized I needed to let things go and move forward. And it’s Joel...so.”

She catches Tommy's silent absorption as he processes her definitive reveal; she sees this through a subtle gaze and gulps, hoping the investigative bullet has gone and passed her by.

“Hidin’ things ain’t never done anyone no good. Remember I said that, yeah?” He levels his look as he sets a serving tray onto the counter and tosses the towel atop his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

’Ughhh awkward, awkward.’

“I just mean if you ever need’a talk 'bout any goddamn thing, ya know where to find me. I saw what a rough go it was for my brother, bein’ apart from you, but I know it wasn’t easy on you neither. An’ no matter what it is, I want ya to know you’ve got more folks’ on your side than not. Always.”

Ellie tugs the rubber stopper free from the kitchen’s basin and watches the murky water drain into a darkness that feels hauntingly familiar. It’s a sensation disproportionately reminiscent of the sewers she and Joel – and Henry and Sam – once found themselves within years ago.

She forcibly shoves the memory away before it has reign to root, before it leaves her with a different sort of ache that runs too deeply into emptiness and loss.

So, the girl turns, shakes her wet fingers and clicks her tongue, “Even if it’s to bitch about your brother?”

The man throws his head to the rear and double-claps both palms to his chest, “You kiddin’? Especially if it’s to bitch about Joel, c’mon now girl.”

She grins, looks to the linoleum and, “Deal. Now move already so I can get me some of those cookies.”

“Of course there’s a Terminator 3 an’ a Terminator 4, maybe more, not sure though. They’d probably be makin’ ‘em today if the planet hadn’t gone to shit.”

Ellie extends across a ribboned leather cushion and pushes Joel’s arm incredulously, “What?! You’re shitting me?”

“I am doin’ no such thing. Hand to God, s'the truth.”

“Well fuck, Joel, we gotta watch 'em! I thought T2 was it. I see you've been holding out on me.” The girl juts her chin forward and glares dangerously as she mock-reprimands the man beside her.

“Alright then, add ‘em to the list.”

Tommy and Maria laugh and exchange in their silent rapport before, “You an’ those cheesy action movies. Ain’t never had good taste, that one.”

Ellie bucks at the absurd retort, throwing her spindly limbs into the air and animatedly sighing, “What? What in the fuck? Have you even SEEN T2? Joel you need to banish these traitors from the house right now. I can’t stomach the stunning lack of respect.”

All three Miller’s laugh but Ellie keeps on with her entertainment until, “Awe, ya know that boy is messin’ with you, Red. He loves the T1000 more than he lets on, trust me. There were wall posters at one point. ‘S’all I’ll say.”

Tommy rises at that and shrugs, “Ya know big brother, some things are best left a mystery. An’ posters my ass. But on your fibbin’ note, I think we better get. You ready, Em?”

Maria stands, stretches and yawns in a quick flurry of movement and, “Ready. Ellie, you’re on patrol early with Tommy and Joel tomorrow. Alpine Valley. Shouldn’t be too tough out that way but I want you familiar with the area so unfortunately, you're scheduled with these tiresome goons.”

“Oh, good. That’ll be cool. Never been on that run. Hopefully there's no bitchass hordes like the other day. That was too close, was waiting on a Bloater at any minu–oops, yeah sorry, you guys wanna get going. Anyway, sounds great. Goodnight, guys.” Ellie rises and slips both hands into the rear pockets of her jeans. Joel ambles up and follows his brother and Maria towards the exit.

Tommy glances over his shoulder, beyond Joel, and peers directly at Ellie, "you're stayin'?"

’Curious.’

Ellie trots and stops beside her secret, nudging Joel quickly at his side and, “Yep. We’re gonna put up some of the Christmas decorations tonight. It’s cold as hell but I’m tired of this house being the Scrooge of the block.”

Joel turns and gives the girl a lopsided grin, hooking his thumb into his belt with an shoulder leaning against the wall, “Is that right?”

“It is. So yeah, we'll see you at the stables bright and early tomorrow, Tommy.”

The younger sibling nods to his brother, feigns tipping a phantom hat for Ellie and withdraws, his wife in tow; the couple steps through the door and out into the muted, winter night with nary another word.

A few paces beyond Joel’s front steps, they’ll link hands, lips and whisper promises the way lovers do.

“Okay no, to the left a smidgen. No, Joel, my left not your left. Oh for shits sake, I’m freezing my tits off out here and you wanna goof off?”

Joel shifts the wreath into its proper position, centering the festive token before carefully descending from the ladder. He blows a push of warm air into the finite cave of his hands, rubbing them together as the girl bounces uncomfortably on the porch.

“Let’s get inside, it's a bother, us bein’ out here so late. We need the sun an’ you need more patience,” he taunts, tossing a smile in there for added emphasis.

“Best idea you’ve had all night.” She doesn’t wait for a quip but instead, kicks the snow from her boots and pushes the door open in disconcerted haste. Jogging inside, she jumps in a circle as he enters quietly behind her; a feeble effort to warm her shivering body until...well, until whatever.

He mirrors the girl's movements by shedding his dripping footwear and tucking them in their proper cubby. His coat is next, then gloves, scarf and a knit cap to follow. All removed, all where they belong.

“I’m gonna tend to the fireplace while you dance by yourself, make sure it ain’t died down too much.”

“Oh ha freaking ha, funny man. Maybe if we decorated a week or so ago like the rest of the town, I wouldn't have come up with such a shitty idea. Comparisonitis with Christmas decor is real.”

He grins as he stalks past her, his heading set for the orange glow at the heart of the living room. Joel glimpses the portrait Ellie drew of him sitting atop the mantle and fondly remembers the day she gave it to him.

It was his 50th and this was around the time she immersed herself into graphite sketching and general art creation. He always brought supplies home whenever he would stumble upon them, and as a way to honor that, Ellie took to drawing portraits of Joel. Often. This exact artwork was her very first go at it and Ellie believed he should have the 'one of one,' given how famous she’d be one day. He gladly accepted and later that night, damn near crumbled by the significance of it all.

He wonders if she sketches as much as she once did, and if so, envisions her talent to be all the more refined after so many years.

Caught. “Oh, hell. I have to give you an updated version of that.”

He twists to catch her standing by his rear, her jacket and boots off but arms holding tight to one another. She's cold.

“No, I love that one.”

A serene twinkle soothes her frigid features and the girl steps askew and reaches for the picture; running a digit along its wooden edge, Ellie exhales measuredly, “I’ve drawn you so many times since then. Maybe I’ll show you some of 'em one day, if you wanna see?”

Joel breathes for a spell, surpressing an uprising of emotion within. “So you was drawin’ me even when we wasn’t, ya know, speakin’ an’ all?”

She peeks past her shoulder and nods, “Most especially during then.”

Joel drops his head and situates behind Ellie; his hands, now warm from the fire, raise and take hold of her, before coasting the stiff jean waistband towards her belly. Towards her zipper. His chin rests atop her chilled hair as he goes through these motions, his mind alight as she sinks against him. All the peace he sensed earlier returns, crashing in once more, settling his heart in unfounded ways.

The way they fit with one another is effortless, natural and easy – somehow. He fights an unwelcome urge to remember the days prior, when this wasn’t their norm. When anger and resentment filled every contentious hour with eggshells and bitten tongues.

“I reckon I’d like to see anythin’ you create.”

Ellie inhales sharply and closes her eyes, dragging her hands along the thick fabric flannel that lines his ams. She squeezes, her blunt nails catching on errants threads, her words dying; Joel's unwavering ferrite is keeping her safe and close. Everything she needs.

’These arms, God.’

She fantasizes on how he might feel if she ever...bit them, not seriously of course, but just a nibble, a suck, or a lick here and there. It’s an odd impulsion but the more she indulges it, the more she wants to have every bit of him. Paying no mind to how weird it could be if she uttered it aloud. But she won’t say it aloud. Maybe. Depends.

Ellie wiggles her bottom on his front and huffs, “My ass is freezing in these pants, think you could get me those floppy pajamas I love so much while I warm up a little more?”

Joel bobs his head atop hers, presses a kiss to her hair and lets go. For now.

Once he’s made it beyond the first section of the stairs, before the turn, she pops a thatched metal jean button, yanks the metal clasp apart and eases from the icy confines. She tosses them onto the floor in front of the hearth but keeps her socks on for the time being. Smart is sexy. Her hoodie is next in line for the purge; it’ll be brisk but she knows the cold won’t last long. Hopes it won’t last too long, at least.

She hears the telltale heaviness to his footfall and smirks; for as stealthy as that man is in dire circumstances, when his back is literally shoved into the wall, he rejects such effort and puts zero of those tactics to use within his creature comforts. Just another Joelism Ellie loves with all the rest.

Almost to her now, the pads of Ellie's fingers graze the moth embedded into her jagged skin – their moth. Their light seeker. She need only gaze upon her own flesh to find all he’s sacrificed to give to her.

The girl shivers as this and every memory merges into a stunning gradient that is only theirs, this transition from that first stage to this newest one. She vibrates at the mere idea of such a complicated history but from what is yet to come to pass and experienced between them.

But she is woefully – and wonderfully – inept to handle these weighty musings at present; Ellie’s arousal is rising to feral levels, a fervency equally unnerving as it is intoxicating. It’s shocking how little he has to do to leave her wanting all of him so blindly, so passionately. It’s a new realm, an infant otherworld unto itself, but of the kind she cannot get enough of. There’s a whisper within, a secret utterance that she will never quench this thirst but she loves how fresh these sensations are in spite of it.

“Here ya g–oh,” Joel stutters, as he rounds the corner and discovers her facing him, hand hovering above her ink, with a glittery gaze both alluring and...wild.

“Thanks. I was warming my cheeks by the fire while waiting.”

“An' so I see that.” His eyes are set to those wickedly-alluring panties again, his cock twitching and filling the longer he stares.

“You really like these, don't you…?” She looks low and traces her nails across the nylon, from her hardly-hidden curls to the elastic band at the top. “Is it the color? I know how much you like green.”

He hears a twinge of nerves playing with her voice and it redirects his hazels to her face. He realizes he’s holding the sweatpants still instead of handing them to her and inwardly berates his inaction. Joel treks the last few steps until he’s in front of her and offers the soft sleepwear with, “Here. Get warm. Don’t want ya catchin’ cold.”

Ellie takes his pajamas and immediately tosses them onto the arm of the couch, “I’ll put them on later. You didn’t answer my question, Joel.”

The man clears his throat and leans so he can behold all of her, “Mmhm. It’s the color, sure.”

She giggles at the sarcasm and wraps each of her arms around his midsection, “Just the color?”

“No, more like colors.”

The girl chances a step or two back as she looks south on her body with intrigue, “Colors?”

He laughs, gaining use of his limbs again. After, he palms her throat and jawline, directing her view up and onto only him, “Red an’ green are my favorite colors, girl.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

She raises on the balls of her feet and crashes her mouth to his, unafraid to show desire and the fearlessness to give in to whatever is meant to happen tonight.

He doesn’t stop her.

Instead, he glides his touch over the pretty knobs of her spine until he arrives at the topmost curve of her bottom. Joel suspends there, pausing by the stretchy band of fabric keeping this marvelous piece of cloth to her person; he knows it's nearing time for decisions. In his hesitancy, he feels her hands unbuttoning his flannel shirt and pawing at the soft cotton tee beneath.

He doesn’t stop her.

“Off, take it off, Joel.”

Reticent as he is, his hands release her so she can lift his top layer off his back and thus down his arms. Once it’s free of his person, it joins the disregarded pajama pile and Ellie smirks at its steady growth.

She squeezes his forearms the moment they’re exposed but is already angling for more, “Your tee, too?”

“Soon. For now, I just need…” Joel’s sentiments fade into an unknowable abyss where all words go when longing and lust take the helm. His hands are on her again, palming the place he so desperately craves, but there’s an urgency to his demeanor now. He grips the globes of her ass and pulls her close to him, kneading his fingers and keeping hold to her beautifully taut flesh as he slips further into a surreal magicism.

Ellie’s mouth splits in an O as she hisses something that sounds a lot like ‘yes’ or ‘fuck yes.’ He surmises both options are probably accurate.

“Fuckin’ sexy,” he whispers under his breath, and she can feel the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he continues to explore and hold her.

“More Joel, please?” It’s not so much as her asking as it is her begging and Joel’s cock damn near shatters the teeth on his jeans at the pressure he's responding with. He's surprised – he didn't foresee Ellie as the type to beg and yet he can’t help how much it affects him, her behaving this way.

“Mmph, mmhm.” It’s a mumble instead, as more of rhetoric gets lost to the maelstrom of what she’s illicting inside of him. It’s been so long, too goddamn long, since he’s been even remotely intimate with a woman but with Ellie, with their new transformed relationship, it is jettisoning him to another level altogether. He’s in love with her and he’s never been in love. And though he knows he won’t go any farther than what she allows or asks – or begs – he prays this never ends.

He lifts her then, effortlessly and without so much as a noise, “C’mere.”

Joel carries the girl, walking them to a nearby loveseat and easing down into it, repositioning her straddling legs to fit comfortably by his waist and thighs. The light from the fire glows by her rear and it is still enough, is plentiful really, to allow him view of what he wants while remaining visible just the same.

She doesn’t waste a single second upon settling; her hands plunge into his hair, her lips crashing to his as she swings her boiling center forward and presses down on him. He’s so hard, so big but so far away that it panics her; she mewls in a fit of an unfathomable pining, the girl's physicality desperate for anything more. Despite the searing need and discombobulating motions, she remains uncertain as to what is proper protocol beyond this point.

Regardless, Ellie trusts she’ll know what to do when it’s time. Whenever it is time.

After a spell of semi-fluid movements together, and her falling into a rhythm of rocking close but not entirely on top of his middle, she feels a steely grip slide from her lissom ass to her hips and thighs. Ellie finds courage enough to speak and, “Joel…?”

“Hmm?”

“I wanna see you.”

He stops and connects his forehead to her collarbone. He knows how far this can go, how far he hopes prays wishes and speculates it very well could go, but there’s that ever present crossroad to contend with: A bombardment of questions regarding whether it should go that far? Whether he should be the one to take it that far with her?

He groans, “Hmph. I wanna see you, too.”

“What do you wanna see?”

She pivots, leaning the bulk of her weight onto to corded muscle above his knee while she absently fidgets with the hem of her character shirt. 'There’s that nervousness again.'

He smiles and moves his hands from underneath her base to drift phantom figures across the curvature of her warmed hips. Joel shifts, releasing for only a moment until he grabs her wrists and brings each petite hand to his lips; he kisses her pale, scarred knuckles, holding the girl's skin to his mouth as he murmurs a low, “We don’t gotta rush this, girl.”

An exhalation escapes Ellie as relief floods her overstimulated system; she’s not afraid to take this journey as far as it may lead but her nescience is worth strict consideration. The impact of his gentle declaration is soothing; Ellie falls so deeply in love with how well he can read her, how Joel can interpret the provenance of her hesitation without so much as an utterance to betray her fear and lay it all bare.

“I know. But I want you, I want you so bad, Joel.” Her voice is an inferno, a seductive prayer tinting his view with a crimson haze, an avalanche of red that spikes his blood pressure towards hazardous levels.

He places her palms flat onto his chest and smiles, “Close those pretty greens for me.”

“But I wanna see you…”

“It'll only be a minute or so, promise.”

She does as he asks. She always has, in her own way, at least.

“I want ya to just feel me, alright? An’ if you want me to stop, I stop. Okay?”

“I don’t want you to stop anything, Joel…”

A break before, “Okay?”

Ellie sighs, acquiescing with a languid nod until, “Okay.”

Joel’s tactility planes from bare knees to blushed hips and once there, he anchors to the solid bones so resolutely in his grasp. Too much space between his groin and where she sits reduces the opportunity for her to contact the rigidity of him but this is good – his own pleasure is the last thing on his mind right now. It’s about his girl reveling in his touch, her body trusting him – his intentions – and to remove the abrasive world, protecting her from it. Eradicating Ellie’s thoughts of inadequacy and uncertainty with promise and potential is the least he can do. So he's teaching her to feel and obey the instincts of her body. To recognize safety and control, no matter what she may or may not know in the carnal arena.

Joel releases his moorings and floats higher, to a waistband of hunter-green undies that are now his uncontested favorites. He teases her there for a breadth, even slips a pair of digits inside to brush the soft auburn tuft at the top of her sex.

"Feels...mmph.” She grabs his gray shirt a little tighter, absentmindedly rolling her hips against nothing. A natural reaction, an instinctual awareness. His bites his lower lip and continues to watch her.

“Good.”

He leaves that place and traverses farther beneath her tee, hands configuring to her hourglass as they travel north. Joel stares on as she basks in this hushed survey of her body, trying to memorize every iota and every inch of her all the while. There’s a small scar he passes en-route to where he’s bound, and Joel tucks it away to inquire on it later. All her scars and all their stories remain a mystery, wrapped within patches of distorted tissue he loves so completely.

His touch moves on from there, his mind also. Coasting over the divots of her rib-cage, he pauses by the undercarriage of her breasts. The man breathes, steals his nerves and delays there, rubbing softly to the silky skin directly south.

“Joel…please…”

’She keeps on beggin'. Lord, I ain’t gonna survive this.’

Even in the low light, even through the fabric of Ellie's dark tee top, Joel glimpses how rigid her nipples are, how ready he’s got her. There was no need to supplicate, despite its evocative boring into the depths of his most primal desires. No, the man was preparing all along to give her rise and allow her to free-fall, should she willing want such a thing. It appears she does.

At last, he surrenders. Employing each of his hands, he softly cups her and rolls his calloused thumbs past the edges of her firm peaks; he feathers back and forth at first, sliding over and around and back again before bringing his index finger into the mix. He pinches her slightly and pulls, applying just enough pressure to have her moaning in his lap.

The man wonders if this is the first time anyone’s ever touched her in this way and, though he triggers a bout of guilt inwardly at the wish, Joel prays he is the only one.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Don’t fucking stop...mmm...harder, Joel.”

A smile fractures his arousal for a beat – of course Ellie Williams would want him to go harder, be rougher on her. Even this early into their expeditions, it makes him happy to hear her telling him what she wants, sounding unafraid and unashamed to voice her desires. It is so fully her.

He notes a warm sensation between his thighs, but it’s not by his dick – rather, it’s in the space directly below her barely-covered opening. It hits him – a realization that the girl is so wet, she is soaking through her panties and onto his dark denim.

’...Christ that’s hot. Wanna taste you...’

“Ellie, open your eyes.”

She does.

“You want more, don’t ya?” Descending his gaze to the spot where he is able to practically catch the drip-drops as they leak from her, he nearly growls. Instantly, a wish that he could see this in real time causes his brain to, oddly, look ahead to more time spent together (in better lighting), where he will work her into a similar state of undoing.

She follows his line of sight and cups a hand to her mouth in sheer surprise, “Holy shit… That’s a lot, isn’t it?” After, Ellie grins tentatively as her other palm slips between her legs and draws circles on the spongy-sage mesh. She pulls her fingers away and discovers they’re shiny with her glassy slick – and damn close to dripping onto his shirt like a leaky faucet.

“Jesus, Ellie, I ain’t never–damn. You realize what you’re doin’ to me?”

The girl purses her lips, her cheeks reddening with the barest hint of mischievous embarrassment, “And...I already got off today.”

“I know.”

Forest eyes widen in size with veritable shock, “You saw me?”

“I did.”

“That’s why you and Dina were talking, wasn’t it?”

“It was. I know ya like her but I didn’t know if it was enough for her to see what you was doin’ to yourself. Because damn...”

Ellie chuffs and sucks her bottom lip in contemplation, “D-did you like it? What you saw?”

“Girl, I was hard as a rock all through church. Though not even God’s judgement coulda made me feel bad 'bout it.”

The girl suspires, absorbing this revelatory truth. An idea rises on the heels of this and she looks down to his center before, “Open your jeans, Joel.” Ellie waits atop his thighs for a response; despite a liquid, orange glow beginning to dim as the wood burns through, the fire of their wanton souls burns white-hot. She feels this, can judge by his expressions that he feels this, too.

He does as he’s told.

Joel unfastens his buckle and pulls it slowly through frayed loops of denim. He discards the thing, letting it fall to the floor in a muffling clmph of leather and nickel. After, he unlatches the apex button but as he searches for the angular metal tab to take care of the rest, Ellie is there.

“Can I?”

The man slouches in the wide seat, reclining to permit her and his hard-on the room they each require, “By all means.”

Her actions are slow and when she finally reaches the end of the line and there is no more zipper to undo, she closes the gap and kisses him sensually, albeit briefly, before, “You saw me, so I wanna see you come.”

Joel moans against her mouth as his hips jut upwards ever-so; he’s in a daze, a dream, a fantasy – whatever and wherever this is, he knows it cannot be real. Irrespective of all evidence suggesting otherwise, there’s just no possible way this can be happening, no feasible means in which those words came from that pretty, red mouth.

It is real though. But he reminds himself that he is secondary in this equation – gratefully so.

“Mmph, one condition. You let me give ya another one. First.”

His woman, who was on the cusp of wrapping a hand around him – through his boxers – stops suddenly at his request and, “Oh?”

“I’m a Tex'n gentleman, I’ll have you know. Now go on, lean a little an' spread for me.”

She huffs a short, semi-nervous laugh and thieves a quick smooch. After, she lists on his thighs, placing each foot flat on the sides of him and widening the space between her knees. As Joel watches her unfold in front of him, he can’t stem the deluge of lust firing through his veins; he wants so badly to take this faster than it’s going, but he will not. Cannot. Rushing would be the antithesis to what everything is about, of what she means to his heart and the gravitas of a physical relationship together – he hopes to teach her and learn from Ellie, too.

“Ya remember what I said, remember our deal?”

She rolls her eyes and scrunches her nose, “Mmhm. But I don’t want you to sto–ffffuckJoel."

Ellie bows her torso as her eyes seal shut; rubbing his thumb in slow, methodical circles atop the leaking mesh, he presses her swollen nub while rolling a nipple at the same.

The image of Ellie felled into ecstasy so willingly sends a bolt of lightning straight to his groin. He clears his throat, sees his cock bounce of its own accord and shamefully considers that he might not make it to her finish line.

“Go harder on me. Feels so fucki...ng good.”

“Do ya one better,” Joel pipes, as he sneaks under the edging and slides inside to the flip-side of her delicates. It’s just his thumb for now, probably all for tonight, but it should be enough. By the look of blind, hazy arousal on her features, it certainly seems more than enough.

She extends her shaking arms outwards and hooks her nails into the padded cushions of the loveseat they’re occupying; she scans downward and, “Put...put it in me? I need something of you inside of me, Joel.”

The man is aware of the it she means for him to ‘put inside of her’ and his brain is so foggy and sex-deprived that he instinctively – and accidentally – snaps his hips in response. It wasn’t much but what it was is a clear indication he won’t last much longer. Which is, for his age, an almost nonexistent happenstance. It’s her, it’s all her.

Looking at the vision of her writhing on just his thumb – of which he’s yet to do anything significant with – Joel accepts the loss of this battle he’s been fighting everyday this week. His heart is hers, his body, too. Come hell or high water – come what may. There is no one else for him.

“Joellll…”

That whine again, her delicious, sensuous whine he will never tire of.

“Look at me, darlin’.”

She does.

He eases only the tip of his thumb into her slippery chasm and instantly feels as though he has gone over the edge. She’s so tight, far too tight. Joel knows the answer without having to ask the question but he will ask it anyway. Wants to hear the truth in her own words.

“Ellie…”

“Fuck, huh? What-what’s wrong?” She lances him with an expression of confusion and momentary fear. Every naysaying doubt is screaming at her that something must be off, that he’ll stop, or maybe she’s somehow done something completely wrong and embarrassed herself, or worse, embarrassed him.

'Another tell.'

He holds them there, a suspension betwixt being inside and outside of her and, “Am I gonna be your first?”

Ellie releases a balloon of anxiety in a forceful push of breath and dons a shy, mischievous smile in its place; her firelit features shift and contour as she moves nearer once again, a confidence emboldening his girl the likes he has never witnessed prior to now. It's his turn to heave a lungful of air; waiting is the hardest part, or that's what they all say. Joel can attest that it is, in fact, the most difficult to contend with when matters of the heart are concerned. But with everything happening exponentially fast, plus that misbehaving trait of Ellie's – and the surge of her self-assuredness – Joel waits for her reply quietly. No matter what she shares, his feelings won’t change but hearing the truth of what he already believes is beginning to drive him towards a dangerous precipice.

Finally, the girl bites his earlobe, kissing it gently before, “...And my last.”

Chapter Text

”...And my last.”

Her reply roars into him like feral cries from the highest altitude; it incites an riot in his cavernous lungs, an urgency to venture beyond the limitations he’s mandated. For himself, for her, for himself with her.

Joel exhales, his breath a combination of flame and frost as his every molecule begins to boil and solidify all at once; he burns by her resolute declaration, his skin tingling from head to heel as infinitesimal jolts of electricity branch through him.

He’s never craved anyone the way he craves her.

Such mind-bending intensity has never remotely come into range with past lovers – at least not to the degree Ellie elicits. And with each immeasurable second tick, tick, ticking away, his body aches for more.

The man doesn’t know how much he can endure before his pitiful reserves of reticence are torn asunder. How much longer he can deny himself – how much longer he can deny her of that which so expectantly desires.

He’s brought back to Ellie feathering kisses, nips and sucks along his feverish flesh as she travels from his ear to his throat, her lips wet and full and so good; she is opening in all ways to and for him, he knows that. He thinks she knows that, too.

He wants to open more of her, wants to feel her stretch and fit to him – wants to be given that gift and to offer more in return.

Joel shuts his hazels and allows the mysterious hex to ensnare him, to sense her in mirrored actions from moments earlier; in a breadth, he consciously rams the world upside down, remanding it to fiction – to an unfavorable realm that exists beyond their union. That place lies beyond this cocoon he and Ellie are building in their house, in this secret cove, in each other’s arms.

Still blind, the tips of Joel’s digits dance to the crescent underside of her breasts as he palms her soft, supple skin in a series of painstakingly slow movements, a testament to his years of earned control. Tracing the curvature back and forth and around again, he learns her bit by bit, discovering how she favors handling; the man longs to know what draws Ellie's intoxicating moans and feverish chills so steadfastly chases this foreign knowledge. It's paramount to him, to understand and perfect it all – he to give Ellie everything she deserves and more, over and over again.

She shivers beneath his touch and Joel opens his eyes to behold kissed-red lips as they quiver – damn near uncontrollable shivering as she focuses solely on his touch, “Mmm...fuck that’s–god that feels so g-good, Joel. You’re teasing...m-me and it-don't s-stop."

He loves hearing his name on a lustfully-broken tongue; hearing it spoken in a heady rush of sweet agony reaffirms she knows who she is here with – that this is not a baseless fantasy or hollow hope made manifest within his mind.

She wants this. She wants him.

“Mmhm. An’ good. It should always feel this way, darlin'.”

Another tremble.

Her nipples are pebbled, as solid as stone, so Joel pinches, teases and plays with her, summoning more from the depths of her untamable arousal. His other thumb is still busily working her hole, using the glossy wash of her heated slick as he goes.

Ellie’s petite body is ready to take him in – so swollen, in fact, that Joel believes she would climax if he ventures in just a measure deeper – but he doesn’t want this tantalizing scene to end. Not yet. Not when they’re just getting started.

“I want m-more, Joel…”

It’s an affirmation of the highest caliber – how even the simplest act has her lost to an oblivion of wanton, sexual hunger. Himself as well, of course, but this doesn't matter much to him at the moment.

He pulls Ellie closer, squeezing just enough to emphasize his own unsaid pining and it’s then he glimpses it again: Another vibration seizes her lithe frame as she trembles above him. Her pale flesh sprouts tiny bumps as it reacts and Joel’s incapable of stifling the half-smile snaking across his shadowy features.

“Well, I like watchin' you want more, Red,” he utters, while the pad of his thumb circles her entrance in arrhythmic regularity. He somehow manages to keep this holding pattern with insurmountable restraint – but despite his authority, he's shifting into feral territories and spiraling quickly. How he wants her...

All of this, he knows, is driving her wild though, so much that he can’t decide if he wants to submit and give the girl what she seeks or tantalize just a little longer.

As he ruminates, Joel lists a length to gain a better view of Ellie; she’s backlit and framed with an orange, red and yellow halo – she’s fire incarnate and he’s the fuel. A sacred vision to behold. An honor.

Her weighty words loop back to him then, her brevity both ethereal and otherworldly, spinning like a most treasured vinyl on its inaugural play: “...And my last.”

The thought of this, of all of this, being so fresh and foreign to her strikes his awareness once more; he longs to be the first to experience every part of Ellie that’s been safeguarded until this wonderful, albeit unforeseen beginning.

Longs to be that first. That last. And hoping against hope to be the only in the midst of an in-between area he doesn’t linger on for too long.

Joel inhales and his lips curl in on their own accord; his mustache prickles as he does this, another sensation heightening all the rest. He wonders idly what she’ll make of his beard when he kisses all those areas he yearns to explore – longs to taste her in those places, too.

The man looks her over and absorbs the complete impact of their beautifully amorous scene, feeling it the chasms both within and beyond his pounding heart.

She’s moving as fluidly as she can, trapped between his hand beneath her shirt and its match inside of her panties. There are too many clothes separating their touch and this becomes and irksome nuisance to the girl; not a literal annoyance but rather...she wants him flush against her person.

As his thumb lingers in its torturous cadence of pushing in and pulling out of her wet core, Joel commands and steels his wild thoughts before things drift too far gone upon these wayward seas. Before he makes a mess on his belly again – only this time in her company and not the privacy of his own bedroom like yesterday. A mess she wouldn't necessarily expect.

Memorizing everything, Joel looks on as Ellie slips into desperation now, she tries to pull in more oxygen, those lips and her breath so dangerously close to him. A stutter, a mewling whimper until a few words, though broken at first, pour out of the girl, “But...it's o-okay, yeah? That I’m a...that I-I’ve never done this-or much of anything-g be-fore? Oh, God...”

Her nails drag lines into and along the thick edges of his beard, her demeanor stricken by this latest grapple with uncertainty; as she hangs in the vulnerable stasis, the gold of her jade irises radiate – a tempestuously violent solar flare for all the world to see. All the world being Joel. Her world.

Theirs.

This captivating display is something he's never born witness to, nor has Joel ever known a woman to want him so tremendously – despite the many notches on his proverbial bedpost. Nameless notches that meant nothing then and even less now.

The man gulps, audibly and without reservation, as he shifts underneath, “Girl, it’d be fine either way but knowin’...mmph goddamn, knowin’ what I now know an’ hearin’ you plead with that pretty mouth-”

He pauses, persisting through a shaky gasp of air before his touch summits her rigid nipple again, this time with a bold squeeze to finish. His hips snap upwards as he does this, acting of their own volition. He’s trying to grind against a phantom form, trying to thrust inside of something that is not there just yet. A mimicry of Ellie from only a few minutes ago; it’s instinct, a knowing is taking control. It won’t be long now. Can't be long now.

The tip of Joel’s thumb stays upon the precipice, on that cusp of descension into the void of What Comes Next. There will be no turning back for them after this and he understands as much. Prays she does as well.

But the fact is, Ellie is willing, warm and wanton and the longer he starves the impulse, the harder it will become to restrain, to not take her sooner than he should.

“Joellll, push it inside of me…?”

Ellie reaches between them to clasp Joel’s wrist with an ironclad grip – this arm belongs to its teasing, edging hand as it works her dripping, needful slit. A guttural whine emits from a place unseen; she’s flushed through with arousal and can withstand not a movement more. “Please. Joel, please...”

Begging. She’s begging again. Or maybe she’s never ceased such groaning entreaties? Joel cannot recall properly at the moment. Doesn’t care to try either. Loves how blissful this conduct of hers is turning him on – how much it seems to be doing the same for her in equal measure.

He pulls his arm from underneath the Captain and winds north until he’s by her throat, “Look’a me, darlin’, I wanna watch you take just this part’a me.”

“Fffuck yes. Yes, Joel.” Ellie's ploy fades atop the wild abandon of this journey, her sentiments sailing, afloat. All space and time forfeit to the union of these star-crossed wayfarers – only the fusion of their spines and the charge in their hearts will ferry them through such a celestial quest.

At last.

Switching, Joel uses his middle finger and steadily enters; it's straight at first but eventually, the digit curls forwards and all pressure goes to the spot. He hisses – a staggering restriction and its scorching heat instantly sheath him; oh, she is unyielding. Ellie is so truly fixed it's impossible for Joel to fathom how she’ll manage anything more than what he's offering at current. There's a worry for later though.

The flexible ring of her opening initially stretches, before collapsing just beyond the bend of his secondary joint. Her body is sucking him in already, siphoning Joel deeper one centimeter at a time.

Joel observes his girl accept this minuscule piece of him with sheer fascination – it’s not insignificant at its very nature but in comparison to...other things he wants her to take, its impact will ultimately prove to be far less. But it's obvious she likes it and this is what matters most.

He’s in as deep as his finger is long and remains motionless for a beat, allowing her an adjustment period to feel how it is to have her virginal hole partially filled.

It hits him again: They will need to employ far greater patience and move exponentially slower – somehow – when it's time. Joel decides that devoted mindfulness will be a requirement from here on.

Control, it all whittles down to control. He must reacquaint what it means to hold absolute power over his person and leverage his actions accordingly, having met such a wondrous circumstance like hers.

“Look’a you, takin’ it so good. Feel nice, sweetheart?”

She juts forward at the dark, low the timbre of his voice, his intonation an echoing brontide – this and all the rest of his physical presence has overthrown Ellie to the point of sheer disintegration.

Her body rattles, quaking as if on the brink of self-implosion; Joel holds her with a loose grip to her neck and chin – a favorable show of dominance; recognizing it for what it is leaves the girl stifling a growl and gyrating harder.

A greedy one, every hour, minute and second that passes shifts into a blinding blur of breathy exhalations. The ache for this man compound but it's a confidence she should swiftly disavow – her inexperience is too quiet right now, in spite of all this newness.

Pulling his digit out and pushing it back in, he hooks to her front again and licks his lips in drought; there's a distinct suction that emanates from her entrance as his pace increases, his palm cupping her sex with a messy seal. He applies the right amount of pressure and rolls his wrist expertly, adjusting to telltale twitches and hip jerks as he goes. The not so subtle signs that her peak is near.

“Feels amazi...ng. Ki..kiss me…” Her rhetoric comes hushed, the girl is exhausted but her feral eyes close of their own accord upon the requests end. She anchors to his forearm and pulls the longer hair at the base of his head, bringing him nearer – an act to be closer and closer still. No one’s ever wanted him so near before.

Joel shivers and kisses her.

Their mouths meet but it’s not fervent or messy, not initially at least. Instead it’s light and vexing, like everything else he’s done to and with her tonight. The man teases her bottom lip and bites harmlessly at it for a tick, feeling her hot air imbibe his every thought in a symphony of vinous emotion.

Eventually, when he’s drunk on Ellie’s satyric tides and the rising waters earn a complete and utter subservience, Joel crashes into her. Teeth, lips, noses – all collide in a clash of stardust and rust.

He all but moans into her open mouth as they osculate; the taste of carnal fervency on her tongue is so heavily laden, so beautifully raw he can barely withstand the mass of it. There is little left to cease the fever of his need either.

Eventually, Joel breaks so she can clearly hear him, “I wanna feel ya come on me, Ellie. Just like this…”

Ellie’s nod is chaotic, her assertions unstable as her hips rock to the rhythmic thrusting of his lengthiest digit.

“That’s good, take it how ya need it, girl.”

Joel's forehead casts to her jaw as waves of heat radiate off of her like a high summer sun; he gazes down, leveraging an enticing peek of her pert breasts as they bounce under the faded Savage tee. A little ways on, the glittering shine from her stimulated opening continues to drip and he wants this and more of it, so much more. Clocking the green panties, again, and a tuft of her red, Joel's next quest will be to gain a full image of her beyond the one he's presently entertaining.

“Joel...Joel.”

Whining, the ache for release – it’s deliriously inebriating.

“Mmph, you’re there ain’t ya?”

“Uh huh–don’t…fuckin...fuck...ing...stop…”

The broken plea sees him working Ellie's pussy harder, rotating inside with a degree of force she greedily accepts. He’s beginning to surmise that Ellie might try to push her boundaries with each subsequent time they're intimate. There is no surprise at such a thought. None whatsoever.

This time is their true first and he will treat it that way.

At last, a familiar sensation stirs low in his back and belly, a testament to the intensity of this evening and everything that has taken place thus far.

Seeing her above him, the girl remains blissed out, entirely unaware of how far down deep Joel has gone into an abyss of unimaginable ecstasy; her movements unsteady and fitful, her hips fluttering from front to back – he studies her sinful, unbridled desperation. A core memory is born tonight as she lets him fuck her this way – an infinite torment Joel will endure time immemorial. Everyday, every night, for as sure as there is blood pumping through his arteries into all the parts she searches for.

Soon after, Ellie's hands flee from his body to cup her now-abandoned breasts, trying to feel herself the way he felt her. Ellie impatiently kneads the lissome flesh through a thin layer of fabric – pinching and tweaking her nipples as her head lists from the fiery pleasure consuming her.

At this lustful display, Joel glides down her throat and continues journeying, brushing her knuckles as he passes her by. He’s content to watch while she ruts above him but needs to feel it, too.

“So g’damn sexy, Red,” Joel growls, words barely discernible through his clenched jaw and a heavy gaze. His touch settles on her belly, below Ellie's navel but directly north of her tempting panty line. The man hovers there, deciding, considering something – he twitches, his own need cresting and the tip of his cock saturates his dark cotton of briefs with precome.

Resigning to nullify what he was going to do – for now – his self-denial comes in lieu of adding to her sensation instead. Anything for her.

Joel's thumb joins in on the salacious action and, unlike earlier, he slips beyond the elastic boundary and locates her wonderfully swollen nub; using a calloused pad, he depresses the tiny bulb and rotates a sloppy cadence of concentric circles upon it – pressing, rubbing and tapping in all the right ways.

Looking at the state of his woman, Joel lines his teeth: Both hands inside her panties, one partly inside of her, the delicates stretching to their absolute limit. Her legs are as far apart as they can manage in this position but it's still not enough for him. He wishes he had the foresight to set Ellie onto the couch, making it much easier to spread the girl even more.

Joel visibly shivers at the idea of that, at all of it really. His breath uneven as the tremors wreck havoc throughout him.

For the fire is no longer behind her but rather is her; she is an inferno, alight for him and come undone in the most impure and private of fashions. There is no getting enough of this, ever.

Beyond the swells of their eroticism exists something else though. Sound.

In a room with the pops and crackling of a waning blaze to keep them company, it's the alluring, wet echoes of foreplay that have, at long last, sunk him: The penetration of her hole, its sucking noises and the sweet smack of her clit as he plays with it are an orchestra of almost pleasure. All of it vies for Joel’s direct and utmost and in this immersion of sound, he groans.

“Oh fuck, oh...ohfuckfuckfuck...”

“You're bein’ such a good girl for me. Gonna get me comin’ right after ya,” he mumbles, the man's jaw flexing as his pupils blow into a menacing black.

There’s a flash of vivid jade as Ellie hones in on his appraisal and the dire wildness so evident to his tone, “Fuck yes, come with me Joel...oh fuck...I can’t-yes yes...li-ke that…”

Bending his finger forward, he uses her hole and pulls Ellie to his chest, enough so that a fit of rapture overtakes her in an explosion of tensile strength.

And oh, does he feel it.

Ellie’s climax cascades over her violently, her contracting walls suctioning him deeper as the rest of her goes rigid by the sheer power of it; a barrage of unrelenting tidal waves rip through in wondrous succession, her tendons taut and seizing as he furthers her ascent. All of her appears to shake as those hungry green eyes seal shut; she bites her bottom lip so hard he fears there may be droplets of blood that paint her in a new shade of crimson by the time she’s finished.

“Fuck, fuc-kk, Joel...fuck, god it’s...you...I want-I..nneed…”

“Whaddya need, baby? Tell me.”

“I wan...I want you to...fuck-k me… Want you iinssside o’me...” Ellie’s touch darts from her chest and crash into his, grabbing hastily at the body-warmed shirt as she grinds down onto him with even more conviction.

“Fuck, Ellie,” he snarls, quickly retracting one of his hands to yank the hem of his boxers and free his straining cock. He can’t believe what’s about to happen but he doesn’t want it to stop either. Doesn’t bother to question it nor feel a lick of shame at this response to getting her off, to hearing those pleas and witness her unraveling.

As Joel rushes through with his fervent succor, the girl peers low in fascinated curiosity; she finally glimpses some of him but it’s enough to cast an accurate portrayal of what awaits. He’s big...she knew he was but he’s...big. She thinks it should be intimidating – and it is – but she's more than a little aroused, her confidence at an all-time high.

“Oh, Joel...you’re gonna-?” She stops as an instinctual whisper woman's the helm. Her own orgasm and its aftermath is beginning to settle, attention onto the provocative current events instead. With far more of a quiet mind to enjoy it. Just as he evidently did with her.

Ellie lifts his shirt and slides it high on him, exposing a firm abdomen and all the corded, tensile vigor he keeps hidden most of his days. It exposes the salt and pepper trail of hair that runs from his groin to the prominence of his collarbone; this masculine vein of silver she yearns to scrape her nails through...and all the skin she wants to kiss and taste beneath it.

“Oh g’damn…This is-” Joel holds the elastic waistband of his briefs midway – above his balls but well a ways from his head – while he easing his other hand from her; his fingers are come-soaked and slippery, his palm and parts of his wrist, too. He grabs her hip, not to wipe clean his digits but to anchor to Ellie's frame for what is about to happen.

He thinks of squeezing her ass and smacking it, of tossing her onto the sofa and giving her – and him – what they both obviously want.

Joel doesn’t do that though.

Control, control.

The young woman marks his urgency and leans in, shifting nearer – positioning her center near the base of his sack, which, much to her dismay, she is unable to see. Yet. Though she wants to see as much as she can and be as near to him as she is able – Ellie wants to feel him fully, too. Something tells her there’s not enough time, right now, for Joel to actually fuck her. And that’s even if he would fuck her, which she’s not wholly convinced he might do just yet.

Still, even this inexperienced she’s capable of noting the precise point of no return and when it’s passed them by.

“Mmm, Joel, I'm watching you now. Come for me? Please...” Her lips pout, her greens doe-eyed and the man transcends into something beyond himself; he’s nothing more than a seaman lost to her siren.

He grips her waist before pulling one final time on the waistband and summarily...gives in and lets go.

Without touching himself, without her hands on him, Joel orgasms. He spurts ropes of white onto his abdomen and part way up his chest as the first bout of convulsions tear through him; his hips snap upwards, fucking nothing while pantomiming the act itself. He’s relieving the desperation that has him imprisoned between the thin line of pleasure and pain.

“Oh fuck, Joel. Fuck that’s-God it's hot…” Ellie watches, wanting to enclose him in her palm but hesitates, fearful of doing something wrong. It’s the first time she’s ever seen his dick – part of it, anyway – in this state; it’s minacious and sexy, even as it shifts on a spectrum of feral reds and purples. He's stiffer than iron and coming so hard has left the man barely breathing.

Ellie wants to get him to this place again and again, wants to witness and feel him climax from above, behind and beneath her person. She wants him everywhere, in every which way.

“Can-can I?” She poses, watching his spasms as they subside. She leverages courage enough to fulfill an urge – a fresh fantasy – but isn't concerned as to whether it's normal behavior or not. It was an intriguing thought and she would rather see how it all plays out.

He nods and suspires, unwilling to speak on the off chance he might make an utter fool of himself. Curious as to what it is she intends to do but nevertheless interested to discover what comes next.

Ellie holds his tee with one hand as the other lowers to the cooling puddle on his torso; the tip of her index finger tracks through his semen, cutting an indirect line as it journeys to its conclusive destination. She focuses on the texture, its viscosity and the fact that this is the first time she's watched a man climax – Joel, no less. It awakens an indecent curiosity to learn what his spend...tastes like, resulting in multiple compulsions firing in her brain all at once.

Avoiding his avid gaze, she reaches the tip of Joel's cock and uses the soft pad of her index finger to tease the fine sheen partially covering him still. In her peripheral, a twitch shocks through Joel as she does this, causing Ellie to worry her lip and snuff a hushed moan; to see him wasted and exposed like this is better than she could have ever imagined.

And thus, with no pause for consideration, without even realizing it, the girl brings her finger to her mouth and tongues the thin layer of smeared come.

“Mmm…” She steels her mind, sorting through everyday elements as she tries to decipher the tangy flavor; it’s salty though not overbearing with hints of something sweet that heightens the unexpected profile. It’s...distinctly Joel, too. Which makes no sense whatsoever and yet all the sense in the world.

After introducing her palette to the droplet of his release, she peers up to find him staring at her, his mouth slightly off-center by the smirk he's failing to temper.

“Oh...was that alright? I...I was curious.”

Joel's tentative mirth turns into a full-blown smile that breaks across half of his face, "If it's okay for you, it’s more than alright to me. I like when you...do what ya want.”

Ellie beams and wiggles in his lap, aware of how deliciously erotic and downright messy this entire experience has been with him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t...touch you. Like touch you, ya know? I was–I didn’t know if-”

Joel leans forward in the seat, lets the band of his briefs snap above his softening member as he clasps the base of her neck. He brings their lips together and kisses the girl hard, noting the smallest tinge of himself on her tongue; it sets his teeth on edge. His come in her mouth; the way he wants her to drain every last drop of him into her shakes Joel to his very foundation.

But this is not what he wants to convey in the intimate afterglow, no. He wants to extinguish the nasty lack of confidence from her once and for all, wants his woman to accept that it’s normal to not know what to do or when to do what. That everyone learns as part of an intimate union, and today was their soft launch into that realm.

She vines her arms to his neck, forgetting his shirt in the process; it falls into the pool of chilled ejaculate but neither care for the disarray they continue to make. Joel came on his own body for the second time in as many days, and Ellie came on him, the cushion below absorbing drips of fallout, too. But none of these gritty, sticky details matter though, only the moment as it expands all around them.

After, he allows a few inches of space to fill the air between but holds her close, “Girl, I told you, we ain’t rushin’ this. Don’t go apologizin’ for nothin’, alright?”

Ellie shrug-nods and exhibits a scrunchy smile in lieu of any words lingering on the tip of her vulnerable voice. She wants to say so much, has a hundred questions to ask and craves to see him finish again. But north of all that, Ellie needs to know what it will feel like to have him come...inside of her.

At the last realization, Ellie sniffs and redirects her greens elsewhere on his body, “We should maybe get cleaned up and go to bed, huh? We’re pretty sticky.”

Joel snorts but doesn't miss the shift in her demeanor. He doesn’t speak on it, instead gives himself a once over before playfully smacking one of her firm, round cheeks, “I reckon s'a fine idea. But these panties, girl, they got me makin’ a mess’a myself. Fifty-two years old an’ look at me.”

“But you love it, right?”

Joel’s laugh remains lighthearted but it settles into an ache amidst his weary bones – if only she knew. He won’t reveal anything yet, no matter how bad he wants to. Instead he kisses her shoulder and the soft spot below an ear before opting for a safer route, “Girl, I love it more than anythin’ in this damn world.”

He looks beautiful, she would even go so far as to say peaceful, which is unusual a state for him; Joel having an air of ease whilst resting seems like a general antithesis to his waking hours. It’s only during days that end in y that his demeanor holds a hint of sadness...and another emotion that bears no one true name. An emotion Ellie has glimpsed but prays to never learn firsthand.

It's early, well before dawn, and he remains soundlessly asleep in the safety of his home – of their home. She circles her words for a beat, reveling in the byproduct of warmth as it imbues and settles within her.

Ellie and an acute sense of hearing was the cause of her untimely rising. The sun has not broken its horizon and won’t for a while yet, but a team of Jackson's snow-shovelers came through and the group was rowdy enough to disturb her. The girl doesn't mind it much, as it offers an opportunity to enjoy the stillness without the stress of a nightmare...or worse.

It allows a respite to savor Joel in a different way, too.

While it’s unfortunate she doesn’t have her journal on hand, it’s proves to be of little hindrance. In its stead, the girl bogarts a few sheets of tracing paper from Joel’s wood-crafting room to use. For a very specific concept.

Cozy in a chair by the window, she uses a pen and pencil taken from the stationery cup on his circular table – it’s only ever populated with one variant of your standard, common writing utensils. Pen, pencil, sharpie marker, yellow highlighter. It’s never overflowing, never doubling down on itself – it contains just what may be needed. But that’s Joel – preparation is key but moderation is essential. Only have items up to task and nothing more.

She smiles amidst the musing, her memory traveling to a time from before when every stowed ounce in their backpacks required a purpose to serve. Clothes, rations, hydration, hygiene necessities, bullets, clips, arrows and, of course, her comic issues. Essentials. Somehow he never complained about the fictional stack, although she wondered on more than a few occasions if he ever snuffed a command in the initial days on the road together.

At least, before he began to pilfer random copies scattered throughout the country and thus “gifting” them to her.

Beyond that, even this far gone from the months of sneaking to one molted and moldy crevice to another rotted motel room, Ellie favors how his minimalist lifestyle. Well, for the most part. He does enjoy a collection of vinyl records and tool supplies nowadays but he owns the space to justify those hobbies and there lies the differential.

Regardless, Joel’s nothing if not consistent. Not predictable per se, but routine and extremely well practiced. She’s discovered this pragmatic side covers the full range, too; from cup holders to clothes, from whetstones to strops and everything in between. Anything in good working condition and operable will remain – situationally dependent – and objects that are not, get donated or stripped for parts. Nothing goes to waste so space is never wasted.

However, there are exceptions to every rule and she vividly remembers him sharing as much one night, huddled by a meager excuse of a campfire. They were hunkered in a ramshackle warehouse outside of Wellington, Colorado; Joel didn’t want to spend the night there but it was all they had come across after hours of walking. He made the decision at the very last minute, just before the sun set and that was all there was to it.

That night was not an easy night: They fought wicked winter winds and incessant, growling bellies. Ellie recalls how tired she was, how her bones throbbed and her skin became so numb that breathing was painful. But as her jaw shivered in the cave of her cupped hands, hands more blue than white, Joel slid beside her and offered his pair of patchwork gloves. He remembered hers had been taken after David and his cannibalistic cult looted her and her belongings – an insult to injury right before they tossed her into that devilfucked cell.

Initially, Ellie flinched at Joel’s gesture and quietly accepted them, a weary smile forced upon her face – a mammoth effort but enough for him to believe his help mattered in some small way. And it did, it really did help. But in the weeks after the lakeside resort and Todd’s burnt husk of a restaurant – with a mutilated, shell of a corpse within it – Joel warred with both arms tied at his spine. It was impossible to reach her, working from an inherent loss.

She winces as a flash of that vile man and his hatched skull – all the tiny, firelit pieces of him splattered across the floor – and what it felt like once she was through with him.

’No, no, that hasn't mattered for a long time. Leave it alone.’

Pushing through darkness, Ellie returns to the makeshift camp in Colorado instead. She tugs the tethers of an anti-lesson and finds quite a simple one: Had either of them possessed more than one set of seasonal outerwear, she would have had her own and he wouldn’t have had to give her his. The pair of which she still owns to this very day. Ellie doesn't know if Joel would even remember he had done that for her but ...she does. Ellie remembers.

Still, lessons and pragmatism, though beneficial, must allow a little bend a little them when regarding the laws of nature. At least, that’s what she walked away with.

Ellie smiles in sneaky delight as she leans further into this pure warmth – a warmth purposely forgotten for too long a time. Though, yes, it is completely different now; the heat rushing to fill all those hollow openings when Joel comes to mind is changing day by day, but it’s this perception of herself and parts of him are also shifting alongside that.

It’s intriguing and most certainly alluring – something she chases with reckless abandon. Something unsuspecting and unforeseen but not unwelcome in the least.

But the past is not why she’s awake at present. Despite not having her sacred journal, she intends to write, sketch and share the chords of her heart in this hallowed bedroom.

The girl borrows a beat, inhales the semi-brisk air and raises a sheepskin throw higher on her person; the quiet of the world is a balm, silencing threatening ghosts from remembrances’ past.

They’re gone.

Smoothing the heel of her palm atop crisp, flaky paper, she works it free of any ripples and imperfections – it’s too thin for what she tends to use but it enables her to try something new. New like her evening with him before they fell asleep in each other’s arms, wonderfully clean, satisfyingly spent and ready for hours upon hours of oblivion together.

Until the plow crew rolled on through.

Before she riles into annoyance again, Ellie stabs the tip of the pen to the paper and sets her mind elsewhere...

the way my blood rushes and speeds races
...the way I want you
the way I want all of you
the softness of your voice touch
the ease of your cadence
I am lost I am found
I am fondly lost
what’s to become of us
what’s to be done with us

will anyone understand?
do you?
do I?

She gazes to his resting form after the swell of hastily written word spit concludes; Ellie sniffs and shakes her head – that yearning, that telltale spark, all of it booms brighter than ever.

Just seeing him there stirs her, “Handsome. You’re too handsome for your own good, Joel. Bet it's gotten you into trouble sometimes, too...” A quip, a curiosity... Ellie whispers this and more into the quietude all around her.

Studying his position in bed and the waning moonlight as it cuts and slides through the windows moves her; shadowy grid lines from the glass frame his peaceful face in a pattern only nature can create. Ellie wants to capture this, to savor it. Wants to hold on and commit every detail to memory.

So, pausing, she glances from the paper to Joel and back again as she begins to sketch an outline of the cozy oasis before her.

She works at it slowly, drawing elements she knows are there but unseen in the dim light of the predawn hour; she marks a notch at the bridge of his nose – an ever present reminder of a past never too far behind him. She adds the scar on his earlobe, too, the scar on his forehead and doesn't negate the subtle circles beneath his weary eyes. Everything about him allures her in the open world they’re creating.

Ellie prays for more creations but such a fantasy – this early – invites melancholy and she’s not welcome to entertain that at the moment.

Still, the wish leaves behind a stray bead of saline and it falls down her cheek untouched. She doesn't brush or pretend it away, instead the girl carries on to the next part of him: His torso.

Ellie knows how riddled and severely marked his body is from decades spent surviving; she frowns, her pen hovering above the paper in sympathetic regret. He didn’t deserve any of what his life has given him, no matter how different it all looks and feels now.

She doesn’t want to dwell on his loss of self nor his gain of scar tissue though. She wants to be in this room, using her talents to give that stupidly-attractive man his due. In artwork at least. For now.

Still, sketching Joel is nothing new, even she’s said as much, but recreating Joel in this way certainly is. This way being half-naked from the waist up while images of his big cock laying against linen sheets flit upon her imagination. Despite her mood, she won’t portray anything lewd or lascivious tonight – perhaps in the future but for now, she's depicting him as he is, not as she envisions.

The girl tunes her amorous musings to a lower frequency and slips into blissful waters of creation for creativity’s sake.

She continues in this fashion for so long – sketching, outlining, shading, erasing, rinse and repeat – until notes of golden sunlight begin to wash over him. The alarm will sound soon, as their shift with Tommy and the Alpine Valley is nary an hour and half from now.

Glancing at her paper, she tilts her head and smirks, it’s one of her best thus far. Him, partially on his side, partially on his stomach with an arm beneath the soft pillow cradling his head. The duvet and sheets are in a pile at his midsection and Ellie would be concerned about temperatures, but Joel seems to run a degree or so hotter than most.

The girl shivers at how much she misses that warmth all of a sudden and decides that's enough sketching for the day.

Placing the image face down, or Joel’s face down rather, she discards the blanket onto the now unoccupied seat and crawls into bed again. She put her Daniela shirt back on after the bath last night but the green panties were more than spent; instead she borrowed a pair of Joel's briefs and though they’re droopy and low in all the wrong places, she loves them more because of it.

The girl worms and wiggles slowly into his embrace, lifting the full weight of his arm and wrapping it to her as she settles. She knows this might wake him at any second, but selfishly, she doesn’t mind; in a very true sense, she finds herself missing the man after spending the last two hours or so depicting all those appealing features. She misses everything – his rumbly, impressive twang, his piercing resolute eyes that shift color faster than he changes clothes and all the rest, of course.

“Mmph, mornin’, darlin’,” he murmurs through a mess of auburn hair. She’s facing towards him but snug against his throat, pressing her lips to the lukewarm skin there; the vibrations of his gravelly voice charge her in a way she’s not sure she wants to admit just yet. Or maybe she doesn’t want to stop admitting things as a whole. She’s indecisive.

Either or, Ellie feels the most whenever she feels anything from Joel.

Aside from this, the girl can’t stifle a smile: Even in these chilly temperatures and halfway covered, he is, in fact, still warm. Amazing.

“Good morning.” She nuzzles deeper into that safe space and tightens her hold, slinging a leg over his waist and pulling him nearer. “Did you sleep enough? I’m sorry I woke you.”

He rolls, primarily on his flank now and less so on his belly, and – realizing it after he's done this – checks his current position and clocks the unsurprising erection. Oh well, Ellie is certainly well aware of the effect she has on him by now, morning wood notwithstanding.

“C’mere,” Joel whispers, bringing her to his middle, sealing off the lingering chasm between them. He slides the duvet up and over her shoulders, knowing that while he’s a furnace, she likes to cocoon in a pile of fluffy linen.

He yawns and clears his throat, "Mmhm, slept good. An' I don’t mind ya wakin’ me neither, not ever. How 'bout you? Sleep alright?”

She adores how thick his accent is this early in the day, how he’ll talk very little and yet say so much; it doesn't matter that this is Joel's norm most days, she delights in it more an more as these intimate mornings continue to occur.

“I was blissfully asleep. Then the snow crew woke me the fuck up. But it’s fine, I’m not tired much.”

“When'd they come by?”

“Couple hours ago, loud as hell, too. I gotta tell Maria that shit ain’t cool. They can do their job and not be a loud dick about it, yanno?”

Joel sniffs, absentmindedly tracing crescent moons to the small of her back, “So...you been up that long?”

“Mmhm.”

A pause.

“Whaddya been doin’?”

She breathes through a laugh and bites a lip, “...Drawing.”

“Oh? Drawin’ what?”

“Nothing.”

“Pssh, woman.”

“Pssh, man.”

It’s Joel’s turn to laugh and it comes as a grumbling exhalation originating from somewhere deep within.

“Ya better not be drawin’ me in the buff. Or half-buff.”

“You wish.”

His laughter booms louder and he squeezes the girl, bewitched by the simplicity of their playful banter; it’s a part of their norm now and though he loves this new road they’re on, some things are better because everything else is better. Her humor near the top of an unsaid most-beloved list.

“You’re cute, Red.”

Ellie sighs contentedly in his arms; she snuggles for the sake of snuggling and it gives the young woman ample time to be present and whole in a moment lending itself to just that.

Still, the rising sun is a master in its endless provision of light; it paints in an array of brilliant color: Pale ambers, pastel pinks and a sapphire so rich and vibrant, Joel prays it could remain this way forever. A entreaty for more than just the light spectrum, of course.

But time marches onward and both of them know there’s a countdown tick-tick-ticking nearby. It won’t be long until the shrill siren lets loose, signaling the start of another harsh December day and the duties they’re required to fulfill.

Though, there’s an unspoken nuisance with today’s shift: They won’t be alone on this patrol. While this is fine, of course, but Joel and Ellie will need to do their utmost to temper all suggestive subtleties. Neither is sure how difficult or easy it may be.

“Wanna get breakfa-”

Ellie’s lips are on his all of a sudden, her hands raking into gray-black bedraggled hair, pulling it just the way he likes.

The room avows itself to lustful sighs and sharp intakes of breath; everything is a rush, an endeavor to venture to an unknowable place that isn't so foreign anymore.

“Mmph, fuck, you...feel so...good, Joel,” Ellie murmurs, her words stretching amidst the minute breaks between licking, biting and kissing him.

A rumble and, “That a fact?”

She nods and nips playfully, feathering a chaste kiss to his healing scab as her weight slowly pushes him onto his spine.

“Don’t I feel good...to you?” The girl spins her words with a splash of vulnerability as she settles onto the firm section just north of his groin.

He knows this is an exploration of option and method to try and solidify her sexual footing; it’s the most tantalizing behavior he’s ever been privy to.

“Oh, you feel good, darlin'. Mighty damn good.”

Ellie smirks, raises a brow and aims beyond the globes of her ass to reach him. She pulls the band of his boxers from heated skin and dips beneath the hem without pause or hesitation, “Good because I wanna feel you...wanna make you come this time. Wanna see all of you, Joel.”

Joel keeps his eyes on her as his head bobs, waiting for her full, encompassing touch; as he watches her twist and shift, he slides both hands along the smooth skin of her lithe thighs, kneading the flesh in mute anticipation as he goes.

Ellie wastes no time leading her provisional efforts – it’s partly from a fear that she might lose her nerve and partly because the alarm is prime to trigger at any second. She sidelines those distractions and all the rest, choosing instead to pit herself at the mercy of this abyssal lust. It rolls in her belly like a hungry, haunted undertow – though it's closer to the fatal temperatures of a geyser than any ocean in existence today.

Her body reacts instantly, now that it knows what he can do to her. Not that she ever doubted his learned experience before but...well, last night wasn’t so long ago after all.

Using only the tip of a finger, she unhurriedly traces the thick, long length of him; his skin is warm – hot even – but so silky it comes as a surprise to the girl. Ellie didn’t expect that. Admittedly she didn’t know what to expect, but that was certainly not it. Eventually the logical recesses of her mind will see it makes sense and she will love it all the more. For now, she pours her attention to the whole of his cock and nothing beyond it.

She marks the prominent lines of his veins running south to north, revels in how pronounced and abundant they are. His veins...

’Fuck, just like your arms, Joel. I won’t bite these though. I just wanna lick them...wanna lick all of you…’

He’s excited, very much so at that, but the way his physical response fuel and rile her is a thing she will never exhaust or tire of. Silently hopes he won’t ever tire how curious and eager she is either...

After a few moments of inwardly idolizing his perfect anatomy, she starts to descend lower and lower. The girl is on the verge of cupping his sack – finally feeling all of him – when a series of muffled knocks sound from downstairs – from the front door.

“Fucking...fuck...er.”

“Who in their right mind...” Joel spats, turning to the clock’s weathered hands and reading the position set to. It’s only seven-ten in the morning and shift doesn’t begin for another fifty minutes.

Ellie grimaces in exasperation, pulling her hand from his briefs and sliding from his waist onto the chilly sheet.

“I’m gonna end whoever's botherin’ us, don’t worry.”

“Okay and then after you hurt them, bring those balls back because I wasn’t finished with you yet.”

Joel laughs and pecks a quick kiss before loping out of bed and adjusting himself; he uses the underwear’s elasticity to trap his dick to his belly versus giving all the world an eyeful. After, he throws on a pair of sweats and last night's button-up before tensely exiting the room, full of frustration and annoyance. He won't shroud that though.

Ellie has to smile despite the irritation; the interruption is frustrating, yes, but seeing how agile and fast that man can be is something she’ll never take for granted. His stamina and endurance outlasts everyone she’s ever known, herself included. Earlier on, this was a trait she lumped into his overarching personality but now it's just downright sexy.

'The implications…'

She shifts, stemming desire for the moment as she wonders who is visiting this early; Ellie so badly wants to go downstairs and pull her blade on the unlucky soul who’s chosen death on this ireful Monday morning.

'Little dramatic, Williams.' The girl banters with no one as her arousal begins to ebb from his untimely absence.

She rolls over, stares at the time just as it switches to seven-fourteen and his alarm clicks over. Throwing an arm out, she pounds the top of the aging clock-box, audibly cursing at it.

All the while deciding on whether she should sneak a peek and find out who’s here.

“Good morning, Joel! I see you’ve added a few decorations to the porch and windows since yesterday—it looks really...subtle! It’s very you, I think. Anyway, I wanted to give you one of the berrycherry winter wreaths I've made this year. I’ve got one set aside for Maria and your brother that I'll be taking round to them later today so I figured, ‘why not a wreath for Joel,’ too?”

Beth Fleurs. This woman.

’Of g’damn course.’

Joel squints his eyes and crosses his arms in a feeble effort to combat the cold air blowing in, his clothes doing little in the way of keeping his warmth. He wishes he was still in bed with a certain curious and eager redhead – wants to be anywhere but right here, looking at this lady.

“Ah. Uh, thanks. An’ mornin’.”

“Shoot. Did I wake you? I’m sorry! Maybe I can come in? I make a mean breakfast sandwich and it'd be my penance for startling ya!”

Joel angles his head to one side – a reaction to a stunning show of obliviousness – then scratches his beard and, “Um, no thanks. You can go 'head leave that with me if you’d like. Gotta get ready for shift actually.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad I caught you then, figured I might have been late, funny enough. Anyhoo, maybe the wreath would look sweet on your front door? Either way, I appreciate you helping yesterday. Speaking of, think you’ll be able to swing over and get that closet job started soon? The drip-drops are about to drive me downright batty! If they haven’t already...” Her laugh is shrill, fake and way too arresting at this hour.

Joel all but winces but tramples the urge and instead clicks his tongue; looking low, he curls his bare toes to protect them from the icy wind before, “Not sure, Ms Fleurs, but I’ll let ya know when I can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m plenty cold.”

“Sure, sure. I look forward to chatting again soon, Joel. And hey, be safe on shift today!”

With that, Beth sets the decoration onto the porch by his door, smiles wide and trots away.

Joel looks at the gaudy object and notes its colors and the splattering bits of random baubles, then purses his lips and shuts the winter away. There's enough of that.

Once upstairs, he slows at the bedroom entrance and leans a shoulder to its frame; Ellie is by the window, easing her worn, threadbare jeans up and over an alluringly naked bottom. She’s shed his undergarments and doesn’t seem to mind she’s going into the day without any of her own; he hopes for her sake she changes her mind...what with how freezing it is and the repeated impact of riding a horse might cause...discomfort.

And because he’ll be thinking of it all damn day otherwise. Not good with his baby brother in tow.

Still, it’s a wonderful sight after the awkward interaction with Beth and he’s grateful for it. Grateful to see more of her, too.

“Hey.”

She spins on padded socks and offers a tight smile as her initial reply; Ellie rushes latching her buttons after, an obvious attempt to hide any parts of herself as fast as she’s able. Add the surprise on her features at his reintroduction and Joel senses more than a little caution on the horizon.

“Oh, hey.”

The man’s browline lowers as he unfurls his arms and studies the girl in confusion, “Ya alright, Red? Where’s the fire?”

“No, yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t want to fall back asleep after the alarm went off because I was starting to feel tired and we have a long day ahead of us so I figured I should just get the hell up and get dressed and then I remembered, shit, I have no panties but fuck it, ya know, because I’ve gone without them before plenty an–”

Crossing the room in two-three steps, Joel's voice is soft but his grip on her arms is steady before, “Hey, hey. What’s goin’ on? You’re chainsawin’ an’ that don’t happen unless somethin’s sideways or yer nervous. Talk to me, girl.”

Ellie’s chest rises and falls and the accompanying exhale sounds an awful lot like resignation – similar enough that he associates it with her nightmares and all the trauma she’s experienced in those initial few minutes before she's free of it all. It’s a hollowing noise, one disturbing him to the very atoms at his core.

“No, it’s nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he mulls a spell, wondering back to the last time he heard those exact words from this girl. It takes only a moment before Joel recalls.

Gesturing with his skull, he nods it towards the door and, “It’s that woman, ain’t it?”

“What?”

“Beth. She rilin’ you?”

Ellie turns, peering through a square, frosted pane, giving her finest effort in avoiding him; finally, she emits a quiet but revealing, “Mmhm.”

Joel places his thumb and index finger and tugs gently on her chin, directing her mossy greens onto his, “C’mon now. You’re all there is.”

He witnesses her lips quiver and a smile that's more than enough; his woman lifts her shoulders high to her ears, bobs her head and in a hushed tone, “Thank you.”

“Good. Now how’s ‘bout we get some food an’ go meet Tommy, yeah?”

Ellie remains silent – for now – but loops her limbs around his waist.

“Take that as a yes. Now gimme those lips. I ain’t gonna be able to kiss ya as much as I want today an’ that’s a sorrowful thing.”

She laughs.

They kiss.

“You’re kidding me, you actually have to be fucking kidding me, Tommy.”

“Girl, I’d submit to Jesus Christ Himself if I’m tellin’ tales but that ain’t the case this time. Ain't that right, Joel?”

Joel is dismissive, throwing an uncaring wave while rolling his eyes; he steers his steed slightly askew of Ellie and his brother but it's space enough to hide any tells. The last thing he needs is his childhood picked through – it means about as much as money matters these days. Those times are long gone and with it, the majority of those memories – both good and bad. They serve no purpose other than a reminder of a world that no longer exists.

Unless you’re Tommy Miller in which case, it’s open season for all seasons.

“Oh, c’mon now, Joel. ‘Fess up to it.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Ellie’s jaw unhinges as her gaze shoots from Tommy to the man riding alongside his flank, “Holy shit, it is true?!”

Tommy laughs and pats his belly, “Mmhm, that man right there walked balls-ass naked into a 7-Eleven on his fifteenth birthday. On a dare. Thought mama was gonna tan his hide so bad he wouldn’t walk for a month. Phew, was she embarrassed.”

Ellie lists forward and nearly slams face-first onto Shimmer’s crest as the hysterics roar through her, “What in the fuck? Why did you do that? And...what happened after? Did you walk home in the buff? Did your mom or dad pick you up from a police station? Come ON, I need details!”

Joel shifts atop his saddle and mindlessly pats his horse – it’s a new stallion named Hopper – before he turns and licks the inside of a cheek, “I don’t believe Tommy here is tellin’ the full truth. An' until that boy does, reckon s'all I got to say ‘bout that.”

“Oh now that’s just a cryin' shame. Hidin’ things to save face with Ellie. We see through it, Joel. Don’t think otherwise.”

“An' yet we still ain’t heard your part’a the story, have we?”

Ellie snorts but remains quiet as she sits in anticipation; she looks between the siblings again, waiting, hopefully optimistic the whole story will eventually be shared.

Silence.

Or something similar to silence; there’s the wet, metallic sound of their horses’ bits as each magnificent beast works them, a steady, heavy clipclop of cloven footfall and the pull of leather as bodies move and shift with each step. It's out of sync but a rhythmic beat nevertheless – a western symphony amidst the mountains of Wyoming.

But for Ellie, today it’s grating.

“Someone tell me something! We’re almost at the gate and I need to know. Tommy, what’d you have to do in Joel’s ballsy dare?”

’Joel’s balls. Came so close this morning...before that bitch interrupted us.’

“Let’s just say ten year old me wasn't no choir boy neither, alright?”

“Oh for fucks sake. Both of you are the biggest pains in my ass. Fine, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know. No, I don’t need to know.” Ellie barks her retort but puckers her lips, contorting her features into a faux frown. She hopes it’ll guilt at least one of the Miller brothers to spill – especially the one she’s basically fucking these days – to reveal the final miles of their trip through yesteryear.

Unfortunately for her, neither of the men budge and suddenly they’re waiting on Gate 2 to swing its lumbering doors and grant them admission. Their hesitance, although unsurprising, is a disappointment in that not-so-crucial sort of way. She has come to understand how Joel tends to seal everything behind a firewall but Tommy’s not one to leave folks hanging.

Whatever the younger of the two did or what role he played in the convenience store debauchery, is a juicy nugget of Joel's adolescence and Ellie wholeheartedly chomps at their bit. The irony.

Her ploys remain futile though. For now.

“Well, fuck. I’ll remember this egregious decision to refuse further intel, fellas.”

Joel and Tommy don a pair of seedy grins as they exchange a knowing sort of glance. An understanding. After, the trio trots through the open entrance with nary a word more.

“How’s that there horse treatin’ ya so far, Miller?”

“Mighty fine, Keane. Calm when needed and fast, too. S'real good boy. Thanks for settin’ him aside for me. Still a shame ‘bout Balboa.”

Keane nods as he grabs hold of the reins from Joel and leads Hopper toward the front of his stall – Balboa’s former housing; he repeats these actions with Shimmer and Tommy’s horse, a young mare named Taima. Over the next couple hours, he’ll tack each steed one at a time with the help of Sunny, a young and cheerful stablehand. They’ll see them stripped of all gear, brushed, fed and watered before letting them rest the remainder of the day. It’s tediously rewarding work but the man from West Texas is better because of it.

“Shame indeed. Glad you’re takin’ to ‘im.”

Ellie pipes in after that, “Shimmer was a little irritable today, by the way. Though I think her attitude had more to do with spending the last eight hours with these two goons.” Ellie throws a thumb up and out, flicking between Joel and Tommy. Sunny offers a loud, boisterous laugh in response. The jab landed quite well and Ellie beams animatedly.

“Thanks, Sunny. At least someone here thinks I’m funny.” Ellie winks at them, pats Shimmers muzzle and exits the stable alongside her male companions.

“Hilarious. Now let’s get a proper move on. Ellie, we gotta finish decoratin’ an’ it’s already dark. Again”

Tommy’s eyebrow raises but he says nothing – at first. Instead, he digs his hands into the thick woolen pockets of his favorite winter coat. It’s distressed and well-worn, minor tears and fraying threads strewn about, but it suits him well and fits perfectly. All he needs.

“Thought y’all decorated last night?”

Joel doesn’t turn to acknowledge his brother but feels the weight of his words and considers the man’s curiosity; he seems to a sudden interest in the minutiae of him and Ellie as of late. “We started. That’s why I said finish decoratin’.”

The younger Miller clicks his tongue, “Ah, must’a missed that part. Well have fun you two. I gotta find Maria an’ see what’s what for the rest of the day. So long.”

Joel tips his head tersely and shifts to see Ellie swinging behind him as she strikes a direct path towards Tommy, “Hey wait!”

The sandy-haired man with a ponytail (an egregious thing that riles Joel to this very day) abruptly stops and turns to the girl, “Huh?”

“What’d you do?”

“What?”

“When you were ten. In the 7-Eleven. I swear, I won’t sleep tonight if you don't tell me.”

The brothers laugh in unison and Tommy takes a step closer and palms her shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll sleep fine whether you know or not know what I maybe did or maybe didn’t do, girl.”

His eyes flick to his brother for an infinitesimal second before he smirks, winks and back pedals.

“What-what the fuck does any of that mean? Ugh, this is so stupidly annoying.”

“C’mon, Ellie. That boy won’t cop to shit.” Joel tugs on her forearm and pulls it a length, just as she exasperatedly rolls her greens.

The girl twirls and finds she's now occupying the immediate space at Joel’s center; she gazes north all wide-eyed and wanting, forgetting for a moment where they are. Joel’s touch has that effect.

Her nose scrunches as each of her gloved palms press to his layered chest, “You better tell me, Joel.” It’s a menacing whisper, a hollow threat, yes, but her lips are close and Tommy is as far away as he’s ever been.

The man with hazel eyes and a secret to hide continues to look longingly at her, and an arm lazily winds around her waist before, “Maybe. Maybe I like seein’ you tormented a little, too.”

Tommy, who is still only ten or so yards shy of this intriguing interaction, stares on and snorts, “Ya better not betray your baby brother now, Joel.”

The older man swallows and angles back, letting loose his hold on the girl as the warmth in his eyes ices over. The shield, the preservation.

Ellie feels his absence but accepts it as necessity. And just as this frustratingly fresh joke brews between the three of them, she’ll release the impact of it – for now.

“Betray you? Hell, that entire day was nothin’ but betrayal. An’ not on my end, mind you.”

The other Miller shakes his head, bobs in a noncommittal manner before glancing at the duo, his curiosity piqued. He doesn’t say anything, just taps a finger to his brow, turns and walks on into the hazy white of Jackson’s wintry roads.

“C’mon, Red. Let’s go an' dress our house up.”

’Our. He said our. But-’

“We’re not gonna use that ugly, cursed-ass wreath Beth gave you, are we?”

Joel chuckles, bumps a shoulder into hers and, “Girl, far as I’m concerned, that’s our kindlin’ for the snowstorms comin’ later this week.”

Ellie laughs and nudges him in return, “You’re so mean. I love it.”

“Hey Ellie, hey Joel! House is looking so pretty. Like a moody, rustic-country Christmas. Santa will definitely stop in for some brandy and digestives.”

Joel's laugh booms loudly at that, eyes squinting as he twists to glimpse the girl on the walkway, “Is...is Santa British in this vision’a yours?”

Dina purses her lips, taps a sheathed finger to them and, “Ya know, I think he is. That’s how fancy your place looks. British fahhncy.”

Ellie joins in the next round of laughter as she descends the last few ladder rungs, wiping frost from her hands at the base; her jeans are semi-damp and stiff, so she hopes Joel will soon call it a night.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet you keep coming back for more, Williams.”

“It’s a fatal flaw.”

“We all gotta go sometime.”

Joel listens to the lightheartedness of their banter as he punches another nail in between the braided cord on a string of white Christmas lights.

“So what’s up?”

“Well, we said we’d grab a nightcap tonight after shift. It’s been a few hours and I’m thirsty, woman. And tired of waiting on your bony ass to find me.”

Joel titters from above.
Ellie shoots him a piercing look.

“Ahh, we did. We did. Well, I think we’re almost done here if you wanna hang out in the meantime...and maybe, I don’t know, help speed things up?”

Dina grumbles and juts her neck to the rear in mock accusation, “You’re gonna put me to work just because I wanna spend time with you? What kind of forced-labor friendship is this? I’m aghast – aghast, I say.”

“Dina, you’re welcome to stay…without needin’a work. We got a pot of chicory on an’ some leftovers from dinner if you’re interested. Help yourself.”

Dina smiles warmly as she gazes high to the man kneeling on top of the porch roof, “See? At least someone is nice to me here. But I’ll pass on that coffee. Ick.”

“You ladies don’t know what you’re missin’. Though I sure do miss the real thing, mmm.”

“Be that as it may, I think I’ll see about those leftovers. Tummy is growling and Jesse is useless in the kitchen. Joel I might need you to teach that dude your culinary prowess. Really, he’s pathetic.”

The raven-haired girl winks at Ellie before trotting the few stairs up and into the house – into a home with a cooked meal and a whole lot of warmth that has nothing to do with the weather.

The three of them are standing outside in the street, in front of the Miller residence, their eyes glittering with tiny orbs of twinkling light and the rich, albeit simple, seasonal decor surrounding.

There are rows of natural garland atop every windowsill with a small battery operated candle in each to go with it. There’s antique, mismatched bells of silver and gold that droop here and there – from the grids on the glass to the wreaths on the door and even a few on the side paneling. Strings and strings of white light line the railing, the banister and every load bearing post. Tiny strings of red beads and berries sprinkling throughout.

It’s subtle, balanced and very classy.

“Holy jingle bells, this looks phenomenal! You guys better win. You probably won’t because Rhoda and Terrence – and that idiot Beth – lean more towards the frilly, glittery aesthetic but we’ll all know who Jackson’s GOAT team is.”

Joel pauses a spell and the girls watch as he mulls on the word in his head, “G-nope, no, don't say nothin', I got it. That’s from my time, by the way. An’ thank ya, Dina.”

Ellie grumbles at the mere mention of Fleurs but does her best to stow it – now’s not the time to taint her and Joel’s festive efforts with thoughts of a shrill, oblivious, frustrating woman.

“I’m feeling fairly confident about this and Rhoda is the town’s sweetheart, despite those gaudy tastes of hers. I don’t know, Joel, we might stand a chance yet.”

Dina grips her best friend's shoulder and nods, “Stranger things have happened.”

Ellie shrugs and rolls her greens, “I’ll take that vote with a grain of salt because I’m amazing like that, thank YOU very much.”

“Mmhm, sure sure. Now, I’m fed and hydrated – not chicoried, thank God – wanna get going? And hey, you wanna join us, Joel?”

Joel is rubbing his gloved palms together, blowing steamed air into the center when Dina presents the offer.

He was not expecting that.

“Oh, uh, thanks Dina, but I’ll leave y’all ladies to it. Need’a tidy the kitchen an’ work on some Christmas gifts. But I appreciate it.”

Ellie smiles as she subconsciously turns away from them; she thinks of her conversation with Dina on Sunday and how her friend knows a little of what’s been going on – thinks then of how she’s not yet shared that conversation with Joel. Regardless, it's soothing to believe her friend may be opening up to him because she understands how important he is to Ellie. Add to that how much has happened since their garage chat and Ellie finds she's semi-nervous but oddly content all the same.

Still, there's a decision to be made as to whether or not she plans on sharing the update on their intimacy or keep those details for her and him only. Time will surely tell.

“Well, it’s a standing offer, okay? One of these nights we’ll wrangle you from your creature comforts. Show us how a real Texan can handle his whiskey.”

Joel snorts, drops his chin and smiles, “Fair is fair.”

“I’ll see you later, Joel?”

It’s a question, not a statement. He knows what she means.

“I’m certain of it. Have a good time.”

“Okay so I know we said drinks at the Bison and good time chats, but I’m wondering if we can do something else instead?”

Dina hooks her arm into Ellie’s and props her chin to the side of the girl’s shoulder, “What’d you have in mind?”

“I need...or no, not need. I wanna rifle through your closet and find something specific for the Ho Ho Hoedown. I have an idea in mind but there isn't enough time to ride to the strip mall before Saturday night. I mean, I could squeeze it in but I’d rather not. Weather's getting nastier the closer to Christmas it gets.”

Dina grins from ear to ear.

“A DRESS UP PARTY? Ellie, doth my ears deceive me?”

Two eyes as emerald as a jade sea spin as swift as its waves roil, “Ya know, I knew you’d make a big deal out of this. Forget it, never mind. Let’s just go get tipsy and pretend I never said anythi–”

“Oh no way missy, you opened that door and we are walking through it. This is happening. And besides, I think I have just the thing for you.”

After the chilly jaunt from Joel’s place to Asher Ave, where Dina lives, the girls guide themselves into a modest but cozy home. She lives alone for the most part, with Jesse her most frequent house guest, and she takes great care and pride in making her space her own.

The decor is a mix of retro artifacts and midcentury-modern design she’s commissioned from carpenters around town – a 1970’s Nordic appeal Dina goes great lengths to maintain and enrich. Ellie likes it; it’s not her style but it suits Dina and her personality and that’s all that matters.

She settles onto the mustard-colored couch and rubs her knees back and forth, back and forth. The winters here are usually harsh but this year they have been especially bad. It’s no true concern though, at least not for her when she has a gorgeous six-foot furnace waiting at home for her. The girl smiles to no one, delighting in the idea that she has someone the way she’s beginning to have him. The way he’s beginning to have her. It an immeasurable comfort in unfamiliar ways.

From somewhere far away, Ellie notes the telltale echoes of snapping fingers and an amusing tone, “..lloooo? Ellie? Helloooo?”

She comes to and raises her eyes to find her girlfriend standing partway up the staircase. “Are ya joining me to closet dive or what?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry. Cold as hell and I think the frost has gone to my brain.”

“Something’s gone to your brain but I don’t think it’s the cold, El. Sorry to say.”

Ellie playfully shoves Dina and sucks her lower lip shyly, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Don’t sound so miserable – you did ask me for this, if I recall correctly.”

“True and then I immediately regretted asking but someone won’t let me out of what is, apparently, a binding contract.”

“See? You get it. Now let’s go. The world may be shit and supplies limited but I’m a closeted fashionista dammit and you’re gonna reap the benefits of it.”

Williams laughs at that last, knowing fully well there’s nothing ‘closeted’ about Dina Pereria and her affinity towards style. The whole town knows it, despite the fact that the girl tends to hide this facet more often than not. It’s a curiously hidden aspect to an otherwise outgoing, and sometimes outlandish, personality.

Ellie's always enjoyed that behavior of hers.

Once in the girl’s bedroom, which is immaculate and matches in color and patterns with the rest of the house, Dina slides open her closet doors and, “Ta daaa! Okay. So tell me first what you had in mind and we’ll work outwards from there.”

“Uhh…green.”

“Green?”

“Green...and tight.”

“Okaaaay. Green and tight. That’s a start.”

“I have the top already, just need a base. And...nice shoes maybe? I don’t know. I don’t wanna overdo it and make it seem like I’m trying too hard.”

“Oh, because heaven forbid you dress semi-formal and the town sees? Or...is it because Joel will see?”

“The town! I...want Joel to see. I mean, obviously he will but what the fuck ever.”

Dina approaches her friend and kneels ahead of her, forgoing the humor for a moment, “It’s okay to want these things for yourself, Ellie. You’re allowed to wear whatever the hell you want. If it’s jeans and a hoodie with those converse kicks you’re so obsessed with or a pretty skirt and chunky-heeled boots, you can wear the fuck out of it. Screw anyone who says otherwise, alright?”

Ellie smiles and nods, she wants to hug this girl, maybe even give her a peck for those remarks but she’s not sure what protocol is these days. They’re best friends sure but they did kiss and now they’re both sort of with someone else but not officially? It’s a strange, tensile time but it passes as quickly as it comes.

“Thanks, Dee. You know me too damn well.”

The other girl rises and moves to her grandiose presentation once more, “That I do. Okay, so green and tight bottoms. Oh, holy fucking shit. I literally have the exact thing you’re looking for. Oh my God, oh my god, where the hell is...it...dammit I...know...it’s in...here somewhe-YES!”

After a frantic minute or so of stuttering and flailing through a wild search, she pulls a shimmery pair of bright green leggings from the closet's depths.

“Look!” Dina thrusts them outwards and pulls one of the legs taut, moving it this way and that to catch and refract the bedroom light as it pours down from a painted-yellow ceiling.

“What...where did you find these? And are those...is that a teeny tiny candy cane design on them?”

Dina bounces, unable to contain the mirth and excitement of this kismet situation, “They for sure as shit are. And I found these years ago in this untouched Christmas village. Before I even made it to Jackson actually. I was in Oregon and they were in the last shop I went into. They had a barrel full of these just sat there by the cashier’s counter. They were sealed in this thick plastic, too. Felt like I won the lottery. Or felt as good as whatever the fuck money meant to people back then.”

“I fucking love them...they better fit. How many pairs did you snag?”

Dina grins and wiggles her eyebrows, “Two. A green pair...and a red.”

Ellie murmurs a low laugh – they’re both thinking the same thing.

“Okay so here’s where I’m at: I’m wearing this oversized, ugly Santa sweater and it's absolutely my favorite. It’s one I found at the chalet from the night I spent there with Joel. Stop giving me that look and listen. ANYway, I’ll wear these bottoms with that festive top – and a pair of whatever crippling boots you suggest – but maybe you can don the red ones and Seth can eat shit when he sees?”

Dina emits an evil, witchy sound – the malevolently standard classic laugh in circumstances like these – and the girls nod schemingly to one another. A plan forms.

“I cannot wait. I’ll wear a different top because you know me, ugly and oversized ain’t my bag, girl. But – b-but I do think you should be careful.”

Ellie stops unfolding the leggings, caught off guard by the rapid shift in Dina’s voice, “Huh?”

The girl gestures to the candy cane bottoms and, “Joel might have a heart attack when he sees your ass in those.”

Ellie's giggle swiftly turns into a snort, “I don’t know if that’s an age joke against him or a compliment to me but either way, touché.”

“Column a, column b. But before I settle on which pair of dangerous shoes for you – any preference between six or seven inch heels? – have there been any further...developments with your rugged better half?”

“You better be fucking lying with that six or seven-inch shit, Dina, I’m serious. It’ll end me in front of everyone and then I’ll have to end you.”

Dina raises and drops her shoulders, peering upwards in a teasing, feigned-innocence manner, “Sure, right, yes. End me all you want but you didn’t answer my question after that.”

“Because you’re trying to kill me, woman! That sort of thing usually distracts from any other point of interest, ya know, as murder typically has a way of doing.” Ellie moves to hang her shiny new pants over the curvy slope of Pereria’s footboard.

“Okay, okay, all jokes aside, has there been anything new in the last thirty-six hours or what? I can tell you're holding out on me.” Dina’s eager, Ellie can read and deduce as much.

At that, flashes of her and Joel from last night and earlier this morning play as a reel of her mind, her heart beating faster, pupils blowing marginally wider. She fidgets with her digits, completely unaware she’s doing this, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Well…”

Chapter Text

“You ain’t gotta clean everyone’s mess at the end’a the night, Ama. Leave that shit.”

“It’s no bother. Distracts me.”

A pause, a beat – an indomitable hollow where subtle pops of slow-burning firewood echo like sonic booms. Then a tentatively invasive, “...From?”

A hushed sigh, the young woman mulls on where this may go and the potential that lies at the root of it. She knows the answers. Still, she assesses him quietly and in her own way; using timid observation, she senses an untoward, constricting energy emanating from him. It tries to hide within his guarded depths, in restricted hazel canyons that betray no truths, that offer no hints as to what exists beyond. If anything does actually exist in his great and gruesome beyond.

Despite the lack of clarity, of connection, she feels his darkness growing but remains steadfast just the same.

Amalie is in her mid-twenties with strawberry-blond hair and ice-gray eyes; younger though not naive, she's been running with the Miller's crew for the past four years, moving from one camp to the next as a bonafide member of this, the weariest pack of wanderers. They keep south of the Mason-Dixon Line, or at least try to; this allows their small group to remain separate from a burgeoning faction in the northern states. A splinter that offers no salvation while promising heaven.

Ama rubs her wrist and takes a tentative step towards him, “Something on your mind, Joel? You don’t normally talk this much to me. Or at all.”

An orange sphere brightens as he pulls smoke from his Marlboro, before tossing and trampling the wasted thing atop dewy grass and, “Sorry ta bother ya. ‘Night.”

He turns away slowly, warring with a rigid determination to leave or stay, maybe both, or neither, none of it is clear. To either of them. Ama notes his jaw is tight but not clenching, his fists, too.

Subtle tells reveal themselves.

She drops her gaze and wipes her tired hands on a viscid towel that’s usually draped over a shoulder. It’s of little use – the girl might as well have dragged them across the ground for all the effort she manages to put forth.

A redirection needs to occur.

In the space where decisions must be made, Ama studies his stiff gait and feels her heart beat faster, her pupils dilating – she knows her world is about to rip open. Again. Before it crashes down. Again.

Every time he gets like this she is presented with a choice.
She knows what she’ll choose.
Every time.

Jutting her head to one side, the girl angles forward and clasps his forearm, “No, wait. I’m sorry. Long day. Tidying takes my mind off, ya know, things. Life. Whatever.”

Joel halfheartedly shifts to face her, granting himself a swig from the half empty bottle of Jameson in his grasp. He sucks his teeth after an audible swallow, “I do know.” He zeroes in on the hold she has of his limb and follows it north to her piercing slate. She’s weighing her options, weighing the wisdom of her heart.

He knows he’s got her.

“It’s…sort of the only time I have some inner peace. Even if I make a mess of myself looking after you lazy lot.”

Joel lends an impartial smile, adjusts his stance and leans the majority of his weight onto a duct-taped heel.

“Mhm. You done yet?”

“Cleaning or talking?”

“Both?”

Ama’s expression sours a tick before she glimpses a hint of mirth to Joel’s semi-inebriated features. It's the same look that hooks her time in and time out, over and over.

“Ahh, talking and teasing now, huh? What’s the special occasion?”

“Maybe. It’s...been a while. For us.”

Amalie tosses the filthy rag onto a nearby bench and pulls her hair into a messy bun. She’s not sure what he’ll want, she never is, at least not until they’re well into whatever he’s in the mood for. Still, it’s best not to waste any time or she runs the risk of the man changing his mind. She doesn’t want that either.

It has been a while.

He digs the bottle into the solid earth below, watches for a spell as its liquid lists heavily to one side, idly wondering where the cap has gone. He doesn’t want to chance wasting any. Booze is too rare a commodity these days to lose by such a negligent act.

He nods to no one as he finally remembers: The aluminum lid is on the rickety table by his bed. “Bed,” being a pile of thin blankets and a single sleeping bag all one atop the other. Luxury.

Bed also being where he was, drinking part way to oblivion before thoughts of Amalie and that perky ass of hers started to cycle through. He was of a mind to handle himself or ignore it and roll over, but alcohol always loosens his reserve. Thus leaving him only one path: Come outside and find the girl in her usual habitat. The rest will be repeated history.

She tilts, leans into his chest, rubbing his weather-beaten skin with the pad of her thumb, “Yes, it has been too long. Thought you moved on from me. Nikki’s cute. And I hear she likes you.”

“Nikki’s a whore. I don’t fuck whores.”

Ama’s eyes briefly widen at that – the tone of his voice is serious and deadly resolute. Angrily honest.

'Did something happen between them that I don't know about?'

She immediately redirects.

“Who do you fuck then?”

“You.”

Ama gulps and licks her lips, “Then stop talking and fuck me.”

Joel steps to the girl and grabs the rear of her neck, pulling her mouth to within an inch of his, “Get on yer hands an’ knees.”

It’s a snarl of a demand, his teeth aligning behind whiskey-slick lips that barely move.

It doesn’t rattle her. It’s just his way.

“Wait. You mean...out here?” A slim finger gestures aimlessly to the open space as her vision clouds with rising apprehension. They’re near the center of the fire pit and the gang’s cooking and laundry stations – there’s no shelter, no privacy of any kind. It’s far too public a place. Add to that the scattering tents and full shanties circling this makeshift hub and the vulnerability of any lewd act is enough to leave her panicked. Anyone could hear them and come looking...or worse.

Though she’s been mostly fortunate, Ama knows not everyone in this wayward group of sojourning souls are inherently good like Joel and Tommy Miller. Good in that regard, at least.

Joel sighs and scratches an eyebrow, “Tommy’s sleepin’ in there. So, s’either out here or in there. What’s it gon’ be? Ya want it or not?”

Ama’s heart shrinks as she imbibes the last remnants of dignity and, “In there. I’ll be quiet.”

“Good. Don’t need that boy gettin’ on my case about you again.”

Entering the hastily built cabin, they take a hard right towards Joel’s partition. The room is hardly larger than former American prison cells once were but it's out of the elements and that on its own makes it adequate enough. Ten years into this post-apocalyptic nightmare and there are few comforts quite like a semi-sturdy roof overhead. Makeshift or not.

He touches the small of her back and steals a glance to the opposite end where his kin lies.

Tommy snores softly, his breathing rhythmic and restful. Joel wouldn’t care if the man was awake or not, but now that he knows his brother is down for the count, he can go a little harder on the woman.

Which is precisely what he needs tonight.

“Jeans off. You had’a wash recently?”

She smirks, “What, you gonna put your mouth on me first?”

“No. Just don’t wanna catch nothin’ if ya ain’t takin’ care to clean yourself.”

She throws her jeans and panties to the floor and grimaces, “I’m the crew medic and the unofficial maid. All I do is clean and take care of things. Don’t be an asshole, Joel. I’m not in the mood.”

They whisper-bicker in hushed, terse tones; hers full with ire, his losing the little warmth he might have been holding onto at the beginning of this.

“Alright.”

The majority of her meager attire is off now, minus a thin, threadbare bra; it latches to the girl's bodice through a sheer force of will...and half a dozen safety pins. She moves languidly, glimpsing his lustful gaze as it travels, those big hands by his belt all the while. Ama flattens her palms to his chest, feeling the unyielding, corded muscle beneath his filthy top. She kneads him, angling closer – seeking an intimacy he’s incapable of.

Ama pops the buttons on his flannel one by one, descending slowly in spite of the pressing fact that she knows this won’t last. He won’t allow it to.

Not a minute after that very thought, Joel pushes her hands away and gestures to the smelly mass of rumpled covers and the sleeping bag below them.

“Down. Now.”

“You sure know how to woo a girl, don’t ya.”

“Ama.”

“Okay, okay. Geez.”

She does as she’s told, creating a suitable level of padding beneath her knees and elbows as she properly adopts her position. Just the way he likes. As far from personal as it can be.

No matter, she’ll make the most of it. She always does.

The girl bounces her bottom ever-so and listens to the heavy metal buckle as he unfastens it in quick succession. Hears the clanking abruptly cease as the thing falls to the dry soil by his boots, the Earth itself absorbing the reverberations of that last dividing line.

She shivers as a roar of sensation crashes into her belly and spreads outwards, her limbs flooding with desirous fire and deep-seeded shame.

She wants this but she doesn’t want it this way. But it’s all this man knows how to give. It's everything he has to offer. And as far as Amalie can tell, she is the only one he gives it to, so it needs to be enough. For both of them.

He handles her cheeks first, as he always does; Joel's grip is iron, as his length presses against the full, taut globes of her malleable bottom. He spreads her, earning a better view of the holes he aches to fill. He gives more of himself to her here, too. He feels his way through this one beat of his heart at a time – all skin to skin as he seats into this frame of mind and no other.

Raising her hips and dipping her spine, he notes the shimmer of her slick as it coats the glistening nub at the apex of her sex. She’s slippery, already dripping. Prepared to take whatever he gives her.

“Wet as hell.”

“Do something about it.”

She knows the clock is ticking. Knows that at any moment he could decide to stop and unceremoniously escort her from his quarters. It’s happened before, not often but still. She never knows why and won’t ever ask. He doesn’t have…problems with his cock or his head, so it’s somewhere in between those two that seems to cause sudden, stilted shifts. Again, all that uncharted territory – and it’s a lot – remains off limits when it comes to Joel Miller.

“Smart mouth on you.”

“...Do something about it.”

From his abyssal depths arises a low growl but the girl feels the noise more than hears it. Amalie doesn’t believe he’ll stop this meeting tonight. Doesn’t surmise he could if he tried. Something is bothering his heart, of this she’s certain. Joel rarely plays with her otherwise.

He slips a pair of fingers into her without prompt or pomp – just enters the girl’s wetted center to widen and stretch her as best he can for as long as he’s able.

“Tight.”

“‘Cause you don’t fuck me enough.”

He hums low at her attitude and it's arousing, threatening sound more than one born of annoyance; his fingers pull out immediately after and coat his hard cock with her sheen. He hovers by her asshole a spell before remembering Amalie isn’t that other girl – what's her name? – and promptly pushes his tip into the only opening available to him.

“Mmph…” Ama whimpers, biting her lower lip and gripping hard to the crumpled makeshift dressings by her palms.

He pushes in, not slow but not all that fast either. He never wants to physically hurt her but he also never pretends this is anything other than what it is. Fucking for fucking’s sake.

With only a couple inches remaining before he hits beyond her limits, Joel hips snap forward and the girl winces, arches her back and lowers her head. She curls inwards, measuring her breaths as her body adjusts to his. He’s uncomfortably big, a man with a cock both thick and long – but he knows how to use it and that’s why she’ll take these temporary shots of pain. Still, he’s all business and this serves as a reminder again and again.

“Fuc-k.”

“Hush yourself, woman.”

“Take it easy then.”

“Ya know how this goes.”

She grunts and raises her head, looks over a shoulder at his half-lidded eyes, “Are you going to hurt me to prove something to yourself tonight, Joel?”

“Am I hurtin’ ya?”

She knows he isn’t. Not physically at least but there is that quiet chasm in her chest...

“...No.”

“Then stop stallin’ an’ take it.”

She does.

They continue on like this for a while, his hands on her hips, her ass and her shoulders but never her breasts. She has a history of her own when it comes to that and he understands they’re well and truly off limits. Respects as much about her but never enough to ask why.

Sometimes she wishes he would ask. She would tell him.

The girl senses a wiriness to his thrusts, feels all that ferric strength tighten like a feral carnivore priming to strike its prey. He’s going to come soon. She won’t, she rarely does and he doesn’t care enough to bother with it.

Sometimes she wishes he would. She would love that.

Amalie shakes her head and grits her teeth as she bears down on him and greedily rolls her hips; she works hard to earn any praise he's willing to give through heavy grunts and groans.

Well, that and another way. Speaking of...

She rises onto her knees and lays her skull to his shoulder; pressing her lips just below an ear, “Wanna finish in my mouth?”

He moans and fucks into her harder before pushing her down and flipping the woman onto her rear in a flurry of practiced movements; she hisses from a sharp pain – an object is jabbing into the pliable flesh of a cheek, “The hell…”

She ignores it and he does, too, instead rubbing her cheek to gain a bit of restoration. Ama wastes no time: She encircles his dick and brings her swollen sex to meet it, taking Joel back into the place she longs for him the most. Where she wishes he would let go and empty inside of her, if only just one time.

It’ll never happen.

She’s half sitting, half laying as he fucks her and Ama reaches outwards to touch anything she can. His abdomen – that sculpted belly with dark hair and far too many scars already. His hips – lithe but wide and as strong as an ox with each powerful thrust becoming a testament. His arms – hard and strong like the rest of him but capable of such extreme violence that she should be more afraid of them than she is.

He’s thirty-seven years old to her twenty-five but age, time and sexual experience mean nothing in their world, at least not to her when it concerns him. It’s evident he’s taken an interest in his own rite and whatever that intrigue may be is sufficient enough for Ama – even if it never will be enough for her soul. And she knows it’ll never be that. Not really.

“You feel so fucking good, Joel.” The girl raises her body higher, trying to exploit a means to an end – an end she’s wanted for so long but he’s never given her. Well, one of the things she wants the most, at least. She knows the other one is as impossible as the world returning to what it was before it burned to the ground. But she remains ever hopeful.

Tonight could be the night.

Using one hand, she grabs his collar and hastily pulls him to her, “I...please, just...kiss me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, closes his eyes and casts his head downward. There’s a momentary charge to the air, as though the very essence of their sex balances between them before, “No.”

She deflates and releases his flannel, allowing herself to fall apart from him as she institutes more distance versus the closeness she desperately craves. Desperately deserves. Still, while nothing has been gained here, nothing is lost either. Status quo.

“Ya...ready?”

His speech breaks as hers is uniformly lost for the foreseeable future.

“Mmhm.”

He pumps into her a few more times, his skull throbbing from the booze, his balls rising for relief as his heart beats cold and unfeeling in the midst of it all. A ghoulish trifecta he actively avoids at all costs...until he’s mostly drunk and this girl fucks around with his barriers without ever knowing it.

Excuses, excuses.

After one final thrust, he pulls out and tries to hurriedly hold onto himself when Ama takes him to task. She brings Joel’s cock into her waiting mouth – as far as he’ll go. Or, as far as she’s able to manage. The girl sucks and swallows, sucks and swallows, not wasting a single drop as he shoots down her throat. He stills her head there, cradling her jaw with one hand and a fistful of her hair with the other as he shakes through his orgasm.

He wants to snap and jerk his hips, fuck himself so far down into her that those icy eyes roll and she slaps at a thigh or his belly to ease up, but he won’t do that. She’s a good girl for the most part. Not like Nikki or a couple of the others who suck him off every once in a while after they’ve all but begged to do it. They claim its compensation for keeping them safe or some bullshit along that vein of thought. He doesn’t give a rats ass why they want it, he just takes and that’s that.

After those brief encounters – and much later on – he wonders if those women are blowing his brother, too.
Figures they must be.
Doesn’t care.

Wonders if Ama fucks around with Tommy though. Believes she probably doesn't given how she feels...
Either way, he doesn’t care.

Aside from those other unmentionables, Amalie is so good at this even with the absence of that dynamism of power-play; she’s an expert now, in comparison to when they first started these infrequent trysts of theirs – a perfect example of the quick-to-learn type.

The girl was twenty-one at the time and a virgin. Joel cursed after she finally admitted he was her first; not only did that revelation stab at him but she also made a point not to share that until long after the fact...weeks after, if he recalls correctly.

After they had already fucked a few times.

That’s when he began to ease up on their private get-togethers, after he learned the truth. He’s still not entirely sure why.

Even now though, as he paints the inside of her mouth with his hot spend, the man remembers thinking she was unbelievably tight that first time, jittery and uncertain about her actions, too; her age was confusing and the main reason as to why he didn’t outright ask if she was new to sex. He wanted to but was already pushing inside of her and the girl appeared all the happier for it.

That was a moment of discovery – a realization of what he meant to her – of what he would always mean to her. Amalie's first.

And almost certainly why he pumped the brakes between them...

But right now, in this place, the girl sucking on him is no virgin. He peers south to glimpse her lapping and licking his softening cock, the tip of her tongue ghosting over his glistening slit as she gently palms his balls. He twitches, sniffs sharply and offers as genuine a smile as he can manage. It doesn’t reach his eyes but it’s enough that she knows she did a good thing for him.

Joel knows she needs to hear it though. He gives her that at least.

“Mmph, good job, Ama. Ya know I like that mouth’a yours.”

“Only when it’s full, right?”

“Ha. Touché.”

She returns the same kind of grin – it's halfhearted and does its best to shroud the cracks of a breaking heart. He can see it, recognizes all of those secrets she tries to keep that are as plainly visible as the rising sun. But it doesn’t affect him, not really. Not anymore at least.

It’s not long until he’s fixing his jeans around his waist and running the dirt-dusted belt through threadbare hooks – Amalie knows her time here has come to its conclusion. She mirrors his actions and dresses in silence, stealing a glance over at Tommy and, “Hope we didn’t wake him.”

“He’ll live if so.”

Ama’s light eyebrows arch and she nods, knowing this man – the man she can taste on her tongue who's left an ache between her legs by his vacancy – doesn’t care for a single person in this room, himself included.

“Well, goodnight then.”

She turns away and twists the handle when Joel whispers a soft but direct, “S’late. No more cleanin’, alright?”

Amalie huffs before shrugging, “Or what?”

Joel laughs, “That mouth’a yours.”

After he hears Joel settle onto a pisspoor excuse of a bed – similar to his own – Tommy rolls supine, closing his blues in silent disappointment. A somber barrage of every unspoken declaration, of every cross born of this apocalypse, lays heavy on his tongue – bruising his heart. There's resignation, a revelation of what the man across the room has become. Cold, callous, unfeeling. Uncaring to his very core.

Tommy often wonders if Joel even wants him around still. Would he care if he left tonight or died tomorrow? He's not so certain anymore.

Regardless, this past decade has been miserably unjust to everyone, for Tommy as well, but Joel is...something beyond injustice these days. He’s more machine than man, a black hole that consumes and receives without consequence. The younger Miller acknowledges this and has for some time but tonight, the stunning lack of intimacy in the most intimate of all human acts has shone a beacon past merely knowing. There’s dreadful acceptance to it now.

Joel, the brother he once knew, is well and truly gone.

Tommy bleeds a vein of sorrow for the girl whose taken her exodus; he knows of Amalie and his brother’s...sessions, even moments that aren’t so blatant as their time here tonight was. Also knows how much she cares for the man – all the ways she powerlessly pines for him, too; pining to an extent the younger Miller cannot reconcile in his own head. It’s a quiet longing, an unsuspecting, imperceptible kind of...love.

He’s been warring on whether or not he might be the one to tell Ama the truth: That Joel is a waste of her time and energy. Still, if she’s unaware of his brother’s charades by this point, there’s nothing he or anyone else can do to convince her to walk away and stay away.

No, Tommy believes Ama is well-versed in exactly who Joel is and what that man is all about. And therein lies the greatest loss of all. For her heart, for Joel's soul and for Tommy, the younger sibling who once had a good man to look up to and learn from.

But those days ended bloody; a young girl's whimpers gave rise to a broken, strangled symphony. And a father's desperate plea fell to an unhearing god who had forsaken them all.

It’s Saturday night in Jackson, Wyoming, nearly a quarter after six. The yearly Ho Ho Hoedown is finally here and after a solid week of preparations, brightly colored posters and Christmas contests, the town is buzzing on the heels of a good time.

’Shit... Who you tryin’ to impress, ya dang fool? Maybe this is too much.’

Joel scrapples as he fusses with the soft buttons on a hunter-green vest, twisting them this way and that; his inner dialogue is lancing and accusatory but mostly in line with the ping-pong rhetoric he keeps concert with of late. There's been a welcome ebb to this concussive wave of doubt over the last few days but in moments like these – where he’s a fish out of water – Joel is unable to cease the self-targeting.

He sucks in an electric surge of sizzling nerves – nerves he doesn’t recall feeling in ages, if ever; it’s a distension of anticipation, crashing ashore like a hurricane of velvet azure. All vivid and ornate and...good. Right.

But the longer he dawdles and readies his person, the more obvious it becomes to Joel: This lode of lucent ardor is foreign, untapped and uncharted. New. Not at any other moment can recollect such an overwhelming, absolute clarity of emotion. Not the way he will remember this and all future moments with Ellie. Those are in his brain like a film of love, loss and love anew.

’Fifty-damn-two years old an’ this girl got me outta my head.’

Wait. No. He’s wrong about that one part...sort of. There was a singular moment that found his body tangled up, worried and excited all at the same time. But that was an altogether different and unique sort of enthusiasm. An experience he’s gone through once, and it will likely be the only time he ever does.

Sarah’s birth. When he was sixteen years old. Six-damn-teen.

He pushes the memory away fast and returns to the present. Now isn't the time. Instead, he brushes his hair, styling it up and off to a single side. It's in a way that allows the majority of his forehead to be viewed and with it, a whole lot more gray. Joel notes the scars, the age lines and every crease carving valleys into his weathered skin; he can’t stifle the grimace distorting his features, despite it adding to the overall dismay. Maybe it’s a bad idea to try new things...

The man calls for a temporary treaty with these subtle and not so subtle changes to his outward appearance. Nothing he can do about time and all the life he’s lived by being a willful part of it.

It's enough to mentally usher onward and upward, and so he does.

Joel planes his palms down the woolen fabric adorning his torso and lends the tailor a smile she’s not privy to at present. Perhaps later at the Hoedown he’ll seek this woman out and share his appreciation for such fine craftsmanship again. Crafted in short order, no less.

Nearly two weeks ago, around the time Ellie collided into his world in a fit of fright, he did something absurdly out of character: Joel commissioned a semi-formal vest as an addendum to his planned Christmas wear. Just a vest but a brand new, fitted vest. The fact that he planned anything was unheard of unto itself but then he went and did this, pooling his own confusion all the while.

He ordered it from Cara, giving the woman a roundabout idea his vision – another surprise to make amends with later on – and attended a fitting appointment at her shop. Wildly, deeply out of his wheelhouse.

In spite of this unmapped territory, there was something familiar leading this extra mile of his; Joel has always been the kind of man that either does or does not. This time, he did. Simple as that.

As a protestation gathers in the hollow of his torso at such contrasting action, he shakes his head and accepts the situation for what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.

From here, Joel quarters the ebony sleeves of his dress shirt into the bend of his elbows – it’s the first time he’s wearing this top and the fabric is crisp and stiff. He’s fortunate there is no dry rot. And once more, as he tucks and rolls, the man begins to muse on the sweet tailor-lady that helped him achieve the current state he’s in.

Cara Glenn – a gentle woman in her mid-seventies – has spent the last decade outfitting Jackson’s residents. Ms. Glenn becomes the subject of his focus for a spell. This master seamstress works in an “every-range,” as she’s known to coin it, implying her craftsmanship spans the spectrum from everyday essentials to an occasional piece of fine, formal attire. This is true and then some. Joel’s vest is an obvious testament to the latter – along with a handful of other locals who sought something extra special this year, too.

Ms. Cara remains the head seamstress at the bustling clothier shop tucked between Main Street’s daycare and the ever-busy community center. Under her direct employment, she has a half-dozen or so folks helping to maintain the small, albeit thriving, garment business. A few of her workers – all of whom she considers extended family – have colorful backgrounds in fashion design, general retail and leather goods. A telltale spillover from their chosen careers prior to the end of everything. Useful traits.

Beyond those experienced individuals in the know, the remaining staff work there because they want to; they’re eager apprentices with a keen interest in sewing, tannery or a broader approach to tailoring on the whole. Cara’s Collections is, for all intents and purposes, a well-run, well-favored establishment – a staple of Jackson.

The people love her.

It’s no secret that the woman could justifiably retire and see her shoppe’s success through a secondary view. But being a sempster has always been her passion – the woman’s “soul-filler,” as it were. She adores working one on one with customers and earning the privilege of friendship and camaraderie as the ultimate product. Learning of their lives before, or their days since, should any of those visiting her be younger in their years. She listens closely to their tragedies and their triumphs, all while providing a safe, quiet space to temporarily stow their weary, crestfallen bones. Bones for some that have never fully journeyed home by the loss of loved ones or the totality of self.

It’s simple: The woman cares attentively for people – it’s her mission and her meaning. The driving force behind every precise stitch, every measured inch and the plethora of confident smiles she does her utmost to earn.

Joel wonders on Cara and the meaningful sandbox she’s curated; he grins at the truth that such an engagingly warm human exists in a world that did its best to snuff her kind out.

He clears his throat.

After the hearty repose, he steals a final glance in the bathroom mirror and clicks his tongue in consternation. Through misshapen spots that litter the surface like lonesome planets suspended in a silver sky, Joel scopes a vastly different reflection and huffs quietly. Not content, not discontent either.

Joel views his appearance as passable but regardless of whether or not this is true, the man feels veritably ridiculous. For the most part, at least. With his hair swept back and well-kept, his beard trimmed though still full and wily enough to look like his, he looks...younger and older? It's an odd thing, age.

There’s a clean pair of dark slacks covering his lower extremities – recently ironed and wrinkle-free (courtesy of Cara) – and the fit him well. Not tight, not loose either.

This is a level of effort he’s not accustomed to showing but somewhere, somehow, he hopes it’ll be worth it.

’For her. Doin’ it for her.’

He flicks his belt buckle and thinks of Ellie. He pauses to double check that the zipper is secure and thinks of Ellie again. The girl is a constant constellation, no matter the time of day, no matter the hour. She’s there, etched into the fibrous atoms of the boundless heart he keeps for her.

Joel wonders if she realizes yet just how very hers he’s become. Surely she must recognize how pitifully taken he is with her by now. But if by some chance she hasn’t, Ellie absolutely will after tonight.

It’s time.

“Now or never.”

Now or never is not a conclusive sentiment and the man understands that; he merely wishes to put his best foot forth and show up unafraid. Whatever happens beyond that is anyone’s gamble.

“Ya still anglin’ to hurt that fool?”

Joel pulls from his brew, licks his mustache and levels a curious inquisition towards his brother; his brow line furrows as he mulls over who it is Tommy seems to be talking about here. Himself or someone else...Joel can't keep track anymore. Grumbles at the notion that there is multi-faceted discord.

“What’s that?”

“Seth. I see ya burnin’ holes into that miserable old goat.”

“Ahh. Well, least that one knows to steer clear.”

The younger Miller laughs, “Don’t we all.”

Joel lends the man a stern but mostly playful expression, “Apparently not.”

Tommy chortles and takes a swift swig of whiskey, nodding to his wife across the sizable dance floor of the church hall. He’s caught her eye and damn, does she look pretty tonight – Maria Miller always looks good though. For this special occasion though, she’s raised her light hair into a messy bun with tiny strips of fraying tinsel woven throughout. So, every time she moves, the glimmering strands float and sparkle, catching the halls ambiance like a disco ball.

It makes him smile every time.

But it’s more than that – it’s those ocean-blues of hers, a song sung from his siren time and time again: On this night they shine stunningly bright and beautifully azure. Looking to Tommy as though it were the first, or perhaps last, they’ll see of one another. It breaks and makes him in tandem.

He sends her a knowing wink and grins at the easy air that lingers here, as though a pleasant summer breeze winds within this place. It’s been a country mile since he’s seen his love happy and he suspects it’ll be a while longer, once the town forums resume in a couple of weeks.

Tommy leans into what might be, wondering not for the first time where he and his spouse will factor into the Mandate and what it could indicate for their future on the whole. They haven't discussed those intimate nuances in their own home yet.

It’s too heavy a topic for his current headspace; he doesn’t want to run a gambit and risk souring the mood, so he chooses ignorance and returns his undivided to the older man standing beside him.

“Hush it, Joel. Ya ain’t mad at me no more.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“That’s convincin’.”

Once the lighthearted spar comes to its natural conclusion, Joel drops his view and pats the green vest in momentary introspection; he sneaks a keek through his peripheral to note the hour. The large wall clock sits securely above the festively-decorated entrance – it reads seven twenty-one. She’s running late.

“Place looks nice, don’t it?”

“Hmm?”

Tommy chuffs and knocks an elbow into Joel’s forearm, “You’re distracted tonight. Waitin’ on someone?”

Joel smirks and gestures with a wave far too quick to be anything other than a blatant lie, “Not really. Why?”

“Well, ya look...like you’re lookin’ an’ you keep peepin’ the double doors. Speakin’ of, what’s with the extra fancy getup? Not really your usual. Was expectin' jeans an' that old Carhartt.”

Joel sighs and angles apart, setting his empty bottle onto the bartop before two fingers toss a salute to the attending at the opposite end. It’s Jenny on duty, or no, it’s Julie – he can never make a proper decision as to who is who. The sisters are identical twins that, even in middle age, frequently dress and style themselves similarly to one another. A little weird but not strange.

These twins have always amused the man, mainly because he habitually makes a fool out of himself in their presence.

But it’s not a matter of great import.

He just wants his girl to arrive, a fresh pour in his tumbler and that baby brother of his to piss off with his questions. Joel isn’t keen on the topic and though Tommy isn’t indicating or implicating himself in an uncouth kind of way, it’s grating nevertheless.

Something about being a big brother with a needling younger sibling gets the eyes rolling, regardless of their wizened age.

“Oh, sure, ignore the question. That’ll make me go away faster.”

“You want’a refill, Tom?”

“Sure. Jameson.”

Joel crinkles his nose as a memory from days long, long past bubbles low in his gut. He can sense whatever it is, or was, has an unpleasant nature about it – a bad albeit ordinary taste. Thankfully, his recollection remains blissfully incomplete despite no willful act to try and materialize the details of this fading event. It's only that there is something relating to Jameson, something he’s forgotten and yet sketching echoes just the same.

Perhaps oblivion was a purposeful tactic on his part, perhaps not. But Tommy’s drink of choice is enough to leave Joel dodging an ambiguous demon — a wraith of retention he’s not entertained in many moons.

“What’ll it be, Joel?”

“Beer for me, Jameson-adjacent for my brother. Please an’ thank yaaa...”

“Ha, Julie. And you got it.” The girl winks and sets to task, her hands working swift and sure as she fulfills the simple request. Not like she could conjure up much more than that, what with supplies limited to the various home brews by local residents and an occasional state store score.

“So. You gonna answer me or not?”

Joel turns and openly scowls at his nosy brother but remains resolutely silent; his hands clasp cheap alcohol, his lips a thin, hard line but whatever speech he wasn’t on the verge of sharing is summarily lost. It falls to the wayside the moment he hears her.

Above the din of the crowd, above the cheerful tunes of Dean Martin’s ”Let It Snow,” there pierce the high shrills of Beth Fleurs. Her hands extend outwards, icy-white palms turning up in supplicating, feigned-surprise; she gesticulates to all of him with all of her and if it wasn’t obvious before (it was), it most assuredly is now. She wants him and is letting all of Jackson know.

“Well, Joel Miller, don’t you look – dare I say it – dashing tonight!”

“Here.” Joel pushes Tommy’s beverage into the man’s chest as he expertly, and rather painfully, forces a lackluster smirk.

“Ms. Fleurs.”

“Beth! Just Beth, okay? I swear, one day you’ll call me by my first name and I’ll keel right over!”

Joel nods but doesn’t acquiesce. He never does, never will. If only this woman was privy to the nature of his cringing plight. Or understood how to read a man's disposition.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Beth, ya did fine work decoratin’ this place. Lookin’ better than it has in years.”

The blond bounces with excitement and all but thrusts her ample chest outwards, “I appreciate you appreciating it! Thank you, Tommy. Say hi to Maria for me. I mean, I’ll track her down eventually but until then!”

“Surely will.”

Tommy aligns his sight with Joel’s, teasingly puckers his lips and makes a swift exit, leaving Beth and the older Miller to converse without obstruction.

“So you uh, decorated the hall? That what he said?”

“Mmhm, me and a few others. Some of the council members helped but it was mostly volunteers. Oh hey, I’m sorry your house didn’t win the festive contest on Wednesday – I was pulling for you, but don’t tell anyone that! I’ll get the boot off the panel if so. Maybe if you had that wreath I gave you hanging…”

The girl nudges and winks at him, but it’s passive and he can sense the aggression lying at the heart of her empty joke.

Subduing himself, Joel snorts and steals a healthy swig from his beer; if his mouth is full, he won’t be expected to say too much. Won’t unsuspectingly walk into a situation he’ll later regret.

’Ellie, girl, where the hell are ya…’

“But hey, I voted for your place INstantly. The twinkling lights and flickering candles. Oh! And the gathered, handmade garland and softly decorated wreaths of silver and gold. It’s all so inviting and...romantic, if you don’t mind me saying…”

At the egregious mention of romance on this woman’s tongue, the whites of Joel’s hazels flash for the briefest moment; he inwardly groans and outwardly squeezes the pilsner a measure tighter than he should – too tight. He eases off, loosening the pressure for fear that he’ll shatter the thing...although that would allow a speedy escape from this irksome exchange.

The man weighs his options.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah. No sweat on that contest stuff. I reckoned Ellie an’ me wouldn’t take the prize. Speakin’ of, what’d the winner win? An’ who won?”

Beth scrunches her nose and smirks but it’s the placating kind; it’s evident she’s not thrilled with Joel’s blasé demeanor towards a tradition she holds in such high regard. The woman counts these yearly events as a rite of passage for the collective health and wellness of Jackson and expects the same in return.

She sidelines the fleeting annoyance, shuffles her feet and recenters.

“Kitty and Kurt won! They were awarded a basket of baked goods from various vendors and donations alike, plus a case of the same ale you’re drinking now and the selection of what movie we’ll be watching at the community center next week! Hopefully one of these days a title will entice you enough to join us…”

Joel snickers and leans against the rounded curve of the bar; tipping the chilled drink to his mouth, he gulps with an audible swallow, then another, each one louder than the last and without an inkling of remorse. Or a hint of stopping any time soon. He pointedly ignores the not so subtle breadcrumbs Beth's thrown in his path.

Fleurs gives patience a wide berth before stepping closer to him – she won’t let this moment pass without seizing it for all its worth. Occupying more personal space than she likely should, Beth tap-taps a lacquered nail to his half-empty glass and, “Pardon my forwardness, but I think...I’d really like having you join me there one evening. It’s cozy and comfortable. We could have a good time, you and me.”

The man looks away, wipes his mouth before pinning his gaze to hers; there's a hopefulness in those cold eyes but with it lies an arbitrary, greedy type of need. It freezes there, that manicured look, and surreptitiously unnerves Joel to his very core. He recognizes the unseemly glimmer, knows the hollow, selfish intent behind its veil; she wants him but not because she wants him. It’s about ownership and boxes checked, not substance beyond keeping up with the Jones'.

And there is a big, big box needing to be checked that looms above the town and all its occupants.

Joel realizes he’s arrived at the point where the record needs to be set straight with this woman. Concise conviction, no mincing but no malice either.

He finishes his beverage, sends up a flare for Julie – or was it Jenny? – and then focuses on this awkward situation. Time to address her invitation for...more.

“Ms. Fleurs, I appreciate the offer but I think it’d be best if we kept things right as they are. I’m glad to assist ya with the housework you asked’a me, surely that’s no trouble. But outside’a that, sorry to say I’m not interested.”

Beth’s practiced smile falters, her lips trembling as she tries to maintain her polished, plastic exterior. It’s only a moment before it all but sloughs from her crestfallen features and her emotions partially reveal themselves. A rare sight.

Rejected, dejected, declined.

“Oh,” is all she can manage.

A fresh pour arrives in what Joel can only describe as divine intervention. For him, at least.

“Here ya go, Joel, enjoy.”

“Thanksss…”

“...Julie.”

“One day, I promise.”

“Mhm. Sure thing, big guy.”

He offers the bartender a warm grin – he appreciates the good-natured rapport he shares with a few folks like this. Still, it’s a fleeting trade – he knows the woman at his rear is waiting and likely preparing an excuse to set herself free of this interaction. All normal.

He shifts to find an empty space – a vacancy where Beth once was: The woman is gone. Joel searches from left to right – shoring up that he’s not on the cusp of an attack or some other unfortunate happenstance – and eventually clocks her making a hasty exit towards the public lavatories.

“Shit.”

“Well that looked like it went...not great.”

Tommy.

“Astute, little brother.”

“She’s sweet. An’ she likes you.”

“Sweet like a damn toothache. An’ she likes the idea of me. Ain’t nothin’ there I’m interested in.”

Tommy bounces on a heel, digs a hand into his dress slacks – they’re dark brown and weathered looking but they’re new and nice on him. He bobs, “Ya know, you gotta get yourself someone one’a these days.”

“Mmph, is that so? Hitched up, too? Like you an’ Maria?”

“That’s right. Ya deserve it, you old jerkoff.”

Joel laughs at that, his belly contracting beneath his festive wear. His heart bounces a beat as well. The idea of marrying again…of doing it right this go around.

’Ellie. Where in the hell ya at…’

He sneaks another gander to the clock – seven forty-four now – and openly frowns.

Tommy doesn’t say anything this time, just noisily slurps his whiskey and absorbs the pale nuances of his brother’s anxiousness.

’You are definitely hidin’ somethin’ from me, big brother. Ain’t no two ways ‘bout it.’

“Well, it will not be Ms. Fleurs, I can guarantee ya that.”

Tommy snorts and grips Joel’s shoulder, “Much to her disappointment, no doubt.”

“Hush it.”

“No.”

“You a pain in my damn ass, ya know th-”

The tail of Joel’s rhetoric drifts away, lost to the farthest seas where every abandoned, insignificant thought goes to spend its remaining days. Blissfully unaware of their existence, these echoes languish, forgotten in lieu of something far more luminous.

Ellie’s here.

Alongside Dina and Jesse, the girl walks into Jackson’s world of Christmas glitz and winter blitz, that beautiful face beaming with mirth and lucid anticipation; she seeks someone in the crowd, her seasonal eyes searching innocuously for that one person. There’s a wavelength of warmth emanating from her and even at this distance, Joel can sense it clear as the summer sunshine.

Her person. His person.

Still, past what he cannot see, there lies what he can: Joel all but doubles-over from the exclusivity of an inside-joke. Ellie’s wearing the Santa sweater pilfered during their unintentional stay at the Baldwin Mansion...the night of their first kiss. Because of course she would.

As he takes in more of the girl, his jaw drops in disbelief and utter wonderment; she looks...sublime. Ellie’s ensemble shines merry and bright, imbuing the room with an energy equivalent to no other. It’s a divergence from her usual creature comforts and yet somehow, it’s distinctly her, too.

The sweater notwithstanding, her lower limbs are clad in a pair of shimmery-green leggings, or perhaps they’re stockings? He’s admittedly clueless with details like that. All he knows is that her pants are on her, on her – suctioning to that agile body inch by toned inch.

Still, in spite of Joel knowing fitted clothing is nothing novel to Ellie’s closet, these pants – or whatever they are – appear to have been painted onto her body one emerald droplet at a time.

It’s outlandish and sexy and loud. Just like her.

Joel nearly hyperventilates at this presentation of Ellie; he desperately needs to evaluate his air intake and do so quickly, otherwise he risks exposing the profound effect this is having on him. He distills these stirrings with methodical inhalations between drafts of a now tasteless beer; Joel knows he’s drinking expeditiously but it’s all he can do to conceal their hidden truth and keep it from the entire town. To have it just for them. For now.

The beer and the girl weaken his resolve the longer this all carries on. He's wildly inept at blanketing his ogling, too; even if he wanted to, even if his life depended on it, which it doesn’t, Joel would not be able to avert his eyes from her. But for Ellie's sake, he needs to settle and calm the fervor yanking his heartstrings...and other parts of him.

But with each step and every unintentional sway of her enticing hips – hips he’s left a few marks on recently – Joel submerges deeper and deeper beneath Ellie’s undertow; he’s dangerously close to drowning by just how incredible a sight this girl is.

Eventually he manages a smile – a laugh-lines, teeth-showing kind of smile. A display of unapologetic happiness.

But it proves to reveal too much. He immediately breaks his stare and peers around, looking elsewhere, looking anywhere but at her. The man chooses to focus on twinkling loops of light twining around the Christmas tree; he blurs his vision and revels in the gradience of color filling him in its grandeur. He gazes to the rafters and soundlessly notes the swoops of garland and errant tree trimmings that run the entire length of this place. No detail, however minute, has gone overlooked.

Distractions.

Expectantly, all of these preventative measures prove to be of little use.

The man tries to borrow time enough to muse and regain a fragment of control over his person; Joel surmises he may very well be a half-sheet to the wind already, if his disregard of every other town resident is any indication. And it certainly is.

Still, this is all shatteringly new – so unforeseen and achingly wanted that he’s not truly upset with himself, not really anyway. But Joel does want to keep her in good standing within the community – doesn’t want anyone to judge, accuse or blame either of them for what secretly transpires, but especially not her. Leaving her unscathed in this fine place they’ve made home is as important as his feelings for her are.

It’s an innate instinct to protect the girl, a learned behavior that will never see its exodus so long as he draws air. Though, it is shifting a great deal now, changing to suit their situation and the rapidly altering circumstances of their daily norms.

All of this pains the man, too.

As he ceases this absent-minded, frivolous survey of the hall, he finds her again, sees her in this way and feels the earth shake below his boots. Joel’s seismic plates subluxate harder than they ever have: He feels both whole and agonizingly torn asunder all the same. He wants her to know, wants her to want him in all the same ways.

’Wanna have it all with ya, baby…’

The man inaudibly murmurs, fracturing beneath the deluge of every hidden proclamation; the weight of all those desires he’s yet to vocalize are coming to a head here tonight. But there’s a darker sect to this as well – a flimsy partition that fights tooth and nail, working to push away every fear that lies in wait. Fears that try time immemorial to brand their influence upon him once and for all.

Familiar doubts that whisper to a conclusive unworthiness. Whispers speaking in low, haunting tones – how undeserving he is of her, how he is...much too old for her. Much too wrong, much too bad a man.

One of those – the most burdensome – is also most persistent: How is he to share a lifetime with someone when he’s more than halfway through his own?

A woeful blush of melancholy surfaces within, his chest tightening at the thought of such a monumental loss. But he’s willing to do that, if it means he can be with her. But is she?

But no, now is not the time and this is not the place.

Joel shudders, freeing these unwelcome ruiners that lay waste to the euphoric fantasies of his heart.

His tongue runs along his beer-slick lips as he considers the very real possibility that he might not survive this night.

As every moment seems to pass at a tortuously leaden pace for his brother, Tommy watches in pensive silence. It’s…interesting.

Initially, or prior to Joel’s odd, flushed behavior, Tommy did attempt to redirect the attention of the distracted man at his front. It proved to be useless though – a vain effort to pry his brother from whatever stupor he’s fallen into. But something hinted to the younger sibling – a class of warning – to stow the teasing antics for a later date.

Tommy doesn’t fully understand the gravity of what’s happening here but what he does know is absolute: Joel never responds to anything in the manner with which he’s responding right now.

He never has. Not once that he can recall.

So Tommy options the road of curiosity instead; he tilts his glass to drink a mouthful and shifts only-just to glimpse who it is that has Joel practically drooling.

Tommy smiles.

’Fuckin’ knew it.’

He needs to assuage this situation though. Something inside tells him that’s his role here. Irrespective of what he may or may not understand just yet.

“Oh, hey. Look who finally made it.”

With one simple remark, Tommy ushers his brother back into the present; the younger of the two gestures towards the girl and her friends but does his best to feign innocence – as if he’s been privy to nothing but the ordinary.

The other Miller emits a low rumble as he adjusts his stance and nods in a noncommittal fashion, “Uh yeah, just spotted her. An’ Dina an’ Jesse. Gonna go say hi.”

“I’ll join ya.”

Joel looks at Tommy and squints just enough to emphasize something behind those hazels of his – something that is best left unsaid. After, he quickly presses onward. His girl is right up ahead, looking perfect in her Christmas getup with cherry cheeks and wide, expectant eyes; he won’t be able to share or show his appreciation of her, not fully at least, so in that void he’ll aim to put himself nearer to her. Proximity is all they have tonight.

Once through an insurmountable passage of time, the group finds themselves standing together amidst the vibrancy of a bass-thumping, boot-pummeling dance floor.

The five of them awkwardly bobble a beat while forming a loose circle, exchanging pleasantries and excitement alike. They’ve added to the pool of gleeful folk and for the briefest moment, everything feels right in the world.

As the others begin to comment on the venue’s tasteful decor and each other’s variance of attire, Joel breaks with a tentative side-smile. He pleads upon every ounce of control inside of him to shroud the enormous well of want for her – to mask the ache of being unable to envelop and hold her in front of everyone with God as their witness.

But he can’t do that, so, “Hi.”

Ellie hears him, she well and truly does, but she is too preoccupied by the dressed-up model that is Joel Miller. For the briefest of moments – and one he will never forget – she’s rendered amusingly mute. During the scarcity of this quiet spell, her greens roam uninhibitedly from his polished boots to the sharp contrast of his swept-back hairstyle. And, of course, to all the delicious, delightful parts of him in between. She charts a complete inventory of just how fucking good he looks and doesn’t want to rush a single nanosecond of this.

After, Ellie sighs more than speaks as her lips part and, “Hhhey.”

He huffs at that and takes a step closer, indifferent to the nearby folk that are almost assuredly paying attention now. Joel knows he should care – all the lists in his brain and the ad nauseam rhetoric booms and bangs like a drum – but he just...can’t. Not when she’s within arm’s reach. Certainly not with her undressing him the way she is, looking the way she does.

Right as he’s about to pull her to him, Dina thrusts a finger into Joel’s chest and situates part way between him and Ellie, “Is this a fresh piece? Has to be Cara’s handiwork, right? Damn, Joel, you went fahhncy, I see.”

The lines by the edges of Joel’s eyes meet as he nearly implodes from the balloon of tension Dina’s blown apart, “Mmhm, yup. Much like our English Santa, apparently.”

Dina, Ellie and Joel laugh animatedly, much to the chagrin of their companions.

“What’s this about an English Santa?”

Dina turns and grips Jesse’s shoulder as she offers a mockingly-pitiful smirk, “You had to be there, my guy. Had to be there. Anyway, who’s thirsty?”

Jesse and Tommy nod in unison as they score a path through the crowd with Dina in the lead. Joel and Ellie follow closely behind but have deliberately set themselves apart.

Mostly on their own now, Joel puts his hand to the small of her back and presses, sensing her warmth through the fabric of that ostentatious sweater. After, he leans down and brushes his mouth to an ear, “Lookin’ so pretty, girl…”

She sniffs, nibbles on the flesh of her lower lip until, “Ya know, I’m torn between ripping your clothes off, or gluing them onto you forever. What the actual fuck, Joel. You could have warned me you were planning on looking like a…looking like a Roman god…”

The man chortles and steals a glance about the room, notes that no one pays either of them any mind. “You’re one to talk. Moment I saw you up close, a filthy joke ‘bout wantin’ to eat candy canes came to me all’a sudden. No doubt we have you to thank for that, Red.”

“Oh you have me, alright.”

Joel’s chin pulls into the apex of his chest as he focuses all of him onto all of her. He thinks he heard her right.

’Right?’

Tommy sneaks a peek behind and catches the heavy glares his brother and Ellie give to one another; it’s comparable to nothing he’s glimpsed prior to this exact moment in time – not with Joel through all their years together – and likely apart – and certainly not from that girl by his side.

He’s been gleaning something the last week or so but this is obviously – and already – a whole other degree past mere suspicions.

Tommy grins as he turns around and continues towards Jenny – or Julie? – abandoning his brother and Ellie to their own devices.

He decides to to keep an eye out on their behalf while doing his best to allow Joel this not so seemingly small fragment of happiness.

“Ellie! I’m so glad to see you here! I figured you’d come but whoa-” Liam halts and boisterously slaps a hand to his chest, “-you look...wow.”

The young guy lists to the rear, widening his arms as he does this; it appears he intends to hug the girl, but comes a few inches short at the last second. By the powers that be, Julie serves Ellie’s order, a whiskey neat, and the auburn-haired girl spins to retrieve it. It's a purposeful dodge of physical interaction with her friend and Joel notes the awkwardness immediately. He can't decide if it makes him happy or if the a tinge of guilt in his gut warns him that this isn't the norm. Ellie and Liam are friends, after all.

“Oh, uh, hey Mr. Miller and...everybody. How’s it going?”

Joel's mouth clicks as he looks over to Ellie, who’s been situating by his side the last few hours upon her fashionably late arrival. She’s left a vacancy here and there to dance with Dina, and even chat with Cat at one point, but other than that, they hover close to one another, always in orbit. A dance in their own rite.

“Swell. You?”

“Can’t complain. Christmas is next week and the Bison is fully stocked for the morning and dinner rush, so that makes my job easier. Which I appreciate.”

Joel nods, Jesse does, too. “So what I’m hearing is, none of us need to fill our quotas this week, ehhh?”

Liam curls a lip and shrugs his shoulders, “That’s not for me to say. Seth’s in charge of that.”

“Reckon I won't be deliverin’ portions then.”

Ellie elbows Joel’s flank lightheartedly, tilting to look up and glimpse the humor behind those handsome hazels of his.

The girl learns towards Liam and, “We’ll drop off our shares on Monday morning, just like always.”

It leaches every last ounce of Joel’s maturity but he halts his eyes from spinning in semi-annoyance. “Mhm, what Ellie said.”

Just then Nat ‘King’ Cole’s The Christmas Song begins to play and a tonal shift shimmers amongst the patrons gathering in the hall. It permeates through the crowd like rolling thunder – a pull from the brilliance of a voice lost to time long, long ago.

“Wanna dance?” Liam extends a hand towards Ellie, his blue eyes anticipatory and kind. But their last conversation in the garage from a week ago suddenly skips to the forefront of the girl’s mind like scratched vinyl.

And Joel is right beside her.

And no one knows. Well, no one but Dina, her and Joel, anyway.

She wants his approval, even though she doesn’t need it. No, not approval. Ellie wants to somehow convey with a strict conviction that if she does accept this offer, it means nothing. Less than nothing.

“Go on. I’ll keep your drink safe.” It’s Joel.

Ellie swallows and forces a grin as she inwardly curses the hot stinging sensation behind her eyes; he knows her so entirely well that it’s difficult to discern where she stops and he begins. Especially when it comes to moments like these – where they’re incapable of speaking their truths aloud but need to send a message crisp and clear.

“Thanks. Don’t be drinking it. I’ll know.”

“Sure ya will.”

As she accepts Liam’s hand and is willfully led into the bloated crowd, she turns to catch a wink from Joel as he summarily sips from her tumblr. She mouths a quiet, “Fuck you,” to which earns her a hearty howl noisy enough to hear from her spot on the dance floor.

She laughs as Liam places an arm around her waist and the other in her hand.

The song is slow, melodic and beautiful and though Ellie wants to enjoy the smooth mood of it all, the girl knows she’s swaying with the wrong person. His arms are too thin, his body too...not Joel’s...and it’s becoming more and more apparent that she should have politely declined Liam’s request. Unfortunately for her, she ran out of time and thus, the decision was made on her behalf. Though, Ellie thinks it was done more for appearances than anything else.

Joel didn’t take the choice away from her, he simply made it easier. That’s it.

“You’re pretty close with that guy, yeah?”

“Who? Oh, Joel? Yeah. Pretty close.”

“Thought you two were on the outs for a while there. But things are better?”

“We were. Lord knows I bitched enough – sorry, by the way. I mean, I didn’t really talk about it but whenever we were all drinking together, I couldn’t shut up about it, I guess. But yep, things are better. Much, actually.”

Liam nods and then leans away, surprising the girl with a seamlessly executed twirl before bringing her back into his embrace.

They smile.

“That’s good. It’s shit when we’re at odds with our family members. So few of us have any real family these days.”

“Family?”

“Isn’t Joel like your...Dad or something?”

Ellie juts backwards as her hand loosens its grasp with Brooks’, “Um, no. He’s not. At all.”

“Oh. I thought...well, whoever he is to you, I’m glad things worked out.”

“Thanks.”

The atmosphere goes pallid and stiff between them, despite the natural warmth radiating off the other couples moving comfortably together.

There’s a song change – another one of Cole’s playing – before, “Hey, I’m sorry about assuming. I have a bad habit of that sometimes. I didn’t mean to meddle or offend, honestly.”

She nods, lowers her chin and starts to ease out of his hold, “It’s okay. I’m gonna go now though.”

“Wait, wait… I feel like I’ve made things super awkward between us since we last hung out. Ya know, at your place with too much booze and my stupid mouth getting me into trouble again. I...I keep, I don’t know, trying too hard? But over the last few days, s-since I was a drunken idiot, I mean, I haven’t seen you and it kinda sucks. Can we go back to being friends? I miss that, Ellie. For real.”

The girl firms her hold, worries her upper lip and ruminates on this emotional diatribe of his.

“Yeah, I’d like that. And I haven’t intentionally ignored you, for the record. I’ve been busy as hell with shift work, helping Joel with a few things and a million other to-do’s that have popped up. Along with all the damn hunting we’ve been doing for the Christmas rush at the Tipsy next week.” She smirks as she finishes that last, her eyes already warmer than they were a few words ago.

“Hah, yep, everyone’s definitely complaining about that. But hey, if y’all want delicious food in abundance, or whatever passes for abundance anymore, hunting and killing has to happen.”

“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

They finish the second dance in a far better manner than the first and though Liam is trying to keep her for a third – a home run, he calls it – she aptly, and politely, dismisses herself.

“Stop by tomorrow for breakfast?”

She hears his closing sentiments as she’s walking away and tosses her thumb into the air in affirmation, or confirmation – he’s not sure.

Liam spins away, lighter on his feet and happier in his heart.

For Ellie, it’s but a minute until she’s by the bartop again, standing at Joel’s side and playfully grumbling about her half-empty glass, “You better have gotten me a refill.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna eat all your peaches, old ma-“

The girl ceases that vein of thought and tenses up, reaching for his forearm and gripping tight to it.

“Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Never mind the drink. Just come with me?”

“Oh...okay. Where we goin’?”

“Just hurry but don’t look suspicious.”

“Uh…”

“Trust me.”

“I do, El.”

As Joel and Ellie exit the venue, Dina catches the urgency in her friend's gait and wonders if things have suddenly gone awry. She knows...everything now, or up to the current events at least, and wonders if it wasn’t difficult for Joel to see Ellie with Liam. As a direct lead from that, she hopes they’re not running off to argue or lose any of the ground they’ve been building the last two or so weeks.

Such a short amount of time but Dina knows how important that man is to her friend, knows how unbelievably shattered she would be if things were to crack and crumble after two dances with a nice guy like Liam Brooks.

“Who are you being nosy with, Dee?”

“Never you mind, Jesse Chang.”

“Oh, full name. Am I in trouble?”

“You keep up that nosiness with me and you will be, mister.”

“Fair enough.”

The couple return to their dance but Dina can’t stop thinking of her best friend. She will be patient though, wait on through and when the night is done — or the morning, depending on how this evening ends — she’ll knock on Ellie’s cheap door and get the unhindered story. Like always.

For now, she’s content to dance with her guy and keep Christmas in her very Jewish heart.

“Ellie, what are we doin’ back h-“

The girl’s lips crash against his, all messy and desperate and wanton; her actions are fervent and needy as she sucks and tastes the mix of bitter drinks on his tongue. It’s intoxicating. So much so that she’s unwilling to squander their time with explanations and reasons for this clamant hideaway.

Instead, her mouth stays on his as she sinks beneath his top layer to palm the hard, corded muscle through his dress shirt. All that tensile power that’s been so close and so frustratingly off limits tonight; it’s maddening and after Liam’s comment and the jarring echo of that sentiment still lingering, she’s giving in to the cravings that plague her.

A balm to ease the hurricane in her heart.

Still, she won’t touch his hair though, or rather she will try her best to steer clear of it, despite it being a favorite to grip and hold onto – a favorite of his, too. But if she musses it up, it’ll be a wink shy of sharing with everyone exactly what he’s been doing after disappearing for...however long this could end up taking.

His grasp travels from her waistline to the soft waves of auburn that lay free and long atop her shoulders. Joel cradles her jawline before securing the base of her chin and moving her off of him for an infinitesimal spell. He’ll return all that he’s getting and more but first he needs to understand what’s brought this on.

“Mmph. What’s...are ya alright, girl?” The question comes barely above a whisper, more a series of low frequency mumbles as he tries to find his footing. He wasn’t expecting this after her dancing with that guy but it’s not unwelcome, not in the least.

Ellie nods as best she can as her face sits within the cup of his palm; even this is turning her on – he likes directing and taking control of her faculties, almost as if he’s making her focus on exactly what he wants her to see and feel and nothing beyond that. It’s sexy and she aches for more of it. Right now, tonight, tomorrow, always.

He nips at her after that, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth ever-so before turning her head away. Joel kiss-licks his way down her throat before, “You don’t seem alright, baby…”

She’s trying, Ellie is truly lending it all she’s got, but she desperately needs more; running along the back of him, she rakes her nails across the prominent thew that lines his spine. She feels him growl against her skin, even shake a little, as his air blows hot and heady across her pale bones. He’s pulling the Claus sweater off the cliffside of her shoulder, stretching the aged wool and chancing its elasticity in ways he ought to know better by now.

“I...am...n-now.”

The girl’s words are breaking in that void between breaths, pupils wide and expanding more and more by the second. It’s not a byproduct of them being in the dimly-lit hallway next to the utility closet, no. It’s Joel. It’s all Joel.

“Weren’t ya before?”

The last thing on Ellie’s mind is talking about Liam and his weird ‘father’ comments, or thinking of Joel as an old man. The first is all but laughable now, but that last churns like something dark and slithery in her gut. A forecast, a reminder – something frightful and permanent. Something that smells and drinks a lot like loss.

“No. Yes. I dont-it’s. Unimp-portant…”

Joel nods in acknowledgement as he continues to kiss his way south, licking those caramel stars as he voyages deeper into her dusty skies. Her flesh feels tight and warm beneath his teasing and he knows where this is going. Knows it’s only a matter of time before her physicality womans the helm and the rest is forgone until after.

She’ll ask for more of him with her whines – plead for it with her shameless begging. He loves it when she begs.

“You really wanna do this here, darlin’?”

Ellie grins and seductively bites at herself while allowing her skull to fall against the drywall at her rear; she’s immersing herself into his oceans and all the others they’ve been sailing since that first night on his chair. Each one better than the last.

It’s only hands and kissing and touching for the time being, and that’s all well and good. Because hands and kissing and touching with Joel is...climactic. Which is precisely what she’s aching for at present. It’s been since this morning and having to keep herself apart and dance with someone else has already become a burden too bothering to name.

“I want you...to touch an-and please, just...kiss me? I need it, Joel. Hate hiding, hate pretending…”

Joel rises but continues to press Ellie into the beige, aging wall with his bulk; he’s partially in the middle of her thighs but it’s enough for her to gyrate and grind against his hardened center. He suspires and that act alone is all that’s left available in this endless spar of either controlling himself or letting go completely.

In that minuscule crevice between decision and action, he stares and assesses the state of her, gnawing on every word he so desperately wishes to speak aloud.

“That all ya want?”

Ellie peers high to find those colorful eyes of his gone mostly dark, “For now…”

“Alright, ‘cause these pants’a yours are drivin’ me wild, Red. I’m gonna have to do somethin’ ‘bout these later.”

She giggles – Joel loves it when he gets her giggling – and grabs at the stiff lapel on his fresh new clothing. Ellie brings him into her orbit and they kiss each other slowly; now that they’ve had time to explore each other and reconnect after the charade and show they’ve been putting on, they’re free to just be.

Eventually it happens: The girl’s touch sees itself braiding into his thick, long hair, tugging it this way and that; she drags her nails along his scalp with just the right pressure to elicit those thunderous tremors – tremors she will never cease chasing after.

She’s making a mess of his style but neither possess the wherewithal to concern themselves with what anyone may or may not think. That time has come and gone. For right now, this is their safe harbor. Each other.

As it’s always been.

“That a promise or a threat, Mr. Miller?”

He snorts, “Suppose ya need to wait an’ see, Ms. Williams.”

She smiles, a face-breaking-wide-apart type of smile, and Joel nearly collapses to the earth below her feet. This is too much and not enough at the same time.

They kiss again, harder this time, and Joel pushes against her boiling center as they move in a frenzied cadence. It’s almost sufficient for their needs at current, almost; he abruptly separates but only so he can direct a hand of hers onto his covered cock, “See what you’re doin’ to me? How much I want you all the goddamn time…”

“Fuck, Joel...take me home. Let’s go home…”

He nods but doesn’t move, instead he starts kissing her again as she rubs him through his slacks.

“Need’a calm down first. Ain’t gonna happen if we keep this up.”

“I wanna keep it up though…”

“Ellie.”

“Joel.”

The man grins, loops his arms around her waist and puts his lips back where they belong.

They both know they won’t be going anywhere for a while yet.

“Gonna run an’ get more towels for the bar, Em. Gimme a few.”

Tommy whistles to the tune of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree as he sets off towards the maintenance shed at the rear of the church hall. Julie – or Jenny? – has already shot through her supply and the countertops are a tacky mess of spilt beer and stray booze droplets.

He doesn’t mind though – helping isn’t a chore so much as a privilege to him. And it makes his wife happy, so that’s a toofer he’ll never shy away from.

Once in the hallway though, he hears the telltale sounds of a lewd act or something of an indecent nature taking place. At first he’s priming to round the corner and accost whomever it is that believes this particular area is the right locale for such a thing.

But he doesn’t do that. Instead, Tommy Miller grinds to halt and listens. Their voices are familiar. Very familiar.

”I want you...to touch an-and please, just...kiss me? I need it, Joel. Hate hiding, hate pretending…”

Tommy’s jaw nearly dislocates from his face. He pauses, knowing he shouldn’t but will anyway. The man has to know.

Peeking around the corner, he sees the response to that girl’s pleading in real time. The response to Ellie pleading for Joel to kiss her. To touch her.

And he is. His brother is kissing that girl. And more than that...he seems to be enjoying it, too. Giving of himself fully.

Tommy doesn’t linger. Retracing his steps and trekking the identical pathway he took to get here, but pauses ahead of the curtains that work as a divider. An ineffective divider, apparently.

The man sniffs and pinches the bridge of his nose as a knowing smile strikes across his features. One of the last times he overheard his brother with a woman – a woman with a similar tone at that – the outcome was decidedly different. In fact, now that he’s remembering, every time Tommy was an unfortunate bystander to Joel’s obscene affairs, not one woman ever received a shred of warmth from that man. Or even a kiss, far as he knows.

It’s evident that what the younger Miller accidentally witnessed here is unlike anything from their days before.

His brother is no longer a machine.

Chapter Text

There’s a soft sound emanating from a stall by the rear of the washroom; a sorrowful, pitiful thing, a wisp of woe that betrays its owner. It comes as a low, bleating sort of noise, barely loud enough to rise above the din of holiday cheer and wholesome merriment. Everyone beyond this private space is to remain none the wiser however.

Everyone minus the girl who just slipped inside, of course; the girl that’s snaking her way into the porcelain palace like a slithery, venomous thing with purposeful intent. She will strike while the iron is hot using vulnerability as her key, her pass. An exposed vein she will ceremoniously bleed dry.

The long con has already begun but all the other dreadful bits and pieces are starting to fall into place as well. One by one they drop – she doesn’t know where these tumbling fragments of rage and revenge will end only that they will end. A plinko board crafted and carved with the viscous blood of her father.

The girl winces and directs her gaze to the dingy, cracking tile as she quietly collects herself. Now is partially the time but this is not the place.

Too soon, much too soon.

She centers her breathing, focusing on the pathetic echoes that drift out and into the empty area all around; it’s a sad state of affairs she’s pretending her way into but a necessity nonetheless. Only a few minutes ago, this practiced observer caught the melancholic woman stealing her respite in a hasty show of subdued furor – it was obvious something wasn’t right.

It’s even more obvious now that she’s inside this emotional casing that something is veritably awry – off its axis for one but curiously askew for this other. Something, or rather someone, is causing the disconsolation for at least one patron of this restroom. Or both, perhaps. Depends on who you ask first, she thinks.

The moment she watched it all happen – the scene rolling like an embarrassing reel of slow-moving rejection – this was to be her play.

“Beth? Is that you?”

There’s a sharp sniff as a globule of runny fluid is suctioned in. Then a scratchy brush of tissue as it sands across dry, chafing skin. A hollow silence ensues and, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Abby, it’s-I just need a minute, okay?”

“I’ll wait for two then.”

From inside her private hideaway, Beth sighs and goes compliant; she stands, wipes her nose again and squares her shoulders. She’s preparing her exit. She sets her head high, just as it usually is, but there’s a crack in her foundation, a fissure that’s splintering deeper with each moment that passes. She knows it, much as she might try to deny such unsightly things. And she will try.

‘Doesn’t make any sense.’

“Is it alright if I ask about what’s wrong? Why are you upset?”

She knows what’s transpired already, why Beth is licking her wounds all on her own while simultaneously pretending them away to save face. Or reasoning with herself at the egregious, unreality of it all. Either or.

Of course she knows all of this – this woman’s angle and the man who plainly refused her. Abby has done little else tonight outside of trailing Joel and that skinny redhead he seems to keep regular company with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m good. It’s just...allergies or something.”

Abby spins her blues and treks to the row of well-maintained and properly managed sinks. There’s a few chips here and there, with a loose knob and a leaky faucet on one, but those will be fixed in short order. The mirrors lining the walls aren’t in the greatest shape but they’re intact and that’s more than most can say for themselves. Especially these days.

Once there, she studies her reflection, picks a few phantom pieces of lint and rolls her shoulder; it’s been bothering her something fierce the past few days. She’s lifting more and more each day, driven by a need to outdo – to overpower – but her tendons are paying the price. She’ll ease off. There’s time yet.

“Yeah, I mean, allergies in December and all.”

There’s a creaky squeal from a battered and worn hinge and then her friend is there, looking every bit as disheveled as she sounds.

“Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do but maybe just leave it alone? I’m really okay.”

Abby tosses her hands into the space between her and Beth while readjusting her stance – she’s adopting a more submissive pose than anything overtly offensive or suggestive. She doesn’t want to torch this bridge, not when it could lead right to where she’s heading.

“Fair enough. I just hope you know that I’m, I don’t know, here for you. I know we haven’t known each other all that long but, if you need to talk, you can talk to me.”

Beth washes her hands, splashes cool water onto her fevering cheeks and stinging eyes in an effort to wash away the humiliation as best she can. After, she proceeds to turn to the girl at her flank and assess for a beat.

“Maybe...we can just get out of here and grab a drink? Would rather not talk about...anything, for a while.”

Abby smiles at the not-so-novel concept but nods in kind; stepping aside, she gives leeway for Beth to shake her hands dry and fuss with her hair – she knows this is the woman’s way.

Beth frowns as she calculates the sum total of her appearance: her ample waves of blond are a bit flatter than they were an hour or so back, but it’ll need to make do. After, she pinches her cheeks, checks her earrings needlessly and puckers her lips. She paints a smile across her glossy features – donning the dollish grin that has done its share in keeping her in the favor of men and women more powerful than her. After all these years, it’s never failed her.

She turns to exit.

Maybe Seth will be of a mind to shine a little affection her way tonight. Not ideal, not really ideal whatsoever, but as a willing substitute, it just might work.

“Ready?”

“After you.”

Abby trails behind but not too closely. This woman is her admittance to Jackson and an opening to the direct line that will guide her in this volatile game of vengeance. But Beth is...a hard pill to swallow. She doesn’t want to side with that bastard who rejected the woman but understands clearly why he made the decision he did.

“Abby?”

“Hmm? Sorry, lost in thought.”

“Found you! Now come on, we need Mariah Carey and whiskey.”

“Roger that.”

Once Beth pushes through the heavy door and rejoins the mass of gleeful faces and dancing bodies, she brightens her porcelain grin, waves at Kitty and Kurt and cuts a trail towards the bar. To her second choice pack mule. Hell, Seth might be her fifth choice. Maybe. Either way, he’s usually willing to wile away the hours under the assumption that she actually...likes the man. The falsities of her days and the shallow depths of her empty heart knows no boundaries. She imbibes, absorbs, takes.

“Heya pretty lady, whiskey?”

’Good.’

Seth’s on duty now. He’s tending alongside one of those weird twins that thinks it’s charming to share her identity with her sister.

Beth inwardly redirects; now isn’t the time for such meaningless judgements.

Outwardly she does as well. The woman bats her lashes, crosses both arms and leans her chest onto the bartop – she’s making her intentions crystal clear. Beth doesn’t care who might see, never does. Only thinks of her world and the betterment she’s able to afford herself from one moment to the next. What can she get when she needs it and who can she entice to be the one to give it to her. Whatever it may be at any particular moment in time.

A taker. A consumer.

Beyond that, there is still the girl to consider, “Oh, Abby! Two fingers, yeah?”

Abby huffs but muzzles her annoyance as she scrapes a nail to her browline, “Uh, sure.”

“Coming right up. You two having a good time?”

Beth feigns her way through an answer before hesitantly stepping aside, allowing Abby to temporarily fill the vacancy. She knows the younger girl wants to acquaint herself with as many townsfolk as she can, being rather new and all.

Besides, she’s clocked Seth’s look and knows there’s nothing to worry about there.

As Abby and the barman chat, Beth twists and anxiously seeks the subject of her recent ire. She doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t not want to see him either. It’s a rare serving of self-torment that fills the emptiness from his rejection of her. An interim, albeit morose, journey through the halls of a psyche she’s long since abandoned.

Her icy eyes roam, leaping from one colorfully animated person to the next as she searches; there’s an abundance of heartwarming mirth and bountiful smiles – some warm, some suggestive, some drunk, some nonplussed. Those are of little import though so she continues on, mentally erasing their presence; they’re pulsating inconveniences to her now, gyrating strangers that are nothing if not in the way.

There’s refractions, mirror reflections and shimmering dots of light that bounce from baubles and waves of sequin alike; it’s a mirage of jovial celebration and there’s a small sect that wishes she could be of this wonderment versus a bystander merely adjacent to it. She’s fully aware that the balm she coats atop all those hidden charges at the core of herself is wearing dangerously thin. There’s the risk of a catastrophe, she knows, a great and gruesome event that will surely expose her for who she truly is. Who she’s been all along.

She locates Tommy and Maria at the heart of the crowd and stares as the couple sway in sync, so closely together that their bodies and foreheads appear supernaturally seamless. Beth grimaces. Not from the overtly romantic sight of it all but from the woeful lack of her participation, despite her willingness.

Pushing on, the scavenging hunt resumes, only this time with a tinge of sadness – a vein of despair that taints the maw of her concealed beast with shades of pale blue and soulless grays. She gnaws her plump lip and shifts her gaze to purposefully ignore it, trampling the woe in favor of this illogical desire to see the man, to see if he’s out of sorts for what he’s done. She hopes he is, suspects he won’t be. Thinks she knows enough to know enough.

Her blue bleeds outwards, extending itself to the pleated maroon curtain that separates the gathering space from the utility hallways. The woman has entered that area plenty, even as late as last week during the preparations for this evening’s Ho Ho Hoedown. But something is drawing her view there now; the lines of weighty wavy fabric are shifting, moving as though someone on the opposite side were trying to find its seam.

She watches, keeping her position fixed but remaining as nonchalant as she can manage; she holds there for a minute, then another. Beth’s of a mind to turn away when two bodies emerge from the crimson folds.

The man pierces through first, setting the broad expanse of his back to the dilating crowd – the collective townsfolk are blissfully heedless to their presence all the while. Beth stares on mutely as the curious scene continues to unfold; she knows it’s Joel, but the question as to why he would be there of all places strikes at her fiercely. She won’t look away now.

After his advent, another trails in his wake – it’s that younger redhead, that short teenager that he’s always going on about. The girl is slightly off center from his front but it lends Beth a clear line of sight to the remarkable expressions laden on her face. There’s an electric smile radiating and the girl’s puckish features are visibly flush; there’s a distinct rumpling of the sweater she’s wearing as well.

’Curious.’

The woman peels her purview away and returns her vision onto him. He appears a measure more disheveled than he usually does, tonight notwithstanding of course. Tonight he was pressed and clean and almost...manicured. A sight unto itself. But that was earlier. Now there’s an unkempt mess of gray and black hair – the swept-back style he arrived with seemingly gone – and his shirt is laying partially loose off of a hip. Only partially though. And only on that one side.

The man’s palms are flat to his thighs as he unhurriedly pedals in reverse, as though he has not a single concern in the whole world. It’s the best case scenario for Joel but the worst for Beth. Yet, that’s not quite the dire, revealing nature of it all. Not that girl’s smile or his messy hair. Not their less than perfect attire or suspicious arrival from an out of bounds section of the structure, no.

What’s really setting Beth’s teeth to grind are the duo of pale fingers hooking into the man’s belt, gripping him just enough to suggest that there’s more going on there. She pulls him and juts her chin out, smiling wide and pure.

But the girl doesn’t keep her grasp to him for any significant length of time; soon as they’re a few paces beyond the separating line of heavy linen, their breach sees them breaking apart. Her hands drop to her person as he fusses with the uneven dress shirt and then his hair. The girl is laughing at him – no, not at, but with him rather; it all comes as a visage of greens, reds and something that shines and feels a lot like...intimacy.

“Here you go. Hey...Beth?”

Beth twists at the sound of Abby’s voice, nearly bumping into a tumbler of amber liquid that’s hovering in her immediate vicinity. The woman swallows the secret she’s been unsuspectingly privy to and, “Oh! Thanks. Perfect timing!”

Abby studies the woman with silent scrutiny, exploring the subtle shift and adjustments to her tone, marking the unease and discontent as she distractedly imbibes. It’s not an abrupt redirect from the bathroom but much more noticeable than prior to them sidling up to the counter for twin drinks.

“Oh yeah?”

Beth sips her alcoholic beverage and nods, “Yep. Couldn’t be better. So what’d I miss?”

“I think...I have had enough of this town for one night, cheerful tidings have reached their limit. I think it’d be swell if we went home.” Ellie licks her lips and sniffs deeply, looking high to the man leaning by her right, “Ready to trudge through the snow and ruin our well-won buzz?”

Joel tilts his pilsner glass and finishes the last of his mostly warm beer, “More than. Let’s get.”

Ellie’s face is still tingling from where his beard had pressed into it an hour or so back. The prickly after-sensation is starting to fade and all she can think to do – and wants to do – is return him to her in that way, tenfold.

She wants much, much more.

More than they’ve been doing all damn week, and if she has her way about things maybe this time she’ll get and give her due.

“Gonna get ya coat.” He offers the girl a side smile, places his glass on the shiny wood surface and tips a finger to Jenny – or Julie – and walks towards the front of the building.

“Ya gonna be joinin’ us for dinner tomorrow night? On time, that is?”

Ellie laugh-sighs and twirls on her cherry Martens; Tommy is there, all toothy and smug with his elbows relaxing part way onto the bartop.

“Ha ha. Some of us like to nap, I’ll have you know.” Ellie goes nearer to the man and bumps a sole into the thick heel of his cowboy boot.

“Oh, surely. Think you’ll bag plenty’a sleep tonight?”

Ellie tilts at that, and he can almost detect the shadow of curiosity as it forms in the darker pools of her glassy eyes, “After dancing and drinking one too fucking many…whatevers…you’ll be lucky I don’t wake you and Maria up after the restful night I’m intent on having.”

Tommy chuffs but doesn’t peer over at her, just sticks to his hunch as he sips quietly on his own libation.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“You’re being...something, Tommy Miller. Are you drunk?”

The younger Miller lightheartedly snorts, “Girl, I’ve enjoyed ‘bout three full drinks tonight. Ain’t no heavyweight but not a featherweight neither. It’s been a nice time is all. You’d agree?”

Ellie stretches and meanders a spell as she ponders his easy question; she knows the answer of course, but giving it away too soon would be...giving it away too soon. Instead, she smiles at Julie while expertly avoiding Seth’s beady little bigot face.

At the opposite end of the bar there’s Beth and the younger blond beside her – those two are regularly together as of late. She doesn’t like either of them but it’s the new girl that’s teasing the boundaries of what she knows and what she senses. The one Ellie can’t place but recognizes just the same.

As she’s about to revert her attention once more to Tommy and his merry attitude, her gaze meets with the stony, hard eyes of one, Beth Fleurs. Ellie’s neck juts to the rear just enough to showcase dismay, but she shores herself and paints her pale facade with a deeply set frown – and never breaks contact.

The woman appears...accusatory. It’s as if she’s casting judgements and damning Ellie with every fiber of her polished physique – but in regards to what is anyone’s guess.

Well, no.

Ellie stifles a grin as a wayward seedling sprouts in her whiskey mind; certainly Beth doesn’t know about the changes between her and Joel, and yet what other reason than jealousy would there be for this woman to display such obvious disdain and abhorrence?

Ellie grins anyway. No more stifling, no more pretending away the distaste that they clearly harbor towards one another. No more of it.

After Beth’s frozen lip line cracks just enough for Ellie to know she has her right where she wants her – for reasons not entirely known to her at current – she squints and turns back to Tommy.

“What’d you ask again?”

He hoists himself away from the shiny lacquered tabletop to turn fully towards the girl, “Asked if it’s been a nice time for ya.”

Just then Joel appears between the pair and offers up her winter wear, “Cold outside. Better bundle.”

“Thanks, Joel. And yes, it’s been a pretty awesome night. See you tomorrow at dinner. On time.”

Tommy laughs as he brings a palm to his chest, “Touché, girl. Goodnight you two.”

It’s the second time his brother is partnering with a woman tonight – two different women at that – but what Tommy now knows goes beyond the jests and jabs he was originally planning to take.

He won’t say anything, not yet and from a realistic standpoint it’ll likely be a while, but that won’t put a stopper on his having a bit of fun in the process.

Joel deserves this, whatever this is, and Tommy will keep it close to him, protecting the man’s interests as things, hopefully, progress.

After Joel and Ellie make a unified exodus, Tommy muses on a biblical passage he’s not heard nor thought of in far too long a time; it’s an expression that reveals the depths of the well while concealing its secrets all the same. Only he will adopt it in the way the Almighty intended.

The younger sibling smiles.

He’s grateful to be his brother’s keeper.

“Too cold. This is too fucking cold, Joel.”

The man loops a limb around her shivering shoulders and brings Ellie into his chest, closer than what others may view as a familiar embrace; he does this in spite of the weather and despite the slowly dispersing crowd – his girl is chilled, he will warm her. The end.

“But other than that, how’d ya rate tonight's shindig compared to years’ past?”

Ellie vines around the man, her upper half at least, and considers his question in much the same way she did with Tommy’s. These two, honestly.

“Well, those Hoedowns pale in comparison, to be frank. I mean, I didn’t have my tongue down your throat or your dick practically in my hand while at those, so…”

Joel laughs but looks around to see if anyone’s near enough to hear. They’re not. He finds he doesn’t care either way.

“True but none’a that would’a mostly worked back then anyway.”

The girl nods but remains pensively silent. It’s unclear as to whether he’s hinting towards their time apart, the ‘estranged years,’ as she inwardly terms them, or is referencing the irrefutable fact that as of a year and a half ago, she was not of age. Either way, she concedes that he’s correct in that regard. Both, actually.

“Fair. Did you even go to last year’s?”

He bobs a bit and then angles down to steal a peek at her, “Sure did. Had a couple then left shortly thereafter. Nothin’ for me there.”

Ellie lends a disappointing scowl but he’s not cognizant of it or its source; it’s not disappointment in the sense that she regrets the actions or the decision to separate them from their everyday, but rather it’s the wasted time. So much time was burned away and for what? In her heart she always knew they would return to one another in some amalgamation of what once was, but to realize that she could have willingly run the clock to zero dark thirty and never made peace with Joel? That would have eviscerated her. If he died and things were left as they were, she would have dug out the plot directly beside him.

Total annihilation of all that is and all she could ever hope to be beyond such a loss.

The resonance of a guttural bellow rips through the flimsy barrier of this risen place, collapsing it into the nightmarish underworld she’s been privy to time and time again. She shivers; it’s been getting better, yes, but reminders such as these serve one purpose and one only: It’s a vacuum into that steely, decomposing grasp – a gravitational pull into a singularity that hums to the tune of her worst fears.

“Hey, ya alright?”

The girl frowns and squeezes him tighter; she has an arm to his taut waist and is clinging so fervently that he can feel the tremors as they roll throughout her. As distinct as though there weren’t multiple layers between them at present.

A nod again before, “Mmhm, sorry. Was just thinking.”

“‘Bout?”

“How much I want you to warm me up as soon as we get into the house.”

Joel huffs, “Don’t seem like that’s what was on your mind, Red, but if it’s on there now, happy to oblige.”

She chuckles and presses a kiss to his beard.
He grips onto her tighter.

Home is just up ahead beyond the bend in the road.

As she treks beyond the dividing line and delves into the chasmic heart of this house, there’s an indefinable stillness that is equal parts deafening and noiseless. Yet for all the quiet, for all its nooks, alcoves and tiny crevices, there lies the whispering secrets of lives long gone...and those yet to be. Ellie’s incapable of discerning these ghosts at present but their weight and the hushed vibrations of every expectant soul seem to permeate through her.

She feels so shatteringly alive – full of sound and color and light.

It’s wildly overwhelming.

The girl inhales, warms cool lips with a slide of her tongue and stows the ethereal disquiet within. Instead, she focuses on the minutia and the immediacy surrounding her. Everything is right here, in its cavernous and mountainous glory, in its wholeness and broken history – if only she speaks the words and lays it bare.

’But is he...ready? Will it be too much? Am I too much for you, Joel? Am I not enough?’

Ellie stems those bemusing, useless thoughts as she rattles tiny flecks of snow and frost from the outermost layer of her coat. She brushes it carefully onto the hardwood flooring near her boots and watches the soft show that follows her rustling act. The flakes glitter as they descend, catching moonlight from the open door as Joel walks in behind her; these crystalline prisms are gifting one last deliverance of beauty before they succumb to a silent demise.

“Can’t wait for Spring.”

“Yeah? Sick’a snow?”

“Nah. It’s pretty. I mean, yeah, maybe. I go back and forth.”

A snort, “Well alright then.”

Ellie shrugs as she steps from her boots and watches Joel from the edge of her vision; he secures the door, shirks his jacket, gloves and footwear and proceeds to wipe a hand through his semi-damp pile of tousled hair. He jabs his fingers into it and paws at the mess, humming quietly to himself.

“Have I mentioned how much I lo-like your hair? How long it is, I mean.”

Joel starts at that and looks down to see a pair of greens glimmering in the low light of the passage they’re standing in, “That so?”

“Mmhm, looks really, really good on you.”

He moves into her immediate space and tilts her chin upwards, observes the girl closely for a moment. Joel watches as her eyes fall shut at this, the barest of his touches.

His mouth nearly to hers, he whispers, “More for ya to pull on, it seems.”

An abundance of warmth drifts low on his person as the girl exhales and nods in soundless automation; every syllable flees into the safety of silence as the rest of her submits to the cadence of this languid melody. He can sense that she’s craving more tonight, more togetherness – more of him. He prays to be given more of her, too, despite the reckless fear he harbors in admitting such tantalizing musings. Musings that continually taste forbidden, despite the pleasures they’ve been enjoying the past week or so.

Still, Joel inwardly reiterates that there is only this moment and the euphoric dreams that may be made possible because of it. All else beyond this point remains uncertain; if their knowable past is to lend any indication to the future, Joel is helpless to combat the worry that gathers in his belly like a heavy, cumbersome sludge.

Yet, for all the promises that were once so resolutely unshakable, there lie an equal number that have seen their fair share of damage.

Thus he will walk the line as far as she tows it and no farther; if he must remand himself to the realm of intentional mindlessness and forgo his burgeoning desires, he will do that. For her. If he must imprison the rapture of his heart and keep steadfast to the pain that will imbue all that he is, all that he’s become in her wake, he will do that. For her.

“Speaking of…”

He hears her, but the sentence dissipates, carried on the wind that sails from his lungs in a hurried burst of lustful energy; her hands are in his black and gray, pulling and nailing against the soft skin of his scalp. Shivers run laps through him, his eyes seal and his lips crash into hers.

Joel walks them towards the console table that’s barely wide enough to display his carvings – but it’ll offer the right amount of space for what he wants. He kisses her, hard and feverish, his hands on her ribs, traversing lower and lower with each beat of his heart. Right before her rear collides with the aged wood, Joel grips her bottom tightly, lifts her a foot and sets her down part way onto its edge.

There’s an inaudible moan and its transience severs their kiss but they don’t detach – they breathe and lick teasingly at one another for a spell, pretending to collect the pieces of their fraying inhibitions. Joel knows it to be futile: There’s an inferno spreading throughout him, set aflame by the embers of a sensual exhalation...of her sensual exhalation.

His cock is so hard already that it’s aching again – it’s the second time tonight they’re vining themselves into this sort of trestle; what’s transpiring between them is intense and salaciously immense...and he’s all the worse for the wear because of it. Happily so. He’ll strain and twitch and throb so long as he can be with her.

Ellie leans back a measure and trails her fingers from the base of his neck down his spine, absently counting the divots of his beautiful bones as she goes. She’s stealing herself, calling on the phantoms of this place and the secrets in her heart for courage and confidence.

She’s suck-kissing his neck – beneath his beard in the shadowy v of his throat – as her hands roam to the front of the man in this tactile search for the rare, fine dressings that adorn him. The girl smiles as she draws forth an image of Joel from tonight, the evocation all vivid and crystal in this portrait within her mind – as though he isn’t as close to her person as they can reasonably manage at present.

Keeping her mouth to his flesh, Ellie teases and nips him, hisses at her own actions and, “Have I told you how fucking wow you look tonight?”

The girl pops one of the buttons on his hunter-shaded vest and then another, her agile fingers working it open slowly; she holds fast to the rise and descent of his chest as he shallowly suspires in anticipatory expectation.

“You really like it?”

She wraps a leg to one of his while simultaneously widening the gap between her thighs; he’s been occupying the center of her this entire time, but the need to feel more of him is consuming the last fragments of her patience. If she could teleport them up the creaky stairs and into the endless embrace of his bed, she would. This isn’t enough, not nearly.

“I do, but I wanna get to what’s underneath it way more.”

At her reply, Joel grunts something she’s unable to decipher but it’s no matter, his hands are on either side of her jaw now, directing her heady sage to meet its match, “Let’s get upstairs, yeah?”

Ellie delights at the notion of this man being able to read her thoughts somehow, the idea of this is coming in and out of focus – but rationally she knows he isn’t paging through her thought-treasures, no. He is, however, noting the not-so-subtle movements of her hips as they roll against his hard cock, the saliva-slick lips she’s pressing to his neck or all the taunting pinches of her teeth as they bait his arousal.

“Please.”

He purchases a single step to his rear but pulls the girl along with him, “After you.”

“You just like staring at my ass, don’t you...”

He notes the vacillation of confidence to her voice, a blink-and-you-miss it hesitance in regards to something she obviously wants him to affirm. Funny thing though, she’s not wrong.

“Guilty.”

“Knew it.”

He laughs.

The journey from the entrance to the master bedroom is done before there’s even an option to process the sights along its wooden path. None of that matters; there’s only the charge in the air and the creaky protestations that reveal their direction.

They climb and climb and climb, one board at a time; there’s this low frequency singing in the breadth between – it’s nervousness and anticipation, a vibration of emotion at full mast. An ineffable energy that beckons upon the expanding universe in the hopes it may achieve its full potential.

And then they’re there.

Once inside the heart of the chamber, Joel switches on the electric heaters and closes the bathroom and closet doors. With less space to warm, it shouldn’t be all that long until it’s cozy enough for the night. And for whatever else.

Beyond that, the light remains off.

Joel goes to the pretty girl standing on her own by the stern of the mattress, watching him, waiting on his return. She’s fixing her stance but she’s neither rigid nor tense. Just anticipatory.

With a lop-sided smirk and the barest hint of something else, Joel reaches south and tugs on the base of Ellie’s Santa sweater, “Seein’ ya in this again was a treat, girl.”

She angles her neck and tries to take in all of his features, despite the woeful lack of luminescence in this place. The moon is mostly no help either, as its pale offering is gratingly inadequate; its light is barely bright enough to allow even the occasional glimmer from his eyes or the sheen on his full lips. She longs to see.

Ellie puts a pace between them as she slips from his embrace and rounds the corner.

“Where’re ya-”

Joel’s question languishes as he glimpses her bend and ignite one of the oil lamps on the side table. The ensuing glow is warm, its amber and orange hue just dim enough to keep things moody but radiant where it needs to be.

“Ah.”

Returning from whence she came, the girl’s fingers finish the last of his vest; she slips it down and off of his arms, folding the thing and taking care not to discard it as though it’s something less grand than it actually is.

“You better wear this again.”

“You tell me when an’ it’ll be on me.”

She quietly chortles and places the custom wear on the opposite edge of the hope chest that’s set beside her calf, “Tomorrow?”

It’s his turn to stifle a laugh, “Whatev’r ya want.”

“Nah, you looked good tonight but you’re sexiest in your lumberjack look.”

Ellie winks at that last and hooks to the remaining slack of his leather belt, encircling and suggestively sliding along its length; she suspends there a moment, looks up at him and grins. After, the girl dances her tips towards the center of him where she tugs on the worn thing and loosens it.

He doesn’t stop her.

Joel watches as she performs with an impish sort of silence, but her petite hands are unsteady as she unfastens and eases the buckle free from the loops of his semi-formal dress pants. His hands go to her, grounding the girl by her elbows; still, there’s an undeniable strength that’s coursing the further she’s willing to take them – to take him. He can sense as much and though Joel doesn’t want to cease any part of this, there’s a distinct knowing that this should only go as far he allows it. For now.

It feels too early.

This week has seen him educated with information aplenty about his girl, but nearly all of it suggests that her body – regardless of what those lips may beg or plead for – is not quite ready. Soon, but not there yet.

This will be an exertion of control he must bring as close to his person as he wants her – he won’t hurt the girl, nor risk the regret she could very well experience if they push beyond the point of no return. There’s much to consider. She’s not like anyone else. Suspects – or hopes – that he is much the same to her. This isn’t a tryst, isn’t a fling or a one-off.

“What I want...is more of you tonight, Joel.”

...But if she continues to say things like that, all bets may be summarily called off.

Ellie throws the belt onto the hardwood behind him, tossing it at a far enough distance that it ends up hitting the baseboard. She’s driven, he’ll give her that. Hell, he’ll give her everything.

“An’ I want more’a you.”

At that last, Joel lifts the lower half of her festive top and pokes his chin forward, “An’ I’m tired of this ol’ bastard winkin’ at me.”

Ellie giggles and bobs her head, “He’s got a look about him, doesn’t he? Dirty man.”

Joel snorts, “More than one’a those in here is one too many, I reckon.”

The girl playfully shoves him as she reverses a step, then another...it’s as far as she can go. The sleighing curve of his footboard is pressing against the malleable muscle of her thighs; it’s round and inflexible but Ellie revels in its foundation as she prepares for what’s to come next. For what she’s intent on doing.

Joel studies her, leaning his weight onto his left heel as each of these moments feel impossibly longer than the one proceeding it.

The girl takes a beat, exhales and levels her gaze with his. They’ve seen a lot of one another this week, touched a lot of one another but this feels novel – more intimate somehow.

Without pausing to stifle a fresh bout of useless nerves – ’am I pretty enough, are my tits big enough, will he want me will he want me will he wan-’ – Ellie grabs the hem of her sweater, raising it high and off of her. Following his vest and belt, she tosses the thing in the same general area and tentatively returns her focus onto him.

’So long, Santa.’

Two eyes bearing the heat of the summer sea are on her, traversing from her navel to Ellie’s full, bare breasts. Hazel bleeds into caramel as he glimpses the constellation of cinnamon stars – the scattering he discovered their first morning together. The mythos born unto her that he’s been wanting to kiss and mindfully chart new territory into.

He pretends nothing away, hiding none of his appreciation from her as his vision consumes and memorizes in tandem.

He sucks and releases his bottom lip, “Been like this all night, Red?”

“Mmhm. What would I need a bra for? Had that goofy fuck hiding me the whole time.”

Ellie gestures to the discarded garment but says no more about it. Santa’s been laid to rest. For the evening at least.

“I…wanna feel you, Joel. Please.”

’Fuck. That whinin’ is trouble.’

She slides a foot forward and he’s there instantaneously; he grabs her midsection and pulls Ellie close but not into him, not all the way – he wants to keep looking at her.

Joel wets his lips and reaches for the rear of her neck, anchoring them together while fighting to steady the melee of this moment. After such an impossible feat, he molds a hand to the soft concave that separates her hip and ribs – but pauses, again, to leverage his authority for all its worth.

It’s a baseless tactic and he knows it.

In the midst of this silent veneration, he sketches imperfect shapes with his thumb, sensing the simmering fire of her flesh and the wanton ache that bleeds from her bones. Feathering his touch higher, the tip of that same digit ghosts along the silky underside of her before it cycles up and summits her stone-hard peak. Joel repeats this a few times before pinching her nipple lightly, causing all the sinew at the base of her skull to stiffen.

Her breath hitches as a tremor ravages the girl’s frame from tip to toe.

The man smiles as he watches this scene unfold, feeling all that she’s revealing tenfold, “Feels good, don’t it, darlin?’”

She answers without an utterance, her mouth splitting and greens closing as he holds and handles her; she’s rigid and her body is intoxicated by his minuscule tactility, lost to the wayfaring drifts of these roiling tides.

There’s the slip of a faint noise, finally, and it’s an eager sound of yearning and desperate resignation.

On the heels of this thrumming expulsion, Ellie palms Joel through his slacks and squeezes to emphasize the severity of her necessity. It’s just as she did earlier in that sacredly salacious hallway, but she’s rougher this time, needier and far more fervent.

She grits her teeth and strokes him as best she’s able, “Mhm. But I wanna feel good with all of you.”

The man growls as his waist pokes forward and with it, he banishes the last vestiges of hollow space that linger between them. Their mouths collide in a shattering of urgency and desire wholly unhinged; lips, teeth, tongue – air, fire, water.

They’re beginning to drown, beginning to ignite.

They go on like this, accelerating faster than the speed of light but slower than time itself. They’ve been ejected from this house, this state, this world and thrust into an endless ocean beneath a blanket of blue, black and shimmering white. It’s the start of their paracosm – the very dream that holds all those potential ends that Joel fears the most – it’s the death to a sordid history that damned them to silence and tainted their vast well with crimson and saline.

But that is no more. They’re burning it to the ground, reveling in the ashen embers that dance at their soles, trying to catch, trying to hang on.

The past won’t – it cannot.

Joel breaks and Ellie’s kissed-lips relocate to his forehead; he’s looking south, watching this girl squeeze and pull on him, trying to obtain more – hesitant to take it. He knows he’ll be the one to lead, suspects that’s what she wants, what she craves even. She may admit it, she may not, but there’s a submissiveness to this girl that would render a lesser man boneless by her tremulous pining.

Not that he’s complimenting himself, no. It’s more that he loves her enough to do The Right Thing.

He doesn’t ask with this next bit, doesn’t think she would want him to; Joel takes a knee before her, curls his fingers into the elastic waistband of her candy cane leggings – and thin panties – and eases them down her limbs. He removes the shiny pants one leg at a time, kissing her here and there as he mutely undresses Ellie.

She loves this side of him – controlling, leading, guiding, yet raw and vulnerable just the same. Still, Ellie can’t muse on their fluid dynamics just yet, it’s far too distracting. Besides, she’d rather it play out in real time.

Her fingers disappear into the dark silver atop his head as hers tilts on its axis; she finds him down there and grins – as he’s kneeling, Joel is offering and taking just the same. Taking what she’s willfully giving. Enthusiastically at that.

For she’s...blissfully naked. Laid bare and revealed to him for the very first time and he seemingly cannot satiate his thirst for her.

Joel remains on his knee.

“Jesus, Ellie…” His praise languishes as quickly as it came, forgone to the dizzying heights of the precipice he’s teetering on.

The roof of his head reaches to the space just north of her navel and as he absorbs the image of her, he leans in and kisses her belly. His hands and arms vine to her as he runs them the length of her lower half – gripping, releasing, sliding – just feeling as much of her as he can.

“Joel…” Whimpering. Always whimpering. She’s reading this man as well as he has come to know her. And unafraid to play her cards.

The dominance of Joel Miller rings loud and true at this, which is a familiar and comforting trait, and yet here he is, calling for permission – begging for admission.

She pushes her flat tummy against his lips while unknowingly widening her stance. Instinct.

Looking low between her thighs, there’s a line of slick dribbling from her leaking center. Using a knuckle, he cuts the trail of liquid in half and brings it to his lips, licking while simultaneously teasing himself with the taste of her.

’Fuck.’

Ellie inhales but pointedly doesn’t release her air. Rather, she imprisons the sharp intake to the cavernous hollows of her lungs and waits. And waits.

“Get on the bed, girl.”

It’s a demand not a request – one she obliges, because of course she would.

Ellie vents the trapped oxygen and rounds the corner of the footboard. Once at her destination, she stands by his turned down side of the bed and flicks her eyes from him to the sheets and back again.

“How...how do you want me?”

He’s in front of her already, having risen and followed in the wake of her silent acquiescing.

Joel clicks his tongue at her blatant show of nervousness; he knows how she wants him, knows this is all realer than reality – they are here, sharing this time and space. And yet, she’s clearly anxious. All natural of course, but it’s a vulnerable reveal – the kind he will delicately handle. He brings his palms to her cheeks, cups her gently and kisses in much the same fashion. Delicately, gently.

“First, I–I want all’a you. An’ we’ll get to that eventually, if that’s what ya want. For right now, just lie down, ok?”

She exhales – relief – takes a seat and pauses a beat; eventually she slides just far enough into the mattress that her legs are unable to bend over its ledge. “Like this?”

“Scoot on back’a little more.”

The girl does as instructed.

“Good girl.”

He looks at her body and steals himself this moment, wholly awash in the wondrously-witchy magic that’s been cast over him; the man’s thankful she had a mind to stoke the life of that forgotten oil lamp. It illuminates her pronounced angles, her soft curves and all the hidden troves he longs to delve into. Soon. Maybe.

Joel watches on as the flickers of flame prance and paint her skin in a palette of yellow-golds and sunset-oranges. Ellie is a chiaroscuro vision coming to life, suspending above the deep shadows of a linen plain.

Joel wants to dive skull-first into her thunderous currents, wants her to have his breath, his love, his life.

’One thing atta time.’

He notes then that her knees are pinning together – a visible display of inexperience and anxiety – as Joel draws out the minutes while purposely keeping her in the dark. Though he needs to strike a manageable balance in this regard; anticipation can help or hinder and he doesn’t want fear to seep into that beautiful mind of hers in the interim.

As he watches, Joel takes to his dress shirt, popping the buttons one by one before it’s undone and as useless as their other attire. He rolls it off his shoulders, pulls at its cuffs but what happens beyond that or where it ends up is anyone’s guess. Inconsequential details.

Next is the white undershirt. Reaching an arm high and behind, he grabs a fistful of fabric and pulls the cotton tee up and over his head in a fluid, swift motion.

Ellie’s legs part a measure at this – her lips, too. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Mmph, damn Joel…” She palms one of her tits and mumbles, teasing herself absentmindedly as she absorbs the sight of him. He doesn’t miss a single minute of it nor does he neglect to add it to memory for safe-keeping. Ellie clearly favors what it is she’s seeing.

He offers an acknowledging smirk and redirects to the beltless band of his trousers. He unhooks a stud and mindfully unzips the line of metal teeth, expanding the v as wide as it will go. He purposefully does not remove his pants, instead leaves them as they are and aligns his cock into a more comfortable position.

After, he crawls beside her and props himself on his side, making sure not to block what little light they have.

She shifts so they’re laying front to front, drapes a limb atop his thigh and uses it to bring him nearer to her person. The girl curls into his chest and sifts a hand into what she’s taken to connecting with most; he loves it, loves how this closeness calls on all facets and all needs, including those that extend beyond just the sexual.

Their lips meet and the osculation is slow and revelatory again; they move their bodies together as they carelessly burn time, believing it to be a guaranteed abundance.

Eventually he posies the girl onto her spine and watches as Ellie’s chest rises, falls – lungs filling, emptying.

“Don’t gotta be nervous, El.”

“I’m not. I just...I want you..”

Joel nods and lowers his gaze onto the beautifully enticing parts of her – which is all of her. He wants to explore prior to giving his girl a piece of what she wants – a part of him, yes, but which is something he’s woefully indecisive about. He has time.

“Tell me what you want’a me...”

At that last, Joel trails a finger across the ruby-red of her naked lips but immediately stalls when she sucks it into her mouth. The girl swirls her tongue around the digit unhurriedly, applying just enough suction to clue him in; he knows exactly which part of him she intends to have. The rest of his hand forms to her pale cheeks and a portion of her neck as she does this.

It feels so good, even this, and his cock twitches against her in response. The heart beneath his breastbone booms, thundering haphazardly like the stampeding footfall of wild elk.

’Too soon. Not too fuckin’ soon. Too fuckin’ soon.’

He eases his index from her skillful lips and uses it to track a line of sheen from Ellie’s jawline down, down, down. He passes the hammering pulse in her throat and the vivid flush of her exposed chest. Joel teases the dusty-rose of her pink peaks as he passes, circling and kneading her tits as he casually roams. Then it’s her starry skies, that taut tummy and the small patch of deep auburn curls at the crest of her sex.

“God, I’ve never-I don’t...you’re driving me batshit, Joel.”

He presses his mouth to hers at that but only for the briefest of moments, “Good. Close your eyes. Remember...I jus’ want ya to feel me..”

The firelit edges of her greens vanish as she follows this latest ask – the second time tonight, she muses. Maybe third? Doesn’t matter.

Those are nuances she can analyze another day. When she’s no longer nude and feeling this man’s touch all across her body as it nears her achingly empty hole.

“So damn sexy, girl, ya know that?”

His tone is low and straining but as serious as she’s ever heard it; its intensity might very well frighten her if she didn’t love it...and him...as much as she does. Ellie quickly decides that she wants to hear more of him like this.

The girl doesn’t reply, instead kissing his collarbone and nodding with quiet gratitude.

“I’ll repeat it all the damn time if need be.” As he emphasizes, a pair of Joel’s fingers push through her wiry auburn to reach the sleek hood below. He tap-taps her there and nearly bites himself bloody as he feebly tries to stave the resulting shock. It’s shooting straight to his throbbing cock and he almost groans and thrusts into her side.

She’s so alluringly wet that her slick is coating all areas of her.

Never. He’s never experienced this level of excitation with anyone he’s ever been with. No woman has ever been so receptive and inviting to the point that they were dripping after a few light touches and kissing.

Joel’s chest inflates as he labors to settle his inner rhetoric and continue onward; it’s a balancing act of wanting, needing and desiring while trying not to recall all those meaningless things that have been lost to the dredges of time.

He’s reseating into the present but finds himself at odds all of a sudden; his gaze is torn between the girl’s face and her pussy as he touches her – he needs to see every reaction but also wants to watch himself working on her, too. It’s too tempting a sight to miss. All of it.

Joel finds he’s yearning for an endless night, to prolong and extend and drag this out as long as he can. That wouldn’t be fair to her though.

Joel goes farther.

He brushes her clit and baits it with the tip of his digit; looping rings, he surrounds the needful thing at first, feathering an aimless pattern that adds to her mounting tension as he circles it. Ellie squirms and raises her hips – it’s a dire cry for more. He’ll give her more.

The man kisses her quickly as he pads the swollen nub she’s plainly pleading for him to play with. Joel presses down onto it, smearing her arousal in a series of tempering spins. He pushes harder and lighter as he rubs, eliciting contrastive physical reactions as he uses varying pressures; he loves learning her, loves taking the time and stretching it out.

It’s not about the end of this session but the getting-to; a stark dissimilarity to memories past that he doesn’t always recollect and if he did, wouldn’t call upon them now anyway.

He smiles briefly and shifts to get a better view of her.

Squeezing her bud, he pulls gently and rolls it a spell. After, he slides a finger directly into the folds of her slit and back up again, he repeats this once, thrice and the girl shivers at that, her flesh donning tiny bumps as she instinctively reacts to his treatment of her.

“Oh fuck…” It’s a sinful prayer on her tongue, an invocation for more of the same and for what’s to be beyond that.

He does it again, all of it, again and again but he wants to take her farther tonight, wants to start the process of starting. He’s already brought her to an orgasm a few times this week but this, this feels different. Far more intimate than the chair and the hasty moments they’ve spent on the couch. His thumbs have felt plenty of her, now he wants her to feel plenty of him. Or, more, at the very least.

He abruptly stops and rests his hand onto her trembling belly.

Brushing his lips to an ear, “Wanna open ya, baby. Put your leg on me, spread yourself.” At that, she lifts her limb and bends it atop his clothed thigh; he runs his calloused skin along the length of it – up and down – before journeying back to her core.

They’re widening the space, widening the arrow between her legs – and he’s inviting himself to its point unimpededly. She’s allowing him.

Ellie’s eyes shine black in the atmospheric glow that fills the emptiness between them, though there’s not much of that left by now. Still, Joel is devouring her patience but torching the final tethers of her anxiety. It’s maddening and reassuring at the same.

A palm goes to his chest with an intent to ground herself and settle the urgency that’s gathering low in her belly. She drags and rakes her nails through his hair as she battlegrounds her ardent breathing, “Gonna stretch me, Joel?”

“Mhm. If ya want me the way you’re talkin’a wantin’ me, we gotta get things goin’.”

Turning away from the vivid avidity of her heavy sage, he thieves a gander south just as his entire hand cups her sex and massages it. Using her whole structure as an anchor, he pulls Ellie upwards slightly and pushes her down again, rubbing and pressing as he does this.

A growlish-sound rumbles in the cavernous depths of his torso as he studies the way she and this entire scene looks right now. The light of the lamp is carving shadows across the definition of his forearm and the taut muscles of her bare abdomen – the contours are dancing along with their bodies, shifting and moving like a sentient liquid. It’s evocative in ways he won’t ever be able to properly articulate.

He watches on...Joel likes watching.

“You want this, too, right?”

Joel snaps his hazels to her and blows some of the sultry fog from his brain. With a whirlwind of weeks they’ve been sharing, and especially this last...not to mention the stolen moment in the town hall a few hours ago...that question halts him in his stead.

But he’s fast to remind himself of how new she is to this, to all of this – and how very not new he is.

Taking his hand away from her, he brings it to the girl’s chin and holds her gaze, “You have no idea how much I...want you.”

’Jus’ fuckin’ say it.’

Ellie curls her lip into her mouth and nods in a reverential quiet – she believes him. Suspects she will always believe him from now on.

At that last she seals her greens and curses the fevering sting that pools behind her eyes. It’s been a long journey for her and Joel, such an arduous adventure and yet here they are. In a wildly new world of their own, building the bedrock from all those shattering pieces that were left by their feet.

Despite how right and real and whole she’s feeling, her own lie does not get the pass in this. But now’s not the time, now is especially not the time.

She kisses and cradles half his face, breathing sharply as she goes; Ellie tastes him, licks and sucks and teases, plummeting into the torture of wanting everything while accepting the tempo he’s set. During this, she grabs his wrist and moves it from her chest, leading it low to her dribbly opening. She holds it there and shamelessly grinds against it for a few moments before, “Open me, Joel.”

The man swallows but makes to obey her lead, “Anythin’ hurts, ya tell me, ok?”

Ellie nips an ear as an agreement to his terms but doesn’t release her grasp on him. She whines her waist against him while feeling the tease of a finger between her folds; he’s handling that enormous bundle of nerves in a way that exposes his healthy history. At least the surface area of that history.

Joel stares at the maneuvers of his girl’s beautiful body – at how naturally reactive she is, what with the rolling of those agile hips and the obvious inclinations for more. It’s a sight he will likely never get used to seeing but one he hopes to earn time immemorial.

After a few minutes of this, Joel senses the wet spot on his boxers pressing to the flank of her thigh. He presses harder. Right now he wants it to be for her but his cock is stiff and needful and he will allow himself the minimal contact.

Ellie feels him, along with the tensity and the desire that’s leaking out of Joel – both literally and not. She can’t get a grip on him in this position so in place of that unfulfillment, she pushes against him as best she can.

He grunts.

“I love how fucking hard you are for me. Want you inside...”

Knowing he has to have those hazy eyes and that sinful mouth on him as he does what he’s about to do, Joel smacks her opening teasingly and, “Look’a me, Red.”

She does.

Using his index and ring fingers, he separates her seam and pushes his middle digit into the unyielding, tight chasm of her. Slowly, so slowly he goes – but not so slow as to avoid giving her the effect she’s in desperate search of. As he enters, he feels the flexibility of that pliable ring and the fluttery contractions of her walls as he delves deeper. First joint, then the second, until his knuckle meets the slick outer skin all around it; he stills himself, “Good?”

She nods, “Mhm...good..”

She’s impossibly tight and just as he’s considered every time since earlier in the week, he knows it’ll be a feat to fit himself within her when that day, or night, is to come.

’We’re gonna need’a spend a lotta time on ya, girl.’
He’s all the happier for it.

Spinning his digit clockwise and counter, Joel fills her and groans at the way her body is trying to suction him into that hole deeper. The man can only imagine what that experience will...hopefully...feel like when it’s his dick and not just a finger. Still, he brushes beyond that – he tries to keep his mind from wandering into that direction for too long; the thought of it all is a tantalizing risk he won’t entertain fully, at least not while he’s literally within her at present. He can only endure so much at one time.

Inwardly he refocuses as he hooks forward inside of her and pulls a measure. the girl gasps, “Oh godyes...d-do that again?”

They’re still looking at one another, though Ellie’s leaden pools of jade are shutting, opening, shutting, opening, operating of their own volition. Joel wants to kiss and touch all of her but for now, there’s only this: Working her, spreading her – stretching her dense, luscious abyss in such a painstakingly slow manner.

He does it again. Turns, spins, twists, hooks. Again and again until he feels her start to lend a little leeway. “Relaxin’ more an’ more on me, El.”

Unable to withstand not doing something to him a second longer, she bites his lip but it’s barely more than a nibble. She’s on the verge of a stunningly physical breakdown, her words papery-thin and imploring, “More...please more…” As she begs, his finger is slipping free of her and back in, enacting all of those other movements she favors during and in between each penetration.

“Mhm.”

On the next rotation, he eases from her completely – much to Ellie’s mewling protestations – and coats his ring finger with a fine layer of slick. He’s priming to re-enter her, this time as a pair and not just a single.

Mirroring their first go around, he pushes in with a sedative pace – all joints until he hits the limit, and then it’s flesh on flesh.

Her body arches at this, lungs inflating and spine bowing as she takes him inside; she hisses at the pulsating hum that stings with a dull ache – her pussy is so new to this, so new to this substantial man. Ellie’s muscles tense as she fumbles with how to relax around his thick fingers, but she won’t give in that quickly. She wants this, loves it even. It’s just unfamiliar.

“So f-full, Joel…”

He doesn't move for a beat, just buries his fingers and gently kneads the swell of her shiny nub. He knows it’ll help and she will, too. Eventually.

“Try to relax. Greens on me, pretty.”

She does, all mouth part way open and pupils blown wider than he’s ever seen. He needs to distract her from the mental aspect of this introductory physical experience; after the time they’ve been spending together the last few days, Joel’s almost certain what it is she might enjoy.

His lips go to hers but he doesn’t kiss her, instead he teases and bobbles there a moment and, “Mm...pussy is tight, girl. Ya like this? Feelin’ full?”

She suspires a shaky chestful of air and nods her head with great emphasis, “F-fuck...yes…” After, she steals low to take in the image of it: His sizable arm is partially bent, his fingers disappearing inside of her as his thumb oscillates against her clit.

“Pull out so I can watch you slide them back in. Please, Joel…”

He’ll do as he’s told but first he needs to spend a measure more time in there before he begins to really use her wanton hole.

“Soon. Let’s stretch ya a bit, yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, he mimics the simplistic motions he exerted earlier, when it was just the single digit. Turning, twisting, hooking – only this time he has more available to him and so he works with what he has.

He parts his fingers, pushing against her wetted walls that are fighting to suck and expel him in tandem. Her chest rises at that and he wants so badly to put his mouth on her – on all parts of her. But there’s a way to do this and it needs to be exactly what it is: A process. A series of steps to ensure that all of her firsts are the best he can offer. She deserves it and so much more.

’More’n you with ya hands on her, that’s for fuckin’ certain.’

They go on like this for a little while, until he can sense her starting to relax. Irrespective of her obvious desire that’s now at a fever pitch. His own, too.

“Joel...” His name is a shiver on her tongue, a quake of her world that extends to his, rattling his bones and stealing his collective reserve. She’s begging now.

“Alright, Red,” he murmurs, watching as she lifts her upper half off the semi-sweaty sheet to rest on her elbows. She wants to see, wants to glimpse as it happens, wants to remember.

He loves how curious she is, how insurmountably turned on as well.

Joel rises as much as he’s able, and places his lips to her neck, “Wanna feel ya come around my fingers…”

She sniffs and leans her head towards his, “Mmm...I’m...fuck just fuck ‘em into me an–”

He cuts her off by sliding out and thrusting in – his actions are calculating and yes, slow, but he’s giving her what she wants and Ellie’s accepting it with eager enthusiasm. Joel suspects that their sex – whenever that may come – might very well send him to an early grave. He would gladly sign on the dotted line right now if presented with the option.

They go at it like this for a spell, fingers within, fingers without; sometimes he’ll slip them free and let the drops drip onto her swollen folds, smearing the excess and teasing her in tandem. Ellie bucks at that every time, her thighs widening each time.

She really likes that.

“Look how wet ya are. Christ, Ellie…”

“It’s you, Joel, it’s you…” Her head languishes and hangs bonelessly between her shoulders as his fingers fuck her harder and faster the longer time burns on. He watches her grind against his pumping hand and knows she’s approaching her climax; he pulls out, lets her slick dribble onto her waiting hole and chances a playful smack against her sex. It’s a soaking-pop of a sound and forceful enough that she starts and peers down again, “Fuck. Oh, fuck… Joel, I wanna come, make me come? Please, please, I’m so close and-and…fuck.”

It’s a pleading like no other he’s heard from her prior to this very moment.

Readjusting his position, he settles part way above her but lowers his head, his intentions unclear to her for the moment. But it’s only for a moment.

He hovers there spell as he aligns his mouth with her nipple but looks up at her as his hand continues to drive her twitching core to the edge of its limits. “Love how good you’re takin’ it, how you’re stretchin’ for me an’ drippin’ all over the damn place. So good, so damn good, Ellie.”

She shivers at that, a tremor rocketing through from the very fibrous center of her person. It feels as though she were being torn in half and made whole for the very first time. Nothing has ever been so clear or so cloudy at once.

“Mmm...I want your cock, Joel...fuck me? Want you to fuck me so much...”

Her voice is low, too low; he doesn’t require any convincing in this regard – he knows these pleas are not empty, that these halfway begs of hers are true, but she’s on the cusp of an orgasm and her thoughts are miry, consumed by the filthy, lascivious nature of their act.

“I will, babydoll. An’ you’re gonna fuck me. Fuck me good an’ right with this sweet hole’a yours.”

“Oh…god..”

His mouth covers the violent-pink at the peak of her tit, his tongue lapping and teeth teasing as he finally has her in this way. It’s the first time he’s doing this, the first time he’s put his lips to her. He sucks and wets her, his saliva warm but set ablaze by the passion-rich temperature of her flushing skin.

Joel uses his teeth to pinch and tug on her nipple just long enough that the bite of pain meeting pleasure floods her synapses. She moans at that, a deep, trembling sort of noise.

Her pussy twitches as he overloads her sensory system – she jerks her hips and rolls harder on him, despite the pace and rhythmic cadence he’s trying to maintain. It’s the way of it and how he knows he’s doing right by her, by how she likes it.

All leading to that cataclysmic conclusion where she will shatter and take while giving so very much of herself in the process.

Incapable of supporting herself a second beyond the last, Ellie falls supine onto the mattress. Joel relinquishes with her but doesn’t stop. She’s almost there.

She vines her hands into his hair and arches, gasping and sucking for all the air she can’t seem to keep within her person – all the air of which seems to have dissipated in the last few minutes alone. Her body starts to shudder, her fingers and toes curling as the thigh that hangs over Joel’s suddenly goes stiff.

Joel feels it, feels as her climax tears through and renders her rigid and veritably adrift; Ellie comes on his fingers with a series of hip-snaps and hissing exhalations of delicious fulfillment. Her walls squeeze and contract around him as he moves slowly still, drawing as much from her as he can reasonably manage.

He rides these tides with her, listening, watching, speaking in low rumbly tones all the while. He’s already added this entire night to the safe confines of his memory but this moment will be one he’ll use in the future.

Raising up from her chest, he travels his way north; from her bust to her throat, from her jaw to her lips, he kisses, licks and sucks. She’s coming down already and though he is remiss to cease, he starts to slow his already slow movements on her. He knows she’ll be sensitive and doesn’t want to overstimulate the girl, not with this experience.

He watches her fingertips dance atop her flat belly, glimpses that pretty patch of wet red above his hand. Watches her breath come back into her body and the fire in her features burn brighter than it ever has.

Joel feels his cock throbbing, the silky skin of him stretched so far that it’s damn near starting to pain the man. He needs to come now, too.

Pulling from her, the urgency of his own desire is searing through the final barriers of his unerring control, made more intense after what he’s just born witness to. Joel grunts and rises onto his bent legs, moving to get off the bed and shirk his dress slacks – but Ellie is there far faster than him.

She hooks her hands into his pants and pulls on them, tugging the thick fabric down to his knees and no farther, his weight digging half-spheres into the semi-plush bed. He watches her, right hand still dripping with her orgasm, while the other is slipping into the mess of her auburn hair. Of course Joel wants the girl to suck him off but he suspects she’s not ready for that yet – won’t pressure her and certainly doesn’t expect it.

But oh, that mouth.

After his trousers are down, she lifts the elastic band of his boxers up and over his leaking head. Ellie finally saw all of him a few days ago – balls, too – and that initial impression has yet to wear off. If ever. She knew he was big but seeing him bare – all unbelievably big and hard – left her quivering mess and doubtful of her capabilities.

But she’s not unsure now. She knows he won’t fuck her tonight, but after what he’s just done to and for her, Ellie wants to show him precisely how much she will and wants to fuck him. One of these days. Of how she’ll take him, how she'll take every inch and beg for every drop.

At that last, she wets her lips, grabs him and strokes once, twice and then looks high to find him boring holes in her, “Come on me? Finish on my pussy, Joel...”

The man huffs and tries to shake loose the overwhelm, but the impact of her request leaves his soul damned to an eternity of resignation and lustful surrender. This woman has him in this lifetime and all the others that may exist beyond it. There is no him without her. Woven, stitched, permanent.

Joel nods and licks the inside of his lip, “Lay back, baby.” Bringing his hand to his cock, he uses her fluids to slick himself from root to tip. He shivers at this and feels himself nearing that implosive edge already. It’s so quick with her, so unfathomably fast that, much like their first time, he might be embarrassed if it were anyone else. But it’s not. Thankfully so. So he doesn’t lend that muse any more power than the excitement she’s eliciting from him. Unbridled, unchained, uncontrolled.

“No, I wanna do it…”

Another nod of surprise follows an audible swallow as she bends, lifts and spreads her legs. From this vantage point he can almost see inside of her and all he wants to do is taste, fill and fuck his girl silly. Give her one orgasm after the next, after the next...

’Drivin’ me wild. Fuckin’ me up. This is too much for one man.’

Using one arm, Ellie anchors and angles herself into a mostly-seated position. The other grabs that slippery big hand of his, kisses it softly before moving it away from him. From there she squeezes and rubs his hardened, long length, using her own liquids and the errant beads of his precome as deliciously-slippy lubrication.

“Fuck, this is a big cock, Joel…”

“Mm, ya like it, darlin’?”

“Fuck yes I like it. I want it. I wanna fuck it and suck you off…”

The whites of his eyes flash for a tick before his lids seal it all away; this room, the glowing colors cast by an insignificant lamp, that beautiful fire in her eyes and the devil on her tongue. It’s so much. Joel leans forward, going prone above her with his arms on either side of the girl's waist – it’s all he can do to keep himself from lowering and pushing himself inside of her. Of giving her, and him, what they both need. What she’s desirous for.

“Mmph, grip’a little harder, baby.”

She does.

“Like that?”

“Yup. Damn, that’s so good.”

“Wanna empty you…”

He exhales and lists forward just-so, finding two extraordinarily amorous, stunningly green-gold eyes staring up at him, “I’m gonna come so fuckin’ hard for you. Look, look what you’re doin’.”

Ellie puts her other hand to use, challenging the refined muscles of her core to keep to the position she aches to be in for his end.

This gives her an extra hand, yes, but access to more of him, too. It’s not long until she cradles and rolls his balls, hearing him sigh above her as she does this. After, Ellie presses a fingertip to his taint and runs along the papery-thin, smooth flesh there. His hips jerk forward and pull to the rear at that – it’s his body’s instinctive inclination to thrust, to fuck.

There’s an echo in his mind, the words amplifying and reverberating as they cycle round and round, forcing their truth upon him with each pass. He wants to have her, yes, but he wants to finish inside of her rather than out. Wants to fill Ellie to the brim and fuck it back into her, should any of it trickle from her.

’Ain’t what she asked for...fuck.’

Once she’s done with his sack, the girl returns to his dangerous cock and falls into a hypnotic rhythm with both of her glossy palms under her employ now.

“How bad, Joel?”

His prominent browline pitches in, though he never breaks eye contact. Finally he finds his words, “H-how bad what?”

“How bad do you wanna fuck me?”

A jolt of electricity sears through him, his veins igniting with infinitesimal sparks that branch and spider outwards; the unrestrained energy traverses through him, dousing his boiling blood with a waterfall of gasoline. The ensuing inferno arcs from one blood cell to the next, testing his system to within an inch of its limits.

“I wanna–fuck yes harder, baby, gonna...come.”

She goes harder on him, rounding his wet and swollen tip while firmly gripping him, now that she knows just how much he likes it like this.

“How bad, Joel? Tell me…”

Ellie wants him to let go, to speak all those words he’s saving for one reason or another. Fear, uncertainty, whatever the case. She wants him to lay himself bare, to listen to his intentions and his desires just as he’s heard her own.

Grumbling something unintelligible, he rests his forehead against the hollow opening between her skull and her shoulder blade and lowly, “Wanna fuck...you so g’ddamn bad. Wanna stretch ya, wan-na feel that drippin’ cunt come on me an’ keep on...fuck-in’ ya…”

Ellie turns and sucks on his neck, his lobe, “Good, now give it to me, Joel.”

She glimpses all the severe angles of him – the very structure he’s composed of – as it’s emphasized by the coruscating light. Every muscle in his arms, his belly and back go rigid with all that raw, corded strength Ellie will never tire of. It’s delicious, a sight she won’t take for granted, not now, not ever. An image she will try to recreate time and time again, so long as she has her way.

He’s in for it now.

“Fuck...Ell...ie…”

And then he orgasms. His hips snap as Joel shifts into a pace that’s far less practiced as he thrusts into her wetted seize as though it were more than just her hands. There’s a series of low, eruptive grunts and with those, he spurts the first rope of his pyretic seed onto her swollen button. He continues to shoot hard and fast after, this time onto her pink hood and the lower part of her that he really shouldn’t be – but she wants this, asked for it. He wants this, too, and more. She’s holding him all the while, stroking slower now as she tries to earn every last drop of him.

Joel lets Ellie milk him for all he’s got but her actions are easing alongside the tendrils of his staggering climax. She squeezes one final time as she summits the head of him and steals the last globule of white.

She brings her thumb to her lips and licks it clean, looking at him as she tastes and discerns all those heady nuances that are his and his alone.

He watches her, noting the mischief he loves so much glinting in the corners of her eyes.

She looks away and assesses the state he’s left them in. His spend is all over her sex, some of which she can sense sliding between her ass cheeks and tickling her as it falls. There’s even a bit pooling just below her navel. “Fuck, that was a lot…”

He breathes, snorts a bit and shakes his head, “It’s you, Ellie, all you.”

She laughs, “I wanna do that again.”

“Damn, girl. I reckon ain’t got nothin’ left in there after that. Drained me.”

“Tomorrow then. Morning.”

Joel laughs, descends to the girl’s chest and kisses the spot just north of her heart, “Mmhm. Wanna get’a bath with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Do you know what went down between Joel and Beth last night?” Maria Miller kicks a fluffy-socked foot towards her husband's leg as he sips the last of his morning juice. “You’ve been pretty quiet about your brother and that woman, and I know something happened, Tommy. Beth ended up getting fairly drunk and left with Seth at the bitter end. Which...ugh. But anyway.”

Tommy clears his throat and runs a hand through the length of his long hair, closing his eyes and yawning in tandem. It’s early for this sort of conversation. Even she knows that.

“I jus’ know he set the record straight is all.”

“And what IS the straightened record?”

The man rises and places his breakfast dishes into the sink. He’ll tend to them later.

“Joel ain’t interested. In her, I mean.”

“Your brother is a stubborn old mule, Tom.”

“That he is, Em. That he is.”

Maria studies her man out of the corner of an eye, a question lingering on her lips but hesitancy hanging alongside it as well.

’Fuck it.’

“Okaaay, so he’s not interested in Beth Fleurs. Not really surprising, woman’s shrill. But the way you said that makes me believe he’s interested in someone. You holding information back from me, Mr. Miller?”

Tommy spins and sets his rear to the kitchen basin, palms the counter on either side of his person and clicks his tongue, “That ain’t for me to say, sweetheart.”

“Dammit. I thought the whole ‘Mr. Miller’ ruse would work. You two and your brother-secrets pact. Might I remind you of that fat lip and the other generous gifts he gave you last week?”

He huffs, “No ma’am. Ain’t forgettin’ those anytime soon. Bastard packs’a mean right.”

“Drives me nuts, that temper of his sometimes. Still, we’re going to dinner tonight, right? As in, we’re good to get back to our Sunday get-togethers? Maybe Joel will mention who he IS interested in while we’re there...”

The man nods again as he sucks his teeth and peers through the window adjacent to their kitchenette table. There’s a Black-capped Chickadee perched on a bare branch in the yard – though Tommy doesn’t know that much about the bird, he’s merely appreciating it. Or, more correctly, stalling for time and wondering just how to placate his wife.

“Dinner’s on. Not sure ‘bout the rest yet, woman. Gonna get dressed for service. Joinin’ me?” He winks at that last, walks to his girl and kisses her.

She takes his hand.

They go upstairs.

Ellie touches her belly and feels the movement of life as he shifts inside of her. She’s swollen, brimming with love and a heart so full it feels as though it may breach right through her breastbone.

She’s standing in a field somewhere, or no, in a lush garden that’s behind their home – a home that looks foreign but doesn’t feel alien to her. There’s a bounty of ripe tomatoes and bushels of freshly-picked beets. Life. Life is all around her.

The girl gazes out into a horizon that bleeds with every color of the dying daylight – it’s what she envisions whenever she thinks of Joel. When she thinks of the baby he’s given her. The baby he can’t wait to hold, coddle and teach. She knows he’s excited for all of those things but that last part really gets him talking. He wants to pass on all that he knows, to ensure safety and to love fiercely. That’s who he is.

The girl hears him off in the distance, working on the ancient tractor that’s been sitting, looking every bit of the lost element of a country-living postcard – Greetings, The Millers. The thing has been aging and immobile in the front of their yard for as long as they’ve been here. She doesn’t mind it but Joel says it could help ease their work tenfold and why not? Why not, baby, why not? Baby.

And besides, he thinks he can stoke it back to life. Ellie thinks he can do anything.

She walks on, cutting through waves of wheat-gold and stirring up the dust of dry soil. She’s approaching a flock of sheep and is that a lone lamb in their midst? She can’t discern from this far away but feels it in her gut that they are what she believes them to be.

I’m not who I believe myself to be.

The left hand, the one with the silver band on it, soothes her extended middle as she treks, her eyes never leaving that baby lamb.

“Hey! How’d you get out?”

It doesn’t answer because of course it doesn’t, but the lamb stops and stares at her. Stares and stares and stares. Stares until its eyes shift in shade and grow bigger and wider and meaner.

It’s...not a lamb anymore, it’s...wrong. It’s all wrong. The poor thing is mutating, sprouting plates and losing its tiny teeth to a split right down the center of its skull. It’s eyes are red now, red like a fever, red like disease and sickness.

Infected.

Ellie runs to it, trying to scoop the creature into her fervent arms as it bleats and cries out for her. Cries for her embrace, cries for her explanation. Why, why, why have me this way? Ellie loops her arms around its belly and pulls but it’s futile.

As she struggles to pry it from where it’s rooted, to offer whatever comfort and love she can in this moment of strange and scary change, a clicking noise rises from its throat. But clicking or not, rooting or not, the animal doesn’t run despite her not being able to lift it. Instead, this little dying lamb is sinking into the earth, into that dark place, into the next place. Where we are when we aren’t anymore.

I’m not who I believe myself to be.

Ellie screams, covers her ears and closes her eyes. She’s bending as well as she can, mindful of the unborn child inside of her.

Silence.

Jade eyes split to find that the lamb is gone. There’s only a disturbance in the dirt where it once was. No graves, no signs it was ever even alive.

Bile rises in her throat.

She stands and fights a wave of nausea and dizziness. Fights to go back, to undo and save the little love that never was.

But the sun is gone, the sheep and the lamb, too. And the metallic clunks and bangs she once heard from Joel’s whereabouts have also seemingly ceased.

“Joel?”

“You lied to me?”

She turns and glimpses him by the door of the red barn. “No, I–”

“You lied to me.”

“I was protecting us. Look! Look what will happen…”

“You...lied.”

Ellie’s shoulders cave forward as her stars begin to collapse in a catastrophic display of disintegration, her stomach, too. She’s emptying out, losing all that love, all that chance and choice and life.

“I’m sorry.”

But Joel’s no longer there to hear her.

Joel is first to unseal his sleep-leaden hazels, only it’s to the sound of a low, awful whimpering. It’s an innate trigger of a silent alarm within his chest, urging him awake.

He rises and finds Ellie in his arms, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat layering her flush skin. He knows what this is. It’s been a few nights and though her tremors are less and less violent when they capture her for their untimely visits, the pain of her unreality is difficult for him to see. Each and every time. If anything, it’s getting harder...and slightly more concerning.

But that musing is for later. Now is for her.

He cradles the girl, pulling Ellie closer to his bare center and kneading the malleable flesh of her arms and midsection. “Shh, baby. I’m here.”

By now he understands how to go about this whole process – he needs to start slow and ease her from these nightmares versus shocking her out of them. That seems to help and more often than not it keeps them farther from her when night falls and it’s time for sleep. Well, if his unscientific experiments can be trusted.

There’s an unnerving angle to all of this – his death – but it’s beyond that now. He just wants to help her and try as he might, it’s not working. Not in the long term sense at least.

“Ellie… C’mon, pretty. Wake up for me.”

There’s the whisper of an utterance at that, a murmuring that’s so low and so sad his heart fractures and bleeds out into the wide expanse of his chest.

He shifts apart and lays her on her back; she’s naked but he’s not paying attention to that now. He’s mostly naked, too, minus his boxers, but he’s not paying attention to that either. Instead he puts himself on top of her – careful to keep his morning erection as far apart from this as he can manage.

“Ellie.”

He kisses her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks and then suspends by her lips, “Come back to me, darlin’. I’m right here.”

The girl’s arms wrap to Joel’s middle before she’s even fully awake. She clings and squeezes, marrying her hands behind him and pulling him down, pulling him closer.

She’s crying now.

“Joel.”

“I’m here. ‘S’okay. Tell me what ya need.”

Finally, her lids split to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes, pupils blown wild and weary and, “I need to tell you the truth.”

Chapter Text

“What’re you doing back here? Where’s Ellie? And Joel? Did something happen?”

Tommy pitches forward in contemplation and oscillates his head in silence; he walks to his wife with a somber show of despondent movements, saying nothing, worrying the moment more than he means to. He’s been caught wildly off guard – left with another loss and there’s not been time enough to process let alone speak the reality of it aloud. So his heart wears heavy as his empathy begins to run thin; his limbs, gait and energy are betraying him with every laborious step.

Maria is at their dining room table with a daily set of lists and the town manifests, studying her spouse in a reverential quiet. She picks at the paperwork, mindlessly squaring its edges as the stack rests within the pocket of a handcrafted leather binder.

As she fidgets with the thing, minuscule bits of faded brown flake, feather and fall from this beloved dossier – it's worn and well used but it’s obvious that the woman loves it despite its numerable years.

She looks to it for a brief respite from the sudden storm surge that’s blown into her home. Looks and bleeds some of the familiar warmth that’s imbued into her talisman from days long gone.

It was her father’s: This keeper of the town ledger was once John Carson’s a long, long time ago and he treasured it just as fondly as his daughter does now. The patriarch viewed it as a way to retain an ideology – to cling fast and true to a tangible sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of a dying species...and the beauty of a thriving planet. A balm to placate and remind him of what once was while building what could be.

It means the world to her.

Maria abandons the momentary pang of grief that’s singing the undercarriage of her heart, knowing that gazing into the past won’t earn the answers she seeks now. The answers she awaits from the solemn man in her purview.

So, she readjusts, closing the folder and focusing her attention onto the state he’s in and their shared present. Everything beyond this can wait.

“Tommy? What happened to Joel and Ellie?”

At the supplicating tone to Maria’s voice, he snaps to glimpse the collision of heartache that’s just visited his partner. He’s too lost in his own.

“He ended up takin’ her instead.”

There’s an abrupt shift in her light blues but it’s the tentative, hesitant type. They reflect relief yes, but there’s dissonance and concern there all the same. He appreciates the multitudes. Still, it’s as though she’s waiting on good and bad news or a ...but that will see her husband leaving again.

“Wait… What? Why would-”

Tommy levers a wooden chair from beneath the table and all but falls into it. It clips Maria’s inquiring, this woesome defeat she’s witnessing in real time.

“We got back from where Ellie’d run off to – that old farm house down the hill a’ways – an’ then at the outskirts’a Jackson, Joel just...changed his mind.”

Maria twists in her seat to confront her man directly but instead dumbfoundedly stares for a moment; Tommy is weary and visibly sad – his shoulders hanging low, his eyes crestfallen but it’s his heart that steals her breath. That heart of his is bearing the weight of this...whatever this is...far more than all the rest.

“Why would he change his mind? You made it sound like he was desperate to drop Ellie on you and hightail it out of here.”

Tommy digs a nail into a sizable dent left on the table and shrugs, “Reckon he was, but somethin’ happened at that house. Walked in on ‘em havin’ a pretty tense discussion but there were hunters an’ we needed’a handle ‘em.”

“Do you know what was said?”

“No, but he sounded pissed an’ she looked downright pitiful.”

“Ah. Sounds like Joel.”

“Yeah, ah.”

Maria extends a hand and clasps Tommy’s, “Are you alright?”

“I…sure.”

“Tommy, look at me.”

He does.

“Talk to me? I’m here.”

He will.

Sighing, he rubs his forehead and suspends the seconds; Tommy stretches them, feels the vibrations of each tick-tick-tick from the wall clock as time maddeningly spins on. He’s stealing more than stalling, siphoning the reserves of his will power to discover some sort of reasoning to make sense of this. For him and for her.

Finally, “Haven’t seen that man in almost ten years an’ then he shows up outta the blue. I just...I guess I hoped he’d stay is all. More than half’a damn day at least.”

“So… You had your brother back for hardly any time at all. And now that he’s gone again you’re missing him. But it’s not just that, is it?”

Tommy bounces his head ever-so, his gaze focusing on the simple but elegant centerpiece. It’s a dynamic mix of Autumn flowers – most of which he can’t even begin to name but all of which bear the seasonal, appealing hues of Fall. They’re pleasant and pretty, despite his morose mood.

Absently, “Mmhm.”

It’s this gathering of warm oranges, rich browns and buttercup yellows that directs a spotlight on just how vivid a contrast there is at current. There’s an alluring invocation of change on the horizon but alongside that is a bloom of regret and fear. It’s seeding low in his belly, the thoughts growing and sprouting a darkness despairingly undesired. They’re the unbecoming, these spidery weeds within his sinew – ruiners that exist only to wreak havoc.

“You’re...you’re afraid, too.”

“Mmhm.”

“Of losing him for good this time.”

“Yeah.”

“Because of that girl.”

“Yup.”

“Tommy, look at me please.”

He curls his lower lip and turns to his wife.

“You’re allowed to be sad. I want you to be sad about this. Shows you’ve not lost all that love in your big, beautiful heart – that same heart I fell for so many years ago when you came into my life like a bat outta hell. Listen, we know nothing is for certain in this world and it never was. Things happen, we make choices, we take sides. And then we go on. There’s always the next thing. And um, now that I’m thinking of next things...”

He assesses his wife’s features in the breadth between, notes the contouring of her frown and the age lines by her eyes as she prepares for whatever is next. Knows she’s calculating her words carefully.

“Do you know where they’re going? You mentioned somewhere in Colorado?”

He tilts to one side – that's not what he was expecting her to say. Not even remotely in range, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Oh…UEC, the University of Eastern Colorado. That’s where they’re headed. There’s an active Firefly lab there.”

“Why? What’s so important about Ellie that Joel has to get her to the Fireflies as soon as humanly possible? Why couldn’t they stay for awhile?”

Tommy pointedly, albeit uselessly, searches the room; the space is empty and it’s only the pair of them with all the world at their door...but he hesitates just the same. He understands what he’s about to reveal could go one of two ways. He merely hopes it’s not that other way. The disbelieving, jerking-me-around sort of way. The man feels far too thin to deal with that on top of everything else.

“Ellie’s immune.”

Silence greets but the stillness is not so loud as to rise above the fervent pacing of his anticipatory heart. It’s a thunderous thing, booming like the synchronous beating of drums, his bones bending from the inside out.

He allows it all to happen – his hushed panic, too – as Tommy stoically sits in this muted aftermath. It’s part of his wife’s process when dealing with nearly everything and everyone – to discern whether he’s being forthcoming or even moderately deceptive. He doesn’t take it personally, knows her well enough to know better.

But Maria learned half a decade back that Tommy was not a deceiving type of man. Therefore, this must be the facts as he believes them to be.

Finally, “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious, Em. Ellie’s immune to CBI. Joel’s takin’ her to the lab. There’s a doctor there that Marlene says – Marlene bein’ the leader of the faction – is waitin’ on the girl to make a cure. A vaccine, whatever.”

Maria releases Tommy’s fingers and attaches herself to the solid wood of her seatback. Her lips part and pupils dilate as her air intake repeatedly finishes in a pattern of slow, shallow exhalations.

“Wha...how?”

“Don’t know. But she is. Joel wouldn’t’a travelled this far if it wasn’t for a good damn reason. Wouldn’t’a come...here otherwise. Not to me.”

Maria stares at the binder and an errant page or two that’s slipped from its innards; the woman feels embarrassingly inept all of a sudden – she can’t read the scribbling there nor can she decipher the letters from the lines; she feels upside down, as though the world is twisting her round and round and round like a useless toy.

The contents of her stomach tumble as the front of her skull starts to throb; she’s barely managing to keep up with the melee of this momentous reveal and yet trying to carve a pathway through to the opposite side of this already. It’s her way.

She adjusts, nods to no one and, “Joel, he...he asked you to take her initially, right?”

“You see why now.”

“Maybe. I mean, you think it’s because of Sarah, yeah?”

“That’s it.”

“Shit, Tommy. That’s why you’re so afraid. Because you know he can’t lose her, too.”

The man tucks his chin to his chest as his lip quivers in reaction to Maria’s realizations; it’s overwhelming him, flooding his system with far too many fears and one too many emotions at once. His niece’s death and the harrowing guilt at his untimely arrival and the needing to live with that failure for years and years afterwards. Then there’s the very undeniable possibility that he may never see Joel again. But it’s more than just loss.

It’s capability and determination on the high wire, too.

But it’s one thing for Tommy to know fully well what his brother is capable of...it’s a whole other punch to his gut to think that his wife might have learned of these mortally steadfast traits already. It was an infinitesimal amount of time and yet, Maria seems to have cherry-picked this facet as plainly as though it were laid out at her behest. And all of it in spite of Joel’s wavering on Ellie initially.

Those traits in question of a kind that the younger Miller hasn’t been privy to in far too lengthy a spell. A lifetime ago, if the fading, illegible script on his walls is any indication.

Whenever Tommy wonders about his brother or mulls on an incidental nightmare from before, he does what he’s able and remands it to the lockbox of no more.

This is standard issue for those who remain, the living and thriving ones – the folk most acclimated with the severity of the CBI apocalypse. They know intimately the evisceration of mankind and all the sacrificial lambs left in its moldy wake. Lambs they themselves have slaughtered or the wailing ones that were silenced when good men stood by and did nothing.

Of course none of this is breaking news, not this far into the viruses ravaging persistence. Survivability meant character assassination for some alongside the wavering of morals and justice for others. So it was never an unreasonable feat for Tommy to recognize the defining lines of before versus after and contend with it all as he deems fit.

But the emergence of a great and gruesome barrier on the heels of Joel’s inexpiable crucifixion proved to be the hardest melee for the younger man. It was the line in the sand – a ruinous moment for one brother while the other was made to watch. A good man who could do nothing.

Though in all fairness, it hadn’t been an immediate vacating of self for the eldest Miller. In fact, in the beginning it was a gradual decline, a hill so smooth Tommy hadn’t noticed much...until they approached a steep drop off and Joel fell face first.

He recollects that night and hears the echoes of what preceded it in all the years that led to that catastrophe; Tommy shivers a spell as he senses the tenebrosity return – as the howls of hungry demons, the gnashing of teeth and the sickly snap of bones bounce in the cavernous concave of his skull.

That beautiful, loving woman who met his brother when life was void and wholly meaningless – a hollow abyss of a man, his head and his heart forfeit to a single punishing end. She didn’t deserve him and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.

Still, Tommy tried, he really had tried. During those last days, his heart bore witness to more than just the grandiosity of her gory finale but of his own, too. Through all his protestations and all his imploring, nothing could sway the girl or pull her from Joel’s singularity. Just as nothing could keep Tommy around afterwards.

That horrifying sequence of events was the proverbial straw – divisive enough to tear the last remnants of their familial bond, thus causing the younger man to make his hasty exodus. His brother’s soulless and callous behavior had bent and shattered their relationship to its breaking point. That night and her death had merely solidified it.

Everything became far too heartbreaking and much too frightening for Tommy to withstand another hour of it.

Yet today, this day had been different. Indelibly different at that.

Tommy glimpsed beyond just an errant whim of the protective, careful heart that once beat and bled for others; for the first time in over twenty years, Tommy saw hints of Joel, of his big brother, as he used to be. That thought transcends the rest, rattling his cage whilst sparking a tentative hope that things can and have changed.

“Hey, Tommy?”

Maria’s voice is there again, calling him forth from the confusing clarity of his recess.

“Mmhm, no you’re right. He can’t lose anymore than he has. An’ I feel he’s gonna get himself killed seein’ to that girl. It feels for certain this time, Em.”

Maria leans into her husband and grasps his bicep, “You don’t know that. The Fireflies might...do what they need to do and send them on their way. And maybe they’ll come back here.”

A weary gaze meets its reflection in Maria’s and he can read the struggle breaching her surface – she doesn’t believe that argument either but is lending it her best, given the circumstances. The woman is trying for him and him alone, Tommy understands that. Likely doesn’t even enjoy the idea of Joel living in Jackson and yet she would tolerate it and make the best of things for his sake.

But he can’t think about that. Not now, at least.

“An’ if they don’t send ‘em on their way, or if Joel and Ellie never even make it to UEC for one reason or the next, I reckon I won’t know either way.”

“You can’t think like that, Tommy. Trust that your brother will be alright. That Ellie will be able to donate blood or whatever it is they need from her and that the faction won’t hide the damn thing behind a paywall...or worse.”

He tilts back, kneading his thighs before rubbing their length in temporary reverence, “I can’t...if they try to do anythin’...menacin’ to that girl, I–I’m gonna lose him, Em. He won’t let them.”

Maria nods, gnawing on the question she longs to speak but isn’t sure it’s appropriate at present. She needs to. It’s who she is.

“Tommy, what if it’s all bullshit?”

The man snaps his focus to her and pinches his brow, “Bullshit? I just said he wouldn’t’a done what he done by bringin’ that girl here if it weren’t real. An’ he surely wouldn’t risk her life, or his, by goin’ back out into that shithole neither.”

“Okay, I get that, I do. But do you really believe he’s changed that much? And so quickly at that?”

Tommy snorts and sniffs dismissively, “What is this, Em? My brother might very well be on his way to an honorable death an’ you’re tryin’ to undo it all by doubtin’? Why?”

“I’m not trying to undo anything, Tommy. I’m trying to understand this – all of this – based on what I’ve come to know of your brother. Based on what you have told me through the years about Joel. So okay yes, this girl could be the cure for humanity – great. But why is Joel playing hospital messenger and world savior? Why is he suddenly this good guy doing a good thing? It seems the complete opposite of who you’ve led me to believe he was all along, if I’m being honest. And listen, I’m glad you’re not the one charged with her, I am. But-”

“You can’t be serious with this shit right now. Ya know what happened the night of the outbreak an’ we just talked ‘bout it not five minutes back. I told you ‘bout it all plenty’a times for it to seat by now. Why is it so hard to believe that this girl might really mean somethin’ to him?”

The woman clenches her jaw and drops a palm to the wooden tabletop beside her ledger. It lands with a smckk that permeates the chilled air leaching into the canyon between their tense sentences. The woman is frustrated and annoyed with her husband’s rigid stance all of a sudden.

“Why? Why is it so hard? Tommy, Sarah or not, how many times have you said, and I quote, ‘he was a dead man, a killin’, unfeelin’ machine – a goddamn soulless ghoul,’ and more. But one little girl falls into his world and somehow manages to undo two decades worth of shit living and you’re sold? Because he’s your brother? Is it that simple?”

Tommy drinks a lungful of the ire that’s gathering on his tongue and, “I saw it in his eyes, Maria. I caught it. Somethin’ about that girl is different. I dunno what it is, can’t even begin to guess but whatever happened in that house an’ all the months it took ‘em to reach us must’a...did somethin’ twenty years couldn’t. So yeah, it is that simple an’ I am sold, dammit. Otherwise my brother would be on his way back East an’ I’d be goin’ to college.”

Maria exhales in resignation and puffs her cheeks, closing her azure and squeezing the bridge of her nose after, “You want to go after them, don’t you?”

Tommy rises at that and puts his back to the table, “I do. They could do better with my help than without it.”

Maria follows suit and rounds his position to stand at his front, “You really think you saw him for the last time today, don’t you?”

Tommy breaks at this, his breath releasing in short, ragged rasps as he tries to hide from her. Hide his worry, the impending grief and all the nuance that’s falling into the hollow crevices of those visceral emotions. He peers through the bay window in search of the quiet, peaceful town that lies beyond the brick and mortar of his home, praying for some of that peace for his own well-being.

He imagines what life could be like to have his brother returned for good – in all ways. To share his days and this simple, beautiful world with his only kin. To get to know this new man...or meet again the one he once knew.

The fantasy doesn’t tarry on for too long and at last, he nods in admission, “I do. An’ it’s killin’ me, Em.”

She steps into his space and loops her arms to his waist, flattening her palms to the taut muscles that encase his spine, “Maybe they’ll return when it’s all done. He’s made it this far, Tom. From all the shit you’ve said of that man, it sounds like surviving is something he’s really damn good at.”

Tommy pushes his nose to her hair and brings the woman nearer to him, winding both limbs to her person; she’s as close to him as he can manage without hurting her. He’d never hurt her.

“I’m prayin’ for it.”

“Then keep on praying. I will, too.”

“You don’t want me to go after ‘em, do ya?”

“Not now, no. You’d be completely on your own. They’re likely far enough ahead already that it’d be a risk. And you don’t know the exact route they’re taking.”

Tommy clicks his tongue and, “Ya know I been on my own before, woman. An’ I done just fine.”

“I know, but you’ve got more to lose now. And so do I. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. He chose to go, I want you to stay.”

“Maybe...in a couple’a weeks I can wrangle up a small crew an’ go to UEC. See if they’re still there or...whatever.”

Her volume deflates as she sags against his chest, recognizing that until there’s proof of life – or otherwise – this strain and discontent will most assuredly persist well into their future. Not that it shouldn’t, but her heart is already worse for the wear and Maria suspects it will continue on in this vein for a while yet.

“Yeah, maybe. There’s a few guys I think I’ll be able to spare. But Tommy…”

He allows the warning of her statement to loiter, allowing her time enough to prepare for what he’s sure to come.

“If you get to UEC and Joel isn’t there, that’s the end of the line. You come home.”

The man knows what she’s saying, knows that if he goes any further in this quest for his brother, she either won’t agree to it or won’t be here waiting if or when he returns.

“Understood.”

She holds his jaw in the bowls of her hands, rubs her fingers across the coarse hair of his graying beard and forces a smile, “Good. I love you too much to lose you.”

Tommy kisses his girl after and remains in her stead, holding onto his wife and being held in tandem. Being held accountable, yes, but also within her heart, too.

Still, despite this, his emotions are simultaneously swelling and submerging, as if he were drowning one fathom at a time and feeble to cease his descent. He attempts to center his thoughts in regards to Joel and what he saw today with Ellie – it helps, marginally. He thinks of Maria, too, and all the love he’s found in this community and within the safety of her heart.

But the odds are piling against him and backing him into a corner; he knows there will likely be an undefinable moment where a choice presents itself before him.

A choice between his brother and his wife – an impossible dichotomy.

Tommy’s healed soul hopes it never comes to that.

“The truth? Truth ‘bout what?”

Ellie burrows her face into Joel’s bicep, veiling her sage while oppressing the saline that threatens to expose her raw emotion. She goes on this way, refusing to answer him but he’s amenable and not hurrying this, not rushing her.

But the silence is stretching on and wearing thin in the residual space lingering between them. Even in the state she’s in, Ellie can deduce as much.

“Darlin’?”

“...Me.”

“What?”

“I…fuck. Joel, I lied to you...”

He reconfigures his position at that, not overtly moving apart from her but rather widening the gap – an effort to gain a better balance for his weight and nothing more. But she winces nevertheless and he cringes inwardly. It’s not what he’s intending here but he pushes onward, needing to get to the root of this.

“Okay. Lied ‘bout what? An’ when?”

Ellie kisses the arm she’s clinging to, her tongue peeking through to tease the relaxed, albeit firm, muscle there. She inhales; his skin is an aroma of pine and fresh linen – he’s clean, warm and so very near to her. Ellie hopes Joel will always be near to her, even after the reveal of her heart.

She doesn’t look at him yet, just keeps her mouth to him and, “At the Baldwin place.”

Using his chin, he rubs his beard against her hair, trying to nudge the girl from the protective bubble of him she’s using as a shelter, “C’mon, Red. Eyes up on me. What’s goin’ on?”

The girl shakes with a definitive ‘no’ but Joel won’t have it; he dips down and kisses her neck, slowly rising up and over her completely – no more half measures. He hovers there a beat, feels his cock hanging in his boxers as the tip slips between her smooth inner thighs; she’s bare beneath him, so beautifully exposed and laid out but that’s not what this moment is. It’s not.

He twitches anyway.
Redirects.

“So at the Mansion, ya tellin’ me you lied ‘bout somethin’?”

Ellie moves slowly below the man, partially raising and lowering the limb his dick is resting against; she gazes upwards as per his command, noting curiosity and...something in addition to that heavily laden look that drives her insides wild with lustful need. It’s beyond that though, this emotion he’s openly sharing from those boundlessly colorful hazels of his.

She nods.

“Okay…”

Joel clicks his tongue as he tries to separate his wandering thoughts; he means to unearth which part of their night alone at that place – including the tense fight – is what she’s alluding to here. There were protocols followed, a startling panic attack, their first kiss and plenty more – and all of it occurred in such a fleeting span of time, both within and without the confines, that it’s proving arduous to make heads or tails.

“I told you that I–that I...didn’t…” Ellie pauses as a tremor tears through her resolve, overthrowing the agency of her lower lip. She quivers and seals herself away again as each of her arms release and relinquish him, dropping down onto her belly with a solid twck. She settles into this position and holds herself, flattening each palm to the taut skin above her naked sex.

He watches this scene unfold in fretting silence, feeling the absence of her warmth much like winter’s melancholy as it longs for the high summer sun. But the lack of physical contact allows him to focus better and it doesn't take more than half a minute or so before clarity and sensibility guide the man.

His neck angles slightly to the rear as he wets his dry lips and, “Kids. Ya said you didn’t want kids.”

Joel’s been thinking of that impactful sentence for over a week now and yet it took this long to reach a blatantly obvious conclusion. Love is truly blinding.

The girl blinks beneath him, her eyes saucer-round and as extraordinary as they’ve ever been; her green-golds are a radiating gradient as they capture the early, pale light that’s sneaking through a frosty set of bedroom windows. The oil lamp has long since burned itself empty, its liquid depleted and diminished from a night well spent together – a night of discovery and desperate pleas that would have any man offering his everything to hear it again.

’Not now.’

After a few minutes pass, she nods, but it’s barely discernible – a wisp of a movement but Joel sees it all the same.

“So…” He looks low on her body, from her quivering mouth to her pronounced collarbone, from her supple breasts to the beguiling sky of stars on her soft skin. On and on he travels, journeying down, down, down...until he beholds her motionless hands, each of which are laying level to the horizon of her supine body.

“So.” Her voice cracks just enough to signify that they’re getting somewhere with this.

“You want babies?”

“I...well, it’s not that simple.”

Joel searches her expression while easing his bulk farther down onto her, connecting them, leveraging himself closer again. His arms bend, elbows digging divots into the mattress by the bank of her ribs; he situates, partially mindful of his cock. The man was already halfway erect at her taunting leg lifts but after the direction this is taking, he’s almost fully hard now.

Though he’s cautiously optimistic in regards to the exact reason for his physical reaction. She didn’t say his kids. Hasn’t said much of anything yet, actually. But she is nude and underneath him – Joel’s lizard brain is reeling.

’Focus.’

“Tell me. I wanna understand.”

As the coarse hair of his belly tickles her knuckles, she withdraws her hands from that middle section and molds to his waistline.

“I’m afraid. I’m really fucking afraid, Joel.”

“Of?” He’s terminally short when it comes to conversations in general but he’s making his replies even less substantial now – he wants to rip apart this uncertainty and offer her the room to let it all go. To pour it out for good. If it’ll stop the nightmares and cease the pain she’s experiencing, he’ll give her the whole damn house. Anything for her to experience that simplistic peace again.

’The nightmares started before we was ever at the Baldwin place…’

“We–I don’t know enough about any of it. Can I even have children? Since I was a fucking orphan I always secretly imagined having a big family of my own even though I know it’s not practical because the entire world is shit and Lord knows there’s a million ways to die in this life and without hospitals and proper medicine I’m basically dooming myself, right, and then there’s my fucking immunity, I mean, shit, Joel, where does that even factor? How does it factor? Can I pass it on or will I grow sickly, disfigured bab-”

She chokes a spell as her tears begin to cascade, falling into the shadowy curvature of her ears, flooding her canals with future days of potential loss and suffering. So much that the warm liquid is spilling beyond the rim of her cartilage, drip-dropping and saturating her hair and parts of the pillow that lies beneath her. The girl’s shoulders are racking forward from the weight and release of it all – so many questions, so many fears, doubts and uncertainties. Red flags, warnings, and doubtful whispers, too.

That maybe she’s not meant to possess the one thing she hopelessly seeks. That the risk is too great. That she really should have died in that hospital and that was to be all there was in the Tale of Ellie Williams, The Immune.

Ellie flinches – the girl can still hear that bleating, dying lamb as it disappeared into the toxic soil, deformed and diseased as it fell to an agonizing, unjust death. And then the baby in her belly disintegrating all the while, and Joel...who was just gone. So very gone. As though he never existed at all. Not ever, not once.

She cries harder.

“Hey, hey…” His voice is gentle but steady as he twines his fingers into a mess of deep red, directing Ellie onto him, “Try an’ calm down. S’alright. That’s a lot, baby. That’s a whole lot. An’ I don’t got any answers for ya. I sure wish I did, I really do. But...I do got a question.”

He rubs his fingers slowly into her scalp, mimicking the pace and cadence of when she plays with his hair and ears and all the bits of his person that she seems to favor so much. The parts that ground and return her to a far better present than any nightmare or fear has ever lent either of them.

Joel waits for her air to regulate as he does this, studying the rise and descension of her chest until it finds a normal rhythm again. After, he thumbs the tears from the edges of her eyes, dries her as best he’s able and slips back into the damp waves of her voluminous auburn.

“O...okay?”

“Do you want babies?”

She exhales and nods.

“Nuh uh, gotta say this one out loud, El.”

She swallows, curls her lip and, “Yes. I do.”

“Then you’ll have ya some babies. That’s all there is to it.”

She turns away for a brief respite and returns, gaze enervating and worrying all the while, “But it’s not just the fear of a child’s health or mine, Joel.”

He opts to wait for more from her, wondering and hoping in tandem that whatever is next won’t leave him fatally wounded. It likely won’t and yet that uncertainty persists like the reverberating bongs of a bell that’s been tolled.

“Tell me all’a it then.”

“I’m afraid.”

“Mhm. You mentioned it already.”

“No, wait, yes. Hell…don’t–I am afraid of all the shit I mentioned but I’m mostly afraid to tell...you everything and that...that’s-”

“Why ya lied to me?”

Ellie bobs emphatically, noting the severity of his tone but there’s a distinct lack of malice or anger to it; this goes miles in reassuring her. She’s well versed with Joel’s temperament, Lord knows she is, but right now he’s neither upset nor unsettled. In truth, he’s not even remotely in the realm of discontent, as far as she can gauge.

He tips her chin, bringing her focus onto him, “Don’t gotta be afraid’a nothin’ with me, Ellie. It’s me.”

The girl’s features break with a vacillating sort of smile and a brightness to her eyes that exhumes an otherworldly echo for Joel; her looking at him this way is an affirmation, a collision of sorts – his past and present interweaving together in real time.

He’s recalling the cresting waves of summers spent in the Gulf as a younger man. The waters south of Galveston were busy but vibrant, full-up with vivid blues and rich greens; the water was so warm, so effortlessly inviting, that Joel would rush out into the fray and await the consumption. They would submerge Joel into its roiling depths and it was like nothing he could have ever dreamed – just as she is to him now.

’Damn, those eyes, girl. Wish I could take ya there.’

Thankfully, the dubiety that nearly suctioned him under is retaining less and less of an influence, fading into a chasm of unwanted and undesirable assumptions. Wasteful bits he’s happy to free himself of.

This is right.

She sniffs and titters but at last, delivers, “I don’t want a family with just anyone. I–mmm-” The girl momentarily halts again, gulps and flares her nostrils as she battles to pacify her timorous insides. Nervously kneading the corded muscle that lines and sculpts his ribcage, Ellie finds feeling all that strength and power below his beautiful exterior helps to ground her.

“I don’t want any of it unless I can have it with...one person. But I’m afraid that this man might not want the same. Maybe not willing or open to it, anyway. And I understand why, I really do. Or, as best I can at least.”

Joel’s head tilts to the side as his throat constricts and tightens, his arms shaking just enough to let her know that he knows. Still, he realizes she will need more than his routine silence, more than an outward display of failed stoicism.

But it’s his place to be wildly afraid now, to fear the sword of his tongue and the gravitas of the spoken word; Joel’s once again fearful of saying too much, of losing her at the precipice of what might be the next and rest of their lives literally beginning. Here, right now.

So he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead he stalls. Working up to it while showcasing all the venerating intentions he harbors for her.

Sliding a measure, he scopes Ellie’s cinnamon galaxy and lays his lips to the very heart of their cluster; his breath blows across the plains of her bare flesh hot and heady as he does this, his tongue tasting and licking the alluring marks for the very first time. But before Joel forgoes the consequences of a cruel world that spins beyond this bed and their bodies, he notes the girl’s response to his actions: Ellie’s chest fills to capacity as her spine raises from the linen she’s laying upon.

She’s arching upwards and into his kiss, trying to control her air and all the electricity that’s striking through her veins at current. Her nipples are stone-hard as her skin dons a salacious pattern of pointillism – he’s given Ellie goosebumps. She looks dangerously gorgeous and his cock goes stiffer than it's ever been. Well, in the last few hours at least.

There’s a wisp, an airy moan, but it’s more than just a submissive, needful noise; he knows she’s still seeking the answers to that unsaid question but she’s also battling physical incitement now, too. He’ll give them. The man will give everything to her.

"Joel…?"

So impatient.

He kisses lower still, his hands rounding the side of Ellie’s face towards her throat and jawline at the sound of the girl’s shameless whine; instinctively, and just as she did last evening, she sucks his middle finger and slowly begins to work it. He doesn’t let this carry on for too long however, as he needs that hand and all its fingers for what he wants to do next.

It’ll be a simple thing, but he’s better at showing than telling.

Joel hovers in the space below her navel, taking in her visibly empty abdomen first, then that pretty patch of dark red just south of his position.

He grips his hands onto her hips, sculpting to the girl’s bones as he anchors and extends the moment. This only lasts a few seconds however; as he moves to hush her fervor, Joel slips his palms inwards on Ellie, placing them flat by the outskirts of her belly button.

He peeks upwards and catches Ellie angling just enough to behold what he’s doing, to watch him with her curious, albeit earnest, eyes. Joel knows those greens are as wishful and pleading as they’ve ever been, can see the unflinching truth behind them. The intensity is a variance on last night’s theme but he recognizes the appearance and knows it’s a tell, a giveaway.

He’ll spend the rest of his life seeking it, earning it.

Joel smiles at the notion, at her, and follows this by kissing her belly and holding himself there; he’s breathing her and the entirety of this defining moment in. He’s never had this – the choice. Neither has she.

It’s not long before both hands are in his blackgray and she’s pulling him closer, her legs widening and winding around his midsection to aid in the effort.

There’s a gasp, a whimper and a shift in weight as her head collides with the pillow.

”Oh God…”

He doesn’t remain in that hallowed place for too long though, no. He knows what’s required of him, now more than ever. So the man eases up, retracing the same path to find himself returned to her – to those soulful jades and that red, full mouth he adores.

Once there, Joel doesn’t waste a moment before lining his hard length directly to her naked, boiling center. She expands the v of her legs and rolls herself to him, gluing her eyes shut and allowing herself to feel him this way. The pining for him is devouring, her desire mounting and body aching for him. For all of him. Ellie feels as though she may incinerate if she doesn’t have him inside of her sooner rather than later.

Joel meets her movements and applies the right amount of exertion and pressure to that small, swollen area just above her drippy opening. She sucks in a perilous gasp and emits a low, mewling sound as her hands hook into the elastic band of his boxer-briefs. There’s a slight tug at his waist and though he wants to burn the last remnants of his clothing and laugh at its ashes, he doesn’t want to rush this.

’Fuck…’

“Ellie?” He steals himself and her by proxy.

By the heavy tone of his thick voice, she begrudgingly focuses and, “Hmm?”

He exhales, runs the pad of his thumb across her parted lips and, “I’m in love with you. Are ya sayin’ you wanna have my kids? Are ya askin’ me to give you that?”

The tears return hot, fast and in significant quantities, her hands traveling quick and unsteadily to cradle his face; she runs her nails along his beard and kisses him, nodding throughout; she tastes his proclamation, drinking in the raw nature of his love and the promise of what he’s laying bare. For her. What he’s offering to her.

She coils her limbs and secures her ankles by the small of his back, trying to get at all of him. To hold and cling and feel the enormous presence of this man. To absorb the sizable promise of what might be.

They kiss and feel and touch one another, hands everywhere, taking and giving breath all the same; Ellie is the first to part as she licks his spit from her ruby lips and nods enough that he understands.

But she’s not the quiet type, has never been – this talk notwithstanding. He knows that and awaits in this wondrous silence for what dances on the edge of that tongue. Joel isn’t waiting for long.

“Mmhm...Yes. I want you, Joel. I want you so fucking much. In every goddamn way. It scares the shit out of me how much I want you, how much I crave and…lo-”

His impatience intervenes, severing his girl’s sentiments as he crashes into her; they’re a mess of limbs, love and lust colliding and acknowledging it all together. Finally.

Their movements are woefully thin insofar as grace and elegance and yet they’re intertwining as though they’ve done this a thousand times before, in a thousand lifetimes apart from this one. They’re fluid with one another – rolling and rocking in a sensual tempo, like mesmerizing sea drifts; Joel thrusts up to meet her grinding down and they repeat this rhythm again and again.

“-ff...take ‘em off, Joel…”

Ellie’s speaking around his mouth, breathless and bothered, the thirst for him replacing all of her worthless inhibitions. There is no reason to stop, no hesitation, no reticence or remaining doubt. There is this man, his heart and all the love in her that she’s yet to share but despairingly longs to.

He grunts a low and inaudible noise then breaks away and laughs, “Mmph, what, ya wanna make one’a those babies right now?”

’Babies. He’s been saying babies this whole time. Plural.’

She smiles and dips her eyes, noting the not-so-subtle tempering of their passion, “Well, I mean...I’d like to have a bit of fucking fun with you first. But…”

He huffs, “Don’t believe for a single second that pun got by me, Red.”

“Oh, I know. You’re the Pun King of the West these days.”

“Not a pun-ishin’ King, I hope?”

Ellie giggles and turns a cheek into her pillow, “Damn, see. I can’t compete. And you’re maybe just a little punishing...”

Joel’s eyebrows raise a measure at that, “That so? Somethin’ ya like?”

She nips at his neck, quick and rabbity, before adopting his accent and, “I reckon.”

“Oh now c’mon. Don’t be usin’ Texas to get into my pants, woman, I’m tryin’ here.”

“I’ll use whatever it takes, thank you very much. And why are you trying to stop…again?”

He grins at that, at the exasperation that’s both real and not before, “We got places to be soon, darlin’. Shouldn’t be rushin’ this.”

Ellie grumbles and rolls her eyes.

Joel snorts at her puckish dismay and traces the scar near her right eye; kissing the tip of her nose, “You’re real pretty, ya know that?”

There’s a flush rising on her skin, plentiful enough that even in the dim ambiance of morning he can see it painting its way across her light tone. Makes her prettier somehow.

“Pretty convincing, I hope.”

“You’re gonna kill me, ain'tcha?”

As Ellie makes to reply, the shrill beep-beep, beep-beep of the alarm clock begins its harrowing pitch. It’s sirening in their general vicinity but it’s much too far for either of them to remain as they are and dismantle the irksome object.

“I might not kill you but I am gonna kill that fucking thing, that’s for damn sure.”

The man grins as he rolls from Ellie, putting his front to her rear; throwing out an arm, he feins smashing the switch for her benefit but effectively ceases the unwelcome wailing with a much gentler act.

When he returns, he grabs a hip and pulls her against him – he’s stone-hard and wants her to know. He might not want to take it to that next step just yet but he does want to stretch the morning for all it’s worth before church. Before God Himself makes him feel bad about not wanting to be there in the first place. At least today he doesn’t.

She wiggles and draws circles against him, teasing and testing the man, “Ahh, I see. You just wanted my butt against you, didn’t ya?”

“All’a these evil plans bein’ found out. Nothin’ gets by ya, does it?”

She breathes and settles in his embrace, running her nails against the ample hair and hard muscle of the forearms that are wrapping around her.

“Nope. But I’ve always known about your affinity for peaches.”

He laughs at that, and it’s a loud and lengthy laugh, his tight belly bouncing against her bare spine, “Well, I reckon we ain’t got no more secrets then, huh?”

Ellie shimmies in his arms, twisting around so that she can properly see him, “Not anymore, no. Which...I–I’m glad you’re not mad at me, Joel. I wasn’t sure how you would react to all that, clearly. But...if it’s alright, I don’t want to rush to the maternity ward just yet. I know I joked earlier about just wanting to fuck around with you first and I do, fuck I do, but I’m...”

“You’re still scared ‘bout the rest. I understand. I’ll do my part to keep ya safe, El.”

She kisses the undercarriage of his throat, reveling in the way his Adam’s Apple bobbles above her and, “You always have, Joel.”

“An’ I always will. You an’ this perky ass’a yours.” He closes by spanking one of her round globes, squeezing the malleable flesh and smoothing it after. He replicates this process a few times and buries his face into the bend at her neck, “Mmm, hell, girl. I ain’t gonna be right at service today.”

On the last smack, she yelps and grips at the base of his hairline, digging her fingers into his soft bed head there, “Gonna be hard the whole time again, thinking of what you’ll be doing to me...and my ass...after dinner tonight?”

“Again? I ain’t stopped bein’ hard since wakin’ ya.”

“Good. I’ll be dripping in my jeans right beside you.”

“You’re a wicked, wily thing, ain’tcha?”

Ellie lays her lips to an unknown scar near his heart and sedately pulls away from him, peeking over his shoulder to note the time, “Which, we have to get going if we want actual seats this week. Seats I think one of us will need more than the other.”

A grumble, a growl, a low frequency howl before, “Uhhh.”

“C’mon, big man. You’re the one that keeps stopping this. But to be fair, you and I both know someone’s bound to knock on the door and ruin the mood anyway. Dina or Tommy or Maria or maybe someone else with another ugly fucking wreath.”

“Oh, I doubt that one’ll be stoppin’ by anytime soon.”

“Really? Why?”

“Mmhm. Told her I ain’t interested.”

Ellie’s features crack with a wide grin as she pushes Joel horizontal and slides over top to straddle him. The covers are all but gone, languishing somewhere near the man’s calves but it’s no matter now. She loves having him see her bare and exposed, loves the way his eyes can’t seem to focus on a single area or part of her but rather all of her.

“Because of me?”

“Absolutely, Red. Told her you an’ me was gettin’ hitched next week, too. Or wait, maybe that was Tommy? Either way, Beth’s not an issue anymore. Tommy might be though. Oops.”

The girl’s jaw drops away from the rest of her face as each of her hands fall onto his chest, “I–wait, did you really?”

He paws at her ass again, gaining fistfuls of Ellie and moving those lithe hips hard and slow against him, grinding their centers together just as they were before. He bites his lip, snapping up once, twice, before, “An’ if I did?”

Ellie’s lost.

“Mmph...well...oh...fuck. But I-uh, regret to inform you that we’re never leaving this fffucking bed. And I will get these...mmm...get these off you without a-another word of protest, Mr. Mmmiller. If that’s what you said...'' She yanks and lets the band of his underwear slap to his tight belly to add emphasis to this promise, to this threat of hers. He raises at that and slides the girl methodically, expertly against his length – angling her down and forward so he can hit that explosive bulb of hers.

He wants to watch and hear her come, wants to fuck her and be fucked by her. Feel and fill her insides until she’s leaking of him. Then fuck her again.

Church can wait.

But the best laid plans…

The blaring of the clock resumes, unwilling to be undone by those who ask of it one thing and one thing only. Its noise is sharp and piercing, signaling to the pair that they have officially and definitively bled the last minutes of their time dry.

Ellie groans as she eases part way off of Joel and grabs the plastic box with all the fury of a destructive maelstrom coming in quick – she means to wreak utter chaos and be done with it. He’s seen that look in her eye many, many times.

The man laughs as he watches her grip and compress the cheap thing but retrieves it from her hands at the last possible nanosecond. He toggles the switch, absentmindedly resetting it for tomorrow and tosses it to the other end of the bed.

“Shouldn’t bust it up, much as we’d like to.”

“Fuck that thing.”

“Well, we runnin’ a risk, girl, not the clock. So, how’s ‘bout we get our sinner selves to the church on time, yeah?”

Begrudgingly, Ellie acquiesces but not without stipulations, “Alright, but if we have to stand the entire time, I’m standing directly in front of you.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“And if Beth asks you to go to her house again, you’re not allowed to yell at me when I punch her in the throat. With my switchblade.”

Joel laughs as he swings his limbs to an edge and hoists himself out of the bed, “I wouldn’t recommend it on hallowed ground but I promise not to yell.”

“Deal.”

It’s early afternoon and Joel is alone, whittling away the hours in the melodic confines of his wood-crafting room. The cassette tape chosen for today is a mix of Christmas classics with an odd country number thrown in just because. He’s nurturing the mood as best he’s able, given the recent nature of his thoughts – but it’s cold outside and warm in here and there’s plenty of time to kill before meal prep needs to start.

He thinks of Ellie, curls his lip and can’t stifle a grin.

During a brief brunch at the Bison, she mentioned needing to go “do something private,” and for him to “shut up and stop being so nosy,” when the lines of questioning began. He suspects her private adventure is holiday-related but any chance she gets to openly tease him, it’s guaranteed the girl will not only seize the opportunity for all its worth but capitalize on it in equal measure. He loves that about her, always has, even when he falsely professed not to earlier on. Well, not immediately earlier on but not that far into their knowing one another to be exact.

But in these neoteric days, that feigned snark and that bossy bite of hers rattles his cage something wild; the way he longed to lean across the table and kiss her as she playfully put him in his place was a battle he never believed he’d fight. As she accentuated each of her sassy remarks with brazen confidence and wicked notes only he can discern, Joel felt closer to giving in than ever before. Having to keep apart from her and that scrunchy, button nose was a feat akin to summiting Everest.

But oh, her eyes. Those jade irises reflected a roaring inferno all throughout their brunch; both studious and piercing, she was not only looking at but through him. There were more than a few moments that the man needed to even his breath and turn to casually adjust himself as he sat and took it all in stride. She smiled at that, knowing precisely what she was doing to him.

He said he was happy to make her happy. She smiled at that, too.

But lamentably for them, there were far too many folks at the establishment and having to explain it all with a looming Mandate was not something Joel had the energy for. After suffering a blue-balled morning and a blue-balled church service – Ellie ended up in front of him the entire time, much to her delight and his heart’s pumping attestations – the man was feeling a bit more drained than typical for this time of day.

He’s not complaining as it’s all worth it of course.

Following breakfast, he and Ellie parted ways at the Bison’s double doors (she managed to sneak a quick pinch to his ass, too), he made swift work of the journey home and summarily put himself to adequate use. It was a welcome opportunity to finish, box and wrap the last gift – of three – that he plans on giving her next Friday.

All this despite the unnerving impulse to find out what the hell she walked off towards the opposite end of town for; the only thing he can think of that’s there is Jackson’s rear exit and Tower Station 8. Was Ellie going somewhere? Perhaps a few weeks ago she wouldn’t bother sharing details like that but surely she would now, yes?

The only comforting aspect of it all is that Dina is with her. Although that brings to mind a few questions in and of itself; the man can’t help but wonder on whether or not Ellie’s spoken to her good friend about...things and if so, how that girl might factor and feel in all of this newfound glory of theirs.

But that’s an inquisition he’ll stow for another time. For now, he’s in the house and enjoying one of his favorite pastimes – and creating something for his most favorite person. A Sunday Sundaying if ever there was one.

As he sits and polishes the short horns on the Christmas gift for Ellie – it’s in its last stage of completion – Joel pushes beyond her swift exodus from earlier and onto the whirlwind of their intimate events this morning. He thinks of her and their conversations – thinks of his own declarations, too – as he shines the handmade object; marking the subtle gradations of color as he turns, flips and twists the thing beneath the bench light, Joel hopes the girl will savor all the minute details. It’s simple, pretty and meaningful. To them, yes, but to her especially.

Connective tissue of their history but pertinent for a future that appears more and more likely to be as the days roll on.

'She wants me. Wants a family. Wants me to give her...babies. An’ to be her family.'

Thoughts of Sarah cycle in the wake of this collateral musing, though it’s hardly the first time she’s come to mind in the barrage of all this new. With drifting tides churning and channeling his choppy waters so intensely as of late, he knows it’s bound to happen. Not only that but likely far more frequently as a direct result.

Joel misses his daughter. This is neither novel nor a secret. It’s not something he announces or confesses all that often but it is part of his everyday life. Loss and grief live alongside the rest. Well, these days they do, at least.

Cracking his neck, he sets the carving onto the table and clears his throat with a rumbling grunt. It’s easier nowadays to remember that beautiful girl, but never so easy as to feel ease about it. She’s not here and that’s an ache that has no name and no end.

Joel goes farther and tugs on a thread from before, knowing better but ignoring his judgement just the same. He’s sorting through the inventory of those revelations at dawn, cognizant of the fact that this is a part of the process he needs to see himself through.

Fatherhood.

He never wanted to be a father again – well, no, that’s not it exactly. He’s been a father since he was sixteen years old and will never quit that role, not in the way it truly counts.

Still, the loss of his only child was a terminal diagnosis for Joel – almost literally one night – until he systematically buried his soul beside his daughter’s and put that world in his rear view. From there he pushed on, running farther and harder than his legs could physically withstand...and then kept going. It was a punishing, crushing ruthlessness that was challenged only by his inner demons – no other could reach him. Not that pretty blond who was so hung up on him once upon a time, not Tommy either.

Not even Tess. Although she had managed to get closer than he wanted or even realized. But that partnership was rooted in necessity and more carnal than anything emotional.

Irrespective of the few who tried through the decades, it was only the faceless, nameless devils that managed to slink through his fissures – unchained, unburdened and uncaring to his extensive defense mechanisms. These infrequent parasites that would infect and poison his onerous resolve; on the rare occasion that such a breach to his fortified palisades would occur, Joel would...flounder. He’d drink, fuck, drink some more, load his six-shooter with a singular round and spin the barrel.

Joel would knowingly put himself at risk during these periods of dangerously wayward behavior, tempting fate and the harsh unreality of existence without Her.

It was isolation that proved to be the sole route of survival for the man he had been; Joel pointedly hadn’t lived beyond his recognition of that, didn’t want or need to. Just moved from one day to the next, sometimes from hour to hour. He fought death, life and all the bitter nuance that lies between those competing halves. Fought those bottomless hollows, the endless chasms where all those hellish bouts of weakness and ineptitude would strike from below.

He did this through years of gritted teeth and clenched hands – it hardened his soul to an extent even he hadn’t realized. But the man remained unflinching in his determination to never again bring a child of his own into this world, never to love or allow himself to be loved either. And certainly never fall in love.

Until Ellie.

Some of that changed after months traveling by her side, others far more recently.

Others being the fact that he’s shatteringly in love with her and there’s a very real, visceral desire to be a...dad all over again.

That girl tore through his barricades one by one, turning his world upside down and inside out five years ago. Their story floundered along the way – just as he once did – but then two weeks ago everything metamorphosed. She crashed into his arms from a guttural fear and a potential loss so great that it upended and suspended all that had been prior to now.

Nothing is so clear as the love he holds for her and that which she gives to him in return.

“Babies. A real family.”

It sounds good spoken aloud but feels even better residing in his heart. This is what he wants – what he knows he’s capable of giving – and now he knows she wants the same, too. Where they lead from here is anyone’s guess, but at least he knows they will indeed be going together.

It’s safe to assume and surmise that there will be hiccups and roadblocks along the way; theirs isn’t a typical pairing and the town and those closest may present issues, but there’s nothing they haven’t overcome.

”The age thing. Time ain’t cheap.”

If he’s to bleed that thought-vein, Ellie seems certain that she doesn’t want to rush, that having a big family can and will hopefully arrive but not immediately. Joel understands – thinks maybe when the time is right and more folks are brought into the fold, they might schedule a meeting with the town physician. That perhaps an informed medical professional could dissuade the consternation she harbors in regards to her immunity and overall health.

Joel isn’t sure where on that spectrum he’s at just yet though. Whether he wants to race to the finish line each time in the hopes of starting this life they’re talking towards or taking it a beat at time. Falling in love, getting to know one another in that couple-sense versus all the others they’re plentifully versed in by now.

His years swing back into focus at those wavering, indecisive threads – Joel’s not a young man anymore. He’s not old either but he doesn’t want to have a child or two and have death forfeit his life card too soon; abandoning his children, or his girl, far quicker than he would have otherwise is an implausibly large pill to swallow.

It's true that his hesitation insofar as desire and longing have gone but on the other end of that lies the rub: There’s no way to unlive the last three decades or halt the clock and keep it from ticking on. Irrefutable facts are universally known as being some of the most difficult to contend with and this is no exception to that rule.

Joel grimaces as he uses a dustpan and brush to clean the last fraying bits of chipped wood and colorful sawdust from his work table. The gift is done.

His mood, too. Mulling on his fifty-plus years and what that might mean for the life they could or will have together is not an altogether pleasant experience. So he shakes loose of its chilled grasp and focuses instead on the present. Literally.

As he rises and treks to the other workbench – the full length of which he employs whenever he crafts a guitar – the man cradles the object and runs his calloused fingers across it. The surface is slippery-smooth, its top layer painted and expertly polished with a glossy lacquer that enhances the vibrant, arid tones of the thing.

”Shoulda made two, huh. I’ll wait on that second. For now.”

He rests the gift carefully onto the bench and bends to retrieve a small wooden box from one of the storage cubby’s below deck. He removes the stained cloth that’s laying atop the opening and peeks inside, smiling in kind – the other gifts are in there and waiting to be tended to.

Joel doesn’t have all the proper material for what was once considered an aesthetically pleasing display of gifts between folk, but it’s no matter. He found just enough linen – unsoiled at that – and a spool of twine to make do. He’ll add flourishes just as he always does, perhaps incorporating pine needles this year, but beyond that, the days of scotch tape and an endless row of cellophane-wrapped decorative rolls of paper are long gone.

He makes slow, methodical work of this, his attentiveness pouring out into the menial but meaningful task and nothing outside of it. Joel’s humming as he goes and he startles when he realizes he’s quietly singing the words to Future Days.

Their song.

Clearing his throat, he wipes his forehead with the back of an arm and peers around the empty room, recalling that first night he sang and played the tune to her.

In the converted garage – that tiny living space Ellie requested to institute some distance once they settled in Jackson – he sat and gave her the performance she asked for in Colorado. Those early days apart after being one another’s constant for nearly a year was...discomfiting. It saddened him then but he feels now, particularly now, that it was for the best.

Lord only knows where she might have ended up after their falling out in Salt Lake two years prior. If she had been living with him, Ellie could have very well left the block altogether in a hasty effort to get away from him. It’s too crushing a thought.

”Don’t need’a think on that. Didn’t happen. She’s here now. We’re doin’ this.”

As he mumbles the last of the lyrics and ties off a final strand of twine, he grins and rubs his hands together – he’s happy with it. Happy that there’s only five more days until Christmas, too.

After appreciating his presentation, Joel stows the box into that same cubby and lays a torn cloth haphazardly across its top; if she somehow catches sight of it, she won’t think anything of a dingy-looking rag. Not that she’s ever been one to snoop or shake but just in case.

The man clicks his tongue after, snaps a finger and makes towards the exit; it’s nearly three but he has roughly an hour to burn before the kitchen and pork chops beckon.

Once in the hallway, he cuts a sharp right and ambles into the bedroom.

A bubble of levity rises and slips at the image of it all: The blankets are a chaotic mess, all rustled and tousled and forgotten from this morning’s...touching session. His pillow is wasting away on the floor while hers is in the center of the mattress. Thankfully however, their Hoedown attire is, for the most part, still neat and folded on the hope chest. Well, most of it anyway.

He chuffs, wondering what might become of the clothes he’s currently wearing after his brother and sister-in-law leave later tonight. 'That girl.'

Joel yawns and scratches the rear of his head – he’s excited and intrigued but there’s a measure of fatigue underlying these all the same.

”These early mornin’s an’ late nights are catchin’ up, ya old bastard.”

With an hour available to him, the man aims to steal a snooze...just in case.

“Well, look’a that. She’s already here...” Tommy bumps an elbow into Ellie and tosses a lighthearted wink as he and Maria walk towards the dining room.

“Oh, ha ha. Didn’t need a nap today so there was no excuse to keep everyone waiting. But all of a sudden I find myself regretting the choices I’ve made.” The girl feigns a snarl with the lift of a lip and an exuberant bounce of her head as she laughs a warm spell.

“Ahh, we all got regrets, ain’t nothin’ novel. It’s just good for us that Joel didn’t need’a hunt ya down, riskin’ the livelihood of the food. Again.”

Ellie plants the final place setting and animatedly spins her greens, “Never gonna let it go, huh?”

“Not for a bit, no ma’am.”

Maria snorts at that last, an incredulous noise full of amusement and partial disbelief, “‘Ma’am?’ Girl is nineteen years old, practically a toddler still. What’re you doing calling her ‘ma’am.’ You’re not that much of a gentleman, Tommy Miller, knock it off.”

Joel enters from the kitchen, balancing a serving tray with one hand and a pair of brews for him and his brother in the other, “Knock off what now?”

“Oh, just that Tommy thinks I’m an old hag and his Mrs. vehemently disagrees. What was it you called me again, Maria?”

“A toddler! Won’t hear anymore of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense. But it’s probably just misdirected annoyance at my dear husband for making his wife feel old.” Maria pretends to shudder as she eases beside the spouse caught in the cross-hairs.

Tommy kisses her cheek and sighs, “You’re too beautiful to let a rodeo clown like me bring ya down, darlin’.”

“Uh huh. And you’re too clever a cowboy to be a clown.”

As the impact of that utterance sinks in his gut, Joel swallows the unease and lists forward, putting the entree at the core of the spread. After, he pinches his cupid’s bow and scratches it as the conversation continues to loop unimpededly.

Somewhere in the midst of an internal sentence dissection, he passes a bottle to Tommy and grumbles; Maria’s opinion has him feeling...odd. Despite this, he remains hushedly complacent, knowing any type of outward fuss might dredge too close to their secretive shores.

He’s intentionally opting to ignore the distasteful rise of sordid emotion, instead looking to Ellie and, “Girl, if you’re an old hag then I reckon I’m a g’damn skeleton.”

Maria chortles but the girl nearest to him does not laugh. Her eyes dim and cloud over, their appearance mirroring the gloomy depths of an ocean that has not felt the sun’s warmth in a millennia. The darkness pooling there is unsettling at first, but it doesn’t lurk; she shifts lightning-fast but Joel does not miss the ebb of her discontent as it fades for now. Just as he’s done.

On the other end of the expanse, Tommy notes the swell of tensity that’s bubbling amongst his family but sees it as a welcome opportunity to deflect. Leveraging his bulk and leaning forward, he clinks the belly of his drink to Joel’s and tilts his head in appreciation, “Cheers, big brother. Smells delightful. An’ yeah, enough of this toddler shit. Ellie’s a damn adult. But to be fair to her feelin’s an’ my brother’s bones...she ain’t in ma’am territory yet. My apologies.”

Ellie lends a placating half-smile as she hoists her tumbler high to meet his, “Much obliged. Now can we please eat? I walked all over this cursed world today and I’m starving.”

Joel piques at that and looks through his peripheral in the hopes of catching her eye. No go. She’s purposefully dismissing his inquisitive glance while burning holes into an empty chair across the table.

’Ya sneaky girl.’

Joel’s never liked when she’s gone outside the gates of Jackson without him, but that’s a leftover from their time on America’s most dangerous roads. Hard habits and all that.

Beneath the curtain of the wooden shroud, he presses his thigh to hers; he doesn’t want to elicit obvious tells or earn any heady reactions but if she could show or mumble something, it would calm his tattering nerves.

“You and Dina were gone for a while today! Were you able to track down what you were looking for?” Maria poses the vague inquiry as she carves into a juicy portion of pork.

Ellie fills her mouth with a sizable swig of bourbon before, “Mmhm, yep, I sure did. Thankfully. Course it took us all over God’s country. But it was a good time with her. Found a few odds and ends, too. Successful looting, I’d say.”

Joel turns and bevels in his seat, “No trouble or anythin’?”

Ellie shakes with a definitive ‘no,’ but still doesn’t look at him. It’s maddening. She’s poking his protective buttons and the girl knows it.

Tommy sneaks a keek past the leaf; he’s not hunting for specifics, not really, but after the scene at the dance and all the mirthful banter as of late, he’s finding it difficult not to look for the subtle nuances, either. Something to reinforce that what transpired last night was neither a fluke nor an unintentional happenstance.

Not the “oops my tongue ended up down your throat,” kind of happenstance.

But the nature of it can’t be of those variances; he’s been wondering about Joel and Ellie for the better part of a week now, so it’s safe to presume that the witnessed kiss was not their first time. Add to that the fact that the duo were far from the realm of inebriation; sure they enjoyed a few libations but barely enough to kick the sober keg with any significant form of brute force.

All of which calls other lines of analysis to the forefront – but those he feels less amiable to contemplate on at present. Luckily his wife is there to detract from his prying observance.

“So what’d everyone think of this year's Hoedown? See anything particularly fun, noteworthy or interesting?”

Well, her distraction was a pleasant respite while it lasted.

At his wife’s innocent question, Tommy doubles forward part way as he fights to retain a sip of beer in his mouth; errant droplets of amber run down his bearded chin, but he’s quick to clean himself and assuage the situation as best he’s able. Quick to try and pretend it all away.

Not quick enough.

The other three stare in unison, brows furrowing but expressions light and anticipatory for the most part – all signs of their confusion but with a request for further explanation.

Joel’s first, “Ya alright, Tom?”

The younger Miller sniffs and slaps his chest, “Damn, must’a choked or drank too fast, pardon me, folks.”

Maria pats her partner’s leg and, “Brew that good this week? Or that bad?”

“Mmm, it’s fine. All good here. Anyway, outside’a Seth an’ Beth leavin’ together, which – what in the hell – I’d say it was a pretty decent night.”

His wife shrugs but rolls her eyes in vexation, “Both of you boys are mean to that woman. No wonder she’s shacking up with Seth. Oh, and by the way, Joel, I heard the news.”

Joel raises to meet her gaze and swallows a bite of his mashed cauliflower, “Heard what?”

“Tommy said you set the record straight with Beth. That you’re not interested. I get that and for her sake I’m glad you’re not the type to mince or drag things out. She was pretty drunk so she must have really liked you. Oh well.” She finishes and glares at her brother-in-law for a spell, noting the tension in his neck as he chews and mulls on her comments as a whole.

“Mmhm. Just ain’t for me.”

Maria slurps from her glass and bumps into Tommy’s shoulder, “But there is someone, if my husband’s not so subtle hints are to be believed.”

Ellie and Joel peer beyond the spread at that last remark; surrendering to the charged silence, their eyes focus solely onto Maria and Maria alone. Even Tommy ceases eating the bit of his dinner that’s in his mouth, “What’s that now? What’d I do?”

“Oh, nothing, but you certainly made it sound like your brother has his eye on someone in town. Care to give us any hints, Joel? Was she at the Hoedown?”

Joel retrieves and promptly swigs a proper pull from the brown bottle, swirling the liquid before swishing down his throat, “Uh, wel-”

“Now c’mon, I said no such thing, Em. Just that Joel wasn’t interested in Beth. Nothin’ else. Ya like rilin’ up gossip at these dinners, don’tcha?”

Maria tilts her head and smiles impishly, “It’s just a nice break from work and all the shit that needs to get done before the first week of January. Didn’t mean any harm. Again.”

“Fair ‘nough.”

Ellie, usually the first to polish her plate with any and every meal, rises and, “Gonna go start the dishes. Maybe we can play a card game after? It’s still pretty early…”

“Actually, how’s ‘bout we skip the clean up an’ go right to the game? Dishes can wait.”

The girl with a Gulf-green swirling in her eyes turns to the man at her side and titters, “Breaking protocol? Joel Miller, doth my ears deceive me?”

Everyone laughs at that but it’s Maria – walking some of their used dinnerware into the kitchen – who adds to Ellie’s elation with, “See, now we definitely know something is going on in your life. This woman must be special for you to be happy with us and so guarded about her, huh?”

Joel’s flits from Maria towards the petite girl leaning over the sink – or rather stalling by the sink; it’s a quick and cursory movement, hardly noticeable, but it affirms this instinctual need and the wealth of emotions he has for Ellie.

“Would ya leave him be, woman, sheesh.” Tommy waits for his wife to trek ahead of him as he stacks soiled plates and stray utensils together, all the while peeping through his lashes at Joel.

Maria supplicates, purses her lips and laughs, “Alright, alright. So what’re we playing? Poker? Rummy? Crazy Eights?”

As Maria exits after positing her options, Ellie bounds into the dining room and halfheartedly, albeit deliberately, bumps into Joel; she smiles up at him and juts her jaw outwards, “I was thinking that an old-fashioned Slapjack tournament might be fun. See how fast our smack reflexes are while fighting for bragging rights.”

Joel sucks his teeth as he gazes down at the girl, envisioning the spanks he issued onto that ample ass of hers earlier in the day; he suspects that’s exactly why she’s angling to play this particular game and his cock twitches in his jeans as a direct result.

“Ya goin’ down, Red.”

“We’ll see who goes down first, Joel.”

He tosses her wink but notes the impending presence of his brother and sister-in-law as they swing back into the fold; Joel moves and steps around Ellie, making swift work of his walk and quick work of his thoughts. He suspends by the countertop, placing the last of their dinner and drinkware into the bubbly water of the basin; he’s making to still the fervor that’s doing its damnedest to provoke him – a provocation in the good way but it’s not the most ideal time for it.

Joel grips firm to the edge and squeezes, his knuckles bleaching as his skin pulls taut; he wants her. Wants her so badly and wants his family to know; there’s the wish or perhaps a blind hope that they’ll accept it but he doubts it’ll be that simple. Musing beyond that, he wants it all without a single bone of contention from the town, too.

But there’s a turbidity to these wholesome, natural longings that’s griming his insides – it’s of a seedy and troublesome complexity and one he feels wildly inept at handling. There’s a diffused warning of caution that’s growling low and is disturbingly out of sync, like a hollow drumming in his canals, the sound foreboding but indecipherable.

In the end, Joel senses the revelation of his and Ellie’s relationship won’t be as painless a process as they intend it to be. Or would be. If it were anyone else…

“Hey, you good?”

She’s by his side – he didn’t hear her enter – with a hand holding onto his forearm; his muscles feel ferric and dangerously tight – Ellie knows something is on his mind but it’s not without significant solemnity.

“Huh? Oh, yup. I’m good. Just thinkin’.” He releases his hostage – the counter – and angles to her, “Ready to get your smack on?”

Ellie pitches inwards, presses a deck of cards to his chest and pantomimes a kiss, “Thought you’d never ask.”

After, she twists away and tosses a glance over her shoulder as she cuts a path to the living room; Joel’s hazels travel to those round, perky cheeks and his empty fist curls and unfurls as he watches her go. She glimpses the instantaneously innate response and loves it. Loves how longed-for he makes her feel.

Once she rounds the corner and disappears, Joel hears jovial echoes from the opposite end of the house. He hangs there another second or so before he reaches into his jeans and repositions his swelling dick between his belt and belly. Joel sighs as a chill tears through him at the minimal contact – he needs to orgasm or this won’t quit any time soon.

Thinks of stealing upstairs to the bathroom for a few but reasons he’s not that desperate. Not yet anyway.

’Christ, alive...I’m outta control.’

“Okay, lightning round. Me versus Tommy, Maria versus Joel. Whoever wins this competes for seven days of bragging rights, deal?”

All parties nod in mutual agreement. The stakes are set and they are as high as they’ve ever been. Ellie rolls her shoulders, cracks her neck and Joel laughs, “Look’a this one over here, gettin’ ready to rumble.”

Tommy laughs, “Oh, I reckon so.”

Ellie lines her sight with the younger sibling and misaligns her jaw, “No pulling punches, cowboy. Give it your best or we’ll ban you.” She rubs her hands together, shakes them out and prepares her proverbial weapons of mass destruction.

Tommy smirks, “Miller’s don’t pull anythin’. Figured you of all people would’a known that by now, girl.” He lists to the left as a knowing glance strikes across the plain of his cheery features. His emphasis is there but ironically, he’s holding back his verbiage all the same.

Ellie chortles but the utterance is tentative and partially unsure of itself and what he might mean, “Joel certainly does not pull or hold back from anything, you’re right about that.”

Joel peeks at hearing his name spoken but is redirected by Maria just as fast, “Alright big guy, you and me. Playoffs.”

“Who says go?”

“I can say go.”

“Someone say go.”

“Alright, GO!”

Ellie and Tommy start flipping their cards over – one down atop the other – as Joel and Maria mirror their actions. It’s a cacophony of slapping cardstock and chaotic movement but everyone is smiling and reveling in the uncomplicated nature of the game.

Tommy is first to flip and thus slap a Jack and it startles the girl a spell before he swipes his winnings and they continue on. “Lucky move, but you’re not gonna net the next.”

“Big talk from such’a small girl.”

“Watch it now, Tommy, she’ll boot ya right in the ass, that one.”

Ellie shrugs and peers diagonally to Joel, willingly sacrificing the growing compilation of cards to just...see him, “I’m gonna boot you right in the ass if you make me lose, Joel!”

“Then stop lookin’ at me an’ get back to task.”

She giggles and scrunches her nose at him – and he loves it – before refocusing on her opponent. Ellie squares her shoulders and squints her greens, “Time to kick this bitch in gear.”

Tommy’s eyes go wide for a tick as a bubble of laughter bursts through his parted mouth, “An’ what might that mean, you losin’ faster?”

“All talk, Tommy. You’re all talk.”

The battle wages on but it comes to a brief and swift conclusion: The rounds finish with the final two competitors selected.

Tommy lost.
Maria, too.

As Joel and Ellie switch their seating and come face to face with each other on opposite ends of the coffee table, the other Miller’s situate for this last and final showdown of the night.

“Take him down, Ellie. Ruin him,” Tommy goats, pushing his brother by the shoulder and earning himself quite the lethal look in return.

“Who’s side’a ya on, brother?”

Maria and Tommy laugh as a cohesive unit before, “Hers.”

Joel snorts and sighs, “Should’a known. Turncoats. Alright, darlin’, give me all ya got.”

Ellie leans across the divide and sets her face near his; she tugs at the collar of his plaid long sleeve and effectively leverages him closer, “Oh, I’ll give you all I got, Joel. But can you handle it?”

Tommy sinks comfortably against the couch cushion as the scene develops, curling his lip as an array of emotion swells behind the marrow of his breastbone; most of these feelings he’s unable to accurately coin at present but there is one that resonates above the rest: Happiness. He’s plenty happy for his brother.

He doesn’t risk a glance at his wife though. Not yet.

Joel smirks, peeps lower on himself where she’s still attached and, “Think it was my turncoat kin who said, an’ I quote, ‘big talk for such’a small girl.’”

Ellie’s heels push half-spheres into her rear before she raises to her knees and rests each elbow atop the rustic plane, “And I think it was this big man I know who once said, and I quote, ‘less talkin’, more walkin’. Walking being...the cards in this scenario, or whatever, let’s just do this. I’m ready for you.”

Maria looks back and forth between Joel and Ellie and then to her spouse who’s sitting pretty on the sofa; there’s a twinge, a nagging sensation that’s tickling a far off recess in her mind. But she’s fatigued and wholly inept at visualizing what it is that’s set her slightly off center. It’s no matter for now.

The game proceeds, the intensity increasing with each individual flip-flip-flip from their collective heaps – it won’t be long until a winner is crowned and the fated and famous rematch will be scheduled for next week. They all know it.

There’s a lively orchestra of hoots, hollers, empty threats and a whole swath of energy surrounding this tête-à-tête. The living space is festive and bright; the hypnotic twinkling of the decorative Christmas lights – from the tree in the corner and the front windows – are bathing the room in a crystalline glow. The fireplace does its part as well, warming their bones and filling their hearts by its welcoming hearth.

The mood would be a peaceful one, if it wasn’t for the chosen game. Alas.

Ellie sucks on her bottom lip as her laser-sharp focus starts to wane – she knows whomever thumbs the next Jack will be the victor and take it all. And, yes, she does hope to win but she also, and more imperatively, needs to see Joel smack that sizable hand down good and hard. Wants to see it and hear it.

She shivers at the mere idea of this and tries to appease herself by bringing her thighs closer together and rubbing ever-so; no one sees or discerns these private movements – they’re just for her. The girl’s performance is wearing her patience dreadfully thin.

They’ve been drawing this out – going from slow to fast to slow again – thus amplifying her incredible ache tenfold. But it’s just like Joel to tease and extend a finale, milking it for all its worth. Still, Ellie is maintaining a fine veil as she works through the haze of her discreet lust all while managing to keep her head in the game.

But finally, it happens.

Joel releases the next card from his palm, lays it flat and not a second later slams his hand down onto the table.

Ellie extends her torso and limbs outwards and immediately covers his hand with both of hers, wrapping her fingers under it and pulling on him slightly, “Oh, you fucker!”

“An’ that’s how ya play Slapjack.”

Tommy pats his brother on the back and Maria feigns a grimace as the small group celebrates the climax of this charade.

“Three cheers for ya, brother. Was a fair win..”

Joel bobs a beat as he masks his typical reserves with a taunting grin, aiming it at the girl he’s just bested. She matches Maria’s grim expression from a moment ago and spins her sage, “Got me this time, Joel. I’ll get you back. Don’t worry.”

Maria, who’s been peculiarly quiet the last few minutes, stands and stretches, “Ready to go? I gotta be up early tomorrow and at the armory first thing. It’s Monday so the trade caravan will be arriving and I need to be there to meet the contact. Apparently he’s new. Manuel or Manny-something, can’t remember.” Her partner nods, clasps the pliable part of his wife’s thigh and raises, following her directive.

Joel steals off to use the washroom as the pair readies themselves to leave, his thoughts not on the caravan but rather the girl promising to avenge her loss. He likes how feisty she can get. That fire is all-consuming and he is unafraid of its heat.

As Tommy busies himself by the door, he slips a hand into the pocket of his coat and huffs, grasping the object that’s sitting at the base there. He’s just remembered the sweet offering he stowed before coming to Joel’s and knows now is likely the best time to give it.

“Hey Ellie, got a minute?” He gestures to the kitchen, signaling that he wants her to trail behind him.

“Um, sure...”

Maria looks on quizzically as her husband and Ellie walk to the other end of the home in silence, she’s curious but figures it’s almost assuredly to do with the holidays. Tommy is notoriously sneaky when gifts and party planning is concerned. She’ll be nosy about it later...when he’s less inclined to refute her and far more naked.

“What’s up?” Ellie crosses her arms as she rests the curve of her back to the island’s marble edge. She’s not uncomfortable but with everything that’s happening between her and Joel, she’s a measure more guarded than she otherwise might be.

“Had Rita bake’a batch, given how much you seem to like ‘em. How much Joel does, too. Figured y’all could share.” He produces a small bundle that’s linen-wrapped, twine-tied and logo-stamped and offers it to her, “Gingerbread cookies.”

Ellie beams in a moving sort of silence and scratches at the corner of her jaw, “Yeah, uh, wow. He really likes these. Me, too.”

Tommy nods, puckers his lips and levels his gaze to hers, “I’d wager that man loves ‘em.” He angles forward and double taps the bag, watching as the girl’s eyes shine glassy. “Anyway, Merry early Christmas. Ya remember what I said last week?”

Ellie brings the bag to her heart and blows a breath or two in an effort to ease the disbelief of this unforgettable moment, “I do.” She knows what he’s saying, understands what he’s revealing here.

“If ya ever need'a talk. I mean that. Now lemme get goin’ before my wife takes off without me.”

The girl snorts through the sting of unshed tears and bobs there a moment, vacillating on whether or not she wants to do what she’s inclining to do. She does.

“Tommy?”

“Mmh?”

He spins on his booted heel and Ellie’s there, looping each of her arms to his neck. He receives and gives of the embrace just as freely, content for the moment; she knows he knows something, and it’s enough. For now.

After the moment sees its natural conclusion, Ellie separates and takes a step apart, “Thank you, Tommy. Really.”

“We’ll talk, like talk more soon. An’ don’t tell him nothin’, yeah? Ya know how he can be, an’ so do I. Enjoy those for now.” He tosses a wink for added emphasis and back pedals towards the front exit.

Ellie raises the sack and, “We will.”

“Oh, I got no doubt ‘bout that.”

Chapter Text

“Ellie? Hey, ya in here?”

Joel rounds the bend and finds his girl holding a sack cloth to her chest, each of her ten digits kneading the tan linen – she’s not gripping the thing with fervency but rather private reverence. This or the contents within are important to her, whatever they may be.

“What ya got there?” He gestures to the canvas casing while stepping directly in range of the girl. His movements appear tentative and slow but there’s intention to Joel’s gait just the same, a nuance that’s both discernible and revealing – he’s missed her.

He’s been at an arm's length for a while now and the physical traction from the wake of it all is apparent from tip to toe; Joel’s been longing to touch Ellie and share in the ease of intimacy that they’ve so seamlessly found with one another – yet he doesn’t want to loosen Ellie from a reverie he’s unintentionally stumbling upon either. This feels like a moment he shouldn’t interrupt, no matter the pleasantries of it all.

At last, she raises at the question and squeezes the bundle of Gingerbread tighter; his subtle display of vulnerability rains into their drought-stricken fissures like long sought after relief. She’s feeble to cease a nose-scrunchy smile and a soulful exhale; Ellie’s bliss radiates for him and him only – her face a soft portrait, her body an orchestra amidst the symphony of silence.

There’s bounty and abundance capering the pale-speckled plains of her studious features – she’s anticipatory and expectant – and so goddamn pretty his chest tightens at the visage of the woman standing before him.

A hollow pause fills the tensive charge that’s building between and all around them; Ellie uses it to steal another second or two before, “It’s a gift from your brother.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s a little early.”

“I think Tommy’s right on time, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm.”

He smirks at their mirroring but drops his gaze after in a contemplative self-collection of sorts; Joel hooks a thumb into the soft underside of his beloved leather belt and shifts his stance, driving the majority of his weight onto a booted heel. He bounces his thigh once, twice and, “Am I allowed’a know what he’s gifted my girl?”

’My girl. His. I’m his.’

The young woman’s head lists at that last, her heart thundering beneath the ravaging undertow of emotion she holds for this man. Emotions that are cascading and compounding in an effort to dismantle her dams and flood Ellie’s spillways daily; the girl’s oceans are expanding, cresting onward and outward towards a varigating horizon where endless possibilities await.

She’s racing into the unknown at a fever pitch, her instinct guiding the journey with reckless abandon; her body is unequivocally willing and wanting – it’s recognizing the immersive effects of such global alterations as they reconstruct her foundations within. She greets these changes wholeheartedly.

Still, this shift is not limited to an otherworldly sense, no. The colors casting onto this new kingdom are far more vibrant and true, its hues exuding warmth and safety – lust and love. The multitudes within are gaining in other plentiful ways as well but it’s Ellie’s cavernous abyss that’s revealing the greatest transfiguration – her trenches are filling.

He’s filling her.

“Later. But for now…”

Ellie lays the present onto the island and inhales as she coasts her touch to the textured fabric – she’s stealing her nerves, stilling the inexperienced furor that’s threatening to expose itself as the seconds bore on. It aids in the act of calming herself, steadfastly redirecting her focus from the inside out.

Because she’s been ruminating on an idea all evening, shrouding needful pangs and her impatience as best she's able, despite the restrictive situation they were in. But now that Maria and Tommy are no longer in their company, Ellie grabs the helm of this ship with purposeful design; the girl is covetous and possesses just enough wherewithal to explore the extents of this new challenge.

“For now what?”

Ellie gulps and reaches for him, twining her digits with his and rubbing the hardened skin that greets; she’s reacquainting herself to Joel painstakingly slow – reacquainting each of them to the passionate cavalcade that’s been quieted for most of the day. Eventually she tugs and thus pops his thumb from the loop – it leverages Joel closer, which is precisely what she’s desirous for.

“I was thinking…”

“Mmm. Ya do that a lot, doncha?”

“You love it.”

“Oh, very much, Red.” Joel’s sight tilts low on the girl as he affirms her assumptions, his cheek and age lines crinkling by an impish, coy smile. He won’t leave her in suspension for too long though; they’re teetering between a silence for the sake of flirting and an undesirable quiet that may fill the wake if left to its own devices. Generally speaking, the man knows how to balance and ride the nuance rails but with her, he’s still learning and doesn’t want to risk mood ruination.

“Alright. I’ll bite. What’s on ya mind?”

The girl nibbles on a lip and actively avoids his devouring gaze for a spell, wondering not for the first time if she’s physically adept to undertake what it is she’s angling to do. Despite the cacophonous doubt within, Ellie will still try. The girl wants to pleasure him, to earn his praise and approval by showing initiative – it’s a raw, unspoken conveyance that she’s ready.

...Ready to be instructed and guided, too; she wants Joel to teach her how to take, touch and handle him just the way he likes. The way that set his teeth on edge and left him white-knuckling bed sheets as he spurted onto her twitching pussy. The way he snapped his groin upwards and groaned, his body feral for hers as his white painted Ellie’s pink. The way she coaxed him into revealing how badly he wanted to fuck her.

Ellie pleads with her hidden confines, making a reverent bargain to Father Time itself that it may allow her to unearth all the ways she could end Joel without actually ending the man.

She aches for more of those dominating grunts and growls when Joel orgasms – it’s as if the sound originates from an entirely different entity altogether. It frightens and lures her, taunts and teases, too. The girl means to elicit the waking of that demon time and time again – to earn his spend and the threateningly desperate undertones of his climax as she pushes his boundaries and tests his limitations.

Ellie wants to behold all of Joel’s darkness and repurpose it into something only they can share – something only they can see and harness in one another.

Upon the last musing, she summons a memory wraith as she slips into the void of sublime subduction; his voice, those thunderous echoes and salacious snarls, are cycling freely in her mind...

“Don’t gotta be nervous, El...”
“So damn sexy, girl...”
“...Let’s stretch ya...”
“Wanna feel ya come around my fingers…”

A shiver ignites her system as errant embers of his fiery touch sear through her veins. She senses the ghostly trails of Joel’s substantial hands as they gripped and grabbed her – this vision of the night before consuming her in crashing tides of crimson and burnt orange. Of sweat and breath and half-truths.

Lit by the flame within and without, the girl nearly succumbs by the incantation of it all: Those coaxing, teasing fingers that buried and stretched her slippery hole, that worked her open and prepared her.

It was but a wicked consumption that visited her on the eve – and him – a spellbinding torment she prays he’ll offer time immemorial.

Ellie’s every sense is a subservient entity to this reeling overwhelm – her operatic body singing for his. Just as it’s done all day.

After surviving an agonizing simmer from their morning in bed and time spent at Church in close proximity to one another – Ellie being more handsy than she should have – her reserves are woefully depleted. Even at the Bison the girl felt spasms coming to her in periods of remanded, wanton silence. So dire were her straits that she took to widening and sealing her thighs beneath the safety of their tabletop, rubbing just enough to placate while starving her body just the same.

He knew she was squirming and she could sense that he was as well. It made the shared experience all the more tempting somehow; every unsaid, unspoken gradation that lived and lingered between them...and over brunch at that.

Surrounded by friends and acquaintances alike, each of them none the wiser and wholly unaware of the volcanic eruption that was priming in their midst. She knows now that it not only enhanced their lust but the intensity of their secrecy – so much so that Ellie nearly canceled her Christmas scavenging hunt with Dina to chase him home and climb him like a tree.

Alas.

Ellie exhales and wets her lips as this deluge of sensation and recollection continues to assault, her panties direct victims of its barrage. She feels the rush of heat as her arousal soaks through the thin, sheer fabric between her legs – the girl needs to adjust without divulging the true nature of this plight just yet.

Scissoring her thighs, she wiggles her nub against the pronounced denim knot at the heart of her skin-tight jeans. It stems the ache for the time being. Although it’s not nearly enough and she knows this restlessness will forge on – still, the girl consciously remains soundless throughout, doing her utmost to hide the blatant imprudence.

She seals her jade and tries to tame her faltering resolve – to burn on for him, yes, but with focus and cunning determination at the lead. If he suspects that she’s floundering or lost to the firestorm, he’ll instinctively take over; it’s obvious that the girl loves when Joel does this, wants it more than she’s willing to admit at this level, but tonight, Ellie needs to be the one to saddle the reins with this next part.

’We’re alone and together with all those promises you made, Joel. I wanna show you how rea-’

“Darlin’?”

He returns her.

She searches his hazels and discovers a faint trace of a devilry to his reflective irises – it’s a distinct familiarity, albeit precise, and she recognizes her cover is being summarily disassembled. Ellie muffles a nervous laugh – she won’t surrender the minimal ground she’s gaining though.

“I want you to close your eyes this time, Joel. Want you to feel me. It-it’ll be worth it.”

His throat works at that, bobbing as it ingests her suggestion and the memory of something else from a long, long time ago. Beyond that, Joel understands what she’s putting forth here – though what she intends to do with him remains to be seen. Though he can guess as well.

“Right here?”

The man peers about with inquisitive amusement but his stalling grinds to an abrupt halt: Ellie’s fingers are fussing with his flannel, pinching an inch or so of the fabric and pulling at it, methodically repeating this process from front to back on him. She’s making short work of the top, curling a lip in on itself as she wordlessly operates.

He stares on as this begins to unfold, arrowing his groin inwards ever-so and raising his arms along her flanks to anchor himself; Joel grips the island’s chilled marble and leans closer to the girl, “Ya want ‘em closed now?”

The girl’s vision flicks high and she calls to order without a sole utterance, taunting him with a swollen, teasing silence. She’s staring with imploration, boring chasms into his darkening hazel by the sunfire of her jade. There’s an inferno that’s burning beneath a curtain of auburn lashes, an intensity that leaves no room for question or doubt.

Her answer is definitive.

“Okay. Right here then.”

Joel closes his eyes.

His shirt untucked, Ellie takes to its snaps, unfastening one nickel button after the next; she finds this bit partially familiar at least and it’s a measure of comfort that’s wholly welcome. After, her knuckles linger and press to the ferric muscle of his wide chest; waves of warmth emanate from Joel’s solid structure and it’s an inviting respite to the girl – a grounding tactic that has yet to fail her.

Joel’s always been a furnace, and right now he’s emitting a permeation that’s filling the immediacy between them. He’s heating her core to a temperature that’s borderline fatal, and still, she pleads for more. Will always plead for more. Beg if need be.

It occurs to Ellie then that if she were intoxicated and far more versed in these types of situations, the girl might consider ripping the shirt apart and tossing it into the trash can. Unfortunately, she’s neither of those and so slow going is the favorable play here – a way to shush her overly enthusiastic nerves with the employ of instinctual action. Follow her gut...and other things.

Still, she’s no longer of a mind to dally in the removal of his apparel – there’s no point in pretending this isn’t leading towards what they both want, irrespective of the fact that it’s not quite clear where this is going just yet. To which she is deriving a hearty heaping of delight from at present.

Ellie clicks her tongue as she looks at him, admiring how this man fills out a tee and how she wants him to fill her; she’s twisting and turning the threadbare flannel for a spell as she imbibes this image of him. His bulk is evident everywhere she peruses – from his formidable arms and the protrusion of their veins to his impressive expanse; Ellie hushedly counts her blessings. But she wants to have more of him. Always more more more with Joel Miller.

She lets the checkered top fall to the floor, abandoning it on the tumultuous heel of her lustful heart and prying eyes. His gray undershirt follows like a forgotten afterthought – wholly unimportant in the grand scheme, no matter how well its duties were fulfilled prior to its careless demise.

“Mmph.” The sigh betrays her quiet but intrigue and dignity are of lesser import all of a sudden – there’s no sense in covering up her transparent truths. But to curb herself by using only her eyes to absorb him is akin to living a half-life – a poor imitation of what she truly wants.

“Mmmm...love how big you are, Joel.”

“That right?”

She nods and mumbles something inaudible but it’s enough of an acquiescence in the haze of the rising fray.

From there, she traces the undercarriage of his biceps and drags her fingertips along the stony curvature of his rough skin; she goes slow at this, her nails catching on stray scar tissue and the outer lines of those thick lodes she will never tire of.

At some point in the near future the girl will nip him to stake her claim and emphasize just how attracted she is to him and his build. Yes, Ellie will definitely do this regardless of whether or not he appreciates or even understands it. She suspects it’ll make Joel laugh though, so if nothing else, it’ll be a gambade worth the effort.

Ellie grabs onto each of his yet-to-be-bitten forearms and squeezes, nearly hissing as the corded muscle tenses and tightens in her grasp.

“Fuck, I love your arms...” It’s a whisper, another declarative sentiment in this shared space, though it’s not all that new in its base nature.

“Yeah?”

Time to lay it on the line.

“Gonna bite you one day.”

He snort-laughs at the idea of that (just as she imagined) and bobs his head, “Reckon so?”

“Know so. But I won’t bite you today.”

“An’ here I was worryin’ my eyes are closed ‘cause ya wanna nibble on me.”

Sage spheres flash as her chin juts forward and each of her hands release their hold, “Taunting me, Joel?”

“I’d never.”

“Mmm, real convincing, Mr. Miller.”

She caps the light banter with a swift, albeit practiced, pull of his belt and allows the thing to drop onto the pile of discarded garments. She meets his belly with both hands then, her touch feathering upwards as she feels and learns the man; his hair is coarse and plentiful, a mix of black and gray that layers him from cock to collarbone. It’s an enticing pattern – thicker in some areas, thinner in others, but it’s innately masculine and the girl loves it, all of it. Especially the gray.

Listing forward, she places her lips to his breastbone and kisses the concave between his pectorals – the sentiment is light but certain, her lips drawing warmth from his skin the longer she remains.

Ellie breathes him in, all pine, wood shavings and something else – a distinct scent grounding the distrustful doubt that plagues her when it concerns this man. This form of uncertainty is a stowaway from their early days together, surely, but wildly wasteful given what she’s long known and all the incredible challenges and changes they’ve survived since.

Still, old habits.

Refocusing, she glimpses the bulbous tail of a sizable cicatrix north of his heart, part way hidden by his chest hair but discernible nevertheless. But it doesn’t look familiar to her. Ellie’s seen Joel without a shirt on plenty – long before the attraction and this novel paracosm they’re manifesting – and yes, it’s been a while, but she thought she knew most, if not all, of his battle wounds by now.

And yet.

She runs a finger over its jagged, raised edging, and notes not only its length but how close it is to one of his most vital organs. The same broken organ that took a chance on her so many years ago, no matter how badly it hurt the man to do so.

The girl wants the story behind this new discovery but surmises this isn’t the proper time – later, however, she will make time. The placement is sobering and that’s enough to warrant an inquiry. Regardless, she kisses that, too, and puts it out of her mind.

After, Ellie’s lips suck his throat for a spell as she eases her hands into that thick, ample mane of his; her fingertips crest his ears and she nearly whines at the need she has for all parts of him. More, she craves it all. Rising on the balls of her feet to bite a lobe, she pulls on the scarred thing before licking and releasing it; he emits a rumbly noise at that, his temple leaning against hers as she continues to treat and tease him.

She lightly wrests the base of his hair before riding her nails along the curvature of his skull and wrapping both arms around his neck. Ellie hugs him, burying her nose into his neck and inhaling that cozy distinction she’s becoming addicted to. But she needs to extend the boundaries of this session, to move them along and get to where she’s intending.

But first, “Don’t ever cut your hair shorter than this...”

Joel titters with amusement and the impish exhalation warms the side of her cheek, “Or what?”

Ellie nips at him again as the heat of his incitation spreads and catches within, “Or I’ll eat every fucking peach I find right in front of you.”

“That’a threat?”

“A promise.”

“Well, so long as I can eat your peach, darlin’, I don’t need anythin’ else.”

An expulsion of laughter bursts from the girl and her head snaps to the rear in mock surprise, “Is that a threat?”

With his eyes still under the guise of her strict commands, “Nope. A promise.”

Ellie pulls Joel in for a messy, needful kiss, her body sculpting to his as she tastes and tongues the man; his grip has yet to leave the countertop but that’s intentional – she wants him to feel her as she touches him, not the other way around. So, he’ll continue to honor that but if she takes this journey any slower than she already is, he may start wandering on his own volition and who knows what could become of them then.

Finally, they surface for air, and Ellie shifts to resume her efforts tenfold.

“I like your promises, Joel. You keep them.”

“An’ I like your ass, girl. Gonna be easy to keep that one.” At that he separates an arm from the marble and spanks one of her pert, perky cheeks, gripping and spreading the malleable flesh as he goes.

“Mmph, fuck I love when you do th–wait, no, hands off, you. Put it back on the island.”

The man clicks his tongue but obeys, leaning closer to the girl as he awaits what’s next in this outline of seduction.

“Good. Save your spanks for later. A girl’s gotta earn them first.”

“Oh?”

“You heard me.”

He exhales at that and she sees his brow furrow and lips pucker tightly – she’s got him where she wants him.

Onward, she traverses her tactility lower, running along the peaks and valleys of another scar she knows far too intimately; the one Joel earned when he fell and was impaled on an errant pike of rebar. She had never been so scared in her entire life than she was in that moment – not even the Runner that bit her had frightened the girl as much as seeing Joel fall and all the blood and infection that came afterwards.

Ellie pointedly refuses to unearth those memories, the ones surrounding every harrowing hour, day and all the weeks that came and went after – for once again, now is not the time. But she does feel an appreciation for the gnarly mark that will be a part of his body forever. Another beginning for them.

They’ve had quite a few.

“Should tattoo my name on this one, huh? ‘Ellie was here.’”

Joel grumbles a tentative laugh and dips his head – but doesn’t unseal his hazels. Following her orders and her voice, “So long as it’s your name, Red. All that work ya did kept me alive. It’s yours as much as it’s mine.”

She raises and gives him a quick kiss, flattening her palm to the chaotic displacement of his healed tissue, “Fuck yeah it’ll be my name. You had some wild dreams, too. Talked a lot in your fever sleep.”

“Mmhm, suppose so. Maybe we should get shirts for it. Went to Colorado an’ all I got was this scar.”

She wants to ask what the hell that means, what’s the joke or...is it even a joke? But deduces it must be another spillover from a world she never knew. A world she doesn’t really want to know. Despite the rest, she notes the mirthful tinge to his tone, so the girl suspects it’s satirical and that’s enough. Ellie loves when Joel spars with her in that way.

“I like you without shirts on though. Like looking at you…”

As she muses on her own affirmations, the girl sedately descends before him, sliding her hands down his abs and over his hips as she goes. She spreads her legs into a wide v as she eases into a squat; there’s just enough room between the base of the island at her spine and his legs to situate at a reasonably workable angle.

A sharp sniff lances the quiet: Ellie’s jeans are uncompromisingly tight, the denim all but forming to her leaking center with even the slightest of maneuvers. If she leans, tilts or bobbles, the middle knot pushes against her stone-hard nub, sending pulsating sparks throughout her entire body.

The girl wonders in earnest if she can climax from something as simple as that…and an insatiable ache to try strikes her. She’s driving herself to a destination of desperation at this point.

“Like looking at you without anything on, really.”

“What ‘bout the vest?”

“Even the vest would be too much.”

“Ahh, no vest then.”

Eye level with his waist, the stud at the top is undone but before she opens the zipper, she palms his cock and rubs it with eager intent; teasing the length of him, she uses the heel of her hand and presses down as she goes, rounding his tip and handling him as best she’s able.

He’s long enough that he’s jutting off to the side, the curve of his head damn near punching through a jean pocket.

“Fuck. Love this big cock. Wanna make you come again, Joel.”

He slants his hips upwards and murmurs something similar to an ‘mmyesmm’ until he clears his throat and, “In-in my pants?”

“Nope.”

“Oh?”

She doesn’t answer but instead removes the metallic sutures and works the jeans low until gravity finishes the remainder of the task. The denim gathers at his ankles in a collective mess of dark blue and Ellie stows the image of this away for safekeeping and rainy days. When her fingers are idle and her mind is inundated with thoughts of this man and only this man.

The girl grabs the back of his thighs and redirects, kneading the taut, tensile strength that makes those impressive limbs all the more intimidating. Her declarations of how she loves his size were not in vain and she wants him to know it, to ingest and understand all of it. How every inch of him is an aphrodisiac and something worthy of her admiration and praise.

She loves him and wants to show that.

Still, Joel’s boxer-briefs are concealing him but she views it as a small benefit for the time being – Ellie needs a few more moments to work up to this next part.

“Better not be peeking.”

“Eyes closed, girl, just like ya sai-”

The man goes rigid as her mouth presses onto his dick through the fabric; the heat from those full lips instantly severs the endmost tethers of his rhetoric. Joel juts forward in supplication, seeking more contact in an advocacy on his behalf; his need is overtaking all measures of control, stemming from the culmination of a day spent turned on more than not.

”Oh.”

She rubs his length again while gently rolling his balls through the flimsy cotton and, “So fucking hard for me. Can’t wait to feel you inside of me, stretching and taking what’s yours.”

“Ellie…”

The girl burrows her nose and lips to the side of him as she mulls on the impurity of his needful plea, consuming his warmth just as he is hers. He might not last all that long, no matter how inept or unskilled she may be at...everything. This is undoubtedly the best case scenario – a perfect cockstorm for a beginner like her: Share earth-shattering truths while nakedly grinding in bed. Push an ass against him over and over again in church. Pinch and tease the man at breakfast and then leave him worrying for hours so he’s too distracted to jerk off.

’Grade A Planning, Williams.’

”Joel…”

A fingertip rounds the apex of his head and she feels a wet, slippery spot there; she grins and shifts – and squirms – as she licks her tongue across the patch of dark fabric and squeezes his cock throughout. It elicits a groan from somewhere far above her and she knows resolutely that he won’t last.

After a few loops of this, the girl speaks in a low frequency, her words partially muffled but discernible just the same, “Want you to teach me, Joel. Wanna know how to suck you off, how you like it…how to take all of you.”

He growls at that and Ellie thinks she may very well start dripping through her pants at just how gravelly his voice sounds from this place below him; his sounds and reactiveness are a tempest that’s threatening her shores. But she doesn’t want to go under just yet, doesn’t want to give in to the desire or the tendrils of inadequacy that will likely plague her until she does the thing.

She hooks all eight of her fingers into the elastic rim of his Hanes, massaging his tip with a thumb and hovering a spell – the girl knows what’s next but is anxious all the same.

“So...you’ll teach me?”

Joel collects himself, exhales a gust of hot air and, “Mmhm. Jus’ take it slow, girl. If you’re nervous.”

“Not nervous at all, I mean, it’s just an eight-inch cock right in my face and I’ve never done this before. What’s there to be nervous about?”

Joel breaks his code – and Ellie’s rule by proxy – as his lids crack open; he releases the center island and submerges his free hands into her mess of auburn. Rounding her slowly, he cradles her jaw and gently guides her face from his crotch, “Hey, look’a me, pretty.”

She does.

“When’d ya measure me?”

She laughs a great ebullient laugh and he does, too, which severs her anxiety-riddled tension by nearly half; if she wasn’t so ready to suck him silly, she would stand and jump into his arms with grateful appreciation. Alas.

“When? Well that’s none of your business.”

“Honey, that might be the only thing that is my business.”

“Touché. But I’ll never tell and you can’t make me.”

“We’ll see ‘bout that.”

She smirks but pats his thigh and flashes her eyes, “Alright, hazels closed again.”

He does as he’s told.

She’s still hooking into the waistband, still teasing his swollen glans through the dark cotton; the spot is wetter now, both from his excitement and her spit, but it’s no matter. The boxers aren’t long for the world Ellie’s crafting.

It’s time. She wants to do this and he wants her to do this. It’s a win-win no matter how one views it.

’What was it he said before he jumped off the balcony that one time? Oh…

Geronimo.’

Lifting the ruined fabric up and over him, she tugs it away from his belly and pulls the underwear down past his balls; his cock bounces up and out, smacking his belly with a quick smkk before straightening and bobbing there a beat. Joel’s so hard his shading is of a darker gradient than it typically is – what Ellie recognizes as his about-to-come color.

With a deliciously indecent glint to her glassy gaze, Ellie licks her lips and, “Wanna empty you, Joel...wanna feel you come down my fucking throat.”

He grunts and pitches forward, ironing his grip to the sloping plain of cold marble again; he’s leveraging his air intake and trying not to beg the girl, trying not to let it go too soon. But his veins are live wires leading directly to his aching cock – he wants Ellie to take his load with that vulgar mouth of hers but is fearful of pushing too far into new territory.

Joel puts the girl’s interests first, “Take...take it slow. Don’t need’a be swallowin’ on your first pass.”

A heavy ardor infuses itself into her words as she enfolds the man and begins to stroke him, “Do you like it best when it’s swallowed?”

“Mmph, yeah but-”

“But nothing. Let me try for you, Joel.”

Using the pad of a thumb, she crests the crown of him, redistributing a bead of Joel’s precome to slick the entire head and part of his length – but it’s not enough. Ellie likes it messy and drippy, just like he was last night – though he had her come at his disposal. She thinks for a beat and instinctively opens her mouth and dribbles a globule of spit onto him, watching as it begins to roll south between the contours of his protruding veins.

“Fuck, Joel…”

Taking her hands, the girl draws on him from root to tip, earning another drop of clear fluid as she summits his peak. But this time Ellie licks it directly off his cock; she swirls it in her mouth for a moment, favoring the taste of him in this new way. She savors it, too, recognizing the same notes as before but there’s an agrestal addiction already usurping her sensibility and inhibitions.

She needs more.

Her tongue takes one pass, then another, and her shadowy-greens fail in their fight against the lure of a predatorial oblivion; she closes her eyes and begins, jerking him off while licking and rounding the silky-soft top in tandem. She’s changing her approach from one side to the other, from one angle to the next; the girl craves to be the best at this for him – wants to slurp, suck and play with Joel’s cock every day, if he’ll let her.

’If I’m good enough this first time, he should definitely let me.’

Joel sniffs sharply as her tongue circles on him again but this borderline teasing is beginning to drive him towards an instability he’s not sure he can handle.

“‘S’good, baby. Put me in that mouth’a yours nice an’ easy. Take as much as ya want…”

And the girl does. Ellie loosens the last vestiges of tension from her blind fervor and widens her jaw, stretching to have him go in a little bit at a time. One inch – making certain that none of her teeth graze the man – then another. Her lips form a natural seal to him and it’s not long before she’s slowly sucking, her head bobbing up and down in a rhythmic, deliberate pattern.

Ellie’s hypnotizing herself as she takes him farther in with every immersion, mindful of the rear of her throat but eager to know just how deep she can get him. He’s long enough that not even half of his cock is in her mouth but she won’t judge her performance too harshly on this first go around. Knows he won’t either. She feels equally safe and comfortable in his charge – minus the empty hole between her legs that’s all but screaming at her for attention now. But that’s another issue entirely.

“Oh hell, girl…s’real good. Damn...wanna see. Can I see ya, Red?”

She pulls him out of her mouth but keeps stroking; sliding his shiny tip back and forth across her saliva-slick lips, she parts and, “Open your eyes, Joel. Watch me fuck your cock with my mouth.”

He practically snarls at her provocation, the air hitching in his lungs like an encased inferno as he tries to ease his roaring arousal. His cock is throbbing, his balls aching for release and here’s his woman, edging him on while somehow knowing that this entire experience is brand new for her.

Joel tilts his head and peers low, finds the girl squatting with her legs spread and his dick twitching in her petite set of hands; Ellie’s chin is glistening with spittle and her lips are blood-red but there’s an unrestrained look to her that’s dangerously gorgeous. She’s servicing him, which of course feels otherworldly considering it’s been years since his last time, but there’s something beyond that – she’s hungry to do this as much as he needs it.

It’s also been a while since doubt and self-beration had their play in the murky mines of his psyche; alongside the ferocity of his pining there’s a wisp of disbelief, too. That what he’s witnessing must be a supernatural event, or from another timeline or life – but one that is surely not his own.

He studies the scene again.
Yep, that’s his girl going down on him.

’Look what she’s doin’ to ya...Christ, alive.’

“Can I try something else?”

Fortunately for him, Ellie’s question distracts and retracts from the wasteful conjuring of his lust-fucked mind. Once he seats and returns to their joined realm, Joel cups her face, rubs a digit across her scarlet maw and, “I’m yours, darlin’.”

She smiles brightly at that, her eyes slitting into tiny lines as a chemical-green burns there for him; the girl kisses his thumb as it loops another lap and with her eyes still on him, she licks from his balls to his febrile tip before turning away. Joel grunts and twitches at that, inwardly accosting himself to gain better control over his reactions – to calm the hell down.

“Mm...that what ya wanted to tr-”

She rends his speech for the second or third time tonight as her lips press and part against one of his balls; Ellie sucks lightly at the soft skin as her hand lazily strokes him throughout. A rumbly growl gurgles from the depths of his chasmic center and he shakes, actually shakes, as an ensuing tremor tears through him.

“Oh fuck, Ellie. Girl, I ain’t gonna last. Suckin’ on my balls like that...”

The girl hums against his sack, as if she’s acknowledging a challenge, and suctions a little harder on him; he likes it, loves it even, but it’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten what he actually favors.

This, he favors this. Her.

Spit coats and dribbles down her chin and neck before slipping beneath the hem of her shirt; the droplets tickle her hot skin as they travel between her breasts before ultimately drying out on their lofty quest. Ellie loves how explicitly filthy it makes her feel – of how she wants to feel other things drip and trickle on her skin, too.

“Oh hell, girl, fuck, if ya wanna swallow you gotta put me back innn…” Joel’s rhetoric lingers in its abandonment, his head falling to the rear as he feels her lips envelop his dick again. It’s too much, much too much, and though he’s reticent to give in, he won’t be able to stop himself at this rate.

“Mm...that’s good, real good. S-suck a little harder and–ohgodyeah, just like that. Goddammit, Ellie. You sure ya want me’a...fuckin’ shoot in your mouth?” His sentiments are choppy and chaotic, matching the furor of his heartbeat and the pace of his asynchronous breathing.

She pops off of him, her touch tight and slow, hands dripping now along with her face and his cock, “Give it to me, Joel. I want it so bad…”

“Oh, fuck, you beggin’ me, aintcha girl…”

She licks his head, jerkily stroke-sucks for a spell before pulling him out again; she gazes high through her lashes and nods, “I wanna taste you, wanna feel you empty in me…wanna have you this way.”

He wraps a hand below her jaw as he guides himself into her mouth again, his other mooring to the solid pier that’s allowing him to remain upright. His knuckles might very well explode through his skin if he grips any harder, but it’s an injury he’s willing to take.

“Keep my cock as far in as ya can get it. It...mmph...it might make it easier–fuck, Ellie, I’m gonna come…”

She does as she’s instructed, instinctively working her tongue around and under him. She slurps the thick, excess fluid that originates from the base of her throat as she waits for his imminent release – the girl is not waiting long.

He growls and grunts, his hips nearly vibrating as he tries to stay his middle from snapping hard into her and risking damage to both of them. “Fuck, oh fuck–mm...such a good girl, drainin’ me...” Joel spurts in her mouth and notices a minute shift as her head lists just enough, but she doesn't forfeit her pursuit. The girl does not frighten easily.

Ellie works her throat and tongue simultaneously, fighting the momentary urge to gag at the misalignment of his initial spasm and the placement of her tongue. First time and all. But she’s always been quick to learn and this is no exception; as he continues to shoot, she continues to play, milking him for all he’s got.

A hand travels up from his dick to his belly, and she scrapes the firm flesh and hair there, needing to imbibe some of the power that’s surging throughout the man. She touches and spreads the spit-slick over him, matting his hair carelessly. Neither mind.

Joel holds onto her and the countertop as he crests the waves of his orgasm; his knees feel on the verge of buckling, his eyes are sealed shut and his chest is a vice – but she’s not stopping.

He shakes as his woman proceeds onward unimpededly – licking, sucking, and teasing him; he can’t help the bubble of laughter that rises in him as his body tetters on that precipice of post-orgasm over-stimulation, “Ok...okay. Mmph…”

Finally, she ceases her closing arguments and with a mysterious mischief to eyes he’s come to recognize better than his own, he watches as she winks.

Joel snorts. And then bends backwards as he tries to level his breathing.

“Get up here, ya wild girl.”

He helps her onto her feet and she immediately slips her arms around his waist and wiggles her middle to his naked sex; he’s mostly soft now – with a layer of cooling spit drying on him – but she doesn’t want to stow him away for the night just yet. Ellie loves him, all of him and the more she gets to see, the better off she is.

“I do okay?”

He chuffs and lays his forehead to hers, his breathing just about normal again, “Ellie, I’d’a never known it was your first time doin’ that. Jesus, girl. I’m still twitchin’, even if it feels like I ain’t.”

She grins and drags her tongue along her lower lip, tasting him there and already longing for more, “Sooo you won’t mind if I randomly wake you in the middle of the night. Ya know, to practice. Since I’m so new and all.”

The man laughs and oscillates his head, “No arguments from me, Red. However–” he stops to kiss her and sneakily yank apart the buttons on her blouse and jeans, “–I reckon it’s time I get some’a my own practice in.”

She nuzzles into the crook of his neck as he works her top and bra loose and throws them onto the floor, adding to their collection. As Joel busies himself, Ellie suck-kisses the heated skin above his collarbone while silently beseeching him to be inside of her. To spread, open and rearrange her to fit him and only him. But the likelihood of that happening tonight is slim to none – be it on account that she’s just emptied the man or if Joel believes she’s not ready enough yet, either or.

But the girl is aching and her mind is drifting on seascapes of azure and amber; he’s touching the girl as he undresses and exposes her to him – Ellie unapologetically adores this part. Loves how handsy and explorative he is with her, as though he’s discovering new and ancient stories upon the tapestry of her pale skin.

As though he’s worshiping and taking ownership of her concomitantly; it’s tantalizing in ways that allow room for few, if any, words to define its gravitas.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, moving the linen gift out of the way before grabbing her midsection and lifting her up and onto the kitchen island. He parts her thighs, lists inward to her bare chest and kisses her stars, closing his eyes as her hands slip into his hair and hold him there. Joel can sense the reverberating brontide of her pounding heart, its vigor driving her towards a precipice he means to take her to.

Pulling away far enough to see her, Joel pauses at the portrait that’s sitting before him: The girl’s hair is curtaining her face like a cascade of deep auburn – wild, untamed and partially damp from her excursions. But it’s those eyes that cause his resolve to flounder and his cock to jump again; they’re darker than he’s ever seen them, as though all the color has fled in favor of an imposing carnality.

“Need’a taste you, baby…”

He slides her jeans off, both legs at a time, and makes no effort to stifle an immediate groan; the saturated center between her legs is dark but shiny even in the dim lighting, the thin fabric coated and dripping with her slick, “Mm, ya panties soaked through.”

She nods and runs the pad of her fingers up and down on herself, pressing firmly while watching him watch her, “Suppose we should take them off?”

Joel smiles at that, a toothy, unbelievably-gorgeous sort of smile, but concedes in kind, “Mmhm. Seems we should...”

The girl flattens her palms to the stony, smooth surface on either side of herself and, “Want me to lay back?”

He inhales as he widens the space between her legs and thumbs the drippy center of her sheer undergarments for a beat, “If ya want. Up to you, girl.”

She does.

Joel travels his kiss from her thigh to a hip before finally arriving at Ellie's lithe belly; he sedately removes her underwear but not without tapping, touching and tormenting all the while. A pair of fingers play and pinch her swollen nub as he hovers, allowing his girl to settle in before repositioning her again. For what he wants to do to her.

The man raises her legs and holds her limbs apart, using the bend by the rear of her knees as an anchor. He kneads her firm hamstrings before gripping and pushing down onto them farther, widening that little hole for him even more, “I got’a request, girl...”

Ellie rises from the counter just enough to absorb this portrait of him situating by her sex – she wants to pay attention to that and only that but he asked her something or was about to ask her something...she can’t be certain so, “Huh?”

Joel smirks and presses a light kiss to her pussy, “Don’t be quiet.”

“Good moooorning, Williams. You’re...three minutes late.”

“Pereria.”

“Oh, not a good morning?”

“Did I say that?”

Dina’s lips purse as she squints those devilishly deep irises of hers, shoulders rising and dipping in an ambiguous nonchalance they both know she’s falsifying.

Ellie enjoys it when her friend strives to figure her out whilst pretending not to care. Despite the fact that seldom do these endeavors end in Ellie’s favor.

“Great morning actually.”

“Do tell.”

“Eh, maybe not.”

“You’re a pain in my ass. And I have a fantastic ass, I’ll have you know. One that doesn’t deserve such pain. Least of all from your not so subtle bait.”

Ellie simpers as she rests her loaded Winchester into the corner of the tower’s overlook; she steals a gander beyond the structure’s frame and the apex of the gate below them, staring hushedly into the abundant thicket of Jackson’s forests.

The trees are burdened by a blanket of heavy snow, their branches bowing closer to the earth by the weight of it all; a storm blew through over the weekend and there’s another on the horizon that’s priming to drop a few more feet yet. Wyoming winter is in full regale.

Still, it’s beautiful as hell and Ellie allows a sense of fortune to imbue her – of all the places she could have ended up, this cozy mountain hideaway is her home. Well, a very specific person and this place is her home, rather.

“Can’t deny that view.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Never mind.”

Ellie cups her hands and suspires a lungful of hot air directly into the bowl of them, rubbing furiously in a futile attempt to warm her chilled appendages; thirty minutes ago she was wrapped in the arms of a human furnace, her body trembling after an intense makeout session with the man she’s head over heels in love with.

’Though you haven’t told him that yet… But he’s so deliciously distracting, dammit. Can’t get anything done around that man anymore.’

Joel woefully banished Ellie from their bed this morning – before summarily pulling her back into it – as he knew her shift started an hour earlier than his. He offered to make her breakfast, or take her to the Bison, but they ran short on time and thus, Williams was approximately three minutes late to her post today. Thankfully it’s Dina on duty with her, not that she would have ever minded all that much, but punctuation is important to Maria and the on-site managers down in the guard shack.

Ellie’s never been one to let people down, not even by three stupid minutes.

But her man and this morning and all they did together last night has her spinning the clock down until they can do it again. And more.

“Ellie?”

“Hmm? Sorry. You say something?”

“Let me guess… Something tall, dark and handsome on that mind of yours?”

Ellie smirks but stows an immediate retort, the girl’s thoughts indeed awash with a tall, dark, and handsome man. And the fact that her best friend openly proclaims this for her is a validation of the sort she never imagined needing. She likes that – likes that her friend likes her love.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Mmhm. And how is Mr. Miller on this tits-freezing Monday morning?”

Ellie sighs through her amusement as she returns to the safe, cozy space that sets her apart from this icy reality. Not with Dina, but the wintry world itself.

So she thinks of him, wondering what he’s up to and if he’s dressed for work yet (he is, she knows him well enough to know as much). But it’s the ensuing fantasy that steals her; Ellie’s drawing an invocation of a simplistic familiarity – of habits, routine and a regimen that’s as much a part of his normal as she is these days. Again, at least.

The girl pulls gently on these alluring threads, swallowing the sudden ache that rises by the peaceful plainness of it all.

Joel’s probably grumbling as he hovers above a neglected mug of cooling chicory while preparing for his shift at the armory. He’s doing inventory today; there’s that trade caravan arriving from the west coast and Maria’s contact mentioned a bountiful weapons deal. The community’s leader regularly tasks Joel, Tommy, Pastor Pedro and Jesse to these intakes, entrusting such a sizable barter to her most reliable crew. Habit, routines, regimens.

Dina’s sigh cuts the silence as she nudges the sole of Ellie’s boot with her own in an act to retrieve her friend’s attention again.

“Before I loop back to this ‘maybe’ nonsense of yours, I gotta say–I’m excited to hear what he thinks of your Christmas ”gift.” Like, yeah cool yay, Christmas is almost here and I’m as thrilled as anyone but really, I can’t wait to squirrel you away at Tommy and Maria’s and get the scoop.”

Ellie returns the gesture with a bump of her shoulder but with a warm smile as an additive; she licks her lips, temporarily lost to the wayfaring winds of her musing mind once more – to the remembrance and the inextricable roiling of these lustful, loving tides that move her.

She may be momentarily gone to the before but Ellie’s permanently lost to him. Of that there is no doubt.

Dina misinterprets this latest stint of quiet as a revelatory awkwardness – and dismay begins to mar her tone in its stead, “Oh you better not have–Ellie, did you show it to him already? I swear. All that snow and mud and bullshit we had to get through to find that fucking thing. I’m not going back out into that busted, moist Macy’s again. I’m just not.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t. Relax. It’s a Christmas gift, well one of at least. And I actually have some patience, thank you very fucking much. And don’t say moist.”

The girl deadpans and, “Moist. But, okay, if that’s true, why do you have a shit-eating grin on your face then, hmm?”

Silence ensues.

Dina levels her stern but roguish leer onto her friend and waits in feigned consternation; she taps her wrist as she pantomimes a phantom watch before lifting her eyebrows, “Okay, I’m literally aging waiting on you to answer. I’m gonna be as gray as he is if you don’t tell me soon. But you seem to like that look so maybe it’s not a bad thing? Could be your evil plan all along, now that I’m really thinking about it...”

Ellie straightens her posture and shifts to stand by the ledge nearest her rifle; she lines her spine to the rough planks of wood that serve as a guardrail and grips the edging after. She drops her head, exhales a gray plume of steam and, “Last night was a really good night…”

The other girl notes the enticing tone of Ellie’s terse statement and steps to her friend in a plea for more – but mindfully searches their immediate surroundings first. She marks a few folks walking near the entrance but they’re all well out of earshot and below them. Tower 3 is twenty or so yards away with Ben and Cedric on post but again, both men are too far out to overhear anything of substance.

Irrespective of that, the girl understands how private this entire situation is – be it Joel and Ellie’s intentions or by its very nature – thus she lowers her voice and, “Did you...did you fuck him?”

Ellie crosses her arms and sways at that, chews on the inside of her lip until, “No, no. But I did a new thing and he did a new thing to me and Dina, I fucking just–damn. Ya know?”

Her friend leans off to the side and suggestively waggles her eyebrows in response. “Ohhhh? Well, go on, share with the class.”

“The class being...you?”

“Mmhm, correct, I am the whole fucking class now stop with the stalling, Williams. What did you do...what did he do? C’mon, it’s cold and snowy and early and I’m hungry and I need details to sustain.”

Ellie juts her chin forwards as she thrusts her gloved hands out in front of her person, “Okay, alright. Hold your horses, Dee. I mean, we’re on duty here so we should be on duty, too, right?”

Dina rolls her eyes and kicks the tip of her boot at a rickety milkcrate seat, “Ellie. It’s subzero and the horde you and Joel ran into two weeks back hasn’t made its way south to us yet. If we peep a Clicker or its bastard Runner cousin, we snipe. If it’s Hunters, we snipe. If it’s Jack Fucking Frost, we snipe. Please don’t make me beg. I’m too cold for that.”

The auburn-haired girl snorts before spinning to wade once more into the great unknown. As she opens to speak her salacious truth to the only person who is fully in the know (beyond her and Joel), the radio on her belt begins to crackle. The popping sounds startle the women but instantly redirect their attention. Duty.

“Tower 4. This is base 1. Come in, over.”

Ellie grabs the thing and depresses the button, “Hey Logan. Go for Tower 4, over.”

“Hey Ellie. That caravan should be arriving within the hour. Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious activity or stragglers that may have trailed them, over.”

“Death to stragglers. Roger that, over.”

“Cute. Alert Towers 1 and 2 when you spot them. And radio Maria at the Shack, over.”

“Roger. Ellie, out.”

Ellie clips the walkie to her waist while flashing a knowing look at Dina after, “Sounds like an interesting crew coming in. Joel said the weapons trade should be fairly sizable, too. He seemed excited abou–what, what is that look for?”

Dina cradles Ellie’s chin with hands sheathed in patchy leather and leans in, “Oh, I’m sure you know how Joel is when he’s excited by now…” She speedily frees her arms before Ellie can grab onto them but begins to giggle with a heckling sort of arrogance, “What? Think I didn’t catch you two at church yesterday? You were in a House of God, Ellie. Tsk tsk.” Dina wags a stiff index finger as she eases onto the dingy crate and crosses her legs.

“Anyway, I refuse to do an ounce of work until you tell me what the hell happened last night. I mean with the post-dance sexy times you barely mumbled a word of and yet it still sounded delicious enough. But now you’re telling me there’s more? Y’all are moving fast but girl, I can keep up. So, silent treatment until you start talking, Willy.” Dina crosses her arms and mimes pulling a zipper across her mouth to match.

She’s nothing if not performative and Ellie both loves and despises it at this very moment.

Ellie huffs and rolls her neck, lending herself a moment to massage the stiff muscle there; absentmindedly she retreats into the euphoria of soft linen against her bottom and Joel’s calloused hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching as he worked her pussy to a quivering state.

She clears her throat and returns to find a pair of brown eyes studying her features with equal parts curiosity and exasperation. Ellie pulls a freezing lungful of air and, “Dee, I–I blew him.”

Dina sucks a lip, clicks her tongue and smirks, “I knew it. And he went down on you, right?”

Ellie nods.

The girl with raven-colored hair pops up from her seat and trots to stand beside her friend again; she’s wiry but in that anticipatory way – the kind of excitement that signals just how invested she is and where this is all leading.

“Tell me everything. I’m serious–I’m tired of the stiff upper lip with your spicy details. When we went scavenging yesterday, you hardly said a word beyond ‘he used his fingers,’ and sure it sounded hot as fuck but that just won’t do here, nuh uh.” Her head sways from one side to the other as she drives her intentions home and stakes her stance.

Dina Pereria is taking no prisoners on this day.

Ellie sniffs and suspends a beat or two, mulling over how it felt to have Joel’s tongue inside, around and against her as the girl whined and begged him to let her come. She shivers at that, her exhalation louder than she means for it to be and Dina, of course, immediately makes light of it.

“Oh, come on now. I will radio Maria Miller right this second if you don’t star–”

“It was fucking fantastic, Dee, sheesh. Trying to find the right way to tell it all. I mean...it’s Joel, ya know? I know you know but...it’s, I don’t know...outside of our bubble, it’s hard to say it all so plainly. Fuck, what am I even sa–stop that, knock it off, Dee. You’re incorrigible. ”

Dina does not in fact stop snickering nor puckering her lips as she mutely pleads for more.

Eventually, “Exactly. I have so many questions but really, there is no right way to tell this sort of saucy spice. Just open your mouth and share how it all happened. But wait–you were the one to start it, didn’t you? I know you did, you filthy little shit.”

Ellie titters and scratches the flank of her jawbone, her skin cold to the touch and shaded in a palette of pale pinks and rosy reds; the dry wintry air is doing its utmost to leach the last remaining hints of a hearth that burns within. But oh, Ellie is alight.

The elements stand little chance against the cavernous inferno that sears inside.

“Mmhm. I did. It was my first time and I...I seemed to do a good job on him. He enjoyed it. A lot. But when I finished...him, he put me on the kitchen island–shush, I know it’s hot, he’s so fucking hot–and then he just, Jesus. I mean he...Dee, he made me beg for it. Thought I was gonna fucking die by the end and he was all smiley and proud. Such a fucking snob.”

Both women laugh at the idea of a man like that acting either snobbish or entitled, especially given the subject matter. Doesn’t fit Joel’s mold and yet…

“So Mr. Joel Miller is an expert at eating pussy...good to know.” Dina winks but hastily spins to avoid Ellie as she makes to swat the girl. Lewd remarks notwithstanding, Pereria settles and, “No, no, okay seriously though, he knows what he’s doing by the sounds of it?”

Ellie lines her teeth, shakes her head but relaxes against the rail again, “Fuck, he does. His hands...his mouth and damn, even the things he was saying during. Never knew how filthy he could be and...Dee, I uh–I love it so much.”

There’s a hoot and a holler from Dina beside her as she celebrates Ellie’s orgasmic win; her eyes are as wide as her smile, as bright, too – she’s happy for her friend and wildly amused by the rousing nature of these intimate reveals. But it does call to mind a very specific vein of questioning.

“Don’t be offended, alright, but...do you think it has anything to do with the fact that he’s...a bit older? I only ask because it takes Jesse forever in that regard. Might as well watch a movie sometimes for all the excitement it brings.”

Ellie snickers and brushes a digit to the end of her nose, swaying as she notices an errant cigarette butt crinkled and forgotten by her best friend’s heel; she’s dreading the next time she sees Jesse as thoughts of his obvious ineptitude will surely surface. Though this is in an area she’s awfully new to...but surmises that worse things have happened.

“Uh...sorry to hear that? I mean this was my first time though, ya know? With him, yeah, but also...in general. Might not be that great every time.” Ellie peers at her friend through the fine bars of her eyelashes, not fully sold on her argument either but extending a recognition of it all the same.

Dina smiles and, “Okay but that’s sort of my point. You don’t really know what you like in that way and yet, Joel fucking Miller apparently nailed it. Or well, no, not nailed it but tongued it rather.”

Ellie reaches for her again, this time landing a playful crack onto the girl’s knee, “Stop saying his name like that, someone’s gonna hear you, I swear. BUT...I don’t know. I mean, the age thing and experience would make sense, I guess. Haven’t ever asked him about that stuff to be honest. Suppose it’s a pretty obvious thing though, huh?”

The other girl bounces a beat before she rests an elbow on the wooden railing and looks south of her position. There’s a few more townsfolk working and milling about but they remain distant enough that anything discussed in confidence will stay solely between Ellie and Dina alone.

“I mean, couldn’t hurt to ask him. How many women do you think he’s been with by the way?”

Ellie doesn’t mind the idea of Joel having a sexual history whatsoever, but the thought to ask him about said history never occurred to her until just now.

She infers that his exploitations are most assuredly varied and vast but doesn’t view those particular details as need to know, or rather never did prior to this conversation. “I...have no idea. I mean, I assumed he and this woman Tess we once knew had fucked–long story there–but even then, I can’t be super sure. He’s always been private in a lot of ways. Even with me.”

Dina listens and mulls, imbibing Ellie’s information while concurrently trying to link it to their present and future, “Well, if he fucks as good as he licks, consider me a jealous bitch, El.”

Ellie laughs a loud and spirited laugh as she shifts to peer into an endless array of cloud-white and icy-blue; the globe is frigid and frozen all around and yet she’s never felt as warm as she does now. Well, no. She was far toastier in the embrace of her rough Texan man a little while ago, but given her locale, this sensation is a close second.

“Dina, can I ask you something? Seriously…”

Pereria leans her bulk against Ellie’s shoulder and sets her chin atop a jacketed blade, “Always.”

“How did you know you were in love with Jesse?”

With eyes as black as the dark side of the moon, Dina bites her lower lip and lists forwards a measure more – she wants to glimpse the glassy green of Ellie’s ocean eyes as she, “You’re in love with him already, aren’t you?”

Ellie’s reply arrives sedately as she lays her temple against her best friend’s forehead, “I asked about you first.”

“Ugh, there you go, being a thorn in my fine ass again and ruining the moment. Well, hmm. I suppose it’s simple, yeah? I just like being around him. In our good times, obviously. When we’re on and not off. It makes me happy to think about him, to be with and near him. To spend time and such. I don’t know, it’s one of life’s unanswerable mysteries. Now, spill, Ellie. Or that itchy radio finger that knows the direct line to Mrs. Miller will get scratched.”

They don’t shift or change from the close proximity they’re sharing, instead, Dina leverages herself closer and loops an arm through Ellie’s as they stare aimlessly ahead. The silence stretches on, consuming the tempering stillness that surrounds them.

Ellie suspires and sniffs, shoring up for the deluge that’s pouring in at the mere mention of Joel and Being In Love. Her chest tightens and lightens in tandem, her pupils dilate, her blood pumps at fervent pace that’s much too quick for the current state she’s in; the way her body behaves without the use of a single utterance is equally spellbinding and mesmerizing and Ellie will never draw enough from it. She will never tire or want less of this.

“Joel...makes me feel whole. Like, I don’t know, I was born with this giant missing piece, right? As though there’s always been this...part of me I’ve never had. And he makes that go away. He sees me, too. He sees who I am and seems to love me more because of it. He takes care of me and I know, Dina, I know things between him and I have not always been this way. They couldn’t have been this way, not from the start. So obviously it was a lot different a few years ago and then we were...separated but now–this. I just–I would do anything for him, I know it. I would give anything and go to the ends of the earth if it meant having Joel in some capacity. And I know he would do the same for me–has done it for me. And–what, what did I say now? Why–are you okay?”

Dina drags a finger to the outer-edge of an eye, “Well, you have your vows written already, I see.”

Ellie snorts and turns, breaking their union but the distance between the women remains, “Maybe. I just know I want...fuck. Dina, I want everything with him. Things I never wanted before. Things that scare the piss outta me.”

The other girl steps away and peers across the wide range of a world that’s brought them to this exact point and, “Well, we went from you sucking cock to a not so subtle hint of marriage real quick here, El. You really mean it all though, don’t you?”

“I do. No pun intended.”

Dina grumbles but chortles all the same, her inky eyes glimmering like tiny, infinitesimal stars – stars that are catching the last flickers of a struggling sun amidst an overcast cosmos, “You know I support you and him and this whole thing. Have since I started sniffing it all out a couple weeks ago and cleverly walked you into revealing it. But I do have a question–a but, if you will…”

“His age?”

“His age.”

Ellie shrugs and allows her head to tilt on its axis as she considers her girlfriend’s sincerity and justifiable concerns; they’re there, despite the girl not coming right out and saying as such. Williams can see and Dina knows she’s understood. Exposition is needless between these two women.

“Before I make it crystal clear, in what way does his age affect your opinion on things?”

The girl mulls on the logic of this question before bringing both palms to her lips and trying to warm them in kind. After a few ponderous moments and a whole lot of appendage resuscitation, “You want it all so I’m guessing that means there will be another Mrs. Miller in town – albeit a far sexier one, but don’t tell Maria I said that. I mean, she’s fine, too but yeah, sorry, got distracted there for a second. So… You want kids, too? And if so...aren’t you worried that...ya know, I mean-”

“That he won’t be around as long as me or our children would want him to be because he’s so much older?”

“Exactly that. It’d kill me to see you go through losing him, Ellie.”

There’s a pause, an inflamed silence that erupts in the space lingering from one girl to the next; it charges the air with ideations of loss and grief and yet, there’s a permanence to it just the same. Ellie has come to understand precisely how to navigate the notions Dina’s putting forth, regardless that these limitations are wildly untested and untried.

She pads and grasps the place where the moth in her tattoo lies beneath layers of seasonal outerwear before, “Nothing is guaranteed, Dee. Not for you or me or anyone. Not tomorrow, hell not even tonight. So yeah, Joel’s fifty-two. I’ll be twenty next May and he’ll be fifty-three in September. We could get thirty fucking years, maybe forty if I fuck him every night and give him enough babies to keep him sharp all the live-long years. But what it comes down to is pretty simple, I think. I’m willing to do it. I’m willing to risk it all. I don’t want to be without him, even if it means I may be at one point. But who knows, I could die next year and then where would we be?”

Dina returns to the crate and covers her mouth, only this time it’s resultant of the resolve that exists and is abundantly suffusing the declarations of her friend. Ellie is not one to lie and she isn’t right now.

“That was really beautiful before it got all grim at the end there, Jesus. But...you’re right. You and I could blow this tower up, being that we are experts at everything. Or shit, that caravan coming in could take us all out.” She ceases her morbid diatribe and closes her eyes, inhaling a crisp pull of glacially-chilly air before continuing: “I’m here for you. Both of you. Whatever I can do, however I can help. Which...I have another question in that regard.”

“Go.”

“Does anyone else know outside of me?”

Ellie vacillates a moment, raises her brows and, “I don’t know how but...Tommy actually knows.”

Pereria jumps at that and grabs the sides of Ellie’s arm, “Are you fucking serious? What’d he say? Is he okay with it? Does Maria know?”

Ellie lifts her limbs to cradle Dina’s elbows as she attempts to ride this brash change of her girl’s demeanor. “Um...whoa, slow down. Let me see...yes, I’m fucking serious. No, he didn’t say anything, not really. It was more of a gesture and I’ll get to that but I know he knows, trust me. And he seems good with it. Happy even? Not sure Maria is in the know though. And Joel doesn’t know that he knows OR that you know. I should probably tell him that, huh…”

“Uh, yeah, I think he has every right to know at this point. Especially since y’all are clearly in love already and doing dickall to hide it. Does he have anyone that knows? I mean, you have me to talk to about all of this and now Tommy, possibly. Who does Joel have?”

Ellie considers the inquiry – a point of province she’s yet to take stock of until its presentation here – and senses a swell of sadness at the mere idea that Joel likely doesn’t have anyone.

“Apart from me, no, but you’re right. He needs an outlet. God only knows what goes through that handsome head of his on a regular basis and now he’s shacking up with a hot mess like me. Feel sorry for him now, to be honest.”

Dina grins, “You’re both pretty hot, not gonna lie. And now that I know he’s got the skillz to pay those O-bills, you’ve got me wondering about things.”

“About...Joel?”

“No, about older men in general. Joel’s clearly yours, woman. Besides, he only has hearteyes for your skinny ass. Believe me, I see it whenever you two are in radius of one another. It’s annoying already, to be honest.” A beat, a pause, “...Kiddinggg.”

“Ha freaking ha. Hilarious. Next week at comedy night you should give the good folks of Jackson your very best. I’m sure you’ll kill.”

Dina perks up at that and brushes the tail of her pony off of one shoulder, “I love having the support of my best friend. Dreams are important, ya know.”

Ellie’s snorts and, “Truer words have seldom been spoken aloud.”

“You nerd.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Dina winks afterwards just as the radio hisses again.

Ellie retrieves the thing, “Go for Tower 4. This is Ellie.”

“Hey Ellie. Did Liam drop by yet, over.”

Ellie looks from the handheld shortwave to Dina and tucks her chin in, confusion mounting as they try to quietly discern what the hell Logan is going on about.

Liam is Bison-duty only. There’s no reason he would visit the towers beyond that of leisure or a his friends.

“Liam was never here. Was he supposed to stop by for something, over.”

There’s an orchestra of pops, fizzles and dead air as the man on the other line double checks his inventory without signaling the women.

Then, “Yep. Stopped by with breakfast and offered to bring extra boxes of .30-30’s to Towers 3 and 4. And four boxes were taken. A safeguard in case our temporary guests get any grand ideas, over.”

Ellie shrugs, “We haven’t seen him. Extra ammo is always good though. Appreciate it, over.”

“I’ll see what’s what and report back when I can. In the meantime, scopes on Tower 6 have the caravan approaching. Can you confirm, over.”

“Hold, over.”

Ellie hands the device to Dina and retrieves her Winchester from where it’s sat the last half hour or so. She raises the weapon, levels the sight onto the bend in the road and begins to scan the terrain. There’s nothing yet, no caravan, no lead scouts or life of any kind to speak of. Not even a damn deer.

She frowns but not from dismay – Ellie isn’t clocking anything in the distance but the stock scope on her aging firearm is lending her no favors either.

Dina depresses the button and, “Hey Logan, Dina here. Nothing up ahead for us. But Ellie’s scope sucks. We’ll keep checking and report soon as we see anything. How big is this caravan supposed to be, over.”

“Hey Dee. Fairly large, if the lead contact is to be believed. Lots of fire power incoming so we want to play it safe. Let me know if Liam ever turns up, over.”

“Roger that. Tower 4 out.”

Dina places the walkie onto the crate and twirls on her heels to face Ellie, “I didn’t notice Liam, did you?”

Ellie chews on her bottom lip, “Fucking no, but we weren’t exactly paying attention the whole time, now were we?”

The other girl steps forward and enfolds a hand around Ellie’s forearm, “I know what’s going through your head. Don’t do that to yourself. He likely never came up yet, okay? Nothing to be afraid of.”

Ellie fidgets with a fraying leather tie that’s dangling off of her coat’s zipper; the girl fusses with the thing as she worries her bottom lip, an overwhelm of anxiety gnawing at her bones one bit of marrow at a time.

“Dee, I don’t want Liam to know about Joel and me. Not yet, at least. Not that I don’t trust him but…”

“You don’t trust him. I get it. Stop worrying. We didn’t see or hear anyone approaching. Not even footsteps on the ladder. C’mon, he’s not some stealth ninja dude and we’re not THAT bad at our jobs. At least I’m not.”

Dina tosses a wink and blithely pushes the girl after, trying to distract and set her friend’s mind at ease.

“True. Still, I don’t like it.”

“Are you afraid of the town finding out?”

Ellie steals a minute, then another as she contemplates the question. She turns it over and churns it up, pulling it apart, dissecting the pertinence every which way while examining its most basic components.

She’s in love with Joel.
She only wants Joel.
She wants to have everything with Joel.

“No, not afraid. But this isn’t something we’ve talked about. Like, at all. I guess I’d like to know where he’s at with it first. I’m sure there will be some folks none too happy about it or, I don’t know, judgey. Don’t want that at all let alone this early into things.”

The girl with mossy eyes and cherry lips recollects a specific memory from the Hoedown – with Liam, no less – and cringes inwardly. Her stomach roils and rejects the notion, working expeditiously to expel the distaste of it all. Still, it persists.

There’s a very real probability that some members of the town, or those familiar with them in the least, view Joel’s relationship with Ellie as patriarchal. Most folks assume, they don’t ask. It’s usually the way of things.

She doesn’t like it but understands – outward appearances can certainly be deceivingly misleading – but there’s a sizable sect of her that is merely ill-prepared for a backlash of that kind. Not yet, anyhow.

Perhaps that’s the reason neither her nor Joel have spoken much in respect to this...time sensitive issue.

“Ellie?”

“Hmm? Sorry.”

“Lost in thought, huh? And about someone tall, dark and handsome, again. You’re hopeless.”

With a mirthful smirk and a descension of her jade gaze, she eyes the rifle in her steely grip, unseals her lips and, “Guess I’m hopelessly doomed for all eternity then.”

“Seems so. And screw Liam Brooks if he eavesdropped and decides to kick up any dust. None of this is his business and he’ll have you and Joel to contend with if he tries any bullshit. Me and Tommy, too, supposedly.”

Ellie chuffs and walks a few paces away, her line of sight and acuity wholly apart from the horizon now. She’s staring at the open rectangle at the opposite end of the tower and wondering anxiously whether or not Brooks did stop by. As he intended on doing, unbeknownst to anyone beyond Logan.

Communication clearly needs improving within the purview of pop-in guests.

’Nope, can’t worry about that. Think of Joel and his naked ass from this morning. And biting said naked ass. Yeah, forget Liam. There’s just Joel and that bitten booty of his.’

Liam posts up against a support beam by the base of Tower 4’s ladder. He holds a box of ammo in each hand, his grasp tight and rigid as he reels from the fervor ratting from tip to toe. His mind is awhirl, thoughts and emotions aghast amidst the revelations he’s unmistakably unearthed here today.

“Maybe. I just know I want...fuck. Dina, I want everything with him. Things I never wanted before. Things that scare the piss outta me.”

Ellie was talking about Joel. About wanting everything – a life, a marriage, even children – with Joel fucking Miller. Liam’s always believed the old man to be her father, or at the very least a fatherly figure in the girl’s life. Until she corrected his assumptions and set the record straight – at least insofar as fact versus town fiction.

Though he knows this, it’s tough to divide his opinion on the matter; after overhearing Dina and the girl talk, he senses within himself an unforeseen level of loss. Of what he’s not entirely certain, but it feels and reads like a departure.

Dredging their conversation and her comments from the meager time spent together at the Hoedown – as well as the abrupt shift of her energy – it’s clearer to Liam why she reacted the way she did and said what she said. Explains away her hesitancy to even dance with him at the start..

They’ve been hiding it, that much he’s deducing. And now he has proof, should evidence be of substantial circumstance at some point.

But he doesn’t want to be vindictive, doesn’t want to hurt her or risk her reputation on account of his...envy.

The young man pitches forward and enlists a modicum of momentum to return from whence he came; he’ll drop the ammo with Logan and take the short trek back to work from there. He’ll do his job and mind his own.

Or, that was the plan.

A few paces out from Base 1 he halts: Joel is standing by the open door, chatting with Logan and blissfully unaware that his dirty little secret has looped in another.

’She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. Walk away, just walk away.’

Liam reacts to his conscience, making a redirect towards the Tipsy Bison at the last feasible second.

Almost.

He’s unceremoniously stopped when Logan notices him and signals for his attention.

“Hang on, Miller. Hey Liam, did you ever make it to Tower 4 to drop the additional rounds with Williams and Pereria yet? I just radioed and they said they didn’t see you.”

Liam spins, his work boot sculpting a pockmarked sphere into the mud and slush below him, “Uh, no. Got sidetracked. Dropped Ben and Cedric’s boxes though. Was just coming here to return the others. Ran outta time. Gotta get back to work.”

Liam glimpses Joel angle to one side and lean against the door frame, his bulk sizable even from this distance. There’s not necessarily ire or resentment towards the man, but there’s certainly something gnawing at the guy. Surprise, dismay...perhaps jealousy, too. Most likely the last. Still, these are emotions best left to page through on his own versus in the presence of the lone party causing them.

“Oh, no problem.”

Liam steps forward and extends his hand with the stash stacked one atop the other but before Logan has a chance to retrieve them, Joel clears his throat.

“I can take ‘em to the girls. Have a few minutes to spare before I gotta get to the armory.”

Liam pulls his arm away at that, an instinctive move but an action he wasn’t intending on, “Oh, ugh, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

Logan pat-claps Joel on the shoulder and nods as he bends to sit – groaning from the effort – into a chair that time most assuredly forgot. “It’s settled then. Thanks Brooks. And Joel, you’re on Tower 1 Wednesday and Thursday morning. Friday you’re off for Christmas Eve. And hey, appreciate you stopping by. Needed to make those shift adjustments because of the two kids that hightailed it out of Jackson a few weeks back.”

Joel bobs in acknowledgment, clicks his tongue and levels his gaze onto the third man in their company, “I’ll tell ‘em ya got hung up, alright?”

The younger guy steals a semi-nervous glance to the pathway beside their current position while actively avoiding Joel’s weighty stare. He won’t be able to placate for much longer though, and the silence is getting exceedingly awkward.

“Uh, I sure did.” Liam borrows another moment of quiet as he lifts his blues and deadpans the older man, “But hey, tell Ellie I said hello? Sorry to have missed her today.”

Joel squints just enough that it’s noticeable but collects the supply nevertheless and forces a half-smile, “Will do, son. You take care now.”

Liam takes a single step out of the way as Joel brushes past on his short journey towards the tower; it takes everything in Brooks not to shout at the man – he wants to expose their truth, wants to threaten the very nature of their union.

But he won’t. That’s not who he is.

He’ll lick his wounds, mind his tongue and manage his pride as best he’s able. The town will discover the affair one day, but Liam has no need or want to be the cause or catalyst.

No, Brooks will wait patiently in the nosebleeds and watch as the universe collapses around them. And then he’ll be a shoulder for the girl to lean on.

“You Manuel? Ms. M said that’s who I need’a speak to.”

The other nods in acknowledgement and shifts his stance, regarding the man and the others standing on either side of him. Silently calculating, observing and memorizing the features and terse outward displays of those before him.

“That I am. And it’s Manny, please. You’re the armory contact? Or contacts, rather. The guards at the gate told me I’d find you over here. The weapons cache is up in the holding bay so if you wanna go see what we’re looking to trade, I’d be happy as a clam to get that going. Been a long ride from Seattle to here.” Manny rubs the rear of his neck as he showcases his fatigue and waits on a loose command from the big guy in front of him.

“I reckon. Alright, let’s have a look. Y’all wait here? My brother an’ me will go an’ get this deal goin’.”

Pastor Pedro and Jesse incline in concessive unison while leaning against the shack as they feign settling in. They’re not at the armory – only residents are privy to the exact location of that site – but rather one of the many outposts that are scattered throughout the town. This particular shack is more of a weigh station than anything noteworthy or revealing. Chosen for its plaintive nature and out-of-the-way moorings within the safety of the community’s walls.

This is a standard practice, as it minimizes the chance of outsiders gleaning too much information to thus turn and use it against Jackson’s best interests.

“Sounds good to me, Chief. Speaking of, didn’t catch your names?”

Joel instantly recognizes the subtle attempt at data mining and adjusts his position in a hushed repose, “Didn’t say, partner.”

Manny mimics Joel’s tense hesitancy before lowering his shoulders in mock-surrender – he’s marked the terse tone but relaxes into himself versus risking anything untoward. With that, he’s able to defuse an obvious detonator with his subordinate actions and, “Fair is fair. I get it.”

After, there’s a momentary spell of silence cast upon the trio as they amble towards the front of town and the sole reason for this guests visit.

Manny is first to sever the curt, bellicose quiet with: “So this cache is the compilation of roughly six months worth of work with smaller settlements along the west coast. Since we’re more of a military operation in Seattle these days, we don't need a bloated stockpile of smaller caliber firearms and such. So, we’ve been collecting this reserve for a while. Traded some of it off here and there but the bulk is still pretty sizable, all things considered. Hopefully you find something in there, something that tickles those trigger fingers, fellas.”

Joel and Tommy bob as they stride alongside the man, their hands digging into the fur lined warmth of their coat pockets, though never too far from their sidearms.

Joel grumbles as a dull, subdued ache begins to throb in his right knee; it’s another day of winter, another day of cold bones and blustery winds.

Tommy finally chimes in, filling the space with his own learned intellect and distracting his older brother’s inner plight. Intentionally so on the first part, unintentionally on that second.

“Sounds like y’all got an installation’a sorts out there? Reading you’ve got the numbers, huh?”

Manny smiles wide and laughs, “Yep. Ran Fedra into the ground a while back, too. Co-opted their supplies and their soldiers – well, whoever decided to defect anyway.”

“Mm, an’ what became of those that didn’t join the...what was it again? The WLF?” Joel piques, studying the profile of this newcomer; he’s rigidly tentative and distrustful of unknown folk – regardless of any justifiable reasons or their admittance into town. It’s just his way.

“WLF, yes sir. And hey, we all make decisions in this life, don’t we?” He grins again, but the Miller brothers catch that it doesn’t quite reach the man’s dark eyes. They discern it’s either a tell to his struggle in the same shattered world as theirs or perhaps a signal warning of some other type. Either way, Joel and Tommy flick their eyes between one another before continuing on.

“Anyway, here we go.”

Joel stands by the intake bay – a brick and stone structure with weighty doors and armed men and women guarding its exits. He clicks his tongue at the man on the left and points to the entrance, “Hey T, here with Manuel – pardon, Manny – to see ‘bout that stash in there.”

T, short for Travis – though Joel never uses full names in the presence of outsiders – steps aside, unlatches the bolt and swings the doors wide.

“Have at it, boss.”

“Thank ya, sir. Keep an eye out.” Tommy pats the man on an arm as they enter and behold the potential bounty laid out before them.

As Joel trails Tommy into the semi-expansive hold, Manny hangs back a beat, giving his contacts time to marvel at the plethora awaiting them. He stretches his arms, pops his knuckles and rolls his neck as the sibling’s eyes go saucer-wide with surprise.

“Y’all gotta be shittin’ me. This is an impressive stockpile, Manny. What’re ya lookin’ to barter for this? Or even half’a it?”

Joel rubs a sheathed hand up and down on his beard as he clocks rifles, pistols, revolvers, shotguns, automatic and semi-automatic firearms in a wide range, along with stocks, scopes, clips, cartridges and more. All of it appears far newer than not and for the number of years this apocalypse has been raging, neither of the men have ever borne witness to such a cohesive collection as this.

Least not outside of the quarantine zones in those early days and certainly not as near to it as they are now; those payloads were protected by the threat of imminent death to all those who dared approach.

Fireflies used to bomb the hell out of them, or rather did, when they rose in power enough to constitute a significant peril to the military.

In any case, the brothers are…elated. Still, Jackson doesn’t necessarily need much in the way of ammunition or this level of stock but having the bigger stick is always the better play in an existence like theirs.

’Ellie could use a new long-range rifle with a proper scope, too.’

“So?”

Manny perks at that and shrugs noncommittally, “Looking to stay for a little while.”

Tommy furrows his light browline and, “For what? A quarter of the load? Half? Need specifics here, pal.”

The man takes a step towards the others and places a palm atop the enormous offering, “My men and I – the ones I have left anyway – are offering all of it for a couple weeks stay. Maybe a month. Eventually we do gotta report back to Seattle and our command but we’ve been on the road for most of the year and have taken too many losses. So, the whole goddamn thing is yours if we can get some much needed R&R in lovely Jacksontown.”

Joel gestures for Tommy to take the lead on the unexpected inquest, and the younger man does his best at diplomacy, “Well, I’ll need’a consult a few folks first. We got a small place on the outskirts y’all can hitch to for the time bein’. But it might take a day or so. How many bodies ya got with you?”

Manny crosses both arms to his chest and bobs a beat, “Four bodies plus three steeds. Myself, Danny, Owen and Mel. She’s one of our medics. She’d be happy to help out where need be. And you can put the rest of us to work while we’re here, too. If we can stay, that is.”

The brothers nod and Joel ushers for Manny and Tommy to exit as he brings up the rear.

Once outside, Joel secures the swing-latch on the heavy leaden entrance and turns to face his brother and Manny directly, “Alright, I gotta get. Hang here an’ we’ll send an escort for you an’ your party. Good meetin’ ya. Hopefully it’ll work out for all’a us.”

Joel shakes the man’s hand, as does Tommy and the brothers set off in separate directions – Tommy on his way to Maria and the council, and Joel back to the Pastor and Jesse to bring them up to speed.

As Manny watches the men leave, his false smile fractures, fading into a shadowy display of suspicion and simmering ire. No one can see this as it happens – no one will ever know. At least not until it’s too late.

“Ellie – order up!”

The girl slinks through tables and groups of people as she rushes the bar on her quest. The Bison doesn’t typically fulfill private petitions for “take out,” or whatever Joel called it from the olden days, but Liam’s made an exception. For her, of course. Or, mostly for her.

As Ellie reaches to retrieve her food, Liam retracts his proffered arm and, “You better remember who took care of you on Christmas damn Eve, girl. A wholeass meal made to order, just for you to take it and run. Such an abuse of power, Williams.” Liam angles forward again after the mini hostage negotiation, his blues moody but as mirthful and bright as she’s ever seen them.

There’s also a wobbling pair of reindeer antlers atop his dark hair, courtesy of Cara’s Collections – all employees of Jackson are wearing them today and tomorrow. So, as Liam shifts and speaks, he emphasizes the jovial presence of them with performative head bobbles to show the stark severity behind his puckish rhetoric.

Ellie rolls her eyes while amplifying an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, yeah. I really put you out on this one. Promise I’ll make it up at Khristmas Karaoke tonight. You can choose any song and I...I will humbly sing it. And...I realize now that I’ve set myself up for utter humiliation but hey, a girl knows when to fold ‘em.”

She clutches the brown sack with both of her hands, noting the aromatic scent permeating through the canvas fabric; included are two chicken pot pies with an ample side of garlic asparagus to boot. It’s a perfect repast for the holidays but more than that, it was once a tradition shared between Joel and Ellie every Christmas Eve.

It was an annual festive feast before she broke and ceased this and all the others a couple years ago. The girl doesn’t want to risk bleeding that vein though – the past is a dry and abrasive wasteland in comparison to her present – its taste like ashen embers on her tongue the longer it lingers. If she dares to dither, the loss will become a stranglehold and take from her more than she’s willing to offer these days.

Besides, it’s far more thrilling to know that this – what she’s doing today – is a thing that Joel is none the wiser about; she’s returning parts of their good days to the here and now, modernizing it to the changes of their relationship. Ellie’s going that extra length for him. Because of course she will.

“Ohhh, you’re in for it for now, Williams. I know just the song, and no, don’t ask because I won’t say. Even under threat of death. But hey, enjoy the spread and Merry early Christmas. See ya later.”

She pulls the food close to her person, tossing a grateful smile to her friend as she bounds from the establishment; ready to get home, ready to dive face first into a pot pie and Joel’s balls.

“See you!”

The walk is minuscule but the windchill is punishingly arctic and Ellie does her utmost to keep the cold from seeping into the porous threads of her lagniappe. She’s alone but reveling in the excitement of what today might and will inevitably bring; there’s the surprise meal she’s on the cusp of delivering, a small gift exchange between her and Joel after and then karaoke with him and the rest of the town later on in the evening.

Her heart is brimming by an overflow of emotion as her body sings to the tune of seasonal cheer whirling all around.

’Well, that and being madly in love with the hottest man on earth…’

She smiles as winter begins to vanish and all the world becomes summer to the girl. Ellie pushes the town and all of its imperceptible points of light away, pushes the sensations of it and all the rest as far down as she can manage as she steps lightly into the path ahead of her; she knows the way by heart.

In the chasmic resonance she’s invoking, the girl allows herself a moment. She imagines fields of green and pastures of yellow, its rising stalks reach reach reaching towards an azure sky above their soft peaks. As the reeds sway, dance and brush into one another...they tickle the tiny hands and soft cheeks of a little boy who’s running into the plume with jovial abandon.

His dark hair is wavy with delicate loops curling at the ends, his eyes the color of the sea; the boy’s smile is his, so very his that Ellie wants to scoop the toddler up and kiss every roll on his chubby face until her lips go numb.

She breathes in as the distant laughter of another calls her attention elsewhere; she spins in an endless vibrancy of wheat and its sensational warmth, her vision searching onward and outward. Finally, she glimpses a small girl among the waves of gold and serenely laughs at the sight: This wee one is wobbly, far more wobbly than the other and yet Ellie remembers the echoing image of her just the same. That shiny black hair and those piercing green eyes, her sturdy frame and the silliest, goofiest grin – familiar and yet unknown just the same.

’Not yet, little ones. Not yet.’

“Ellie?”

The girl snaps-to at the sound of Joel’s voice – he’s leaning over the railing on the front porch, watching her with an expression that’s part curious and halfway entertained.

“Ya okay, girl? Been walkin’ at a snail’s pace. Gonna freeze if you don’t get that cute butt’a yours inside soon.” He stepped outside a few minutes ago, wondering if his girl was held up at the Bison or if the weather took a turn and something went awry. That’s when he noticed her strolling along the road as if it weren’t 18º outside with another blizzard on the horizon.

Joel loosens his grip on the wooden rail and releases as she crests the top stair and turns towards him; with the bow of her lower lip tucking behind her front teeth, Ellie raises an eyebrow, “And here we are once again, you and my ass…”

He instinctively takes the bag from her arms and gestures towards the front door, “What can I say? It don’t quit. A man can’t be blamed for appreciatin'. But c’mon now. Get inside, get warm. An’ anyway, whaddya got here?”

Joel treks ahead of Ellie as she loiters by the front door and removes her winter gear, shimmying the snow-damp mess of auburn for a spell. She calls after him with a quick and bossy, “Don’t open it yet! Wait for me, you nosy butt.”

The man pops his upper body out from the kitchen entrance at her insistence and offers up a quick wink, “An’ here I thought ya liked my nose near your butt…”

The girl laughs and pitches her head to the rear in mock surrender, her mouth falling open as she stares at the ceiling in defeat, “Touché, Joel.”

Once the playful feigning concludes, she jogs to the kitchen and sees her better half balancing a pair of plates, utensils and cups from the cabinets; of course he can smell that it’s food, whatever it is, but because of her unforeseen fantasy in the snowy streets of Jackson, he’s gone ravenous by the slight delay. It’s well beyond breakfast and neither of them have yet to eat – atypical of their morning routines. Especially his.

“So...any guesses?” She bends forward, resting her chin into the bowl of her palms as she tap-taps her cheeks.

He sets their dishes aside on the island and squints at the canvas sack on the counter, “Well, it’s bigger than the gingerbread bag from Tommy, but I ain’t too sure, Red.”

“Well, it’s not a Christmas gift per se but it is a Christmas thing.”

He purses his lips, rubs his hands together and leans in, “Hmm...I am well an’ truly stumped, girl.”

“Open it.”

He does.

Joel’s chin falls inward as his head bobs and bounces a beat – he understands the significance and instantaneously processes its meaningfulness. The impact is immense but beautiful in every way she’s intending it to be; he swallows and raises, leveling a look and the tidal overwhelm of emotion he's fighting to measure, “Our meal.”

A sniff, a swift swipe at the base of her frost-tipped nose and, “Our meal.”

The man rounds the bend and wraps his arms around her waist, spinning the girl in his embrace; he brings her closer to his person – as seamless as they can manage – and they simply hug one another. They hold on and grip, grab and squeeze at various parts in varying degrees of pressure. This is forever.

Against his chest, she whispers, “Merry Christmas, part one.”

He angles just enough from the girl to see her, sliding a hand against her throat as a thumb ghosts across her windswept lips, chin and cheek, “Love you, baby.”

“I love you, Joel.”

He gently presses his lips to hers, breaks and, “Can I give ya one’a my gifts now?”

Chapter Text

The stillness of the house strums her sinew – this absence of sound is an osmosis, like low frequency reverberations fusing with her bones. The vibrations of this quiet bounce from wall to wall, from the crevices between the hardwood floors to the soft, timeworn threads of the throw rugs. This weightless void doesn’t frighten her, rather it’s enticing by its very appeal, alluring even; the noiselessness serves as a transport from this corporeal place to somewhere beyond the great realm of what’s veridical.

This is a composition she's finding herself in tune with more often than not lately, something she favors but doesn’t quite understand all that well. A thing that lends itself to whispers of love and lust, of want and safety.

It’s...trust and peace that’s surrounding her, altering the girl in ways she never believed feasible.

A smile graces her placid features as Ellie treks farther into the homestead and closer to her heart; she’s allowing this spectral submergence, allowing an inundation by wavelength-wraiths as they touch upon her wintry shores. She wades freely into the phantasmic bliss of this familiarity, abandoning fear and doubt with every step of her muffled footfall.

The silence melds to Ellie’s pallor exterior as it travels on this minuscule journey with her. Melting fractals of frost leave behind a fine trail of drip-drops as the hearth heats the polar layer adhering to her person. For the most part she’s no longer cold but the opaque sheen of crystalline ice is all the proof that remains of her wandering endeavors; the fire is roaring and defrosting her, even from the girl’s position in the entrance hallway. It feels good.

Despite the warmth, Ellie shivers and rakes her hair of any lingering flakes, languidly brushing into the tawny dampness with both hands. She flips forward after and removes any and every errant strand that’s clinging to the rear of her neck; its suffusingly sticky presence is maintaining a chill she’s grown more than weary of.

Enough is enough.

For now that she’s here – home – Ellie means to settle into the basic condition of a well heated, well tended house. Something simple and wholly normal but immeasurably appreciated nevertheless.

As she treks toward the steps, the girl nearly calls for him – this innate desire to siren her significant other and affirm that he’s here – that he’s alright. It’s a momentary swell of panic, albeit brief, when the silence of her indecisiveness comes on so steady and still; in the midst of these rare, ringing hollows, Ellie does her utmost to reinforce and confirm that things are as they should be. Or as this new normal has seen fit to dictate the last few weeks.

But fear isn’t the card she’s turned over today, no.

In its pleasant vacancy, she fantasizes of Joel but of a better kind than merely the reassurance of his health and wellness. Rhythmic manifestations begin to dance upon the familiar reels of her mind then, allowing an infusion of wonderment to her daydreams as she pointedly holds nothing back. It’s in these paracosmic visions of hers that placate and satiate, the details of such being wholly rich, vibrant and aromatic; everything is real to her, as real as he is when she’s above or below him. As real as those droplets of water left on the floor in her wake.

Still, in such flash-musings, Ellie tends to rely on the habits of a man she’s more intimate with than any other soul roaming this wasteland world. Thus it’s not difficult to imagine him consumed by his passions or suffering a loss of time as the result of his enjoyment. Whenever Joel involves himself with his hobbies, his ’simple pleasures,’ as he’s termed them, she witnesses raw passion in its most basic and beautiful form.

Tapping into that vein, Ellie visualizes Joel in his woodcrafting room, his thick forearms tanned by sawdust whilst elbow-deep into the latest construction of a Miller guitar. Each of his masterpieces are made to order and exceedingly unique in their own regard; it’s a beautiful trade he excels at, this painstakingly detailed work he dedicates himself fully to. It’s an intrinsic sense of creation and one that stirs her in ways with which all words fall woefully short of truly describing.

She could watch him build his acoustics every day for the remainder of her life and it would never become tiresome to her.

A shiver shimmies through as she envisions his palm rounding the lower bout of a freshly finished body; the way his hazels bore into the smooth curvature as he studies and checks for any nonexistent imperfections is...a sight to behold.

A gust of air escapes at that, her body aching to be palmed like those guitars. Again.

All of it – his actions and approach to damn near everything – is akin to foreplay to the girl now; from his delicate handling of the instrument to the way it rests atop one of those firm thighs of his, Ellie finds something seductive in all he does. But those legs.

Ellie’s straddled Joel plenty the last fourteen or so days but she’s yet to drum up enough courage to…thigh ride.

Or, at least that’s what Dina called it when Ellie explained the general idea of what it was she longs to do in that regard. Either or, she aches to feel his hard, corded muscle tense beneath her slippery opening, to have his hands on her waist and guiding her, driving her nearer to that edge she’s so eager to fall over every time.

The girl is desperate to feel all of Joel against a very specific part of her body.

Ellie groans as she begins her ascent whilst trying to tame the ravenous, sex-craved creature that’s casting its control over the girl as of late. Yet somehow, she’s mindful of the creaks and hushed cries of aging wood despite the innumerable distractions rooting in her.

She gathers the drippy bits of her one-track mind and stows the filthy imaginations.
For now.

Because...perhaps it’s not a guitar this time; Joel might be whittling a new project altogether, one inspired by the lush wilderness that lives in abundance around the man. Well, beyond the gates of Jackson at least.

As she ponders an afflatus beast for a spell, the girl resets her mental acuity onto what already exists: An image of the impeccably handmade Eagle he crafted a couple years ago surfaces – it’s one of Joel’s firsts and was carved during the early days of their separation. She’s yet to share with the man that that particular bust is her absolute favorite; Ellie saw it on Thanksgiving after she excused herself for a momentary respite. The raptor had been incomplete at the time – she was most assuredly not minding her business as she snooped around his wood shop – but the girl read its potential from the very beginning.

She recalls what led her to slink into his crafting space – remembers the distaste of that evening as a tincture of betrayal heavy on her tongue. The stony facade she managed to keep at bay that night had begun to wear thin as the hours progressed, especially as conversation and the imbibing of libations increased in number. No one knew that her and Joel...had fallen out by that point. At least not to the extent that they hid it from the world back then.

So it was that Ellie knew she couldn’t forgo the holiday dinner any more than she could splash Maria’s wine into Joel’s lying face.

’Ugh, fuck that noise. Knock it off. That was then. ’

Ellie physically shakes her skull to loosen the taint of their past free from its temporary stronghold.

The girl returns to the memory of the avian creation and revels in the light as it bleeds into her bones once again. It helps that during their age of darkness Ellie was still able to appreciate the beautiful things Joel was capable of constructing. Despite the iresome tensity of those days, or perhaps in spite of it all, that thought persisted and has carried on to this very day.

She’s glad for that.

For it’s the details that separate it from all else; the eagle is substantial and hand-painted with such painstaking precision paid to its prideful attributes. Ellie often wonders whether or not the bird is an actual taxidermy versus wood alone. She teased Joel with the very idea of this last week, poking at him to reveal its provenance while simultaneously flattering the man; this earned her supple cheeks more than a few playful spanks – which of course led to more immediate and pressing questions of a similar nature – but the girl knows it’s no imitation.

Still, she loves to rile the man, even though he always has the last and final word.

”Eagles are mighty big, girl.”
“...Like you, Joel?”

That last remark elicited an additional reward from him that slicks her slit and boils her blood at the mere thought of it; whenever the memory of that deliciously lewd act resurfaces, she tries to dredge up new and intriguing ways to get him going again. The girl yearns to stretch the borders and boundaries of Joel’s dominance as their relationship advances – to scale the towering heights and test its weaker points, regardless how few and far between they may be.

Ellie wants the man to abandon the last vestiges of his physical reticence – to fully let go and surrender to how she makes him feel. To give in to her fully and take ownership of her body and mind while losing his in the very fibrous tethers of their union.

She’ll lead him there, soon enough. Ellie can sense it.

’Mind is all over the place today, Williams.’

All of this – the back and forth, the imaginings, the reality – all if it affirms for Ellie how nothing of Joel Miller is inauthentic or easy-roaded. Not from the day she met him nor up to this exact point in their timeline – he has always been who she’s known him to be. Joel is a man who long ago acknowledged that in this life there are no half-measures. There aren’t any go-betweens, no almosts, no maybes.

Ellie admires that about him, no matter how frustrating of a trait it can be at times.

Yet, all of these ruminations have shown something else as well: Just what little ground she’s actually covered on this road to him today. She picks up her pace, ignoring the hazy reflection in the paintings that line the walls and instead forges onward with eager luster and hopeful intent.

Closer and closer to him still.

As she summits the staircase, Ellie notices the door to his craft-cave is open but only by a few inches; the girl halts, listening in a hushed repose for a tick. She doesn’t detect a single sound or ruckus of any sort from there though – no habitual tells that he’s consumed by a recent order or even cleaning up for the day. No radio, no swwphs of a dustpan and brush, not even the scritching of his boots as they trek upon the fine grains of wood beneath his bulk.

There’s only silence.

’Joel. Where are you…’

Starving another impulse to vociferate, she starts towards the bedroom and sips at the spread of warmth that pours into her; the entrance is partially open but not all the way, left in a similar state to that of the other room she’s just assessed.

Ellie takes one step, then a second as she surveys the scene ahead of her: She knows if the partition is ever fully open, it signifies that Joel wouldn’t be in there – but if the thing is shut, that suggests he’s either showering or changing clothes and the like. But if left part way wide, like right now, it indicates he is inside, though what he may be doing remains wholly elusive.

Secretly she’s hoping to catch him jerking off or writing a love letter or something between the variance of those two extremes. Anything to justify the simmering arousal that never seems to fully vacate her these days.

She willfully endures this burn and revels in the hypnotic ritual of dizzying lust that’s steadily consuming her.

Ellie exhales and rubs her palms down her belly, stealing her fervor for what feels like the hundredth time. She continues on this tentative heading, the girl lightening her footfall in an attempt to avoid the rickety squeals of these hallway boards like all the rest. Ellie’s a bit of a wood-ninja and it’s become a burgeoning game brewing among the pair for a while now.

He can never perceive her oncoming approach if she doesn’t explicitly want him to – not for a lack of any one sense – and so when she springs, the girl startles him more than he might ever dare to admit. Afterwards, she’ll add a victory point in her name every time; Joel’s been begrudgingly losing for years and today looks to be another loss for their phantom playbook.

Stifling a snarky giggle as she suspends by the handle, Ellie scrunches her nose and shuts her eyes before pressing gently on the brass knob, granting herself admission.

Once inside, the young woman halts. The soft cadence of snoring and a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales is first to welcome the girl into this quiet, slumbering palace.

Joel is...napping.

’Holy moly, you never nap. I must be wearing you out old-NO. No more old man shit. You’re my older man, but not old...you’re my big, sexy older man...but you’re not fucking old, dammit.’

Ceasing the word battle for the time being, and warring against the gravitational pull to go directly to him, the girl forces her attention onto the console table beneath the bedroom window. She tilts as her gaze travels along the broad, sweeping wings and the expanding ends of colorless feathers; it’s a fearsome avian – the same apex predator she was contemplating a few minutes back.

His eagle, her favorite.

She eases into its orbit and considers the contents of the table as a whole: Beneath the wingtips of the impressive statue sit two images and two only. One is of him and his daughter, Sarah – of which Joel appears so young that Ellie hardly recognizes the man – like a different person but...not at the same. The other is a capture she has a duplicate of, though her copy is tucked away in an album somewhere in the heart of her garage.

It’s of her and Joel with Shimmer at the Jackson stables.

That particular image was snapped after Joel surprised Ellie with the beautiful mare as an impromptu gift. She was barely sixteen at the time and in need of her own steed and this happened prior to their week-long excursion to the Wyoming Museum. The gesture meant everything to her, as did the horse herself; Ellie always longed to have one of her own, a trustworthy animal to care for and be cared for in return.

He was so outwardly joyous that afternoon, even with a severe tone and the general semi-awkward nature of the photograph in question. But Ellie, oh, Ellie couldn’t kill the wattage of her smile for weeks and weeks afterwards.

Every morning she would race to Shimmer’s stall, feed the magnificent equine and wile away the hours just being there, present in the minutiae and present in this wondrous new life that found her. A life that had chosen her. Joel kept her and she kept him in return.

Shortly after dawn, the girl would find herself in the stall either brushing, mucking or sitting beside her beautiful girl, whispering hopes and decisive dreams with that naturally goofy nuance of hers – she would share her doubts, too. Doubts of what might have really happened in Salt Lake and why her person seemingly lied to her when it was all on the line. All those unanswerable questions to Joel’s half of the story – the only half she knew of back then.

Ellie remembers those days with the purity of an untainted fondness – well, untainted for the most part.

A frown redresses her features as those dissociative days tinge her taste with ashen embers and roiling regret; she winces, pushing beyond the once miry deception to focus on the copious gain that’s thriving all around her. Again. She keeps falling into this pattern but is ready to free herself from its spin cycle.

She trails a digit to the edge of the frame and nibbles on her lower lip, easing into the serene seas of brighter oceans; of her and Joel, of Shimmer and sunshine...just brighter. The girl peers about after, processing the stillness of the house and alluring sounds emanating from the bed. She bobs a beat in this silent introspection but chooses her exodus wisely. It’s time to move on from the ruminations of yesterday.

The mental gymnastics have run its course to an exhaustive completion, resetting and resituating all her toggling bits and baubles into an unwritten present. She will stall no more.

Onto the betterment of their now.

Ambling deeper, she turns left towards the peaceful center of this space and finds Joel on his side, clutching her pillow to his bare chest. His head is pitching down, nose digging into the linen case that Ellie’s certain fosters the scent of her; she wants to strip herself nude and slide in beside the man – wants to be warmed by him, wants to twine every part of her to every inch of his solid structure. Like ivy wrapping itself to an iron trestle, she’s desirous to meld with the man.

Beyond that, the fact that Joel succumbed to his fatigue while thinking of her turns Ellie on in ways wildly unsuspecting; knowing that he drifted into an infinite ocean with her at his helm ignites a volcanic tempest of romance and wanton ardor within the girl. It’s all paramount to her, to the love and euphoria that wondrously plagues the young woman.

Irrespective of her dire straits, she won’t disturb him, not for now at least. Ellie suspects he needs this, needs to actually rest and she knows herself well enough – she will not heed her hands and then all the relief his body seeks will be ultimately forfeit. No, the girl won’t do that to him.

Fortunately for her, there are...other things she can tend to in the open time this atypical nap has allotted. As she’s only just returned from her scavenging adventure with Dina – this visit to Joel was a pop-in to let the worrying man know she was home – there’s a collective of items to sort through waiting for her in the garage.

A smirk paints across her mirthful, mischievous features as she recalls one of the treasures she stumbled upon today; this is a secret she will keep but it’s the good kind and the sort that will reveal itself when the time is right. Christmas being that right time. Only a handful of days away now.

Still, Ellie wants to get a feel for the thing and how it looks and sculpts to her body. To decide if it needs any swift alterations or adjustments and whether or not she feels comfortable or absolutely silly in it – either or, she aims to have a measure of harmless fun while she’s able to.

At that exact moment, Joel sniffs in sharply and pinches his browline low and hard on itself; there’s a slight whimper after, though it’s more of a whining grumble than anything untoward or fearful – he’s dreaming. By the likes of it, it’s not that pleasant of a dream.

Bending but heedful of her position and balance all the while – she doesn’t want to sit on the mattress and wake him by accident – Ellie planes a hand through his messy hair and gently rounds his scalp, pressing lightly as she goes. Her tactility traverses to the nape of his neck after, spooling some of his hair around a finger while tugging on it just enough to appease her appeal.

She nearly whimpers by how much she favors his longer hair, but stifles the salacious urge and forges onward. Eventually, Ellie twists apart from those wavy ends as she continues on south, looping spheres atop a shoulder while tracing a few of his faded and aging scars. Knives, he said. Gifts from his early smuggling days.

Days that aren’t theirs. Days that no longer matter.

She wants to kiss those feral marks but settles for touching the rough curvature of his relaxed muscle instead; she’s appreciating the sheer size of him, thinking of how she could do this all day – just feel and revel in how good, and how right it is to be here with him in this way.

But that’s not what this is about, not fully anyway. Ellie wants to calm the fury of the man’s dreamscape, to suture his wrecked mind and return him to a more blissful state of unconsciousness.

Her actions work.

As the tension in Joel’s face begins to wane, the lines on his forehead nearly vanish with it; she pads a thumb across the area, pushing his hair aside to glimpse yet another cicatrix, a knife that cut far too close. She winces and touches the thing quick before knowing she’s run down the clock and the longer she lingers, the more Ellie is testing the limitations of his slumber.

Without a thought to the otherwise, she angles lower and puts her lips to his temple – that temple, the one from her own nightmares that illuminated a catastrophe she never wants to meet firsthand. The girl holds for a spell, breathing him in just as he’s breathing her; a thousand worlds, a thousand lifetimes and journey’s lived both together and apart play in lightning-fast succession.

She glimpses their failures and triumphs, their bumps, bruises, punctures and perforations. It’s everything and nothing all at once.

Ellie beholds it all and grasps tightly to all of it, a ferric grip onto the past, present and future as they have been, as they are and as they may be. All things for and with this man. This mountain-moving soul who’s given all of himself to her and yet desires to give everything still.

Needing to staunch an emotional swell from fully cresting, the girl bites the inside of a cheek and shores her retaining walls – she needs to steal that hasty exit and she needs to do it now.

Kissing him quickly one final time, she drags the tips of two fingers from his bicep to his hand before easing out of this hallowed expanse in resolute silence.

Well, mostly resolute.

“Love you.”

Ellie repositions the door to its previous state, angling it as best she can before slipping free entirely.

Now that she’s back within her modest living quarters, the first item of business is to seal the curtains and lock the door. Ellie doesn’t want to be caught doing what it is she’s about to do; not that she wouldn’t love for Joel to see or watch her – this tendency towards exhibitionism with and for him that’s been arousing of late – but with this particular project, the girl wants to control when he sees.

She notes her bookbag sitting on the floor by the bed frame and with it there’s a small duffle; inside the battered and beaten North Face carry-on is an array of items, some pragmatically useful for everyday life (a small bottle of vodka, a box of bandaids, three dozen or so tampons and not one but two tubes of toothpaste) and others that are not so practical.

Dredging deeper into the case, beyond the plundered household and hygiene products, she pulls a dark canvas wrap and lays it atop a bent thigh. She pats the woven fabric and shifts the contents around but doesn’t remove them.

Ellie will need to wash the thing before she wears it for him first, but for today, slipping it over her panties is reasonably acceptable. She needs to get a feel for it and a quick trial won’t hinder nor hurt.

“Damn thing was in plastic for twenty-four fucking years. Don’t believe anyone was hurting for one of these after Outbreak Day. Or since.”

Ellie pauses to wonder if Joel will take to this or if he’s the type of man who’s not ”into” such grandiose gestures when it comes to intimacy. Well, intimacy beyond the teasing, explorative acts they’ve done up to this point. Regardless, she hopes he’ll enjoy it, otherwise one of his gifts will be a stunning disappointment.

But she refuses to scrutinize that last, unwilling to risk the ruination of this alluringly sexy fantasy. A sensation comparable to exploitation thrills through the girl’s veins by the mere idea of what she aims to accomplish with this – of how Joel may look at her. She takes a shot in the shadows that those hazels of his will appear several shades darker than they’ve ever been.

She’ll watch him watching her, examining every minute movement, every shift of his stance, every reactionary response, subtle or otherwise. Ellie will watch as he tetters on the edge of his need for her while woefully trying to maintain that ever present stoicism and control.

”Fuck, I want you.”

Her patience reaching critical mass, Ellie unlaces and unravels the column of twine that’s kept the burlap secured to itself for the adventure home. She somehow managed to be careful whilst stowing each piece of the set, despite Dina carrying on throughout the process with her usual naughty rhetoric...

”Joel’s gonna nut the second he sees you in this, El, holy shit.”

“You sure this won’t give him a heart attack? Don’t want my best friend going to Jackson’s jail because she’s too hot. I mean, you are but a man ain’t worth it, honey. Not even a pussy-licking professional like him. Well...maybe that’s worth it.”

“I mean, fuck, Ellie. Joel really won’t last. Better prep that womb of yours for a long term guest is all I’m saying.”

Ellie emits a hearty laugh as the high-spirited words of her best friend play unimpededly; she knows the girl means well and was mostly joking and yet, she can’t help but wonder on that final comment.

Will her and Joel fuck each other with reckless abandon at the starting line or will they entertain a far more measured and safe go at it? Ellie mentioned this exact morning how she wants time to enjoy him before their inevitable future becomes the present.

“Suppose we’ll see how this whole seduction with lingerie goes...”

Rising, she walks to the foot of her bed and places the woven cloth and it’s innards onto the duvet. She opens it a half at time, revealing its contents slowly; the moment she sets her greens onto them again, her heart thunders by a distension of anticipatory arousal.

Sagacity arrives as a roaring whisper: Ellie knows Joel will fucking love this.

She pulls the sections apart from one another and assesses each with as much admiration as she can meaningfully lend at current. There are three pieces in total: The panties, a bralette and a high-waisted, long-sleeved bodice that wears from her shoulders to the v between her legs. It’s the most tantalizing thing Ellie’s ever laid her jade irises upon, second only to Joel himself.

Spreading the bits out, she inspects them one by one for the second time today: The matching panties and bra are opaque but the top layer is tightly-interlaced fishnet – a mesh material similar to that green pair of underwear he loves so very much. But all of it, the entire outfit, is a deep, matte black. Silky to the touch but soft on the eyes as well.

It’s sexy but not pornographic – an imperative balance to Ellie when she chose this particular gift for her man. She knows Joel isn’t one to pop in a dirty tape and jerk off, or at least she doesn’t suspect he is, so to put herself into a role he never would seems illogical to the girl.

This bodysuit however, is more in tune with what he favors when it comes to being turned on – he likes her covered but likes to see through her layers, too. Joel enjoys being teased and teasing in return, and this entire thing is nothing if not the very essence of that.

”Let’s try this bitch on…”

Ellie hurriedly removes her jeans, socks, top, cami and bra but leaves her undies in place. Laundry will be later, when she knows there is more time to wash, hang dry and stow it all without the fear of him spoiling his gift by an impromptu visit.

Though she never minds those…

”Focus, Ellie.”

She focuses.

Sliding the ebony bottom up her porcelain legs and the bralette latched to her chest immediately after, she adjusts her stance by the mirror and studies the appealing sight that greets her.

Ellie revels in how this is making her feel – sexy with a side of kinky...but mostly brazen and ready – and then proceeds onward, retrieving the bodice. She gently works into it but goes about the task sedately; it’s a delicate suit to say the least and the girl doesn’t want to tear or shred it before Joel has a chance to.

”He’s gonna rip this fucking thing apart. At least the top layer.”

She swallows a tidal wave of want as she fusses with the straps, tightening it here and there before teapotting her hands to just look for a spell.

The bralette has two strips of cloth that arch above the cups, separating them from the rest; they serve as a frame for the supple flesh above her shrouded nipples, giving the illusion that there’s more than what actually exists.

Ellie knows her bust is small and it’s been a source of insecurity for as long as she can remember, but Joel loves her breasts and that boosts her confidence in ways wildly unmatched.

She touches herself then, striving to replicate his maneuvers in an act to cool the escalating desire; Ellie handles her breasts, pushing them together and pulling them apart, testing the durability of the fabric in tandem; she lifts and slightly bounces a beat after, judging the appearance and appeal of how it holds up through an array of haphazard action.

From there, she feathers her tips low onto her body, the fishnet-mesh feeling like liquid silk beneath her palms. She fixes the waist, scooping it higher on her person to expose more of the skin between her abdomen and panty line.

This exposes more of her belly, too.

Ellie deserts reality as the sense-echo of those lips and his rumbly love declarations begin to submerge the finality of this magicism. She pats her belly and travels lower, summoning the warmth from his hands as they pressed to the taut muscle of a body longing to harbor him. She rakes her nails there, stretching the hollows between the material’s threading but not enough to mar any of its infinitesimal loops.

”You better rip this fucking thing open, Joel.”

Borrowing a few more glances until she slips out of the sultry wear, Ellie poses and winks at herself, feeling utterly absurd the entire time. Still, it lends a hint of levity to the nerves that prickle her subconscious and conscious mind – a dubiety that’s evergreen and ever-ready to undo her confidence in the span of a second or so.

It’s nothing to do with whether or not she wants him and wants it – the belief is crystalline in how lucid those truths are to her. But she knows their first time is near and though he spends time where time must be wisely spent, Ellie’s expectant and wishful for a certain kind of experience. Specifically a cataclysmic, star-colliding experience. Or so the movies say.

There’s no hesitancy in whether Joel could provide that for her – he can and will – but it’s her end of the bargain that predominantly dredges up concerns for the girl. She doesn’t know if she’s capable of pleasing him in that way or if she’ll try too hard, go too slow, too fast, or pine for so much without the wherewithal to speak the wanton nature of it aloud.

”I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do.”

And that’s all she will do, when the time comes.

For now, Ellie slinks loose of the erotic attire and stables it within the burlap once more. She will conceal it beneath the confines of her bed until their duty schedules misalign – Tuesday or Wednesday should be that day. When she suspects Joel will be on tower duty, leaving her with a few hours to cleanse the bodysuit and its complementing pieces. All in preparation for a Christmas Eve offering.

Originally, the girl thought to wait until Christmas morning, but she’s swapping presents – her motivations are wildly impure, as the girl yearns for this – and herself – to be unwrapped that night versus waiting until dawn the following day.

Ellie Williams is impatient but Joel seems to favor and savor that nuance to her personality; she leads with this at the fore and it’s convincing enough.

Peering across the minute living space, she considers the hour – a quarter past four. He will be waking momentarily, if he hasn’t already, and Ellie wants to be there to lend a hand with Sunday dinner prep. Or perhaps...other things. Either way, she aims to get to the house earlier in an explicit ploy to avoid any future bouts of lighthearted teasing from Tommy.

Speaking of, Ellie is beginning to ponder whether or not that man suspects more than he’s letting on. The girl sits in uncertainty for the time being, but with a pair of off-hand remarks from the Hoedown and others during their patrol shift a week or so back, there’s plenty to shepherd her thoughts towards the direction of his knowing.

Perhaps post-meal she will innocuously corner the man and dredge his psyche with the tried and true tactic of being charming as fucking hell.

For right now though, Ellie cuts a short path to her washroom – she’s in need of a shower to heat her chilled bones and refresh following the day’s successful excursion.

She’s needful in other ways, too, but those can wait until she’s with Joel.

He gently presses his lips to hers, breaks and, “Can I give ya one’a my gifts now?”

“Well, how about we enjoy the delicious lunch I trekked through the winter wilds to bring us and then you can give me whatever it is you’d like to give. Gift or...otherwise.”

Her hands travel low on his body after that, drawing imperfect lines from his ribs to his belt, and from his belt to his empty jean pockets. She slips inside the denim and roams a bit, squeezing those firm cheeks as she teases his mouth with ludic nips and licks; the girl is eager for their traditional Christmas Eve entree but anxiously fighting an impulsion to strip bare and tackle the man.

“Hmm. Suppose a few bites would do us good. Then ya gettin’ my gift, girl.”

She shivers at that – Joel witnesses this physical event every time it occurs and loves it more than the previous – and joins her forehead with his. Pulling in her bottom lip, Ellie steals her fervency and works to disarm a howling maelstrom as she spins closer and closer to desperation's end.

’Not yet not yet not fucking yet.’

“Fiiine. Only because-”

“Ya love me?”

“Mmhm. But I’ll unlove you real quick if you make me wait one-more-time after this.”

“Well, we do gotta get to karaoke later-”

“Joel.”

”Ellie.”

He bowls her chin, cradling his woman as though she’s the most delicate being on this decimated earth – and she very well may be that. To him she certainly is.

“Patience, babydoll. We need’a eat. Keep our strength an’ all that.” Joel winks and Ellie nearly disintegrates, kept alive by the stronghold of his embrace and nothing else.

There is no other option but surrendering to the effect he has on her. And so she does.

The girl’s lids lay heavily above blown pupils – she’s languishing by every word, syllable and letter of his pointedly suggestive deliverance. Everything he does and all he says is a symphony of ascendancy – as though she’s rocketing from the pale blue dot towards a universe of eruptive constellations. She’s welcoming an inundation of boundless stardust, thrust into an infinite array of unnameable actualities as Ellie jets onward and upward.

But amidst these starry skies, a dawning begins to permeate through a chaos of color: After she receives his holiday prize, no matter what it is, she will be able to offer him her own.

“Fucking...fuck patience. But okay. After a few bites, I get yours and you’ll get mine. Deal?”

He takes a step apart from her at that, tilts his skull and lightly smacks the side of her thigh in accordance, “Deal. Now c’mon, those helpin’s ain’t gonna eat themselves.”

“Neither am I.”

“What’s that?”

Ellie brightens the area with a toothy grin, though it’s feigning an innocence they each know is wonderfully absent, “Oh, nothing. Pot pie related.”

“Mmhm. Someone’s in a state today, huh? Must be all’a that Christmas spirit.”

She swats at his rear as Joel rounds the kitchen island but the man gets too far ahead and Ellie misses by an inch or so. She groans with an animated sigh and, “Must be that, mmhm. Yup.”

It’s not long until Joel has the entire spread of food set into a buffet on the marble countertop, ready for him and Ellie to ingest at break-neck speeds. They’re hungrier than they were mere moments ago but Joel knows he won’t eat to get full, not even halfway if he’s being honest with himself. An instinctual guide implores that he doesn’t, though he won’t admit to obeying this unseen wisp of wisdom.

Joel doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable by any unspoken expectations that may persist, should he share what he’s feeling; he wants today to be what it will, no more, no less. Hopes to enjoy their first Christmas as...whatever it is they are while taking not a single shred of it for granted. He knows the other end of this spectrum, knows how far the distance can extend if left to demons that revel in spite and ill will.

It comes down to appreciation – Joel values her and wants to show it as well as he’s able. On this day, but all the others to follow as well.

“Penny for your broody thoughts, Mr. Miller?”

“Well...I like when ya call me that, for starters. Makes me feel sorta like a teacher.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow and, “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna teach me today, Mr. Miller?”

Joel snorts and almost chokes on a bite of crust and sliced carrots, “Might need’a show ya how to behave better durin’ meal time...”

Ellie scrunches her nose and lowers her gaze, leaning closer to him, “Oh yeah? What’re ya gonna do about it, big man?”

Joel’s chest rises and falls, his hazels burning by all of what exactly it is he’d like to do to her – and that ass of hers – if she keeps edging him on like this. But he’s lost the war already and knows it, knows this will continue whether or not he teases the girl with mostly hollow threats or gives in entirely and takes her.

“Alright, Red. Reckon we had enough’a this delicious meal for now. C’mon. Livin’ room. Present number 1 go time.”

Joel pushes his plate into the center of the island and twists, staking a soundless exit.

“Oh shit, right now?”

From over his shoulder, “Feel free to join me when ya ready, girl.”

She’s ready. Ellie is more than ready but she won’t divulge the blinding urgency of her readiness yet. Or...fully, rather. The girl knows she’s an open book to him, and has always been that for Joel, but there exists a fine line between eagerness and being woefully pathetic. She will distance herself as far as possible from the latter, otherwise it might lay bare a youthfulness she won’t feel at ease with. Surmises he wouldn’t either.

“Oh, I’m good to go now.”

As she enters the cozy, firelit space, Ellie glimpses Joel easing down by the hand-stitched skirt looping their tree trunk – she’s always loved this particular facet to him. He’s never on the couch sharing gifts or watching as she opens hers, but instead prefers to be a part of the merriment. It’s an antithesis to his overall character and one she couldn’t stop thinking about for weeks after their first time celebrating with one another.

She guesses it’s a holdover of something he once did to enrich his relationship with Sarah; being a single dad for so long, he must have done his best to be unconditionally present whenever he was able. Either way, Ellie loves it and secretly hopes to witness this exact scene in the future one day...with a baby or two bouncing on his lap.

Ellie gulps as the bewitching fantasy fills and fades in rapid succession; now is not the time and yet it’s precisely the time for such intensely beautiful imaginings. But as she loves this propensity of his to be mentally and emotionally present, the girl drowns the inner dialogue to extend the same regard in return.

“Alright, Red, ya got three gifts. Givin’ one of ‘em to you today. Was gonna let you choose, but I think I know the right choice for the occasion.”

Ellie kneels across from him, sinking onto her heels while rubbing high and low on her thighs; she’s nervous and completely clueless as to what any of his gifts may be while secretly anxious to give him his. Which...isn’t under the tree.

“Oh, fuck. I forgot to–after this I gotta run to the garage for yours. Totally forgot to bring it here in my rush for lunch. Oops.”

Joel smiles and nods before, “No worries. An’ I’ll go with ya. But first...”

Reaching into a wooden crate with unsullied canvas laying over top, Joel retrieves a small, wrapped package. Decorating it are a pair of clipped pine branches interwoven with loops of thin twine; for the second time in as many minutes, Ellie admires the lengths Joel will undertake for those he loves. In both great and simple ways, Joel remains reliable in all manners that truly matter.

“Oh, damn Joel. Look at–you’re suspiciously good at this stuff and my piss-poor attempts shall forever pale in comparison.”

He laughs but doesn’t take his eyes off of hers, “Open it.”

She does.

Tugging on the loose rope, she draws once, twice before the twigs fall to the floor and the burlap with it. It’s a small box, not quite the scale of a watch case but close enough to it. Ellie has even less of an idea of what this object could be but finds little interest in guessing; she doesn’t want to build an idea in her head for something that may be too soon in the telling of their love story. Maybe, maybe not. Still.

With her chest constricting and a throat grasping for all the air it’s failing to secure, Ellie lifts the lid and...instantly bursts into a fit of sterling hilarity. Slapping a hand to her mouth, her greens expand to infuse the room with immeasurably vivid color – far more than the Christmas lights could ever wish to achieve.

“Oh my fucking God, how did you fi–WHERE DID YOU FIND THESE? Joel!”

He laughs and scratches the nape of his neck, kneading the flesh while avoiding direct eye contact with the elated girl; he knows there’s mere seconds until she attacks or takes a playful swing, but being privy to this reaction is affecting him far more than he originally planned.

It’s beguiling and he feels powerless in the delightful overwhelm of its presence.

“Mmm. There’s some genuineish Harry’s Kisses for ya, darlin’.”

He remembered.

As she clutches the gift to her chest, Ellie’s laugh amplifies, its resonance imbuing the house by the purity of its mirthfulness; he could listen to this beautiful chord of happiness until his dying breath. Hopes to do just that.

“But how?” Her mouth hangs partially open as she plucks one of the foil wrapped chocolate treats from the center of its makeshift pedestal. She twists and turns the sweet thing, watching as the silver paper catches and refracts the glittering lights on their Christmas tree.

“Don’t worry none ‘bout that, girl. Now go on, try ‘em.”

“It’s almost too pretty to unwrap, ya know?”

Joel titters in a semi-sincere response, raising his eyebrows and clicking his tongue, “I do know that.”

Ellie notes the double entendre and scrambles to him, setting the box onto the floor before looping her arms around his neck; she clings for a spell, just staring at the man – learning and relearning his face in such personal proximity that it nearly siphons the air from her lungs.

She kisses him sedately, her lips feathery as she suspends on this precipice of gratitude and brutish desire; the lure of the descent is vivid and stark, its song a whimpering mewl among the hollows that circle their very presence.

Ellie lists by a few inches, runs the pad of a thumb along an ear – the left, the one with the scar she craves to know more of – and wets her lips before, “Come to the garage with me?”

Joel nods in a knowing silence, offering the barest hint of a side-smile before looking between their bodies, “Eat one first.”

The girl snorts, nibbles on her bottom lip and sniffs in mock-consternation, “Bet it smells delicious.”

Plucking the rice paper tab from the apex of the sugary pyramid, she loosens the aluminum, peels it away and places its fraying bits onto the coffee table.

“Here goes nothing…”

“Close your eyes.”

Ellie winks and does as such, proceeding to place the wee snack directly inside; she allows it to marinate, loaning precious time for the heat of her mouth and the saliva on her tongue to begin the melting process. After a half minute or so, she bites, sucks and chews until it’s fully consumed and all she’s left with is a delicious aftertaste.

Eventually she keeks through her lids and licks her teeth in consideration; grinning, she looks from whence the present came, “Fuck. I want a thousand of these now.”

“Well, ya got three left. For now. Enjoy ‘em, pretty.”

“Thank you, Joel. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He taps her chin and directs her eyes onto his, “Harry’s Kisses was mighty unique. Makes me laugh every time I think on it. Besides, given all that’s gone on, I figured they’d be a hit.”

“You figured right. Mmmm...want one? I’ll share with you and only you.”

He shakes his head, “Nuh uh, all for you, love. But thank ya.”

“Well, just remember how generous I am, alright? But we should get to the garage so I can give you your first gift. We have a few hours until Bison’s Karaoke but I don’t wanna rus–uh, yeah. Let’s just go, okay?” Gazing to the far end of the room, Ellie accosts herself for the near-slip while looking at Joel’s DVD collection.

He’s oblivious to what awaits on the opposite end of her door, but Joel’s intelligent enough. It’s not rocket science for the man – he can assuredly deduce what she almost said that she’s most definitely not saying now.

Though he won’t acknowledge it.

Instead, “Mmhm, lead on.”

After shutting the glass doors on the fireplace and storing their partially consumed lunch for later, Ellie and Joel don their winter wear and exit through the rear entrance. It shortens the trek, yes, but also reduces the probability of any bystanders interrupting their short walk. A minor risk of an inconvenience but a risk nevertheless.

Neither are in the headspace for any of that.

It’s less than a minute until they’re within the cozy barrier of her once and mediocre palace, hanging their coats, stowing their boots and stepping deeper into the modest fray.

“Gotta use the facilities. Can you get the space heaters and stove going? Should have left them on but again–“

“You was in a rush for the food. Get, girl. It’ll be warmer in no time.”

She gets and in her absence he lingers for a pair of heartbeats, circling her space to browse the trinkets, collectibles and decorations proudly displayed. There are ghosts of their past thriving in every corner, poised atop every shelf and tucked into every nook the girl could carefully arrange.

It’s so distinctly Ellie.

He smirks and spins on a socked-heel, sights set on the wood-burning stove and the pile of logs resting beside it. He toggles the switch on two of the electric heaters in his path but spends extra time stoking the infant flame once he achieves ignition.

’Done an’ done.’

Moving on from the task, he rises to consider his physical position while awaiting her return; he could take a seat on the mattress but doesn’t want to be overt with his intentions. Not that he’s fully committing to any individual exploit but being here today feels...partially foreign.

The gift – her present, whatever it may be – has his intuition needling into the red; she’s been in there too long but he’s hesitant to examine why that may be. Is the delay rooted in fear? Perhaps Ellie is apprehensive of what could happen between them today...or what may not. Either way, he’s silently hoping that she remembers there’s no pressure, no obligations to be fulfilled with him. Not ever. Especially not in regards to...that.

Joel sighs. These thoughts are cumbersome as they gradually swarm and devour his mood; it’s unnerving for a man who spent half his life reserving mental energy solely for survival. It’s...a lot and so far out of his wheelhouse but then again, this level of love and being in love is wildly new. He understands and welcomes the change, viewing this all as nothing he can’t reasonably manage – but the back and forth headspeak is...wasteful.

Joel makes a decision: He sits on the couch.

Angling forward, he peruses through a few of her superhero cards laying on the coffee table ahead of him; The Child is on top of the meager stack with another dozen or so sitting beneath it – it’s the same one Ellie found on their sojourn to the Baldwin place a little while ago. He doesn’t pay any mind to those others, doesn’t feel one way or the next about this collectible either, not really anyway. What Joel does care for is how Ellie looked at him after studying the item for a minute or two.

He idly wonders if the desire she harbors – for him, for a family with him – were already coalescing by that point. Instinct murmurs that yes, they were.

A great surge of cascading emotion pummels him, the sudden spike in his chest piercing with an ache he knows all too well. This longing he’s been living with for over twenty-four years now.

Twenty-damn-four. Jesus.

Of course he knows the length of time, feels the incalculable grief in his bones as sure as he feels his love for her still. Yet, it’s becoming more and more apparent that when the time comes, and it will certainly come, the suspension between death and birth will be Joel’s greatest challenge to date.

But for now, he needs to put it out of his mind – to exorcise the darkness and exit its shadowy designation, to return to their present with an open and willful heart. Joel’s waiting on a woman, patiently at that, and there’s nowhere else on this fungal-fucked of a planet he’d rather be.

Placing the cardstock back into its position, he settles into the worn cushions and stretches his limbs; rolling his neck, popping his knuckles, rubbing his thighs – he’s killing time by avoiding it altogether. The more he fusses with his sinew and aging bones, the less he’ll ruminate on whether Ellie’s hightailing through the bathroom window in a last ditch effort to abandon him for good.

’Knock it off, ya old asshole. She ain’t gonna do you like that.’

But the silence is deafening and sitting still is a burden too weighty to bear. So, he stands, rounds the low table and walks towards her tv console and media area. It’s located by the base of her bed, undoubtedly on purpose, but it’ll serve to distract him far better than doing nothing ever could.

Bending a knee to the floor, Joel leans forward, bowing his torso to gain a better angle of the game titles she’s playing along with any recent movies or music.

He smiles.

There’s a Fleetwood Mac CD, Say You Will, alongside an empty PlayStation 3 Skyrim case – its cover is fading but he remembers the Dragonborn logo with an incomparable fondness. Though he loves the former, Joel never pinned down enough time to properly enjoy the video game – too many obligations during those days. Despite this, he decides to ask her about it whenever the topic of gaming circles to the fore. Or at least on a day wholly dissimilar to their current.

He flips through a few more discs, running a digit along the dusty edge of the console before, “Joel?”

The man snaps-to, his head twisting to glimpse Ellie standing a few paces to his rear.

Every breath of oxygen vanishes in a mass exodus as his mouth drops open – his eyes paralyzed and unblinking as he beholds her. In a distant recession within his mind, he realizes he should stand, should go to her and say something – to react as a man his age should...and he will. He will do all of that. But for now, Joel observes for a spell as he exists within the bewitching stage she’s set.

“Do...do you like it?”

Ellie’s tone is timorous as she seeks reassurance with that coy familiarity Joel knows all too well; he clears his throat and stands, cock fully hard and plainly visible in his dark trousers. Joel doesn’t care about his appearance at current, wouldn’t notice if all of Jackson filtered into this room – there’s only her in that...outfit and nothing beyond it.

Remaining studiously silent, he walks to her, watching her sage capture his own; her irises appear dusky, betraying a stormy seascape of arousal and tidal anxiety that’s wading on the surface. She’s not attempting to hide it entirely but she’s obstinate to reveal too much too soon.

He adores her for that. Adores that she thinks he can’t see it or knows he can but tries anyway. Adoration all around.

In her orbit now, he notes the tensity of her muscles as her biceps flex and relax, flex, relax; Ellie is barreling and loosening her fists over and over, a systemic rhythm at odds with what he hopes she’s actually feeling.

“Do I like it?”

She vigorously nods.

Joel is closer but not so close that this middle reaches her belly – the man surmises that if he touches the girl, there’s a possibility he may never recede. So he lingers in the allotted leeway, memorizing the minute, intricate details as day bleeds through the join of her cerulean curtains. He’s sinking into this portrait as a palette of golden-blue paints her snowy skin with an ethereal halo, stealing his air and taxing his heart.

But Joel needs to convey that he more than likes her gift – that what her tempting attire is eliciting within him is far beyond the realm of merely ‘liking.’

He begins to circle Ellie, walking spheres with slow, reverential steps; the sight of her in this...fishnet lingerie incites him to a level he’s never known prior to this moment. It’s a fluid sensation, indistinguishable to the roaring of flames as they burn through his every molecule; the way she looks, the search for his approval – all of it tastes like euphoria on his desperate tongue.

’Christ alive, losin’ my fuckin’ mind, girl. Need’a have ya.’

On the final pass, Joel stands in front of her again and reaches outwards in an effort to affirm and assure the girl. Using the tip of a lone digit, he traces the arch of the bodice’s high-waist, hooking beneath the frail fabric as he travels down, down, down. He pauses just above her sex, fighting the urgency snarling at him to taste, fill and fuck her all at the same time.

’Control yourself. Control the situation. Show her how good it’ll be...’

He lifts his gaze and looks down on her through his lashes, “Tell me, Red, is your pussy good an’ wet?”

Not what she was expecting and yet it’s precisely what Ellie was hopeful for.

A sharp intake fills the chasm of this quiet place until she finds herself nodding, her physical agency diverting all energy into autopilot mode. Ellie wants to berate herself for the blatantly ardent response but it would be a useless distraction. Instead she finds her voice and, “...You know it is.”

“Mmhm. An’ ya want me to play with it, yeah?”

Another exuberant bob of her head, another silent plea with herself to calm the hell down.

“Yes. But Joel, do you li–”

He interrupts her.

“An’ all this week an’ last we been playin’, right?”

Ellie’s piqued but resolutely uncertain as to where this is heading. Still, she listens to that seductive twang and absorbs his intense presence as she blindly follows along.

“Yes.”

Another finger joins the first, slipping beneath the hem of the thin bodysuit – but he pointedly circumvents her matching panties. He tugs on the mesh lightly, forcing her hips to arc towards his, “An’ is this my gift? This...mmph...this sexy outfit on ya?”

She enfolds his wrist and curls into his belt, pulling on both to leverage herself nearer to him; her lips hover by his chest, less than an inch from the unbuttoned v but distant from his mouth for the time being, “Merry Christmas, part two.” It’s a whisper, her air hot and vinous against his exposed skin.

He smiles, his chin sitting part way atop the voluminous mess of auburn. From there he looks south on their bodies; Joel tips her chin upwards before loosely grabbing her throat with his entire hand, “Ya know what I’m gonna do to ya, right?”

’What I need’a do to ya…What I know you been beggin’ for.’

She wets her lips and rises onto the balls of her feet, endeavoring to kiss him – but Joel tilts away before the girl is able to arrive at her destination. Ellie’s eyes glimmer in the waning light, her brow pinching with bewilderment before she glimpses something dark and feral cloud his hazels – though it’s not dangerous.

It’s...something else altogether. Something mostly new but alights and intrigues her all the same.

This. This is what she’s been aching for all along.

“Joel?”

“Question wasn’t rhetorical, baby.”

“Oh. Y-you’re gonna make me feel real good, aren’t you...big man.”

After definitively retiring ’old man’ from their rapport – though he doesn’t know this yet but will, eventually – Ellie’s taking decisive action and deploying an expression that feels accurate in every sense. He is that – a big man – and so she shall call him as such.

He shifts then, firming his hold on her while moving his one hand from the front of Ellie to the girl’s rear. He grips and squeezes one of her ample globes, repeating this as he presses himself to her abdomen, finally letting her feel what it is she’s doing to him.

“You want me to make ya feel real good, huh?”

She gestures as well as she can manage but words are beginning to fail her; Ellie’s mind is awash and relinquishing to the seafaring haze of their wild waters. Her greens seal shut, despite the longing she harbors to witness and retain every waking second of this subservient ecstasy.

Joel kisses her then, still clinging to and possessing various parts of her – but it’s a teasingly light osculation, one meant to invoke her focus onto what and where it should be.

Without fully separating, Joel licks a dribble of saliva from her and, “I’m gonna fuck ya so good today, Ellie. Gonna get you comin’ on me an’ beggin’ for more.”

Ellie whimpers but makes no effort to lighten the desperation of her exhalations – she’s been soliciting this, for those exact words, since their revitalized genesis. So to hear it said aloud, to know that he’s finally offering to take her and give in to what they’re cultivating, is an awakening that rocks the girl.

She clasps onto his shirt, curling her fingers into the fabric – tugging and breathing in short fits and gasps. Ellie is unraveling.

“Mmph, Joel...I want it so bad. Want you to take me so fucking bad...”

He smiles against her lips as they reconnect with one another, their mouths spit-slick and motions messy and fervid – just as she likes it. Just as he likes it, too.

Stopping, he angles backwards ever-so and, “First, I want ya to do somethin’ for me.”

Joel’s tactility tours as he says this, his nails catching on the tiny holes of her one-piece suit as he drags his tips high and low on the girl. Joel inclines to destroy the thing, to rip, tear and separate it from Ellie – it’s an inherent yearning to unveil the enchanting porcelain that’s lying beneath it. But he won’t do that, not yet anyway.

He wants to fuck her in it first. Wants to watch those framed tits of hers bounce as he thrusts himself deeper and farther inside of her.

Ellie juts her chin forwards and, “Anything.”

There’s a faint emittance, a snarl so low and rumbly that Ellie begins to shake by the seismic drive of it; her insides and outsides tremble as the girl suctions and releases her bottom lip in a show of her desperate measures. She’s being catapulted towards the pinnacle of an immense plateau, her acuity suffering as she submits to the prominent dominance of this man.

“I’m gonna get on the bed. You’re gonna get on my face.”

“But I thought–”

He smooths the pad of a thumb across her lips, effectively silencing the girl before, “Wanna take my time on ya, Red.”

After, Joel pats one of her lissom cheeks, gripping the mound firmly before promptly unhanding the girl. He arches an eyebrow in confusion directly after though: Her fingers are pinching to the zipper by the nape of her neck – an outward act to disrobe the seductive garments she’s only just slipped into.

Reaching quickly, Joel grasps her limb and halts her; intertwining his fingers with Ellie’s, Joel stops the untimely procession, “Nuh uh. This stays on a while.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm. On ‘til I rip it off’a ya.”

The girl shivers as a flurry of chills rush through the center of her, the infusion boiling her blood with a firestorm of transcendent carnality. The girl teeters on the cusp of submitting to him in ways she’s fantasized of but has yet to experience; Ellie is primed but anxious just the same, knowingly running into the expanse of these luscious fields and all he’s stirring within her.

She peers at Joel for a beat then releases him and turns to the bed; its linens are tidy and neat and the sheets are clean but Ellie is unaware as to what protocol may be for situations such as these. Should she turn down the covers or wait for him to get into place? Should she stand here forever and hope sex just happens to her somehow or should she run full-tilt and meet him halfway?

’Clueless. But focus up, Williams. Get that dick.’

Ellie almost laughs at her inner dialogue but stows the humor for a later time. Fortunately, neither she nor Joel are of that headspace, so it’s easy to negate the puckish-speak in favor of a reality far more savory in its immediacy.

“Hold up…”

Joel suspends them there, brushing aside the long lengths of her thick, russet hair; he grabs the base of her hairline and tilts her skull just-so, exposing more of her neck...and thus the zipper and clasp.

He sutures the metallic teeth and re-latches the hook, fully securing the lingerie to her person again. He presses to the exposed skin above the mesh but below an ear, kissing and keeping her against him for a spell. Joel leverages his breaths, consuming just enough to recognize her arousal and, “Want you real bad, girl. Feel how g’ddamn hard I am for ya.”

Ellie lists to rest on him as she fades by his growling whispers, hearing these salacious words of desire and ache; her lust is matched only by his own and she’s a tangible vibration. But the girl is needful, a silent entreaty to feel more of this man alongside his indecent murmurings.

“I’m yours, Joel. Take what’s yours.”

He nips at her, suctioning to a patch of skin longer than he carefully should – he minds not one bit for reason or justification right now though. Wants to mark and make her his, no matter how universally lewd and unsightly a ‘hickey’ may be.

After, he licks the blushing circle and, “Mmph. C’mon.”

He paces ahead of her, laying himself supine into the middle of the bed – duvet and all else remaining as-is. Joel lays his head comfortably onto her pillows and extends an arm to usher Ellie to both join and situate snugly against him.

She does. Mostly.

Straddling his waist for a couple seconds – seconds that feel longer than the span of an entire year – Ellie yanks on his shirt and, “Can I?”

Joel clicks his tongue and, “I’m yours, baby.”

Tugging the top open, the nickel snaps with a cadence of high frequency pops – music to her ears and a tantalizing sight straight after. The girl’s touch traverses from his belly to his collarbones, her fingers scraping into his hair as she goes; Ellie instinctively grinds on his stiff cock, her searing center going hard and unhurriedly on him.

“Mm...fuck, gonna stretch me so good, Joel. Can’t wait to-to watch…you go in-insi..de...”

Her words subside into the upending ocean of her bottomless compulsion for him – he glimpses this, loves it, but wants to control the situation and allow time for…everything he aims to teach and show his woman. Today’s not the sort to race to a finish line, no matter how alluring and enticing the concept may be.

He grasps her thighs and stills her, redirecting all attention to his face, “Mouth’s up here, darlin’.”

She chuffs lightheartedly – appreciating his innate sense to disarm her preoccupied ardency each and every time. Still, “Won’t the...panties and other stuff get in your way?”

“Nope. Get on up here an’ I’ll show ya.”

A pause, a mischievous rumination and, “...Or what?”

Joel smirks: It’s just like Ellie to push back on an order of his, no mind to how nervous or callow she may perceive situations at times.

“Or…” He spanks a palm to her exposed ass once, twice, all the while boring hazel holes into the girl as she snaps forward and gasps. She brings her aching slit down onto him in response, rocking herself against him harder and harder still.

“Ffffcuk...do that-mmph-fucking do that when you’re inside of me, okay?”

“If I gotta tell you one more time to bring that pussy to me, I’m gonna apple those cheeks’a yours. An’ that'll be all I do. More red for ya, Red.”

Ellie’s breath quivers as she crawls up his torso to assume the position; Joel’s gone down on her a few times since that first on Sunday night but they’ve yet to try it this way. As she settles, there’s a minuscule part of her afraid for his level of comfort – will she suffocate him? Will she be too heavy? – but she’s choosing to trust the process and believe in his experience. If nothing else, there’s always the latter to rely on.

With a thigh lining either side of his face and her knees dipping into the soft cotton, Ellie grips onto her whitewashed headboard to steady herself. She wants to look down at him, to watch what he’s about to do but is hesitant just the same – this is all new and different that she’s finding herself incapable of a solid decision either way.

’Look at your sexy man about to–‘

Every thought in her mind dissipates as a hand shifts her lingerie to one side; a knuckle brushes past her swollen nub and the girl all but mewls. She’s forgotten all the rest.

“Mmm Joel...”

Her hips start to sway of their own volition, her desire overthrowing and replacing doubt and apprehension with white-hot need.

She feels it won’t take much for her to orgasm but Ellie knows Joel – he’s bound to extend this as far as he feasibly can. A practice that kills and saves her in tandem. The girl shivers at the notion, her focus returning to the physical acts of the man between her legs versus the future of an impending climax.

For his air is scorching and his presence felt as he kisses around her center, feathering teasing taps of his lips to her thighs and near her sex but not quite on her sex. Rolling her hips towards his mouth, Ellie is trying to get him to lick and lap her faster than she suspects he otherwise might.

Lightning shocks through as he abruptly smacks the rear of her leg with his free hand, gripping the flesh after and holding firm to it for a spell, “Patience, darlin’.”

His tone is a dangerous squall, like a booming brontide cycling nearer and nearer to her the longer she tests his limitations.

The girl whines after, her vision blurring as she reels and berates her defiant body, shifting to be closer in line to the tempo he’s set. But she loves when he gets rough with her, loves how filthy and illicit it leaves her feeling; it’s a clandestine longing of ownership that beckons to her in ways descriptors fall woefully short of conveying.

“No patience, Joel.”

“Ya wanna be sore all over, that it?”

“Mmm...no, yes, I mean–”

He does it again.

She hisses again.

Ellie angles away from the headboard, moving an arm in towards her chest; she cups and squeezes a breast before migrating to the other, wanting so badly to sheer the transparent fabric and earn more of herself. But she won’t. That’s for him to do.

Joel watches as she gropes and begins to lose the final tethers of her inhibitions – Joel uses this temporary distraction to his favor: He kisses her slick hood, teasing her with a swift swipe of his tongue. It’s just enough for her entire body to go rigid above him as she reacts to this stark change of pacing.

’She ain’t gonna last...’

Such musing delights him but he doesn’t revel in his looming conquest, no. Instead, Joel reaches around with his lone hand – the other still keeping her panties at bay – and rubs her stone-hard bead. The abundance of her slick allows his thumb to glide smoothly all around her, smearing her arousal from her hood to her rear hole. As he spreads her wet, Joel notes that the tawny patch of curls appears smaller than it was the last time he was in of it.

She’s shaved but left behind just enough for him to enjoy – his girl knows him well.

As he inventories her rapid breathing and the state of her pussy, Joel smirks and, “Damn, girl. So swollen. You wanna come already, doncha?”

Ellie groans and exhales an unintelligible word...or three, but finds it in her to offer a sign of affirmation; her heart is racing, her lungs burning like match paper – her body is nearing total incapacitation. Of course she wants to come.

She grapples with herself though; taking things as sedately as he’s endeavoring here is proving arduous and challenging. But she’s so turned on, so ready and willing that the girl is going blind to the forest through the trees.

Ever needful, Ellie pleads, “Pl-ease...fucking-llllick me?”

He does.
The girl nearly howls.

“Oh God–Joel–fuck yes…” Ellie’s hands go to his hair as she shivers through her broken sentiments, digging into the mess of blackgray with great enthusiasm and waning coordination. She wants to ride his face just as she wants to ride his dick – wants to grind on his nose and fuck his fingers until she’s numb from the aftershocks of multiple apogees.

The girl is well and truly under the influence of his erotic authority – and they both know it.

Joel relents to her desirous keening because his intent is to have her beg for his cock, not his mouth. So he’ll let her have this first with the unspoken caveat that the hole she wants fucked and filled won’t get it as easily.

He tongues the girl, licking high and low on the outskirts of her opening before pushing inside; he tastes as he twists and works himself further into her, pressing his nose to that fiery button in a purposeful stroke. Joel is taking full control of her sex, reveling in Ellie’s flavor and the lewd, submissive noises she’s emitting.

But his cock is screaming at him, the stiff thing straining in his jeans; it’s not exactly painful but a siren all the same. He’ll need to tend to it sooner rather than later but doesn’t want to interrupt himself – or her enthusiastic ardor.

Sliding his tongue out of her, he shifts her hips just enough to invite that delicate bulb to his mouth; he sucks on it slowly at first, drawing and releasing the pressure on her in a series of rhythmic waves. She arches at this, her ribs expanding as she hisses and pulls on his hair.

She rubs harder at that and, “Ohhhh fuckfuckfuck.”

Joel thumbs her newly-vacant pussy as she begins to lose herself to the sensations of his stimulation. He’s teasing, yes, but heightening the magnitude of her ache tenfold; the man is aware of what he’s doing but she knows what she wants and he’s more than willing to watch as Ellie comes undone by the truth of it all.

As his digit moves inside of her, he feels her walls flutter and the ensuing spike of arousal causes Joel’s hips to rise off the mattress and snap upwards. The man thrusts at nothing but lends his actions no additional afterthought; fighting instinct and the urge to flip his woman over and fuck himself into her is proving more difficult than ever.

Ellie feels the bounce through the mattress springs and part way spins to drink in the rest of him – he’s so hard she’s able to see the teeth of his zipper, his cock damn near busting the literal seams of his trousers. An idea forms amidst the daze of her riddled psyche and so Ellie raises her legs and firmly plants her feet on either side of him.

Joel halts and detaches from her, “Goin’ somewhere, pretty girl?”

“Wanna try a thing. Gonna lay back on you.”

“Hmph, tryin’ to get at me?”

Ellie chooses not to answer, instead lowers until her spine is flush to his bare belly. Her rear is now resting almost entirely on his collarbone as she shifts, thus allowing additive space to spread her legs and open more fully for him.

Joel exhales and licks his sex-drippy lips – this is...one of the most provocative positions he’s ever been privy to and riling him in ways he’s wholly unfamiliar with.

“Fuck. Look’a this...mmph, damn.”

She raises and bends her arms, futilely trying to reach his dick but the angle is too awkward – she can extend only so far as his thighs. It’s no matter, the girl adores all parts of him and feeling the corded, roping muscle is plentiful in its own rite.

“G’ddamn, I like this. Now grind on me, girl. Wanna see those hips workin’ for it.”

She greedily obeys.

Anchoring to him, the girl rolls and shiver-hisses the moment his mouth reconnects with her. His beard adds to the pleasure – the coarse, roughness of it needling her sensitive bud like tiny points of explosive light; her flesh is a fevering-red and shiny, glistening by the convergence of their fluids and his thick facial hair.

She presses harder, letting slip a noise she’s almost certain didn’t emanate from her. And yet it surely did.

“Ffff...uck, I love your m-mouth…”

He mumbles against her, sucking and lapping in revolutions both slow and fast; pushing two fingers inside, Joel spreads them, fighting the unbroken ring as Ellie’s body aims to expel and keep him there just the same.

Hooking his digits forward, the man’s only able to get as deep as the contortion of their bodies allows – but it’s enough. As she whimpers above him, her hips gyrating as she goes harder on the man’s face, Joel is nearing the limitations of his denim and the boundaries of his control. But this first time has to be right and things need to proceed as well as she deserves.

So he battles on, focusing on her while ignoring the direful imploration within his trousers.

Still, she’s a symphony of wanton noise, her whimpers an orchestra of unadulterated pining; Ellie’s sounds are the gates of heaven but there’s a demon dancing on her tongue. A clever creature luring him closer to the razor's edge as she fucks his face.

Removing the pair of fingers, Joel's hand glides up and across her belly to grab a firm hold of her skimpily clothed chest; he grips her breast and rips part of the bodice to get inside the bralette, seeking her pebbled nipple. He summarily pinches the thing, rolling, pulling and teasing it, before gripping her fully and repeating the process.

During this, Joel continues to work her pussy, groping her with one hand while tucking the fabric of her panties aside with the other still. It’s a series of skillful acts – of coordination he wasn’t entirely certain he could maintain with this new position but Joel’s relieved he’s somehow managing to handle it.

In the melee of his mental and physical gymnastics, it begins.

He feels her slick walls spasm and he knows she is near, so near that the enticing ravine – the descent – is all that remains for his girl.

Operating his tongue, Joel licks all of Ellie as she begins to jerk and lose what little control she was once in possession of.

A gasp, a hiss, a void of all sounds and then, “Oh fuck, Joel, oh Godohmyfuckinohh Joellll...”

Ellie comes and succumbs above him, her body rigid as it bridges from the pulsating shocks roaring through; his hand on her abdomen now, he forces the girl to stay flush to him from the start of her climax to its bitter end.

Her legs tremble as Ellie holds onto the rigid muscle lining his rib cage; she’s using her man as an anchor – using his foundation to reinforce the tether she keeps with this planet.

"It's...s-so good-I feel...fuck I feel so g-good, Joel..."

After a minute or so, she begins to cycle down slowly, her air returning as the rosy tint to Ellie’s pale flesh simultaneously intensifies.

Joel pecks a delicate kiss afterwards, licking the last remnants of her orgasm; the final fluttery clench pushes a milky-white drop of fluid out and into his mouth – he groans and it’s all he can do not to praise her by how much he loves bearing witness to this.

“Mmm. The way ya taste, Red. Makin’ me wanna earn seconds.”

She suspires an amused chuffling sound before, “Come here and share with the class then, Mr. Miller.”

He slips the panties over top of her sex, shrouding the girl again but they both know it’s a temporary stay before the rest of his intentions proceed.

Joel grunts as she rolls apart and onto her belly, her legs bending by his shoulders – the girl’s head is by the end of the bed, given her most recent position with him, but this is precisely what he wants.

Well, eventually.

He sits, wipes his beard and mouth onto a sleeve and then pitches up to his knees. Steadying, he runs a palm across her back, tracing his touch down and down until reaching her mostly-bare rear. He bounces one of her round globes, slips a finger beneath her panty line and then...quickly retracts his arm. A low grunt follows as Joel latches to his belt and, “Need’a get these off. Gonna waste a good pair’a denim if not.”

Ellie springs at the sound of clanging nickel and mirrors his position but Joel holds her wrists as she tries to pull on the leather, “If ya get those hands on me, I ain’t gonna be able’a stop. You sit there nice an’ pretty for me, yeah?”

The girl pouts, feeding into the dynamism he’s exuding but it’s all part of her supplication – she won’t take the quasi-rejection to heart. Instead, she lists forward and kisses him, finally earning a savory taste of herself. She licks and laps his lower lip, teasing his tongue with hers, while touching his bare chest and ceremoniously falling again.

But she stops and peers south between them, exhaling a whimper as he pulls his cock from his boxers. Dark jeans are pooling by his bent limbs and once again, Ellie imbibes the alluring portrait of Joel Miller half-clothed; the repercussions of it all torch her desirous flesh from the inside out, her body eager to earn and bend to him in all ways.

Simply: Ellie can’t wait.

Distracting Joel with an additional kiss, she wraps a hand around his length and strokes the man from root to tip; she smiles against his mouth as he juts forward and grumbles beneath his breath – Ellie knows she’s provoking the beast. Her beast.

“You don’t like listenin’, do ya?”

She angles away and gazes to him through a series of intentionally demure blinks, “Nope. You know that.”

“I do.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

The corner of his smile pulls in a halfway sort of smirk, his head lowering into the hollow of her neck after – seeking closeness, seeking Ellie. Leading with his touch, Joel rounds her partially covered waist to reach the soft skin of her vulnerable bottom. He gently cradles the undercarriage of her, but refuses to squeeze or show any proper attention to it just yet.

“I suppose I could teach ya a lesson, seein’ as that’s what you want, ain’t it?”

“Mmm. I love when you teach me things, Joel.”

He bite-kisses his way along the curvature of her throat to the blade of a shrouded shoulder; his fingertips feather back and forth along the seam of her as he does this, drawing unseen patterns from one side to the next on those beauteous ample mounds of Ellie’s.

His heart is a cacophony of thunder, the muscle racing behind bones that are wildly inept at containing its chaotic storm and yet, he persists despite it all.

“Tell me, baby, ya like havin’ a man handle you the way I been? The way I am.” He slides a finger lower, curling the digit until he slips into her wetted entrance – he slides it in, pulls it back out , repeating this process agonizingly slowly. He notices the instictual parting of her legs as they widen to allow him deeper and deeper still.

She refuses to answer, rather stealing a moment to revel in his explorations while contemplating his question; Ellie knows the answer though, knew it the instant Joel ceased speaking, but she wants to draw him out – wants to hone that dark energy and bring it to the forefront. To harness it.

’Harness it riiiight in my pussy.’

The girl removes his shirt and tosses the garment sight unseen during such uncharacteristically stoic behavior – but her endeavors are less concerned with the nuance of labels. She’s more in line with intentional procrastination at present – a means to a very specific end.

Still, the girl’s aware she can’t remain mute forever.

“Are you officially my man, Joel?”

He leans a foot or so apart and tilts his head, “Well, you’re my woman. An’ I love the way ya handle me.”

Joel winks and pushes his core forward, further into her stronghold, clenching his jaw to stem the arousal that’s crashing into him.

“Ha ha.”

“M’serious.”

She knows he is. His default state is usually Serious Joel but he’s loosened his britches over the last few years. Even during their estrangement the girl could detect as much; she’s happy for that. Happy for and with him.

Without another thought, Ellie rounds his tip, smearing droplets of his precome all around and, “I think I was always supposed to be yours, Joel. To be handled and just...yours.”

He doesn’t utter a syllable beyond that, instead dredging three poignant words Ellie said to him the first time Joel brought her to an orgasm – “...And my last.”

He nods in reverential silence. It’s all he can offer, everything he can manage in the momentous wake of her declaration. But there’s one resounding thought above the rest: It’s time.

He kisses her mesh-clad shoulder quickly and rounds her waist, kneading the supple muscle before, “Lay on ya belly for me, girl.”

“Oh?”

“It’s your first time an’ I don’t wanna hurt ya. Gotta take it easy.”

“But...not too easy, yeah?”

He winks and oscillates for a beat and, “You’re somethin’ else, El.”

“You love it.”

“An’ I wanna show ya that. Now go on, lie down.”

Ellie lowers, resting onto her calves to sneak a respite for her nerves – though not before pressing a kiss to the slight sink in Joel’s chest while she submits to his request. The girl will yield and do as directed...but in her own way – always adding her particular brand of zeal which is precisely why he fell for her. Precisely why they’ve chosen one another. Or, one of the main reasons rather.

He cradles her head as she breathes him in and kisses lower still, her lips pausing by the puncture mark from that severed section of rebar he landed atop once upon a time. She lingers a little longer, firming her resolve while absorbing the strength of his immovable presence. Her bedrock.

At last, she releases and stretches onto her belly, extending both arms to grab hold of the pillows framing either end of her face; she releases her anxiety, too, offering all of herself to this man in another cataclysmic moment of change. In a display of trust and understanding that neither have experienced prior to right now.

Joel looks at his woman as she lays there, her ankles crossing and uncrossing in rabbity movements – she’s unsure of what she should do, unsure of what’s required of her.

“Relax, girl. Remember...feel me, alright? An’ if anythin’ hurts–”

“You won’t hurt me, Joel.”

He nods and rises from the bed, pulling the felled pair of garments off of him to join the wasted button up on the chilly floor. Ellie watches on, resting onto her braided forearms and wearing a wanton smile as she studies his body. All those scars, all those muscles, veins and bones that make him everything she cannot live without.

The girl is waiting on what’s next.
She knows what’s next.

He’s naked now – it’s the first time he’s completely bare and she is not – and this doesn’t go unnoticed between the couple. Ellie wiggles her eyebrows and shuffles her backside, bouncing an inch or so off the linen in a silent plea to lure the man, “Gonna take this off of me now?”

Joel grumbles his way through a low, reverberating laugh as he straddles her thighs, his cock too hard to hang down and touch her limbs – but he’s aching to feel her, aching to be inside.

“Soon.”

Bending forward, he poles his arms to the flanks of Ellie’s torso, suspending above her now; his dick is poking her and as Joel feels her skin against his he damn near shivers knowing what’s about to occur. Still, he understands that he needs to tackle this slowly, to be mindful with every bit and avoid any unforeseen circumstance that might leave her feeling less than what she deserves.

He pushes his length to her malleable behind and rolls his hips from north to south along the separating line of her. Joel repeats this a few times, but knows it’s only good for one-half of this equation, as she’s still wearing the mesh bodysuit and matching set. So he shifts, readjusting his weight onto one arm as the other grabs his cock and puts it between the apex of her legs.

Placing his lips to her neck, he kisses and turns to her, “Open a little for me, girl.”

She does.

Angling into the depths of that hollow cavern between her thighs and her sex, Joel thrusts once, twice, sensing her slick seeping through the ebony panties still adorned to her. Adorned for now, that is.

It's a tumultuous chemical reaction to feel how well she’s coating him before he’s inside of that sacred, untouched space – the girl’s arousal so profusely obvious, just as it’s been the past few weeks. This need is turning him on to the point of physical distress, and though he will enact all he knows to maintain a steady pace and cultivate the appropriate experience for her, he will heed the warnings all the same. His desperation may be as clear as the afternoon beyond their walls is bright but Joel will not lose his way.

“Good. So damn wet. Pussy nice an’ ready for me…”

She adjusts her position so she can face him, the dark of her jade glimmering in the sparse light of their hallowed chamber, “No more teasing, Joel, please...please just…” Ellie lifts her hips and rolls against him – trying to sweeten her sentiments, trying to earn the fill she’s begging for. The girl needs this, needs him to fuck her and give this part of himself to seal and cement their bond in an entirely different way.

“So eager, Red.”

She nips his lip as her eyes shut from the fluidity of their rolling, rocking hips; Joel’s thrusting into that minuscule opening by the outskirts of her as Ellie pushes against him, angling to drive him to the brink and race at a speedier stride.

“So eager for your cock, Joel, yes…” Ellie spreads herself as wide as she’s able until she meets the resistance and restriction of his thighs – there’s no way to combat that if he won’t allow for it. She knows it, so does he.

“Maybe I’ll do this for a while instead. Use the drip from your leakin’ hole an’ make it more wet real soon. Come on this sexy fishnet. Whatcha think?” He melds himself to her, laying his front to her back, expelling the last lingering bits of emptiness between them. Wrapping an arm to her waist, Joel flattens his palm to her belly and pivots her towards him, bowing the girl into a semi arch.

“Don’t you...fucking dare...Joel. Y-you wouldn’t...oh fuck you would, wouldn’t you-”

He growls a feral sound, his air hot and heady against the base of her neck, “Ya know me. I’m a man of my word. I told ya I’d fuck you an’ I’m gonna fuck you.”

The girl falls onto the pillow with a huff as she damn near expires beneath his weight, beneath a man she’s so in love with in every way that her bones are rattling by the very absence of him.

“But first, gotta get some’a this off ya.”

He rises quicker than she expected and the forfeit of his heat, albeit temporary, causes the girl to flutter; Joel sees this as he settles onto his hind legs, straddling her thighs with his cock damn near twitching as it glistens with her slick.

’Christ alive, ain’t gonna last. I ain’t gonna fuckin’ last.’

He massages her lower back then, kneading the taut muscle for a spell before moving downwards to grab her cheeks...and spread them. He glimpses her openings through the thin layers of fabric that do a well enough job hiding her and he sniffs sharply, “Baby, you’re a sight, ya know that?”

“Do something about it...”

Those words have been said to him before but by whom and when, Joel finds he’s woefully inept at discerning. It’s no matter. There is only Ellie and no one else. There never was anyone else.

“Somethin’ like…this?” Joel spanks her right side and the girl juts upwards, all the delicious sinew lining her spine flexing as she works through the surge of adrenaline. He can only see part of that through the bodysuit’s layer but what he glimpses is a bounty of the highest order.

“Fuckk–fuck me, Joel. I know y-you wanna fill my virgin cunt, I know you wan–”

He spanks the opposite half of her bottom, ceasing the girl’s tight-lipped incitation of him and just what it is that he wants. She’s right, of course, and they realize as such, but she earned her first climax easily enough earlier when he greedily licked her hole. But that was then.

“Such’a filthy mouth on ya.”

Sucking in a steal of oxygen, Ellie grips the pillows with silent furor and, “You wanna fuck that too again, don’t you?”

He spanks her twice for that, noting the blush on her cheeks as it begins to surface more and more by the second.

Ellie hisses again, burying deeper into the pliant linen, “That’s not a no.”

Joel smirks but shifts his palms to bowl the underside of her, bouncing her ass and watching as it moves; a hypnosis that clouds his thoughts in ways illogical and yet sensical just the same. He curls his fingers into the fishnet bodice and her panties after, tugging slightly, endeavoring to pull them away from her aching center.

There’s an unintelligible murmuring from higher up in their shared space but Joel doesn’t inquire – he’s too enraptured by the salacious spread before him.

“Never a no, girl. Not ever.”

“Then what’re you waiti–” Ellie stops as her midsection forms another sudden bridge: Joel’s unhanded the fabric, allowing it to snap back to her. It slaps the girl’s entrance, thus resulting in an instantaneous rush of heat that floods her belly, causing her insides to twitch.

’Fuck I could come again if he keeps doing this…’

“Joellll...”

He smiles again, “There it is. Got ya beggin’.”

The girl wants to twist and behold his dominance – to swat, kiss or cling to him – she just wants him. This is torture of a cruel and unusual kind – her limits being tested for all the strength that's seeping through the fibrous threads of her soul.

Ellie’s withering by the exploitation of what she once believed she could withstand.

In her fitful silence, Joel bends downwards to kiss the clothed dip between her shoulders, putting his mouth in closer proximity to hers. He balances on an arm as his other tears through the mesh as though it were nothing more than aging paper, “This was the best gift I ever been given. Sad to waste it but…”

She listens to the sound of threads tearing apart, the tiny pops and fissures of the severed cloth loosening the rest of the garment above her center. With this loss of tension against her person, Ellie’s never felt more desired in her entire life. In every way and in every sense of the word.

“There were others at the store…”

“Good. I got more Christmases to celebrate with ya.”

“And...just days, yes, Joel. We do.”

He kisses her and abruptly propels off the mattress to settle by the flank of her limbs. The panties are all that’s left but those he won’t rip – not because he’s incapable, surely not that, but because he likes the idea of her wearing part of this outfit in the near future.

Likes the idea of musing on a random day, wondering whether or not she’s dressed in the lingerie set he first fucked her in. That is already a future memory he’s eagerly craving.

“Lift again, real quick.”

Ellie follows this latest command and bridges her body with sufficient height for him to glide the inky-black underwear off of her. Her lower half is fully nude and moderately exposed by the range of view the girl’s lending him in this pose. Her sex is shiny, glassy with arousal – Joel peers low on himself and sees he’s dripping slightly, too.

Enough waiting.

“Keep your legs together a while. Even if ya feel like you wanna spread ‘em, okay?”

Ellie nods and turns to see him, “Mmhm…”

She’s forgone the use of her voice, replacing all words, teases and taunts with an utterance that testifies to the nervous anticipation overwhelming her veins.

Joel kneels above her, one leg bent but both on either end of hers, his cock throbbing and dribbling onto a pale thigh lying supine below; he uses a thumb to part her seam, glimpsing the girl’s opening and the rest of his life all at the same.

“Tell me to ease up if it–”

“You won’t hurt me.”

She’s on her elbows, body bowing and bottom slightly upturned towards his groin – waiting waiting waiting. Waiting on a movement, waiting on a moment – waiting on the collision of every star that has ever lived and died to see them to this exact point in time.

Joel and Ellie.

He wraps a hand to his cock and directs the fevering thing to her entrance, rubbing his head to each of her holes as he slicks himself and smears her fluids in tandem. He does this a few times, teasing her, teasing him, but really, acquainting the girl with the feel of him in this way. Should she want to stop or appease her greater sense in regards to what he’s about to do to her – either or, Joel wants the options available to her. He loves her enough to put the brakes on things up to the very last nanosecond.

There’s a whisper, no, it’s a whimper and Joel reminds himself that she wants this as much as he does. She loves him enough to go to the very last nanosecond of his life with him.

Joel shakes at the thought, seals his hazels and then pushes inside of her.

He goes slow, so purposefully slow that he’s not sure anything beyond his glans is actually in his woman yet. Still, Joel feels her instinctively tighten around him and she vents the oxygen she pulled in before he entered her.

“Jesus…” It’s a muttering so stunted that Joel’s uncertain as to whether or not he said it aloud or in the deepest recesses of his conscious mind – but it’s a prayer, a plea and a reaction all in one.

’Fuck, ain’t gonna take long. Focus up, dammit.’

Going deeper still, he witnesses her acceptance of him inch by steady inch with an all-consuming sense of veneration; he’s been with many women but no one has ever evoked this unerring adoration in him. The way his beautiful Ellie has him feels as if the slate has been washed clean; she’s rewriting his past and all the ideals he once settled upon and lost himself within.

Beyond the ceremony of his heart though, Joel’s cock is diamond-hard, his balls already rising towards his torso – but he’ll fight his end until the man is fully thrusting upon death’s hallowed door.

Redirecting his attention to her exhalations, he listens to the steady whining and unrefined noises that release in tempering waves; as he pushes in, she exhales – when he lingers, she inhales. The girl is calming herself as he does this, a natural inclination that has evolved over time; an evolution that was once based in fear but is now rooting solely in partnership.

And then Joel ceases – he’s in as far as this position will allow, which is a little more than half his length. Her bottom serves as a bumper of sorts, allowing the man inside but only so deep.

He lays atop her then, joining as well as he can with her resting on her arms; he reaches a hand around to cup a breast, ripping through the mesh to get inside, just as he did when his mouth was on her.

“Mmph...Ellie, you feel so good.”

The young woman tilts and rests her forehead to his temple, reveling in the feel of everything as his lips dance from her shoulder to the delicate space below her ear; releasing the pillow, she loops to the outside of his arm and clasps to his wrist, “Fuck, Joel...you’re insi...de of me. Goddammit, feels so fucki-feels so…”

He stabilizes his weight and proceeds to hold part of the girl’s throat, bringing her lips to his; they kiss and it’s an osculation so slow that space and time extend beyond their shared reality towards an infinite abyss – no beginning, no end.

They’re tumbling into a bottomless void, mouths and bodies interwoven in a crystalline chasm that holds and keeps them just the same. Shimmering, beautiful things.

They’re wading in a sea of silver and jade, their bodies sinking and rising amidst the deep blue heart that beats at the core of this unreality. Resonating, pulsating beings.

They’re together.

Joel breaks first, “You feel so damn...just, hell. So tight an’ tiny around me.”

Ellie shivers at that and tries to widen the v of her limbs, pleading with her eyes as any spoken sentiments have noticeably abandoned her.

“Nuh uh, not yet, Ellie.”

She bites his lower lip and rolls it between her teeth until she joins her tongue with his again; the girl wants to disobey, wants to challenge him with the propensity that’s always there but it dawns on her: He knew this would happen, knew she would try to get more of him. All this realization accomplishes is leaving the girl fitful to fuck him harder.

The nerve.

Ellie separates just enough to bump his chin and, “Yah uh, yes yet, Joel.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “Wanna make it last, girl.”

“Joel…”

The man squints as he suspends, waiting on what he’s certain is next to come.

“Stretch m-me, open me all the fucking way. Make my pussy yours–”

Joel grunts as he rolls his hips without preamble and holds firmly to her neck, “Your pussy is mine, Red.”

Ellie whines at his threateningly low rhetoric but hiss-winces as he pushes in deeper after exiting for the first time. He sees this response and raises his brows in question, but the girl interrupts; sealing her lips, she grinds to him, her greens alight and ready to take what she wants. Or as much as she can feasibly manage on this first go around.

Listing nearer, she licks his lobe before, “And that big cock is mine.”

“Mmph...mmhm.”

They continue in this manner, kissing alongside Joel’s plodding, languid thrusts as he tempers and keeps pace. It’s allowing Ellie to relax more and more as the rhythm of their union continues. Still, he’s aware that his climax could occur at any moment but no, he doesn’t want to finish this way, not in their current state at least. The man wants to watch her take his cock and...more, wants to see her spread out and open before him. To give all of himself and feel all of her in return.

The mere concept of such a scene tolls in the confines of his foggy mind like the ringing of a bell – every time he cycles closer to its bronze edge, a mounting din frays the remaining fragments of his control.

“Joel...Joel, I wanna, can you…” The girl wantonly sighs, tucking her chin to her chest as she capitulates to another wave of pain that’s not quite pain. It’s more like an intense pressure with an additive sting every so often – a physical awakening and of the kind she’s never experienced prior to now. Obviously.

Still, it’s not an unpleasant sensation and with the handsome man in her immediate orbit, everything is becoming less tense and worrisome than she previously envisioned.

“Hmm?”

She nibbles on his shoulder and throat, sucking here and there until she whispers what tastes forbidden, “I wanna...wanna feel you come inside of me. It’s my first time and I just–I want that. Please?”

A sudden cascade of adrenaline floods his spillways and Joel exhales while thinking on it for a beat. Thinking again about it, rather. It’s uncanny, almost as if she read his mind.

Remaining hush, he eases out of her – much to Ellie's chagrin if her pouty red lip is any indication – but quickly flips her over. The bodysuit has bunched up to her breasts, the tattering threads billowing against her flushed skin like an ebony tapestry coming unspun. Against her light skin it’s a stark contrast and one he commits to memory.

After, Joel pulls on the center of it and winks, “This really was somethin’ else but…” He tears the thing open, ripping it in half from its base to the collar securing it to her throat. There’s that hook and eye, and its zipper, in the rear to consider, so he knows not to tear higher and risk hurting or choking the girl. No need for that. He leaves the long sleeves of it as they are.

Finally seeing him in this way, Ellie gasps as he does this. She notes the protrusion of veins on his arms and the others low by his groin – on his thick cock, too; she bends her legs and widens the space between for him to settle, inclining to have him returned to her.

“Ain’t never seen anythin’ so g’ddamn sexy, girl.”

Smiling, Ellie clicks her tongue and places her palms to his belly, “Get back inside of me.”

“Ya sure?”

Green eyes flash with hunger and he smiles, “Kiddin’.”

He lowers and for a moment Ellie hopes he’s on the cusp of fucking himself all the way inside of her – wholly and fully this time. But he simply undoes the shiny black clasp between her tits to reveal herself to him. Joel wanted to watch the girl fall out of the bra as he drove inside again and again, but his impatience won this round. Instead, the man hastily brushes the empty cups towards her biceps and stares at his woman, admiring her luscious state of undress.

“Look’a you.” The man anchors to her hips and edges closer to her, reaching underneath to handle the soft, malleable flesh of her hind quarters; he spreads her wider and pushes her thighs down farther, knees almost flush to her ribs and the bed that’s supporting them.

She boosts her upper half off the plush blankets and gazes at the sight, a mewl slipping from her lips as she glimpses him so close to being in her again.

“Grab my cock an’ put me inside’a ya.”

The girl holds onto her air and does as she’s asked, jerking him a few times to slick her hand and prepare herself for the final breach he’s yet to make.

Joel’s breath wavers at the image of this, his summit so dangerously close that he’s beginning to lose sight by the edge of his vision and yet, he forges onward – ever ready to see himself second at his own behest.

Once his head is inside, he pushes again and just like the first time, she’s as unyielding as ever, “Relax for me, lie down an’ close those pretty eyes, yeah?”

Ellie submits – just as she has all afternoon thus far and suspects this will be their dynamic, regardless of the loss of her virginity – but grabs at herself, pinching her nipples and teasing just as he would. It aids in the mind Olympics one must undertake to placate in such new territories and yet, it leaves her feeling sexier and more appealing than ever.

After another bout of him going slow enough, the man burning their precious time and torching her nerve endings, Joel bottoms out. It’s the totality they were aching for, that they are craving still – his entire length is within her, all skin to skin now. Joel’s inside of her so much that he can see the alteration in her abdomen as he grinds against the girl. He’s moving without leaving her body, fucking her good without pulling free.

Ellie finally glimpses what he’s staring at and instantly presses her palms to it, needing to feel him on the outside as well.

Joel grunts and lays a hand atop hers, “Look’a how you’re takin’ me. Such’a good girl.”

Ellie twitches, quivering on the heels of his praise while simultaneously craving more and more of it. She thinks maybe it should bother her – why she requires this of Joel, why it elicits so many unspoken implications within – yet she refuses to be burdened by its nuance. Ellie just doesn’t care. She’s always appreciated his commendations and will continue to, paying no matter or mind to how starkly different the surrounding circumstances may be.

“Do y-you like how tight I am?”

“I’m ‘bout to come any damn second, girl. Takin’ all I got to last this long.”

Joel eases out of her and pushes in shortly after, noting another wince while she does her utmost to immediately mask it; he doesn’t like the idea of her feeling as though she needs to pretend the tinges of all this new away though. He wants to understand and learn how it’s affecting her so that he can adjust in real time and spare her any lingering pangs.

“You okay, baby?” The man lowers then, releasing her legs and laying himself almost entirely flush to her. She’s such a petite little thing lying beneath his bulk, so small yet beautifully strong and capable of grandiosities that have blown him to bits on more than a few occasions. There is no one like her.

She nods, nips at herself and, “Mmhm. Kiss me?”

He does, fucking Ellie as her lithe limbs wind to his waist and proceed to bend fully, angling her hips which unsurprisingly deepens his impact. Joel goes further and thrusts a little quicker, the tensity of his body converging as the light at the end of their tunnel gleams brighter and brighter still.

“Ellie?”

She languishes to the worn fabric and slips her hands into his hair, enjoying just how unkempt and messy she’s made him, “Yeah?”

“Want ya to come again, girl. Wanna feel ya squeezin’ me. But I’m gettin’ real close...”

She rolls her hips and bites his neck right after, “I wanna feel you, just you right now, okay? Fuck me tonight and make me come as many times as you want. Make me beg for that hard cock until I’m crying, Joel...”

“Mmph, fuck.”

He’s splitting at his ends, all of his edges unspooling as the particles of his reticence are summarily swept out to sea by her hurricane. Joel gazes south and studies his cock as it enters and exits her, sees the sheen that’s plating him and the drips that drop from his glans before delving back inside.

“Gimme it, Joel. Fill me. Want my pussy leaking all night until you fucking fill it again...”

’Jesus Christ, this ain’t...I wanted ya to com-…’

He kisses her briskly and proceeds to bring his legs inwards, flexing to summon even more power from his lower half – Joel will need it to survive. There’s no chance he could stop this from happening now. Even if the girl didn’t ask or implore him to come inside of her, there’s no way he would have the strength to pull out. She’s too tight, too wet and he’s too far gone.

“Oh, hell, girl. I’m–El...I’m comin’ so fffuckin’ hard...Jesus.”

She moves her middle in a series of wavy gyrations as he stiffens, snaps his hips and begins to empty himself; his arms are shaking and those veins she loves are extending, the feral lines thicker than she’s ever seen. Ellie muses that she should be concerned and yet, the girl never wants this to end either. Loves seeing him lose himself with her.

The girl anchors to his biceps and kneads the rigid muscle, “Mmm, fuck yes. I want all of it, every fucking drop, Joel.”

And he does. He gives her every last shot of him until the shocks and after-spasms of his orgasm start to wane. He’s part way dizzy from the exertion and how maddeningly intense of a climax it was but won’t ruin the moment by passing out like some wet behinds the ears young stud. So he evens his intake of air, pulling slowly and exhaling slower, kissing her shoulder in between the cycles while clinging to one of her thighs.

She’s playing with all his blackgrey still, twisting and turning the partially damp strands while lazily leaning on him; neither are in any rush, neither willing to burst the bubble of this post-coital bliss.

It suits him well but Ellie wants to laugh in spite of it all, and so she does. It’s a mirthful noise, a giggle more than anything else but she lets it slip before quickly covering her mouth.

Joel rises at this and lowers his brow, “First time we slept together, I heard ya laughin’ after touchin’ my face. An’ now, after the first time we slept together, you’re laughin’ again? Am I that funny?”

Ellie shrouds herself and oscillates from side to side, “No, no, it’s just...we fucked, Joel. You fucked me, and I fucked you and I’m literally full of your come right now. Like, as we’re speaking. And I fucking love it. But if someone told me two or so years ago that this is where I would be on Christmas Eve, 2037, I would have no idea what to say.”

The man wants to revel in this joyous moment but there’s a node of doubt tainting him as he processes her sentiments. She clocks it and instantly ceases her grinning, “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, baby. I’m just hopin’ ya ain’t...regrettin’ it?”

Ellie lifts onto her arms at that and pushes at his broad expanse – it's a silent beseech for him to roll over. Joel rolls onto his back.

She straddles his waist – his dick is still snug inside of her but it’s softening quickly now – and bends to situate atop his chest, “Stop that. I don’t regret a single thing with you. Except all that lost time. But ya know what I’m gonna do, Joel? I’m gonna make up for it by fucking you left, right and center. Gonna drive you nuts and empty your nuts at the same time...so prepare your nuts.”

He smirks and sucks his teeth, rising to join her in a seated position. Joel embraces her, running his calloused hands along the bare divots of her elegant bones and, “Alright, alright. But careful now, Red. Reckon ya don’t really wanna kill me with that tight hole’a yours. I hope not at least. Though...maybe this is all a grand scheme’a yours, huh?”

She laughs and wraps herself to him, kissing his lips, an ear, a shoulder, kissing anything she can manage until, “I’m clever but I’m not the nefarious type. Besides, I love you too much.”

Joel’s eyes fall by her proclamation, his hands continuing to caress her as they slide low on Ellie’s person. Eventually he brings his hazels to hers and, “An’ I love you, babydoll. More’n you’ll ever know. You okay though, really? Didn’t hurt ya?”

A dewy smile, one that beams and glows in tandem, covers the entirety of her features as it carves its way across, “No. I mean, it was nothing I couldn’t handle. It was amazing, Joel, and that’s not doing you justice, believe me. But hey, lucky for us – we can show and tell everything with each other again tonight, after Karaoke.”

Karaoke.

In a series of synchronous shifts, Joel and Ellie twist to find the forgotten clock sitting on a table, “Oh fuck. We’re late.”

“Oh well. We was busy.”

Another giggle, “Wanna skip it and stay here? I’ll get the food from the house and we can watch movies and forget clothes exist for a while?”

Thinking on just how enticing an offer that sounds for a beat, he’s distracted when each of her warm hands cup his face, “Kidding. Told you, I wanna be turned on all night feeling what’s inside of me and what will be inside of me later.”

Joel grumbles a mumbling murmur and, “Mm. How about ya wear those panties an’ bra tonight then. I’ll join ya bein’ all hot an’ bothered.”

“Sure you can handle a whole night pretending you didn’t just mouth fuck me and take my virginity, big man?”

Said big man snorts and smacks her ass, “Bison’s got’a coat closet, Red.”

Chapter Text

She feels her body and follows the relics of his touch as she charts her bare abdomen; her love...no, not just that – her lover is in the other room, lacing his boots or zipping a zipper – either or perhaps neither. The girl can’t be entirely certain.

Regardless, Ellie likes to imagine all the menial minutiae – all these simplistic functions that transcends commonality. Well, at least when it concerns Joel.

Still, what the girl does know is that here in the washroom, in the privacy of their post-coitus, life is euphoric and Ellie busies herself by grinning like an elated halfwit.

Satiation glows like a lustrous beacon, her luminescence suffusing the enclosed space with an energy previously untapped.

Ellie’s happiness is a salubrious tocsin, her buoyancy both visible and evident; she’s shining with an exuberance of love and something wondrously...new. Something the girl can’t quite coin or fully discern, despite its provenance on the tapestry of her pale skin.

She’s in love and is loved with wild abandon.
She is wanting and wanted in return – her heart full and vigorously open.

She values the truth of these separate but equal facets to their dynamism and yet, she seeks so much more already.

More of Joel, more of this life and the one she hopes to manifest; more of that man’s sordid, murky history and their deliciously-delightful present.

Ellie yearns for it all – but at the apex of it is a future she’s hushedly invoking; the girl is treating every moment of this journey with Joel as its own pearl: A unique and precious object. A gem she once took for granted far too often, a love she threw away.

But that was then.

’We’re gonna have it all, Joel. Every fucking thing we want and more. No going back now...’

Silencing those inner ramblings, Ellie roams to a blushing-cluster of asymmetrical patterns upon her dermis – they’re seeable echoes of his physicality, way points of his desire. She frowns, noting how the marks are already beginning to fade; she wants to remember these fleeting remains of his tactility and their every detail. To chart his course and weigh his passion for her. All for her.

’For me. He wants me.’

With this at the fore, Ellie journeys along the misshapen blotches that line her lithe hips; she envisions what he was doing to other parts of her while leaving such imprints behind.

’Mmm…got him going rough on me already.’

She attempts to stem a snorty-realization that there are likely additional impressions on her well-spanked rear but it’s of little use: The musing of it all makes her laugh. No, not laugh – giggle. Ellie giggles as she recalls all the desirous grunts and groans as Joel gripped, grabbed and smacked her flesh as though she were the lifeline between this world and whatever lies beyond it.

The humor seeps from her as she settles upon the hill of this mountainous thought. Because Ellie longs to be that for Joel – his tether, his connection – a thread of nylon that spans from her person to his. Unbreakable and ever-lasting.

Where he goes, she follows. Where she goes, he follows. And on and on the carousel inevitably spins.

As the cogitation begins to crown, her chest tightens; as the swell of all their lost time and the distance she imparted onto their relationship rears its loathsome face, her emotions crest. Ellie thinks of running to him, of running and jumping into his arms full-tilt to remind herself that those days are gone, done for, over.

She’s on the verge of hightailing it from the bathroom but is stopped by the presence of a trickling sensation; it disrupts her and sees the girl returning to the here and now in short order.

Ellie suctions her lower lip and gazes down on her person; she bends, widening the gap between her limbs and glimpses a shiny trail of Joel leaking from her opening.

She lours for a spell but not by the glistening debut of this amorous vision: Ellie’s born witness to Joel’s spend plenty these last couple of weeks and it’s all well and good – a favorite, if she’s honest with herself. But viewing it on her inner thigh redirects the girl’s attention towards a morose bout of meandering.

It feels ludicrous to the girl but what it dissolves down to is rather simple: Ellie doesn’t want it to leave, gravity be damned. The idea of any part of Joel leaving any part of her is a woeful thing, even his semen.

She shakes at the last and rolls her shoulders, neck and arms in succession; Ellie’s limbering her muscles needlessly but it’s enough to calm her nerves and fight the undesirables that are intent to plague her.

But the girl’s had enough and doesn’t want the aftermath of their first time to continue on in such a macabre way. So, she retracks herself, riding rails of far smoother nature. A far more arousing nature at that.

’His come is inside of me. Joel’s come. As in, Joel–Miller. He fucked me. Joel fucking fucked me and came inside of me…’

As the boundless disparity of her emotion finally subsides, the playfulness of this fresh haze begins to mix and marry itself. In its convoluting wake, a serene smile spreads across her dewy features, erasing the brief gloom that came to visit.

She sees herself in a new light, her expression bright and pure – Ellie feels intact, whole and put together for the very first time. As though the final piece of the puzzle was pressed into place – literally and figuratively.

Ellie marvels at the young woman in the dotted mirror with a wink, reveling in the reflection of the who she sees standing before her.

“Ya alright, darlin’?”

Joel startles Ellie from beyond the whitewashed frame, his hands set on either side of the doorway as he hovers and watches the exhibition before him.

The girl turns to see his eyes on her, his features set in a peaceful repose with an abundance of that something else. She suspends for a spell, drinking in the image of him as the simmering in her belly grows tenfold: Joel looks godly.

The man’s jeans are secured to his waist but the belt remains loose, hanging by his hips as though he forgot to latch it mid-dress. His t-shirt is nowhere in sight but to Ellie, the absence of it and the denim situation below is leaving her foggy with an increasing desire.

Joel is a sculpted, scarred and sturdy sort of deity though – a handsome man with a heart of fortifiable gold.

“Red?”

“Oh, yep. Was just scoping out some of the handsy marks you left on me.”

At her close, he steps into the confined space and presses to one of the darker spots on her hind quarters – where he struck her feverish flesh as he made her wait for his tongue. In the deluge of arousal and an utmost desire to please, he loosened the handle on his reserves; as he glares at this visual consequence, it’s eliciting a...different sort of stirring within. It gnaws in a way he’s not fully at ease with either.

Joel emits a mumbling, muffled noise – a tell to his mental preoccupation – but following that, “Mmph, ‘m’sorry. Did I hurt ya?” He rubs the stricken flesh in an effort to soothe any lingering aches from such a vulnerable section of her limb.

Ellie leans against his bare chest and arches forward as he does this, pitching up onto her toes so he doesn’t have to bend further than he needs.

It feels good and aside from that basic truth, she loves when he touches her. No matter how he’s touching her, so long as there is affection in his eyes and trust in her heart, she will remain an eager party to it all.

Tilting slightly, a curtain of auburn shrouds the flank of her face but she manages to keek through its strands just enough. She notes the apprehension that’s beginning to weigh on him and knows it needs to be snuffed out.

“Hey, you didn’t hurt me. I loved it and I want more of that any time I can get it, okay?” Ellie wiggles her bottom just enough to emphasize her ardor and Joel’s shoulders dip as the contention slowly seeps from him. Her reassurance is the line in the sand – once she’s given it, there is no point in wasting worry for worry’s sake.

He angles and shifts his position so that he can glide higher on the girl and briefly mask the pinkish imprints he left behind. Attentively, he rounds, cradles and squeezes the bowl of her ample backside as he returns to Ellie and their land of unified lust once more.

“Is that right?”

“Pssh, you know it already. And besides, to repeat myself: I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. You won’t ever...unless I ask you to.”

The man’s eyebrows arch as his other hand travels to the front of her; he flattens his palm to the spot north of her tawny curls, feathering his digits to feel the silk of her skin and the fraying ends of her coarse hair. Soft and hard – his Ellie.

Joel lightly taps a cheek and grips it, using the globe to bring her closer to his person. Placing his mouth to her ear, he exhales and, “So ya really like when I spank this perky ass, doncha? That what you want more of, girl?”

Ellie cocoons as she instantaneously submits, her greens sealing as she imbibes his low, rumbling whisper. It’s as if high tide and a cavalcade of roaring waves are surging into her all at once. Complete and total inundation.

Turning, she suck-kisses his breastbone before grabbing onto the edge of the sink in an effort to strike a balance – for more than just her equilibrium. Ellie holds onto it and steals herself in this quiet moment between moments, this respite from one transition to the next.

“I love it, Joel. Not like, love.”

Joel looks down and studies the beguiling curvature of Ellie’s form; he goes lower and lower still, his hazels boring to an abyssal depth as he tracks a lone finger to the convexing shape of her. He suspires as he does this, expelling his oxygen as he admires the girl with a duality of veneration and covetousness.

“If you love it so much, wonder if ya’d come from only that…”

Ellie hiss-groans as she extends her rear outwards a measure more and, “Wanna try?”

Joel ttitters a beat before, “Absolutely, darlin’. But I want ya sittin’ pretty at the Bison tonight. Not squirmin’ all uncomfortable-like. Least not from a sore ass.”

She grimaces but it’s an impish thing as she’s not, in actuality, disappointed. He knows both sides of this girl far too well – more than he’d like on that latter, too. But now is not for ruminations that may cause ruination.

Now is for the two of them and all they’ve overcome to reach this particular pinnacle.

A moment which has her supple cheek still sitting perfectly in the obedience of his palm.

“Fair. But you did mention that coat closet and I swear, you better not chicken the fuck out, Joel.”

A snort fills the surrounding area amongst the pair as he levels with her, “When have I ever?”

There’s a pause as she stares at him and, “Then do both.”

“Wait. Do both’a what now?”

“Give me a sore ass and watch me squirm all night. And then make it better in the closet. Fuck me nice and slow.”

The man nods a beat as he works to steady his air intake, his eyes widening ever-so at the suggestion before, “Alright. Ya seem to be needin’ this an’ sometime later on I’m gonna ask why that is.”

Shifting a few inches apart, he watches the girl’s knuckles go bone-white as she strains to the basin in preparation. Oscillating for a brief interval to firm his steely resolve, Joel smirks then proceeds to lean in and press a gentle kiss to her shoulder; he’s kneading her pliable flesh all the while, stalling for additional time to heighten the anticipation.

He slips the hand on her belly down and into the waiting chasm between her legs but quickly stops, “I’m drippin’ outta ya, El.”

Brushing her hair aside, she scrunches her nose and gazes upwards at him, “Mmhm, been waiting for you to notice. Push it back inside of me.”

“Mmph, ya tryin’ start somethin’ here, ain’tcha?”

The girl bounces again, “Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows for sure…”

“Bad, bad girl.”

Ellie whines a whimper and the unspoken tumult causes a cascade of blood to fill Joel’s spent cock. They don’t have time for another session, as they’re already late, but he’s willing and able to incite a specific reaction from the girl. Beyond this, Joel’s happy to wait, no matter what his body is craving at present.

But they’re burning minutes and he needs to speed it up.

Bending, Joel puts a knee onto the hard floor and pitches by her side; he senses Ellie’s eyes on him but intentionally ignores those beautiful jades for the foreseeable future. The man wants to usurp expectations and exceed them all the same. Wants to give his woman what she’s after but usher her to that razor’s edge and keep her there first. All damn night.

So he takes her blush-bitten behind into a single palm, goes from high to low on it before dipping between the v of her limbs once again. He tenderly pokes a thigh and she instinctively widens to offer him proper allowance to more than just her rear. He kisses her hip at the admittance and pushes on her belly in silent gratitude.

After, Joel dams a knuckle to the lowest droplet of his come, effectively ceasing the slow flow in its tracks; he glides his digit upwards from there, carefully pushing his spend towards her expectant entrance.

’Never thought I’d be doin’ this. Not ever. Comin’ inside is one thing, puttin’ it back in is another entirely.’

And yet, he does.

Joel feathers his wetted finger against her at first, brushing across the hole and atop her nub as he gathers as much of the liquid he can manage before driving it into her. He does this painstakingly sedately, wanting to feel and coat her walls in a different way than that with which he’s already done.

He wants her to understand that he’s as comfortable and at ease with this as she is. Despite it being a vehemently rejected concept all his life. Well, since that beautifully learned lesson.

Ellie’s hips roll in response to this, her system’s instincts already switching onto autopilot. But her thoughts are less in line than she prefers them to be – there’s a quiet fear nagging her, irrespective of how messily-sexy it all feels.

“Mmm, so good. But...a-am I still tight?”

The man laughs and rests his forehead to the side of her midsection, “Tighter’an ever, pretty. Takes a whole lot more than one time. Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, Ellie.”

“Good. Was thinking your big cock wore me out already.”

Kissing her thigh, his hazels close as he smirks and, “Nope. Not how it goes, Red.”

“Well, good. Because it felt like you enjoyed my vice grip...”

Joel detects that his girl is in need of reassurance in this regard and he’s more than happy to oblige – truth is easy. Well, nowadays it is.

So, he rises to a symphony of pops and creaks as his joints adjust; he’s grown much too used to this and that truth alone is something he is woefully aware of more often than not these days.

’Not now.’

Once that wasteful factoid is gone, Joel taps and cradles her chin before, “Ellie–babydoll. Look’a me.”

She does.

He retrieves one of her hands from the sink and brings it to his stiff center, “I just came inside’a ya twenty minutes ago an’ I’m already hard again. That’s you. I’m fifty-two, girl. Like your vice? No. Try love. I love your vice. An’ you.”

She grins and exhales, nodding before she tugs on him and teases the metallic teeth. He stops her, much to their equal chagrin, and replaces her hand beside its mate.

“Later for that. I’m fixin’ to wait ‘til tonight. Or the closet. Whichever.”

“Or...both.” Ellie winks at that and Joel can only snort as he quietly hopes that some way, somehow he’ll be able to keep up with this girl. That train of thought is partially made in jest but there’s another side to it that he does not want to examine – and certainly won’t right now.

“Mmhm, perhaps. But where were we, pretty?”

“You were finger fucking your come back into me before I sto–”

He spanks her and the girl hops forward a step, slipping into a submissive reprieve; she bows and arches in a hypnotic show while making her way through the stinging pleasure of his abrupt strike. Ellie shivers, her legs trembling by the lustful insurgency shocking her into a heightened state of arousal.

“Ohhh fffuck yes…”

He repeats the act once-twice-thrice and she’s nearly there – the girl’s heels lift off the linoleum, her shoulders high and close to her ears; she’s being consumed by him, brought to greet and heed the inferno that burns hotter than the surface of the sun. But she is the star of this galaxy.

Joel halts and moves to stand directly behind her, leaving Ellie briefly confused for a beat; he doesn’t linger but instead latches to her hips, anchoring to either side as he lines her seam against his throbbing cock. He spreads the girl’s cheeks and pushes his clothed hard-on into the delicate valley of Ellie’s nude rear, reveling in the heat of her as it permeates his denim in short order.

There’s a hushed hiss, a suction of air as his belt hits her tingling, smacked flesh and it dawns on him then: The cold to hot ratio must be a hell of a thing to endure in the current state she’s in.

“Reckon ya like that, too, hmm?”

Ellie hums and sniffs sharply as he presses the nickel harder to her skin, admiring the graceful elegance of her movements as she surrenders to an uncontrollable force of nature. But he won’t go too far just yet, no. Joel wants proper time to explore all these hidden nuances that turn her on with insurmountable, unbridled desire.

So he promptly releases the thing and bumps the buckle out of the way to an exhalation of relief; the man pushes himself harder to her after, his desperation to be closer to his girl reaching its peak, despite the layers separating them.

Ellie rolls her hips and Joel’s blown-hazels fall to darkness. It’s at that precise moment he realizes that if they’re going to make it to this Christmas event on time then the foreplay needs to be put on hold.

Reaching to the front, he irons a palm to her breastbone and raises Ellie, molding her to his bare chest. With his mouth on her throat, he pecks a few kisses and, “Know you’re close, darlin’. An’ I know how bad ya want it. But we gotta get goin’ or folks’ gonna be huntin’ us down. Besides, think I want you wantin’ it real bad...not just kinda bad, yeah? ‘Specially when we can’t do a thing ‘bout it.”

Ellie whines dejectedly but adds to her ire with a whimpering grunt, “But...I was right fucking there, Joel…”

“An’ ya gonna stay right fuckin’ there ‘til I get my hands on you again.”

She spins in his embrace and wraps her arms to the man’s solid foundation, “Is that an order, Mr. Miller? You bossing me around?”

Peering low through his lashes, he purses his lips and smirks, “That it is, Red. An’ I–” Joel bends inwards, his lips nearly touching hers but not quite and, “–think ya like that, too.”

The girl tucks her chin in and looks up, her brows stern and eyes dark, “And...there’s nothing I...could do...to convince you? Nothing at all?” She scratches her nails across the broad build of his back before drawing her hands forth and plunging down on his torso. To the top of his pants.

“Woman.”

“Man.”

“Ellie.”

”Joel.”

Unfettering his hold, he cradles her face, lists to the side and, “Anglin’ to get us good an’ caught one’a these days, ain’tcha?”

“Mmhm. You love it. And me. You said so. Can’t take that back.”

“Wouldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Ellie mulls and squints her greens, “Ahhh...you’re clever, Joel. Stalling, hoping I forget to do whatever it is I’m trying to do, aren’t you?”

Joel shrugs but winks, “Nah. I’d never say no to you, ya little devil.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you just so happen to have the most amazing coc–”

There’s a distant rap on the door and both Ellie and Joel freeze amidst the abrupt interruption; they wait in this charged silence, quietly entreating their unknown guest to flee the scene as fast as they came.

“Ellie?”

It’s Dina.

The girl deflates in Joel’s arms as relief spills into her.

“It’s alright.”

“Wait. What’s alright? Dina?”

Ellie’s greens flash with a bright, stunning white as she forecasts the revelatory event that is likely to unfold. She has yet to share with him yet that Pereria knows just about everything between her and Joel but because her friend is on the doorstep, right here, right now, she…can’t enlighten the man. Not the whole truth at least – only cursory facts to bring him up to speed until they can discuss it at length later. If need be. Probably need be.

“One sec, Dee.” Ellie’s voice sounds strained but Joel understands the tensity originates from her hasty exertion versus anything untoward. Because Ellie is glad her friend has come here, despite the hour being less than favorable.

Joel’s neck pulls to the rear ever-so as he finally snaps all the pieces of their present together; he’s not upset at this cognizance, more curious than anything really, but he knows patience is paramount in revelations such as these.

“Dina knows? ‘Bout you an’ me?”

Ellie, who’s currently fighting with an uncooperative robe while shoving her feet into a ratty pair of slippers, throws a wide, toothy grin from her position by the coffee table and, “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. I promise we’ll talk about that tonight, too, yeah? Let me not leave her waiting though. She’ll keep knocking like a fucking hellhound if I don’t answer. Trust me.”

Joel squeezes the door frame and tilts halfway outside of it as his girl cuts a path towards the front of this place.

“Should I hole up in the bathroom?”

“No, no. She knows so why hide it?” Ellie winks on that last as she circles the handle, volumizes her hair and squares her shoulders in the seconds before she meets her friend.

The cold air rushes in first before, “Hey.”

“Well, heeey.”

Glassy emerald marbles animatedly roll as Ellie acknowledges her friend’s suggestive tone – it’s a faux show of exasperation and yet, necessary all the same. It’s their way.

The raven-haired girl lets herself into the cozy space and locks the winter behind her; she shivers and instinctively raises her hands to her mouth to use the meager warmth within her lungs. It calms the icy fervor but it’s only a few seconds until she’s back on the case.

“So are you guys coming to the Bison orrrrr...Oh, well hi there, Joel.”

Joel – who Dina’s just noticed standing by the table – is very much present and very much without a shirt. He’s leaning on one heel and listening in earnest as the women exchange words and fall into their regular pattern of familiarity. But the man will not pretend away the recent reveal of his girlfriend’s friend being privy to their relationship. Thus, he won’t falsify as such by gazing aimlessly this way or that. He’s here, so is she.

“Hey, Dina. Good to see ya.”

“You, too. You very much, too, JM.” The girl clocks the chaotic status of the garage and cracks a teasing smirk as her gaze returns to Ellie.

She knows. Of course she knows. Who wouldn’t.

Rubbing the base of his hairline, he peers away in search of a top while inwardly conceding that his age is playing a dutiful factor here. For the first time in quite a few years, he’s grateful for the miles and experience gained as a direct result.

Joel knows he’s a key player in this shared arena but he keeps partially apart from it all, too. As he processes, the man internalizes this scene with normalcy rather than marring it with any form of discomfort or unease – he knows Dina is a good ally and a good woman.

There’s minimal risk of her having a direct line to the intimacy between him and Ellie. Even minimal feels like an exaggeration for Joel, if he’s being honest with himself.

“So yeah, uh, are you guys coming? I mean...to Tipsy for the Christmas shindig.” Dee emphasizes her not-so-subtle comment by clearing her throat, her dark eyes darting from the unkempt bed and clothes on the floor to Ellie and the half-clothed Texan standing a few yards away.

Joel chuffs from behind Ellie and his girl spins to glimpse his amusement in real time.

Her expression is cheerful but there’s a hint of surprise as well – as though she didn’t expect him to find the double entendre humorous. But it is Joel – a man who, lately at least, continually delights and fills her in more ways than just the tangible sense.

She arches a brow and blows a kiss before twisting to find her friend bouncing by the small electric heater. “Yes, we are coming. Just...ran into a few delays with our gift exchange.”

Dina squints and bobs boisterously, appearing every bit as unconvinced as everyone else in this garage. She winks and, “Sure, sure, sure, no I get it. Sometimes presents can be super time consuming.”

Pereira is doing her utmost to bait and goad her best friend, no matter that it could lead to a semi-awkward conversation.

Ellie deadpans the girl and seals her lips into a thin line of crimson. Dina knows the exact gift that was given to him – even went so far as to predict Joel’s response as though she’s as versed with him as Williams is.

“Mmhm, yeah, they really can be. But we were actually getting ready just now. Before you barged in. So could you maybe let everyone else know that we’ll be there soon? I know Tommy and Maria wanted us there earlier for set lists and audio but hey, gifts happen.”

Ellie tightens the knot on her robe and shuffles in quiet repose; it’s all fun and games for the time being but this is a sensitive situation and jests aside, it needs to be treated and tended to as such.

Everyone in this circle understands and accepts this and thus will adhere to its sensitive nature – which will uniformly aid in being comfortable around one another. Both now and in the future.

“I will. Don’t worry. Maria was practically out the door on her way here when I stopped the woman to volunteer my time and services. She kept bitching about the sound connections and needing Joel to ‘figure this bullshit out,’ to quote. I asked Jesse to take a look so God only knows what the hell will happen now. Anyway, you’re welcome. Now both of you go get dressed – or finish dressing. It’s time to get your ho-ho-ho on. Again.”

As she nails the landing, Dina bumps Ellie’s bicep, tosses a wink and a wave and hushedly sees herself out. No pomp nor circumstance when it comes to DeeDee and because of that, Ellie is forever appreciative. Joel, too, almost certainly.

The door swings closed and the girl shivers in the wake of the frigid air that’s already chilling this tiny chamber. For the thousandth time.

Joel goes and wraps his arms to her, massaging Ellie through the worn and threadbare cloth until, “So she knows a lot, huh?”

Ellie’s head bobs as she sinks against his chest, her hands gripping, grabbing and thieving the man’s warmth as she settles into his seize, into this closeness. She gulps and, “Mmhm, and now I think she knows everything there is to know. But hey, she’s right. Let’s get our ho’ing on, yeah? We’ll talk about Dee knowing all the stuff tonight. Or tomorrow. Probably won’t be talking that much tonight, what with my mouth likely full and all…”

Joel laughs and grabs her waist, holding onto his love before they’re forced to part ways for Lord only knows how many hours.

“Our ho’in’, huh?”

Ellie raises and flashes her sage, “Yep. Gonna hoe all over you, Joel.”

The dense muscles of his belly contract as he snort-laughs and hugs his woman tighter to his person; he buries his nose to the bend of her neck and presses a kiss to her throat before, “Mmph, love ya, funny girl. Gonna be wantin’ ya all g’ddamn night.”

“Coat closet, Joel. Steal me when it gets to be too fucking much. When you know I’m about to cave in and suck your face in front of the whole town. Deal?”

He consents against her warming flesh but doesn’t abandon her just yet, satisfied to be here rather than any other there.

“I’ll take that as a yes. But come on, big man, let’s get dressed. Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

He pulls away and loosens his hold but mumbles an intriguing sort of sound. “‘Nother one? Because that lingerie was quite the surprise, girl.”

“Yup, but this isn’t a gift. Just a thing that only you’ll appreciate. Or, might appreciate it. I don’t fucking know, I’m just excited to wear this thing under the watchful, judging gaze of that good ol’ jolly Santa bastard again.”

Immediately thereafter, Ellie slips from his embrace and jogs the short distance to her dresser. She tugs on the middle drawer, shimmying it this way and that as she works through its janks and misaligned tracking. “Fucking...stupid...bitch.”

“I can fix that for ya, Red. Just gotta let me know ‘bout those sort’a things.”

A growl fills the area between them as she frantically plunges into a mess of tees and tank tops. “Definitely please do that. Everyday I fight with this fucker and it’s shaving precious years off my life, let me tell you. So maybe not tomorrow because Christmas day but soo–Oh! Found it.”

She brings a darkly-shaded top from the depths of the Kraken-drawer and brings the clothing close to her chest, concealing it for now.

“Do you remember what you gave me for my eighteenth birthday? Or, more specifically, one of the things you gave me?”

Joel readjusts his stance as he smooths his palms down and across the undershirt and flannel combo he’s just buttoned. But her words steal his air, snapping the man’s memory to two very special days during their dark ages – her eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays.

Days of which he was mandated to drop presents on Ellie’s stoop while hoping all the while they didn’t end up in a pyre later that day.

“I...mm...yeah, I remember.” Choking but trying to trample the cresting emotions, Joel works through the inundation by avoiding her earnest eyes. He pretends to look at her hands as they hold to the maroon top despite the fact that he’s not truly seeing it. Not really, anyway.

“Well, I thought I might wear this under my sweater tonight. Not because I wanna remember those early days on the shittiest roads of all shitty roads...or losing this when I needed it to patch you up but more because I...ya know, I wanna feel you close to me even when you can’t be.”

She unfastens the shabby knot of her robe and unfolds the item with full reverence before laying it flush with her torso, “What do you think? Silly idea or am I the sweetest little thang…”

“Ya kept it...” His voice cracks but Ellie’s excitement overwhelms the outward nature of his roiling emotions. She’s focusing on the good – he’s focusing on the extremely good; it’s a monumental surprise for him but he doesn’t want to wither in her presence or give her the wrong idea.

Ellie grins and pitches forward, all jovial energy with blatant astonishment, “Of fucking course. I’ve kept everything you’ve given me, Joel. Except the chocolate bars. Those I ate right away because well, ya know. I love me some chocolate. But I thought this would be a fun ide–”

He kisses her hard and quick, his hands delving into auburn depths and her flimsy robe concurrently, desperately seeking more of her, all of her; he’s free-falling, fast and fearlessly, his mind besieged, his breath rapidly depleting from overtaxed organs.

Ellie drops the shirt, wraps her arms to his neck and begins to move with him, endeavoring to keep pace and catch up to his tempo all at once.

The man lifts her then, pushing aside the useless garment and walking them towards the bed where he promptly, and unexpectedly, takes a seat. He wants to lay his girl down, wants to fuck and make love to her at the same time – he’s ferric-hard again – but knows they’re running on a negative insofar as time.

Putting proper space between, for both oxygen and to settle the fervor snatching his self control, he brushes a few strands from her rosy cheeks and grins, “Didn’t think ya’d hang on to any’a that. Always thought they’d end up in the trash.”

Ellie planes through his hair – which is as unkempt as it can reasonably get and sexier than she’s ever seen it – and rests her forehead to his, “Looks like we have a couple things to chat about soon. I’m sorry to spring it on you like that. Didn’t expect it to do what it did but...I love when you get like this with me. I’ve always loved when you show more of that big heart you try so hard to hide from the world. Speaking of, I've been meaning to ask you about that tee since you gave it to me. But later, I know.”

The girl pokes a pectoral at that last and seats comfortably atop his lap. She whines a spell in the ensuing silence (Ellie knows he’s busy thinking) but wiggles to earn his attention once more.

“Can’t we just…”

“Much as I’d love to just...an’ believe me when I say I’d love it, darlin’, we gotta get out that door before Maria starts bangin’ on it.”

“But I want you to start banging me.”

“Good Lord, what have I done?”

“Me.”

Joel chortles and molds his grasp to her sides, wanting for the hundredth time to remain here and never leave for anything or any single cause that sees him away from her.

“Sooner we get goin’, sooner I can get back to doin’ ya. How’s ‘bout that?”

“Another deal? Yes.”

“Good. Because I ain’t gonna be able’a stop myself if this happens even one more damn time.”

Ellie sucks a lip into her mouth and wobbles above his center as she considers his words, “In that case…”

In a near instant, Joel lifts the young woman high and sets the girl firmly onto her bare feet. She huffs at their lightning-quick change of position but loves it all the same; it’s another display of Joel’s raw strength and Ellie succumbs to its residual arousal in ways wholly unfounded.

She will never tire of it, despite its most current usage being one Ellie doesn’t necessarily agree with.

Still…

“We can stand and do thingsss.”

“Woman, I swear.”

Pushing his belly, she turns her head from left to right and mocks him with an exaggerated frown, “And here I am again, shouting from the rooftops of how you’re no fun.”

“I know. Now let’s go have some.”

“Startin’ to think you an’ Ellie wasn’t gonna show. Hour an’ a half late ain’t like y’all. Especially not you, Joel. Was a minute away from worryin’, truth be told.”

Tommy bumps his brother’s elbow and proceeds to sip from the sepia bottle in his hand after; he shrouds any further inquisition by using his brew as an intentional distraction.

Remaining shushed, he gulps and plucks at a barely discernible label on the libation. He scratches the tea-tinted rectangle and nods to no one as he muses on the forgotten seal of a brand long gone; the color and design have rubbed off from one too many uses, the name of the brewery lost to the ages of man and morals alike.

Still, the beer tastes halfway decent as it goes down and so beyond that, there’s little else of concern to the youngest Miller. Well, that’s partially true.

Joel has yet to utter a single syllable after Tommy’s conversational prompt but his silence has not gone unnoticed.

In the interim, the eldest mirrors his kin with a swig and a swallow, quietly reveling in an amber pull. He clears his throat and muffles a burp and, “Mm. Worrin’ that much, huh? Sorry ‘bout that, Tom. Got wrangled up with an old Christmas Eve tradition. Ellie brought home that meal we used to get every year once her an’ me settled in Jackson. But hey, both’a us are present an’ accounted for. By the by, audio don’t sound too bad.”

Tommy bobs beside the man, peeking through his peripheral as he considers the extent of said ‘wrangling.’ He’s not imagining one thing over the next, not specifically at least, only that he knows a meal on its own couldn’t – and shouldn’t – result in a ninety-plus minute delay.

“Alright then. Must be good havin’ that girl back in your life, huh? An’ yeah, Jesse did a fine job. But no one’s drunk enough to make their performances anythin’ to write home ‘bout yet. Speakin’ of, ya gonna sing tonight, you ol’ bastard?”

Joel side-smirks, suspires a spell but ignores the sportive insult, opting to indulge his delectable beverage instead.

He wants to look to his right, wants to see his girl and that toothy smile as it brightens the entire establishment. Wants to walk to her and lay an arm atop her shoulders or around her tiny waist and bring her close. Wants to whisper lewd indecencies and feel her shiver beneath his touch.

But he can’t. Not yet anyway.

Instead, he refocuses on Tommy; there’s a sudden urge to stitch the relatability between Ellie and his younger kin and the intrigue rises in her vacancy. The two have always gotten on well and Joel has come to recognize and appreciate as such; even during the stressors of separation Tommy and Ellie managed to remain reliable to each other despite Joel being on either side of them.

It wasn’t always easy but it was reassuring in its own rite.

Though, Joel can’t help but mull on whether or not Ellie discussed the viscous details of Salt Lake’s fallout or if it was only ever pleasantries exchanged with Tommy. But his sibling has always been the type to dredge deeper reservoirs with those he cares for and so wisdom speaks to more than just cursory measures. There must be a shared connection. An understanding between the two.

While that last offers Joel a modicum of comfort that his girl chose a blood relative to keep close proximity with, it stabs at him, too. There’s an ache and a hollow ring to it all: He selfishly hopes Tommy kept his camaraderie with Ellie desultory out of loyalty to his older brother but Joel knows that is both unfair and unkind. Jealous even.

Trailing in the wake of a derailing train, the linen offering of gingerbread abruptly surfaces. It pushes aside and above the rest but as Joel is on the cusp of inquiring about its nature, Tommy interrupts.

“Aw c’mon now. Need convincin’? Y’all know the ladies love it when Joel Miller takes to his geetar. An’ word on the street is there’s a possible duet between you an’ a pretty girl.”

Tommy sails the bulbous tail of a broken peanut off the bartop’s lacquered pine, sending it into an abyss as he finishes the pressuring rhetoric. His light eyes are operating with an utmost vigilance despite his nonchalance – his blues are avoiding Joel altogether while expertly feigning oblivion.

It’s all practical and partial deception, since there is no ‘word on the street’ beyond his own curiosities. Still, Tommy is optimistic that the ruse will lure his relation into its maw.

“Is that right? An’ who might these folks be wantin’ Ellie an’ me to sing together?”

’Hook.’

Tommy furrows his brow as he battles a grin trying to crack his stoic resolve. “Did I mention Ellie?”

Joel twists on his seat to lock and level his hazels, his eyes tinted by confusion and something unnameable. “What’s that now?”

’Line.’

“I said ‘a pretty girl’ but don’t recall sayin’ Ellie. Though she is pretty, for the record. Anyway, take it to mean ya gonna sing with Ellie then?”

Buck-wide eyes dive low as Joel contemplates in a calculating spell of silence; he lists to the right of the uneven stool, tongues a droplet of alcohol from his mustache and, “Oh, I must’a misheard. But I don’t know ‘bout no duet.”

’Sinker.’

“Well, that’s what folks is sayin’.”

Joel realigns, straightening his posture as he absentmindedly peers through the crowd. He needs a reset, needs to steal himself and screw his head on straight. But he’s just had sex – made love, really – with the woman of his dreams for the very first time not thirty minutes ago.

He’s well and truly distracted. Satisfied, yes, but awfully distracted.

’C’mon now. Focus. No, not on Ellie. On anybody else…’

As he takes inventory of the surrounding space, he glimpses familiar faces and newer ones, too. It’s early in the evening but regardless, it appears as though half of Jackson is occupying the Bison’s limited square footage. He surmises they could very easily run aground insofar as maximum capacity and that could spell trouble.

Thoughts of those weapons traders staying in Jackson cycle to the surface then but he knows they’re far too fresh to judge. And as far as he can tell, there’s only one of them here tonight. He supposes they’re likely alright, given the fact that Maria allowed them to remain within the walls for a while.

But Joel is terminally cautious.

Beyond strangers and crowd control lies another issue: Product. The Bison could very easily tap the kegs and deplete their booze and vino if they’re not counting heads. Even locals who typically choose to abstain might seek something a little extra with tonight’s festivities. Who’s to know for sure.

Or maybe the generators at the dam will fail and that’s it, lights out. Everyone get on home now.

Joel is temporarily overrun by a sudden influx of doomsday scenarios as he tries to loosen the proverbial clothesline he’s caught on. He’s self-berating alongside this, furtively urging a greater sense of caution to befall him – he’ll need to be far more careful of what he says (and hears) going forward.

Tommy did not mention Ellie and yet his mind was incapable of conjuring any other when posed with such an innocent question.

’Hell. Tonight’s gonna be tougher than I thought.’

After far too long a time, “Maybe. Reckon I gotta check with Ellie. Ain’t ‘bout to volunteer her.”

“Good move. Never smart to volunteer our ladies without first makin’ certain.”

Joel tips the beer but before the glass ringlet meets his mouth, he flounders; Tommy’s choice of words sink like stone, the tone suggestive and swollen with implication.

Course this could be an errant pulse of panic from his assumption that Ellie would be his pretty duet partner. But there's a persistence to those curious cookies germinating at the fore as well. And all the other…stuff.

He shifts, choosing to work backwards from the start. Or, mostly the start.

“Speakin’ of, Maria doin’ good? Heard she was stressin’ earlier.”

Tommy sniffs his way through a laugh as he drains his potation, his features mirthful but masking a twinge of something all the same. “She’s better now. Thought that woman was gonna march to your door an’ bang it right on down. Luckily that friend’a Ellie’s – Dina I believe? – luckily Dina intervened.”

Joel rolls a shoulder and tilts his head, “Lucky indeed. So was Maria upset ‘bout the audio an’ my not bein’ here to help? Or did we miss somethin’ else?”

Tommy signals the bartender on duty – it’s the Jenny-twin, as far as he can tell – and swings a digit from him to Joel, “Two more for my brother an’ I. Please an’ thank ya.”

She smiles and twists to tend to the order, walking out of range and away from the men.

Tommy lists towards Joel, his skies inconspicuously scanning the townsfolk posted on either end before, “I think she’s still sore ‘bout you beatin’ on your little younger brother a couple weeks back. Kinda seemed like she was lookin’ for a reason, ya know? But don’t fret none ‘bout it. Reckon she’s just riled up because’a those meetin’s startin’ soon an’ all.”

Joel’s head pulls to the rear as he turns Tommy’s words over and back again, dismantling its nuance while ingesting it for what it is. He knows his sister-in-law likes him but her position has always been more out of loyalty to her husband than anything familial. Maria tolerates Joel, simple as that.

“Well, ya deserved what you got an’ you know I’ll do it again if need be. As for the stress over those forums, I get it. Steerin’ a town into a baby boom ain’t no small feat.”

The younger of the two bounces his legs beneath the bar’s overhang as he contemplates; Tommy’s on the verge of replying in kind when Jenny arrives with their fresh round. She pops the caps and, “Here ya go, fellas. Any food tonight?”

Joel’s stomach growls at the mere mention of a meal; he recalls then that he ate less than half of what Ellie brought home earlier and as a result, he’s hungry as all hell. Exertion does that to a man. And while that bodily need begins to bang, images of his girl loop like a lucid reel in his paracosmic mind.

Ellie riding his face in that sexy outfit, his cock pushing in that very first time, her pussy opening for him, her walls sucking and stretching to fit him, his cock spilling inside, his come filling her to the brim even though he knew she wanted more and more and more…

Emitting a low grunt, he pauses the salacious movie and reseats himself into the present – again. But now there lies an urgency to look for her in real time – to repeat all those pleasurable acts right here, right now. In the Bison’s closet just as he mentioned.

“Joel?”

It’s Jenny.

“Oh, pardon me. I’m starvin’. What’s on the menu tonight?”

The realization of his revelation hits a second too late.

Twice in one night.

Twice he’s screwed the proverbial pooch – in the same conversation at that.

Ellie might very well hurt the man. Not that they’ve made a pact or solidified any kind of verbal agreement that their relationship is to remain a secret for the time being. They haven’t discussed it at all, really. Nevertheless.

Waiting on Tommy’s inevitable ‘gotcha’ comment, he quiets for a beat as he suffers the silence. But what greets him is not suspicion or doubt but rather…nothing at all. There’s not a single utterance from his brother, not a solo protestation or curious inquiry. The man doesn’t even turn to view Joel in the wake of another stunted, pregnant pause. Instead, he’s tucking a simper behind the lip of his bottle while appearing to ignore it altogether.

“Oh, good! So we got steak, burgers and breasts – the usual. Sides are green beans, mashed potatoes or roasted carrots. If you’re wanting less of an entree and more of an app, then there’s chicken fingers, waffle fries or broccoli bites. Mitch brought a special batch of those but I didn’t tell you that.”

She winks after and Joel smiles, borrowing a moment to enjoy the warmth of this woman in waves both pure and inviting. Nothing feels suggestive or intrusive, just friendly. He takes a shine to affable folk more these days than he ever has…which might have something to do with his age but he doesn’t want to live in that thought any longer than he already is.

“Gonna go with a burger, beans and mash tonight...”

“Jenny.”

“One day. I’ll get it right one day.”

“Uh huh, sure thing, hon. Well done?”

“Mmhm. Thank ya.”

In the quiet following Jenny’s exodus after posting Joel’s order for the cook – Liam being said cook – Tommy fakes a cough to gain his sibling’s attention again. He grins as Joel turns to him, tightening his lips in a measured smile. Still, there’s no malice or judgement in the azure that greets.

Joel notes that Tommy’s exuding something wholesome – something good and simple. But the older man can’t quite discern what it is, is unable to pinpoint its subtle meaning...or perhaps he isn’t ready to. Either way, he runs the clock to zero by analyzing it all and in the meantime, his kin is preparing to entertain a toast.

“To traditions both old an’ new. What say you brother?”

Joel hums a spell and offers a hushed side-smile, “I’ll drink to that, Tom.”

“So...who are you again? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, honestly! I’m just terrible at remembering names!” Beth flips barrel waves of yellow and leans forward, bending her hand at the wrist as she extends an introduction to the unnamed man.

“My friends call me Manny. So...call me Manny, gorgeous.”

The woman bats her lashes and bashfully grins as he brings the pale offering to his lips. Beth giggles her way through a faux-flattering laugh before, “Well, aren’t you just a gentleman!”

She twirls immediately after to locate her younger friend and immediately recognizes an ample opportunity in regards to proximity – Beth will summarily seize it. She knows the establishment and its patrons have dialed her stridency way down but on the off chance one man in particular might lend his attention, she will bleed that option dry.

She wants him to bear witness. Wants him to see she’s moved on and that he isn’t some god amongst men to be worshiped or blindly sought after. That Bethany Fleurs’ dignity is hers alone and no man will or can ever take that from her.

The irony is not lost on her and yet she willfully lives in its shadow all the same.

“Abby! Hey Abby! Come meet a new friend of mine!” She signals enthusiastically at first, damn near yelling even, until noting that neither Joel nor his brother have moved so much as a pinky in response. Her meager attempt at luring is a failure – though this is not a surprise.

Beth recalls with crystalline clarity Joel’s terse and cutting sentiments at the Hoedown last weekend: “Ms. Fleurs, I appreciate the offer but I think it’d be best if we kept things right as they are. I’m glad to assist ya with the housework you asked’a me, surely that’s no trouble. But outside’a that, sorry to say I’m not interested.”

She grimaces as his directness proves to be, yet again, confusing and slightly nauseating; the woman quickly ingests the discontent, cursing his rejection for the thousandth time as a smile besmears her dollish features. Beth (and her pride) will never hang her head in shame, at least not in public concert with so many others loitering nearby.

From a distance, Abby reacts with a tight grin of her own, her ponytail whipping from one side to the next as she tries to discern who Beth may be indicating here.

’This shrill lady. Bet it’s Owen she’s talking about. Told him to hang at the barracks tonight, dammit. It better not be Owen.’

As the girl zigs a jagged line from one end of the Bison to the other, she side-steps a large group which unexpectedly swings her behind Joel and Tommy by the bar. She fights a demonic growl and the urge to pull a blade as her stomach lurches...but the madness is fleeting. Gone as swiftly as it came.

Tendrils of intrigue replace the flash of instant ire as a new strategy strikes into her – it’s not unlike that of an epiphany.

Abby begins to dismantle her current course of action, contemplating whether or not using Beth as a leash to the man and his world is the right path – or if she’s been going the wrong direction this entire time. It’s obvious Joel doesn’t favor Fleurs. In fact, Anderson has found that most warm blooded males in this settlement seem to steer far clear of her lane.

Perhaps her brand of high maintenance after two and a half decades of hardship and hard living aren’t enough to tip the scales as it once did.

A shudder tears through at the notion that any man or woman could take a shine to such shrillish, narrow behavior.

Abby is moving at a snail’s pace and ruminating all the while, circling the drain and honing in; the girl realizes that she will need to wrap the reins to her own and ride the steed directly into its stall if she’s ever to complete her mission. That if Joel is to die by her hands – and he must – she henceforth requires a less complicated approach. A less...compromising one at that.

’Less is more, piglet. Less is more.’

Anderson closes her eyes for an infinitesimal moment as her father’s words of wisdom begin to loop. She can still hear his voice as clear as though he were standing in this room – as though he were standing beside her. Guiding and leading the girl in all the ways that matter most and in others that occur naturally just because.

Beth is suddenly far less imperative to the mission, yes, but she won’t shun the woman. Not yet at least. There are still veins to tap and plans to hatch – having a direct connection with the town’s gossip line could prove to be invaluable.

The girl firms her resolve and exhales, preparing for this next and newest phase.

Acting on behalf of this fresh idea (and gut instinct), Abby purposely stumbles into Tommy. She grabs his shoulder in mock supplication and bows towards the man right after with, “Oh shit, lost my footing. Sorry! Lots of people around.”

Both Miller brothers adjust themselves on their stools at the rustling commotion but Joel is second of the two to offer a polite half-smirk. Though it’s not weary.

’Good.’

He lists slightly and, “Well, hello…Annie? Was it?”

“Abby, Beth’s friend! And you’re…Joe and Tommy, right? But yeah, sorry about that bump. Trying to make my way but this place is jam-packed, like I said. First Christmas here and all.”

Joel sniffs noncommittally as he purposely ignores her error, opting to nod as he gestures to Tommy at the same, “All good here. An’ this one is harmless, don’t worry none.”

Tommy scoffs but shrugs, “Don’t entirely agree with that but hey, if he says so, suppose it is what it is. Anyhoo, hi, I’m Tom. Reckon you’re fairly new to Jackson? Whatcha think’a it so far?”

Abby flip-flops between a squint and a smirk as her head hangs in brief rumination; she needs to react appropriately, to pretend, placate and suspend her fury – to borrow from an elsewhere and see herself through this impossible challenge.

But knowing and doing are two vastly different facets to the human condition.

“That good, huh?”

Abby raises at Joel’s mirthful interjection and the air catches in her throat. His voice doesn’t sound diabolical nor does he appear to be a monster but she knows the heart of this man is grotesque. A husk he’s been trying to fill for decades by the blood and gore of his ruthless kills.

She’s fallen to her knees in the wake of Joel’s dark deeds, held together all these years by the shattered memories within. She keeps her father alive through anger and resentment, driven by a mania that fuels and burns in tandem. It’s all she has left.

Well, that and revenge. Revenge is truly all there is. All there can be.

And yet here she stands, making small talk with her father’s murderer.

Deals with the devil always taste like iron and sulfur. Abby peers away and licks her lips, biting back the swell of bile.

A lone finger twitches by the secretly stowed Bowie sitting snug in her front pocket; Anderson is aching to feel the cracked rubber of the pommel, keen to plunge its steel into the sickly sinew of this horrendous killer.

But she understands that her lifeless body would hit the ground in five seconds flat if she attempts any of that here tonight. Still, being this close to him right now is a temptation venting the final vapors of her resolve.

Finally, “Oh, uh, no! Not bad. Just different, I guess?”

The Miller’s acknowledge her opinion, one arching his eyebrows, the other finishing his brew.

Tommy is first to speak again – Abby gleans that he’s the chattier of the two.

“Well, if you need help settlin’ in, be sure to stop by the main office an’ ask for Maria, she’s my pretty wife an’ the leader’a Jackson. That’s if you’re plannin’ on stayin’ though. Folks gotta pick up work detail after four weeks’a bein’ here. But enough’a that. Tonight ain’t for it. Good to officially meet ya, Miss…”

“It’s Garrets. Abby Garrets. You, too, Tom. And Joe, good to see you again. Lot less cold in here, too...”

Joel squints as he dredges the memory of their first interaction and pulls it to the front: They were standing outside of his house when Beth introduced them but he was quick to use the frigid weather as an escape clause. This Abby girl recalled that.

’Interestin’. Didn’t seem to remember my name though…’

“Hah, that it is. An’ good memory.”

The girl forces a bright smile as her head bobbles, the gesture receptive and not the least bit unkind but she feels overextended and frayed by the exchange. Still, she does not, and furthermore will not, try too hard in his presence – despite understanding that she must reserve her baleful undertones whilst entertaining public greetings and such.

There is a balance she needs to maintain between that which lies at the core of her and the road she will tread to get there.

It’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon.

As the trio share their parting words, Abby puts her back to the men and rotates to rediscover the obnoxious other – Abby is glaring at her from across the hall. She sets course once more but it’s not long until she catches sight of a messy man-bun and it reminds her of what initiated this journey: Beth’s New Man siren.

A Man-ny, to be precise.

As Abby skirts through another group of loud-mouthed celebrants, she reaches her destination and squeezes in beside Beth, painting an obliviousness she does not feel.

“Hey! Sorry for the delay. Bumped into someone by accident and got caught chatting for a few.”

Beth lours at the girl but Abby purposely disregards the piercing, icy disposition – she knows its root, knows it moot, too, though she cannot share that last. Instead she plays along as though nothing out of the ordinary has taken place and hopes the gambit is enough to appease.

’You need her, remember that. You need her.’

“Oh? Was it the Miller’s? Looked like those Miller brothers. Annnyway! This is Manny, my new friend. Manny, this is Abby. She’s pretty fresh to Jackson as well.”

Manny takes a step forward and offers his hand, waiting for a spell; they know this is ridiculous but for Anderson’s Master Plan to work, everything needs to proceed as outlined. Many, many nights went into this with each person in their party chosen for a very specific reason. Whether by loyalty, camaraderie or skill, Abby trusts them and they trust her.

They don’t necessarily like one another but everyone has come to the agreement that what happened four years ago in Saint Mary’s Hospital was...inexpiable. That the perpetrator must be held accountable and brought to his maker by the violent impartiality of a revenge-driven woman. Justifiably so.

Yes, being in this town sees them closer to that preordained execution than ever before, but there are miles to go before the end of the journey. This simulated, imitation greeting being a part of that. Unfortunately.

“Hey, I’m Abby. So you’re fresh meat, too, eh? I got here almost a month ago. Pretty good place. Nice people. Now that I think of it, have I seen you around in the barracks? You look familiar.”

Beth’s blues track Manny and Abby as she nervously observes the interaction for any unfavorable behavior; instinctively she steps closer to the man of her hour – she’s reluctant to release any slack on this catch just yet. Doesn’t want to risk a younger girl (one who clearly steals from the chow hall to maintain that physique of hers) sliding in and disrupting the flirtatious rapport that’s budding.

“Well, he won’t be in the barracks much longer, isn’t that right, Manny?”

He turns to the fizzling bombshell and suggestively wags his eyebrows, “Likely not leaving for a while yet, sweetheart. Sounds like Abs will be springing the coop sooner, what with her four-week stay coming to a close. Right? That’s how it works here in good ol’ Jackson.”

Abby inwardly cringes at Manny’s flippant use of her nickname and the prowess behind Beth’s seedy ownership. The blond’s jaw tightens as she displays another duplicitous grin for what seems to be the tenth time in as many minutes. The lines are barely meeting her eyes.

“Um, yes. And it’s just Abby, not Abs. I guess I’ll have to talk to Maria or whatever about long term housing in a few days or so. I don’t really know. But I’m excited to get out of that place and maybe plant some real roots. What about you? You staying for the long haul or just passing through…?”

As Manny and Abby go on and on – one commenting on the living conditions within Jackson’s designated billet versus the other who appears to be making plans to...make plans – Beth’s attention wanes.

Though she’s partially still clinging to the man’s bicep, her shale eyes are wandering about the room, flitting from group to group, person to person.

Beth doesn’t want to see him, just as she didn’t after his release of her at the Hoedown. Just as she didn’t with Abby a few moments ago. And certainly not with that insolent redhead he’s been keeping closer and closer company with as of late. The redhead who’s currently gazing at him from across the bar.

Intensely at that. And did she just bite her lip?

’No, don’t pay any mind to that little shit. Just focus on him.’

She does.

As her gaze falls onto his back, Bethany clears her throat in a false sense of focus while trying to shake the emotional cobwebs ever-so; in doing this, in seeing him, she haphazardly acknowledges the presence of an irresistible siphon – a gravitational lure that leaves her feeling poorly more often than not. But she’s thoroughly powerless to resist it...to resist him. Despite knowing his truth.

Fleurs drifts, musing deeper into this well and the nuance of exactly why she feels the way she does – why she teeter-totters more than a toddler when it comes to this particular man. Of course there is her reputation to maintain and there will always be that, but there’s the anger of his rejection, too. Those are irrefutable and she will one day have to fully contend with it all.

But not right now.

As her field of view continues to overflow with nothing but him, all the shattered, shimmering pieces of who Beth once was can finally see the situation for what it is: There is a basic and true nature to Joel Miller, a virtuous constitution that feels a lot like refuge to the woman. A safety, a permanence – easy, trustworthy qualities in a man that are rare to find these days. Rarer to keep, too.

She can tell he’s a hardened man and his basement is certainly a canyon of secrets she would never wish to fully explore, but the steadfast simplicity of a life with him is what Beth longs for. That’s what this is. A longing.

To be cared for and cherished, to be doted upon and...loved. Not for her body or her beauty, not for her charisma or the generous heart she masks and pretends away. None of that and yet all of it, too.

The woman becomes aware of her temporary lapse into fantasy and shivers at its illusory influence, trying to invite it in and banish it forever all the same. It’s both foreign and familiar, deeply wanted and grossly unappealing – a two-faced duality raging amidst that hushed, woeful plea for a wholesome life.

She’s losing time to a man who made his intentions known. Losing ground within herself as well.

“...Ellie Williamssss!”

Beth’s attention snaps just in time to catch the skinny teen hop onto the stage at the pronouncement of her name. The announcer, her friend Jesse, helps the girl to her feet and as she rises, Ellie smooths her skin-tight leggings and tugs on a ridiculously oversized Santa sweater. Lately she’s been favoring that one.

Condemning the youth for having worn Mr. Claus twice now, Beth finds she detests it more tonight than at the Hoedown. Unable to pinpoint why that is exactly, she’s on the cusp of another mental dissection when Joel suddenly takes the steps two at a time and appears beside the girl.

He’s joined Ellie but there was no announcement by this evening’s appointed MC. He’s there with a guitar strung atop his shoulder, too.

A duet.

’How much time has passed? When did he get the guitar?’

Fleurs unwinds from Manny and tunes her frequency fully to the duo, sharpening her undivided onto the pair, the platform and nothing beyond it. She doesn’t care for her new ‘friend’ or Abby right now. Doesn’t care about anyone or anything in the world so much as the show that’s priming to commence.

Abby and Manny exchange a glance that goes undetected by everyone in their immediate vicinity – a glance exposing the indignation of a man so carelessly exhibiting himself amongst vipers in the grass.

A bushy browline dips and Manny’s head tilts low but Abby summarily dismisses it with a rigid oscillation – this is not the time nor the place to enact, even though she suspects her friend is trying to earn a smile and nothing more.

They settle into this shared present afterwards, adding just enough distance from Beth’s rapture but not so much as to make the space visibly obvious to anyone else. They won’t get closer either – instead they achieve a balance somewhere between the two.

Beth, who is clueless to the telekinetic conversation behind her, is a long way from peeling her attention from the makeshift riser yet. Rather, she’s immersing further into the scene, wrapping an arm across her waist and lifting a hand to her face in silent repose.

She fiddles with an earlobe, pulling on a cubic-zirconia stud before twisting and resetting its sterling latch. Distractions, just distractions. Her gut is a tumultuous storm as she watches on, trying to note the barest hint of whatever she might have glimpsed at the Hoedown. Of whatever she glimpsed in Ellie’s eyes. Something that alludes to an untoward form of intimacy. Something she could stow alongside the suspicion.

For the woman’s memory is and has always been ironclad – a fortress feigned as one of her many idiosyncrasies. A tactic.

Forgot a name? Well, there’s an excuse to converse more.
Forget an item on a customer’s Holiday order? Oops, guess they’ll need to schedule an additional meeting to go over the details again.

Her schemes run deep, her endeavors well-practiced.

…And yet there coexists that ever present pining for a healthy love just the same. That real love. To be...normal again.

Beth sighs as Joel situates himself atop a metal stool, spreading his thick thighs just-so as he settles the instrument in preparation.

There is no part of him that is unattractive to her, no facet that would turn her away or turn her off. Well, maybe the fact that he keeps a teenage girl close to him more often than he reasonably should. A girl who is not his daughter either.

Still, Beth could make peace with that situation, should he ever give her the chance.

Would even try to understand the relationship he shares with Ellie and welcome the girl in his honor. Well, maybe welcome her. Either way, one minor hang up is nothing in comparison to the ghouls she’s had to endure the last two and half decades.

Beth grimaces as her mind slips in and out of the comforts of that phantasmic place again, her heart beating faster and faster until–

“Y’all know Joel is a mighty musical mogul here in Jackson – him an’ his geetar are like peanut butter an’ jelly. Milk an’ cookies. Uhhh.. and yeah, more perfectly paired stuff like that…”

A bubble of laughter circulates through the crowd at Ellie’s exaggerated Texan drawl, but the jest falls flat when it reaches Beth. She doesn’t like the way Joel’s eyes are looking at Ellie, doesn’t like the girl making fun of his accent either, just…dislikes this entire charade and the forced comedy of it all.

But she doesn’t turn away.

“Mmhm, an’ where ya from again, little lady? Boston, I believe?”

More laughter.
More ire.

“Oh hush nooow, don’t go ruinin’ the illusion, Joel!”

He puts his hands up and pantomimes submission, nodding his head high and low in imitation surrender.

“Fair ‘nough.”

“So, since it’s nearly Christmas, and I’ve had a healthy heaping of whiskey and peer pressure tonight, Joel and I thought we could pause karaoke and sing a little ditty for you guys. Joel…wanna share what we’re singing?”

Beth grinds her teeth and peers away to manage her air intake and align her irascibile nature. She spots Tommy and Maria standing by the end of the bar, the man’s arm looping around her lithe waist as he lazily plays with the fraying edge of her sweater. Maria doesn’t even notice.

Instead the Mrs. appears to be ardently engaging alongside her partner, reverentially watching the pre-show entertainment as a show of support for her extended family.

Love. Real, simple love.

“Well, reckon we should do a classic. How ‘bout, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas? Up for that?”

He strums an errant chord as he finishes and Ellie...giggle-nods. She’ll remember later that she never tee-hee’s in front of anyone except Joel but until the embarrassment hits her, she revels in the radiating warmth that’s emanating from him. Everything he does makes her happy, every little thing, every action, reaction, word, gesture – all of it.

As an unsurprising result, the girl feels that ever-present ache to lean over and kiss him, to touch an arm or a leg, just...something. She’s never been an overtly physical sort of being but that was before...the past few weeks. Before his hands fell upon her body in a new way. Before he fucked her for the first time a handful of hours ago.

Ellie squirms and absentmindedly sucks her lower lip, her emerald eyes glowing like neon signs on a midnight road. But as the booze in her blood whispers words of folly and mindless improvidence, the look in Joel’s hazels reflect an evocative knowing – he sees the edge she’s teetering upon, knows the cliff and the precipice that hang in the balance, too.

He suspends her there, tossing a wink across the minimal divide as he plucks another string and readies his fingers and his voice. Wants to ready her, too.

From in the heart of the crowd, Beth swallows and closes her mouth as she tries to piece the bits together – as she tries to understand. How to be close to him and earn those gazes and winks – how to sit beside him and receive such adoration and...lust.

The woman stops at that last, squeezing her earring so tight she winces at the pike of pain that lances through her.

’Lust. That’s...lust. Not merely trust or love or happiness but pure, fuckable lust. Holy shit. Joel and Ellie…’

Fleurs steals her attention and flutters her radar across the Tipsy sea, bouncing from person to patron and staff alike – needing to find anyone, someone to witness what she has. Surely she’s not misreading the glances, subtleties or nuances. Surely she’s not misplacing her judgement on account of any secret longing or bias she harbors for the man. Certainly none of that.

“Hey, Beth?”

It’s Abby.

Beth ignores the intrusion, her mind moving at the speed of sound as she calculates and deconstructs every minute facet of the man and the girl sitting by his flank. She senses she’s close to that inner rung, nearer to a nucleus that will guide her to an ultimate truth.

There’s a sequence of tap-taps to a shoulder then and Bethany spins with an unintentional furor she never meant to expose. She carries on with the glare though, her pupils blown so wide there’s an eclipse on her horizon – an azure ring surrounding a frightful black.

For a moment, a very brief moment, both Manny and Abby take pause at the visible disturbance before them.

“Beth?”

“What?”

“I uh...I’m gonna get going–hey, are you alright?”

Beth grumbles an indecipherable response as she peers to the dirty floorboards by their ends; she lifts a booted heel, pretending to tug on a lace that is neither loose nor caught on anything. She does this, lending a transient respite for the mask to restore itself.

“I’m good, sorry, you just surprised me. Was waiting on those two to sing and guess I got caught up in the energy of it all! Manny, are you hanging around for a while?”

Abby peeps at the friend by her side and shrouds a smirk that threatens to wreak havoc on her features. So close, so close, so close now.

Manny shuffles his feet and signals to the spotlights ahead with a pair of thumbs and, “Oh hell yes. I’m a sucker for good music and good times. So if you’re planning on staying then I’m planning on staying, dollface.”

’Bandaids on bullet holes.’

Fleurs dips at that as a rush of blood spills into her snowy cheeks. He’ll do for tonight, just as Seth did the other weekend. At least this one is younger and appears far less haggard and desperate overall. Time will tell.

“Well then, Merry Christmas to you both. Suppose I’ll see you around the barracks sometime, Manny? I mean, if you’re there or whatever.”

Beth sutures her teeth but Manny doesn’t give up the game nor does he remove his heady gaze before, “Maybe not tonight.”

Abby inclines with a tip of her head, takes one-two-three steps to the rear and proceeds to cut a hasty left towards the exit. She makes short work of the trek, slipping in and out of the crowd as their glittery expressions reveal the carousing, cheerful atmosphere all about. If only she could join them.

”Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light…”

Freezing by the double doors, every inch of her iron physique pulls taut; the girl’s shoulders rise to meet her ears as the rest goes rigid, ensnared by the sound of Joel’s voice. He’s singing the first verse of the song, his cadence low and lovely, even to her ears – but no, she cannot appreciate this. Cannot stomach the mirth through the misery.

And yet his voice carries onward, almost as if he’s directly crooning her...

”From now on
Our troubles will be out of sight…”

The girl grips the handle, twisting and squeezing the brass as though it were her knife – the exact knife she longs to sink into his gut. She wants to watch the rise and fall of his chest as it slows, wants to hear him choke on an excess mixture of mucoid and blood as his body lays dying by her steady hand. Wants to scream her father’s name so it’s the last thing that bastard hears on his way to hell.

Instead, she turns around.

Placing the outside world behind her, she stares on, watching as Joel pulls away from the mic and tilts the stand towards Ellie’s mouth. It’s her verse now.

The music drowns down to a cacophony of muffling, muddied sound that has no end and no beginning. The chords he strums, each and every one, result in a noise that stretches into an infinite ether where reason and sense are summarily forfeit. Her heart is racing, her rage rising, the desire to kill growling louder and louder above the din of music and symphony alike.

She bares her teeth, lowers her head and poises to rush the stage, to collide into him and tear him apart, piece by piece, bit by bit.

“Hey girl, are you okay? Looking as pale as a Christmas ghost!”

Abby finally exhales and snaps away from the spotlight, away from the object of her terminal ferocity.

It’s Seth.

“What?”

“You were staring ahead looking like you were on the verge of passing out. Need some water or something? I ain’t working the bar tonight but I can–”

Anderson waves a hand in front of the intruder’s face and follows by covering her mouth with it immediately after. Everything came so close to crashing down. Everything she’s been working up to over the last four years, everything nearly sacrificed and blown sky-high on the heels of her mindless frenzy.

“Sorry, I’m good.”

Pivoting on a military heel, she yanks the door open and slips into the blustery night.

As a clock tick-tick-ticks from somewhere off in the distance – somewhere far enough that she can neither see nor hear the winding of its featureless face – Ellie begins to float. Wading shores of evocative imagery, memory-waves begin to lap her heels, her calves, her knees, thighs, hips and beyond. But the girl proceeds fearlessly into this procession of previous events.

The deluge rises and Ellie is there to meet it. Greedily so.

Under she goes, lower and lower she plunges – the girl is sinking, allowing herself to drift into these alluring depths; the embrace of this water is not cold or callous but rather balmy and captivating. As though her entire person has been sheathed by a hearth-heated blanket – it settles her wanton claims and calms in tandem.

Ellie smiles.

She thinks then of how dark his eyes can get. How Joel’s light-shifting hazels can metamorphose into something much more formidable, much more…perfervid. Ellie’s born witness to this otherworldly mutation in real time – has glimpsed this shift of shading when Joel’s killed or aggravated. When he’s frightened, too. Even in moments of pure, unfettering joy there’s something inexplicable that occurs to those varigating eyes of his.

’Magic.’

But today, or really only a few hours ago now, she espied this transformation in a completely altered context.

As Joel bent each leg to tax his strength for all its worth, she marveled at how those greenbrownamber orbs changed. As he pumped himself into her and filled, stretched and extended her hole to its limit, those eyes drew upon a contrastive energy wildly unknown to the girl. When Joel Miller spasmodically snap-jerked through his finish with an, “Oh, hell, girl. I’m–El...I’m comin’ so fffuckin’ hard...Jesus,” those multi-colored beauties...became more.

They mixed and melted with an array of color, traversing the spectrum to an extent she had never seen before; there existed a luminescence that was equal parts light and dark – deep ebony wells surrounded by a palette of unnamable variants and ivory spheres – an inversion of the universe before her.

It was beautiful.
He is beautiful.

Not just that but all par–

“Ellie?”

The girl’s attention swings to the side and she exhales her lust and, “Wait, what?”

Dina and Jesse grin in a synchronous, coordinated sort of way, looking between each other and back to their mutual friend again. Ellie is ceaseless to wonder if it’s a knowing glance or simply a familiar one – there is quite the difference these days, given her relations with Joel and all that Dina is privy to.

But paranoia is not fit to factor here nor will Ellie allow for it. So she firms her upper lip, animatedly gestures from one person to the next and, “WELL?”

Dina breaks first as she curls an arm around Ellie’s shoulders and slouches against her; the girl leans on a rubber sole as the friend beneath her limb supports the rest and, “You keep zoning out on us. Something distracting you or are we that mind-blowingly boring?”

Jesse murmurs a laugh and tips his tumbler at that, finishing the last of his pale ale in a continuous pour. The beer is light and bitter but tastes well enough to placate and allow for a stress-free, pleasant evening.

Especially after duking it out with yards of cable and a town leader none too happy with his work. Well, initially she wasn’t too pleased. Though Jesse suspects Maria’s vexation had less to do with his technical skills and more with the brother-in-law she maybe isn’t too keen on. At least that was his takeaway from several interactions with the Miller’s as a collective.

But who’s to say for sure. Certainly not him, nor is it any of his business.

“I–sorry I was thinking. What’d I miss?”

Dina side-smirks, her irises shimmering as they reflect Ellie’s unspoken truth and the dim lighting of the bar. She knows what’s happening, of course she does but none of it is for her to say or share. Not even to Jesse – her on again, off again boyfriend (they’re on again currently).

So the girl chews her bottom lip and a swell unsaid words before, “Well, it’s three hours since you’ve been here and the crowd has yet to see Ellie Williams tackle the mic. Come onnnn… Let those callus fingers do the talking for a little while. Not that you’re saying much anyways.”

Ellie nudges Dee’s flank while coyishly twirling free of her best’s intimate orbit, lending herself a better view on things. And a clearer head.

“Okay but here’s the thing: I’ve had a few. And more importantly I didn’t bring my Taylor. Soooo…”

Jesse laughs but appears momentarily distracted as his midnight eyes catch sight of something or someone unseen beyond Ellie. The girl bobs and weaves as she attempts to align her sight with his until eventually, she concedes and precariously swivels.

“Jesse, what the fuck are yo–”

Joel is standing there, directly behind her with a hand wrapping to the neck of his guitar. He’s trying his damnedest to hide a teasing grin but his cheeks are tinted with a rosey-red – be it from the beer he’s been drinking or the emotion he’s stowing, Ellie can’t be sure. Column A, Column B.

“Oh shit, hey! Where the hell did you come from? Weren’t you just at the bar with Tommy and Maria?” She grabs his forearm as though it were a railing, squeezing as an onslaught of desire swarms from the inside out.

’Hug him kiss him grab his ass Jesus Christ Joel you look so fucking good I want you to fuck me right here just right here in front of everyone I don’t care okay I just don’t ca–’

“Popped back to the house after Tommy mentioned somethin’ ‘bout a duet with ya. Figured we could do a special number instead’a singin’ Carey or Cole. Whatcha think?”

Ellie beams and bobbles all in the same go, overwhelmed by the presence of him after being separated for the majority of their evening. She’s taken to ogling Joel from afar here and there – when she could sneakily get away with it – and caught him staring at her in return.

She likes that. Likes the way she feels to have his eyes on her.

The girl relishes the heavy gaze of Joel’s hazels as he bores through the flimsy shell of her clandestine heart. She knows what he seeks with those shape-shifting irises, can sense the urgency and domination bleeding through his every pore.

It’s analogous to static electricity moments before the strike of lightning. She’s the steel rod at the core of his tempest.

She wants him just as needfully, too. Wants to throw her arms around him and wrap her legs to his waist. Want to take him in – take him on. Craves to touch Joel again and store the memories of their first fucking time by entertaining a second fucking time.

Ellie is starving for the man’s undivided, her ravenous appetite spiraling as she stands ahead of him right now.

He simpers at the charge crackling between them, and her overall disposition, but his lids lay low and revelatory just the same. Joel is feeling it just as she is, is aching to bring his girl against him, aching to press his mouth to her throat, her stars, her lips...but they’re far from alone. Far from the loud silence of their sacred union.

It dawns then that Dina and Jesse seem to be rather quiet, too quiet; he turns to find the couple a few paces apart from him and Ellie – they’re dancing together and utterly lost to themselves. It appears as though Dina is gleefully distracting her beau; it’s a deliberate tactic and of the sort Joel feels deep appreciation for, now that he knows she knows.

As Jackson’s beloved jukebox fills in the floors from one karaoke set to the next, Joel senses the bar’s high tidings and an abundance of joy all around. Course that could just be his love, too. Almost certainly is.

Pulling an arm to his chest, the one Ellie’s clamping onto for dear life, he leans down and with his voice hardly above a whisper, “Alright pretty, well come with me. Gotta chat ‘bout what we oughtta sing.”

The man gestures toward a vacancy by the side of the wooden riser, a small alcove that’s somehow void of people, clutter and most of the ambient light in the Bison. He nearly kisses her cheek but retracts at the last second, stealing himself for the millionth time in as many minutes.

’This is gettin’ difficult. Don’t wanna hide it. Too damn old to do that.’

He knows that the last bit of his musing is part, if not all of the problem, but dwelling on the irrefutable is a lost cause and a waste of their precious time and energy. So he stows the wasteful rhetoric and forges onward.

As they make their way, Joel and Ellie cut through acquaintances and friends alike, passing a mingling Liam – whose shift ended an hour or so ago – along with Maria and Rhoda.

Politely acknowledging at the women while pointedly ignoring the younger man in their midst, Joel and Ellie purposely dodge a plethora of pleasantries and flippant greetings while on this foot pursuit. Acting on an unspoken agreement. But eventually they arrive at their exclusive destination; Ellie sits on a storage barrel as Joel settles atop an unplugged speaker, their knees bumping into each other before the girl pits hers between his.

Situating the guitar, he sets it onto the floor and leans its neck against a thigh, allowing him to angle closer to her – to be heard above those who are Rocking Around The Christmas Tree. And well, to be nearer to her.

“Ya look so g’damn good, girl. Have I told you that tonight?”

Ellie succumbs as her skull dips to a kaleidoscope of butterflies that soar through her; his compliment and the way he’s gazing at her right now is a surge of adrenaline unlike anything she’s known prior.

“If you keep looking at me the way you’re looking at me, I’m gonna slip up tonight, Joel. I’ve had a few drinks and you saying those things and wearing flannel and holding a guitar and being close to me again...fuck. It’s my Achilles. Wait no, it’s my fucking kryptonite. That – that’s what it is.”

“So...I can’t look at or talk to ya or wear clothes an’ play guitar? That all?”

She snickers, “Well, so long as you don’t mind making out with me in front of our friends and family and everyone else who doesn’t matter, go on.”

The man sniff-laughs but slides nearer, feathering his lips to the top of an ear, “I’ll make out with ya anywhere, at any time. Just say the word.”

Ellie rubs her legs together and is on the verge of arching to the rear and giving him access to more than just her mouth; Jackson be damned, she wants this man, wants her man. Has felt his spend leaking from her all damn night, his come driving her towards an escarpment of dizzying proportions.

“Mmm… You’re exploiting me right now, aren’t you?”

He bows beside her, his breath hot as he sneaks a kiss to the delicate pale skin below her lobe, “An’ ya love it, dontcha, Ellie?”

The girl whimpers, her jade seas roiling beneath the vessel she’s helplessly drifting upon; need, raw desire and lust surges through her, Ellie’s body is a cavalcade of wanton, shameless avidity for this man.

“Joel…”

He teases his tongue to the bare flesh above her sweater as he works to remand his touch – Joel must remain in control of not losing control, at least for the time being. But ushering her to the brink is a paradigm he’s leaning into more and more as their relationship progresses. Loves how quickly she submits and gives of herself.

“Turns ya on, don’t it? Knowin’ how close I am to fuckin’ you again.”

Ellie exhales a weighty sigh and turns her face to his, “Where’s that goddamn closet, Joel?”

He laughs, “‘Round the bend, directly behind the stage.”

“Let’s go, please? I’m gonna physically combust if I don’t kiss or do...something to you. And your parts. Your big...big parts.”

Shifting away, he institutes a foot or so of space before a grin paints his measured features. “Well, we gotta sing first, darlin’.”

“No we do not.”

“We should.”

“Says who?”

“Says Jesse, Tommy an’ a bunch’a others that are expectin’ it apparently.”

The girl groans and bounces her boots in both exasperation and animosity for the powers that be. Typically, Ellie is able to entertain patience enough to skate by and work through life just fine but lately, and especially with Joel, it’s wearing wildly thin.

“Fuck.”

“Let’s choose an’ sing our song an’ then–” he pauses to grab her chin, opting not to hide by the shadow of her small frame this time around. He wants all of her attention, wants her to note the severity behind his words as he speaks them aloud – hopes to convey that he is dire and desperate for her as well.

Once he knows she’s there, that he has her where he wants her, Joel wets his lips and continues with, “–I’ll stretch your tight, little hole after. Okay, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck…”

“Is that a yes?”

She quivers with an imperative, hushed acceptance, her mouth ajar and body engulfed by the molten lake of his declarative sentiments. Ellie’s submergence with desirous passion and white-hot fervor comes with a stark realization though – a mantra she detests but one that’s become part of their everyday for the foreseeable future.

Now is not the time. Almost, but not quite.

So the girl steadies her breath and clears her throat, holding tight to the barrel’s ledge as though it was a lifeline, as though it was Joel. After a moment or two of repeating this distillation process, she settles into their present and accepts the delay. She still gets to be here with Joel, gets to choose a song and sing it with him when the time comes.

Ellie Williams is a patron at the Tipsy Bison alongside her love, her friends and family – therefore she will celebrate the holiday as a cohesive collective. Much to the chagrin of her arousal.

“Yes. It’s always a yes for you, big man.” Winking at the end of that, she eases forward and bends to tap the body of his handcrafted instrument. He follows her actions, tracking Ellie’s physical and verbal direction while offering a half-grin for good measure.

“‘Atta girl. So, what’re we singin’?”

As Rhoda speaks of Jackson’s intake process and the protocols they will need to institute once the Mandate goes into full effect, Maria considers a multitude of issues and their subsequent hangups. Not to mention the disastrous consequences should any of these impending settlement pacts fail – and she is certain that at some point, they very well might.

“We can’t be weary to the point of driving folks away but the fundamentals of ‘citizenship’ need to be both realistic and idealistic. I know Terrance was thinking of building a separate structure on the west end of Jackson – something similar to that of apartment housing. We have a fair amount of residents with construction know-how and others willing to learn, so it’s not an impossible feat.”

Maria sips her wine as she inclines in acquiescence – it is a fine idea and one that would make good use of their lumber and steel surplus. And for the idle hands of those too young or not fit for patrol. The possibilities bloom unimpededly but with it there’s a remembrance that surfaces: Her husband and his brother are certified in construction and demolition. Or they were, before the world burned to blisters on the heels of a fungal plague that caused the friction. Either way, she knows who the foreman could and should be.

“I agree with Terry. I think we will have a lot of options available to us with the Mandate. Maybe even demo a few of those uninhabited homes by the edge of town and replace them with a two to three story hub. That could be our best bet with any and all newcomers brought in. We can also consider expansions, too. The walls of Jackson are only limited by the ones we’ve built. Those can be rebuilt.”