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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

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7. when she lets me call her mine

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: a year passes through Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, blood, grief (loss of a sibling, loss of a child), trauma, anxiety

Notes: Once again, thank you to @janaispunk and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this! I appreciate all your comments and feedback, and I love you both so much!

Words: 8311

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Joel coaxes you awake the next morning. Your room is bright with sunshine. He’s dressed in his clothes from last night, smelling like your soap. Your body protests, wanting nothing more than to fall back asleep until the end of time. You groan burrowing into your pillow, making him chuckle. Then, the events of last night come flooding back. Adrenaline shoots through your body as you shoot up. Your head spins a little. “Maria?”

“She’s awake. Doc Pooley stopped by this morning, said she looks good so far.” Joel wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer. “Just wanted you to know.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Sweetheart.”

You pick at the buttons on his shirt as you remember it all. “For last night. Everything.”

Your temple rests against his forehead. His steady breathing calms you until the two of you are in unison. Joel kisses your head. His fingertips brush across your thigh.

“I want to go over there.”

“Tommy said we’re welcome anytime. I think he feels better having you there.”

“Do I look as atrocious as I feel?” You turn to him.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “Got some big bags under your eyes, and some gnarly morning breath.”

“Gnarly? Really?”

“Only the best of words for you.” Joel winks. “I’ll get you some breakfast while you get ready.”

“Thank you.”

Maria is sitting up when you get there. Her eyes are bloodshot, her shoulders sag with exhaustion, but she’s alive, and she looks a hell of a lot better than she did the night before. The baby lays contently on her chest. She smiles at you over his head. “If it isn’t my guardian angel.”

Your chest quivers with relief as you ease beside her, perching on the edge of the mattress. Out of the corner of your eye, Joel gives Tommy a delayed but obligatory congratulatory handshake.

“I’m just happy to see you awake.”

“You look like shit.” Maria teases.

“Oh, I look like shit?” You raise an eyebrow. “Look in a mirror.”

Maria laughs softly, successfully hiding the cringe of pain behind it. “I’m never leaving this bed.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy crosses his arms. “She was tryin’ to get out of bed this mornin.”

You smile, eyes roaming over Maria, searching for any signs of something wrong. You can’t find any, but it hardly eases your anxiety.

Maria squeezes your hand. “If something felt wrong, I would tell you.”

“Promise?”

She nods, a smile spreading across her face as her eyes flicker to her sleeping newborn. “I have someone dependent on me now.”

“He’s not the only one dependent on you,” You say with a sigh. When you look down at Jackson’s newest addition, you can’t help but smile either. “Though he may be the cutest.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Maria runs a hand over his tuft of dark curls. “You wanna hold him?”

You nod, carefully taking the infant into your arms. Other than the brief moment when you’re delivering a baby, you haven’t held one this small since Carter was born. “Does he have a name yet?”

“Yes,” Maria smiles at Tommy. He places a hand on her shoulder. Your heart swells every time you see them like this. As much as Maria championed your relationship with Gabe, you did for her with Tommy. “Meet Elias Joel Miller.”

“What?” It seems to tumble out of Joel’s mouth automatically. “Now why would you do a thing like that?”

“Maria wouldn’t be here without you,” Tommy says. You swear you see the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

Joel clears his throat, eyes moving between his nephew and brother. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I think they’re capable of deciding what to name their child, Joel.” You grin, pressing a kiss to Elias’s head. “Now come hold your nephew.”

Maria’s recovery isn’t easy. It takes a lot of time, more than either of you anticipate. You spend days at her house and nights on the couch, caring for her when Tommy is on patrol. Eventually, slowly, she returns to full strength. She cares for her son and husband and all of Jackson with the same grace, strength, and capabilities as before. When she does, she kicks you out of her home with a grin.

It’s gradual at first, the way you pull away. Joel chalks it up to Maria’s close call, the amount of time you spend caring for her and Elias.

As the air begins to cool, you ask to walk alone. Joel picks it up the moment he meets you on the porch that night. He sees the distance in your eyes. Kissing your forehead, he crosses the street to his home without so much as a word. You’re relieved despite the dull ache in your chest.

You toss and turn that night. Your thoughts race with anxiety. The fall air seems especially chilly without Joel there to keep you warm.

Joel joins you the next night, but you’re quiet, too quiet. He tries, bless his heart, to keep it light and cheerful doing his best to pull you from the sea of thoughts. Despite his best efforts, you only give him brief sounds and one-word answers. When he wraps his arms around you that night, you don’t lean in.

None of it surprises him. He expects it. He would’ve done the same thing this time last year. What he doesn’t expect is the gaping ache in his chest as he watches it happen a little more each day like the autumn leaves falling from trees. The tighter he holds on, the more you slip through his fingers. So he takes the opposite approach. He keeps his distance. He stops meeting you in the middle of the road. He only comes over when you ask.

You expect the space to grant you relief, but it only gets harder to breathe. You toss and turn at night. The bed is empty. You’ve grown accustomed to having Joel next to you. There’s no clarity to your thoughts, no sense to your actions. The push and pull is tiring: missing Joel but not letting him too close.

You step onto your porch on a Friday in mid-October. You’ve walked alone, slept alone for almost a week. The only time you’ve seen Joel are the afternoons Carter asks to spend with him.

Joel sits on his porch, leaning back in a rocking chair. His guitar is propped on his knee. It stops you in your tracks, stealing your breath. He’s had the unstrung guitar in his home since June, but now, even from across the street, you clearly see several silver strings running across the frets. A couple of bright notes bridge the gap between you.

Instead of stepping into the street and setting along your beaten trail, your bottom hits the wooden step. You stare across the street, transported to 20 years ago when you and Joel lived across from one another the first time. Even at the end of the world, some things never change. You remember him sitting on his porch in the Austin suburb, the same angle to his recline, fingers playing over the strings. You used to open your bedroom window at night, straining to hear the faint rifts he played. Sometimes, his voice drifted through your curtain as you pined for a man who very rightfully, never looked your way. Those were your favorite nights.

Tonight, you don’t watch in secret. You don’t have to strain to hear the melody coming off the strings. You spent too much time wanting Joel, and he’s yours to have if you can only shake the fear away. It seems silly that the world ended and you somehow ended up with the only thing you wanted before it did. Now, you’re in self-destruct mode. You don’t know how to stop it. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you continue to watch Joel and his guitar without embarrassment.

Joel clocks you the moment you step out. He watches you from his periphery at first, surprised when you take a seat on the steps instead of going for your walk. He plucks at the strings refamiliarizing himself with the instruments after decades of separation. He’s only been able to find 4 good strings, but it is enough for now. The taught strings feel like therapy beneath his fingers connecting him with something unseen.

Joel continues to pick out the melody, becoming more confident with each play-through. He misses a few notes due to his missing strings, but something about it tugs at the strings of familiarity.

Finally, you stand, crossing the street. Joel doesn’t look up when you make it to his porch. Resting against the railing, he plucks away as the melody finally hits you. You’re embarrassed at how long it takes you to recognize it. Landslide. Memories flood your mind. You ran that cassette until it busted. When the Dixie Chicks put out their cover in ‘02, you and Sarah played it on repeat.

You focus on Joel’s fingers, the words forming in your head as he closes out the song. He leaves the guitar on his lap. Your arms fold over your chest, and his warm brown eyes reach yours.

The breeze catches your hair. You bite your lip, yet Joe doesn’t say a word. “I love that song.”

“I know.”

You raise an eyebrow. He chuckles. “You played that song on repeat for a week, Sweetheart. Sarah forced me to learn it.”

“Like you didn’t already know it, old timer.”

Joel pushes back a laugh, propping the guitar against the house. You catch the tension in his shoulders. Guilt shoots through you. You want to crack open his thoughts and curl into his brain. Is he upset? Hurt? Does he think you’ve come to call this thing off? This thing you’ve never labeled. Does he want to call it off after your actions?

“I’m sorry.”

Joel quirks a brow.

“For pulling away.” You add.

Joel lets out a deep sigh as he stands. Worry floods your body. You have succeeded. You pushed him away, and this is where things end. He steps forward. His body heat cuts through the fall chill. His fingers brush across your cheek and over your ear. Your head tilts into his palm.

“Joel-” You whisper.

“I’ve missed you.”

His words cut all the anxiety from you with a surgeon's precision. “I missed you too.”

He kisses you, tentative and understanding. It doesn’t silence your fears but gives you the budding courage to face them. Joel’s fingers curl around your face. His flannel is soft in your clenched fists. As you tug him closer, a grin spreads across your face.

Joel trails his hands down your back and over your ass. He wants to tell you so much more. He wants to tell you that he’s more than missed you. His arms have ached without you. He wants to tell you you feel like coming home, that if he never spends another night without you, it won’t be enough. He wants to scream from the rooftops that he’s yours and he wants you to be his, but he knows that all of that will send you running. He still sees the fear in your eyes.

Instead, he presses you against him, opening your mouth with his tongue. For the sake of not giving the whole town a show, he pulls you inside, dragging you to his bedroom.

The cold winds blow in and snowflakes drift about the sky as you follow Carter from house to house on Halloween night. He’s happily escorted by Ellie and Dina, relishing in their attention. The bright orange of Reese’s wrappers and red of Kitkats might be gone, but the town of Jackson knows how to improvise. Homemade sweets fill baskets and pillowcases. Joel walks alongside you, hand in yours. He wears an easy smile, one that keeps you warm as the sun sets behind the mountains.

“Remember the year Sarah convinced you to come trick or treating with us?” A faint grin spreads across Joel’s face.

“I remember all my Mr. Goodbars missing when I got home.”

Joel laughs. “Sarah always liked those.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t Sarah I left unattended with my pillowcase.” You roll your eyes. “And she was more of a Reese’s girl.”

“Pretty sure 18-year-olds weren’t supposed to go trick or treating.”

“Touché,” You smile.

Joel presses a kiss to the back of your hand before furrowing his brow. “Your hands are freezing, Sweetheart.”

“It’s snowing outside, of course, they are.”

“Wanna go back to my house? I can start a fire.” Joel grins. Since the weather had turned, you spent more time at his house due to the beautiful fireplace in his living room and your home’s lack of. Evenings spent in front of his fireplace are some of your favorites.

“We’ve only made it through half the houses.”

“I think Ellie and Dina are fine with Carter. He doesn’t even know we’re here.” Joel points. It’s true. He adores the ground those two walk on.

You bite your lip, torn between seeing the rest of the evening out and the promise of Joel’s fireplace. Carter’s nose is tinged with red from the chill, but his grin is unbeatable. Joel’s breath is warm on your ear. “Made up your mind.”

“Promise it doesn’t make me a bad mom?”

“I promise.” Joel laughs.

You double-check with the girls, making sure they know they can bring him back to the house at any time. They assure you it’s fine and then Joel drags you off.

He has the fire burning in no time, casting an orange glow across the room. He sits down next to you, an overly full glass of whisky to share. Your legs rest over his thighs as he runs his fingers over your shoulder. “Warmer?”

You sip on the glass, handing it to him. “In more ways than one.”

Pressing the glass to his lips, he chuckles. “Gone are the days of subtlety I suppose.”

“I don’t need subtlety anymore.” Your head rests on his shoulder, tracing the seams of his jeans.

He kisses your head. “Wanna raid Carter’s candy when he gets back?”

You grin. “Isn’t that the point of being a parent?”

Snow begins to pile up. The holiday season is upon Jackson. As you exit the clinic one day, it hits you, literally, in the back of the head. Cold and icy, some of it drips down your skin. You spin around, met with Ellie’s apologetic grin.

“Oops.”

You furrow your brow, a teasing glimmer in your eye. “Gotta work on your aim there, Ellie.” Your bag drops to the ground, hands meeting the cold snow.

“I didn’t throw it.” Her grin grows as she slowly backs away.

“Oh?” You take care to form the snowball, calling on your years of travel softball. “You need to get better at lying.”

“Duck!” someone yells. You manage to and the snowball hits Ellie square in the face. A laugh grows in your chest as Jesse appears around the corner, a handful of snow ready to stuff down the back of Ellie’s shirt.

“Ellie, move!” instead of sending it her way, you barely graze Jesse’s head.

Before you know it, you’re pulled into their war. Your hands go numb. Snow finds itself in places it should never be, melting from your body heat. Most importantly, you’re having fun in ways you haven’t for a long long time.

Two strong arms wrap around you. They’re Joel’s. You would know them anywhere. His laugh echoes in your ear. Then, he’s pulling you down into a snow drift. Your coat rides up, cold snow pressing into your back. You squeal, trying to wiggle free, but he keeps you pinned.

“You jackass!” You thrash under him.

He laughs. “You should learn to pick on people your own age.”

“They started it!”

Snow smashes on the back of Joel’s neck. He yells, spinning around. You’re forgotten as Ellie laughs, running away. “You little twirp!” Joel yells and then a snowball collides with his face.

“See what I mean?” You stumble onto your feet, the ghost of the cold still pressed against your skin. “They’re asking for it.”

“You flank the left. I’ll take the right.�� Joel nods.

The two of you are hopelessly outmanned by the 3 teenagers as snow pelts your face in such quick succession that you can hardly think straight. Within seconds, Joel calls out “Retreat!”

His calloused hand grabs yours, dragging you toward his house like you’re teenagers running from the cops. Laughter spills from both of you the entire way there. Your hands shoot to your knees as you struggle to catch your breath. Joel assumes a similar position.

“Gettin too damn old for that shit,” Joel says, laughter still in his tone.

“But it sure was fun.” You wink.

Joel eases up, his knees and back letting off a string of cracks and pops. You glance over at him, laughter playing in your eyes. He shoots you a look that tells you not to say a word, making you bite your lip. “I’m gonna get a fire going.”

You nod, kissing his cheek. “I’m gonna hop through the shower.”

Joel catches your waist before you dash up the steps, pulling you snug against him. “Give me a real kiss, Woman.”

You crinkle your eyebrows at the name, but Joel lays a breath-stealing kiss on you before you have time to make a comment. Warmth spreads through your body. He pulls away with a grin. Your eyes flutter open, connecting with his eyes and then glancing down to his lips again. ”Sure you won’t join me?”

He groans. “If I do that, we’re not getting out of bed tonight.”

”I don’t see any issues with that.”

He squeezes your ass, giving you another kiss. “Go get showered. I’ll be waiting for you,” he says, practically pushing you towards the steps. You laugh. “And don’t go stealing all my hot water!”

You answer with a laugh.

Carter is in the living room when you come down. Your body hums with warmth from your shower. He sits on Joel’s lap, animatedly recounting something. Even from behind, you can see Joel’s face moving with exaggerated motions. Carter’s vocabulary is getting better with each day to the point where you can put together most of his stories now.

You fall onto the couch, thighs pressed against Joel’s. “Mommy!” Carter launches himself toward you. You barely manage to avoid getting your two front teeth knocked in, kissing his chunky cheeks.

“Carter!” You reply, squeezing him against you.

Before long, Ellie comes stomping in, cheeks rosy from the cold. The four of you eat leftovers in front of the fire, spending time together until Ellie is pulled away by her friends and Carter passes out on the couch. You and Joel stay on the floor, his arm around your shoulders.

“I think I have a problem, Sweetheart.”

The words are like ice water in your veins causing your heart rate to spike and your anxiety with it. You’ve heard those exact words before. ”What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting too used to having you around.”

Your jaw sets, fist colliding with his shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?”

”Scaring the bejesus out of me.”

He kisses your head, hand roaming down your neck and shoulders. “Sorry. Guess I should work on my delivery.”

”Ya think?” You sigh, resting your head back on his shoulder.

It falls silent. Blood rushes behind your ears. The adrenaline courses through your dysregulating body. It’s just words. Joel was just being silly, but your body won’t listen. It won’t settle. You’ve heard those words before. It turns your vision a red you can’t wipe away. Before you know it, your body is shaking. “Fuck.” You barely get it out before you lose control over your body.

Joel’s brow furrows as he cups your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Your head shakes as your fingers claw at his jeans, twisting in his shirt, desperate to find stability somewhere. Tears slip from your eyes, flowing over his hands. Fear rushes through Joel. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You choke it out, barely over a whisper. “Carter.”

”He’s right there.” Joel brings you into his lap, turning you to look at your son’s sleeping frame. “He’s okay.”

You shake your head, sniffing. It hurts to talk like there’s a lump in your throat, your diaphragm constricting in painful ways. “No- my- my brother.”

Joel searches your wet eyes. You’re not here. You’re along the outskirts of Jackson in a place you’ve only alluded to. He knows Carter died. He knows that death left you on your own. He doesn’t have words. He’s not sure you would hear them anyway, so he crushes you against his chest, rocking you back and forth like a mother does to her hurt child until your body stops shaking.

As the tension releases from your body, you weave your fingers through Joel’s. Eventually, you slide down, back against the hard floor, and head on Joel’s thighs. His thumb brushes over your wet cheek as you look at each other. The tears still pour from your eyes, but they don’t try to rip you apart anymore.

The fire has died down, but it’s still warm against your side. The flames dance off Joel’s irises. When you can finally draw a breath without your rib cage rattling, you attempt to speak. “I’m sorry-“

”Don’t.” Joel is soft. “Don’t apologize for it.”

You nod. He keeps brushing his fingers across your face. “I'm ready to talk about it.”

He freezes for a second and then nods.

“Carter was hurt when a group of raiders came through, but they didn’t kill him.”

Joel inhales sharply. You squeeze his hand. “He was hurt and there was nothing I could do.”

The image flashes before your eyes, your baby brother bleeding out slowly on the floor of a place with so many cherished memories. “He bled out so slowly.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not true.”

“Baby-”

“I could’ve-” You bite down on your lip, on the verge of breaking the delicate skin. “I should’ve helped him.”

“You just said you couldn’t do anything.”

“No- I mean…” Your chest shakes again. “He didn’t have to die like that. Slow and painful. He- Shit.” Your chest aches, tension tight across it.

Joel’s palm lands over your heart. It stays still for a minute and then moves in slow, pressurized motions. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but it eases the band constricting around your rib cage. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

You take one last deep breath and utter the words you’ve only said out loud once before. “He begged me to make it stop, the pain. I knew- I know how to make it quick. He spent hours in pain and I couldn’t bring myself to make it better.”

Hot tears roll down your cheeks again. Joel collects them on his thumbs. “Sweetheart.”

You ease into a sitting position, taking his hand and tracing the lines in his palm “What you said- about thinking you had a problem.”

Joel traces along your hairline, following it behind your ear. “Yeah?”

“He said that to me, right before I saw the blood.”

Joel leans forward, kissing your forehead. Another pocket of tension fizzles away. “I’m sorry.” Another kiss. “But thank you for tellin me.”

You nod, forehead pressed to his, fingers scraping softly at the back of his skull. He kisses your jaw. “Let’s go to bed.”

Joel stands, offering out his hand. You feel a little off-kilter on your feet, but he makes sure you’re steady before gently picking Carter off the couch, careful not to disturb him. Joel takes your hand, leading you upstairs. You tuck Carter into the bed of the spare bedroom. He’s familiar with it by now.

Once you’re in Joel’s room, you shed your clothing, crawling under the cool sheets in just your underwear. Joel slides in behind you, strong arms keep you flush against him, his warm skin pressed against yours.

“Joel…”

“Yeah?”

“When the weather gets nice, I want to go to my grandparent’s place. I want to visit him.”

Joel nods, lips warm against your shoulder. “Whatever you want, Sweetheart. I’ll take you.

The snow drifts melt away. The weather warms. Spring showers bring fresh green and pink buds, the grass growing more vibrant with each day. Birds chirp and the days grow longer. With it, your evening walks return, Joel ever-present beside you except when he’s on patrol.

He spends free days outside of the wall. Your anxiety heightens when he goes out, but something else stirs too. You haven’t been out in years. You had been quickly nixed from the patrol lineup when your medical training had been dubbed too important. Since the walls were completed, you haven’t set foot outside of them. There’s a call, a tug, deep within you. For the first time, you want to leave the safety promised by the tall gates.

You walk the parapet sometimes. During the cold months, the breeze up there stings more, chapping your face. In the summer, it soothes you.

Joel comes back one day with a small bouquet of barely blooming wildflowers. They’re tiny. They look even smaller in Joel’s large hands. He looks almost timid handing them to you. “Ain’t much. They’ll be a lot prettier ones come summertime.”

”These are beautiful.” You smile, taking the delicate buds in your hands.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Joel says, eyes following as you find the best vessel to hold the tender gift.

“That’s what they say.”

Joel crosses his arms, hip resting against the counter. “I was thinkin’.”

”Uh-oh.” You shoot a teasing grin over your shoulder.

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “How original of you.”

“I try.” You shrug, setting the flowers on the counter. You mimic his stance. “Now what were you thinkin?”

“That tomorrow would be a good day to go to your grandparents’ place.”

Everything in your body, your heart, your breathing, your brain, stops for a split second. You feel outside of your body as it happens. Joel steps forward, hand gripping your bicep. It snaps you back, eyes locking on his.

“We don’t have to.”

”No.” Blood rushes behind your ears. “I want to. I’m ready.”

“You went white as a ghost, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath. “I want to, Joel.”

He searches your face, looking for any signs that you’re not. “You sure? I can’t have you floating away like that when we’re out there.”

”I’m sure. I told you I wanted to.”

”Wanting to and ready to are very different things.”

“I’m ready.”

Joel waits a second, weighing the options and your words. He takes a breath. “Okay, we’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

”Thank you.”

He kisses your forehead, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “I’ll turn us around if you do that, okay?”

Your fingers tangle in the fabric of his worn shirt. “Can’t tell Maria.”

”Gonna have to smuggle you out, huh?”

”Something like that.” You grin.

Joel laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Luckily, I have some experience with that.”

Joel has two horses saddled and waiting at the gate when you approach the next morning. Electricity buzzes in your bloodstream at the thought of stepping out beyond the gate for the first time in years. The air is crisp but promises spring warmth later in the day as birds start to chirp.

“You sure?” Joel asks, reigns in hand.

“Yes,” you grin, taking them as you mount the horse. A rifle sits in the saddle holster. You shift in the saddle, taking a deep breath.

Joel looks up at you, concern evident in his deep brown eyes. He’s worried, maybe even scared. A knife materializes. “Keep this on you. Somewhere accessible.”

You take it, hands warm against his. “I know.”

“This too.” He pulls out a pistol.

You stare at the metal, flickering in the growing sunlight. You know your way around a gun. You’ve been comfortable handling them long before cordyceps. Growing up in Texas made sure of that, but you haven’t had to touch one in too long.

“Darlin.”

You take it from him. “I’m good, Joel.”

“You can get us there?”

“Yup.”

He nods, ensuring you’re secured before mounting his horse. He looks at the gate attendant and they crack the door open just enough for the two of you to slip through.

Wind and sunshine greet you and a huge smile crawls up your face. You kick the horse forward, Joel and his mount keeping pace next to you. The further from Jackson you get, the more you feel the weight start to lift from your shoulders despite the heaviness awaiting you.

Joel sees it. The bits and pieces of your younger self come out in your smile and laughter. Your body seems looser, freer in the open. He makes a note to sneak you out more often.

You take your time, an internal compass guiding you toward the place that kept you safe for so long. The sun warms your back until you slip into the woods. The soft babble of water pulls you deeper. Once you find the brook, you and Joel let the horses lap at the water. ”It’s not far up the mountain from here,” You say. “Probably 30, 40 minutes.”

Joel nods, handing you a canteen. “No rush. We have all day, Sweetheart.”

You tilt your head to the side, accepting it. You hand him two apples. Once for himself. Another for the horse. You can’t help the smile that’s been on your lips all morning. You weren’t expecting to feel this way, but something in your body thrums with life regardless of the fact that you’re close to the place that holds so much of your grief.

”Thank you for doing this.”

Joel hooks a finger through your belt loops, tugging you nearer to him. “Any time. Especially if I get to see you like this.”

”Like what?”

Wracking his brain, he can’t seem to find the right words. His eyes search yours, sunlight filters through the trees, casting yellowish spots across your face. It feels warm and magical. He wants to stay here forever with you, basking in your smile. He wants to make the entire world a place that brings you such peace, blocking out all the bad things, the dark things. The thought of you feeling anything other than what you do right now makes him want to tear each infected limb from limb until the world rights itself. He can’t erase the marks it’s made, but he wants to help them fade because he-

His heart jumps, interrupting the thought before it materializes. His palms go sweaty. Could he think it? Could he say it for something that’s never been defined? Should he say it?

You catch it in his eyes. You don’t know how to explain it, but it’s there for you to read like a book. Anxiety balls up in your stomach. It doesn’t overpower the other feelings coursing through your bloodstream, but it gives you an answer. If he says it, you’ll bolt. You know it.

You step backward, his finger dropping from your belt. “We should keep going.” You turn to the horse, checking that everything is still in place and secure.

Joel nods. He’s not sure what to say. “Sweetheart.”

You swallow, back turned to him. “I can’t give you anything else right now.”

”I know.”

You stay quiet for the rest of your trek following the brook toward the house. The familiar gate fades into view. It kept you protected from more than one group of infected and raiding parties for over 10 years. As you approach the gate, it hits you that you’ve spent just as much time away.

Joel is on alert, keeping watch for any unwelcome parties while trying to stay in tune with you. You dismount before entering through the gate on foot. Joel follows suit. You hitch them to a post, pouring out grain for them to eat.

“This is the Baldwin place?”

You nod. “My mom’s maiden name.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” Joel says, easing a door open.

“Patrols use it from time to time. I’m sure stragglers do too.” You follow him in. Joel is focused on making sure it’s clear. You’re not sure you can focus on anything.

The wallpaper has faded in 10 years, a couple of windows are broken here and there, but otherwise, it looks just like you remember it. It’s a mix of comfort and dread.

You let Joel clear the house room by room, leaving the great room for last. You don’t even have to tell him. It’s like he senses it, the way you look at that the door.

Once the rest of the house is clear, you stand at the door. It’s just a room, one that used to bring you joy. It’s one, decade old blood stain. That’s all.

“We don’t have to do this,” Joel says.

You meet his eyes and see nothing but understanding. You wonder if he would ever want to go back to where Sarah was killed, nature washing away her stain long ago. You wish that was the case for Carter, like Gabe’s blood stain in the snow, gone with the spring thaw.

You swallow. “I want to.”

He nods and finally, you twist the door knob. Things are different from what you remember. Furniture has been moved from patrols stopping in. Your grandmother’s rocking chair is missing a leg, likely used for kindling in the big fireplace. It darkens the carpet, right before the hearth, brown and thick. Your attempts at washing it away had been useless.

Your feet take you to it of their own volition. Knees hit the carpet. Your hand spreads over the large stain as tears gather in your arms. It comes out barely a whisper the first time, and then louder the next. “I’m sorry.”

Then your chest begins to shake. It comes out over and over, sorrow and anger all spilling out after suppressing them for years.

Joel’s hand rests against your back and you fall into him, letting it wash over you as years of built-up guilt finally release from your body until finally, you still. There’s no big moment of clarity or understanding, just the gentle ease of acceptance.

An hour later, puffy-eyed and tired, you pull a comforter out of the closet, the oversized one with faded pink rosebuds. To your amazement, it’s relatively untouched by moths. Dust flies free when you shake it out on the deck, sunlight sparkles off the little flecks floating around you almost like fireflies. Memories of stargazing and fireside nights flicker through your brain. Joel’s coughing ruins the slightly magical moment making you laugh.

You settle on it, Joel unpacking lunch. The two of you stay quiet, basking in the sunlight as you eat. You save the strawberries for last, the latest crop just starting to produce in the greenhouse. They’re sweet on your tongue, pushing away the last of the salty tears.

Joel shifts, his thigh pressing against yours. The deck looks over a valley, granting a serene look at the blooming trees and flowers, painting in broad strokes across nature. It's a welcome reprieve after winter, but it makes you realize how bearable this winter felt. It wasn’t a mild winter by any means but, you have him.

Your eyes drift to the man beside you. He’s at ease, leaning back, arms supporting himself. In the bright sunlight, his hair looks a little lighter and his eyes more like honey. You lean over, hand running over the scruff of his cheek, and capture his lips in a soft, languid kiss. A hand slides over your side, easing you closer. A bee buzzes a couple yards away. Birds chirp in the distance. Just through the thicket, a doe wanders through the forest. The kind of noise that feels silent, like time stands still for the two of you.

You feel it, the spark that’s been there for months. Up here, away from the rest of your small world, you can’t feel the trap tightening around you. You’re not sure it is a trap anymore. The flicker of it floats through your brain. The beginnings of those 3 little words. The anxiety flares. Somehow, you force it away with the words. The fuzzy feeling stays. You have Joel. That’s enough for now.

You pull back, his breath fanning across your face. Joel drags his fingertips up and down your forearm. Once again, he feels the words wandering closer to his lips. Not yet. He can’t say them yet.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, eyes fluttering over you. There’s no heat behind them, just the need to be assured that you’re okay, that you’re actually here.

“One more stop before we go home.”

He nods, kissing your forehead. “Whatever you need, Sweetheart.”

You stop under the willow tree. The one your mom planted when she was a kid. The one you buried Carter under. Joel keeps his distance, holding the reigns of both horses.

The dirt is hard, littered with tiny bits of rock and sticks that press into the knees of your jeans. You stare at the small boulder you shoved into place a decade ago. There’s no name, the paint washed away long ago. So many thoughts flood your brain. There’s so much to tell him, so much you wish he could see and know about you.

You tell him about his nephew. He never would have let you live it down knowing you named your son after him. You mention Jackson and the people, Maria mostly, a little about Tommy, and Gabe and Joel. You don’t tell Carter about your feelings with Joel, just that you’re happy and taken care of. Then, you sit in silence as if you expect a response. The silly thing is you do. You expect a sign or a nudge deep in your soul, but there’s nothing. You’re okay with that.

“I’m okay. Surprisingly.” You smile weakly. Taking a deep breath, you rise to your feet.

You stare at the boulder. Then up at the tree. Your parent’s initials are still barely legible in the bark. Your gaze flickers to the house behind you, your home for so long. It’s haunted now.

You feel it in your chest, solid and true. You’ve found all the closure you need. “ This is the last I’ll be here. I’m not coming back.”

Joel’s ears perk up. His head cocks to the side as you approach. He doesn’t ask and you don’t elaborate. Instead, you take the reins, mounting your horse. “Let’s go home.”

Summer brings all of its usual joys and festivities. The outdoor crops grow with the sun. The days are long and filled with hard work, tired bones, and sun-soaked lunch breaks. The flowers start to appear each time Joel leaves Jackson for patrol or pleasure. You watch the bouquets grow in size and variation. Your own measurement of the foliage growth beyond the wall.

June bleeds into July. Maria brings out a cake to celebrate Elias’s first birthday. It seems incomprehensible that you’re a year removed from that night. After everything, it was hardly the worst night of your life, but the fear you felt that night was the culmination of all of it. It still haunts you from time to time.

Joel squeezes your thigh, offering you a smile. Your heart clenches with joy, maybe even peace. It dawns on you that you’ve spent more than a year at his side, walking, talking, not sleeping. He kisses your temple. Across the table, Ellie scrunches her face at the two of you. Carter ogles the cake. Elias babbles happily on Tommy’s knee. Your best friend’s face says it all. She’s the happiest you’ve ever seen her. Looking around the table, you’ve never been more thankful to fall into the trap.

The bed is empty when you wake up one Sunday morning later in the month. The house is already hot, a warm breeze pours through the open window. You’re not used to the empty bed, especially having fallen asleep next to Joel.

You roll over, hand spreading over the sheets. Your eyes follow the trail of sunlight to the window. Joel’s bare back stretches before you as he stares out the glass. The curtain billows softly in the breeze. It gives the air of a peaceful moment, but you know it’s anything but. His muscles are taught across his back.

It takes seconds to settle across you. Last year, he spent the night before at his house. You didn’t even realize what day it was until after lunch. Sarah’s Birthday.

You slip out of the bed, bare feet meet the hardwood. Your hand settles on his shoulder trailing across the expanse of his back down around his waist. He hums softly in acknowledgment.

“Joel…”

He wraps an arm around you, tugging you against him. You oblige, head nuzzling into him. He kisses right above your ear. “Just stay near.”

You stay there until Carter knocks on the door, one of the skills you’ve been diligently working on. You move, but Joel beats you to it, opening the door, scooping the 3-year-old into his arms. Carter giggles. “You want pancakes for breakfast, Bud?”

“Yes!”

Your heart clenches. Joel never liked pancakes, but Sarah loved them.

“Maybe momma will make her special peaches?” Joel turns to face you, his head level with Carter’s.

“Please,” Carter begs.

He and Joel give you puppy dog eyes. Almost impossible to resist. You see the sorrow Joel is pushing back, but something nudges at you. This is what he wants. He wants pancakes with your mom’s peach pie filling, just like Sarah always requested on her birthday.

“I think we can make that happen.”

Ellie bustles in ready for Sunday breakfast soon after. You wonder if she knows what today is. Tommy, Maria, and Elias wander in unannounced but welcomed nonetheless. Elias walks around on unsteady feet, still getting his sea legs under him.

Joel pulls you out of the house after you eat, hand in hand. He doesn’t say anything to Tommy and Maria, leaving you with the impression that this was all planned in advance. Two horses are already saddled. “What do you have up your sleeve?”

“I’m taking you somewhere.” Joel smiles, handing you the reins.

You go in the opposite direction of your last expedition. This ride is quieter, the breeze rustling through the tall grass and the horses’ snorts your only company. You travel over one of the smaller ridges, greeted with a smattering of blues, yellows, and oranges. You pull the horse to a stop in awe of the beauty. Joel smiles back at you.

“Is this where you’ve been gettin all the flowers?”

“They’re at their peak this week. Wanted you to see them.”

He grins. “C’mon.”

You hitch the horses to a tree near a stream. Joel grabs your hand, pulling you deeper into the field of wildflowers. Bees buzz. Butterflies flap around. Joel stops once you’re in the middle. He’s still, a butterfly, painted orange and black, lands on his shoulder. Your breath catches. He stares at it. You swear you see his lips move. His crow's feet crinkle, and the butterfly takes flight, flapping around both of you.

He pulls you to the ground, pulling you to sit between his legs. He buries his head between your shoulders. “I feel closest to her here.”

You smile, hands running across his jeans. “I can see why.”

He hums in acknowledgment, leaving the two of you to sit in peace. Eventually, Joel guides you to the ground, hidden by the growth. It spills out of him like water from a fountain. What he remembers most about her, and what he struggles to recall. What he thinks she would be like now.

He tells you the story of her 5th birthday. Sarah took a pair of safety scissors to her hair, leaving her curls lopsided and sticking up everywhere. She cried while Tommy couldn’t stop laughing at her.

You laugh, back arching off the solid ground slightly. Joel’s chuckle echoes deeply in your ears. Tears gather in your eyes as he continues to describe the disastrous birthday.

The sun hangs golden in the sky and the tall flowers make you feel a million miles away from everything, like it’s just the two of you in the whole wide world. Your body thrums like you’ve just woken up from a Sunday afternoon nap on the couch. The gentle breeze is cool against your neck as it rustles through the field

“Thank you,” Joel says. “I needed to talk about this.”

You nod, looking over at him. “Of course.”

His deep brown eyes are on you, swimming with warmth and affection that makes your chest feel like it could burst. You know that look so well. You wonder if he sees it in you too. You know it’s there. It’s been there for a while now growing with each tender touch and silent moment. You’ve accepted it, but you won’t give it a name. You won’t say it out loud- let the world hear it so it knows what to take from you next.

Joel cups your cheeks. His callouses skim across your skin so lightly it sends chills all the way down to your bare toes. You turn on your side, hair spilling to the side. You lean in, touching your nose to his, drawing closer to his lips before you pull back, teasing him.

He sighs eliciting another giggle from your throat. His fingers slide over you and land at the base of your neck, guiding your lips to his. He hums against you and you happily fall into him. These days of peace and laziness are so few and far between. Your days outside of the Jackson walls are even fewer, but you’ll sneak out with him any day if it means this.

When you separate, it’s there in his eyes again burning brighter. His heart speeds up beneath your palm. You can feel the words developing inside him, threatening to pop out and tear it all apart. Joel’s lips barely move, no sound ever leaves them before you cover them with your hand. He looks confused, but he catches it. It’s the same panic he saw that night he found you crying under the pines, and when you turned away from him the first day he snuck you out.

You don’t need to say a word, but he hears your pleas, and he nods, covering your hand with his as you slowly pull it back.

He kisses your palm, long slow kisses, making his way up your forearm, the crook of your elbow, bicep, shoulder, and collarbone. You’re returned to your back. Joel hovers over you. Your fingers dance over his brow, and his eyes flutter close for a few seconds.

He’s so relaxed here. The wrinkles set in his forehead and around his eyes are less pronounced making him look 10 years younger. Your heart swells again and for a minute you contemplate throwing caution to the wind, maybe the universe won’t hear you here, taking cover in the wildflowers, muted by the gentle breeze.

His lips are warm against yours. He moves slow and sweet like honey, like time is his to waste.

When he pulls away, his eyes are a shade darker. Your breath catches as you notice the desire that’s beginning to pool in them. There’s another unfamiliar layer. It sends a rush through you because you know it’s love.

Your hands fly to his mouth. You won’t let him say it. He can’t say it. Your head shakes softly, scared to ruin this perfect sacred moment. “Please,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, floating away on the breeze. “Don’t say it, Joel. I- I can’t.” Tears threatened to cloud your vision. You worry he’ll reject you, get fed up waiting for you to let him say it.

He inhales softly, lips deliberately pressing against your palm. “I know, Sweetheart.” Another kiss. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

He leans in, leaving soft kisses over your face. Your heart clenches. You should be able to give him this, on today of all days, but you can’t.

His lips dip to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck. “Mine.”

Your hands thread through his hair. It’s longer than he usually keeps it. His lips touch your cheek and then your lips. It looks chaste, but there’s a promising heat behind it. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Be mine.”

You catch the hint of fear in him that maybe those words will send you into a tailspin, but they don’t. It’s a complete statement: be mine. There’s nothing to add to it. You are simply his. It feels like a safe zone. A definition of what the two of you are. It soothes all your anxieties. You can live in the in-between with him. He’s not even asking to be yours but you know he is.

Joel’s forehead rests against yours. Your thumb brushes over his cheek. He’s looking into your eyes with such devotion. At the same moment, he repeats the words a third time, you tell him. “Yes.”

His eyes shine with wonderment like he can’t believe it like this is a dream.

“I’m yours.”

A smile tips his lips toward the sky and then they’re on yours. All the words and thoughts he holds back for you translate into the physical.

Author’s Note: THIS MARKS THE END OF PART I of Woman!

If you’ve taken a look at the masterlist, you’ll see I’ve divided this fic into 3 parts! Please take a look at the short series Before between Parts I and II. It would mean so much! And you get to learn more about Reader’s back story! 💕 thank you all for your continued support!

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro stories #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

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pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: attack description, clicker attack, nightmares, anxiety, wound description, angst, denial of feelings, alcohol mentioned, swearing, mentions and descriptions of gun use, near death experience (if u can’t handle the game don’t read)

HAPPY LAST OF US DAY!!!

a/n ive played tlou 3x and tlou2 2x (going through my second round rn) so shut up pls i dont want any of the ‘you only like joel bc hes pedro’ fr come on ive been playing this game since i was 12. (i’m not like other girls 🥵) jackson joel just does something to me mmmm. wrote this nov 18 ‘22 saved for today

Don’t forget 9PM EST on HBO Max

summary Y/N gets attacked by a clicker during an intense time with Joel

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read time: 12 mins 28 seconds

You could feel the air escaping your lungs at a dangerous rate. The rifle at your side slammed against your thigh as you kept running. The thick forest was just as you remembered it; wet, cold, and dark.

You were outnumbered. Mostly runners, but you spotted a few clickers. The brush on the forest floor wasn’t helping. Your heavy breathing and the sloshing of your boots against the snowy ground were making too much noise.

Where the fuck was Ellie?

3 bullets. Rifle was empty, spent that on some sharp shooting up the hill on some runners you and Ellie found in the town. How stupid were you? Those were an easy kill with a knife. But your childish games on who could get the best headshot left you empty.

Your heart dropped as the rock formation appeared. It was too high. It covered the forest like the earth split into two. That is when you came to terms, and you had to come to it quickly.

You were going to die.

Soon enough, the first runner appeared. Easy kill. One down, maybe 7 to go?

Where the fuck was Ellie?

The next one came. Two down. Three at a time now? A fucking clicker followed them? You wished the brush was tall enough to hide in.

It was useless fighting off three runners at a time with a clicker on their heels. This was it. Death.

The stone wall was cool against your backside. You hugged your knees to your chest as you pulled out your handgun.

At least the clicker would have a good meal.

Shot- one down. Shot- another. The clicker sped up. Shot, wounded but not dead. Quick slice with the knife. Dead.

The shrieking screams of the clicker engulfed your senses as the monster came running at you. It’s flailing arms we’re the last thing you were prepared to see.

You felt the hands on your shoulder. Dead hands of a monster, unspeakable to most. The hands grabbed your shoulders, but no bite came.

Just blinding white noise and a splatter on your face.

You had convinced yourself you were dead. You would never see anyone again. You had died the same death as your father years prior. The death that left you alone.

“Dad?” you managed to mutter out.

The white noise turned into ringing as two hands held your shoulder and shook you.

“Y/N? Y/N please, are you okay?”

Ellie.

“Maria I found her! Here!”

Cloth material wiped over your eyes and they opened. Ellie, splattered with blood stood in front of you with the most panicked look you had ever seen on the girls face.

“Your okay!” she yelled at you, wrapping her arms around you.

Sitting besides you two was the headless clicker that should have killed you.

***

You should be dead. Get this horrible life over with. Dead with your father, with the mother you never knew. Living a life without this disease, these creatures. Free of pain.

When you woke up in the medical wing you were pretty sure almost the whole town was there. You felt like an item on display at a museum. Looking over all the eyes, you most definitely were not searching for his. The whole reason you volunteered to go out with Ellie that day instead of Dina. And of course, he was not there. Why would he be?

“She’s awake!” someone yelled from the crowd. Every eye in the room seemed to fall on you at once. The nurse pushed past the group of people and went to your side.

“For heavens sake! Get out!” the nurse yelled to the group of onlookers. “Give her some goddamn space.” you heard from the crowd as people started to walk towards the exit.

Everyone wanted a look at the girl who survived a clicker attack.

“Hey,” she said, slowly approaching you and sitting on the chair next to your bed. “Ellie!” you exclaimed, embracing the girl tightly. “What happened?” you asked Ellie, releasing your grip on her and settling back into the bed.

The bond had been there since the day you met her. You always remember the look of the scared little girl on the back of Joel’s horse when they first entered Jackson. The bond you two had helped her grow into the person she is now. Ellie had always described you as an older sister. But Ellie was always there for you, and you for her. She was your best friend, platonic soulmate. And a damn good shot.

“I killed it,” she said bluntly. “I-I came at the right time it was about to bite you and- you should have seen it Y/N my shotgun did a number on that thing.”

“A-am I infected?” you asked, looking down at your body for the first time. Your tank top was still on, your jacket was missing. Your jeans were covered in dry blood and smelt of pine needles.

“It’s been three days. You got some pretty nasty scratches though. Sick looking if you ask me. Scars of a warrior.” she added, referring to her tattoo.

And that’s when you saw them. The claw marks were sewn shut on your left shoulder. Your eyes widened as you began to panic. You began to squirm and the pain set in.

“Hey, hey calm down. She took care of you. Best nurse in town, I made sure.” Ellie said, grabbing your good shoulder and stroking your arm to calm you down.

“The doctors said if your vitals stay stable for the next few hours you can go home. Dina and I cleaned up the place for you,” Ellie smiled, stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What have people been saying?” you asked, holding her hand tightly in yours. “That your a hero. You cleared out that building and we found a stash of food that’s going to last for… well, probably a good year. That’s amazing Y/N! They found baby formula for JJ- tons of it. You were right it was the old warehouse.”

A small smile rose to your lips but Ellie could tell what you really wanted to hear about.

What Joel had been saying.

And Joel hasn’t said much. Tommy had told him a brief description in passing of what happened when it was happening. He figured you were dead when they sent out a rescue wagon for you. He even watched as Maria’s horse lead in your body. Ellie was sitting with you in her arms screaming for a nurse, your whole left arm was covered in blood. What was visible of your face was white as a sheet and you weren’t moving. Joel had to silently give up the inkling of what could have been. Hell, you were the first girl who he even considered after his divorce over thirty years ago. It had to end one day and he had to silently agree with it.

“I don’t…” Ellie began, following with a sigh. “Y/N, don’t get yourself worked up over it. It’s not worth it.” Ellie began, knowing her friend too well. “Did he even come and see me?” you asked, looking to Ellie’s eyes. She couldn’t look into yours. She closed her eyes for a quick moment and shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Am I a fool?” you asked her. “I’m not sure,” she replied, weary.

The whole reason you went with her instead of Dina was because of Joel. You most definitely could not face him that day after the previous night.

He had knocked on your door a little after nine. He noticed a change in your demeanor today when he came in the room while teaching the some of the kids how to shoot. He wanted to make sure you were okay. Joel felt like he had some responsibility over you to make sure you were always okay because of what happened.

Joel was the one who was with your father when he died.

Sure, he was older than you. You weren’t sure exactly, but he was younger than your father by many years. The attraction from your end started when you saw him drunk off his ass during a celebration dancing with Tommy in the bar. It was the most unconventionally attractive thing, but it flipped some switch in you. When your dad died he taught you how to perfect your aim and kill efficiently. Never crossing any line because you were his dead friend’s daughter. And you were so close to Ellie. Ellie wasn’t too fond of your crush that you confided in her, but she grew to love the idea. Her family.

He came and visited you a little after nine. You were about to slip into bed before you heard the knock on your door. The night was cold and your pajama pants and thin tank top was not cutting it. You invited him inside. He had brought you a tiny gift to lift your mood; a bottle of gin. Your favorite. And you two drank at least half of that bottle of gin. You talked about everything from your father’s death to the time Tommy accidentally washed his clothes with Maria’s pink bra and still has an abundance of pink clothing to this day. The gin was most definitely speaking when you told him how you felt.

And he left.

“Let it go for now- okay? We’re gonna get you out of here and back home.” Ellie reassured you. Nodding your head, you fell back into the cold bed and closed your eyes just wishing it could all go away.

Home was empty as it could be. The bottle of gin sat on your coffee table. Your bed was made for the first time in years. Your work station was organized and all of your pens and art supplies were cleaned. You had remembered when Joel gave you those pens, he found them one day and thought of you. Your rifles now hung on your wall. Definitely was Dina’s idea, but you liked it. A tiny gift wrapped in a beige paper with a tiny bit of twine around it sat under your newly mounted rifles.

“Woo hoo. Christmas.” you said to yourself sarcastically. Kneeling down, you opened the package.

Bullets.

For safe keeping, ~Maria

Of course it was from Maria. She always played the mother you never had when she wanted to.

The immense feeling of sleep hit you like a brick wall. I guess being attacked by a clicker and living was a strenuous activity. All you wanted now to do was sleep. Unmaking the nicely folded sheets, you melted back into your bed. The sun was setting in your window and the horses were coming in for the day. You could hear them trotting past your window. You wondered if Joel was just feet away. It was what now… Thursday? You couldn’t remember if he still did the Thursday shift or if he switched with someone else. Who cares, sleep was creeping up slowly and the thought of Joel set you out cold.

The forest was blacker than usual. Without a doubt, you recognized where you were. Running again. All you seemed to do was run now these days. Taking a brief look back while you ran through the forest, you stopped as you realized a whole hoard of clickers were just at your heels. You didn’t have time to react. They were on you ripping your flesh off your body. The dream never seemed to end. You felt each bite and tear of your flesh until-

“Y/N!” Maria screamed, shaking you awake and still being mindful of your wound. “Fuck!” you screamed, sobbing into her arms. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” you continued, squirming in bed as she held you.

Your door was wide open and it was now pitch black out. The screams alerted security, and they called for a search of the town. Tommy quickly found the source of the screams and sent Maria in.

Standing outside your door was Tommy, peering in on the sight of his wife with you.

“Gather people. She needs to be watched.” Maria commanded Tommy as she held your shaking body. Too many people had left their homes now to look at the scene and disrupted the peaceful night.

Ellie sat with your head in her lap, slowly stroking your hair trying to get you to fall asleep. “Don’t worry. Nobody in this town will let anything happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The whole previous night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your wall and just thought. And that whole day you delved yourself in drawings you hadn’t finished or poems you had the inspiration for. Took a shower. You looked through your closet and picked out a fresh outfit. You tried all the little things that usually worked on your old self, but your old self was gone.

That bottle of gin sat on your coffee table and haunted you throughout the day as well. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away, or the mindset to drink it. So there it sat. Pitiful.

You were at a loss for words. No words could describe the immense amount of pain re living that memory caused last night.

Ellie began to hum a tune. It was sweet and reminded you of something innocent. Your eyes began to get heavy. “You ready?” she asked, fluffing up your pillow. Reluctantly, you shook your head yes.

The absolute end was there and tiredness finally seeped in. Distraught sleep left and peaceful sleep took its place.

Ellie dimmed your lamp and smoothed the covers on your bed. It reminded you of the time you took care of Ellie years ago when she was sick. “Sweet dreams,” she said, giving your forehead a brief kiss.

Mumbling was heard outside your door, but you didn’t care.

The field was beautiful. Finally, peace. The flowers stemmed beautifully and the sun shown down on your face. Your hands ran through the fresh green grass. Laying in the rays, you suddenly felt the field get smaller. Sitting up, you realized the sun had disappeared and the field was getting smaller and smaller by the second. The sudden edge of a forest was getting closer and closer. And then with one blink you were back. The forest erected around you. You were back.

“No, no…” he heard from your house. Joel’s interest peaked from the grounds left in his coffee mug to the silent struggles in your bedroom. He lifted himself off your porch chair and looked through your window. You were writhing in bed.

“Ellie!” you let out the first yell. It was so loud that it startled Joel to his core and began a flight of panic. Joel didn’t hesitate to burst your door open. “Ellie don’t leave!” you yelled again.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting your shoulder. A loud groan of pain came from your lips. Joel’s heart sank as the feelings on guilt he felt for letting you go on patrol that day set in once again.

“Y/N!” he whisper yelled, yanking your body over to face him. Your eyes shot open. Ripped from the dream into another one.

You looked him up and down. This wasn’t real. It was another dream. Tears welled up in your eyes as you shut them tight, praying you would wake up somewhere else.

“It was a bad dream,” he whispered, resting his hand on your thigh. His thumb patiently rubbed your thigh as your breathing sped up. Your legs matched up perfectly, knees facing him. Your face was buried in your hands that were now grasping at your eyes.

“Stop it,” Joel hissed, grabbing your manic hands tightly. “This isn’t real,” you cried out, sobs following it.

His heart seemed to break into a million pieces when you started to full on cry. The last time he dealt with a crying girl it was Ellie. Wait- no, maybe it was Sarah. He honestly wasn’t sure, but it was most definitely years ago.

“Everything is alright. I know how it is. I-I didn’t sleep for a few days after my first clicker encounter. Those things are nasty fuckers.” he said, his hand returning to your thigh trying to soothe you. He was clueless on what he was supposed to do.

At this point, you realized you weren’t dreaming. He was here. His hand was on your thigh. He was sitting on your bed. You were in a tank top that cut a little too low for your liking.

Your teary eyes looked up and met his. He hadn’t moved his gaze off of your face. He gave you a soft reassuring smile.

Joel cursed himself for letting his feelings creep back in. This was wrong anyways, he felt sick any time he thought about you. The pit of his stomach couldn’t handle it much more, he had pretty much forgotten about you (as much as he would like to admit). But when Tommy assigned him second watch of you that night, he just knew it had trouble written all over it.

“Go back to sleep now. Pretty girls need their beauty sleep.” he said, instantly regretting it.

That line worked on Sarah, but in a whole different way with a much different meaning. He wanted to suck back in the words as fast as he said them.

Letting a tense breathe go, he steadied himself on your bed frame and made his way to the door.

He had made his way to the door as you spoke.

“Joel?”

His hand stopped his motion as it rested on the top of your door frame.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning around.

“W-will you stay? Just for a little bit.” you said, stuttering as you realized how large his body was compared to your door.

He paused. “I suppose.”

You moved your legs so he would have enough room to sit next to you. You heard his knee crack as he sat down on the low rise bed. His legs sat upward as he leant a hand behind your legs to steady himself.

“I’m sorry.” you said. It had to be said, what better time than now? “I don’t want to hear your apologies.” he huffed. “It was inappropriate.” you spit out again. “No- Y/N, stop. Please.” he asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I sleep I go… back there. I can’t.” you whimpered. He sighed, groaning and wiping his brow.

“What would you like me to do about it? I can’t do anything.”

“Stay.”

Joel was left confused on how your calmness met his angry tone. He knew you well, he was surprised you weren’t screaming in his face. You didn’t take shit. You were being patient for once in your life.

Oh, how you’ve changed since the attack.

“I’m here. What more do you want from me?” he asked. His tone had extra edge of anger to it that was fueled with a faint passion.

In the darkness, you reached for his hand. It was coarse and dry, with many various scars and callouses you could feel just with a slight touch. He instinctively pulled back a bit, but gave in within the second. Wrapping your fingers with his, you places his hand back on your thigh.

“Y/N I-”

“The thing you were doing before on my leg. It was nice.”

“Oh,” he said, defeating the original thought from his head. His thumb began slowly moving in circles once again.

You were showing him what you needed.

He watched as your sad face closed your eyes and sighed. You felt safe for the first time in days.

Joel felt the pit in his stomach widen and fully consume him. The girl who practically raised Ellie from when she arrived; his dead friend’s daughter; one of the best damn killers in all of Jackson; Y/N. God, he was in so much trouble with his morals.

“I’m too far deep in this shit,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

Your eyes fluttered open to see him. “What?” you asked.

“I can’t…” he said, beginning to shake his knee up and down. “What?” repeated yourself in a confused tone.

His strong body swept over yours. He grabbed your shoulder ever so softly and perched you in his arms. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

No initiative had to be made besides the movement of your lips against his. Your hand wrapped itself in his hair, playing softly as he held your back strongly. A slight moan came from his lips that he instantly regretted when you accidentally tugged ever so slightly on his graying strands of hair. For the split second that you two separated gasping for air, he pulled you tighter.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been fighting this,” he whispered on your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you sighed, staring back at his scruffy face.

Joel came back to his senses. He felt different. He could never go back to the same person he was a minute ago. His world revolved around something new. No more obsessing over patrol and how to appease Tommy. No more worrying over how Ellie could handle herself. No more worrying about his aching joints and the fear of getting older. Something new became the center of his universe. He had folded.

The girl laying in his arms who now rested her head against his chest.

“You really need sleep darlin’,” he sighed. You sighed in resistance.

“You want me to stay?” he asked, looking down at your exhausted face.

“Please.”

You moved over in your bed as he made himself comfortable. Joel never realized how much larger he was than you until he slept with you in his arms.

You layed on his chest as one arm wrapped around your shoulders. His hand rested comfortably on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you whispered. He placed a small kiss on your head. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. The only sound in the room was your soft breathing.

“Go to sleep now. Your safe with me, my sweet girl.”

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @jmillerswife

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intheupside · 6 months

Text

What's the secret to Sidney Crosby's success?

Always eat a strawberry PB&J on game day… and have unwavering dedication, unparalleled work ethic, and exceptional talent.

With Sidney Crosby appearing in his 1,200th NHL contest on Saturday in San Jose, I wanted to ask how his game-day routine has evolved in the years since that first one to help keep him playing at such an elite level.

Because as Mike Sullivan said, that’s not an easy thing to do – and it's a testament to Crosby’s drive, his will to win, his desire to be the best, and his willingness to put the time in and make the sacrifices so that he can continue to sustain that type of play.

At first, Crosby laughed good-naturedly – because we all know how superstitious and routine-based the captain is – and half-joked that there might not be much there. Most of it has stayed the same, particularly his on-ice warmup routine heading into puck drop. "Whether it’s preparing for a game or just a typical game day, (my routines) just allow me to feel good about going out there and doing what I need to do," he said.

But there has been a tweak here and there to the captain’s preparations now that he’s 36, particularly when it comes to what he does in the mornings. Unless the Penguins have the day off before a game, the morning skate is always optional – and in recent years, Crosby has chosen to stay off the ice.

“You look to conserve that energy a little bit more,” he said. “As much as I like getting on the ice in the morning, it’s good if you can just take that opportunity to do other things and still get a little bit of sweat – get ready for the night, but still conserve some energy at the same time. It's always a balancing act.”

Instead of skating, Crosby will take his stick and gloves and find a quiet area of the rink to do some solo stickhandling, which helps him loosen up a bit. He’ll also take part in the first soccer game of the day with Bryan Rust, Jake Guentzel, Erik Karlsson, Marcus Pettersson, and Rickard Rakell. Sometimes, Noel Acciari will join them, depending on if they do 3-on-3 or 2-on-2.

“We’re just kicking it around, but it can get pretty intense,” Crosby said before adding with a grin, “Sometimes, I wonder if I expend more energy in soccer than I would in morning skate. It just depends on the day, maybe.”

After grabbing lunch to go, when he gets home in the afternoons, Crosby’s nap has gotten shorter as he’s gotten older. “I used to sleep like, two and a half hours when I was younger. But a little harder to do that now,” he smiled. But Crosby still isn’t a big coffee drinker, since natural adrenaline gets the job done when it comes to waking up. “I feel like I get pretty amped up, so I don't need that. I’ve had some caffeine before, and I don’t think it’s good for me,” Crosby laughed.

When it comes to the food Crosby fuels himself with, on a game day the players have the same menu available to them both at home and on the road for their breakfast, lunch, and pregame meal/snack, so he sticks to his routine for those … down to the strawberry PB&J that HBO filmed him making during their 24/7 Penguins/Capitals Road to the Winter Classic series.

But Crosby doesn’t eat as much steak the night before games compared to his early years in the league, especially on the road. “That changed a little bit. Other than that, as long as it's somewhat healthy, I just try to make sure I get a good meal,” Crosby said.

There’s obviously a lot more that goes on behind the scenes, both inside and outside of a game day, that Crosby does to set himself up for success.

“All the subtle things he does – for me, that's the most impressive aspect of his overall body of work. A lot of it goes unseen,” Sulivan said. “That's why I've always said on so many occasions that it's not by accident this guy's as good as he is. Yeah, he's talented, he's gifted, and all of those things, but he maximizes every opportunity that he has to be at his best. I think that commitment, in my experience of being around the game, has been unmatched by any other player I've seen.”

And that’s because Crosby’s passion for the sport is something else that’s remained the same.

“I love it just as much as I did Game 1,” he said. “It’s a lot of hockey, and just grateful I’ve been able to play this long.”

#sidney crosby #pittsburgh penguins

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sixhours · 1 month

Text

One Day at a Time - Chapter 4 - Gestation

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

He’s browsing at the trading post when he sees Charlie again. He’s checked off 14 more days in his little calendar, and each time he picks up the pen, it stirs a bittersweet feeling of anticipation and sheer terror in his gut.

He’s picking over the trades, looking for new sneakers for Ellie, when his eyes fall on something else.

Footed pajamas, impossibly tiny, the little plastic price tag still clipped to the sleeve. His hand drifts over the yellow fabric, faded but minky soft. Warm. Good for winter.

Sarah had pajamas like this once…a sleep suit with a hood and little round ears peeking up from the top. He hasn’t thought about that outfit in…well, decades. The memory of her toddling toward him with those silly little ears poking up from her downy head is so vivid that he can almost hear her trill of laughter and he has to lean on the table to catch his breath, the yellow onesie still clutched in his hand.

“Joel? Are you okay?”

Charlie’s voice comes from over his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie, and he turns around.

“Yeah…yeah just, uh…yeah, m’fine. What’re you doin’ here?”

He hides the pajamas behind him, balling them up in one large fist.

She holds up a white package. “Heard they had TP. Figured I’d better get down here and snag a roll before it was all gone. You?”

“Lookin’ for stuff for Ellie.”

“Find anything good?”

“She won’t think so.”

Charlie smirks. “Teenagers, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, shoving the onesie deep into his bag and making for the counter. He drops off a sack of old clothes into the donation bin, all the stuff Ellie has outgrown, and watches as Charlie does the same with her trades.

They find themselves outside, the warmth of late spring making everything smell fresh and green. Charlie’s button-down shirt floats over her jeans in such a way as to hide her midsection, but her proportions have changed. Her face is fuller, her breasts are swollen, and her skin looks so soft and smooth and—

He coughs and looks away, feeling a brief wash of shame for noticing her. Again.

“So you’re, uh…still…”

“Yeah…I’m still,” she says.

“That’s good,” he says, and means it. “Feelin’ okay?”

She shrugs. “A little tired…but yeah. I feel better. So far, so good, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully and bites his lip, thinking of the calendar next to his bed. He can almost hear the days falling away.

“Look, I…uh…I shoulda said somethin’ before now. I…know I haven’t been the most…uh…I’m not trying to get out of…anything.”

She blinks up at him, brow furrowed, waiting for him to make sense. He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I wanna help,” he tries again. “However I can. I know it’s not easy goin’ it alone,” he says, looking down at the bag with Ellie’s clothes and the onesie tucked at the bottom. Then he’s thinking of Sarah, of long nights spent pacing and rocking and soothing.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Oh,” he chokes out. “Uh, I, uh…s’pose I deserve that.”

Her eyes widen, cheeks turning a faint pink. Now it’s her turn to fumble her words.

“Oh…I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…you’ve been good. You’ve helped. I–shit. I’m sorry.”

There’s a painfully awkward silence as this sinks in and he bites back a smirk.

“We’re pretty fuckin’ bad at this, huh?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “We are.”

This admission seems to ease something between them. Before he can lose his nerve, he continues.

“Could I come to your next appointment? Is that somethin’ people still do?”

She nods slowly, considering this. “I have one next week. It’s not very exciting, but…you could come with me.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m not sure you will,” she says. “The midwife is…intense.”

“I’ve heard,” he says. “I think I can handle it.”

~*~

He can’t handle it.

The midwife, Joanie, is cold and abrupt and downright abrasive. He can’t imagine this person welcoming anyone, let alone his future child, into the world. He wants to put his arm around Charlie, turn her around, and tell her they’ll find someone else.

But he can’t. Jackson has one midwife. And the town doctor is a 76-year-old man who “doesn’t do babies”.

The woman is dressed in a long, flowing caftan, gray hair pulled neatly into a braid down her back. She looks like a hippie but her eyes are sharp, and her tongue is sharper.

“You brought the boyfriend this time,” she says as Charlie settles on the makeshift exam bed, a chaise lounge with a sheet draped over it. Joel can’t help but notice that Charlie doesn’t bother correcting her.

“You can sit,” Joanie says to him, gesturing to the chair next to the chaise. When he doesn’t move, she throws her hands up. “Or keep hovering. Whatever.”

Joel crosses his arms and barely restrains a snarl. Charlie shoots him a look as she slides her unbuttoned jeans down to her hips.

I told you.

The woman performs a cursory physical exam in silence. It’s obvious they’ve done this routine several times, and neither seems to feel the need to explain it to Joel.

The midwife is frowning, digging into Charlie’s belly with pointed, demanding fingers, feeling around until Charlie winces. Joel clenches a fist at his side, resisting the urge to snap at the woman for being so careless and rough.

“Growth is on track. You’re measuring at sixteen weeks.”

She pulls out a speaker attached to a wand–he vaguely recognizes it from appointments with Sarah’s mother at the beginning–and a tube of gel. She covers Charlie’s lower abdomen with goop and presses the wand in, levering it this way and that, seeking the sound of a second heart. There’s a long moment where he thinks they won’t find it–that this will be the day it all goes to hell.

But then there’s a familiar but distant echo, a rapid pulse of sound, the memory coming back to him across thirty-five years and an apocalypse. It’s the sound that once filled a small room in a sterile hospital. He remembers it as a black-and-white flutter on the ultrasound screen, fast and vigorous and alive .

Mine , he thinks dimly. He sinks into the chair because his legs no longer want to hold him.

The midwife, satisfied she’s found what she’s looking for, holds the wand steady and looks at her watch. It’s the shortest fifteen seconds of Joel’s life and he doesn’t want it to end.

“One-twenty-six. You can sit up.”

Charlie does. Joel notices she doesn’t bother trying to button her jeans. He vaguely remembers Sarah’s mother needing soft, stretchy things, and wonders if Charlie has anything like that.

“Any cramping?” Joanie asks, flipping through a file.

“No.”

“Still bleeding?”

Charlie hesitates for a fraction of a second. “A little. Not every day.”

Joel’s eyes snap to her at that, but she’s not looking at him.

The midwife frowns. “Given your advanced maternal age and your history, I don’t like to hear that.”

Her sharp eyes focus on Joel. “You’re, what, sixty?”

“Fifty-seven.”

“Mmm. Sperm quality after fifty is a crapshoot,” she sighs. “You’re looking at an increased risk of genetic defects.”

Joel grips the arm of the chaise hard enough to rip it from the frame. He’s going to kill this woman.

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” she continues. “Maternal-fetal medicine in this country was a shitshow before cordyceps, and the pandemic might as well have sent us back to the dark ages. I’ve seen one death for every five live births. Maternal survival rates are better, but only slightly.”

She’s looking at Charlie. “I can’t tell you you’re going to be okay. I can’t tell you your baby is going to be okay. I can only tell you what I think will help your chances and then…we wait and see.”

Charlie nods, her face drawn into a flat, emotionless mask as she takes this in.

“No more patrols. Light duty work only. No lifting. I can give you a doctor’s note for the council to reassign you if your regular job is too strenuous. No sex,” she says, looking pointedly at Joel. “And if the bleeding gets worse–if it’s bad enough that you need a pad–you go on bed rest immediately.”

Her eyes shift back to Joel. “Stress is a baby-killer. Your job is to take care of her and make sure there is no stress. None. If you can’t do that, you need to find someone who can.”

He grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he hears a molar crack.

“We’re done. I’ll see you next week,” she says dismissively.

And then Charlie’s off the chaise and ushering him to the door before he can open his mouth to give the woman hell and they’re stepping out into the rain. They make it to the end of the street before he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, hating the way his voice shakes, recognizing the animal clawing within his chest as barely contained rage.

“I did–I warned you,” she frowns. “She’s rough.”

“No–I mean, the bleeding. You said you were fine.”

“I was. I am,” she says flatly. “You heard the heartbeat.”

“S’not what I meant and you know it,” he hisses.

Her lip curls in a snarl. “You fucked me once . You think that gives you the right to—to everything?”

He blinks. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

When he can’t answer, she turns and walks away. The sight of her retreating back hunched against the rain only serves to stoke the fire of his anger further. Her shirt is getting soaked.

Where the fuck is her jacket? She’s going to get sick.

He catches up and grabs her by the arm, turning her around and holding her in place.

“You heard her. How am I supposed to take care of you if you won’t fuckin’ let me?”

Only then does he see the tears in her eyes, rain mingling with salt on her cheeks. Guilt stabs at him and he loosens his grip.

“I don’t know,” she hisses. “I can’t just…be that person with you. I don’t fucking know you! I don’t even know your middle name, but we’re having a fucking baby. Or maybe we’re not, because our odds are shit, and I should have taken care of this when I had the chan–”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he pulls her to him, wrapping her in his arms until he’s holding her in the middle of the street. “Stop. Please.”

She shudders but doesn’t push him away. The sky rumbles, threatening a downpour.

He ducks his head, speaking softly. “It’s Arthur.”

She snorts into his shoulder. “What?”

“My middle name. S’Arthur. After my grandfather.”

She makes a noise that sounds like a sob…or a laugh. He can’t tell. The sound stirs a frantic need within him and he grips her by the shoulders.

“Move in with me.”

“What? No.”

“Just until the kid gets here. Let me take care of you both.”

She looks up at him, eyes ringed with dark circles. A raindrop splashes on the tip of her nose and drips into the divot above her upper lip.

“Do you even want this? I need to hear you say it.”

Any lingering anger melts away. He thinks of the soft yellow onesie still tucked into the bottom of his pack.

“I do,” he says, hoping the two little words are enough to hold her, to convince her.

She ducks her head with a watery sigh, close enough for her hair to brush at his chest. “Let me think about it.”

He nods. “Alright, but…not too long, okay? You’re, uh…”

He trails off as the back of his hand touches her stomach, just grazing the fabric over her bellybutton, before dropping back to his side.

She sniffs. “Yeah. I’m well aware we’re on a schedule.”

“Okay…okay then,” he nods, resuming their walk toward town. They’ve almost reached the trading post when she speaks again.

“It’s Sarah, by the way.”

The name takes his breath as it always does, pulls at that black hole in his heart that even Ellie can’t completely fill.

“I don’t under–”

“My middle name,” she sniffs. “You didn’t ask, but…it’s Sarah.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just ducks his chin in a nod. Sarah. Of course it��s Sarah.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

~*~

That night, she appears on his porch. The rain has let up, but her hair is still damp, matted to her temples.

“I’ll stay with you,” she says without preamble. “Under one condition.”

He blinks. “Anything.”

“We don’t talk about the kid. No names, no what-ifs…no…playing house. I can’t do any of that,” she says. “We take it one day at a time and…see what happens.”

“If that’s what you want,” he says, swallowing hard.

She nods, satisfied. “Alright. I can bring some stuff by tomorrow.”

“Good. That’d be good. But I uh, need to tell Ellie,” he pauses, thinking. “Can I make dinner for you? For the three of us, I mean?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Not playin’ house or whatever,” he clarifies, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Just…figured the news might go down better with food.”

She nods slowly. “I could do that.”

“You like spaghetti? S’Ellie’s favorite and it’s hard for me to fuck it up.”

“I like spaghetti,” she says, smiling a little. “I get off work at six.”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Six. See you then.”

~*~

That night, instead of staring at the ceiling during his usual sleepless hours, he moves most of his clothes into the spare bedroom closet and cleans his stuff out of the attached bathroom.

As he works, he thinks of Charlie’s unbuttoned jeans straining around her womb and the climbing summer temperatures. Soon there would be no hiding her stomach under a jacket or sweater.

Jackson was friendly, but it was still a small town. People got bored and they talked, and anyone who paid attention would have seen Charlie and Joel together. There were already enough rumors about Tommy Miller’s broody older brother and his mysterious adopted daughter, the one who wore long sleeves even on the hottest days and carried a switchblade.

Ellie.

Another pang of guilt gnaws in his gut. He’d done enough damage to their relationship as it was, and now he’s about to drop a fucking bomb.

He finds himself knocking on the garage door the next morning, hands rubbing restlessly at the thighs of his jeans as he waits for her to answer. He realizes it’s been a few days since he’s talked with her beyond a simple “hello” in passing, or to pass the salt at dinner, or to ask where she’d put the TV remote. He chides himself; Ellie is independent by nature, but she’s still a kid, still his responsibility. She’s never going to trust him again if–

She answers the door, rubbing her eyes and blinking owlishly up at him. She looks so young when she first wakes up, hair tousled, sleep lines on her cheeks.

“Hey, I uh…we’re, uh…having dinner at the house tonight. Makin’ your favorite. Spaghetti.”

She raises an eyebrow. Joel doesn’t usually cook if he can help it; the caf is easier and less prone to burning things. “What’s the occasion?”

He swallows hard. “There’s somethin’ I need to talk to you about. And…Charlie will be there.”

“Ooooo-kay,” she yawns. “Love a good third wheel situation, I guess.”

“S’not like that,” he shakes his head. “She’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she smirks, then sighs dramatically. “I guess I can make room in my packed social calendar for dinner. As long as it’s spaghetti. Maria’s sauce, right? ‘Cause yours is…yikes.”

She sticks her tongue out to drive the point home.

He snorts softly. “Yeah. Maria’s sauce. And garlic bread.”

“Cool.”

He nods, and the moment draws itself out, that awful, awkward, twisting silence filled with all the things he can’t say.

“So…was there something else?” she asks. “I gotta get ready for school.”

“No…nope,” he mutters. “I guess not. I’ll see you tonight, kiddo.”

~*~

He doesn’t quite burn the garlic bread, but it’s pretty fucking dark. He’s scraping the crumbs into the sink when Charlie appears at the door with a salad in hand and a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s wearing an oversized blue button-down over soft black leggings. For comfort’s sake, he hopes the jeans have been retired for a while.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the bag, frowning at its weight. “You’re not s’posed to be lifting stuff.”

“I can handle a bag of clothes.”

He grunts, gestures to the salad. “You can put that on the table. Ellie’ll be over in a few.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“You can sit,” he says, perhaps too gruffly, placing her pack by the stairs. On the stove, the reheated marinara starts to bubble, spitting red flecks. He rushes to take it off the heat.

Ellie arrives just as Joel is setting the last bowl on the table. She nods in a wary greeting to Charlie, then helps herself to spaghetti and salad and bread.

“So what’s up?” she asks around a mouthful of food, forgoing any small talk—his kid, through and through.

Joel swallows hard, looks at Charlie, who simply shrugs as if to say this is your show .

He opens his mouth but the words are stubborn and nothing seems right.

You’re going to be a big sister.

Your old man is going to be a dad again.

I fucked up and we’re having a baby.

He’d never had to worry about this with Sarah. On the rare occasion a date went further than dinner, he’d been cautious to a fault. He’d been considering a vasectomy before the pandemic but time and savings were sparse. He probably could have had the procedure done back in the QZ, but Tess had been his only partner, and she’d had a hysterectomy in her thirties. An operation that would put him out of commission for any length of time seemed like an unnecessary waste of ration cards.

He realizes he’s lost in thought, and they’re both watching him, still waiting.

“So, uh…Charlie’s gonna move in with me for a bit,” he says. “I’m givin’ her my room, and I’ll take your old one…if that’s okay.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “You two aren’t… together ?”

“No,” Joel mutters, meeting Charlie’s eyes across the table. “S’temporary. She just needs a place for a bit.”

“Weird, but…fine with me,” Ellie shrugs, then turns to Charlie. “Joel’s good at taking in strays, it’s kinda his thing. Case in point.”

Charlie smiles a little at this, takes a sip of her water.

“She’s, uh, gonna have a baby,” Joel continues, focused on his plate, pushing the food around.

“Oh shit, congrats!” Ellie grins at Charlie, then looks back at Joel. He can’t meet her eyes.

There’s a heavy silence. Joel grips his fork until the design in the handle makes an imprint in his palm. He waits for Ellie to do what she does so well, to pick up the hints, put the pieces together, and say the things he can’t.

“Wait,” Ellie says, looking back and forth between them, mouth dropping open in a scandalized O .

“You didn’t—”

She coughs then, choking on a mouthful of food, and fumbles frantically for her water glass.

“Joel,” she says when she can speak again. “Tell me you didn’t.”

All he can offer is a tiny shrug.

“Holy shit ,” she breathes, fork clattering to her plate. “You slut !”

Not for the first time, Joel wishes she had a proper full name–Elspeth, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Eliza–anything that, combined with a solid middle name, made for a convincing and forceful reprimand.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller” was always effective when his first kid was being a little shit, even if he rarely had to use it.

As it is, he can only growl Ellie’s short-and-sweet name under his breath and watch it roll right off her back. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Wow, I can’t…I mean, you just said you weren’t even together –”

“We’re not,” he grates out. “It was a…a one-time thing.”

His face is so hot, he can practically feel the vein throbbing at his temple. He wonders if his second kid will give him a fucking aneurysm before his third kid can even be born.

“Thanks for that, now I need to bleach my fucking brain,” she says. “Gross. So, so gross. Dude, you’re like, sixty .”

“I’m fifty-seven,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, so really fucking old . Do you not know how babies are made ? FEDRA school was shit but even they taught us how to put on a fucking condom—”

“Ellie, we didn’t—“

“Don’t, dude. Just stop. You’re really fucked up, you know that? Like, I know I have issues, but this is fuckin’—”

She’s interrupted by a muffled snort from the other side of the table. Charlie has clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes are brimming with tears. She’s going to fucking cry because his kid is an asshole and he is an even bigger asshole and this has gone all fifteen kinds of wrong.

Joel would like to die, right now, face down in a plate of spaghetti with his face the color of marinara—anything to end this godawful conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasps, and it dawns on him that she’s not crying at all–she’s struggling not to laugh. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, I haven’t–this is just–holy shit .”

She breaks out into a peal of giggles, leaving both Joel and Ellie in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, heaving and hiccuping as she tries to catch her breath. “Everything has been so awful and serious and…this is just so…so…fucking funny –”

Ellie blinks, looking back and forth between Joel and Charlie in wide-eyed amazement.

Something in Joel’s chest unfurls from its tight, anxious knot, and when he meets Charlie’s eyes, he can’t help but return her grin.

“You two are fucked ,” Ellie pronounces, but there’s a slow smile spreading across her face.

“We are,” Joel agrees. “We’re fucked.”

“Totally fucked,” Charlie agrees, then giggles again.

Ellie shakes her head in disbelief, digging back into her spaghetti. “Welcome to the fucking family, I guess.”

~*~

Joel shows up for work the next day feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’d finally slept . Ellie, while completely disgusted, hadn’t disowned him; she’d even hugged him before returning to the garage. And Charlie had made herself at home, joining him on the couch to watch a movie after dinner.

Maybe this could fucking work.

His newfound peace lasts about as long as it takes for Tommy to find him and clap him on the shoulder.

“What’s this I hear about you takin’ in strays?”

Joel scowls, picking up an extension cord and trying to untangle it from a pile of the things. “Don’t believe everythin’ you hear.”

“So Charlie isn’t shackin’ up with you, then?”

“S’not like that. It’s temporary.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shoots his brother a look over his shoulder, weighing his options. The rumor mill isn’t churning as fast as he thought or Tommy would be all over it by now. He rolls his eyes, knowing what comes next will be just about as bearable as a tooth extraction, aware he can’t put it off any longer.

“She’s gonna have a kid.”

“Right,” Tommy snorts. “Your kid?”

Joel turns and holds his brother’s gaze.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes. “You’re serious?”

“You’re gonna be an uncle again,” Joel says dryly.

Tommy whistles. “Well, don’t that just beat all. How the hell–”

“The usual way,” Joel grumbles, turning back to his work. “Can we not do this here?”

But Tommy has never been easily deterred. He practically launches himself at his brother for a bone-crushing hug while half the work crew looks on, bemused.

“Christ, get offa me.”

Tommy doesn’t. When he finally pulls away, grinning and gripping Joel’s shoulders, he’s almost teary-eyed.

“Maria’s gonna be thrilled.”

“I doubt it,” Joel mutters, thinking he’s already not held in high esteem by his sister-in-law. Knocking up a girl twenty years his junior is hardly going to redeem him.

“Does Ellie know?”

“Yeah, we told her last night. She’s…about as excited as you’d expect.”

“Damn. I can’t—I mean, I always thought—after—“

Tommy sobers, and the word lingers heavy between them.

After .

“I know,” Joel says, realizing with a dull ache that his brother is the only other person alive who understands the gravity of the situation…the only one who knew Sarah as more than a sad story in their history.

Joel closes his eyes and sees his brother at twenty, Sarah’s tiny arms wrapped around his neck as she clings to his back, laughing wildly as he dives through the sprinklers on the front lawn.

He blinks the memory away, busies himself with the extension cord again. He doesn’t even remember what he wanted it for, but he needs to do something with his hands.

“But it’s good, right? This is good,” Tommy says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Joel swallows hard. “It’s good.”

Tommy grins, then frowns just as quickly. “Oh, man. The midwife–”

“Yeah, she’s awful.”

“Maria damn near killed her when Izzy was born.”

“‘Bout ready to myself,” Joel mutters.

“And…you and Charlie ain’t…?”

Joel glares at him in answer.

“Alright, brother. Damn, man. A kid…and at your age…”

Tommy laughs and ducks just in time to avoid the extension cord as it whips by his head.

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #babyfic #pregnancy #tlou fanfic #tlou fic

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