March
(Joel Miller x F!Reader, Tommy)
*TLOU2 Major Spoiler*
Summary: You wait for news.
Word Count: 1120
Warnings: ALL the angst, some fluff, mention of sexy times, implied character death, something else that I don’t want to give away.
A/N: My first fic in many years. This is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while. I hoped it would help me come to terms. Did it? Yet to be determined. Let’s be honest… nothing will truly prepare us.
…………………….
It was snowing again. Thick, dark clouds hung heavily in the night sky. The world outside the window glowed an ominous purple-orange, unnaturally bright, light reflecting off the fallen snow. The wind howled outside the solid walls of your home in Jackson.
You’d been standing at the window for longer than you realized, staring out into nothing. Waiting. Hoping. A street lamp flickered across the road bringing you back to the present. Blinking, you shook your head and inhaled deeply. Your knees were stiff from lack of movement. The pain in your hips and lower back returned as you stirred from your trance. You placed both hands on your lower back and leaned back into them, desperate for some relief. But it did nothing.
Only his hands, large, warm, and strong, provided any comfort now.
You laid naked, facedown on your bed, with your arms folded under his pillow. Your clothes and his tossed haphazardly around the room. Hot, autumn sunlight, soothing and syrupy, streamed in through the open window in the bedroom. Kneeling astride your thighs, his hands pressed into your back, kneading your sore muscles. Eyes closed, you focused on the strength of his touch and the smell of your bed linens: you, him, sex. When he finally lifted his hands from your back, you grumbled. He laughed softly as he placed his hands on either side of you and leaned forward. His warm lips placed a gentle kiss on your right shoulder before trailing a line of kisses towards your neck. A small moan escaped your lips as he nipped that spot at the base of your jaw; the familiar white-hot heaviness growing at your core. You turned your head to look up at him, your lust-filled eyes meeting his, dark and needy. The corners of his mouth curled up into a small smirk. Turning over on to your back, you placed your cold hands on his chest, and smiled back up at him. Shifting his weight, he raised his hand to your neck, stroking your jawline with his thumb. Heat radiated outward from his fingertips, warming your very soul. He lowered his lips to yours and kissed you feverishly.
Your cheeks burned briefly at the memory before the cold seeped back in. You swallowed thickly and turned away from the window. Your living room was frigid and bathed in that strange purple-orange light that only ever made an appearance in winter. So deeply lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t turned the lights on or started a fire before the sun had set. You toyed with the idea of turning on the lamp closest to you and maybe making a pot of tea. But as quickly as those thoughts came, they fled, replaced by that sinking feeling of dread. It had been building for hours. Crawling its way into the deepest recesses of your brain, like frost creeping across a pane of glass. You caught yourself slipping and took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts back again, keeping them at bay. You crossed the room, grabbing his favourite quilt from his chair and wrapping it around your shoulders. A cloud of his scent enveloped you. Musk, wood smoke, whiskey. Sinking down into the worn, plush couch, your eyes drifted to the empty seat beside you. His spot. A memory of you curled tightly into his side as he strummed the guitar flashed in your mind. Without thinking, your eyes snapped to his guitar, immediately regretting it; you had been so careful. It sat in the corner, alone, bathed in the cool, winter light. A thin layer of dust covered its surface. He should play more. Again, you felt the dread creep back in and your eyes fill with tears.
It had been too long. Their usual patrol of the lodge had never taken this much time. But you knew. Deep down, you knew.
……………………
A loud, hesitant knock startled you awake. The stagnant room was still cold and dark. Your head shot towards the door, relief flooding your insides momentarily, before you reprimanded yourself for your own stupidity. Why would he be knocking on his own front door? The fear quickly replaced your self reproach. Someone was knocking again. Your mind was telling you to run as fast as you could to the door, desperate for news. But your body was paralyzed. You knew.
You licked your dry, chapped lips and uncurled your limbs. Your body was stiff and cold. Standing up from the couch, you grabbed the edges of his quilt and wrapped them even tighter around your shoulders, desperate for warmth and comfort. And for him. The hardwood floor creaked under your bare feet. Reaching the door, you grasped the metal doorknob, and turned. A strong gust of icy wind pushed the door inward and swirls of snowflakes blew in through the crack. You took a step back to allow the door to open fully.
Tommy.
His face was sickly pale, his brow furrowed, his eyes glazed. You frowned and stared deep into those dark eyes. They had such similar eyes. But in that moment, you remembered Joels’ were splashed with a trace of amber. Even his eyes exuded warmth. Tommy’s hands reached out and grabbed your own from the edges of the quilt. Your immediate reaction was to pull back from his frozen touch but he held firm. He took a deep breath, slowly closing and then opening his eyes, steadying himself.
That was all you needed. The confirmation you’d been waiting for. You cursed your intuition. The intuition that had kept you alive more times than you could count. The intuition that alerted you to the changes almost seven months ago. You just knew. Your body started shivering uncontrollably then. Your eyes filled and you swallowed repeatedly, not allowing the tears to fall. Tommy watched you carefully, unsure if he even needed to say it. The words he’d been rehearsing in his head. You stepped back suddenly and ripped your hands from his. The threadbare quilt fell to the floor behind you. The frigid wind and blowing snow continued to invade your home through the open door. But you didn’t feel it. You felt nothing. Emptiness. Numbness.
A kick from your insides, strong and hot, suddenly jolted you back to reality. Your hands instinctively pressed to your swollen belly as you stared straight through your brother-in-law, unseeing. Another kick directly under your palm. Tommy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Silence blanketed the entryway. He bent down and picked the quilt, Joel’s quilt, up off the floor. Gently, he placed it back over your shoulders then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.
Then, and only then, did you let the searing tears fall.
………………………
