i thought i was a retired fanfic writer, but here i am having a midlife crisis and picking it back up
13 years ago, I had the tumblr writing scene all figured out, but tbh the game changed while I was away, so I'm figuring out all of the graphics and whatnot. so forgive an old lady for coming back to tumblr lol.
i started out writing fanfic for supernatural and since i've returned it's been mostly the mandalorian and tlou. i will probably return to supernatural soon though, i have a lot of ideas!
I love getting any and all feedback, so please don't hesitate! masterlist for fics under the cut.
For all Joel Miller writing, Click Here.
For all Din Djarin writing, Click Here.
For all Dean Winchester Writing Click Here
To read any of my retired content, visit @inhellandheaven -- I wrote as dean :')
honestly one of my favorite things about fanfic is when you can see the canon influences come out in really subtle ways. like a canon line thats mentioned once as a throwaway is suddenly the entire premise for a fic or it influences the characterization or something. its just so cool to see how people weave their ideas around a source material, especially if its not a detail i'd thought about before
where wings could heal.
ch 6 - something wicked...
pairing: joel miller x reader
summary: the reader, kat, ellie, and joel all adjust to joel's first weekend patrol to the ski lodge.
warnings: MDNI.
word count: 9,000.
note: when i named Kat (honestly she named herself), i totally forgot that ellie does have a love interest named cat. so just pay attention if it's "cat with a c" or "kat with a k." def thinking about ellie calling kat "sissy" or something like that, but not sure yet lol.
ao3 link here. masterlist here.
<<chapter 5 | chapter 7>>
secrets i have held in my heart
are harder to hide than i thought
maybe i just wanna be yours...
Saturday, October 24th, 2037
Waking at dawn was a habit that was hard to break. In the month since you’d settled in Joel’s house, you had woken the moment the sun broke through the curtains. That wasn’t terrible. The terrible part was once you opened your eyes, you were instantly alert, the product of sleeping with fear for so long.
It was no different today.
You were up early. You were instantly alert. But the fear was different.
You knew Joel was leaving and you knew he’d be gone for the longest stretch since you’d arrived.
Three whole days.
He’d left on patrols before and you’d not thought twice about it. Usually, he was gone on Wednesdays and Fridays, while Ellie’s patrol day was Sunday. You and Kat had made a habit of walking down with the two of them on the way to school (or breakfast) to see them off at the gate — most of the families of Rangers huddled around for a kiss and a hug before saying goodbye. It was a normal routine now — Joel going beyond the walls for patrol was just a normal day.
The days belonged to work rotations and patrols, but he was always there in the evenings.
This longer stretch was going to be different, and you knew it.
Knowing that he wouldn’t be there to walk with you to the mess hall or to sit at the too-big dining room table, or to put on a record as background noise so he could read the Hardy Boys or Lonesome Dove, or split a glass of whiskey with you, or that he wouldn’t right down the hall if you heard a weird sound in the darkness.
It was all to be expected, you told yourself as you swung your legs out of bed. All of this anxiety you felt at being without him, completely normal.
You and Kat had lived with him for over a month — Ellie didn’t count as a roommate since she technically had her own garage apartment — it was only natural that his absence would cause you some discomfort. By the time he got back on Monday, you’d be completely used to it and wouldn’t think a thing about it next month.
Your bare feet hit the hardwood floor of your bedroom and you shivered, putting your arms around your middle.
The end of October wasn’t necessarily cold … well, yes it was. The days were miserable and cold and the nights dipped below freezing — you were thankful for central heat.
He’ll be cold, you reminded yourself.
But then you remembered the way his lips had felt at your ear last night. I’ll have memories like this to keep me warm.
You shivered again. Your own arms around your waist weren’t the same as his, and regardless of whether he was telling the truth, you knew you’d be revisiting that memory of dancing in the kitchen more than once while he was gone.
What would he have said if the girls hadn’t interrupted?
There had been an easiness to him last night, something that was uninhibited, a little more rash than normal. It was like the weight of the world or the burden of choosing his words and actions had been lifted from him. And in a way, it reminded you of, well, you. He felt safe enough around you to let his guard down and be free with his thoughts and actions.
Tommy had told you one evening at dinner that Joel used to be a bold son of a bitch, especially right after the Outbreak, but it was hard to reconcile that image of him with the man you lived with. The Joel you knew was a quiet man who weighed his words before he said them. You wondered if the change had come naturally with aging and growing up, or if something specific had happened to provoke it.
You crossed the threshold of your door and looked down the hall at Joel’s room. The door was open, like normal, so you padded softly down the landing hall and stuck your head in his room. The bed was made, so he was already downstairs. You took the stairs quickly, hoping to warm yourself up with movement, and turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs to the hallway.
The moment you came into sight, your eyes found his. It seemed natural, the way your gaze just naturally found the path to his. You gave him an easy smile.
Not completely suited up for the cold yet, he was still checking his saddle bags and bedroll, his hair just a little wild, like he’d only halfway tried to brush it down.
Head tilting up at you, he gave you a tight smile when he saw you standing there. He looked down quickly, “Mornin’.”
“Good morning.”
At his silence, you frowned. “Everything okay?”
He kept looking down at his saddle bags, stuffing something in with a little more force than it required. “Mhm. Jus’ gettin’ ready.”
You frowned. Nothing untoward had happened while he held you and danced with you last night, but had you misread him? Reading men was something you thought you were pretty good at, but maybe you’d only thought he was interested. Maybe he hadn’t been and was just doing all of that to be nice and take your mind off of it.
His knees popped as he stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, still not looking at you.
You picked at the hem of your sleep shorts, feelings a little exposed and raw. You didn’t know what exactly you’d expected this morning, but him not being able to look at you wasn’t really it.
“You’re up early,” his voice was thick with sleep and when you looked up, you saw his eyes were bloodshot red.
You nodded, wrapping an arm around your middle. “Yeah, I …“ you trailed off, unsure what to say to him. Why was it so hard to talk to him after last night? He was going to be gone for three days, and as much as the two of you normally talked in the evenings, you should be blabbering like a fool to try to fit everything in before he left.
The silence lingered, suffocating.
But you remembered the reason you’d come down at all. You swallowed. “I have something for you.”
An eyebrow raised, you waved for him to follow you through the dining room and into the kitchen. You’d stayed up late, long after the rest of the house had gone to bed, but it had been worth it.
The leather messenger bag was bulging and loaded down as you handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“Open it and find out.”
“You been spendin’ too much time with Ellie,” he quipped, nose crinkling, “gettin’ to be a right smart ass.”
“Shut up,” you teased back. Thankfully the easiness of conversation was back. “Just open it.”
He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes and dug into the bag, taking out all of the neatly cloth-wrapped packages.
“Cookies?” He asked, eyebrows raising.
“Cookies, sausage, bacon, biscuits, annnnd molasses,” you sang, gesturing to each package.
He smiled then, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he held the bag in his large hands.
“You ain’t have’ta do that,” his voice was soft.
You wrapped your arms around your middle. “Yeah I did. Three days of jerky and those plain ass biscuits from the mess hall will make anyone cranky.”
He chuckled. “That’s true... c’mon, I’ll put it with my stuff. Gonna have’ta hide it to keep Tommy out of it. Worse than a damn raccoon.”
You followed him back to the front hall. The leather messenger bag was added to the backpack and saddle bag. Then he grinned. “I got you somethin’ too.”
Intrigued, you tilted your head.
The hallway that led to the front door had a small table, usually for the lamp, keys, and gloves, just a regular old catch-all.
He opened the drawer and handed you a Remington 9mm. It was black, with a brown grip, similar to, if not the same, as the one you’d handled yesterday.
Hilt first, he handed it to you, and you went through the motions he’d taught you yesterday of checking to make sure it wasn’t loaded.
“We went through all’a that yesterday to make sure you’d be ready if somethin’ were to happen while I’m gone. Figured it was kinda useless if you didn’t actually have the weapon handy,” he explained.
It was heavy in your hand, but you didn’t feel the same weight that you had the day before. You could shoot it if you needed — if it came down to you and your daughter, you could shoot the damn thing. And after yesterday, you knew you could shoot it well.
“Thank you,” you whispered, looking up to him.
Taking it back, he put it back in the open drawer and pointed to the ammo box. “Found a couple’a magazines ’n put the ammo in’em for you. Magazines are just sittin’ in that box. Somethin’ were to happen, take the magazines and put’em in your front jeans pockets, not the back, not your jacket. Harder to lose or fall out that way.”
You nodded, taking in the information in case it was ever needed.
He shrugged his thick jacket on over his flannel and zipped it up. When he reached for the leather gloves, you stepped forward, holding them so he could slide in his hand in, tucking them under the sleeves of his coat. “Thanks,” he grunted.
The plaid scarf might have been overkill for the middle of the day, but it had been downright cold after dark lately, so you took it from the hall closet and wrapped it around his neck, tucking it into the coat.
“This is yours,” he croaked, looking up at you.
You nodded. “It’s thicker than all of yours.”
He grunted, gloved hand reaching up to take it off. “You’ll be cold —”
“No,” you blurted, hands reaching up to stop his. “I’ll be cold for 10 minutes at a time while I walk somewhere. You’ll be cold for three days. Please, just take it. It’ll make me feel better.”
His jaw flexed and he looked down. “Thank you.”
A small smile curved to your lips as you reached up to tuck the ends of the scarf back into his jacket. His hands settled on yours as you zipped up his jacket nice and tight.
Not stepping back, your hands settled on the space of his chest just under his shoulders. You just stood there for a moment, just breathing, almost as if you could memorize him just the way he was, just right now. The smell of leather and gunpowder and sweat clinging to the coat — everywhere in the house.
“If—” you swallowed. “If you give me a minute, I can get changed, get Kat up and ready.”
His brow furrowed, head tilted. “What for?”
“To walk with you to the gate. I didn’t think you were leaving so early or we would’ve already been up and going.”
He looked up and down your form, a brisk, “No,” sounding out as he picked up the messenger bag with his other effects.
You narrowed your eyes, “What do you mean, no? You’ll be gone for three days.”
“Uh uh.” His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, and his gloved fingers rubbed at the bridge of his nose. When you didn’t respond, he rubbed the back of his head. “It’s 25 degrees outside.”
“That’s why I said I was going to change.” You gestured down to the short sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt hanging off your shoulder.
He shook his head and his eyes flashed with… concern? “It’s 25 degrees outside. No sense in freezin’ to damn death in that kinda cold jus’ to say goodbye. ‘Specially not for a six year old.”
“Oh,” you breathed, looking away to hide the grimace.
It wasn’t an outright rejection, but it still stung. Sure, it made sense — Joel was very practical, after all — but was that the only reason? It wasn’t embarrassment or something?
Either way, it wasn’t the time to ask.
“Well, I’m — I’m sorry then,” you lowered your eyes.
“I just don’t want you two to get sick or nothin’, not for a goodbye.”
“But —” you swallowed. You wanted to say goodbye. You wanted his hands on you the way they had been last night, so you could memorize the smell and the feel and the weight of him to hang on to and bring out whenever you missed him.
He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
You couldn’t tell him all of that. He was so nice to you, such a good friend. So, you moved back to something safer.
“Kat was talking about saying goodbye last night. She’ll — she’ll be upset if you leave without saying anything.”
He nodded at that. “Alright.”
He sat the heavy bags down with a thump and started walking toward the stairs.
Sleeping in her own bed (a regular occurrence lately), Kat was slightly snoring, her teddy bear clutched to her chest. You leaned against the door frame, watching as Joel’s teeth bit down on one of the fingers of his leather glove, sliding it off and sticking it in his pocket. His bare hand brushed Kat’s hair back from her forehead as he leaned in to murmur to her.
“I gotta go, Kit-Kat. Be good for your momma, alright?”
“You’re leaving?” Her sleep-slurred voice was raspy.
“Yeah, ‘member? Gotta go keep Mr. Eugene safe in the woods. Gotta look for any other pretty little girls and their mommas.”
“Right,” Kat sighed. “I’ll see you in two sleeps, right?”
“Two more sleeps,” he promised. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Go back to sleep, kiddo.”
She murmured something else, and then her soft snores returned. Not surprising, since it wasn’t even seven am yet.
You followed him back down the stairs, stopping only when he did before his pack and saddle bag. His head bobbed on down the hall, where the stairs lay around the corner. “Go on back to bed, honey. Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll be back ‘fore you know it.”
Honey.
He’d called you that yesterday too. It made your stomach fill with heat, bursting out through your chest. That damn drawl saying that damn pet name sent shivers down your spine. You hugged yourself again, covering it as being cold.
You just nodded, turning from him and walking back the way you’d come. By the time you’d taken the first stair, you heard him heave the saddle bag over his shoulder.
But what if he doesn’t come home? Your traitorous brain thought.
Sudden, unwanted images surged into your mind. Joel shot off his horse, Joel bit by an infected, Joel rotting away in the snow while you waited in his house in Jackson, never knowing his fate.
Any of those things were a likely possibility when a ranger went out, and you knew that. He knew that. Ranging was the most dangerous job for someone in Jackson, and it was the only job that took volunteers only. You could feel the color draining out of your face.
Your chest was tight and your hand rose to the wide collar of your shirt, like pulling it out could help you breathe easier. Your breath wasn’t coming sharply enough to suggest hyperventilation or a panic attack like yesterday, but it was definitely faster than you’d want.
A man disappearing used to be a thing you prayed violently for. Now you were hoping and wishing that one would come home.
You had survived things a lot worse than a man disappearing and not coming home.
So why did the thought of Joel not coming home make it so hard to get air into your lungs?
You heard the front door open and felt the icy breeze infiltrating the house.
He didn’t see you change your mind, since the stairs were around the corner from the front door. You weren’t even sure if he heard you moving.
The door shut as you made it to the hallway, and you practically ran to it, barely catching yourself in time to keep from flinging it open hard enough to rattle the window panes.
He had only gone down the first step of the porch. The wind chimes sang as the icy breeze tickled them, and Joel’s eyes widened at you as he took a step back up on the porch.
“I thought I told you it’s too damn cold —”
You threw yourself into his arms, crushing yourself to his chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. He exhaled, but it sounded more like relief to you, not anger.
The messenger bag slid off his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.
It was so like last night, when he’d pulled you in tight to dance with you, or even like the hours before that when he’d put strong hands on yours to aim your gun.
But it was so different.
He was walking outside of the walls and directly into danger. Your stomach had been doing flips all night, but now that the moment was upon you, you just wanted to memorize the feel of him.
The wind was sharp and biting, but you were safe and warm within his hold, in his arms. You felt them tighten around you, his nose buried in your hair and yours buried in the exposed skin just above your scarf. You shivered, but not from the cold.
“Joel… Please be careful.”
The tickle of gentle lips pressed against your temple “I always am. I told you, don’t worry ‘bout me, darlin’.”
“I’m already worried,” you confessed. “I’ll be worried and missing you till you’re back.”
The lips at your temple split into what you assumed was a smile, moving to the shell of your ear. “I’ll come back to you, honey. I promise.”
It wasn’t lost on you that Joel didn’t break the embrace until you did, but once you moved your face from his neck, he let go, bending to pick up his bags as you dashed back into the house before you could start crying.
You looked through the window pane of the door, getting one last glimpse of him.
The gray in his hair was more prominent today in the light of the sun, but the leather gloves pushed it back off his forehead as he heaved up his saddle bag, adjusted the messenger bag of food, and took his bedroll under his arm.
His jaw flexed and he nodded once, setting his shoulders before he turned and walked off the porch.
You climbed the stairs and went back to bed on numb legs, trying to collect yourself before your daughter woke up. In the end, you snuggled into Kat’s tiny bed with her, holding her tight to your chest.
That same afternoon
Old Beardy didn’t care much for the cold and Joel didn’t exactly blame him. He tossed his head back and laid his ears flat on his head as they approached their destination, stomping his feet with irritation.
Joel was irritated too. He’d been slated to go with Eugene, but the bastard had pneumonia and Tommy had covered the shift instead.
He loved his brother — Tommy was his best friend. But Tommy also knew Joel better than he knew himself.
And he was really fucking good at making Joel talk about things that he didn’t wanna even think about.
Like how Joel had been late getting to the gate that morning. He’d lingered at the sidewalk, looking up at his home. He’d seen you peeking in the window of the front door, so he’d waited, double checking that you had gone down the hallway, but looking at the drawn curtains of the living room and kitchen, waiting for them to twitch and give you away.
And when he’d seen nothing, he thought good, maybe she’ll go back to sleep, be a little more rested.
And then he’d realized he was late for his actual job because he was worried about a woman going back to bed after almost freezin’ in her tiny ass shorts and shirt that was so big it looked like his for christsake for a goodbye hug.
Ridiculous.
Good ole Tommy hadn’t said anything (yet) but he’d given Joel that knowing smile that set Joel to grinding his damn teeth.
He waited for the first checkpoint. They watered the horses and Joel looked up at the sun.
“Comin’ on ‘bout 9,” Tommy guessed, following Joel’s gaze.
That was good. Kat was definitely awake by now, probably begging Ellie to take her to the mess hall since they usually had pancakes on Saturdays. You’d go with them too, he knew, and he hoped Ellie got some of her friends together to sit with you so people wouldn’t say anything —
“You with me here?” Tommy asked, eyebrows raised.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothin’,” Joel barked, turning back to his horse and cinching the saddle.
“How’re they settling in?” Tommy breezed the question, but Joel knew better. He was fishing.
“Uh, who? Who you talkin’ about?”
Tommy just chuckled. “You know damn well who I mean.”
Joel rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “They’re fine.”
Tommy shook his head and looked down, but Joel ignored him.
They swung into their saddles and pressed the horses on. He tensed his shoulders, knowing the next question was coming soon —
“Kat still askin’ a million questions?”
Joel snorted, caught off-guard. That wasn’t exactly the question he was preparing for.
“You have no idea, man. Yesterday, she asked if the fish at the pond ever got lonely.”
“The fish?” Tommy laughed.
“Yep. Ellie told her that there was a pond just beyond the wall that people fish. Then we had to explain what fishing was,” Joel rolled his eyes, but he and Tommy both knew he didn’t mean it. “And after we promised her that we’d take her in the spring — don’t worry, you’re gettin’ roped into that too, buddy — Then she wanted to know why we didn’t just bring the fish inside Jackson, since we had cows and chickens and horses here to keep’em company.”
“Actually not a bad question,” Tommy allowed, smirking. “People used to have pet fish.”
“For bass?” Joel deadpanned, looking at his brother. “Yeah I’m sure it would make a great pet.”
Tommy chuckled in that soft and easy way he had. “Maybe just get her one of those singin’ things that go on the wall.”
“God,” Joel barked with laughter. “Haven’t thought about one of those in decades. Can’t imagine bein’ able to find a beta fish these days, neither.”
“Never know. Did you tell her that you killed a pet fish at her age?”
Joel narrowed his eyes. “I most certainly did not. She prob’ly would’a cried.”
“Lookin’ at you makes me cry too.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Joel chided.
“Anyway, what’d she say when you said you couldn’t move the fish?”
“Weeellll,” Joel drawled, enjoying the story, “we had to explain that you can’t just move a pond ’n we tried to explain how long it would take to dig one out ’n fill it up. She didn’t like that.”
“Oh, I bet not, she seems like a firecracker.” Tommy snickered.
“Mhm,” Joel agreed, gaze swinging back to the trail. “I came up the stairs later that evenin’ ’n she was in my bathroom.”
“What on earth was she doin’ there?”
“Well, actually, she was in my bathtub. She was stretching herself out as far as she could go to try to measure whether or not it was bigger than the one next to her room.”
Joel looked to his brother and shook his head. “She said since my tub is bigger, the fishes could live there instead. Then we could visit them all the time.”
Tommy laughed aloud and smacked his knee.
“Even told me that it would be fine, since we had another tub in the bathroom between the bedrooms. Or if we filled that one too, we could just use Ellie’s.”
“What a kid,” he wheezed. “She’s funnier’n Ellie.”
He just shook his head, settling back into the saddle. “She’s somethin’, that kid. Jackson better watch out.”
The silence settled easily between them then, and Joel found himself thinking of Kat’s million questions. There was a lot in Jackson she wasn’t familiar with and she made up for it by asking about everything.
What is space, Ellie?
How does a guitar make noise, Joel?
Momma, why does my hair get tangly if I don’t brush it?
Joel, do you think the tooth fairy can fly over the walls or will the dogs need to sniff her?
Ellie, can the tooth fairy be infected? And if she does get infected, you think another one will take over?
Momma, why is your scarf red? How’d you make it red?
Why is the sun so far away?
Are fairies real? Can they fly?
Why doesn’t Winnie the Pooh and Piglet come to Jackson?
Ellie, why do you look like that whenever Dina talks? (That one had been his personal favorite)
Why do flowers grow in the greenhouse but not your front yard? Are you not a good gardener, Joel?
How does the hydrodam work?
He had thought he’d enjoy the silence of the woods, but he just missed the questions, the giggles, and even the terrible jokes.
“How ‘bout her momma?” He gently pressed.
Joel scratched the back of his head. “Only been a month.”
“Think she’s assimilating well?”
He sighed. “I dunno. Not havin’ as many panic attacks as she was — least not where I can see.”
“You told her ‘bout Gayle yet?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I told her that I went a few times, but I’m not sure Gayle’s really who she needs.”
“What you mean by that? She talked to you ‘bout any of it?” Tommy asked, and Joel could tell by the tone of his voice that he was genuinely curious.
“Naw, ’n I ain’t asked either,” Joel elaborated. “Few times she’s mentioned somethin’ here or there, jus’ seems like she spent a lot a time puttin’ it behind her or, I don’t know, behind a wall or somethin’. Don’t think she’s healed from it, by any means, but she’s in a place where she can function alright. I mean, she had Kat to keep safe — couldn’t exactly fall apart in her situation.”
Tommy just nodded. “Amazin’ what people can do when they got kids to take care of.”
Joel looked back at the trail then, the clop-clop of Old Beardy’s hooves making a steady rhythm. “Seems like she’s havin’ a hard time relaxin’,” he said, softly. “I told her she didn’t have’ta earn her keep — not with me — ’n I’m not sure it took.”
“Only been a month,” Tommy reasoned. “Took you longer’n that to chill out. Hell, me too. Nah, I wouldn’t start worryin’ till we come on ‘bout six months from now.”
Joel nodded, filing the information away, but not looking at his brother. The horses hooves clopped on down the well-worn dirt path.
“They’re good for you,” Tommy’s voice was soft as it cut through the quiet, and Joel looked over to his brother and saw that same softness in his eyes. “Both of ‘em... but, especially her, I think.”
Joel didn’t have to ask him who he meant.
His hands tightened on the reins and he sniffed. That was the conversation he didn’t want to have. It was clinical to comment on your progress, but to start talking about what you were doing to him was dangerous, especially with Tommy.
He sighed and urged the horse on with his legs. He was already ready to go home.
By the time they’d hit the third checkpoint, night was falling. It was an older cabin with a few cots for rangers. The horses had been put in the makeshift stable and the brothers had shared a can of beans and some biscuits for dinner. Joel yawned, the night of little sleep making itself felt.
Tommy hadn’t said much about you or Kat for the rest of the day, hopefully realizing that Joel didn’t really know what to say about it all. He’d given him a sly look when they’d stopped for lunch and Joel had shared a biscuit and a cookie with him, but he’d only commented “that woman sure can cook,” and left the rest unsaid.
His bedroll smelled of home and he was glad for it. Tommy offered to take first watch, knowing how Joel was the night before a longer patrol, and Joel settled in, laying on his back and putting his arms behind his head.
The first night of a longer patrol was usually the easiest for him to sleep, usually because he’d stay up all night the night before, but as the fire died down, sleep wasn’t coming.
Tossing and turning on his cot, Joel pulled his blankets higher to fight the cold. The fire popped and crackled, the cabin popped with the settling of walls and floors, and he heard the faint howls of wind through the attic. Relatively speaking, it was quiet enough and he was tired enough that he should have passed out.
But he just fuckin’ couldn’t.
“Wish you’d stop fuckin’ tossin’ and just go the hell to sleep,” Tommy grumbed, turning the page of a book he’d brought.
“Christ,” Joel groaned. “Can’t settle.”
“I noticed.”
Joel sat up on his elbows and rolled his eyes at his little brother’s tone. “What?”
Sitting the book in his lap, Tommy clasped his hands. “It’s too quiet, ain’t it?”
Joel narrowed his eyes. “What you mean?”
Tommy exhaled through his nose. “You got people — well, women — in your house now, so it’s a lot louder than it was, ain’t it? You got used to it ’n now you cain’t sleep when it’s quiet. Happened to me too.”
Mouth opening for some witty retort, Joel’s words died on his tongue. His nostrils flared.
That was exactly what it was.
He was listening for the sounds of the women in his home. The sounds that had become normal over the last month and never failed to settle him to sleep.
The sound of the jazz radio music you loved to play (and would forget to turn off) from the record player in the living room, or the sound of your voice as you read yet another chapter, the soft turning of stiff pages. The flick of the light switch and the padding of little bare feet as Kat got up to use the bathroom for the up-teenth time, followed by your soft footsteps up the stairs as you went to check on her. The soft little words floating down to him as you reassured her nightmares, or handed her a cup of water, or kissed her goodnight and sent her back to bed.
Or even after you’d actually gone to bed. He’d lay awake between his own sheets, his door wide open and yours open just enough that he could hear Kat’s faint snores or the creaking of the mattress as you turned over in your sleep.
Or how he only seemed to actually relax into sleep when he heard your own deep breaths.
“What do you do whenever you’re out here, then?” He asked, looking up at the roof of the cabin.
Tommy’s voice was soft, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “Right before I go on somethin’ like this, I spend a couple days around’er, memorizin’ all them little sounds she makes —”
“Tommy, what the fuck,” Joel snapped, glaring at his brother.
Tommy narrowed his eyes, then rolled them as he realized what Joel meant. “Not them sounds, fucker, wouldn’t dare think about them sounds with you in the room. I meant like as she’s goin’ through her day. She hums whenever she’s foldin’ laundry, taps her foot whenever she’s readin’. Her steps through the house when she’s in a good mood. Way she snores. Shit like that.”
“And then,” he continued, “when I’m out here and it’s too quiet, I pull’em back out. I play’em over ’n over till I convince myself that I’m back home.”
Joel laid back on his cot and put an arm over his eyes.
He wondered what they were doing now. By his guess, it was nearing 10 pm and everyone would be asleep.
Taking Tommy’s advice (for once), he tuned out the sounds of his brother, of the cabin, of anything else, and imagined he was back in his house and you and Kat were just across the landing with the deep breathing of two people sleeping safely under his roof.
Miraculously, he felt the ease of tension from his body. He imagined the feel of your head on his shoulder as you fell asleep mid-chapter, lulled to sleep by his deep drawl (that he might or might not exaggerate whenever he read aloud every night) and the sound of pages turning.
His eyelids were heavy; he could hardly keep them open, so he didn’t. He felt himself lulled by the sounds of a home he was longing for, and Joel surrendered to it.
His home had been so quiet for such a long time — since Ellie moved to the garage. The cabin was just as quiet. Funny how that quiet only felt empty now.
Saturdays were usually Kat’s favorite day of the week.
When you woke her to tell her it was pancake day and it was almost time to meet her friends and their mothers in the mess hall, she jumped out of bed like usual. But whenever she passed Joel’s room on the landing, she stopped dead in her tracks, looking at the neatly made bed.
She looked back at you then and you saw her lower lip quiver. “He’s really gone?”
You took her into your arms and lifted her to your chest, holding her and wishing he was there to hold you like he had this morning. “Yes, my love. But only for a couple days.”
“How many more sleeps?” She mumbled into your neck.
“Two,” and you broke away, holding up two fingers. Kat held up two and nodded.
“That’s not so bad.”
“Nope. We can stay busy and it will fly by, baby girl.”
It wasn’t early, by any means, but the mess hall was still busy, many of Jackson’s residents already two pancakes deep by the time you, Kat, and Ellie walked in the door.
Looking around anxiously for a set of hazel eyes, your heart sank as you remembered that Joel wouldn’t be waiting on you — he was beyond the walls.
You swallowed, following the two girls through the line and to an empty table. Kat insisted on sitting next to Ellie, whom you’d discovered was much cooler than you. You rolled your eyes and pretended to be offended, but you snuck Ellie a smile when Kat wasn’t looking.
It wasn’t long before some of Ellie’s friends joined you. Dina sat down first next to you and complimented Kat’s bow, as she always did. Kat had grown especially fond of Dina, since the girl had the same dark hair that your daughter did.
The two teenagers listened intently as Kat told them about all of the kindergarten drama that week and you grinned while you ate your own pancakes, reminded of Joel listening with the same attention.
But when Jesse sat down, you noticed the mood changed — just slightly.
Ellie had said that Jesse and Dina had an on-again-off-again relationship, and the way he sat next to Kat rather than Dina told you it might be off again, but he was still friendly with everyone.
You sat silent as you listened to the conversation buzz around you, each of the three teens patient as they answered all of Kat’s questions (which was a feat in itself). By the time the pancakes and syrup were cleaned up, over half of it had ended up on Kat’s face.
The walk back home wasn’t exactly awkward, but there was definitely a missing space that was aching to be filled by Joel Miller. You felt like you’d lost a tooth, your tongue pressing over the empty space over and over until it was raw and aching.
And that ache was plainly felt by Ellie, too. She didn’t act much different, still joking and playing around with Kat, but her eyes were downcast and looking at the ground more often than not.
You bumped her shoulder. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, yourself,” she bumped you back.
“Seems like Dina and Jesse are decidedly off again,” you threw out. If Ellie wanted to talk about it, you’d given her an opening, anyway.
“Yep,” she answered, kicking at a rock. “They’ll never get it together.”
“You don’t think so?”
She shook her head, looking up toward the path. “They’re in love. Doesn’t that mean never giving up?”
You shrugged, corners of your mouth turning down. “Sometimes. But sometimes it means loving them enough to know you’ll never be good together and letting them go.”
You didn’t look directly at her, just out of the corner of your eye, as she processed the information.
“There’s another girl in town that I’ve been thinkin’ about hanging out with,” she admitted, still looking decidedly away from you.
“Oh? Who is it?” You tried not to act too interested.
“Nobody,” she gave a hesitant little chuckle. “Just, well —”
“I’m guessing it isn’t Dina, hm?”
Ellie’s eyes snapped to yours, wide with fear. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.
You reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. “Easy there, kiddo. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I just — Joel would — I don’t know.”
“Joel would be more angry at the concept of you dating than the gender of the person you’re with,” you told her, the honest truth. Joel loved Ellie so much — you honestly didn’t think there was anything she could do to make him not love her anymore.
“You don’t think so?”
You shook your head. “Nah. He loves you, Ellie.”
“So you think I should go for it?”
You shrugged. “Why not? I mean, life’s pretty short. Might as well take the shot while you can.”
She grinned, back to kicking rocks from the gravel with her foot. “I think… I think I’m gonna, then.”
“Can I know who it is?”
Ellie’s cheeks turned decidedly pinker. “Her name is Cat.”
Your eyebrows raised. “Cat with a C? That won’t be confusing at all.”
“Cat with a C, Kat with a K. Would that be weird?”
“Depends. Our Kat’s name is actually Katherine, so if her name was Catherine too… that might be a little weird,” you allowed, laughing.
You walked on toward the house, the silence stretching long and languid. You wondered what Joel was doing and if he missed being home as much as the women in his home missed him.
“Just — let me know how it goes, alright?”
Ellie nodded. “When it comes time… can you, I mean, will you help me tell Joel? He won’t kill me for dating someone if you’re there.”
You scrunched up your face. “You think I can protect you from Joel? Get real.”
“No,” she admitted, pushing your shoulder lightly. “But he’s different with you. Like, happier. If you’re there, he won’t get near as mad.”
“Alright then, I’ll be there whenever you’re ready to tell him, Ellie.”
And on the front porch, in the morning sunshine, Ellie wrapped her arms around your neck, surrendering for a hug. You poured in every ounce of motherly affection you could, knowing that was what she was seeking. Joel had said that Ellie’s mother died in childbed and Ellie had only the maternal influence of her mother’s friend, Marlene, but even that was short lived.
So you held her as long as she wanted you to, and when she finally moved to break away, you gently kissed her forehead before letting go and following her inside the house.
In the afternoon, Ellie wanted to go to the stables and take Shimmer for a few exercises. Kat, who absolutely loved all animals, begged to go, and once Ellie started begging too, you shrugged.
“Keep an eye on her,” you warned Ellie. “She doesn’t know anything about horses.”
Ellie had nodded, more somber than you’d ever seen her. “I know. I got her.”
You’d expected more exasperation, like she gave Joel whenever he was reminding her of something, but neither you nor Joel ever got that from Ellie when Kat was concerned. It was like having the little girl’s fate or safety in Ellie’s hands made her take every word of warning more seriously than she would have without it.
Joel was right. Kat is good for her, just like Ellie is good for Kat.
With the two of them gone, the house had been too quiet, but you’d filled the silence with a record — one of the ones Joel had before you’d arrived, something you knew he liked, and you set to cleaning the already tidy house. When the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed for noon, there wasn’t anything else for you to do.
You bit your lip, the idea of idleness clawing at you from the inside as you paced the house. You worked for an hour or so on the Halloween costumes — which was usually all you could take before your fingers got sore from stabbing them with a needle too much.
I’m fine, you told yourself. You even went so far as to imagine the feel of Joel’s heartbeat beneath your fingertips. It wasn’t the same, but it was calming in its own way.
As you walked through the house, your eyes landed on one of the loose cabinet handles in the kitchen. Joel had said it would be an easy fix — “jus’ needs a screw tightened, I’ll get it when I get home tonight,” but he’d been too tired and distracted to get to it.
I can do that, a voice inside you said.
You’d been in college when the Outbreak happened, but your dad had taught you how to handle a Phillips screwdriver. You remembered where Joel’s toolbag was (in the hall closet on the top shelf) and you retrieved it yourself, feeling a little pride when you tightened the handle. Frowning, you tried the handle on all of the kitchen cabinets. None of them were as loose as the first, but you tightened them all anyway.
With your hands on your hips, you allowed yourself a small smile.
I don’t need Joel to do everything around here, you thought. I can handle things myself; Ellie’s relationship woes, kitchen cabinet handles… I got this.
Then you found a stack of frames he’d made to put up around the house — many of them already filled with Ellie’s artwork or projects that Kat’s class had done. Finding a set of nails and a hammer in the toolbag, you set to work. It was easy to find the studs and place the nails how you wanted, but it was a little harder to hang the pictures straight, and you ended up using Joel’s level to be sure.
You stood back from the hallway, examining your work on both sides of it. It looked good.
Putting the tools back, you took a slow tour of the house, making a mental note of anything small that you could probably fix yourself. You told yourself it was pride, that you wanted to contribute to the maintenance of the home you lived in… but honestly, you wanted to make Joel’s life easier, and these little tasks were the perfect things to take off his plate.
By the time that evening had arrived and the girls had returned from the stables, everyone was wiped out. You handed Kat and Ellie their folded laundry to put away while you served them dinner, everyone too exhausted to even think about walking to the mess hall. They told you about their day and that Kat had even got to hold Shimmer’s reins.
“Don’t worry, Jesse was like, right beside her head. He could’ve grabbed the bridle easily,” Ellie assured you when Kat wasn’t paying attention.
“Jesse was there?” You raised your eyebrows. “How’d that go?”
She shrugged. “Him ’n Dina didn’t talk much, really.”
“Awkward?”
“Kinda — more like they talked around each other. Like, only interacting ‘cause they had to.”
You nodded. “Makes sense. What about Cat with a C?”
Ellie’s cheeks turned pink again. “She was there too.”
“And?” You pressed, leaning over your plate.
“And I barely spoke to her!” Ellie admitted, raising her hands up in exasperation. “I felt so stupid. Just couldn’t say anything.”
You gave her a gentle smile. “It’s like that sometimes.”
She scoffed. “Not that I’ve ever seen. Movies and shit don’t make it sound that way.”
And then you thought about Joel. He weighed all of his words so carefully — Ellie probably didn’t realize that he ever actually didn’t or couldn’t say anything to someone. “Bet ya Tommy’s got some experiences like that.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Tommy? Experiences where he can’t speak? Do you even know him?”
You laughed, free and easily. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He doesn’t ever shut up, does he? Still, I’ve heard he was quite the charmer before the Outbreak. Might be worth it just to get some tips.”
She scoffed. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard all about him meeting Maria.”
“Oh?”
She narrowed her eyes, imitating Tommy’s harsh and raspy Texan accent. “‘I jus’ dunno how it happened, Ellie! One day I looked at ‘er ’n I says gawdalmighty, boy! That there’s tha woman for ya! Better go’n git her ‘fore some other lucky sumbitch does!’”
You put a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. “Alright, that does kinda sound like him.”
“Poor Mr. Poop Pants,” Kat agreed. “He sounds just like that.”
“I thought I banned that one,” you pointed your fork at her, narrowing your eyes.
She grinned and decided that her mashed potatoes were extremely interesting at that exact moment.
“Exactly. I’d be better off asking a post.”
“What about Joel?”
She raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”
You shrugged. “I’ve seen the way the women flock to him here. And he was married before.”
“And divorced,” Ellie countered. “Not exactly the type of moves I want to be putting out there.”
“No, but he probably has a good list of what not to do.”
“Besides,” Ellie went on, ignoring your comment with a wave, “have you ever actually heard him say more than two coherent sentences to a woman? Consecutively? In the same conversation?”
“Sure I have.”
“I mean, other than you,” Ellie clarified.
You could feel the heat rising to your face, but you looked down at your plate and hoped that Ellie didn’t notice. It was true, you supposed — he didn’t seem to talk much to the other women in town, not the way he spoke to you. Did that mean he was comfortable with you? Or maybe he didn’t find you attractive?
Your mind whirled, replaying yesterday at the shooting range, this morning as he said goodbye… no. There was attraction there. You couldn’t have read him that incorrectly… right?
Without missing a beat or paying any attention to your internal struggle, Ellie continued. “He talks to you just fine for some reason, I don’t know. Any time I’ve ever seen him with a woman he just stares at his feet until he can come up with a reason to get out of the conversation.”
You chuckled at that. “He talks to Tara just fine.”
“Tara doesn’t count. Maria either — they’re just like him.”
“Well, you could always ask me,” you offered, holding out a hand.
“Yeah? You dated before — well, before.”
“Not a lot,” you admitted. “But yeah, some. Plus, I’ve got a good idea of what women like, ya know.”
Ellie yawned. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“I think I’m gonna head out, Kat’s ‘bout to fall asleep in her food.”
“Am not.”
Ellie stuck her tongue out. “Is it alright if I come over tomorrow before I head out?”
You nodded. “Of course, Ellie. We’d love that. See you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
You sighed. Kat really was about to fall asleep in her food. “C’mon, girlfriend. Let’s go get clean and ready for bed.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Kat nearly fell asleep in the bathtub too. You smiled down at her as you poured the cup of water over her dark hair. “You okay, sweetie?”
She grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “How many sleeps ‘till Joel comes back?”
Your eyes softened. “Just two more, my love.”
She nodded at that. You rinsed her hair and picked up the lavender shampoo. As you worked the suds through her hair, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
“I miss him, Mommy.”
Your chest hurt. Kat had made a lot of friends since you’d arrived in Jackson, but you knew that none of them held a candle to Joel and Ellie. Always so happy to see her, so interested in anything she was doing, he was everything a father figure should be. Kat had never had a father figure, or anything similar. Just you.
And you hadn’t realized how much you hadn’t been doing… not until Joel. That wasn’t to say you were an absent mother by any means, but just watching her interact with someone who wasn’t you, who provided a different set of experiences and perspectives… someone who wasn’t her blood, who chose to care about her.
Again, you knew you’d made the wrong choice in staying as long as you had. Joel had only been here two years, but what if you’d come to Jackson two years before, when Kat was four? How much different would she be now?
“I miss him too,” you sighed, filling up the cup to rinse her again.
Kat’s soap-covered head whipped up to you, her blue gaze burning into yours. “Mommy, you miss Joel too?”
Your eyes widened. Had you said that out loud? Was she angry that you missed him?
“I — uh, I mean, I miss having another adult around,” you chuckled, backtracking. You moved her head so you could pour the water through her locks.
“That’s not what you said. You said you miss Joel.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course she would’ve noticed that. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. Ellie said she misses him too. We all miss him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since we all miss him, I’m gonna tell Miss Maria that Joel can’t go no more.”
She crossed her arms over her small chest, completely decided.
“Well, I think Miss Maria kinda needs Joel to patrol. He keeps our town safe.”
“He does?”
“Mhm. Every time he and Tommy and Ellie go outside the walls on a patrol, they are shooting all the infected and saving anybody who was like us,” you explained.
“Oh. But… if we got big walls, can’t we just keep the gates closed? Why does he haveta go outside?”
“I think maybe we write that question down and we ask him whenever he gets back?” You suggested, knowing that this wasn’t exactly a conversation you could avoid and you didn’t have all of the answers, by far.
“Maybe Miss Maria will let him stay here anyway,” she said instead, yawning so wide her jaw popped.
“Yeah, maybe. He’s pretty nice to have around,” you settled on instead.
Kat nodded at that. “Yeah, Momma.”
Bedtime had been a struggle too. The house was so lonely and big without his presence that even Kat had trouble sleeping, even though she’d been so sleepy not even an hour before. You’d sang every song in your repertoire, no matter how badly, and she’d finally surrendered to sleep in between “Hey Jude” and “Enchanted.”
Sleep was just as tough for you. After she’d fallen asleep, you’d debated on staying next to her, but you knew your routine well enough to know that all that waited for you in your bedroom was a night of worrying. You ended up padding across the landing and looking inside his bedroom door, as if he was actually in there and you just couldn’t see him.
The living room wasn’t much more helpful — you didn’t want to read your book without Joel there. He’d told you to keep going, since he’d read it several times before, but —
You sound a lot like Gus and Call, you’d told him once.
He’d smiled at that. That a fact? I mean, I guess it kindly figures since we’re all from Texas.
That’s why I like when you read it, you’d admitted. Your accent gets all syrupy and thick.
Weeelllllll now, darrrlin’, he’d drawled out, smiling as he’d picked the book back up and read some more, your laughs and giggles the perfect background noise.
You gripped the book tightly. Even just imagining his voice as he read the dialogue would be good to keep him close while he was gone.
You glanced over at his recliner. He never really sat there, not while you were reading — always preferring to sit on the couch with you so you could read over his shoulder. But the living room felt empty and too big. He took up space that you hadn’t realized he was taking. The absence of him was striking. Earlier with the girls, it had felt like a dull ache, but now it was sharp within your chest.
Looking around the empty room — and realizing that no one would know — you got up from the couch and sank into the recliner, book in hand. As the music floated quietly in the background from the record player, you snuggled into the chair and opened to the chapter he’d read to you the night before.
His scent was stronger here and it reminded you of the day you’d met, when he’d put his jacket around your shoulders. Leather, gunpowder, whiskey, sweat… this smelled just like him. It was calming. It soothed that jagged and sharp ache in your chest, making it a little easier to sit with.
The longer you sat, breathing in the scent of Joel, the more you could picture him in front of you, holding the book and turning the pages as he read.
It’ll get easier, you thought to yourself. He’s doing his job. He’s completely fine. He probably doesn’t even miss you.
You thought that last one might be a lie. You hoped it was.
You opened the book, losing yourself in the cattle drive and imagining Joel’s thick Texan accent drawling in your ear.
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The first rule of fandom is have fun. The second rule of fandom is find an enabler and become an enabler. Yes you should write that fic. What if it was even hornier? What if it was angstier? What if you wrote it just for me?
pairing: joel miller x reader
summary: worried about what could happen when joel & ellie are beyond the walls on patrol, joel convinces the reader to let him teach her how to handle a firearm. when it triggers her, he shows her that he means it when he says he's not going anywhere.
warnings: MDNI. the reader has a traumatic past -- captured by raiders and her daughter is a product of her time with them. in this chapter, she has a PTSD flashback triggered by handling and firing a gun. there is a mention of violence inflicted toward her, but the flashback is in no great detail.
Note: when i think of the record that the reader puts on, i was envisioning something like this from Nemo's Dreamscapes.
word count: 12,000.
ao3 link here. masterlist here.
<<chapter 4 | chapter 6>>
i can't keep you safe but i can keep you warm,i can't stop the rain, but we can ride the storm
Wednesday, October 21st, 2037
After a month of going to school full-time, it was hard to imagine a world where you had been worried that your daughter didn’t have enough social skills to make friends.
Kat chattered on from the small kitchen table, mouth full of carrots, while you washed the dishes at the sink.
“And then Macy said that she should be the queen fairy, but Amy had already called it, Momma! Can you believe that?”
“No, I can’t believe it,” you murmured, just the bare minimum of a conversation required for her to keep going.
The school in Jackson was smaller than you would have thought — while Jackson sported a community of close to 300 people, the number of school-aged children was small enough to be housed within the same building. But the number of children in daycare was growing every day with people who felt safe enough to start having children.
As a result, it ran more like a schoolhouse in the old west than a modern one you went to. Fortunately, there were several children who were close to Kat’s age, and even more that were at her reading and math level so they were in the same class.
There was drama every single day, and Kat always sat at the small kitchen table to eat a snack and tell you all about it. But you’d noticed that the drama was usually Kat and her friends against the other children, and that made you feel a little better.
Her story was cut off by the heavy boots through the front door. Her face lit up and she was gone in an instant, shouting and squealing for Joel.
You liked to think that you had always been your daughter’s best friend… but that had been before Joel and Ellie. In truth, you thought Ellie was probably at the top of the pyramid… then Joel. Then you.
You didn’t mind. Kat was at the top of each of their pyramids too, and you liked that thought far more than you were jealous.
“There’s my Kit-Kat!” he greeted warmly, and you knew without looking that he’d swept her up in his arms, shrugging out of his jacket with one hand so he could still hold on to her.
She had given up on fighting the nickname not long after he’d bestowed it on her, and you suspected now that she liked it. Her little grin whenever he called her that was a dead giveaway.
Now, Tommy, on the other hand… the nickname Kitty wasn’t going over well at all. He was probably public enemy number one, and Kat really had followed through on her threat of making up a bad nickname for him.
You’d had to intervene on Poopypants McGee, much to Ellie and Joel’s disappointment.
“How was school today?” Joel asked, depositing her back in her seat at the kitchen table.
“She was just telling me about how Macy tried to be the fairy queen.”
You put another plate of carrots and a cup of apple cider in front of Joel. Sometime over the last month, he had come to enjoying a little afternoon snack with Kat while she talked about her day. The first few times, he’d just taken coffee and stolen something off Kat’s plate (to her displeasure), so you’d gotten in the habit of just making another plate of whatever she had.
“Yeah! But Joel, Amy already called it!”
That was another transition from the last month that you found you liked. He wasn’t Mr. Joel anymore — just Joel.
“No way,” Joel’s face was dead serious, with all the grave demeanor and drama that such an occasion warranted. “What did Macy say when you told her?”
He sat at the table next to her, rapt with attention as Kat detailed how their group carefully planned another fairy kingdom - who were friends and allies, of course - so that there could be two queens.
Joel raised his eyebrows and sat back, crossing his arms. “That’s some pretty smart thinkin’ there. Who came up with that idea?”
“Me!” Kat grinned, tilting her head.
“Good for you, Kit-Kat,” he praised, and Kat beamed under his praise.
“How about you, Momma?” His deep drawl turned on you as he grabbed the cup of cider.
You tilted your head and kept looking at the dishes, hoping he couldn’t tell the heat that flamed under your skin. You loved when he called you that. It took every bit of strength you had to keep from shivering.
“Hm?”
“How was your day?” he continued, leaning back in his chair.
You placed the clean dish on the rack and dried your hands on the towel before turning to him — giving the blush a chance to fade.
“It was fine. I was with livestock today.”
You weren’t sure why you told him — he knew. He always knew where you were stationed for the week and he always knew what time your shift started and ended. You never told him, but he always knew.
Since he was one of the lead rangers, Joel met every week with Maria, Tommy, and the other Jackson figureheads to make schedules for job details, so it technically made sense that he knew what you were doing.
He nodded. “Right. How’d it go?”
You shrugged. It was your third rotation, and so far you had hated them all.
The greenhouse was peaceful enough, but you didn’t know anything about plants (other than how to kill them) and ended up causing more harm than good. The clinic had been okay, but it was flu season and the sheer number of people in and out all day had made you antsy (not to mention the paranoia at thinking you were sick too). Livestock had been easier - not as many people and the animals were quick to let you know if you did something they didn’t like.
And less flu-like symptoms.
“I milked cows for the first few hours.”
“Cows are so cute,” Kat said dreamily. Having never been around any animals, she fell in love with every single animal she saw in Jackson. You had made a point not to take her to work with you this week, lest she came home with a baby piglet tucked under her jacket.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.
“Cute and useful,” Joel agreed. He looked back at you. “What’cha think ‘bout it?”
You grimaced. “Milking cows reminds me how much I hated breastfeeding.”
“What’s that?” Kat asked, baby carrot halfway to her mouth.
Wide eyes met across the kitchen. You blinked a few times and you saw Joel’s mouth open and close.
“Momma?” Kat pressed, waving a carrot at you. “What’s breastfeedin’?”
Suppressing a grin, you saw Joel start to turn pink out of the corner of your eye. You tried to regain your composure — the more attention you brought to something, the more attention she would give it. Nonchalant explanations were best.
“Well, it’s how mommies feed their babies.”
She frowned. “But how?”
“Um… through their breasts. The babies suck and milk flows —”
“What’s a breast?”
You blinked again, eyes glancing over at Joel. His face was completely red and he looked pointedly down at the his plate of carrots. You put your hand over your mouth to hide your grin.
“Breasts are another word for boobies,” you explained with a sigh, pointing to your own.
“What do those have to do with babies?”
Right. Because Kat had never even seen a baby in real life until she’d come to Jackson.
“Babies can’t eat big girl food like you can,” Joel answered for you. “They gotta have milk and stuff that’s liquid.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t have teeth for a while.”
She nodded at this information, then, “So what about the boobies?”
Joel cut his eyes to you. Your turn.
“Well… that’s where the milk comes out. The baby sucks and that’s how they eat.”
Kat’s mouth made a round O. She looked down at your chest, then at her own. “Oh.”
You nodded. “It’s not very fun, pretty messy, honestly.”
“Is that why Amy had her baby doll pushed up to her boobie at school when we played house?”
Joel coughed then, banging on his chest as he sputtered his water. You bit your lip to keep from laughing.
He rolled his eyes, mumbling something about, “Women,” under his breath.
“Why don’t you go put on something to watch in the living room, Kat? I think there’s a DVD with some Bugs Bunny on it. We can give Joel a break from talking about boobies.”
He looked up at you without moving his head, a playful glare on his face.
She grinned, taking her plate of carrots and cup of water as she made for the living room. Joel had a DVD player and television with a pretty nice DVD collection.
You’d noticed that there were a lot more cartoons and kid-friendly movies in that collection now than when you’d first moved in.
“Thanks for that, by the way,” he cocked his head, leveling a glare at you.
“The more embarrassed you act, the more she’ll press about it,” you shrugged a shoulder.
He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Boobies ain’t exactly what I wanted to talk about when I got home today.” His face and neck were starting to return to their normal colors.
“Sure it was,” you smirked. “Every man likes talking about boobies.”
“Not with a six year old,” he grumbled, scratching the back of his head.
You waited until he’d picked up his cider again and put it to his lips.
“Sorry, next time I talk about boobies, I’ll make sure it’s just us.” Then you winked.
He coughed and sputtered, cider spilling from between his lips as he beat on his chest again. The glare returned, but you smiled sweetly.
“Christ, woman,” he waggled a finger at you, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Alright, alright, I’m done,” you conceded, holding up your hands in surrender even though you desperately wanted to keep going, Joel was so much fun to tease.
And unlike any of the men you’d met since the Outbreak started, Joel was a good sport about it. If it was just the two of you, he usually dished it out just as easily as he took it, and you loved the banter. When anyone else was around, he got all embarrassed and shy like he’d done at the table, but it was nice to see the drier side of his humor whenever you could.
“How was your patrol?”
“Wasn’t on it,” he took a sip from his cup. “Trainin’ today.”
“Oh?” You sat in the chair Kat had vacated.
“Mhm,” he grunted. He put his elbows on the table and leaned over toward you. “Listen…Tommy asked me to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Trainin’. With a gun.”
Your inhale was sharp, you straightened your shoulders and steeled yourself for the conversation you’d dreaded.
“Everybody needs to know how to shoot a gun,” he urged, voice kind and soft.
“Right.”
“I’m not gonna let them send you out there, you know that. It’s just a precaution — don’t mean nothin.’” His hand reached out to touch yours on the table.
After a month of living with Joel, you had learned quite a bit about him. The people of Jackson thought him a gruff, grumpy, and dangerous old man, which he was, but he was also fiercely loyal and protective of those he cared for.
Which included you and Kat, as he’d proven more than once in the last month.
His humor had a dry, sarcastic edge to it when dealing with adults, especially you, but he was open handed, imaginative, and patient when dealing with children. Kat doted on him and he returned the attention ten-fold.
That protectiveness and loyalty was obvious with her, but with you it was more subtle, and you had felt the effects of it several times over the last few weeks.
Like him checking in on you frequently at first, making sure that either he stopped by in the middle of the day for lunch, or someone he trusted (usually Tommy, Maria, or Tara) knocked on the door.
He asked pointed questions once you’d started working rotations, making sure you were well and comfortable.
When it became clear that the clinic was overwhelming, you knew that he was the one who’d marched into Maria’s office and demanded you be swapped to something with less people.
And when everything became too much, he was there with guiding patience and a quiet moment, regardless of when, where, or who might be watching.
Your hand on his chest made everything else go quiet just long enough for you to get your bearings. And then, once you were steady on your own two feet, he never treated with you with kid gloves, only moving on as if nothing had happened.
The only job in Jackson that you’d drawn a line in the sand on was going outside the walls for patrol. Ellie had scoffed and grumbled when you’d said it, responding in that teenager tone that she’d die for the chance to join more patrols, but Joel had shushed her and sent her from the room.
He understood. You knew he was only out there because he was so good at it, he didn’t really want to be either. There were just too many risks, especially for a parent. If you didn’t come home, it would leave Kat with no one.
That’s not true, you thought. It would leave her with Joel.
You banished that thought as quick as it had appeared, focusing on the conversation at hand.
“I know you won’t,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I just —”
He nodded. “I know.”
The silence lasted a few beats, the intro of Looney Tunes echoing from the living room. Patrols weren’t just about shooting things or fighting — you knew that. And Tommy and Joel were right, everybody needed to know how to operate a firearm. Knowing how to shoot didn’t mean you were going to orphan your daughter.
It wasn’t that you were afraid to shoot or even that you thought you couldn’t. You figured with a good teacher and some practice, you’d be competent enough to hold your own.
What bothered you was the reminder of the violence.
If you took a gun and killed someone, would you be any better than the men who had taken and kept you? You had shielded Kat from most of the violence, but you’d both been on hand as witnesses enough. They’d reveled in the pain of others, often causing it for no reason other than boredom.
You were terrified of reliving that.
Joel didn’t press — he never did. He just sat there with you in the silence until you were ready to voice your thoughts. And you knew that, without a doubt, the moment you expressed to Joel that you really didn’t want to learn to shoot, he would take it up with Tommy and you’d never hear about it again.
You cleared your throat and he looked up.
“So Tommy thinks I need to shoot?”
He grimaced then, fingers tightening on his cup. “He mentioned it. And you know how he is — he’ll just keep mentioning it to me and then start mentioning to you.”
“I just don’t know that I’m ready.”
“And I get that.”
“But… everyone needs to be prepared,” he added. “If somethin’ were to happen to the walls…”
You knew the rest of that sentence; he’d talked to you about it before. If the walls were breached, it would be every man, woman, and child for themselves. And if Joel wasn’t in Jackson when that happened, you would be on your own, ensuring the safety of both Kat and Ellie (who could honestly fend for herself, but would still need an adult).
Joel was a man that wanted those he cared about prepared.
“I know,” you said instead.
He hung his head, gently setting the cup back on the table. “Just… let me teach you. Let’s just try,” he pleaded. “It would make me feel better, at least.”
You looked up at him, meeting the hazel eyes and feeling your own chest tighten at the emotion you saw there. How long had he spent thinking about worst-case scenarios that ended with you trying to protect your daughter with only a switchblade? The harrowing look there said he thought about it often.
“Kat’s too young for it right now, but if somethin’ happens, I need to know you’ll both be okay. Even Ellie can’t be here all the time. Tommy neither.”
“I took care of her in the woods,” you reminded him.
“And you did a great job, sweetheart, but you told me yourself that you didn’t come across a single infected.”
Sweetheart. You bit your lip, ignoring the heat that swirled around your abdomen.
“No, we didn’t,” you remembered.
“And what if you had?” He pressed. “And I don’t mean a horde — what if you’d come across one runner?”
You looked away. You knew what would’ve happened. You would’ve made it as painless for her as possible. You had nightmares about it.
“What if I can’t?” Your voice was small as you looked down at your joined hands.
“Then that’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll teach you a bow or ball bat or somethin’. But I think you can. You’re stronger than you realize.”
“And,” he added, “I’ll be right there the whole time.”
You balled your fists. This wasn’t something that was just going to go away on its own. You needed to meet it head-on; Joel was right, if the worst were to happen to Jackson, you had to have a way to protect Kat.
And as capable as she was, you couldn’t rely on Ellie to save you both.
You could refuse and you knew that. Choice was something that was extremely important to Joel.
As badly as Joel wanted you to learn to defend yourself with a gun, he’d respect your choice if you said no. He’d said it and you knew he’d follow through on teaching you how to do something else. But you knew as well as he did that letting an infected get close enough to use those weapons was… well, it wasn’t worth it.
“You’ll be the one teaching me?”
His jaw flexed. “Yes. We’ll take it at your pace. Don’t matter what that looks like.”
“What if I fall apart?” Your voice was small.
“I’ll be there,” he promised. “I got you. ‘N I don’t mind puttin’ you back together if it means you walk away bein’ able to protect yourself.”
“I … “ you sighed, looking toward the door frame. You could do anything if it meant protecting Kat. And if Joel was there…
Yeah. You could do it.
“Alright, Joel.”
Friday, October 22nd, 2037
Joel was still slated to train, so he had cancelled your shift with livestock the next day. It was a testament to how important he was in Jackson that he could just say, “hey, she ain’t workin’ livestock today, she’s with me” and absolutely no one questioned it.
The two of you had helped Kat get ready for school and sent her off holding Ellie’s hand.
“Won’t there be other people training at the range?” You asked, picking at the sleeves of your hoodie.
He nodded, walking next to you. “Prob’ly a couple. I wouldn’t say many though.”
You swallowed. Shooting and weapons training was a very natural thing in Jackson — most of the citizens openly carried pistols or handguns and had knives on their belts. In fact, it was weirder for someone (you) to not have weapons than for someone to carry.
In fact, one of the very first things Joel had taught Kat upon arrival in Jackson was that a gun was a very dangerous weapon but she would see lots of people carrying them for protection only and what she should do if she saw one lying around.
Regardless of how common they were in town, that didn’t mean you wanted an audience whenever you shot a weapon for the first time. You didn’t want to look stupid. You hadn’t given the residents of Jackson much information about yourself, but you could only imagine how someone like Amanda would delight in telling everyone she knew that you couldn’t handle yourself with a gun.
He reached for the door, then his hand flexed into a fist and he pulled it back. He took a deep breath and looked down at the ground.
“I’m sorry if I… pressured you to this,” he spoke haltingly and you could see he weighed every word before he said it. “I’m not tryin’ to make you do somethin’ you don’t want. We can go back home and wait ‘till you’re ready.”
As bad as you wanted the out, you stood tall, bracing your shoulders. “No, no. I — I want to learn.”
He raised his head a fraction of an inch and shuffled his boots, uncomfortable still. “You sure?”
You nodded, wringing your hands together. The wind whipped at you both, blowing your hair into your face. You reached up to push it back behind your ear.
“Joel — you’re not wrong. If, if something happens here then… I can’t put that on Ellie — she’s only 16! I only have myself. Kat only has me.”
“Hey,” he frowned, brows drawing together as he reached out for your arm. “That’s not true.”
You grimaced, “That’s not — I didn’t mean…”
You took a breath to stead yourself. “What I mean is, you and Ellie both patrol. I don’t. If something happened, you could both be gone and it would just be me and Kat.”
His brows relaxed a little at that, but his hand remained on your arm. “Ah, I see… you sure you wanna do this?”
You nodded.
The range wasn’t far from the stables and you could hear a couple discharges of weapons being fired. It was smart to have the horses so close to the firing, Joel explained it desensitized them faster.
The range was a large warehouse, not unlike the one you’d gone to for clothes. There were a few stalls and counters, then at the far end was a few targets.
Joel held the door open, his wide hand resting against the small of your back as the two of you moved inside. He guided you to one of the empty stalls and bid you to wait while he grabbed a few things.
He came back with two headphones for ear protection, a box of ammo, and a Remington 9mm.
“Ever held one before?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Only like, a hunting rifle. As a teenager.”
He nodded, running his fingers idly along the grip. “And?”
You put a hand to your hip. “I hated it.”
His lips twitched, but he raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly a promising start here,” he pointed out.
“Didn’t say I wanted to like it,” you clarified. “Only wanna be good at it.”
“Well, if you ever wanna be mediocre at it, ask Tommy to teach you.” He grinned down at you.
“Funny, he said the same thing about you,” you shot back. You looked up at him out of the corner of your eye.
“Alright, smart ass.” He held the gun in his hand, palm on the grip.
“First thing when you handle any gun is to check if it’s loaded.” He pushed back on the top portion of the gun. “Pull back the rack.” He did it and a bullet flew out of the gun, startling you.
“Easy now, momma,” his voice was calm, but you saw the smile there and gave him a hesitant smile back.
He turned it in his hand and pointed to a switch. “Safety on. Keeps it from pullin’ the trigger. Always put the safety on,” he flicked it on and off to show you, “until you’re ready to kill somethin’.”
You nodded, following along.
He pointed to the button on the side that wasn’t the safety. “Magazine release.” He pressed it and the magazine fell out into his hand. He took it in the other hand and showed it to you. “See the rounds in there? I’ll show you how to load’em another time. Press the magazine in that chamber until it clicks,” and he did, showing you how loud the click was.
“Pull back on the rack to load the round, safety off, ready to shoot.”
You nodded slowly, mouth dry because this was really happening.
He handed it to you, grip first. “Show me.”
So you did. You flicked back the slide and Joel caught the round in his hand before it hit the ground, making you laugh out loud. Then you double checked that the safety was on, pressed the magazine release to check the rounds, slid it back in until it clicked, and pulled back the rack to load it.
“Safety on and off,” your voice was quiet.
He nodded. “Good job.”
Then he pointed to where you held the gun down at your side. “And you pointed the gun at the ground when you were done. That’s good. Never point it at anythin’ you don’t wanna kill.”
He held out a hand to the counter for you to stand and aim. “Don’t shoot jus’ yet, but lemme see your stance, alright? I’ll tell you when to take the safety off.”
You nodded, putting your feet and shoulders square to the target at the far end and holding up the gun with both hands. It was heavy in your hand, heavy with the weight of the rounds that could kill.
The knowledge that in a person’s hands, this weapon was power.
The sounds of weapons firing around you had stopped, you only heard the ringing in your ears. The target at the end of the range went in and out of focus, and your field of vision darkened at the edges, leaving only the extension of your arms and the gun that shook in your hands.
Joel’s hands were light on your arms when he noticed you were trembling. You let him guide them down to your sides and he took the gun slowly, delicately from you, checking that the safety was still on before he set it on the counter top.
The sounds of the firing range came back sharply as Joel’s voice whispered your name in your ear. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved so close, or that his hands were on your shoulders, and you jumped out of your skin.
He stood stock still, raising hands where you could see them. His mouth was moving, but you couldn’t hear him.
Shut the fuck up — a man’s voice was screaming, his hands ripping at you, tearing.
Let me make sure she’s not listen—
Do you think I give a fuck what that brat hears? Maybe if she hears you, she’ll know what can happen…
The voice faded, just like it had in life. Only the impact of the gun stock could be heard.
Joel’s warm touch on one of your shaking hands brought you to the present. Seeing and hearing what was actually going on around you in the moment — even as warped as it was — instead of what your brain told you to see and hear from the past.
His hands held to yours, pressing it to his chest. His touch was firm, but loose enough that even your adrenaline-fueled-brain realized that you could escape if you wanted. His lips were still moving and you could hear the timbre and husky tone of his voice, but you couldn’t make out the words.
He must have realized that, because one of the hands covering yours moved, tapping on his chest, on his hand, focusing your eyes there. You watched as your combined hands moved up and down with his deep breaths. After a few seconds (or hours?) you realized that you were supposed to mimic his breaths.
It took several deep breaths in time with the movement of your hand on his chest before you could actually process what he was saying.
When you finally felt like the world wasn’t caving in on you, your eyes darted up to his face.
“Hey,” he soothed, his shoulders sagged just a fraction of an inch in relief. “There she is.”
You couldn’t do anything except breathe. The world limited to the press of his hands on yours, the feel of the warm flannel beneath your fingers, the closeness of his body to yours.
“Breathe, honey,” he ordered you, kindly and calmly. His voice was slow. “Jus’ breathe with me. That’s all we gotta do right now, I promise. I’ve got you, you’re safe. Just breathe.”
He kept repeating it and your brain cleared enough to notice that his accent was deeper, slower, more melodic.
It was nice, it washed over you, sinking into your bones as you timed your breaths with his.
You breathed until all that was left was the sound of Joel’s voice and the regular sounds of the range.
“Look at me,” his voice was just as steady, just as smooth, and his eyes never left yours. You were sure that the people walking by would have something to say about Joel Miller holding your hand to his chest and talking softly, but if it was something he was worried about, he gave no indication of it. His eyes never left yours.
“I’ve got you. But you are in control here. You control it,” he whispered, pointing to the gun. “Not the other way around.”
You swallowed.
“Can you repeat it back to me?” he asked, serious eyes bearing down into yours.
“I control it. Not the other way around,” you echoed, voice strengthening with each word.
His hand left yours on his chest, and you dropped yours too. He said nothing, merely backing away a step so you could reach out and grab the firearm when ready. He waited.
You stared at it for a moment. Your mind was flooded with images from years past — how staring down the other end of a gun could compel a person to do almost anything.
But that wasn’t this. This wasn’t about anything other than survival in a worst-case scenario.
Joel was right.
You had the power.
You were the one in control here.
You reached for the weapon, conscious of Joel telling you to go through and check it again. “Always check if it’s loaded if you set it down or get it from another person. Can’t be too careful.”
Once checked, you held it out again.
“Now stop squeezin’ the damn thing like it’s gonna run away,” he grumbled.
And that was a thing you appreciated about him. He grounded you, then as soon as you were okay, he never missed a beat.
You looked down the sight of the gun and nodded, relaxing your hands.
He took a few steps to either side of you, but you just looked at the target, waiting for his permission to start shooting. Your arms no longer trembled; you were getting stronger with each of the jobs you’d been assigned, but you had a handle on yourself now.
You could do this.
You were in control.
You might be waiting for Joel’s permission, but that was only because you allowed it. If you wanted to fire, he couldn’t stop you.
His steps were light for such a large man but you were so attuned to him that you focused in on that sound. You tuned out the rest of the range, so different from what had happened a few minutes ago — this was by choice. You wanted to hear Joel.
“Can I?” He requested, voice still soft.
You let out a breath and turned your head to see him at your side, hands pointing to your arms. “Yes,” your voice was breathless.
He stepped up behind you, hands firm but gentle as he pushed your hips, angling so one foot was slightly in front of the other in a split stance. At the press of his fingertips on your hips, your breath hitched. You steeled yourself not to squirm, for surely he’d notice, as close as he was.
Both of his hands ghosted up your sides and you were sure he’d be able to hear your heart hammering in your ribs. His hands adjusted your elbows, giving you a little more bend in your arm.
You could feel him lean in, his lips almost pressing against your ear. You leaned back toward him, just enough so that you could feel his breath there, but hopefully not enough that he noticed.
His voice was lower when he spoke, “Puttin’ ‘em both straight out will only make you tense. Want a little bend, but only a little.”
Once he had them where wanted them, he blew out a breath, and your knees almost buckled at the feel of it on your neck. “One last thing,” he murmured, almost to himself.
His hands glided down your arms to your hands, his chest pressed full against your back. You swallowed again, raising your chin in a false show of bravado. Even through the barrier of your clothes and his, your skin tingled at every cell that Joel Miller touched you.
His bare hands pressed against yours on the gun and you leaned back, grounded in the firm steadiness of him pressed against you. Your heart was hammering — how could he not feel it? He was going to ask you if you needed medical attention in a moment, you were sure.
“Ready?”
Was his voice truly that husky or were you truly losing your mind now? You trembled.
“Easy now, darlin’,” he drawled, his face leaning so that his mouth ghosted against your ear.
Yep, his voice was definitely lower than earlier.
Something curled deep in your stomach — something you’d not felt in a very long time.
Desire.
His hands guided yours to click off the safety, and he was mumbling something about aiming and looking at the target — you had no idea. Where you had voluntarily tuned out the sounds of the range earlier, the blood rushing in your ears now and you couldn’t have heard his instructions even if you’d wanted to.
You turned your head, desperate to meet the lips that were moving at your ear. Just a breath away — he hadn’t noticed —
Bang.
He had pressed your finger against the trigger, shooting the first shot together. You kept looking at him, chest heaving in a way that had nothing to do with the goddamn gun.
Slowly, he looked at you then, mouth open and eyes full of the same dark desire you knew was thrumming through you.
He licked his lips. You pressed back into his chest, eager to feel that solid weight of his body against yours, pressing against you even harder.
Someone fired a shot in the stall next to yours and you both startled, Joel taking his hands and body away from yours slowly.
Fuck.
Joel Miller had trained a lot of people how to fire a weapon. He’d stood behind people with a gun in their hands more times than he could count, both before and after the Cordyceps Outbreak. He knew how to correct a person’s stance, adjust their grip, move their elbows into place. It had never been an issue before.
So why in the hell was he suddenly so aware of how close he was standing to you?
And why had his hands lingered that way?
Before coming to the range, he thought he had a pretty decent handle on his own fucking body, but one press of his hands on your hips was all it took for him to realize he was most definitely not in charge.
And whatever being was in charge of his body wanted to keep touching you and pray it wasn’t noticeable.
So he’d trailed his fingertips up your sides on his way up to your elbows. He’d wrapped his arms around you, meaning to ground you, but instead he had opened up a whole can of worms he didn’t know what to do with.
What did it matter to him that your hair smelled like lavender soap? Why did his arms tighten when he felt the warmth through your sweatshirt?
And when his fingertips touched your hands… the warmth of them sent burning shockwaves through his body. You were standing between his arms. You were in his arms. And you leaned back against his chest.
His gaze found your neck and he yearned to put his lips there. What noises would you make? He could feel his jaw tight with tension as he made himself stop just shy of the shell of your ear.
Joel didn’t even know what he was saying, only that it raised goosebumps on the side of your neck.
He hadn’t seen where the goddamn round had gone, but thankfully it hadn’t embedded in anyone, which was good, given that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything except the way you reacted to him.
When you’d turned your head… all Joel had wanted was to kiss you, to press his lips to your soft mouth, to taste the way your moans felt on his tongue.
But his only thought was not here, not now, not ready.
Christ. Thankfully the person next to them had started shooting, breaking him out of it. He’d stepped back feeling like a fucking idiot ass teenager, thinking with his dick instead of his head.
She just had a goddamn flashback. Get a fuckin’ grip, Miller.
The only problem was, you already had one.
On him.
“Your turn,” he grunted, voice a little harsher than he would’ve liked. He took a step into the stall and waited until you turned your eyes on the target before adjusting himself in his jeans.
Miss.
“You flinched,” he observed. “Right as you pull the trigger.”
“I do not,” your voice was incredulous as you narrowed your eyes at him. You were sweating along your brow and he watched as you wiped your palms on your hoodie.
“You did.”
You rolled your eyes. “I did not.”
“Darlin’, I was standing’ right here. I saw it.”
Darlin’ this time. Not honey, thank Christ. What the fuck had he been thinking, calling you that? Too familiar. Way too familiar.
Joel was already balancing precariously when it came to you. You were healing, of that much he was certain, but that didn’t mean you were ready for anything more familiar. In fact, if he did something idiotic like calling you honey and you weren’t ready for it —
He’d set you back. All the way back. Make you feel like you had no choice but to take the unwanted contact.
Something like that could take you back — send you back to that place you were in just a few minutes ago. Joel knew what a PTSD flashback looked like — knew what they felt like too — and he was just glad that he’d insisted on being the one to teach you how to shoot.
He’d thought something like that might happen during your first shooting session. And he was very glad that it had been him with you instead of Tommy. His brother had been in the Army and he’d had those same exact flashbacks himself every so often, and he’d given Joel a lot of good tips about how to handle him whenever he was in that state. Joel had learned several on his own, but Tommy had been the one to start those conversations with him.
He’d never say it, but he had never been more grateful for that open dialogue with his brother than when he had your hand on his chest, breathing with him.
Arrogant it might be, but Joel thought he did a pretty damn good job at handling you.
So no. He absolutely would not be doing anything like that again. He’d keep his hands to his fuckin’ self. If you wanted him to take a further step, he’d make sure you said something before he assumed.
You huffed, already turning back toward the target. “So how do I fix it?”
“Gotta relax,” he told you, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling in hopes of taking his own fucking advice. His dick was still hard as a rock and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Take a breath, exhale all the way out, pull the trigger.”
Your head bobbed, but you weren’t looking at him, too focused on the target.
Joel was glad. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to handle himself during this session if he had to put hands on you again. He bit his lip, suppressing an audible groan as you lined up the sights, body settling into the adjustments he’d given you.
He saw your chest rise with your inhale and fall with the exhale, all the way out, then —
It hit the target.
Barely. At the very edge of the paper, but it was a hit.
You turned, keeping the gun pointed at the ground like he’d told you, your other one touching your mouth. You let out a quiet squeal, sounding exactly like Kat.
He steeled his features, trying to look like a professional, but you’d already seen his smile.
“Was that a smile, Joel Miller?”
He dropped it immediately, lips pressing in a tight line. “Nope. Don’t smile at the gun range. Bad luck.”
You rolled your eyes, that playful glint back in them and Joel swore you rolled your hips as you turned back toward the targets. “That was definitely a smile.”
“You gonna keep talkin’ or you gonna shoot?”
“You smiled. Resident Bad Ass Joel Miller just smiled at me.”
He groaned. “Just shoot the damn gun.”
You lined up the next shot and he watched the progression again. Your shoulders were looser this time as you exhaled and pulled the trigger, and with each shot you took that hit some part of the target, he watched the confidence grow.
Along with the pull from his chest.
You huffed and set your shoulders. He heard the click of the safety a second before you whirled around, handing him the gun hilt first. “It’s empty.”
“Didn’t hear the click of the empty magazine,” he admitted, taking it from you.
“Wasn’t one,” you crossed your arms over your chest, and Joel could see a hint of smugness.
“You counted how many shots it had?”
You raised your chin. “Didn’t you tell me to always know how many shots were in it?”
He exhaled, a little from shock, a little from pride. He had said that. You’d been trembling so badly with nerves that he hadn’t realized you’d retained it.
He took the empty magazine and opened the box of ammo with one hand. He held them both up so you could see his hands as he worked. He didn’t explain — he’d teach that skill to you specifically on another day when you weren’t dead on your feet from a flashback and reeling from facing one of your fears for the first time. Once finished, he handed you the magazine and the gun to load.
A brush of the fingers sent electricity jolting from his fingertips to his shoulders and down his spine, and he shivered, the touch lingering just a second longer than it should have. Luckily you had pushed the magazine in and pulled back the rack, so you hadn’t noticed.
Just like he thought — you didn’t notice his touch. You were healing, focused on yourself and your progress — just like you should be. Just like he wanted you to be.
He stepped toward the back of the stall as you settled yourself for another round.
He fisted his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to you. You were still so goddamn close and all he wanted was to bask in it, to pull you into his arms and against his chest, to whisper how proud he was of you and hold you as you took back this piece of yourself.
Because he knew, deep down, that’s what this was.
It was all the confidence and power that you hadn’t been allowed in the last twenty years or… ever, he supposed. You’d been in college during the outbreak, an adult with training wheels, probably not making very many of your own decisions.
Jackson was your opportunity to take control of your life, even if you didn’t know it.
So Joel kept his hands firmly in his pockets and tamped down on his desire to hold your hand through it. Because you needed to do this for yourself. You needed to know that if it came down to it, you could do it. And you could do anything you wanted.
When the magazine was empty again, Joel tilted and looked at the target. This time, each shot had hit the paper. None of them were in the same area of the target, but they’d all hit within the outline of the torso drawn on the paper.
Again, that warmth of pride and shock. More pride.
When you’d loaded it again, you looked up at him through your lashes. You had the faint blush of exhilaration and a grin filled with pride.
“Looks good,” he commented, nodding his head.
That smile grew and there was a light in your eyes that he hadn’t seen yet.
It floored him. He held his fists tighter in his pockets. God, you were beautiful. He’d had the brief, fleeting thought that day in the woods, that even with a face covered in bruises, underweight and scared, you were beautiful. The thought had been fleeting only because he was so worried about you, but it had returned in full earnest the next day in the grocer when he saw you laughing at your daughter.
And a month later, once you’d put on a little weight, with the bruises under your eyes a little faded because you were getting more sleep — coupled with your eyes lit up and that blush across your features?
Beautiful wasn’t even the right word. He wasn’t sure he had a word for how you looked. Beautiful and gorgeous seemed a little arbitrary. Surely there was a better word — he’d have to see if he could find an old thesaurus and find one himself.
Regardless of what the word was — Joel liked that blush across your face and the way your eyes were bright and shining. He liked that look more than he had any business to. He liked it even more that he was part of the reason for it.
“You know,” you teased, pressing a finger to his chest, “you could just admit that you’re a little impressed. I won’t tell anyone.”
Joel wanted nothing more than to put his hand over yours and cradle it to his chest, to feel that smug ass smirk on his lips. But he just pressed his lips together and grunted; the grumpy old man.
“Don’t push it, darlin’.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the target, a hand on your hip as you made it way more sensual than it had any right to be.
Get a grip, Miller, he thought.
“Deeeeeeeefinitely needed that,” Ellie sighed, protruding her belly out and rubbing it. “Gonna have to carry me home,” she drolled out, acting like she was going to fall on top of Kat.
“No!” Kat squealed out, giggling as she ran away from Ellie and under Joel’s arm.
“Joellllll!” She yelled, still laughing.
“Can’t help ya there, squirt,” his hand mussed her hair — which was already messy from a full day of school, but besides the point.
“Seriously though,” Ellie hummed. “Perfect night for stew.”
“It’s the end of October in Wyoming,” you stressed, gesturing to the snow around them. “Every night is the perfect night for stew.”
The afternoon at the range had been emotionally healing for you. You hadn’t said anything, but Joel could tell. All afternoon and evening, you had been carrying yourself with more confidence, that smug and proud smile seemed permanently stamped on your face. He liked it.
He hadn’t said anything about it, trying not to push. And he definitely hadn’t said anything about that moment he’d been close to you, about the way he’d reacted… and the way you’d reacted too. He was going to ignore it and that was that.
Even though he’d spent the entire afternoon at half-mast because he couldn’t stop replaying it.
“And I, for one, am so glad it’s Friday,” Ellie sighed, walking normally and holding Kat’s hand.
“So you can help me work on your Halloween costume?” You asked, raising your eyebrows with a big, sarcastic smile painted on your face.
“Well,” she paused, cringing, “no, actually.”
“Go a lot faster if you helped on it,” Joel teased, but there was a little bit of reprimand there as well.
“I’m excited,” Ellie recovered, narrowing her eyes at the both of you, “because I don’t have to go to school this weekend.”
“I don’t know why you complain about school,” Kat scolded. “It’s so much fun, Ellie.”
“No, it really isn’t.”
“Yeah huh,” Kat argued. “You get recess and snack time and there’s lotsa toys and sometimes we even watch movies.”
“Yeah, well, big kid school doesn’t have any of that fun stuff,” Ellie grumbled. “Not even movies.”
“Well, what do you do all day?”
“Take notes, read, go over our lessons,” Ellie scoffed.
Kat’s eyes were wide. She’d only been in kindergarten for a couple weeks and while she’d gone in knowing how to write her own name, she was still learning all of the sounds the letters made. But she was fascinated with reading — it didn’t matter what a person was reading, Kat wanted it read aloud to her.
Joel didn’t mind. Lonesome Dove was a little mature for her (and probably Ellie too, he reflected), so you and Joel only read that together after bedtime, while Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys took over your time after supper. Luckily, the library in Jackson had several of each series — more than enough to keep occupied for a couple months until Kat could start reading herself.
It was his favorite time of the day.
On weeknights, whether they ate dinner together in the mess or in the house, the four of you would retire to the living room and either you or Joel would pull out the latest mystery. It was usually one chapter a night (okay, two, since all three of the girls had perfected the puppy dog eyes) and the three proficient readers of the house would trade off evenings.
Kat always sat next to whoever was reading, cuddled close into their side. She would watch the page, as if she could decipher the magic of reading just by watching and imitating.
Plus, she liked turning the pages.
Since it was Friday, he knew Ellie would be sprinting off to hang out with her friends. They usually showed movies on Fridays in the mess after dinner, so there wouldn’t be a chapter tonight. They’d made the mistake of reading one night without her and she hadn’t spoken to any of them for days.
Joel picked at the collar of his t-shirt as Rancher Street came into view. The anxiety of the talk he knew he needed to have with the three of you had been prickling at the back of his mind all day, and he’d managed to push it off.
And, if he were honest, he’d actually planned on telling you yesterday afternoon. If you’d adamantly refused to go to the range, he was going to tell you as a way to prepare you, to show you how important it was that you were able to protect yourself without him or Ellie.
Your shooting skills hadn’t been the only thing Tommy had wanted to talk to him about.
We need you to sweep the ski lodge, Joel.
Tommy, that’s a three day round-trip. I haven’t been gone more’n 12 hours since —
Since you and Kat had arrived, he’d thought, but he hadn’t said it.
I know it, his brother had said, knowing him and his mind almost as well as he did himself. But they’ve adjusted. It’s time. We’ve been swappin’ around all of the shifts because of y’all, but now it’s time.
He’d grit his teeth and wanted to fight Tommy on it, but that wasn’t fair and he knew it.
There are three longer patrol routes and most of them took the better part of a day in travel, a day to actually check things, and a day to come back. The normal rotation was set up so that each pair only had one longer route a month.
He’d only be gone three days.
If nothing goes wrong.
Three days was a long time. A lot could change.
Ellie burst into the house first, as she always did, with Kat hot on her heels. You followed, holding the door open for Joel as he set his boot on the first step of the porch.
He held that image in his mind, you holding the door open and smiling at him while your daughter and his ran giggling and screaming through a warm, safe house.
That would be the image he kept with him for the next three days.
Once he was through the door and shrugging off boots and jacket, he grasped your wrist before you could head upstairs.
“I need to talk to y’all,” his voice was gruff, and he looked down at your hand so you wouldn’t see anything in his eyes.
“Y’all?” You repeated.
“Yeah. Both girls, too.”
You frowned, brow furrowing with concern, but you pulled away from his touch and walked down the hall to the banister. “Ellie, Kat! Come down here a minute,” you called. “Living room okay, Joel?”
He nodded and walked in with you, taking a seat on the edge of the recliner.
The two girls were still giggling when they came in, but at Joel’s somber face, they quieted instantly and came in to sit next to you on the couch.
“Gotta tell y’all somethin’,” he started, cringing when Kat’s eyes went wide. “It ain’t a big deal, Kit-Kat.”
“What is it then?” She asked, pouty lips budged out.
Joel let his chest fill for a moment. “Gonna be gone a few days.”
He saw Ellie shrug out of his peripheral, but he hadn’t been whose reaction he wanted to see — she was used to this. She’d known that the longer patrol was coming.
The mask you’d schooled over your own features gave nothing away.
But Kat…
Her eyes filled with tears. “But — Joel, this is your home. Where will you stay?”
“Oh, Kat,” he soothed, reaching out his hands for her. She bolted off the couch and into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder. “It’s not like that, kiddo,” he whispered.
“It’s just a patrol,” Ellie told her.
“Those are only for a day at a time though?” You questioned.
“Normally, yeah. But there’s a couple’a routes that are longer and don’t get swept as often,” Ellie explained. “Not that kids are allowed to go,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“Good,” you and Joel said together. He didn’t miss the blush on your cheeks or the heat crawling up his own neck.
He pulled back from Kat. “I only gotta go on the long one once a month,” he assured her.
“But how long will you be gone, Joel?”
“Only three days. Then I’ll be back.”
She sniffed a little. “Will you find more people like me and Momma?”
He shrugged a shoulder, moving her so she sat on his leg instead. “If there’s anybody out there, yeah.”
Kat just nodded, snuggling deeper against his chest. It reminded him of Sarah — her memory began to clutch at his heart, stealing the breath from his lungs with the jagged edges of its pain. Sarah had cuddled against him just like this whenever she was scared. Didn’t matter if it was a storm, a monster under her bed, a movie, anything — she cuddled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her safe from the world.
So he just sat there and decided he would hold Kat until she moved first. He’d be there for as long as Kat needed him.
It made the pain at Sarah’s memory feel closer, softer somehow.
He looked up at you then, and in his unexpected look, he saw you biting your lip and the anxiety in your eyes.
He waited then, Joel was good at waiting, and he waited now to see what you did with that anxiety you felt. Whether you brought it to him in front of the girls or you waited to bring it to him later, Joel would wait. And then he would hold you the same way he was holding Kat — literally or figuratively.
His eyes still on you, you sighed then, giving him and Kat a weary smile. “Well, we’ll need to pack him some yummy food, won’t we, Kat?”
She sniffled and brought her head off his chest. “Can we make some more cookies he likes, Momma?”
At your nod, Kat wiped her face on the back of her sleeve and sat up straight. He loosened his arms, guessing that his time as comforter was ending now that there was a job to do.
Kat looked over at Ellie, slumped against the couch cushion. “Ellie, you wanna help me and Momma make some cookies?”
Ellie looked back and forth, tilting her head. “Yes, but only if I get to lick the spoon.”
She gave Kat a devilish grin and bounded up off the couch, racing into the kitchen with Kat’s footfalls close behind, both of them screaming and squealing about what kind was Joel’s favorite and who was actually going to lick the spoon.
“Might not have any cookies make it to the oven with those two chefs,” he grumbled, crossing his arms on his chest.
“Well,” you smirked, “you might get one anyway. Don’t worry, if they eat most of the dough, I’ll go in there and whip up some more. I’ll make you some sweet tea to take in a thermos too.”
The silence settled heavily between you then, and Joel noticed you were biting your lip again, your fingers messing with a stray string from your hoodie.
You vaulted up from the couch, walking over behind the recliner to where Joel kept the record player. It had once lived in the dining room, but one evening while reading, you mentioned you missed music to listen to while you read, and he’d moved it in here the next day.
It had come with the house, but he’d collected some of his and Ellie’s favorites too. He wasn’t sure he could stomach a record with The Wiggles on it for Kat, but he’d found a few instrumentals and jazz records that you liked on when you read.
“Who’s your partner?” you asked as you thumbed through the collection, Joel could tell you were trying very hard to be casual about it all.
“Think it’s Eugene this time,” he answered.
“Not Tommy?” Shoulders hiked up around your ears, you bobbed your head as you pulled one out.
“No, I was only with Tommy that day because someone was sick,” he answered, rising from his spot and walking over toward you.
“That makes sense,” you mumbled, taking out the record and fitting it. He was quiet as you dropped the needle and adjusted the volume.
“It’ll be fine,” he assured you, reaching out for your elbow as the first notes start to fill the air.
“I know that,” you whispered, looking up through your lashes again. “I know how to shoot a gun now, ya know.”
“You had a good teacher,” he could feel the hint of a smile ghosting his lips. “Part of why I brought it up to you.”
Your eyes and smile fell then. You pressed your palm to his chest and Joel let you. His hands moved slowly up from your elbows to your shoulders, slow enough that he hoped you knew it was a choice, that you could back away if you wanted. When you leaned in and put your forehead next to your palm on his chest, Joel exhaled and wrapped his arms around you, much the same way he had Kat.
“It’s gonna be okay, darlin’,” he murmured, his cheek pressed against your temple. He inhaled, memorizing the lavender scent of you, the warmth of you even through your hoodie and his own sleeves, and the way your fingertips tightened on the thin material of his shirt, just above his heart.
He’d said he was going to keep his distance so he didn’t end up pushing you — he’d meant it too. But if you came to him asking for that comfort, then he didn’t mean to deny you.
When you raised your head, he saw your brows drawn tight together. You blinked a couple times and swallowed. “I know that.”
He just nodded. “It’s only three days.”
Your lips pressed tight tighter, but you nodded. You weren’t panicking, not like you had earlier in the day, you were just… scared.
“What are we listenin’ to tonight?”
“That radio one that I like,” you answered, brows still furrowed.
Playing your favorite record struck at Joel’s throat. You hadn’t played it in a while — hadn’t needed to, but he’d heard it often in the first few days you’d come to Jackson. He’d learned to associate it with your hard days when you’d been working at the clinic.
He could tell you were trying to let go of the thoughts, to comfort yourself in the music you liked. It was something he’d never heard of before, a collection of ambience sounds mixed with actual 40s and 50s radio programs, complete with the radio DJ commentary.
“Wish we had ‘bout six more of’em,” he commented.
“Me too,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I didn’t even know this was a thing I liked until Jackson.”
Until Jackson. He had started thinking of things that way once he’d moved here too: before Jackson and after Jackson. Two distinct eras, like time separated by the birth of Christ.
But that thinking had shifted in just the last month.
Before you came to Jackson.
After you came to Jackson.
You probably thought of time in those two eras because it marked a shift in your life — a shift of safety and peace, much like he had felt when he and Ellie had come here. But he longed to know if you thought that way because of meeting him too.
Humming along to the music, your arms still wrapped around yourself, Joel noticed you begin to sway back and forth. It was soft and delicate, profound only to him.
A reckless thought struck him then, something he absolutely should not want or be thinking, but he did.
He leaned away, holding up a finger as your eyes found his and you frowned. The hallway was close enough to the kitchen that he could hear Ellie read out a part of the recipe that Joel knew was near the top; good, he still had time.
He grinned, feeling like a teenage boy as he came back to you.
“Girls’re fine,” he told you, reaching with a little uncertainty to taking you back into his arms. You let him, giving him a curious smile as approval or acceptance.
“You ever dance when you were in college?”
You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “Only when I was about six shots deep and forgot that I couldn’t shake my ass very well.”
He chuckled, “No, not like that.” He gestured to the record player, “I mean somethin’ like for this.”
Soft, pink lips formed a solid ‘o’ as you shook your head. You swallowed and regained yourself, “College frat boys don’t exactly wanna take girls on dates, Joel, much less out dancing.”
“No,” he allowed. He put his left hand on your waist and reached down with his right hand to take yours. “But men do.”
Fingers tightened on his, but your other hand found his shoulder. He pulled you in by your waist, spurred on by the girlish giggle and flush of your cheeks until the two of you were cheek to cheek.
She wants this, he thought to himself. It spurred him on, warmth and excitement rushing his chest, and he memorized the feeling of it all, wishing he could bottle up this feeling so he could relive it while he was out in the cold on the back of his horse.
“Dance with me, honey,” he breathed into your ear.
Reckless.
The tension fell from your shoulders in one breath and he felt your spine soften beneath his wide hand. He led you with quiet, shuffling feet in a slow circle at the back of the living room.
One song faded into another as he held you and Joel felt his throat go dry. It wasn’t lost on him that he was practically holding you for the second time today, when the last time had been the day you’d climbed behind him on his horse and headed for Jackson.
The heat he felt, the hollowness of his stomach, that was from just being around a woman, right? He hadn’t been this close to a woman since Tess. And you were so beautiful. That had to be it.
Every man naturally wanted the closeness of a beautiful woman. It was only natural.
Besides, you didn’t see Joel that way, he knew. He was too old, too used up by this world, he’d chosen to do too many horrible things to survive. You liked being around him because he’d offered you safety, a chance to take your time and heal. You were healing. You didn’t have time to focus on anything like the desire flooding him.
“You’re good at this,” you hummed, pulling back from his cheek to look at him.
Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, the movement mesmerizing and stealing any remarks he had.
“Uh,” he stuttered out, blinking and shaking his head to clear all thoughts of your tongue.
“You take a lot of women dancing?”
He swallowed. “Not really.”
Apparently satisfied with that answer, you melted back into his chest, and he pressed his cheek back against yours. His heart raced and he hoped you couldn’t hear it hammering against his ribs.
He could faintly hear the girls laughing in the kitchen.
“They’re good for each other,” he observed. “Think Kat’s made Ellie more responsible, maybe a little more mature.”
“Kat thinks she hung the moon.”
You sighed again, but it wasn’t a sad sound, Joel thought.
“You too,” you added, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
You leaned back to look at him again. “She… well, she’s pretty enamored with you, Joel,” you admitted.
He felt heat on the back of his neck again and resisted the urge to scratch there. He looked away from your gaze, embarrassed by how much the comment meant to him, embarrassed by how much Kat meant to him.
And you.
“Well, I —” he stuttered again, eyes flicking up to yours. He had no idea why his tongue wasn’t working work a shit, but he might as well cut the damn thing out for as much good as it was doing him.
“She’s a special kid,” he settled on.
“Yeah,” you agreed, a soft smile painting your lips as you sank back to his embrace.
Soak it up, he told himself. He’d be three long days without you, if everything went well. This was the memory he wanted to pull out — this was what he would use to keep him warm in his sleeping bag, knowing you were in bed in his home, warm and safe and waiting for him.
He wasn’t sure why the thought of you waiting for him had settled so heavily in his chest. The weight was heavy, but it wasn’t an unpleasant weight. In fact, he found he liked it. It felt like a heavy blanket, enveloping and comforting.
“I’m sorry I sprung that on you,” he breathed against your ear. He couldn’t help himself, he leaned in just another fraction of an inch. You were still close, you were still leaning in to him, you still wanted this. “I should’ve told you privately before we told the girls.”
“It’s fine,” you told him. “Being in front of the girls made me keep my shit together.”
“It’s still hard though,” he admitted.
Your hand squeezed his. “And you do this every month?”
“Thereabouts.”
You sighed, and Joel thought that this one was a sad one.
“It’ll be weird without you here.”
He nodded, his beard rasping against your soft cheek. “It’ll be weird to be away.”
“Is the ski lodge safe?”
He shrugged, relishing the way the motion pulled you just that much closer. “Safe as any other long patrol, I guess.” He nuzzled against your ear, “I’ll be fine, honey. I promise.”
“I know,” you confessed. “I just —”
You blew out your cheeks, but Joel waited.
“Just hate for you to be out there. There’s snow on the ground, won’t you be cold?”
Fuck yeah, I’ll be cold, he thought to himself. He didn’t say that, the recklessness was upon him, and as long as you were reacting well, like this, Joel thought he might push his luck.
“I’ll have memories like this to keep me warm.”
You nuzzled back into him. “I’ll — we’ll miss you.”
A tinny crash of pans came from the kitchen with a chorus of “everything’s fine!” from both girls.
You leaned your forehead to Joel’s chest and sighed heavily. “They’re destroying the kitchen.”
He closed his eyes, sighing too. He wanted so badly to tell you he’d miss you too, but the moment was gone.
“Well, you knew they would from the moment you suggested it.”
You nodded against his chest and broke apart from him, giving him a wary parents-of-multiple-children smile. “Let’s go see what we can salvage, huh?”
The ache and hollow feeling of you walking away from him was a much different weight on his chest, but he made himself smile anyway, gesturing for you to lead the way.
tag list: @pedrofan, @nothinglefttogive, @goonersquad101, @ren08642, @needz1nk, @catarsis75
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Pairing: Joel x Ex!Reader
Summary: I don't know if we do fics inspired by songs anymore but this one is inspired by Drinking Water at Your Wedding. It's made me cry, a LOT. Joel and the Reader broke up a year ago and she has moved on and invited Joel and Tommy to her wedding. When Joel arrives, he makes it through the ceremony but notices that she's not drinking champagne...
Warnings: Infidelity, Smut (lots of smut. all the smut). Overpriced weddings. Shotgun weddings.
Word Count: 7500
Notes: I'm not real sure about the ending of this one. kept feeling like something was off about it but not sure how to land the plane. let me know what you think!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist here. Ao3 here.
“Sure ‘bout this?” Tommy’s voice cuts through the radio.
Joel sighs, but he nods anyway. “Don’t got much choice, do I?”
Tommy’s grimace is his answer. But he’s loyal, Joel gives him that. “You can jus’ go home. I’ll tell Mrs. Anderson you’ve got hand, foot, and mouth or somethin’.”
“She’ll know it for a lie,” Joel says, leaning his elbow on the center console so his hand can support his face. “We saw her at the gas station yesterday.”
“These things tend to develop quickly in 24 hours,” Tommy tries, and Joel loves him for that, but it doesn’t matter.
“Naw, I gotta go, it’ll be weirder if I don’t. We’ll sit near the back, get some cake, then head out.”
Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Heard it’s an open bar…”
“Good,” Joel grunts. “I’m gonna need it.”
His little brother swallows and Joel keeps his eyes on the road.
The little chapel is idyllic. One of those one-room, whitewashed deals built in the 1800’s. He’s not sure it’s even large enough for all of the people milling about in the shaded clearing, but it’s just him and Tommy — they’ll stand if there’s no seating.
Mr. Anderson shakes his hand firmly, as if he knows exactly why Joel had to come and he respects him for it. Joel doesn’t want his respect, but he forces the smile that’s expected and finds somewhere to sit.
Then he and Tommy up standing once the older ladies start filing in and it’s made clear that there wouldn’t be enough room on the benches.
The music starts, and Tommy leans in to whisper, “you alright?”
He’s not, and Tommy knows that, but he just nods anyway.
It goes by in a blur of music and the scent of roses.
Fuckin’ roses, he thinks, scoffing when he sees the obnoxious bouquets each bridesmaid holds.
Tommy raises his brow. Joel leans over to his brother’s ear. “She hates roses.”
He just nods, remembering. Of course he remembers. You were Tommy’s best friend too.
“Mr. Ole Miss must like’em fine,” Tommy ventures, trying to hide his smile.
The music changes and Joel feels his heart inching up into his throat. How many times had he imagined this exact moment, ’cept he was at the front of the church instead of hidin’ in the back.
He hates himself for a coward.
Everyone stands then, and Joel holds his breath. He wants to bolt, to flee somewhere that he doesn’t have to endure this torture. He wishes he’d brought Sarah so he’d have someone to hold on to, or a reason to escape if she cried or needed a diaper change.
What the hell did he ever do in a past life to earn this?
Tommy’s arm finds his shoulder and he’s so grateful for the silent touch that he has to swallow and blink hard to keep his eyes from filling up with tears.
And then you enter.
A hush falls over the crowd for a couple seconds, then it’s hushed whispers of oohs and aahs.
Joel can’t make a sound; his mouth is dry and he knows it’s hanging open, but he’s simply forgotten what to do with it.
Later, during the reception when Tommy asks, Joel won’t remember a single detail about the dress, other than it was white. The veil covers your face, but it’s short enough that he catches the string of pearls at your neck. He knows they’re your momma’s and her momma’s before.
Mr. Anderson leads you to the end of the aisle and everybody is seated, but Joel can see the way your shoulders shake, almost like you’re laughing. But when your father takes the veil off and places it over your hair, Joel doesn’t see the expression he expects.
You’re trying not to cry, but those aren’t the tears of a blushing bride. It’s not noticeable to the crowd at large, but Joel clocks it. He sees the way your mouth is pressed tightly together, the way you do when you’re trying to keep from crying over something you think is silly. The line between your brows, the white knuckle grip you have on your dad’s hands.
His shoulders tense, and Tommy looks at him with a bewildered expression.
“Later,” Joel whispers.
He made himself almost disappear during the ceremony. He didn’t want you to have any memories of him during this most important moment of your life. He didn’t want you to look back and see him instead of Mr. Ole Miss.
He was the first one out of the church when the preacher said everyone could file out to the reception area.
A shot glass makes a peculiar sound when it’s slammed down on a wooden bar, and by the second one, Joel decided he quite liked it.
The bartender asks if he wanted another, but he and Tommy both say no. He wouldn’t make a scene.
By the time of the first dance for the married couple, however, he was wishing he’d said yes.
He tried to fade into the background, but it wasn’t easy. Your sister, one of the bridesmaids, always had a thing for Tommy, so when she sits between him and his brother, Joel almost gets up just to avoid the conversation.
Her hand is soft on his forearm though. “It’s good that you came, Joel.”
He just presses his lips together and nods, wanting another drink.
As your new husband twirls you around, Joel sees that look again. The one that said you’d promised yourself you were not gonna cry and you were doing your best to keep your promise.
Your sister follows his look and Joel feels her fingers tighten on his bare forearm. When he looks at her, he wanted so bad to ask you see this right? but he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t.
And then your eyes meet his.
Right over the shoulder of your husband. He changes directions, but your eyes stay put, locked with Joel’s.
Is that— surprise there? You really thought he wouldn’t come?
He looks down then, unable to meet your gaze. A shot glass sits in front of him and he takes it, an understanding passing in Tommy’s gaze. make a scene, big brother. I got you if you do.
He smells it first, and it’s Jim Beam.
God damn it.
Eyes closed, he takes it back in one gulp, desperately willing it to take effect before the memory of you drinking straight from a bottle of Jim can infiltrate his mind.
Too late.
You always have hated shot glasses — you’d rather sip straight from the bottle and then chase straight from your can of coke.
He remembers a night on his tailgate, not many weeks after his divorce was finalized and Sarah’s mother had terminated her rights. He’d thought he would’ve been happy to be done with it all, but all Joel had felt was the crushing weight of failure.
You’d found him that night, you’d made Tommy drive you out to his favorite spot so you could drive him home. He’d held you in his arms, sobbing that he was going to ruin this little girl’s life, that he couldn’t do it alone.
And that had been the first night you kissed him. Because it was only with your lips pressed against his with the words “you’re not alone, Joel” that he began to believe it.
He makes it through the toasts and starts to think that maybe he can make it through this entire damn event without crying or making a scene.
The cute little piece of paper in Tommy’s hands says there’s only one left and he braces himself.
It’s your sister this time and Joel is glad. He likes her better than any of the groomsmen droning on about bachelor parties and shit. There were a couple of choice comments that seemed to be made at your expense, and when you blushed, your new husband just guffawed.
When he raises his bottle of beer (Tommy said no more hard liquor and honestly, that was a good choice), he meets your eyes, all the way up at the front of the room.
You raise your glass with your eyes on him, and when your sister finishes her toast (to unending love), you nod to him and tip your glass. Joel’s mouth is dry but he nods back, tipping his bottle too.
His eyes catch on your glass as you take a sip. He expects bubbles of champagne — which seems to be what everybody else here is drinking — but as he stares, he notices there’s no bubbles and the liquid is clear. You take a longer drink this time and he doesn’t see the telltale puckering of your lips for vodka or rum.
“It’s water,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else.
He knows his eyes are wide, his chest is tight, is breath is coming in short little gasps that attract even Tommy’s attention.
“What’s that, Joel?” He asks, concern etched in his face.
He shakes his head, still not looking at his brother. “I — I need a minute,” he grumbles, standing from the table on shaking legs.
It’s not just Tommy’s eyes that he feels on him as he walks between tables and couples and little children running around, but he doesn’t care. the reception area is outside the little chapel, with a small dance floor and a raised dais, surrounded by the covered tables like the one he just ran from.
But it’s just a clearing, and there’s acres of forest ahead that he can disappear to for just a moment. He walks into the treeline, far enough that no one will notice him collapsing against the trunk of one.
Everything clicks into place as he collapses. And Joel, as much as he doesn't want to, understands everything.
He sits there for a while, long enough that he can hear the cake cutting and the DJ opening up the dance floor to anyone who wants to dance. Long enough that he knows he needs to head back, but Joel can't get his feet to work. He can't move.
Two months ago
Joel sighs as he collapses on his couch. At only three, Sarah still had issues sleeping. Tonight in particular, not only had she had trouble going to sleep, but this was about the fourth time Joel had woken up to her screaming. This last go-round, he’d promised her that he would buy her a fuckin’ pony if she would just sleep through the rest of the night.
He doesn’t have to work tomorrow, thank God. He isn’t sure he was built to survive on less than four hours of sleep, but he also knows Sarah will be up at the ass-crack of dawn wanting him to play barbies or make up or something.
Head leaning back against the couch, Joel rubs at his face. He wants to sleep but he’s just too wound up from having to calm Sarah down for so long. He checks his phone, noting a couple messages from Tommy and one from… you.
“Christ.”
He opens the message, hands almost shaking.
hey.
It’s been so long. Probably close to a year since he’d spoken to you. He isn’t even sure what to reply. The timestamp reads only an hour previous, and at 2 AM on a Friday, he has no doubt that you’re still awake.
No, he stops himself.
He’d seen your momma last week at the grocery store and she’d handed him a wedding invitation for you and Mr. Ole Miss. Joel’s jaw had been tight as he accepted it and assured Mrs. Anderson that he and Tommy wouldn’t miss it for the world.
It’s a small town, he’d known you were proposed to the day it happened.
Doesn’t mean he wants to know.
The night his divorce went through, you’d pulled up and told him he wasn’t alone, and for the next six months you had proved it. It hadn’t taken that long for Joel to fall in love, but it took him six months to admit it to himself and say it out loud to you.
You’d only smiled, like you already knew, and said, “Better remember that, cowboy.”
It had been the best year of his life. You loved Sarah, you loved him, and the two of you were building the exact life that Joel had always wanted.
But a year ago, Joel made the biggest mistake of his life.
He’d let you go.
In hindsight, he knew that you had just wanted him to fight for you — to prove that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. But he hadn’t known that then. He thought standing aside was the right thing, to give you whatever it was that you said you wanted. And you’d said you wanted to leave.
So he’d let you.
And he’d spent a year regretting it every single day.
You’d met someone. Started dating. Got serious. Got engaged. Planning a wedding.
And Joel was still sitting on his couch at 2 AM, wishing he had another chance.
knock knock knock.
Joel’s instantly alert, on his feet before he can articulate the thought. He can hear someone at the front door, not aggressive, but rather like someone who wants to be heard but doesn’t want to wake the whole house.
Like someone who knows there’s a three year old who lives here and she doesn’t want to wake them up.
His breath catches as he walks to the door, hesitant because as long as he doesn't open the door, there’s always the possibility that it’s you on the other side.
But he can’t help it. He has to know. The text message and someone showing up at 2 AM can’t be a coincidence.
Through the peep hole, he sees you, and Joel’s knees start to buckle so quickly that he has to catch himself on the door handle.
He sees your head jerk up, knowing he’s awake.
Unlocked and thrown open, the door almost hits the wall too hard, and Joel cringes. Then he looks down and realizes he’s in a t-shirt and boxers and he cringes again.
He expects you to be in clothes for a bar or going out with your girlfriends, but he’s met with a pair of plaid pajama shorts (his favorites, he remembers) and one of his old t-shirts that he’d never found after the breakup.
“Hi,” you whisper. “Can we talk?”
He nods, but he can’t make his fucking feet work correctly to get the fuck out of the way. You giggle, and Joel can smell it.
“You drove here drunk?”
You shake your head, jerking your thumb back behind you. Your sister sits in the front seat of her car and Joel waves hesitantly. “Does she —“
“Shh,” you slur. “No one else knows I’m here. She won’t say anything.”
Joel remembers he’s blocking the door and he shuffles out of the way, letting you in. Your sister puts her car in drive and speeds away.
When he closes the door, he’s hit by the overwhelming realization of what this looks like. You’ve shown up, drunk, at his door, at 2 AM, with another man’s ring on your finger.
The rational part of his brain is working really hard to remind him of that fact. But the irrational part of his brain doesn’t care. You smell the same, and he bets you smell and taste the exact same too.
“Been a while,” he manages, looking down at his hands and wondering what the hell he’s supposed to actually do here.
“I know,” you murmur, stepping a little closer. “Is Sarah here?”
“Yeah. Just got her back down, actually. She’s been havin’ a hard time lately.”
You look down at his chest then. “Poor baby. I miss her.”
It makes Joel’s heart ache. “She asks ‘bout you alot. Wonderin’ when you’re comin’ home.”
He looks up when he says that last part and he feels a touch of triumph at the look of agony on your face, but it fades quickly. He always knew you loved Sarah more than you ever did him, and that was all he’d ever wanted out of a woman.
You make your way into the living room, well-practiced at the layout of Joel’s home, and you sit on the couch, patting the seat next to you.
“Can we talk?”
He nods and comes as bid. All of the desire he had to sleep is gone, and he knows that no matter what conversation is had tonight, he won’t regret being tired in the morning.
“What —“ he swallows, wondering how his throat got so dry, “what is it you wanna talk ‘bout?”
Your hands are in your lap, and you look down at the ring that adorns your left hand.
“That?” Joel’s voice is soft.
When you look up at him, your eyes are full of tears. “Yeah, that.”
“What’s the matter, baby?”
A tear slips out at the old familiarity, and Joel presses his lips tightly together. It’s so easy whenever he is around you — that’s why you’ve avoided each other for a year. Joel knew early on that as long as he was around you, he’d never let you move on, and you deserved to move on.
“Do you still —“
“Yes,” he interrupts.
“Are you sure?”
“I told you that I would always love you,” Joel admits, scratching the back of his head. “I meant that.”
You look back down at your hands and Joel can see the gears whirring in your mind. He’s always known you so well, it only ever took one look for him to know what was going on. It’s nice to know that a year hasn’t changed anything there. Even if everything else has changed drastically.
The lightbulb moment in your mind is so subtle, but Joel sees it, has a half second to prepare himself before you look up and reach for his face.
It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been prepared or not.
The softness of your fingers almost knocks him backwards, and he thinks that he’s glad he’s sitting, because it would’ve been real embarrassing if he’d actually fell.
You pull in close, and Joel can smell the scent of lavender and vanilla — your favorite. His eyes close, better to concentrate on the scent and the soft skin of your hands, but he’s actively aware of you getting closer to him.
He should stop you.
He really should.
You’re getting married in two months.
But he wants to kiss you so badly, so desperately. He never got the chance to kiss you goodbye, to press his lips to yours one more time, knowing it would be the last.
So he’s going to take one kiss and then he’ll stop you. Be selfish for only a moment, and then do the right thing.
But when you press your lips to his with just the softest pressure, a kiss that is more a question than a statement of desire… well, all of Joel’s plans go right out the goddamn window.
His arm had been slung around the back of the couch, so it’s not hard for him to wrap that arm around you, his other hand finding your sides. His hands are so big and they cover so much space, but still he wants more. You pull back a fraction of an inch, and he hears your exhale.
His chest heaves with the anticipation, then he realizes that you were asking him a question, and his body desperately wants to answer it.
So he does.
He pulls you to him by your ribs, pressing your torsos together and mashing his lips to yours in something that’s more desire and possession than passion or even love.
Mouth molding against his, he feels rather than hears your gasp, but the heat pulsing through his blood tells him that it’s a good gasp, and he keeps going. He licks into your mouth and you respond, moaning as you touch your tongue to his, pulling at his hair so hard that Joel has to break the kiss, following the direction you’re pulling and his own gasp releasing from his throat.
You’re grinning when he opens his eyes, flushed and a desperate look in your eye. His pulse is hammering and he feels intoxicated just from one fucking kiss.
Black fabric (from his shirt, he reminds himself with glee) bunches under his palms as he moves his hands, wanting to touch your skin instead. Your head leans back, granting him permission, and Joel feels like a magnet, drawn to the soft and unmarked skin of your neck.
While he kneads the skin of your ribs and back with his strong hands, his mouth searches the skin of your neck, biting gently and soothing it over with his tongue. He ravishes you, and he can feel you squirming in his hold, your hips already bucking to try to find friction there. At the press of his lips under your ear, you keen and whimper, releasing your hold on his hair and trying to find purchase on his shoulders and neck.
He promised himself one kiss, and then he would talk to you, but Joel doesn’t want to waste any time that he could be touching you. He doesn’t want to manipulate the moment, but the thought of having gotten to touch you and then it being ripped away from him is just more than he can bare.
So he licks under your ear and he knows he’s hoarse and ragged when he murmurs, “Why did you come here, baby?”
Your answering moan and the tightening of your fingers is a good answer, but it’s not the one he needs.
He pulls back, hoping the distance of his mouth from your skin will clear your head a little. Your eyes are glazed over, but it works, and he sees you shake your head and breathe.
“Baby,” he sighs again. “Why are you here?”
“I just needed to know,” you murmur, eyes wide and searching Joel’s.
“Know what?”
“If — if loving someone would make it all feel different.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes narrow and his head tilts, and even though all of his blood has flooded straight to his cock, he’s trying so hard to make his brain work.
“I don’t — “ you sigh then, but you lean in, trying to kiss him again.
His hands are firm, but gentle as they hold you back, still resting on your ribs and waist.
“Baby,” he tries again. “Tell me.”
“I still love you,” you tell him, and Joel’s chest hurts as you whisper it again.
He whispers your name, and he knows his own eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. How long has he been waiting to hear this?
“I remember how it felt between us.”
“I do too.” And he does. He’s had other women since you (mostly around the time you posted you were in a relationship and engaged) but none of them have ever lit him on fire the way your touch does.
“It doesn’t — feel that way with, with Nate.”
It clicks in Joel’s head then.
“You came here to see if it was you or if it’s because you don’t love him.”
You flinch. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not really sure I had a plan, exactly.”
“I should call your sister,” he mumbles, getting up from the couch. It’s the right thing to do, he knows that as he starts looking for her name in his contacts, but you’re off the couch in a flash, hands on his and pulling his mouth to yours.
“No,” you sigh against him. “Kiss me.”
“But you’ll regret this,” he says, holding you at arm’s length. He can’t do that. He can’t have you regret him. He won’t survive it.
“I’d never regret you,” you tell him, the sincerity of it pulsing in your gaze. “Not once, Joel. Not ever.” And with every word, you get closer, until you’re looking up at him like he hung the moon.
“It’s a bad idea,” he says instead. Because it is. It’s the worst idea. You’re going to be married to another man. You’re wearing his fucking ring in Joel’s house.
“Then tell me to leave.” You’re breathless, and Christ.
He holds out his arms, wishing he had the strength to do the right thing — but he fucking doesn’t.
You almost jolt into his arms. His body responds instantly, without thought, and he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up so that your chest is flush with his. Your mouths find that rhythm easily, like it was never lost, like no time has passed.
His hands inch down your back to your ass, and he cups you there, holding you up just high enough that your legs wrap around his waist, your hips bucking against him.
The stairs aren’t a conscious decision he makes, but he’s making it all the same, kissing you with abandon, one hand coming to your cheek and tilting your head so he can get at your neck. You moan again, and Joel whispers into your ear, “Gotta be quiet, baby. Sarah’s asleep.”
You nod in his hold, and he presses your back against the wall of the landing while he tries to remember how a fucking doorknob works. You wiggle down his body once it’s open, and reach for him to kiss you as you walk backwards to the bed.
He does remember to lock the door behind him, just in case Sarah gets up again. But his voice is ragged when your legs hit the bed.
“I love you.”
“Joel,” you croak, “I love you.”
His hands fist in the shirt. His mouth traces your jaw, and he doesn’t give a shit how many hickies he leaves — in fact, he hopes he does.
“What the fuck were you thinkin’, comin’ over here in my goddamn shirt, like you know this shit doesn’t drive me crazy?”
“Does it still?” You whimper, eyes on his.
He smirks and you smile back, lowering yourself to the bed.
“You know full well that it does.”
“Good.”
Joel reaches for your pajama pants and you lift your hips so he can pull them off in one go. He reaches up to kiss you again, palming your mound, and moans deeply when he feels how wet you are.
“Who’s this for, baby?” He breathes against your mouth. Joel’s a possessive bastard, he always has been, so why not go all the way, huh?
“You,” you moan, laying back against his sheets and closing your eyes. “Joel, you know it’s for you.”
“That’s right. You’re always so wet for me,” he praises, and you arch up, moaning again.
He lowers himself to his knees, pulling you by your hips so you’re at the edge of the bed. He knows that you know what’s coming and he can see your cunt flexing around nothing in anticipation of it.
It’s nothing to touch his lips to the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he does, nipping each leg closer and closer to where you’re dripping. His hands hold your hips tight, but your grunts of frustration start to get louder, and Joel taps your stomach to remind you.
The air is heavy and he can hear your pants as he stops just before your hole. He looks for just a moment, familiarizing himself with it once again — he used to know your body as well as his own… but it’s been a year. He needs to reacquaint himself.
You whine his name, and he grins. “She’s so pretty, baby. Look how much she’s missed me.”
His fingers tighten on your hips as he lowers his mouth, pressing his lips to your swollen clit. You gasp, arching up and trying to take your hips with you, but Joel’s arms flex, keeping you where he wants you. He licks you from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit, and then he goes to work.
Your climax builds quickly, Joel remembers all the ways to get you off and he’s pleased that your body still responds to his this way. He ravishes you, licking and flicking his tongue until your every breath is a chorus of please and joel over and over again.
“I know, baby,” he whispers, face covered in your slick. “I know what you need. Give me just a second and I’ll give it to you.”
He releases one hand off your hip and trails it down to your waiting pussy. He uses one finger to work you open, still tonguing and flicking at your clit and once he’s satisfied with the stretch, he puts another inside. You growl at him then, hips still trying to buck to get the friction you need to cum, but Joel already knows exactly what to do.
So he does.
It doesn’t take but a few pumps of his fingers, he knew it wouldn’t, but the pressure of having something inside you and the circling heat of his tongue have you cumming in seconds and Joel grins like the cat that got the cream.
You writhe through the orgasm, and Joel licks at your trembling clit, feeling your blood pulse whenever he presses his tongue to it. you moan and mumble as you come down from the high, almost battling being oversensitive since he keeps his tongue on you. Once he’s sure that you can’t take another second, he stills his fingers and pulls them out.
“Look at that,” he whispers, full of awe as he moves his fingers back and forth, mesmerized by the slick coating them. His eyes look down and he grins, “Look at you.”
“What?” You gasp.
“You’re lyin’ here, in my bed, in just my shirt, so fuckin’ beautiful when you cum.”
“I need you,” you whisper, reaching up to grasp at his shirt.
He lets you pull it over his head, grinning as he uses the hand he didn’t finger you with to pull down his own boxers. He uses the slick still on his fingers to rub over his aching cock. His eyes roll back in his head and his cock pulses, remembering you.
When he opens his eyes, you’ve thrown off -your- his shirt and you’re naked.
Nipples peaked, skin soft and inviting, he tries not to let his gaze linger too long in one place, there’s too much to look at.
But it all adds up to one thing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, not even sure he spoke aloud.
“So are you,” you whisper, eyes wide in your own appreciation of him. You sit up and he sees your hands reaching for his dick, but he stills you with a hand on your wrist.
“No, baby, not tonight.”
“But I —“
“I know,” he soothes, getting on the bed and laying you back down, “but I won’t last if you do that.”
A devilish grin paints your face and you shrug, laying back in the middle of his bed.
He leans over to his bedside table for a condom, and this time it’s your hand on his wrist to stop him. “No,” you rasp. “Please, Joel, I want to feel you.”
It’s a bad idea. God damn is it a bad idea. But how can he resist?
So he nods.
He crawls up the bed as you spread your legs, eager hands reaching up for his shoulders, mouth already opening to his as he jacks his cock a couple times. He pushes it through your folds coating the head in its slickness before tapping it to your clit. You writhe and Joel relishes it, growling at how responsive you are to his touch.
“You sure?” He says between clenched teeth. “Once I’m in, I dunno if I can stop, honey.”
He doesn’t want to. If you asked him to stop right now, he’s pretty sure he’d die on the spot, but he has to ask. He has to be sure.
You open your eyes and nod. Your left hand reaches for his cheek, and that possessive animal in him snarls at the thought of fucking you with that goddamn ring on.
You must see it in his eyes, because yours widen as Joel’s hand leaves his cock and snaps around your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth.
Eyes tight on yours, Joel takes your ring finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue on the digit until he finds the ring. Using his teeth, he sucks it off of you, enjoying the way your eyes roll back and your body erupts into goosebumps.
When you look back at him, it’s between his teeth, and Joel grins before turning his head and shooting it somewhere across the room.
“When I’m in you, you’re mine,” he snarls. “And I don’t want what’s mine to have another man’s ring. You’re not thinkin’ about him while fuckin’ me.”
You shake your head and he sees the faint curl of a smile. You’re not afraid.
“Say it.”
“I’m only thinking of you, Joel,” you whisper, but your voice has that dreamy quality he likes.
He nods then, grasping his cock again at the base. He splits your folds and pushes in the head of his cock. He sucks in a shaky breath, feeling his own shivers down his spine. “F-fuck.”
You whimper, one hand gripping the sheets, but your left hand is on his shoulder, tightly enough that he’s sure he’ll have marks from your nails.
Good.
He leans over you, resting his elbow and forearm near your head and letting his weight carry him the rest of the way in. Your legs wind around his hips as he pushes in to the hilt, and Joel moans in your ear as you whimper in his.
Pushing his lips to your neck, Joel gives you a minute to adjust. After all, it’s been a year.
“You alright, baby?” Joel asks.
“Yes,” you whimper, thrusting your own hips up to meet his.
Joel grins, leaning back on his elbow just enough to kiss you, his other hand grasping your hip. “I missed this,” he purrs, thrusting slowly. “I missed you.”
“Oh god,” you open your eyes, crying out, “Joel I — I miss you too.”
His hips jerk at that, and he huffs, knowing this isn’t going to last long. He bites his lip at the thought of round two and his cock twitches inside you, prompting another moan.
He’s almost lazy with his thrusts, pressing his chest to yours as if he wants to feel as much of your body pressed against his as he can, the only movement is that of his lips against yours and the slow, languid strokes of his hips meeting yours.
“That’s it baby,” he whispers whenever he needs a breath from kissing you. “You take me so well, like you were fuckin’ made for me.”
“I was,” you gasp. “You were made for me.”
He grinds down, picking up his pace in a frenzied, desperate effort. He knows he should be quieter, that you should be quiet, but the sound of his hips smacking against yours awakens that animal inside him again, and he leans up, watching your face as he pounds into you, stretching you just for him.
Your walls start to pulse around him and you make that half-whine, half-whimper that he knows means you’re close. He’s heard that noise in his dreams so many times over the last year, and he can feel himself get close just based on that alone.
Rolling his hips, Joel sits up to his knees, using his thighs to spread your legs even further. You open for him and lean up on your own elbows to watch. You see his length disappearing into yourself and you moan, leaning your head back.
“Nu uh,” he grunts, reaching out for your chin. “Don’t stop watchin’, you understand. You can take it. Be proud.”
You arch then, and Joel reaches out a hand to take one of your full breasts in his palm.
“Joel, I’m so close.”
“I know you are. This is what you wanted, right?” He growls, hips snapping harder as his other hand reaches down to your clit.
“Yes,” you begged.
He presses his broad fingers to your swollen clit and begins to rub in a circle, the way he knows would get you off, slowing his hips to an agonizing pace, as slow as he could manage while still moving.
You respond immediately, smiling as your eyes roll back and you cry out. He knows you were close, he could feel your walls fluttering around him, your hand fisting so hard in the sheet that your knuckles go white. He grins as he watches your body start to convulse.
Then he leans in, making sure there’s enough room for his hand to keep working. “You deserve this, baby,” he purrs, tongue licking the shell of your ear. “You’re mine. Always mine. Let me hear you.”
And that’s all it takes.
Your cunt tightens and he can feel the rush of slick down his shaft, abandoning his slow pace for the brutal and unrelenting one he knows you needed to keep cumming.
“There she is,” he praises, never slowing as your eyes roll back in your head. He gets desperate in his strokes, but your body is still trembling and your legs are convulsing against his back and he knows you’re still riding the high. “Keep going, baby. That’s it. You can take it,” he talks through it, the only thing keeping him from cumming now.
It finally eases and Joel slows a moment, still buried inside you. Your eyes flutter open and he sees the rush of blood to your cheeks, but you reach up for his face and kiss him sloppily, messy.
“Your turn, cowboy,” you command against his lips.
His hips move on their own command, slipping in and out of you with no resistance since you’re so wet. When he tells you, you lick the shell of his ear, “hard to stay dry when you make me feel so good.”
He can feel the heat pooling in his back, spreading under his skin. He knows he’s going to cum soon, he just — fuck.
“Wh-Where?” He manages, gritting his teeth.
“You know where,” you whisper, leaning back so he can see you’re completely serious.
He’s lost to all reason, barely hanging on to the impending orgasm. At your permission, he moans, burying his head into your neck and comes apart inside you.
He comes back to himself a few minutes later, limp and sticky with sweat as he lays on you, his head cradled to your chest. You hum some song he probably should know, just running the fingers of one hand gently through his sweat-damp hair while the other is feather-light as it traces his spine.
“Hey there,” his voice is sluggish, slurring almost.
“Hey, cowboy,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.
Joel pulls himself out of the memory when he realizes he’s not alone.
He expects Tommy, telling him it’s time to go, but his breath hitches when he sees a white dress instead of blue jeans.
He whispers your name, he can’t help it. And you gasp, putting a hand to your chest.
Now that he notices the dress, it really is beautiful. A lacy thing, tight around your chest but just loose enough to conceal a secret.
“Joel,” you answer, looking down with shame heating your cheeks.
You hold a champagne glass, but Joel notices, again, that it’s water.
“Awful weird to be drinkin’ water at your weddin’.” It’s hard to keep his voice neutral, but he does.
“Oh,” you give a nervous chuckle, “well, ya know, watching my —“
“You’re lying.” He takes a step toward you. “Aren’t you?”
Your eyes fill with tears, and Joel sees it all, the weight of it. The weight that you’d carried alone, but he doesn’t know why.
“Two months ago,” he whispers, “you came to me and we — “
“Joel, I didn’t —“
“Hang on now,” he stops you, putting a gentle hand to your cheek. “You wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“I know,” and you start to look down, but his fingers are firm, and he keeps you looking at him.
You take a deep breath. “I didn’t know how to say —“ you trail off, biting your lip.
“Say what?”
You shake your head.
“You don’t love him,” Joel guesses. You say nothing, but the flicker of doubt he saw in your eyes was answer enough. “That’s why you’ve looked like that all day… why go through with it?”
Your chest heaves, and he sees the tears spill over, the mascara running. His other hand reaches up to thumb away the tears.
“Tell me,” he begs.
“I can’t.” Your voice is full of agony, and Joel knows that if he looked inside his chest, he’d see that same agony.
“We keepin’ secrets now? You and I ain’t ever lied to each other,” Joel’s voice is rising in anger, but he’s not angry, he’s not, he just needs you to admit it. “So don’t lie to me. Don’t you keep a secret from me, you hear me?”
“Joel, I —” the tears come in earnest then, and Joel’s heart breaks. He pulls you to his chest, still amazed by how perfectly you fit there. The same way you had two months ago in his bed.
“Is that —“ he swallows and clears his throat, “is that secret you’re keepin’ gonna have my eyes?”
“By the time I’d gotten up the courage to end it with him, I realized I was pregnant,” you admit, pulling back from Joel. You took a few steps, pacing nervously.
“Does he know — that it’s mine?”
You swallow. “No. I was planning on telling him after—“
He just nods then, squeezing your hand.
“And when I told my parents, my fucking father brought out a goddamn shotgun, Joel. I didn’t know what to do.”
He understands. It was an expensive-looking wedding. Calling off something like that wouldn’t have been easy. Even his own wedding to Sarah’s mother, as inexpensive and private an affair as it had been — he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to just call it off.
His eyes soften. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“And say what?” You swallow, throat working as the tears flow steadily. “You already have Sarah, Joel. When we were together, you stressed so much about the bills and the house — I couldn’t, I couldn’t do it to you again —“
“Oh, baby,” he soothes, pulling you in tight again. He cradles your head, running fingers through the beautiful curls. “No, no, don’t ever think that. Taking care of another baby — our baby,” his voice breaks then, and he can’t help shed his own tears.
You look up at that, eyes wide with fright. “Joel —“
“No,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours. His knees threaten to buckle when you press yours back, opening your mouth for him.
“I want you. I didn’t want you to leave the next morning — “
“Neither did I,” you say against his dress shirt. “My — my sister and I fought over it. Over whether to tell them all or what to say or anything. I just thought — I don’t know. He was never going to be you, and I knew that. I think i've known that all along."
He whispers your name then. “I wanted to tell them all, your momma, your daddy, his parents, him, to go to hell because you’re mine, but you,” he takes another breath, trying to steady himself. “You were gone. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I thought — I thought maybe that was your choice.”
You shake your head. “Joel, no. I want you.”
He smiles then, a sad smile. “Then you’ll have me. Anything you want. We can tell them all to go to hell. Whatever excuse you want to give’em. Tonight, if you want.”
Your eyes widen. “Leave now?”
“Yes,” he breathes. He reaches down for your left hand, the same engagement ring he pulled off two months ago, and he takes it with the band. He drops it at your feet. It’s a question.
“Make a choice here, baby,” he says, taking a step forward. “If you want to go back to him, then okay. We can tell him and co-parent and it will all work out.”
He takes your hands, dropping his voice just a little. “But listen to me, if you have any doubt about him, about this marriage…I know you left and I didn’t fight for you before, but I want you. Let’s do this right this time. Come home.
“But Joel —“
“I don’t care.” He leans in, just a breath away from your lips.
“People will talk.” You say against his mouth.
“Let them.”
You nod then, more tears spilling as you open yourself to Joel’s kiss. He lifts you, spinning you there in the trees.
“I’ll figure it all out, okay?” He promises. "It's not binding 'till the paperwork's turned in to the courthouse."
You narrow your eyes, lips tilting in a crooked smile. "That... that's what my sister said -- this morning. She told me that."
AAAAAAA THIS STORY RIPPED MY HEART OUT AND STICHED IT BACK TOGETHER AGAIN!!! 😭🫂❤️🩹 the agony and the undying love both joel and the reader carried in their hearts had me clutching my chest!!
you’re absolutely right and you wrote it beautifully in this fic!! joel would swallow down all his pain and carry the all weight of their past while being heartbroken yet devoted to his girl until the end in silence!! 🥺😭❤️🩹 thank YOUUUUU my friend for sharing your immense talent with all of us!! 😍🥰😘
pairing: joel miller x reader
summary: worried about what could happen when joel & ellie are beyond the walls on patrol, joel convinces the reader to let him teach her how to handle a firearm. when it triggers her, he shows her that he means it when he says he's not going anywhere.
warnings: MDNI. the reader has a traumatic past -- captured by raiders and her daughter is a product of her time with them. in this chapter, she has a PTSD flashback triggered by handling and firing a gun. there is a mention of violence inflicted toward her, but the flashback is in no great detail.
Note: when i think of the record that the reader puts on, i was envisioning something like this from Nemo's Dreamscapes.
word count: 12,000.
ao3 link here. masterlist here.
<<chapter 4 | chapter 6>>
i can't keep you safe but i can keep you warm,i can't stop the rain, but we can ride the storm
Wednesday, October 21st, 2037
After a month of going to school full-time, it was hard to imagine a world where you had been worried that your daughter didn’t have enough social skills to make friends.
Kat chattered on from the small kitchen table, mouth full of carrots, while you washed the dishes at the sink.
“And then Macy said that she should be the queen fairy, but Amy had already called it, Momma! Can you believe that?”
“No, I can’t believe it,” you murmured, just the bare minimum of a conversation required for her to keep going.
The school in Jackson was smaller than you would have thought — while Jackson sported a community of close to 300 people, the number of school-aged children was small enough to be housed within the same building. But the number of children in daycare was growing every day with people who felt safe enough to start having children.
As a result, it ran more like a schoolhouse in the old west than a modern one you went to. Fortunately, there were several children who were close to Kat’s age, and even more that were at her reading and math level so they were in the same class.
There was drama every single day, and Kat always sat at the small kitchen table to eat a snack and tell you all about it. But you’d noticed that the drama was usually Kat and her friends against the other children, and that made you feel a little better.
Her story was cut off by the heavy boots through the front door. Her face lit up and she was gone in an instant, shouting and squealing for Joel.
You liked to think that you had always been your daughter’s best friend… but that had been before Joel and Ellie. In truth, you thought Ellie was probably at the top of the pyramid… then Joel. Then you.
You didn’t mind. Kat was at the top of each of their pyramids too, and you liked that thought far more than you were jealous.
“There’s my Kit-Kat!” he greeted warmly, and you knew without looking that he’d swept her up in his arms, shrugging out of his jacket with one hand so he could still hold on to her.
She had given up on fighting the nickname not long after he’d bestowed it on her, and you suspected now that she liked it. Her little grin whenever he called her that was a dead giveaway.
Now, Tommy, on the other hand… the nickname Kitty wasn’t going over well at all. He was probably public enemy number one, and Kat really had followed through on her threat of making up a bad nickname for him.
You’d had to intervene on Poopypants McGee, much to Ellie and Joel’s disappointment.
“How was school today?” Joel asked, depositing her back in her seat at the kitchen table.
“She was just telling me about how Macy tried to be the fairy queen.”
You put another plate of carrots and a cup of apple cider in front of Joel. Sometime over the last month, he had come to enjoying a little afternoon snack with Kat while she talked about her day. The first few times, he’d just taken coffee and stolen something off Kat’s plate (to her displeasure), so you’d gotten in the habit of just making another plate of whatever she had.
“Yeah! But Joel, Amy already called it!”
That was another transition from the last month that you found you liked. He wasn’t Mr. Joel anymore — just Joel.
“No way,” Joel’s face was dead serious, with all the grave demeanor and drama that such an occasion warranted. “What did Macy say when you told her?”
He sat at the table next to her, rapt with attention as Kat detailed how their group carefully planned another fairy kingdom - who were friends and allies, of course - so that there could be two queens.
Joel raised his eyebrows and sat back, crossing his arms. “That’s some pretty smart thinkin’ there. Who came up with that idea?”
“Me!” Kat grinned, tilting her head.
“Good for you, Kit-Kat,” he praised, and Kat beamed under his praise.
“How about you, Momma?” His deep drawl turned on you as he grabbed the cup of cider.
You tilted your head and kept looking at the dishes, hoping he couldn’t tell the heat that flamed under your skin. You loved when he called you that. It took every bit of strength you had to keep from shivering.
“Hm?”
“How was your day?” he continued, leaning back in his chair.
You placed the clean dish on the rack and dried your hands on the towel before turning to him — giving the blush a chance to fade.
“It was fine. I was with livestock today.”
You weren’t sure why you told him — he knew. He always knew where you were stationed for the week and he always knew what time your shift started and ended. You never told him, but he always knew.
Since he was one of the lead rangers, Joel met every week with Maria, Tommy, and the other Jackson figureheads to make schedules for job details, so it technically made sense that he knew what you were doing.
He nodded. “Right. How’d it go?”
You shrugged. It was your third rotation, and so far you had hated them all.
The greenhouse was peaceful enough, but you didn’t know anything about plants (other than how to kill them) and ended up causing more harm than good. The clinic had been okay, but it was flu season and the sheer number of people in and out all day had made you antsy (not to mention the paranoia at thinking you were sick too). Livestock had been easier - not as many people and the animals were quick to let you know if you did something they didn’t like.
And less flu-like symptoms.
“I milked cows for the first few hours.”
“Cows are so cute,” Kat said dreamily. Having never been around any animals, she fell in love with every single animal she saw in Jackson. You had made a point not to take her to work with you this week, lest she came home with a baby piglet tucked under her jacket.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.
“Cute and useful,” Joel agreed. He looked back at you. “What’cha think ‘bout it?”
You grimaced. “Milking cows reminds me how much I hated breastfeeding.”
“What’s that?” Kat asked, baby carrot halfway to her mouth.
Wide eyes met across the kitchen. You blinked a few times and you saw Joel’s mouth open and close.
“Momma?” Kat pressed, waving a carrot at you. “What’s breastfeedin’?”
Suppressing a grin, you saw Joel start to turn pink out of the corner of your eye. You tried to regain your composure — the more attention you brought to something, the more attention she would give it. Nonchalant explanations were best.
“Well, it’s how mommies feed their babies.”
She frowned. “But how?”
“Um… through their breasts. The babies suck and milk flows —”
“What’s a breast?”
You blinked again, eyes glancing over at Joel. His face was completely red and he looked pointedly down at the his plate of carrots. You put your hand over your mouth to hide your grin.
“Breasts are another word for boobies,” you explained with a sigh, pointing to your own.
“What do those have to do with babies?”
Right. Because Kat had never even seen a baby in real life until she’d come to Jackson.
“Babies can’t eat big girl food like you can,” Joel answered for you. “They gotta have milk and stuff that’s liquid.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t have teeth for a while.”
She nodded at this information, then, “So what about the boobies?”
Joel cut his eyes to you. Your turn.
“Well… that’s where the milk comes out. The baby sucks and that’s how they eat.”
Kat’s mouth made a round O. She looked down at your chest, then at her own. “Oh.”
You nodded. “It’s not very fun, pretty messy, honestly.”
“Is that why Amy had her baby doll pushed up to her boobie at school when we played house?”
Joel coughed then, banging on his chest as he sputtered his water. You bit your lip to keep from laughing.
He rolled his eyes, mumbling something about, “Women,” under his breath.
“Why don’t you go put on something to watch in the living room, Kat? I think there’s a DVD with some Bugs Bunny on it. We can give Joel a break from talking about boobies.”
He looked up at you without moving his head, a playful glare on his face.
She grinned, taking her plate of carrots and cup of water as she made for the living room. Joel had a DVD player and television with a pretty nice DVD collection.
You’d noticed that there were a lot more cartoons and kid-friendly movies in that collection now than when you’d first moved in.
“Thanks for that, by the way,” he cocked his head, leveling a glare at you.
“The more embarrassed you act, the more she’ll press about it,” you shrugged a shoulder.
He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Boobies ain’t exactly what I wanted to talk about when I got home today.” His face and neck were starting to return to their normal colors.
“Sure it was,” you smirked. “Every man likes talking about boobies.”
“Not with a six year old,” he grumbled, scratching the back of his head.
You waited until he’d picked up his cider again and put it to his lips.
“Sorry, next time I talk about boobies, I’ll make sure it’s just us.” Then you winked.
He coughed and sputtered, cider spilling from between his lips as he beat on his chest again. The glare returned, but you smiled sweetly.
“Christ, woman,” he waggled a finger at you, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Alright, alright, I’m done,” you conceded, holding up your hands in surrender even though you desperately wanted to keep going, Joel was so much fun to tease.
And unlike any of the men you’d met since the Outbreak started, Joel was a good sport about it. If it was just the two of you, he usually dished it out just as easily as he took it, and you loved the banter. When anyone else was around, he got all embarrassed and shy like he’d done at the table, but it was nice to see the drier side of his humor whenever you could.
“How was your patrol?”
“Wasn’t on it,” he took a sip from his cup. “Trainin’ today.”
“Oh?” You sat in the chair Kat had vacated.
“Mhm,” he grunted. He put his elbows on the table and leaned over toward you. “Listen…Tommy asked me to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Trainin’. With a gun.”
Your inhale was sharp, you straightened your shoulders and steeled yourself for the conversation you’d dreaded.
“Everybody needs to know how to shoot a gun,” he urged, voice kind and soft.
“Right.”
“I’m not gonna let them send you out there, you know that. It’s just a precaution — don’t mean nothin.’” His hand reached out to touch yours on the table.
After a month of living with Joel, you had learned quite a bit about him. The people of Jackson thought him a gruff, grumpy, and dangerous old man, which he was, but he was also fiercely loyal and protective of those he cared for.
Which included you and Kat, as he’d proven more than once in the last month.
His humor had a dry, sarcastic edge to it when dealing with adults, especially you, but he was open handed, imaginative, and patient when dealing with children. Kat doted on him and he returned the attention ten-fold.
That protectiveness and loyalty was obvious with her, but with you it was more subtle, and you had felt the effects of it several times over the last few weeks.
Like him checking in on you frequently at first, making sure that either he stopped by in the middle of the day for lunch, or someone he trusted (usually Tommy, Maria, or Tara) knocked on the door.
He asked pointed questions once you’d started working rotations, making sure you were well and comfortable.
When it became clear that the clinic was overwhelming, you knew that he was the one who’d marched into Maria’s office and demanded you be swapped to something with less people.
And when everything became too much, he was there with guiding patience and a quiet moment, regardless of when, where, or who might be watching.
Your hand on his chest made everything else go quiet just long enough for you to get your bearings. And then, once you were steady on your own two feet, he never treated with you with kid gloves, only moving on as if nothing had happened.
The only job in Jackson that you’d drawn a line in the sand on was going outside the walls for patrol. Ellie had scoffed and grumbled when you’d said it, responding in that teenager tone that she’d die for the chance to join more patrols, but Joel had shushed her and sent her from the room.
He understood. You knew he was only out there because he was so good at it, he didn’t really want to be either. There were just too many risks, especially for a parent. If you didn’t come home, it would leave Kat with no one.
That’s not true, you thought. It would leave her with Joel.
You banished that thought as quick as it had appeared, focusing on the conversation at hand.
“I know you won’t,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I just —”
He nodded. “I know.”
The silence lasted a few beats, the intro of Looney Tunes echoing from the living room. Patrols weren’t just about shooting things or fighting — you knew that. And Tommy and Joel were right, everybody needed to know how to operate a firearm. Knowing how to shoot didn’t mean you were going to orphan your daughter.
It wasn’t that you were afraid to shoot or even that you thought you couldn’t. You figured with a good teacher and some practice, you’d be competent enough to hold your own.
What bothered you was the reminder of the violence.
If you took a gun and killed someone, would you be any better than the men who had taken and kept you? You had shielded Kat from most of the violence, but you’d both been on hand as witnesses enough. They’d reveled in the pain of others, often causing it for no reason other than boredom.
You were terrified of reliving that.
Joel didn’t press — he never did. He just sat there with you in the silence until you were ready to voice your thoughts. And you knew that, without a doubt, the moment you expressed to Joel that you really didn’t want to learn to shoot, he would take it up with Tommy and you’d never hear about it again.
You cleared your throat and he looked up.
“So Tommy thinks I need to shoot?”
He grimaced then, fingers tightening on his cup. “He mentioned it. And you know how he is — he’ll just keep mentioning it to me and then start mentioning to you.”
“I just don’t know that I’m ready.”
“And I get that.”
“But… everyone needs to be prepared,” he added. “If somethin’ were to happen to the walls…”
You knew the rest of that sentence; he’d talked to you about it before. If the walls were breached, it would be every man, woman, and child for themselves. And if Joel wasn’t in Jackson when that happened, you would be on your own, ensuring the safety of both Kat and Ellie (who could honestly fend for herself, but would still need an adult).
Joel was a man that wanted those he cared about prepared.
“I know,” you said instead.
He hung his head, gently setting the cup back on the table. “Just… let me teach you. Let’s just try,” he pleaded. “It would make me feel better, at least.”
You looked up at him, meeting the hazel eyes and feeling your own chest tighten at the emotion you saw there. How long had he spent thinking about worst-case scenarios that ended with you trying to protect your daughter with only a switchblade? The harrowing look there said he thought about it often.
“Kat’s too young for it right now, but if somethin’ happens, I need to know you’ll both be okay. Even Ellie can’t be here all the time. Tommy neither.”
“I took care of her in the woods,” you reminded him.
“And you did a great job, sweetheart, but you told me yourself that you didn’t come across a single infected.”
Sweetheart. You bit your lip, ignoring the heat that swirled around your abdomen.
“No, we didn’t,” you remembered.
“And what if you had?” He pressed. “And I don’t mean a horde — what if you’d come across one runner?”
You looked away. You knew what would’ve happened. You would’ve made it as painless for her as possible. You had nightmares about it.
“What if I can’t?” Your voice was small as you looked down at your joined hands.
“Then that’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll teach you a bow or ball bat or somethin’. But I think you can. You’re stronger than you realize.”
“And,” he added, “I’ll be right there the whole time.”
You balled your fists. This wasn’t something that was just going to go away on its own. You needed to meet it head-on; Joel was right, if the worst were to happen to Jackson, you had to have a way to protect Kat.
And as capable as she was, you couldn’t rely on Ellie to save you both.
You could refuse and you knew that. Choice was something that was extremely important to Joel.
As badly as Joel wanted you to learn to defend yourself with a gun, he’d respect your choice if you said no. He’d said it and you knew he’d follow through on teaching you how to do something else. But you knew as well as he did that letting an infected get close enough to use those weapons was… well, it wasn’t worth it.
“You’ll be the one teaching me?”
His jaw flexed. “Yes. We’ll take it at your pace. Don’t matter what that looks like.”
“What if I fall apart?” Your voice was small.
“I’ll be there,” he promised. “I got you. ‘N I don’t mind puttin’ you back together if it means you walk away bein’ able to protect yourself.”
“I … “ you sighed, looking toward the door frame. You could do anything if it meant protecting Kat. And if Joel was there…
Yeah. You could do it.
“Alright, Joel.”
Friday, October 22nd, 2037
Joel was still slated to train, so he had cancelled your shift with livestock the next day. It was a testament to how important he was in Jackson that he could just say, “hey, she ain’t workin’ livestock today, she’s with me” and absolutely no one questioned it.
The two of you had helped Kat get ready for school and sent her off holding Ellie’s hand.
“Won’t there be other people training at the range?” You asked, picking at the sleeves of your hoodie.
He nodded, walking next to you. “Prob’ly a couple. I wouldn’t say many though.”
You swallowed. Shooting and weapons training was a very natural thing in Jackson — most of the citizens openly carried pistols or handguns and had knives on their belts. In fact, it was weirder for someone (you) to not have weapons than for someone to carry.
In fact, one of the very first things Joel had taught Kat upon arrival in Jackson was that a gun was a very dangerous weapon but she would see lots of people carrying them for protection only and what she should do if she saw one lying around.
Regardless of how common they were in town, that didn’t mean you wanted an audience whenever you shot a weapon for the first time. You didn’t want to look stupid. You hadn’t given the residents of Jackson much information about yourself, but you could only imagine how someone like Amanda would delight in telling everyone she knew that you couldn’t handle yourself with a gun.
He reached for the door, then his hand flexed into a fist and he pulled it back. He took a deep breath and looked down at the ground.
“I’m sorry if I… pressured you to this,” he spoke haltingly and you could see he weighed every word before he said it. “I’m not tryin’ to make you do somethin’ you don’t want. We can go back home and wait ‘till you’re ready.”
As bad as you wanted the out, you stood tall, bracing your shoulders. “No, no. I — I want to learn.”
He raised his head a fraction of an inch and shuffled his boots, uncomfortable still. “You sure?”
You nodded, wringing your hands together. The wind whipped at you both, blowing your hair into your face. You reached up to push it back behind your ear.
“Joel — you’re not wrong. If, if something happens here then… I can’t put that on Ellie — she’s only 16! I only have myself. Kat only has me.”
“Hey,” he frowned, brows drawing together as he reached out for your arm. “That’s not true.”
You grimaced, “That’s not — I didn’t mean…”
You took a breath to stead yourself. “What I mean is, you and Ellie both patrol. I don’t. If something happened, you could both be gone and it would just be me and Kat.”
His brows relaxed a little at that, but his hand remained on your arm. “Ah, I see… you sure you wanna do this?”
You nodded.
The range wasn’t far from the stables and you could hear a couple discharges of weapons being fired. It was smart to have the horses so close to the firing, Joel explained it desensitized them faster.
The range was a large warehouse, not unlike the one you’d gone to for clothes. There were a few stalls and counters, then at the far end was a few targets.
Joel held the door open, his wide hand resting against the small of your back as the two of you moved inside. He guided you to one of the empty stalls and bid you to wait while he grabbed a few things.
He came back with two headphones for ear protection, a box of ammo, and a Remington 9mm.
“Ever held one before?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Only like, a hunting rifle. As a teenager.”
He nodded, running his fingers idly along the grip. “And?”
You put a hand to your hip. “I hated it.”
His lips twitched, but he raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly a promising start here,” he pointed out.
“Didn’t say I wanted to like it,” you clarified. “Only wanna be good at it.”
“Well, if you ever wanna be mediocre at it, ask Tommy to teach you.” He grinned down at you.
“Funny, he said the same thing about you,” you shot back. You looked up at him out of the corner of your eye.
“Alright, smart ass.” He held the gun in his hand, palm on the grip.
“First thing when you handle any gun is to check if it’s loaded.” He pushed back on the top portion of the gun. “Pull back the rack.” He did it and a bullet flew out of the gun, startling you.
“Easy now, momma,” his voice was calm, but you saw the smile there and gave him a hesitant smile back.
He turned it in his hand and pointed to a switch. “Safety on. Keeps it from pullin’ the trigger. Always put the safety on,” he flicked it on and off to show you, “until you’re ready to kill somethin’.”
You nodded, following along.
He pointed to the button on the side that wasn’t the safety. “Magazine release.” He pressed it and the magazine fell out into his hand. He took it in the other hand and showed it to you. “See the rounds in there? I’ll show you how to load’em another time. Press the magazine in that chamber until it clicks,” and he did, showing you how loud the click was.
“Pull back on the rack to load the round, safety off, ready to shoot.”
You nodded slowly, mouth dry because this was really happening.
He handed it to you, grip first. “Show me.”
So you did. You flicked back the slide and Joel caught the round in his hand before it hit the ground, making you laugh out loud. Then you double checked that the safety was on, pressed the magazine release to check the rounds, slid it back in until it clicked, and pulled back the rack to load it.
“Safety on and off,” your voice was quiet.
He nodded. “Good job.”
Then he pointed to where you held the gun down at your side. “And you pointed the gun at the ground when you were done. That’s good. Never point it at anythin’ you don’t wanna kill.”
He held out a hand to the counter for you to stand and aim. “Don’t shoot jus’ yet, but lemme see your stance, alright? I’ll tell you when to take the safety off.”
You nodded, putting your feet and shoulders square to the target at the far end and holding up the gun with both hands. It was heavy in your hand, heavy with the weight of the rounds that could kill.
The knowledge that in a person’s hands, this weapon was power.
The sounds of weapons firing around you had stopped, you only heard the ringing in your ears. The target at the end of the range went in and out of focus, and your field of vision darkened at the edges, leaving only the extension of your arms and the gun that shook in your hands.
Joel’s hands were light on your arms when he noticed you were trembling. You let him guide them down to your sides and he took the gun slowly, delicately from you, checking that the safety was still on before he set it on the counter top.
The sounds of the firing range came back sharply as Joel’s voice whispered your name in your ear. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved so close, or that his hands were on your shoulders, and you jumped out of your skin.
He stood stock still, raising hands where you could see them. His mouth was moving, but you couldn’t hear him.
Shut the fuck up — a man’s voice was screaming, his hands ripping at you, tearing.
Let me make sure she’s not listen—
Do you think I give a fuck what that brat hears? Maybe if she hears you, she’ll know what can happen…
The voice faded, just like it had in life. Only the impact of the gun stock could be heard.
Joel’s warm touch on one of your shaking hands brought you to the present. Seeing and hearing what was actually going on around you in the moment — even as warped as it was — instead of what your brain told you to see and hear from the past.
His hands held to yours, pressing it to his chest. His touch was firm, but loose enough that even your adrenaline-fueled-brain realized that you could escape if you wanted. His lips were still moving and you could hear the timbre and husky tone of his voice, but you couldn’t make out the words.
He must have realized that, because one of the hands covering yours moved, tapping on his chest, on his hand, focusing your eyes there. You watched as your combined hands moved up and down with his deep breaths. After a few seconds (or hours?) you realized that you were supposed to mimic his breaths.
It took several deep breaths in time with the movement of your hand on his chest before you could actually process what he was saying.
When you finally felt like the world wasn’t caving in on you, your eyes darted up to his face.
“Hey,” he soothed, his shoulders sagged just a fraction of an inch in relief. “There she is.”
You couldn’t do anything except breathe. The world limited to the press of his hands on yours, the feel of the warm flannel beneath your fingers, the closeness of his body to yours.
“Breathe, honey,” he ordered you, kindly and calmly. His voice was slow. “Jus’ breathe with me. That’s all we gotta do right now, I promise. I’ve got you, you’re safe. Just breathe.”
He kept repeating it and your brain cleared enough to notice that his accent was deeper, slower, more melodic.
It was nice, it washed over you, sinking into your bones as you timed your breaths with his.
You breathed until all that was left was the sound of Joel’s voice and the regular sounds of the range.
“Look at me,” his voice was just as steady, just as smooth, and his eyes never left yours. You were sure that the people walking by would have something to say about Joel Miller holding your hand to his chest and talking softly, but if it was something he was worried about, he gave no indication of it. His eyes never left yours.
“I’ve got you. But you are in control here. You control it,” he whispered, pointing to the gun. “Not the other way around.”
You swallowed.
“Can you repeat it back to me?” he asked, serious eyes bearing down into yours.
“I control it. Not the other way around,” you echoed, voice strengthening with each word.
His hand left yours on his chest, and you dropped yours too. He said nothing, merely backing away a step so you could reach out and grab the firearm when ready. He waited.
You stared at it for a moment. Your mind was flooded with images from years past — how staring down the other end of a gun could compel a person to do almost anything.
But that wasn’t this. This wasn’t about anything other than survival in a worst-case scenario.
Joel was right.
You had the power.
You were the one in control here.
You reached for the weapon, conscious of Joel telling you to go through and check it again. “Always check if it’s loaded if you set it down or get it from another person. Can’t be too careful.”
Once checked, you held it out again.
“Now stop squeezin’ the damn thing like it’s gonna run away,” he grumbled.
And that was a thing you appreciated about him. He grounded you, then as soon as you were okay, he never missed a beat.
You looked down the sight of the gun and nodded, relaxing your hands.
He took a few steps to either side of you, but you just looked at the target, waiting for his permission to start shooting. Your arms no longer trembled; you were getting stronger with each of the jobs you’d been assigned, but you had a handle on yourself now.
You could do this.
You were in control.
You might be waiting for Joel’s permission, but that was only because you allowed it. If you wanted to fire, he couldn’t stop you.
His steps were light for such a large man but you were so attuned to him that you focused in on that sound. You tuned out the rest of the range, so different from what had happened a few minutes ago — this was by choice. You wanted to hear Joel.
“Can I?” He requested, voice still soft.
You let out a breath and turned your head to see him at your side, hands pointing to your arms. “Yes,” your voice was breathless.
He stepped up behind you, hands firm but gentle as he pushed your hips, angling so one foot was slightly in front of the other in a split stance. At the press of his fingertips on your hips, your breath hitched. You steeled yourself not to squirm, for surely he’d notice, as close as he was.
Both of his hands ghosted up your sides and you were sure he’d be able to hear your heart hammering in your ribs. His hands adjusted your elbows, giving you a little more bend in your arm.
You could feel him lean in, his lips almost pressing against your ear. You leaned back toward him, just enough so that you could feel his breath there, but hopefully not enough that he noticed.
His voice was lower when he spoke, “Puttin’ ‘em both straight out will only make you tense. Want a little bend, but only a little.”
Once he had them where wanted them, he blew out a breath, and your knees almost buckled at the feel of it on your neck. “One last thing,” he murmured, almost to himself.
His hands glided down your arms to your hands, his chest pressed full against your back. You swallowed again, raising your chin in a false show of bravado. Even through the barrier of your clothes and his, your skin tingled at every cell that Joel Miller touched you.
His bare hands pressed against yours on the gun and you leaned back, grounded in the firm steadiness of him pressed against you. Your heart was hammering — how could he not feel it? He was going to ask you if you needed medical attention in a moment, you were sure.
“Ready?”
Was his voice truly that husky or were you truly losing your mind now? You trembled.
“Easy now, darlin’,” he drawled, his face leaning so that his mouth ghosted against your ear.
Yep, his voice was definitely lower than earlier.
Something curled deep in your stomach — something you’d not felt in a very long time.
Desire.
His hands guided yours to click off the safety, and he was mumbling something about aiming and looking at the target — you had no idea. Where you had voluntarily tuned out the sounds of the range earlier, the blood rushing in your ears now and you couldn’t have heard his instructions even if you’d wanted to.
You turned your head, desperate to meet the lips that were moving at your ear. Just a breath away — he hadn’t noticed —
Bang.
He had pressed your finger against the trigger, shooting the first shot together. You kept looking at him, chest heaving in a way that had nothing to do with the goddamn gun.
Slowly, he looked at you then, mouth open and eyes full of the same dark desire you knew was thrumming through you.
He licked his lips. You pressed back into his chest, eager to feel that solid weight of his body against yours, pressing against you even harder.
Someone fired a shot in the stall next to yours and you both startled, Joel taking his hands and body away from yours slowly.
Fuck.
Joel Miller had trained a lot of people how to fire a weapon. He’d stood behind people with a gun in their hands more times than he could count, both before and after the Cordyceps Outbreak. He knew how to correct a person’s stance, adjust their grip, move their elbows into place. It had never been an issue before.
So why in the hell was he suddenly so aware of how close he was standing to you?
And why had his hands lingered that way?
Before coming to the range, he thought he had a pretty decent handle on his own fucking body, but one press of his hands on your hips was all it took for him to realize he was most definitely not in charge.
And whatever being was in charge of his body wanted to keep touching you and pray it wasn’t noticeable.
So he’d trailed his fingertips up your sides on his way up to your elbows. He’d wrapped his arms around you, meaning to ground you, but instead he had opened up a whole can of worms he didn’t know what to do with.
What did it matter to him that your hair smelled like lavender soap? Why did his arms tighten when he felt the warmth through your sweatshirt?
And when his fingertips touched your hands… the warmth of them sent burning shockwaves through his body. You were standing between his arms. You were in his arms. And you leaned back against his chest.
His gaze found your neck and he yearned to put his lips there. What noises would you make? He could feel his jaw tight with tension as he made himself stop just shy of the shell of your ear.
Joel didn’t even know what he was saying, only that it raised goosebumps on the side of your neck.
He hadn’t seen where the goddamn round had gone, but thankfully it hadn’t embedded in anyone, which was good, given that he hadn’t been paying attention to anything except the way you reacted to him.
When you’d turned your head… all Joel had wanted was to kiss you, to press his lips to your soft mouth, to taste the way your moans felt on his tongue.
But his only thought was not here, not now, not ready.
Christ. Thankfully the person next to them had started shooting, breaking him out of it. He’d stepped back feeling like a fucking idiot ass teenager, thinking with his dick instead of his head.
She just had a goddamn flashback. Get a fuckin’ grip, Miller.
The only problem was, you already had one.
On him.
“Your turn,” he grunted, voice a little harsher than he would’ve liked. He took a step into the stall and waited until you turned your eyes on the target before adjusting himself in his jeans.
Miss.
“You flinched,” he observed. “Right as you pull the trigger.”
“I do not,” your voice was incredulous as you narrowed your eyes at him. You were sweating along your brow and he watched as you wiped your palms on your hoodie.
“You did.”
You rolled your eyes. “I did not.”
“Darlin’, I was standing’ right here. I saw it.”
Darlin’ this time. Not honey, thank Christ. What the fuck had he been thinking, calling you that? Too familiar. Way too familiar.
Joel was already balancing precariously when it came to you. You were healing, of that much he was certain, but that didn’t mean you were ready for anything more familiar. In fact, if he did something idiotic like calling you honey and you weren’t ready for it —
He’d set you back. All the way back. Make you feel like you had no choice but to take the unwanted contact.
Something like that could take you back — send you back to that place you were in just a few minutes ago. Joel knew what a PTSD flashback looked like — knew what they felt like too — and he was just glad that he’d insisted on being the one to teach you how to shoot.
He’d thought something like that might happen during your first shooting session. And he was very glad that it had been him with you instead of Tommy. His brother had been in the Army and he’d had those same exact flashbacks himself every so often, and he’d given Joel a lot of good tips about how to handle him whenever he was in that state. Joel had learned several on his own, but Tommy had been the one to start those conversations with him.
He’d never say it, but he had never been more grateful for that open dialogue with his brother than when he had your hand on his chest, breathing with him.
Arrogant it might be, but Joel thought he did a pretty damn good job at handling you.
So no. He absolutely would not be doing anything like that again. He’d keep his hands to his fuckin’ self. If you wanted him to take a further step, he’d make sure you said something before he assumed.
You huffed, already turning back toward the target. “So how do I fix it?”
“Gotta relax,” he told you, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling in hopes of taking his own fucking advice. His dick was still hard as a rock and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “Take a breath, exhale all the way out, pull the trigger.”
Your head bobbed, but you weren’t looking at him, too focused on the target.
Joel was glad. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to handle himself during this session if he had to put hands on you again. He bit his lip, suppressing an audible groan as you lined up the sights, body settling into the adjustments he’d given you.
He saw your chest rise with your inhale and fall with the exhale, all the way out, then —
It hit the target.
Barely. At the very edge of the paper, but it was a hit.
You turned, keeping the gun pointed at the ground like he’d told you, your other one touching your mouth. You let out a quiet squeal, sounding exactly like Kat.
He steeled his features, trying to look like a professional, but you’d already seen his smile.
“Was that a smile, Joel Miller?”
He dropped it immediately, lips pressing in a tight line. “Nope. Don’t smile at the gun range. Bad luck.”
You rolled your eyes, that playful glint back in them and Joel swore you rolled your hips as you turned back toward the targets. “That was definitely a smile.”
“You gonna keep talkin’ or you gonna shoot?”
“You smiled. Resident Bad Ass Joel Miller just smiled at me.”
He groaned. “Just shoot the damn gun.”
You lined up the next shot and he watched the progression again. Your shoulders were looser this time as you exhaled and pulled the trigger, and with each shot you took that hit some part of the target, he watched the confidence grow.
Along with the pull from his chest.
You huffed and set your shoulders. He heard the click of the safety a second before you whirled around, handing him the gun hilt first. “It’s empty.”
“Didn’t hear the click of the empty magazine,” he admitted, taking it from you.
“Wasn’t one,” you crossed your arms over your chest, and Joel could see a hint of smugness.
“You counted how many shots it had?”
You raised your chin. “Didn’t you tell me to always know how many shots were in it?”
He exhaled, a little from shock, a little from pride. He had said that. You’d been trembling so badly with nerves that he hadn’t realized you’d retained it.
He took the empty magazine and opened the box of ammo with one hand. He held them both up so you could see his hands as he worked. He didn’t explain — he’d teach that skill to you specifically on another day when you weren’t dead on your feet from a flashback and reeling from facing one of your fears for the first time. Once finished, he handed you the magazine and the gun to load.
A brush of the fingers sent electricity jolting from his fingertips to his shoulders and down his spine, and he shivered, the touch lingering just a second longer than it should have. Luckily you had pushed the magazine in and pulled back the rack, so you hadn’t noticed.
Just like he thought — you didn’t notice his touch. You were healing, focused on yourself and your progress — just like you should be. Just like he wanted you to be.
He stepped toward the back of the stall as you settled yourself for another round.
He fisted his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to you. You were still so goddamn close and all he wanted was to bask in it, to pull you into his arms and against his chest, to whisper how proud he was of you and hold you as you took back this piece of yourself.
Because he knew, deep down, that’s what this was.
It was all the confidence and power that you hadn’t been allowed in the last twenty years or… ever, he supposed. You’d been in college during the outbreak, an adult with training wheels, probably not making very many of your own decisions.
Jackson was your opportunity to take control of your life, even if you didn’t know it.
So Joel kept his hands firmly in his pockets and tamped down on his desire to hold your hand through it. Because you needed to do this for yourself. You needed to know that if it came down to it, you could do it. And you could do anything you wanted.
When the magazine was empty again, Joel tilted and looked at the target. This time, each shot had hit the paper. None of them were in the same area of the target, but they’d all hit within the outline of the torso drawn on the paper.
Again, that warmth of pride and shock. More pride.
When you’d loaded it again, you looked up at him through your lashes. You had the faint blush of exhilaration and a grin filled with pride.
“Looks good,” he commented, nodding his head.
That smile grew and there was a light in your eyes that he hadn’t seen yet.
It floored him. He held his fists tighter in his pockets. God, you were beautiful. He’d had the brief, fleeting thought that day in the woods, that even with a face covered in bruises, underweight and scared, you were beautiful. The thought had been fleeting only because he was so worried about you, but it had returned in full earnest the next day in the grocer when he saw you laughing at your daughter.
And a month later, once you’d put on a little weight, with the bruises under your eyes a little faded because you were getting more sleep — coupled with your eyes lit up and that blush across your features?
Beautiful wasn’t even the right word. He wasn’t sure he had a word for how you looked. Beautiful and gorgeous seemed a little arbitrary. Surely there was a better word — he’d have to see if he could find an old thesaurus and find one himself.
Regardless of what the word was — Joel liked that blush across your face and the way your eyes were bright and shining. He liked that look more than he had any business to. He liked it even more that he was part of the reason for it.
“You know,” you teased, pressing a finger to his chest, “you could just admit that you’re a little impressed. I won’t tell anyone.”
Joel wanted nothing more than to put his hand over yours and cradle it to his chest, to feel that smug ass smirk on his lips. But he just pressed his lips together and grunted; the grumpy old man.
“Don’t push it, darlin’.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the target, a hand on your hip as you made it way more sensual than it had any right to be.
Get a grip, Miller, he thought.
“Deeeeeeeefinitely needed that,” Ellie sighed, protruding her belly out and rubbing it. “Gonna have to carry me home,” she drolled out, acting like she was going to fall on top of Kat.
“No!” Kat squealed out, giggling as she ran away from Ellie and under Joel’s arm.
“Joellllll!” She yelled, still laughing.
“Can’t help ya there, squirt,” his hand mussed her hair — which was already messy from a full day of school, but besides the point.
“Seriously though,” Ellie hummed. “Perfect night for stew.”
“It’s the end of October in Wyoming,” you stressed, gesturing to the snow around them. “Every night is the perfect night for stew.”
The afternoon at the range had been emotionally healing for you. You hadn’t said anything, but Joel could tell. All afternoon and evening, you had been carrying yourself with more confidence, that smug and proud smile seemed permanently stamped on your face. He liked it.
He hadn’t said anything about it, trying not to push. And he definitely hadn’t said anything about that moment he’d been close to you, about the way he’d reacted… and the way you’d reacted too. He was going to ignore it and that was that.
Even though he’d spent the entire afternoon at half-mast because he couldn’t stop replaying it.
“And I, for one, am so glad it’s Friday,” Ellie sighed, walking normally and holding Kat’s hand.
“So you can help me work on your Halloween costume?” You asked, raising your eyebrows with a big, sarcastic smile painted on your face.
“Well,” she paused, cringing, “no, actually.”
“Go a lot faster if you helped on it,” Joel teased, but there was a little bit of reprimand there as well.
“I’m excited,” Ellie recovered, narrowing her eyes at the both of you, “because I don’t have to go to school this weekend.”
“I don’t know why you complain about school,” Kat scolded. “It’s so much fun, Ellie.”
“No, it really isn’t.”
“Yeah huh,” Kat argued. “You get recess and snack time and there’s lotsa toys and sometimes we even watch movies.”
“Yeah, well, big kid school doesn’t have any of that fun stuff,” Ellie grumbled. “Not even movies.”
“Well, what do you do all day?”
“Take notes, read, go over our lessons,” Ellie scoffed.
Kat’s eyes were wide. She’d only been in kindergarten for a couple weeks and while she’d gone in knowing how to write her own name, she was still learning all of the sounds the letters made. But she was fascinated with reading — it didn’t matter what a person was reading, Kat wanted it read aloud to her.
Joel didn’t mind. Lonesome Dove was a little mature for her (and probably Ellie too, he reflected), so you and Joel only read that together after bedtime, while Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys took over your time after supper. Luckily, the library in Jackson had several of each series — more than enough to keep occupied for a couple months until Kat could start reading herself.
It was his favorite time of the day.
On weeknights, whether they ate dinner together in the mess or in the house, the four of you would retire to the living room and either you or Joel would pull out the latest mystery. It was usually one chapter a night (okay, two, since all three of the girls had perfected the puppy dog eyes) and the three proficient readers of the house would trade off evenings.
Kat always sat next to whoever was reading, cuddled close into their side. She would watch the page, as if she could decipher the magic of reading just by watching and imitating.
Plus, she liked turning the pages.
Since it was Friday, he knew Ellie would be sprinting off to hang out with her friends. They usually showed movies on Fridays in the mess after dinner, so there wouldn’t be a chapter tonight. They’d made the mistake of reading one night without her and she hadn’t spoken to any of them for days.
Joel picked at the collar of his t-shirt as Rancher Street came into view. The anxiety of the talk he knew he needed to have with the three of you had been prickling at the back of his mind all day, and he’d managed to push it off.
And, if he were honest, he’d actually planned on telling you yesterday afternoon. If you’d adamantly refused to go to the range, he was going to tell you as a way to prepare you, to show you how important it was that you were able to protect yourself without him or Ellie.
Your shooting skills hadn’t been the only thing Tommy had wanted to talk to him about.
We need you to sweep the ski lodge, Joel.
Tommy, that’s a three day round-trip. I haven’t been gone more’n 12 hours since —
Since you and Kat had arrived, he’d thought, but he hadn’t said it.
I know it, his brother had said, knowing him and his mind almost as well as he did himself. But they’ve adjusted. It’s time. We’ve been swappin’ around all of the shifts because of y’all, but now it’s time.
He’d grit his teeth and wanted to fight Tommy on it, but that wasn’t fair and he knew it.
There are three longer patrol routes and most of them took the better part of a day in travel, a day to actually check things, and a day to come back. The normal rotation was set up so that each pair only had one longer route a month.
He’d only be gone three days.
If nothing goes wrong.
Three days was a long time. A lot could change.
Ellie burst into the house first, as she always did, with Kat hot on her heels. You followed, holding the door open for Joel as he set his boot on the first step of the porch.
He held that image in his mind, you holding the door open and smiling at him while your daughter and his ran giggling and screaming through a warm, safe house.
That would be the image he kept with him for the next three days.
Once he was through the door and shrugging off boots and jacket, he grasped your wrist before you could head upstairs.
“I need to talk to y’all,” his voice was gruff, and he looked down at your hand so you wouldn’t see anything in his eyes.
“Y’all?” You repeated.
“Yeah. Both girls, too.”
You frowned, brow furrowing with concern, but you pulled away from his touch and walked down the hall to the banister. “Ellie, Kat! Come down here a minute,” you called. “Living room okay, Joel?”
He nodded and walked in with you, taking a seat on the edge of the recliner.
The two girls were still giggling when they came in, but at Joel’s somber face, they quieted instantly and came in to sit next to you on the couch.
“Gotta tell y’all somethin’,” he started, cringing when Kat’s eyes went wide. “It ain’t a big deal, Kit-Kat.”
“What is it then?” She asked, pouty lips budged out.
Joel let his chest fill for a moment. “Gonna be gone a few days.”
He saw Ellie shrug out of his peripheral, but he hadn’t been whose reaction he wanted to see — she was used to this. She’d known that the longer patrol was coming.
The mask you’d schooled over your own features gave nothing away.
But Kat…
Her eyes filled with tears. “But — Joel, this is your home. Where will you stay?”
“Oh, Kat,” he soothed, reaching out his hands for her. She bolted off the couch and into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder. “It’s not like that, kiddo,” he whispered.
“It’s just a patrol,” Ellie told her.
“Those are only for a day at a time though?” You questioned.
“Normally, yeah. But there’s a couple’a routes that are longer and don’t get swept as often,” Ellie explained. “Not that kids are allowed to go,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“Good,” you and Joel said together. He didn’t miss the blush on your cheeks or the heat crawling up his own neck.
He pulled back from Kat. “I only gotta go on the long one once a month,” he assured her.
“But how long will you be gone, Joel?”
“Only three days. Then I’ll be back.”
She sniffed a little. “Will you find more people like me and Momma?”
He shrugged a shoulder, moving her so she sat on his leg instead. “If there’s anybody out there, yeah.”
Kat just nodded, snuggling deeper against his chest. It reminded him of Sarah — her memory began to clutch at his heart, stealing the breath from his lungs with the jagged edges of its pain. Sarah had cuddled against him just like this whenever she was scared. Didn’t matter if it was a storm, a monster under her bed, a movie, anything — she cuddled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her safe from the world.
So he just sat there and decided he would hold Kat until she moved first. He’d be there for as long as Kat needed him.
It made the pain at Sarah’s memory feel closer, softer somehow.
He looked up at you then, and in his unexpected look, he saw you biting your lip and the anxiety in your eyes.
He waited then, Joel was good at waiting, and he waited now to see what you did with that anxiety you felt. Whether you brought it to him in front of the girls or you waited to bring it to him later, Joel would wait. And then he would hold you the same way he was holding Kat — literally or figuratively.
His eyes still on you, you sighed then, giving him and Kat a weary smile. “Well, we’ll need to pack him some yummy food, won’t we, Kat?”
She sniffled and brought her head off his chest. “Can we make some more cookies he likes, Momma?”
At your nod, Kat wiped her face on the back of her sleeve and sat up straight. He loosened his arms, guessing that his time as comforter was ending now that there was a job to do.
Kat looked over at Ellie, slumped against the couch cushion. “Ellie, you wanna help me and Momma make some cookies?”
Ellie looked back and forth, tilting her head. “Yes, but only if I get to lick the spoon.”
She gave Kat a devilish grin and bounded up off the couch, racing into the kitchen with Kat’s footfalls close behind, both of them screaming and squealing about what kind was Joel’s favorite and who was actually going to lick the spoon.
“Might not have any cookies make it to the oven with those two chefs,” he grumbled, crossing his arms on his chest.
“Well,” you smirked, “you might get one anyway. Don’t worry, if they eat most of the dough, I’ll go in there and whip up some more. I’ll make you some sweet tea to take in a thermos too.”
The silence settled heavily between you then, and Joel noticed you were biting your lip again, your fingers messing with a stray string from your hoodie.
You vaulted up from the couch, walking over behind the recliner to where Joel kept the record player. It had once lived in the dining room, but one evening while reading, you mentioned you missed music to listen to while you read, and he’d moved it in here the next day.
It had come with the house, but he’d collected some of his and Ellie’s favorites too. He wasn’t sure he could stomach a record with The Wiggles on it for Kat, but he’d found a few instrumentals and jazz records that you liked on when you read.
“Who’s your partner?” you asked as you thumbed through the collection, Joel could tell you were trying very hard to be casual about it all.
“Think it’s Eugene this time,” he answered.
“Not Tommy?” Shoulders hiked up around your ears, you bobbed your head as you pulled one out.
“No, I was only with Tommy that day because someone was sick,” he answered, rising from his spot and walking over toward you.
“That makes sense,” you mumbled, taking out the record and fitting it. He was quiet as you dropped the needle and adjusted the volume.
“It’ll be fine,” he assured you, reaching out for your elbow as the first notes start to fill the air.
“I know that,” you whispered, looking up through your lashes again. “I know how to shoot a gun now, ya know.”
“You had a good teacher,” he could feel the hint of a smile ghosting his lips. “Part of why I brought it up to you.”
Your eyes and smile fell then. You pressed your palm to his chest and Joel let you. His hands moved slowly up from your elbows to your shoulders, slow enough that he hoped you knew it was a choice, that you could back away if you wanted. When you leaned in and put your forehead next to your palm on his chest, Joel exhaled and wrapped his arms around you, much the same way he had Kat.
“It’s gonna be okay, darlin’,” he murmured, his cheek pressed against your temple. He inhaled, memorizing the lavender scent of you, the warmth of you even through your hoodie and his own sleeves, and the way your fingertips tightened on the thin material of his shirt, just above his heart.
He’d said he was going to keep his distance so he didn’t end up pushing you — he’d meant it too. But if you came to him asking for that comfort, then he didn’t mean to deny you.
When you raised your head, he saw your brows drawn tight together. You blinked a couple times and swallowed. “I know that.”
He just nodded. “It’s only three days.”
Your lips pressed tight tighter, but you nodded. You weren’t panicking, not like you had earlier in the day, you were just… scared.
“What are we listenin’ to tonight?”
“That radio one that I like,” you answered, brows still furrowed.
Playing your favorite record struck at Joel’s throat. You hadn’t played it in a while — hadn’t needed to, but he’d heard it often in the first few days you’d come to Jackson. He’d learned to associate it with your hard days when you’d been working at the clinic.
He could tell you were trying to let go of the thoughts, to comfort yourself in the music you liked. It was something he’d never heard of before, a collection of ambience sounds mixed with actual 40s and 50s radio programs, complete with the radio DJ commentary.
“Wish we had ‘bout six more of’em,” he commented.
“Me too,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I didn’t even know this was a thing I liked until Jackson.”
Until Jackson. He had started thinking of things that way once he’d moved here too: before Jackson and after Jackson. Two distinct eras, like time separated by the birth of Christ.
But that thinking had shifted in just the last month.
Before you came to Jackson.
After you came to Jackson.
You probably thought of time in those two eras because it marked a shift in your life — a shift of safety and peace, much like he had felt when he and Ellie had come here. But he longed to know if you thought that way because of meeting him too.
Humming along to the music, your arms still wrapped around yourself, Joel noticed you begin to sway back and forth. It was soft and delicate, profound only to him.
A reckless thought struck him then, something he absolutely should not want or be thinking, but he did.
He leaned away, holding up a finger as your eyes found his and you frowned. The hallway was close enough to the kitchen that he could hear Ellie read out a part of the recipe that Joel knew was near the top; good, he still had time.
He grinned, feeling like a teenage boy as he came back to you.
“Girls’re fine,” he told you, reaching with a little uncertainty to taking you back into his arms. You let him, giving him a curious smile as approval or acceptance.
“You ever dance when you were in college?”
You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “Only when I was about six shots deep and forgot that I couldn’t shake my ass very well.”
He chuckled, “No, not like that.” He gestured to the record player, “I mean somethin’ like for this.”
Soft, pink lips formed a solid ‘o’ as you shook your head. You swallowed and regained yourself, “College frat boys don’t exactly wanna take girls on dates, Joel, much less out dancing.”
“No,” he allowed. He put his left hand on your waist and reached down with his right hand to take yours. “But men do.”
Fingers tightened on his, but your other hand found his shoulder. He pulled you in by your waist, spurred on by the girlish giggle and flush of your cheeks until the two of you were cheek to cheek.
She wants this, he thought to himself. It spurred him on, warmth and excitement rushing his chest, and he memorized the feeling of it all, wishing he could bottle up this feeling so he could relive it while he was out in the cold on the back of his horse.
“Dance with me, honey,” he breathed into your ear.
Reckless.
The tension fell from your shoulders in one breath and he felt your spine soften beneath his wide hand. He led you with quiet, shuffling feet in a slow circle at the back of the living room.
One song faded into another as he held you and Joel felt his throat go dry. It wasn’t lost on him that he was practically holding you for the second time today, when the last time had been the day you’d climbed behind him on his horse and headed for Jackson.
The heat he felt, the hollowness of his stomach, that was from just being around a woman, right? He hadn’t been this close to a woman since Tess. And you were so beautiful. That had to be it.
Every man naturally wanted the closeness of a beautiful woman. It was only natural.
Besides, you didn’t see Joel that way, he knew. He was too old, too used up by this world, he’d chosen to do too many horrible things to survive. You liked being around him because he’d offered you safety, a chance to take your time and heal. You were healing. You didn’t have time to focus on anything like the desire flooding him.
“You’re good at this,” you hummed, pulling back from his cheek to look at him.
Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, the movement mesmerizing and stealing any remarks he had.
“Uh,” he stuttered out, blinking and shaking his head to clear all thoughts of your tongue.
“You take a lot of women dancing?”
He swallowed. “Not really.”
Apparently satisfied with that answer, you melted back into his chest, and he pressed his cheek back against yours. His heart raced and he hoped you couldn’t hear it hammering against his ribs.
He could faintly hear the girls laughing in the kitchen.
“They’re good for each other,” he observed. “Think Kat’s made Ellie more responsible, maybe a little more mature.”
“Kat thinks she hung the moon.”
You sighed again, but it wasn’t a sad sound, Joel thought.
“You too,” you added, barely audible.
“Hmm?”
You leaned back to look at him again. “She… well, she’s pretty enamored with you, Joel,” you admitted.
He felt heat on the back of his neck again and resisted the urge to scratch there. He looked away from your gaze, embarrassed by how much the comment meant to him, embarrassed by how much Kat meant to him.
And you.
“Well, I —” he stuttered again, eyes flicking up to yours. He had no idea why his tongue wasn’t working work a shit, but he might as well cut the damn thing out for as much good as it was doing him.
“She’s a special kid,” he settled on.
“Yeah,” you agreed, a soft smile painting your lips as you sank back to his embrace.
Soak it up, he told himself. He’d be three long days without you, if everything went well. This was the memory he wanted to pull out — this was what he would use to keep him warm in his sleeping bag, knowing you were in bed in his home, warm and safe and waiting for him.
He wasn’t sure why the thought of you waiting for him had settled so heavily in his chest. The weight was heavy, but it wasn’t an unpleasant weight. In fact, he found he liked it. It felt like a heavy blanket, enveloping and comforting.
“I’m sorry I sprung that on you,” he breathed against your ear. He couldn’t help himself, he leaned in just another fraction of an inch. You were still close, you were still leaning in to him, you still wanted this. “I should’ve told you privately before we told the girls.”
“It’s fine,” you told him. “Being in front of the girls made me keep my shit together.”
“It’s still hard though,” he admitted.
Your hand squeezed his. “And you do this every month?”
“Thereabouts.”
You sighed, and Joel thought that this one was a sad one.
“It’ll be weird without you here.”
He nodded, his beard rasping against your soft cheek. “It’ll be weird to be away.”
“Is the ski lodge safe?”
He shrugged, relishing the way the motion pulled you just that much closer. “Safe as any other long patrol, I guess.” He nuzzled against your ear, “I’ll be fine, honey. I promise.”
“I know,” you confessed. “I just —”
You blew out your cheeks, but Joel waited.
“Just hate for you to be out there. There’s snow on the ground, won’t you be cold?”
Fuck yeah, I’ll be cold, he thought to himself. He didn’t say that, the recklessness was upon him, and as long as you were reacting well, like this, Joel thought he might push his luck.
“I’ll have memories like this to keep me warm.”
You nuzzled back into him. “I’ll — we’ll miss you.”
A tinny crash of pans came from the kitchen with a chorus of “everything’s fine!” from both girls.
You leaned your forehead to Joel’s chest and sighed heavily. “They’re destroying the kitchen.”
He closed his eyes, sighing too. He wanted so badly to tell you he’d miss you too, but the moment was gone.
“Well, you knew they would from the moment you suggested it.”
You nodded against his chest and broke apart from him, giving him a wary parents-of-multiple-children smile. “Let’s go see what we can salvage, huh?”
The ache and hollow feeling of you walking away from him was a much different weight on his chest, but he made himself smile anyway, gesturing for you to lead the way.
tag list: @pedrofan, @nothinglefttogive, @goonersquad101, @ren08642, @needz1nk, @catarsis75
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Pairing: Joel x Ex!Reader
Summary: I don't know if we do fics inspired by songs anymore but this one is inspired by Drinking Water at Your Wedding. It's made me cry, a LOT. Joel and the Reader broke up a year ago and she has moved on and invited Joel and Tommy to her wedding. When Joel arrives, he makes it through the ceremony but notices that she's not drinking champagne...
Warnings: Infidelity, Smut (lots of smut. all the smut). Overpriced weddings. Shotgun weddings.
Word Count: 7500
Notes: I'm not real sure about the ending of this one. kept feeling like something was off about it but not sure how to land the plane. let me know what you think!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist here. Ao3 here.
“Sure ‘bout this?” Tommy’s voice cuts through the radio.
Joel sighs, but he nods anyway. “Don’t got much choice, do I?”
Tommy’s grimace is his answer. But he’s loyal, Joel gives him that. “You can jus’ go home. I’ll tell Mrs. Anderson you’ve got hand, foot, and mouth or somethin’.”
“She’ll know it for a lie,” Joel says, leaning his elbow on the center console so his hand can support his face. “We saw her at the gas station yesterday.”
“These things tend to develop quickly in 24 hours,” Tommy tries, and Joel loves him for that, but it doesn’t matter.
“Naw, I gotta go, it’ll be weirder if I don’t. We’ll sit near the back, get some cake, then head out.”
Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Heard it’s an open bar…”
“Good,” Joel grunts. “I’m gonna need it.”
His little brother swallows and Joel keeps his eyes on the road.
The little chapel is idyllic. One of those one-room, whitewashed deals built in the 1800’s. He’s not sure it’s even large enough for all of the people milling about in the shaded clearing, but it’s just him and Tommy — they’ll stand if there’s no seating.
Mr. Anderson shakes his hand firmly, as if he knows exactly why Joel had to come and he respects him for it. Joel doesn’t want his respect, but he forces the smile that’s expected and finds somewhere to sit.
Then he and Tommy up standing once the older ladies start filing in and it’s made clear that there wouldn’t be enough room on the benches.
The music starts, and Tommy leans in to whisper, “you alright?”
He’s not, and Tommy knows that, but he just nods anyway.
It goes by in a blur of music and the scent of roses.
Fuckin’ roses, he thinks, scoffing when he sees the obnoxious bouquets each bridesmaid holds.
Tommy raises his brow. Joel leans over to his brother’s ear. “She hates roses.”
He just nods, remembering. Of course he remembers. You were Tommy’s best friend too.
“Mr. Ole Miss must like’em fine,” Tommy ventures, trying to hide his smile.
The music changes and Joel feels his heart inching up into his throat. How many times had he imagined this exact moment, ’cept he was at the front of the church instead of hidin’ in the back.
He hates himself for a coward.
Everyone stands then, and Joel holds his breath. He wants to bolt, to flee somewhere that he doesn’t have to endure this torture. He wishes he’d brought Sarah so he’d have someone to hold on to, or a reason to escape if she cried or needed a diaper change.
What the hell did he ever do in a past life to earn this?
Tommy’s arm finds his shoulder and he’s so grateful for the silent touch that he has to swallow and blink hard to keep his eyes from filling up with tears.
And then you enter.
A hush falls over the crowd for a couple seconds, then it’s hushed whispers of oohs and aahs.
Joel can’t make a sound; his mouth is dry and he knows it’s hanging open, but he’s simply forgotten what to do with it.
Later, during the reception when Tommy asks, Joel won’t remember a single detail about the dress, other than it was white. The veil covers your face, but it’s short enough that he catches the string of pearls at your neck. He knows they’re your momma’s and her momma’s before.
Mr. Anderson leads you to the end of the aisle and everybody is seated, but Joel can see the way your shoulders shake, almost like you’re laughing. But when your father takes the veil off and places it over your hair, Joel doesn’t see the expression he expects.
You’re trying not to cry, but those aren’t the tears of a blushing bride. It’s not noticeable to the crowd at large, but Joel clocks it. He sees the way your mouth is pressed tightly together, the way you do when you’re trying to keep from crying over something you think is silly. The line between your brows, the white knuckle grip you have on your dad’s hands.
His shoulders tense, and Tommy looks at him with a bewildered expression.
“Later,” Joel whispers.
He made himself almost disappear during the ceremony. He didn’t want you to have any memories of him during this most important moment of your life. He didn’t want you to look back and see him instead of Mr. Ole Miss.
He was the first one out of the church when the preacher said everyone could file out to the reception area.
A shot glass makes a peculiar sound when it’s slammed down on a wooden bar, and by the second one, Joel decided he quite liked it.
The bartender asks if he wanted another, but he and Tommy both say no. He wouldn’t make a scene.
By the time of the first dance for the married couple, however, he was wishing he’d said yes.
He tried to fade into the background, but it wasn’t easy. Your sister, one of the bridesmaids, always had a thing for Tommy, so when she sits between him and his brother, Joel almost gets up just to avoid the conversation.
Her hand is soft on his forearm though. “It’s good that you came, Joel.”
He just presses his lips together and nods, wanting another drink.
As your new husband twirls you around, Joel sees that look again. The one that said you’d promised yourself you were not gonna cry and you were doing your best to keep your promise.
Your sister follows his look and Joel feels her fingers tighten on his bare forearm. When he looks at her, he wanted so bad to ask you see this right? but he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t.
And then your eyes meet his.
Right over the shoulder of your husband. He changes directions, but your eyes stay put, locked with Joel’s.
Is that— surprise there? You really thought he wouldn’t come?
He looks down then, unable to meet your gaze. A shot glass sits in front of him and he takes it, an understanding passing in Tommy’s gaze. make a scene, big brother. I got you if you do.
He smells it first, and it’s Jim Beam.
God damn it.
Eyes closed, he takes it back in one gulp, desperately willing it to take effect before the memory of you drinking straight from a bottle of Jim can infiltrate his mind.
Too late.
You always have hated shot glasses — you’d rather sip straight from the bottle and then chase straight from your can of coke.
He remembers a night on his tailgate, not many weeks after his divorce was finalized and Sarah’s mother had terminated her rights. He’d thought he would’ve been happy to be done with it all, but all Joel had felt was the crushing weight of failure.
You’d found him that night, you’d made Tommy drive you out to his favorite spot so you could drive him home. He’d held you in his arms, sobbing that he was going to ruin this little girl’s life, that he couldn’t do it alone.
And that had been the first night you kissed him. Because it was only with your lips pressed against his with the words “you’re not alone, Joel” that he began to believe it.
He makes it through the toasts and starts to think that maybe he can make it through this entire damn event without crying or making a scene.
The cute little piece of paper in Tommy’s hands says there’s only one left and he braces himself.
It’s your sister this time and Joel is glad. He likes her better than any of the groomsmen droning on about bachelor parties and shit. There were a couple of choice comments that seemed to be made at your expense, and when you blushed, your new husband just guffawed.
When he raises his bottle of beer (Tommy said no more hard liquor and honestly, that was a good choice), he meets your eyes, all the way up at the front of the room.
You raise your glass with your eyes on him, and when your sister finishes her toast (to unending love), you nod to him and tip your glass. Joel’s mouth is dry but he nods back, tipping his bottle too.
His eyes catch on your glass as you take a sip. He expects bubbles of champagne — which seems to be what everybody else here is drinking — but as he stares, he notices there’s no bubbles and the liquid is clear. You take a longer drink this time and he doesn’t see the telltale puckering of your lips for vodka or rum.
“It’s water,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else.
He knows his eyes are wide, his chest is tight, is breath is coming in short little gasps that attract even Tommy’s attention.
“What’s that, Joel?” He asks, concern etched in his face.
He shakes his head, still not looking at his brother. “I — I need a minute,” he grumbles, standing from the table on shaking legs.
It’s not just Tommy’s eyes that he feels on him as he walks between tables and couples and little children running around, but he doesn’t care. the reception area is outside the little chapel, with a small dance floor and a raised dais, surrounded by the covered tables like the one he just ran from.
But it’s just a clearing, and there’s acres of forest ahead that he can disappear to for just a moment. He walks into the treeline, far enough that no one will notice him collapsing against the trunk of one.
Everything clicks into place as he collapses. And Joel, as much as he doesn't want to, understands everything.
He sits there for a while, long enough that he can hear the cake cutting and the DJ opening up the dance floor to anyone who wants to dance. Long enough that he knows he needs to head back, but Joel can't get his feet to work. He can't move.
Two months ago
Joel sighs as he collapses on his couch. At only three, Sarah still had issues sleeping. Tonight in particular, not only had she had trouble going to sleep, but this was about the fourth time Joel had woken up to her screaming. This last go-round, he’d promised her that he would buy her a fuckin’ pony if she would just sleep through the rest of the night.
He doesn’t have to work tomorrow, thank God. He isn’t sure he was built to survive on less than four hours of sleep, but he also knows Sarah will be up at the ass-crack of dawn wanting him to play barbies or make up or something.
Head leaning back against the couch, Joel rubs at his face. He wants to sleep but he’s just too wound up from having to calm Sarah down for so long. He checks his phone, noting a couple messages from Tommy and one from… you.
“Christ.”
He opens the message, hands almost shaking.
hey.
It’s been so long. Probably close to a year since he’d spoken to you. He isn’t even sure what to reply. The timestamp reads only an hour previous, and at 2 AM on a Friday, he has no doubt that you’re still awake.
No, he stops himself.
He’d seen your momma last week at the grocery store and she’d handed him a wedding invitation for you and Mr. Ole Miss. Joel’s jaw had been tight as he accepted it and assured Mrs. Anderson that he and Tommy wouldn’t miss it for the world.
It’s a small town, he’d known you were proposed to the day it happened.
Doesn’t mean he wants to know.
The night his divorce went through, you’d pulled up and told him he wasn’t alone, and for the next six months you had proved it. It hadn’t taken that long for Joel to fall in love, but it took him six months to admit it to himself and say it out loud to you.
You’d only smiled, like you already knew, and said, “Better remember that, cowboy.”
It had been the best year of his life. You loved Sarah, you loved him, and the two of you were building the exact life that Joel had always wanted.
But a year ago, Joel made the biggest mistake of his life.
He’d let you go.
In hindsight, he knew that you had just wanted him to fight for you — to prove that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. But he hadn’t known that then. He thought standing aside was the right thing, to give you whatever it was that you said you wanted. And you’d said you wanted to leave.
So he’d let you.
And he’d spent a year regretting it every single day.
You’d met someone. Started dating. Got serious. Got engaged. Planning a wedding.
And Joel was still sitting on his couch at 2 AM, wishing he had another chance.
knock knock knock.
Joel’s instantly alert, on his feet before he can articulate the thought. He can hear someone at the front door, not aggressive, but rather like someone who wants to be heard but doesn’t want to wake the whole house.
Like someone who knows there’s a three year old who lives here and she doesn’t want to wake them up.
His breath catches as he walks to the door, hesitant because as long as he doesn't open the door, there’s always the possibility that it’s you on the other side.
But he can’t help it. He has to know. The text message and someone showing up at 2 AM can’t be a coincidence.
Through the peep hole, he sees you, and Joel’s knees start to buckle so quickly that he has to catch himself on the door handle.
He sees your head jerk up, knowing he’s awake.
Unlocked and thrown open, the door almost hits the wall too hard, and Joel cringes. Then he looks down and realizes he’s in a t-shirt and boxers and he cringes again.
He expects you to be in clothes for a bar or going out with your girlfriends, but he’s met with a pair of plaid pajama shorts (his favorites, he remembers) and one of his old t-shirts that he’d never found after the breakup.
“Hi,” you whisper. “Can we talk?”
He nods, but he can’t make his fucking feet work correctly to get the fuck out of the way. You giggle, and Joel can smell it.
“You drove here drunk?”
You shake your head, jerking your thumb back behind you. Your sister sits in the front seat of her car and Joel waves hesitantly. “Does she —“
“Shh,” you slur. “No one else knows I’m here. She won’t say anything.”
Joel remembers he’s blocking the door and he shuffles out of the way, letting you in. Your sister puts her car in drive and speeds away.
When he closes the door, he’s hit by the overwhelming realization of what this looks like. You’ve shown up, drunk, at his door, at 2 AM, with another man’s ring on your finger.
The rational part of his brain is working really hard to remind him of that fact. But the irrational part of his brain doesn’t care. You smell the same, and he bets you smell and taste the exact same too.
“Been a while,” he manages, looking down at his hands and wondering what the hell he’s supposed to actually do here.
“I know,” you murmur, stepping a little closer. “Is Sarah here?”
“Yeah. Just got her back down, actually. She’s been havin’ a hard time lately.”
You look down at his chest then. “Poor baby. I miss her.”
It makes Joel’s heart ache. “She asks ‘bout you alot. Wonderin’ when you’re comin’ home.”
He looks up when he says that last part and he feels a touch of triumph at the look of agony on your face, but it fades quickly. He always knew you loved Sarah more than you ever did him, and that was all he’d ever wanted out of a woman.
You make your way into the living room, well-practiced at the layout of Joel’s home, and you sit on the couch, patting the seat next to you.
“Can we talk?”
He nods and comes as bid. All of the desire he had to sleep is gone, and he knows that no matter what conversation is had tonight, he won’t regret being tired in the morning.
“What —“ he swallows, wondering how his throat got so dry, “what is it you wanna talk ‘bout?”
Your hands are in your lap, and you look down at the ring that adorns your left hand.
“That?” Joel’s voice is soft.
When you look up at him, your eyes are full of tears. “Yeah, that.”
“What’s the matter, baby?”
A tear slips out at the old familiarity, and Joel presses his lips tightly together. It’s so easy whenever he is around you — that’s why you’ve avoided each other for a year. Joel knew early on that as long as he was around you, he’d never let you move on, and you deserved to move on.
“Do you still —“
“Yes,” he interrupts.
“Are you sure?”
“I told you that I would always love you,” Joel admits, scratching the back of his head. “I meant that.”
You look back down at your hands and Joel can see the gears whirring in your mind. He’s always known you so well, it only ever took one look for him to know what was going on. It’s nice to know that a year hasn’t changed anything there. Even if everything else has changed drastically.
The lightbulb moment in your mind is so subtle, but Joel sees it, has a half second to prepare himself before you look up and reach for his face.
It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been prepared or not.
The softness of your fingers almost knocks him backwards, and he thinks that he’s glad he’s sitting, because it would’ve been real embarrassing if he’d actually fell.
You pull in close, and Joel can smell the scent of lavender and vanilla — your favorite. His eyes close, better to concentrate on the scent and the soft skin of your hands, but he’s actively aware of you getting closer to him.
He should stop you.
He really should.
You’re getting married in two months.
But he wants to kiss you so badly, so desperately. He never got the chance to kiss you goodbye, to press his lips to yours one more time, knowing it would be the last.
So he’s going to take one kiss and then he’ll stop you. Be selfish for only a moment, and then do the right thing.
But when you press your lips to his with just the softest pressure, a kiss that is more a question than a statement of desire… well, all of Joel’s plans go right out the goddamn window.
His arm had been slung around the back of the couch, so it’s not hard for him to wrap that arm around you, his other hand finding your sides. His hands are so big and they cover so much space, but still he wants more. You pull back a fraction of an inch, and he hears your exhale.
His chest heaves with the anticipation, then he realizes that you were asking him a question, and his body desperately wants to answer it.
So he does.
He pulls you to him by your ribs, pressing your torsos together and mashing his lips to yours in something that’s more desire and possession than passion or even love.
Mouth molding against his, he feels rather than hears your gasp, but the heat pulsing through his blood tells him that it’s a good gasp, and he keeps going. He licks into your mouth and you respond, moaning as you touch your tongue to his, pulling at his hair so hard that Joel has to break the kiss, following the direction you’re pulling and his own gasp releasing from his throat.
You’re grinning when he opens his eyes, flushed and a desperate look in your eye. His pulse is hammering and he feels intoxicated just from one fucking kiss.
Black fabric (from his shirt, he reminds himself with glee) bunches under his palms as he moves his hands, wanting to touch your skin instead. Your head leans back, granting him permission, and Joel feels like a magnet, drawn to the soft and unmarked skin of your neck.
While he kneads the skin of your ribs and back with his strong hands, his mouth searches the skin of your neck, biting gently and soothing it over with his tongue. He ravishes you, and he can feel you squirming in his hold, your hips already bucking to try to find friction there. At the press of his lips under your ear, you keen and whimper, releasing your hold on his hair and trying to find purchase on his shoulders and neck.
He promised himself one kiss, and then he would talk to you, but Joel doesn’t want to waste any time that he could be touching you. He doesn’t want to manipulate the moment, but the thought of having gotten to touch you and then it being ripped away from him is just more than he can bare.
So he licks under your ear and he knows he’s hoarse and ragged when he murmurs, “Why did you come here, baby?”
Your answering moan and the tightening of your fingers is a good answer, but it’s not the one he needs.
He pulls back, hoping the distance of his mouth from your skin will clear your head a little. Your eyes are glazed over, but it works, and he sees you shake your head and breathe.
“Baby,” he sighs again. “Why are you here?”
“I just needed to know,” you murmur, eyes wide and searching Joel’s.
“Know what?”
“If — if loving someone would make it all feel different.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes narrow and his head tilts, and even though all of his blood has flooded straight to his cock, he’s trying so hard to make his brain work.
“I don’t — “ you sigh then, but you lean in, trying to kiss him again.
His hands are firm, but gentle as they hold you back, still resting on your ribs and waist.
“Baby,” he tries again. “Tell me.”
“I still love you,” you tell him, and Joel’s chest hurts as you whisper it again.
He whispers your name, and he knows his own eyes are wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. How long has he been waiting to hear this?
“I remember how it felt between us.”
“I do too.” And he does. He’s had other women since you (mostly around the time you posted you were in a relationship and engaged) but none of them have ever lit him on fire the way your touch does.
“It doesn’t — feel that way with, with Nate.”
It clicks in Joel’s head then.
“You came here to see if it was you or if it’s because you don’t love him.”
You flinch. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not really sure I had a plan, exactly.”
“I should call your sister,” he mumbles, getting up from the couch. It’s the right thing to do, he knows that as he starts looking for her name in his contacts, but you’re off the couch in a flash, hands on his and pulling his mouth to yours.
“No,” you sigh against him. “Kiss me.”
“But you’ll regret this,” he says, holding you at arm’s length. He can’t do that. He can’t have you regret him. He won’t survive it.
“I’d never regret you,” you tell him, the sincerity of it pulsing in your gaze. “Not once, Joel. Not ever.” And with every word, you get closer, until you’re looking up at him like he hung the moon.
“It’s a bad idea,” he says instead. Because it is. It’s the worst idea. You’re going to be married to another man. You’re wearing his fucking ring in Joel’s house.
“Then tell me to leave.” You’re breathless, and Christ.
He holds out his arms, wishing he had the strength to do the right thing — but he fucking doesn’t.
You almost jolt into his arms. His body responds instantly, without thought, and he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up so that your chest is flush with his. Your mouths find that rhythm easily, like it was never lost, like no time has passed.
His hands inch down your back to your ass, and he cups you there, holding you up just high enough that your legs wrap around his waist, your hips bucking against him.
The stairs aren’t a conscious decision he makes, but he’s making it all the same, kissing you with abandon, one hand coming to your cheek and tilting your head so he can get at your neck. You moan again, and Joel whispers into your ear, “Gotta be quiet, baby. Sarah’s asleep.”
You nod in his hold, and he presses your back against the wall of the landing while he tries to remember how a fucking doorknob works. You wiggle down his body once it’s open, and reach for him to kiss you as you walk backwards to the bed.
He does remember to lock the door behind him, just in case Sarah gets up again. But his voice is ragged when your legs hit the bed.
“I love you.”
“Joel,” you croak, “I love you.”
His hands fist in the shirt. His mouth traces your jaw, and he doesn’t give a shit how many hickies he leaves — in fact, he hopes he does.
“What the fuck were you thinkin’, comin’ over here in my goddamn shirt, like you know this shit doesn’t drive me crazy?”
“Does it still?” You whimper, eyes on his.
He smirks and you smile back, lowering yourself to the bed.
“You know full well that it does.”
“Good.”
Joel reaches for your pajama pants and you lift your hips so he can pull them off in one go. He reaches up to kiss you again, palming your mound, and moans deeply when he feels how wet you are.
“Who’s this for, baby?” He breathes against your mouth. Joel’s a possessive bastard, he always has been, so why not go all the way, huh?
“You,” you moan, laying back against his sheets and closing your eyes. “Joel, you know it’s for you.”
“That’s right. You’re always so wet for me,” he praises, and you arch up, moaning again.
He lowers himself to his knees, pulling you by your hips so you’re at the edge of the bed. He knows that you know what’s coming and he can see your cunt flexing around nothing in anticipation of it.
It’s nothing to touch his lips to the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he does, nipping each leg closer and closer to where you’re dripping. His hands hold your hips tight, but your grunts of frustration start to get louder, and Joel taps your stomach to remind you.
The air is heavy and he can hear your pants as he stops just before your hole. He looks for just a moment, familiarizing himself with it once again — he used to know your body as well as his own… but it’s been a year. He needs to reacquaint himself.
You whine his name, and he grins. “She’s so pretty, baby. Look how much she’s missed me.”
His fingers tighten on your hips as he lowers his mouth, pressing his lips to your swollen clit. You gasp, arching up and trying to take your hips with you, but Joel’s arms flex, keeping you where he wants you. He licks you from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit, and then he goes to work.
Your climax builds quickly, Joel remembers all the ways to get you off and he’s pleased that your body still responds to his this way. He ravishes you, licking and flicking his tongue until your every breath is a chorus of please and joel over and over again.
“I know, baby,” he whispers, face covered in your slick. “I know what you need. Give me just a second and I’ll give it to you.”
He releases one hand off your hip and trails it down to your waiting pussy. He uses one finger to work you open, still tonguing and flicking at your clit and once he’s satisfied with the stretch, he puts another inside. You growl at him then, hips still trying to buck to get the friction you need to cum, but Joel already knows exactly what to do.
So he does.
It doesn’t take but a few pumps of his fingers, he knew it wouldn’t, but the pressure of having something inside you and the circling heat of his tongue have you cumming in seconds and Joel grins like the cat that got the cream.
You writhe through the orgasm, and Joel licks at your trembling clit, feeling your blood pulse whenever he presses his tongue to it. you moan and mumble as you come down from the high, almost battling being oversensitive since he keeps his tongue on you. Once he’s sure that you can’t take another second, he stills his fingers and pulls them out.
“Look at that,” he whispers, full of awe as he moves his fingers back and forth, mesmerized by the slick coating them. His eyes look down and he grins, “Look at you.”
“What?” You gasp.
“You’re lyin’ here, in my bed, in just my shirt, so fuckin’ beautiful when you cum.”
“I need you,” you whisper, reaching up to grasp at his shirt.
He lets you pull it over his head, grinning as he uses the hand he didn’t finger you with to pull down his own boxers. He uses the slick still on his fingers to rub over his aching cock. His eyes roll back in his head and his cock pulses, remembering you.
When he opens his eyes, you’ve thrown off -your- his shirt and you’re naked.
Nipples peaked, skin soft and inviting, he tries not to let his gaze linger too long in one place, there’s too much to look at.
But it all adds up to one thing.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, not even sure he spoke aloud.
“So are you,” you whisper, eyes wide in your own appreciation of him. You sit up and he sees your hands reaching for his dick, but he stills you with a hand on your wrist.
“No, baby, not tonight.”
“But I —“
“I know,” he soothes, getting on the bed and laying you back down, “but I won’t last if you do that.”
A devilish grin paints your face and you shrug, laying back in the middle of his bed.
He leans over to his bedside table for a condom, and this time it’s your hand on his wrist to stop him. “No,” you rasp. “Please, Joel, I want to feel you.”
It’s a bad idea. God damn is it a bad idea. But how can he resist?
So he nods.
He crawls up the bed as you spread your legs, eager hands reaching up for his shoulders, mouth already opening to his as he jacks his cock a couple times. He pushes it through your folds coating the head in its slickness before tapping it to your clit. You writhe and Joel relishes it, growling at how responsive you are to his touch.
“You sure?” He says between clenched teeth. “Once I’m in, I dunno if I can stop, honey.”
He doesn’t want to. If you asked him to stop right now, he’s pretty sure he’d die on the spot, but he has to ask. He has to be sure.
You open your eyes and nod. Your left hand reaches for his cheek, and that possessive animal in him snarls at the thought of fucking you with that goddamn ring on.
You must see it in his eyes, because yours widen as Joel’s hand leaves his cock and snaps around your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth.
Eyes tight on yours, Joel takes your ring finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue on the digit until he finds the ring. Using his teeth, he sucks it off of you, enjoying the way your eyes roll back and your body erupts into goosebumps.
When you look back at him, it’s between his teeth, and Joel grins before turning his head and shooting it somewhere across the room.
“When I’m in you, you’re mine,” he snarls. “And I don’t want what’s mine to have another man’s ring. You’re not thinkin’ about him while fuckin’ me.”
You shake your head and he sees the faint curl of a smile. You’re not afraid.
“Say it.”
“I’m only thinking of you, Joel,” you whisper, but your voice has that dreamy quality he likes.
He nods then, grasping his cock again at the base. He splits your folds and pushes in the head of his cock. He sucks in a shaky breath, feeling his own shivers down his spine. “F-fuck.”
You whimper, one hand gripping the sheets, but your left hand is on his shoulder, tightly enough that he’s sure he’ll have marks from your nails.
Good.
He leans over you, resting his elbow and forearm near your head and letting his weight carry him the rest of the way in. Your legs wind around his hips as he pushes in to the hilt, and Joel moans in your ear as you whimper in his.
Pushing his lips to your neck, Joel gives you a minute to adjust. After all, it’s been a year.
“You alright, baby?” Joel asks.
“Yes,” you whimper, thrusting your own hips up to meet his.
Joel grins, leaning back on his elbow just enough to kiss you, his other hand grasping your hip. “I missed this,” he purrs, thrusting slowly. “I missed you.”
“Oh god,” you open your eyes, crying out, “Joel I — I miss you too.”
His hips jerk at that, and he huffs, knowing this isn’t going to last long. He bites his lip at the thought of round two and his cock twitches inside you, prompting another moan.
He’s almost lazy with his thrusts, pressing his chest to yours as if he wants to feel as much of your body pressed against his as he can, the only movement is that of his lips against yours and the slow, languid strokes of his hips meeting yours.
“That’s it baby,” he whispers whenever he needs a breath from kissing you. “You take me so well, like you were fuckin’ made for me.”
“I was,” you gasp. “You were made for me.”
He grinds down, picking up his pace in a frenzied, desperate effort. He knows he should be quieter, that you should be quiet, but the sound of his hips smacking against yours awakens that animal inside him again, and he leans up, watching your face as he pounds into you, stretching you just for him.
Your walls start to pulse around him and you make that half-whine, half-whimper that he knows means you’re close. He’s heard that noise in his dreams so many times over the last year, and he can feel himself get close just based on that alone.
Rolling his hips, Joel sits up to his knees, using his thighs to spread your legs even further. You open for him and lean up on your own elbows to watch. You see his length disappearing into yourself and you moan, leaning your head back.
“Nu uh,” he grunts, reaching out for your chin. “Don’t stop watchin’, you understand. You can take it. Be proud.”
You arch then, and Joel reaches out a hand to take one of your full breasts in his palm.
“Joel, I’m so close.”
“I know you are. This is what you wanted, right?” He growls, hips snapping harder as his other hand reaches down to your clit.
“Yes,” you begged.
He presses his broad fingers to your swollen clit and begins to rub in a circle, the way he knows would get you off, slowing his hips to an agonizing pace, as slow as he could manage while still moving.
You respond immediately, smiling as your eyes roll back and you cry out. He knows you were close, he could feel your walls fluttering around him, your hand fisting so hard in the sheet that your knuckles go white. He grins as he watches your body start to convulse.
Then he leans in, making sure there’s enough room for his hand to keep working. “You deserve this, baby,” he purrs, tongue licking the shell of your ear. “You’re mine. Always mine. Let me hear you.”
And that’s all it takes.
Your cunt tightens and he can feel the rush of slick down his shaft, abandoning his slow pace for the brutal and unrelenting one he knows you needed to keep cumming.
“There she is,” he praises, never slowing as your eyes roll back in your head. He gets desperate in his strokes, but your body is still trembling and your legs are convulsing against his back and he knows you’re still riding the high. “Keep going, baby. That’s it. You can take it,” he talks through it, the only thing keeping him from cumming now.
It finally eases and Joel slows a moment, still buried inside you. Your eyes flutter open and he sees the rush of blood to your cheeks, but you reach up for his face and kiss him sloppily, messy.
“Your turn, cowboy,” you command against his lips.
His hips move on their own command, slipping in and out of you with no resistance since you’re so wet. When he tells you, you lick the shell of his ear, “hard to stay dry when you make me feel so good.”
He can feel the heat pooling in his back, spreading under his skin. He knows he’s going to cum soon, he just — fuck.
“Wh-Where?” He manages, gritting his teeth.
“You know where,” you whisper, leaning back so he can see you’re completely serious.
He’s lost to all reason, barely hanging on to the impending orgasm. At your permission, he moans, burying his head into your neck and comes apart inside you.
He comes back to himself a few minutes later, limp and sticky with sweat as he lays on you, his head cradled to your chest. You hum some song he probably should know, just running the fingers of one hand gently through his sweat-damp hair while the other is feather-light as it traces his spine.
“Hey there,” his voice is sluggish, slurring almost.
“Hey, cowboy,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.
Joel pulls himself out of the memory when he realizes he’s not alone.
He expects Tommy, telling him it’s time to go, but his breath hitches when he sees a white dress instead of blue jeans.
He whispers your name, he can’t help it. And you gasp, putting a hand to your chest.
Now that he notices the dress, it really is beautiful. A lacy thing, tight around your chest but just loose enough to conceal a secret.
“Joel,” you answer, looking down with shame heating your cheeks.
You hold a champagne glass, but Joel notices, again, that it’s water.
“Awful weird to be drinkin’ water at your weddin’.” It’s hard to keep his voice neutral, but he does.
“Oh,” you give a nervous chuckle, “well, ya know, watching my —“
“You’re lying.” He takes a step toward you. “Aren’t you?”
Your eyes fill with tears, and Joel sees it all, the weight of it. The weight that you’d carried alone, but he doesn’t know why.
“Two months ago,” he whispers, “you came to me and we — “
“Joel, I didn’t —“
“Hang on now,” he stops you, putting a gentle hand to your cheek. “You wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“I know,” and you start to look down, but his fingers are firm, and he keeps you looking at him.
You take a deep breath. “I didn’t know how to say —“ you trail off, biting your lip.
“Say what?”
You shake your head.
“You don’t love him,” Joel guesses. You say nothing, but the flicker of doubt he saw in your eyes was answer enough. “That’s why you’ve looked like that all day… why go through with it?”
Your chest heaves, and he sees the tears spill over, the mascara running. His other hand reaches up to thumb away the tears.
“Tell me,” he begs.
“I can’t.” Your voice is full of agony, and Joel knows that if he looked inside his chest, he’d see that same agony.
“We keepin’ secrets now? You and I ain’t ever lied to each other,” Joel’s voice is rising in anger, but he’s not angry, he’s not, he just needs you to admit it. “So don’t lie to me. Don’t you keep a secret from me, you hear me?”
“Joel, I —” the tears come in earnest then, and Joel’s heart breaks. He pulls you to his chest, still amazed by how perfectly you fit there. The same way you had two months ago in his bed.
“Is that —“ he swallows and clears his throat, “is that secret you’re keepin’ gonna have my eyes?”
“By the time I’d gotten up the courage to end it with him, I realized I was pregnant,” you admit, pulling back from Joel. You took a few steps, pacing nervously.
“Does he know — that it’s mine?”
You swallow. “No. I was planning on telling him after—“
He just nods then, squeezing your hand.
“And when I told my parents, my fucking father brought out a goddamn shotgun, Joel. I didn’t know what to do.”
He understands. It was an expensive-looking wedding. Calling off something like that wouldn’t have been easy. Even his own wedding to Sarah’s mother, as inexpensive and private an affair as it had been — he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to just call it off.
His eyes soften. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“And say what?” You swallow, throat working as the tears flow steadily. “You already have Sarah, Joel. When we were together, you stressed so much about the bills and the house — I couldn’t, I couldn’t do it to you again —“
“Oh, baby,” he soothes, pulling you in tight again. He cradles your head, running fingers through the beautiful curls. “No, no, don’t ever think that. Taking care of another baby — our baby,” his voice breaks then, and he can’t help shed his own tears.
You look up at that, eyes wide with fright. “Joel —“
“No,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to yours. His knees threaten to buckle when you press yours back, opening your mouth for him.
“I want you. I didn’t want you to leave the next morning — “
“Neither did I,” you say against his dress shirt. “My — my sister and I fought over it. Over whether to tell them all or what to say or anything. I just thought — I don’t know. He was never going to be you, and I knew that. I think i've known that all along."
He whispers your name then. “I wanted to tell them all, your momma, your daddy, his parents, him, to go to hell because you’re mine, but you,” he takes another breath, trying to steady himself. “You were gone. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I thought — I thought maybe that was your choice.”
You shake your head. “Joel, no. I want you.”
He smiles then, a sad smile. “Then you’ll have me. Anything you want. We can tell them all to go to hell. Whatever excuse you want to give’em. Tonight, if you want.”
Your eyes widen. “Leave now?”
“Yes,” he breathes. He reaches down for your left hand, the same engagement ring he pulled off two months ago, and he takes it with the band. He drops it at your feet. It’s a question.
“Make a choice here, baby,” he says, taking a step forward. “If you want to go back to him, then okay. We can tell him and co-parent and it will all work out.”
He takes your hands, dropping his voice just a little. “But listen to me, if you have any doubt about him, about this marriage…I know you left and I didn’t fight for you before, but I want you. Let’s do this right this time. Come home.
“But Joel —“
“I don’t care.” He leans in, just a breath away from your lips.
“People will talk.” You say against his mouth.
“Let them.”
You nod then, more tears spilling as you open yourself to Joel’s kiss. He lifts you, spinning you there in the trees.
“I’ll figure it all out, okay?” He promises. "It's not binding 'till the paperwork's turned in to the courthouse."
You narrow your eyes, lips tilting in a crooked smile. "That... that's what my sister said -- this morning. She told me that."
AAAAAAA THIS STORY RIPPED MY HEART OUT AND STICHED IT BACK TOGETHER AGAIN!!! 😭🫂❤️🩹 the agony and the undying love both joel and the reader carried in their hearts had me clutching my chest!!
pairing: joel miller x reader
summary: mom + kat start to understand what it means to have a home that you don't constantly want to run away from. joel begins to see that these two women mean a lot more to him than he thought.
warnings: MDNI. the reader has a traumatic past -- captured by raiders and her daughter is a product of her time with them. she does mention in this chapter that idleness in the raider camp often led to negative things happening, but there is NO DETAIL about that.
word count: 8100.
ao3 link here. masterlist here.
<<chapter 3 | chapter 5>>
we're at war, we live like this
keep me safe inside
your arms like towers
tower over me.
September 15th, 2037
Making supper at home had been one of Joel’s better ideas. While he didn’t exactly have prowess in the kitchen, he knew you would’ve rather eaten hot coals than spend another meal in the mess hall with everyone staring at you.
Not to mention people like Amanda circling like hawks.
He’d nearly lost his temper when she’d talked to you like that. He’d told you more than once that you didn’t have to talk to anyone, but Amanda hadn’t sounded like you had a choice. And then you’d stiffened. You’d been completely at ease sitting there with him and Ellie and one stupid comment had changed it all.
He’d noticed the change. He’d seen that look on someone’s face before: the exact moment a conversation stopped being a conversation and became a trap.
It was the last thing he’d wanted you to feel.
It had wound you up so bad that the second he’d mentioned the patrol, you’d snapped.
That hadn’t bothered him — it was to be expected when a person was so focused on survival and was confronted with safety overnight. He remembered what that was like and how long it had taken him to realize that every conversation with a person wasn’t a trap.
What bothered him was the pure, unfiltered fear he’d seen on your face after you’d gotten mean with him. You’d been terrified of what he was going to do to you because of it. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’d went into that survival mode — thinking of all the ways you could appease him.
Joel wasn’t stupid — he knew how these raider groups operated and he knew exactly what a woman’s purpose was whenever she was among them. And snapping at one of them the way you’d snapped at him usually resulted in some kind of violence or payback.
It made him sick to his stomach. It made him angry. He’d been a raider for a long time, and those were dark years that he’d done what he’d had to in order to keep them both alive and fed. It had hardened him in a way that he hoped you didn’t understand, but he knew if he chose to talk to you about it, you’d know exactly what he meant.
He’d been a raider. He’d seen what happened to women among those groups. He’d not participated in them — too heartbroken to allow any kind of intimacy with anyone, anywhere — but he hadn’t stopped it when it happened around him either.
Those ghosts were always waiting for him at the end of a long day, though. And being around the supper table wasn’t exactly most opportune moment for those apparitions to reappear.
He’d spent too much of the day on horseback — he could feel it in his back. Coupled with the cold air settling in his joints… he was moving a little slow.
But he hadn’t been that afternoon.
there were times that he took it easy and could relax out there with Tommy, feeling like he had when he was younger, weighed down with mundane things like bills and soccer schedules. But when he and Tommy were tracking, hunting… that reminded him of different side of himself entirely.
Joel had felt like a predator again, like a true hunter, as he’d tracked and scouted, looking for any hint that those fuckers were chasing you and Kat.
That hadn’t scared him though. It was easy to slip into that version of himself when he was beyond the gates of Jackson.
What had scared them was that Joel had prayed to find their group.
Find them so he could show them exactly what violence was.
But they hadn’t. And he supposed that was a good thing in itself. In the two years since he and Ellie had shown at the gates, Joel had tried to reconcile the darker aspects of his past with the steady safety that Jackson provided.
It was hard, and it was hard every single day, but Joel knew he wasn’t near as explosive as he’d once been. The QZ, the failure of finding the men who had hurt you would have resulted in Joel sneaking around to another rival smuggler or the speakeasy, finding something to take his anger out on.
Jackson didn’t allow that sort of thing. So he’d learned to temper his anger.
But his patience wasn’t an overflowing well — Amanda had tried every single one of his nerves this morning, and he wasn’t sure he could make it through a second round of her cornering you over a meal without a confrontation.
So, until he could tell you were more comfortable with people, he wasn’t going to suggest the dining hall again. Which was the reason for being in the Grocer.
Kat had written the list all by herself and was extremely proud of it. The problem was that all of the letters took up a quarter of the page and the words ran together, so no one could really read it.
But you and Ellie had shared a conspiratorial smile and pretended to read it easily as you walked through the aisles.
He followed behind slowly, letting the three girls pick out what they wanted to eat and how they wanted to prepare it. He didn’t care, food was food.
Kat walked up the aisle, stopping periodically to ask you what something was. He could tell you were embarrassed that she didn’t know what something like pasta was, but how could that be your fault?
It wasn’t, but you were so sure that it was. Joel hated it. He wasn’t even sure why he cared or why it mattered to him whether or not you blamed yourself for what those bastards did to you for so long, but it did.
And he wasn’t sure what to really do with the anger he felt. Sure, he’d helped out a few women in the QZs. There were a couple that had come to him or Tess for weapons or asking him to help them learn to protect themselves from husbands or boyfriends. He’d given them what they’d needed and sent them on their way, unwilling to be a savior or anything that would get him in unnecessary trouble.
But Joel hadn’t felt that way today. He’d felt more like an avenger, hell bent on his revenge on your behalf. Kat’s too, but mostly yours.
He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t want to sit with that feeling.
You deserved the freedom of a new life, of a second chance, free from the influence of a man — free from his influence.
“I think we got everything we need,” you announced, driving him out of his own head. You put your hands on your hips and turned, grinning at them.
Ellie, holding the bags, smiled mischievously. “Did we, though?”
Joel narrowed his eyes at her. “Ellie,” he warned. He knew what she was alluding to, even if you and Kat didn’t.
“C’mon, Joel! It’s a special occasion.”
He sighed and shook his head. He looked to you and held his hands out helplessly. “It’s — um.”
He paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to communicate without alerting Kat and causing a massive tantrum in front of people.
Oh. Right. He remembered the secret language of parents of small children.
Spelling it out.
“It’s … C-A-N-D-Y.”
“Oh!” Kat’s hand shot straight up and she bounced on her toes. “I know what that spells!”
“You do?” Joel and Ellie asked at the same time, he was sure she was wearing an identical expression of shock on her face.
“It spells book,” she answered smugly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Joel looked at Ellie out of the corner of his eye and found her looking back the same way. The corner of his mouth pulled up and he could see Ellie’s lips twitching with the effort of not laughing.
Your hand covered your face as you looked down toward the aisle Joel had referred to.
“Yeah, Kit-Kat, it does spell ‘book.’”
“Kit-Kat is not my name!” She squealed, stomping on the last word.
“I told ya, kiddo, I like it better’n your name.”
“I think that getting maybe one… book… would be fine, Joel,” you said, your own lips twitching.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Great. They’re gonna be high on sugar all evenin’.” But he walked that direction anyway, steering Kat down the aisle by her shoulder.
It was all homemade stuff from one of the local bakers — taffy and fudge mixes, a couple of cake pops or suckers and the like. You told Kat she could have one piece, but Joel winked and slipped her an extra sucker, earning some not-sneaky-whatsoever giggles.
Hands on your hips, you caught the extra sucker instantly. “What happened to they’re gonna be high on sugar?” you mocked, dropping your voice impossibly low to match his.
He shrugged. “She said please.”
“Pushover,” you scolded, gently slapping his shoulder.
“Hey Kat,” Ellie called, putting a few things in bags and gathering them all up.
“What?” Kat answered around her sucker.
“What do you call a fake noodle?”
“I don’t know.”
“An impasta!”
Kat burst into laughter, nearly dropping her sucker in the process. You rubbed the bridge of your nose and Joel suppressed his smile, knowing full well that Kat didn’t get it.
“What kind of shoes do bananas wear?” Joel asked next.
“What is it, Mr. Joel?” Kat bounced on her toes and pulled at his sleeve. “Tell me!”
He narrowed his eyes, looking as serious as he could muster. “Slippers.”
Another peal of laughter from her and a couple chuckles this time from Ellie.
Joel just smirked, putting a hand to Kat’s shoulder, and he looked up at you.
You didn’t notice his stare, too busy enjoying Kat’s joy and laughter, but it knocked the breath from Joel’s lungs. He felt himself going still, face slackening as he just watched you.
Your unguarded smile transformed your entire face, the mask slipping as you just enjoyed the laughter of your daughter. For one stupid, dangerous second, Joel forgot what his joke had even been, but he knew he wanted to tell more of them, just so he could see the way you watched your daughter laugh.
“My turn, my turn!”
“Okay, Kat, tell us a joke,” you encouraged, smiling.
Joel knelt next to her, almost at eye level. “Gimme your best one.”
“Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” You, Ellie, and Joel asked.
“A … Bunny!”
“A bunny, who?” The three of you asked.
Kat started giggling, putting her hand on her face. “Bugs Bunny ears! You weirdos!”
The three of you paused, looking at each other for a beat before looking back at Kat and laughing. Ellie went so far as to smack her knee, telling Kat it was the best joke she’d ever heard.
Joel chuckled, but he wasn’t really paying attention, he just kept looking at you. And with Kat telling her own joke, your smile erupted into full-blown laughter.
He found himself smiling too, as if your joy and laughter was some infectious thing he could get just by being near. He liked it. He liked the warmth that spread through him as he knelt there next to your daughter and you laughed at stupid jokes.
And that was when he realized it. It was just a quiet, welcome understanding that settled into his chest.
He thought you were beautiful.
Not just all the fierce momma-bear instincts he’d seen in the woods — god, he’d thought that was something too, but this was different.
And now that he’d seen that laugh and the smile that went with it, Joel felt greedy. He wanted more. He wanted all of them. He wanted to make you laugh and smile like that over and over again, all because of something he’d done or said.
Well, fuck.
What the hell was wrong with him? You hadn’t even been in town for a full fucking day and he was having thoughts like this? He’d held you and grounded you and worked you through a panic attack and now he just…
Now he just thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his entire life.
Joel didn’t notice Ellie watching him — he was too busy watching you, settling himself with his understanding. You were still laughing, one hand pressed lightly against your stomach, the other covering your mouth, and Joel kept smiling like an idiot, just happy to be in your orbit.
Then Ellie looked at him and Joel felt the weight of her stare.
Ellie raised an eyebrow and her mouth pressed into a tight line. Joel immediately stopped smiling.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
He narrowed his eyes, standing with a groan and taking the bags from her hands. “Then quit lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?” Ellie looked up at him then, her grin all Cheshire Cat and mischievous.
“You know what.”
Ellie shrugged and floated past him toward where you and Kat were walking into the street. “I really don’t, Joel.”
Later that evening, Joel’s home was filled with the peals of feminine laughter. It had been a long time since he’d had a house full of girls all teasing and laughing, and it made him nostalgic. But for once, the nostalgia wasn’t tinged with guilt or sadness; it simply was.
He remembered the last sleepover Sarah had with her friends, it had been one week before the outbreak and they were celebrating a win over their league rivals for soccer. Joel had ordered pizza, but they’d insisted on making cookies and shooed him out of the kitchen (much like Kat and Ellie, he reflected). An hour later, he’d peeked around the corner in his usually tidy(ish) home to utter chaos and pandemonium — flour and eggs were everywhere, and he knew it would take forever to clean up — but every single girl was laughing until tears streaked down their cheeks, and he’d simply walked away to let them enjoy it.
Somehow, and he really wasn’t sure which of the female puppy dog eyes had gotten him to agree, Dina had been brought into the fray.
The dining room table had been full and Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much at a meal. Ellie had brought her joke book to the table and had considered it her personal mission to make milk come out of Kat’s nose. She’d failed, only because Dina had cracked first.
The laughter had gone on much longer than Joel realized and the clock in the hallway had struck nine before anyone had gotten up from the table. Kat yawned, almost dropping her head into her plate, and you’d shooed her upstairs for a quick bath. Joel corralled the older girls into cleaning up dinner with him, mostly because he figured you’d try to do it later if it wasn’t already taken care of.
Once it was all finished, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and collapsed into his recliner while Ellie walked Dina to the door, promising to see her tomorrow.
Ellie floated back into the living room, collapsing into the couch. She picked at her nails for a few moments, her gaze flitting back and forth to Joel as he sipped his drink.
“So.”
Joel sighed. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything.” She lifted her hands up and dropped them, exasperated.
“Don’t have to.”
She huffed and settled back into the cushions. Joel got in one more sip before she started in again. “You like her.”
Joel dropped his chin to his chest. These kinds of conversations with Ellie had no right answer, he knew. Whatever it was he said, she’d take it for some hidden meaning and he’d never hear the end of it — good or bad. He blew out his cheeks.
“She’s a good woman,” he answered hesitantly. “Been through a lot.”
Ellie just stared at him. “That wasn’t what I said.”
Joel looked into the bottom of his glass, as if the whiskey would hold the answers. “Go bother someone else,” he grumbled.
“You like her.”
“Ellie,” he warned. He felt like he’d been saying her name in that particular tone for most of the day.
“You really like her.”
“Jesus Christ.” Joel drug a hand over his face.
Ellie opened her mouth to say something else, but thankfully Joel heard Kat’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He glared at Ellie in warning, but she put her hands up in a surrender.
The little princess pajamas looked just as adorable as they did the night before, but Kat’s eyes were much heavier than they had been when she’d laid on the couch. She stood in front of Joel on the couch, yawning so big that Joel thought it would hurt her jaw.
“What’s up, Kit-Kat?”
She gave him a sleepy glare at the nickname. “Momma said to —” she paused for a moment, thinking, when it came back to her, she smiled. “Right. Momma said to come tell you goodnight.”
“Oh yeah? Is it that time already?”
“Mhm,” she hummed, fisting the sleep out of her eyes.
“I was about to go to bed too,” Ellie offered, standing from her own seat and taking a step toward Kat. “Wanna have breakfast with me tomorrow before school?”
Kat nodded, holding out her arms for a goodnight hug. Joel smiled as he watched them, feeling his chest ache with that warmth again.
This was good for Ellie. She made a lot of boneheaded decisions, like any teenager, but having a child look up to her would teach her more responsibility than any patrol or target practice ever could.
Having a kid had certainly made him grow out of those boneheaded decisions, he thought.
When Ellie let go, Kat waved, watching her leave the living room and not moving until the back door opened and shut. Then she looked at Joel.
“Goodnight, Mr. Joel.”
“Goodnight, Kit-Kat,” he murmured. “Want me to take you upstairs to your momma?”
She nodded and held out her arms.
The whiskey glass was forgotten on the end table as he scooped her up and held her tightly to his chest, like he’d done in the clinic the night before.
Jesus, had it only been twenty-four hours?
He sighed.
If he’d met himself from three — hell, even ten — years ago, he wouldn’t recognize himself.
The version of himself that he’d been before Boston was something that made Joel cringe whenever he thought about it. He’d been dead inside for so long, only fueled by thoughts of keeping alive and keeping Tommy alive. Everything had been settled in columns of pluses and minuses — settled by food, resources, or blood.
Boston had been better, but not by much. Pills and booze had served as his band-aid, patching up his broken heart and feelings of inadequacy. At least in Boston, he’d met Tess and she did a decent job of keeping him in line. If he was being honest, that connection to Tess had probably been the only thing that kept him from going full dark after Tommy joined the Fireflies.
And now, a man who had surrounded himself with bad business dealings that often required death and blood as repayment, a man who was known in Boston for his violence, that man was carrying a trusting, sleeping child up to her bed in his home that he’d voluntarily opened to her and her mother.
How things had changed.
His knees popped as he climbed the stairs. Kat’s head lolled on his shoulder, her arms loosening around his neck as he reached the landing.
“Mr. Joel,” she slurred.
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Can I keep my stuff here?”
He chuckled. “Here? On the stairs?”
“No, you silly,” her voice was so sweet and sleepy. “In your house.”
“Yeah, I think that would be alright.”
“Really?” She mumbled, barely audible.
“Yeah. That’s generally how having your own bedroom works.”
“My own room,” she whispered. “Me and Momma always shared.”
His heart hurt with each stair he climbed, but not with exertion, but realization.
When I was…busy… Kat went to the closet and shut the door.
Every night we slept together and I tied our hands together with shoelaces.
She was never without me.
Plans started to move through his head at an alarming speed.
He’d convert the dining room to a bedroom, he decided, right then on the stair just before the landing. He’d move downstairs and you could have the master, that way you’d be right down the hall from your daughter. He’d be closer to the front door in case someone came in, too.
Within moments, he had the blueprints all drawn up in his mind.
“Ya know, Kit-Kat,” he paused at the landing. “We got some space that a big girl bed could fit in. Might be we can get you a room you don’t have to share with Momma. What do you think?”
“I’d like that,” she mumbled. “But I wanna share with Momma tonight.”
“I know you do, kiddo,” he whispered back, hand rubbing up and down her back.
“Mr. Joel,” she whispered, voice slightly more awake than it had been a moment before. “Do me and Momma live here now?”
He saw you then in the doorframe, spine rigid enough that he knew you’d heard Kat’s question. Joel kept his eyes on yours and shifted Kat in his hold.
Then, he answered as honestly as he knew how, ignoring the ache in his chest. “Yeah... if you want to.”
Your shoulders sagged and he didn’t know if it was with relief or just the avoidance of a tough question, but you fled into the room, turning down the blankets on Kat’s bed.
“I do,” she sighed. “I like it here with you, is fun… I get candy…”
Joel cradled her head, the dark, damp hair starting to curl up as it dried, and laid her gently into the bed. Tucking her feet in, he stepped back so you could pull the blankets up to her chin and kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, Kit-Kat,” he whispered.
You followed him, still looking back at her as you followed him to the doorframe. You hesitated there, sighing.
“You alright?”
You looked back over the dim room and reached up to twirl a lock of hair around your finger. “Yeah.”
He waited, unsure why he didn’t just take you at your word, but he knew you were lying.
He’d asked you to just let him sit with whatever you felt, so he did. His hands twitched with the desire to reach out and touch yours — not even to hold your hand, but rather to ground himself in your touch and allow you to ground yourself in his.
“It’s just…” you sighed again, looking down at your own feet before dragging your gaze up his frame. “It’s a lot.”
Joel nodded. He knew you didn’t mean the room, although it did lack a bit in the decor department. He made a note to himself to start making some frames — maybe Kat could make some artwork to hang throughout the house.
“You don’t have to sleep in here, you know.”
You nodded, looking back at Kat bundled under the blankets. “I know.”
But you would, Joel knew.
“It’s tough,” he told you, shuffling his feet and putting his hands in his jeans pockets. “You get so used to sleeping with them close — not bein’ able to feels… wrong.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, eyes softening. He felt that warmth within his chest again.
“Well, I’ll, uh, see you in the morning?” He asked. “Ellie asked if Kat wanted to make breakfast ‘fore she heads to school.”
“Sounds great. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
As he walked down the stairs, he noticed that the door didn’t shut all the way.
The house on Rancher Street was so quiet that you could hear the grandfather clock chiming midnight downstairs.
Last night, you’d fallen asleep with the ease of someone who had been running on fumes and was finally told she could stop. After almost falling off the horse, you’d had little choice but to pass out as soon as your head hit the pillow.
Tonight was different. Your body wasn’t tired, but your mind was.
This was the first time you’d intended to sleep without Kat directly next to you and the bed felt too big. You kept sitting up every few minutes, looking across the dim room to her and making sure she was still there, her body still moving as she breathed.
You could remember sleepovers from before the Outbreak, how uncomfortable it would be to sleep in someone’s home for the first time as you adjusted to all of the unfamiliar sounds. The pipes making noise or gurgling, toilets loudly flushing, the floor creaking or the house settling and popping, the way the wind moved through the rafters or along the trees next to a window.
Life in the different QZs had been loud, filled with the typical noises of the cityscape. Atlanta had been decent, but Chicago had been one of the rougher QZs, so scarcely a night passed where you didn’t hear the rapid pop of a FEDRA gun or screams coming from outside. During the summers you slept with the windows open, and many a time you’d decided you’d rather roast inside a hot apartment than hear what was going on outside.
The raiders you’d been traded to were just as loud. Especially before Kat came along, they would often bring back supplies and spend their time celebrating what they’d done into the wee hours of the night.
The road had been different in its own way. Keeping mostly to the woods and forests, it was quiet enough — noise meant death and you often sat on a hairpin trigger at the slightest breeze blowing the leaves, or the call of an owl, or something else innocent. Sleeping with the knife in your hand meant nothing if you weren’t coherent enough to yield it.
Joel’s house felt comfortable in a way you hadn’t felt in almost twenty years. You’d locked the door to the room in the ramshackle house with the raiders every single night, making sure to tie yourself to Kat before finally letting sleep take you. Not even a restful sleep, but the forced sleep of a caged animal that needs its strength.
Your door was open now. That had been hard. You’d made yourself keep it cracked. Joel had given you no reason not to trust him and you were determined to repay his kindness with your trust.
Maybe you should close it.
You sat up in bed and swung your legs over, checking on Kat once again.
No, you thought. You were going to leave the door open, even if just to prove to yourself that you could.
But your feet were moving anyway, edging toward the door and you decided that a drink of water — that was what you needed.
Joel’s bedroom door was open too, but his lights were off. Good, he’d said something about going out for a patrol tomorrow — he’d need to sleep.
The light coming from downstairs caught your eye as you gripped the banister. A lamp was on in the living room. You took the stairs quietly and softly, just in case he’d fallen asleep on the couch.
He was on the couch, but not asleep.
His head jerked up when he heard you, a book in his hand and glasses perched on his nose.
“Howdy… can’t sleep?”
You shook your head. “Not really.”
He pulled the glasses off his nose, using them as a bookmark before sitting it on the coffee table.
“What’cha reading?” You asked, pointing toward the book.
“Somethin’ I read before,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He held it up to you as you came closer.
“Lonesome Dove,” you read from the cover. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a Western. Cowboys drivin’ cattle up from Texas to Montana. Used to have a good mini-series show that went with it.”
You thought for a moment, “You know, I think I remember that.”
His eyebrows raised, “Really?”
You nodded, grinning. “Had a granddaddy that kept the TV on the western channel 24/7. I remember he got excited whenever they’d show Lonesome Dove, but it wasn’t very often. I think his favorite was called — Bonanza, maybe?”
Joel grinned. “Another classic. Wish I could get my hands on a DVD or four.”
The silence fell, a little heavy on your shoulders. The pressure was there — the pressure on you to make the conversation, but you calmed your mind. There was no real pressure, not from him. You could stand there, you could sit, you could speak, you could be silent. Joel would indulge any choice and either engage with you or go about his day — no anger.
Your shoulders turned in the direction of the bedroom, just slightly. “Kat’s asleep.”
“Yeah, I bet she’ll sleep pretty hard for the next couple weeks.” He rested his palms on his pajama pants.
“I — I just came downstairs for a drink.”
A lie. You couldn’t sleep and Joel’s look told you that he knew it too.
He had been sitting in the middle of the couch, but he moved over. “You can sit if you want. Two insomniacs can keep company better’n one.”
You smiled at that and sat at the other end. It was more loveseat than couch, with only two oversized cushions. You pulled your feet underneath you as Joel spread his out to the coffee table.
“Surprised you’re not in the recliner,” you pointed out as you sat down.
He shrugged. “If I get in the recliner this late, I’m usually out. If I stay there all night, my back is killin’ me the next day, but if I get up ’n go on to bed, mind won’t settle.”
“Is that why you read?”
He nodded. “Keeps everythin’ quiet long enough for me to get drowsy.”
“Why don’t you read in bed then? Wouldn’t have to worry about climbing the stairs afterward.”
“I used to,” he admitted. “But when Ellie moved out, I would end up crossin’ to the back of the house to look out the window ’n check on her anyway.”
“That makes sense,” you nodded.
You sat quietly, enjoying the soft lamplight and a place where the silence of the house didn’t feel so threatening.
“I’m guessin’ your head’s pretty loud too,” he mused, looking over at you from the corner of his eye.
You ducked your head. “Guilty.”
“I’d say that goes away in time, but you see that I’m still here, readin’ before bed.”
There would be time to adjust, you realized then. Time to adjust to the silence and the stillness, the idleness. Time to adjust to a mental load that transitioned from how will I feed my child today to what’s in the pantry that I can feed my child today. Time to adjust to being social.
You had time to adjust to Joel, too.
Tommy and Maria had said it would be a while before they had enough homes ready to live in, and you and Kat weren’t at the top of the list of recipients. You’d likely have months to get used to this house before having to leave.
That was a comforting thought. The version of you that Joel encountered right now — the one full of trauma and uncertainty and panic attacks — wasn’t the version he’d see whenever you moved out. You were going to heal.
You didn’t have to leave. This wasn’t a place you had to run from. You were safe here; you knew that deep within your gut. You were safe. Kat was safe. Joel wasn’t going to run you out, no matter how bad of roommates you were.
No one was making you. You had a choice. And within that choice, there were no wrong answers.
You only had to leave this house because you wanted to make your own home.
Joel had even said that to your daughter. If you want to.
“That’s strange,” you murmured, not even realizing you’d said it aloud until Joel replied.
“What is?”
“Being somewhere and not immediately thinking about how we’re going to leave.”
Joel went very still, almost stiff on his side of the couch.
You paused too, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. Did he want you to think about leaving? Was he already regretting opening his space to you and your daughter?
Shit.
“It takes some gettin’ used to,” he uttered.
You turned then, putting your back to the arm rest. You knew that Joel hadn’t been in Jackson since the Outbreak — he and Ellie had crossed the country together and gone through trials of their own.
He knew what you meant. He knew how you felt.
That’s why he was so good with your trauma, so welcoming without being overbearing.
It had been him once.
That’s why there were so many choices. That’s why he knew how to calm you through a panic. That’s why he was so observant to your spiraling and struggling.
It had been him once.
As that realization washed over you, you found Joel’s eyes. There was a sadness there, buried in the hazel. Those flecks of green were easy to get lost in, but they also hid some grief, some trauma, some dark things that you knew he didn’t want to talk about. Knowing exactly how you felt and what you needed was something that a person could only learn through a similar experience.
And your heart ached for him, just like it had for Ellie. You longed to comfort him, to draw him in and run your fingers through your hair while you hummed until those years and those memories were in the distance. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him, the desire to ground him in the exact same ways he grounded you.
But you didn’t.
Not everyone’s touch or presence was as grounding as his was to you. Trying to ground him might only trigger him further.
“Did it?” You murmured. “Take some getting used to, I mean.”
He thought about it, crossing his arms loosely on his chest. He bobbed his head a couple times before looking over at you. “Not really.”
Oh. Your chest clutched at that and you looked down at the seam in the couch between the cushions. Maybe you’d read him wrong —
“I’m still workin’ on it.”
When you looked at him then, his eyes were soft, mouth parted. You felt it then — the shared burden of two people who are healing from the same trauma, or at least, the same pain. Two survivors learning how to live in a place that didn’t require a constantly evolving and violent escape plan.
You knew without asking that he’d been a father once to a small child, someone who wasn’t Ellie, and you didn’t need to be told that it had ended tragically.
Maybe one day he would tell you, maybe he wouldn’t. You didn’t know what it was like to lose a child, but you did know what it was like to want so fiercely to protect them that you felt like you were splitting in half. And Joel knew that too, he probably felt it every day with Ellie.
“It’s too quiet, isn’t it? The house? The town?”
You nodded softly and put your hands in your lap. “I think. I don’t know.”
A corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “Tryin’ to sleep in the QZ was the worst,” he admitted. “Think an entire month went by once with me only gettin’ like 20 hours of sleep total. Whenever we’d go outside the walls, I’d have to sleep while still listenin’ to the sounds of the forest, ready to jump up and attack at the first click. Once we’d get back, it was like my brain couldn’t sort through the good noises and the bad.”
“How did you cope?”
He raised his brows and blew out his breath. He held his hands out in front of him in his lap, staring at his palms. “Lotta whiskey. Sometimes pills. Anything that would make it all go quiet.”
You’d known people like that.
“And it worked?”
But he just shook his head. “No, not for long, anyway. Might get a night or two, but eventually, everythin’ got loud again.”
“Maybe that’s what it is,” you sympathized. “Trying too hard to sort the good sounds from the bad.”
“And you’re brain’s tellin’ you that every noise is a bad one.”
“Right.”
He sat with that for a moment, still looking down at his hands. He leaned up then, grabbing the book and holding it out so you could see the cover. “Outta all the things I tried, this helps the most.”
“Westerns?”
He gave you a smirk. “No, smart ass. Reading.”
“Makes sense. Escapism and all that.”
He bobbed his head, staring down at the cover. “Never used to like it before. Sar—my daughter was always beggin’ me to read somethin’ she liked, but I jus’ never had the time, you know?”
“I do.”
“Then it was all survival. People would make a point to stop by libraries and stores, trying to find a certain book copy or magazine or anything. I never got it. Didn’t have time for it then either, I guess.”
“That makes sense too,” you whispered, almost hesitant to break the bubble that had settled over him. It was the most he’d talked to you in one sitting, and the calming drawl of his voice was soothing, more soothing than the glass of water you’d come down for.
“But now, I dunno. Seems like if I get lost in their stories, I forget ‘bout my own issues long enough to get drowsy.”
You looked at the cover of the book and then turned to the bookshelves that covered the back wall. You smiled when you turned back to him. “Do you have any recommendations, Joel?”
He froze a little when you said his name, and you wondered if you’d gone too far. Was that too familiar? He hadn’t said yours, other than when you were coming down from a panic attack — he just normally said “momma” like Kat did.
“Actually, this one’s probably the best I can give ya,” he told you, taking out his glasses before handing the book to you. “Found it in one of the houses ‘bout a year ago.”
Your fingers traced over the pages, the spine’s easy opening telling you of many readers who had, like you and Joel, escaped within the pages.
“Will you read it to me? Just — just the first chapter.”
He narrowed his eyes, “Huh? How come?”
You could feel heat coming to your cheeks and you looked away from his knowing stare. He was so observant — and you really didn’t have another excuse, so you told him the truth.
“It’s — it’s your voice,” you admitted, cheeks flaming.
“What do you mean?”
“I — uh, it’s your accent,” you stammered, wishing a hole would swallow you up from this exact spot on the couch. “I like it.”
He snorted. “Texan? My daddy used to say that Texans had their own language — they were so damn hard to understand.”
You scoffed. “Try living in Georgia. That is a learning curve.”
“Guess I can read it to you,” he pursed his lips. “Most of’em in there are Texans anyway — guess you’ll get the authentic version.”
“I did always love immersion literature.”
“Well, here,” he said, reaching for the book with one hand and settling his readers back on his nose.
“Lemme start over. We can prolly get in a chapter tonight, but listen,” he said firmly, pointing a finger at you, “after that, bed. I can tell you’re one’a those people who’d stay up all night ‘cause you just gotta know what happens to someone.”
You held up a palm. “Guilty.”
“Alright then,” he settled in, opening to the first chapter.
You scooted over on the loveseat, reading over his shoulder. He glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing, only lowering his shoulder a little so you could lean on it.
“I’m visual,” you offered for an explanation.
And you were. But that wasn’t the only reason, and you blushed at being caught.
The rumble of Joel’s drawl, the warmth radiating off him through his shirt, and (who were you kidding) the grounding feel of his skin… you just needed to not be alone.
He settled in and began, deep drawl pouring over you like syrup. “When Augustus came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake...”
When you drifted off, leaned against his shoulder, Joel acted as if he’d hardly noticed. He hadn’t drawn any attention to it at the time, terrified he’d spook you. Even now, he was afraid to move very much, lest you startle awake.
He set his glasses in the book, making a point to himself around what paragraph he had felt you drift off, and just sat there. He leaned his head back on the couch, sleep pulling at his own limbs.
You were heavy against his shoulder, but it was a comforting weight that Joel welcomed. Like Kat sleeping on him in the rocking chair, it was the heavy weight of a person given over to complete trust and safety.
It’ll be worse if we stay out here all night, Joel knew. As much as he wanted to stay close to you, unburdened in sleep, he knew that wasn’t fair.
Actually, he knew it would set you back. If you fell asleep out here, with him, together, it would ruin any progress he’d made in the last 24 hours. You’d feel awkward or embarrassed at the shared intimacy and you’d retreat from him.
That was the only thing he didn’t want to happen.
Ellie’s voice from the grocer came back to him.
You like her.
It was true that he’d not taken to a woman like this since… since… he ran his hand over his face, then scratched the back of his head.
Christ, when was the last time?
He hadn’t even felt this way about Tess, and she was probably the closest he’d come to something resembling a normal relationship. Tess hadn’t needed him, not emotionally, not physically, and by the time she had needed him, he’d become too comfortable with the dynamic and too afraid of losing it to even try changing it.
This was… this was different.
He’d felt some instinct from the very beginning to protect you and your child. If anyone else asked, he probably would tell them that he’d glimpsed Kat first and was unwilling to harm a child, but that hadn’t been the truth.
In truth, he’d seen you and was unwilling to leave you. Even if he hadn’t seen the little fingers grabbing your sleeve, he still would’ve done his best to convince you to come to Jackson.
And if you’d adamantly refused to go to Jackson, insisting you go somewhere else, Joel was pretty sure he would’ve fought to escort you, to take you anywhere else you wanted to go.
For 22 years, he had never, not one time, felt that for another person. Ellie had been forced on him, Tess would’ve been fine on her own, and Tommy chose to leave and Joel had let him.
So he allowed himself just a few minutes to soak up the feeling of your weight on his shoulder and against his side. He took in your scent, the lavender soap you’d found at the grocer and something more… sweet, he thought. It smelled like molasses, maybe? He closed his eyes and memorized the feeling, the scent, the sound of your breath.
Then he ignored what he wanted and reached over to gently shake your shoulder. You barely woke, mumbling something that sounded like an apology and standing a little wobbly from the couch. Joel took your elbow and turned off the lamp as he led you up the stairs to your bed.
Comfortable and under the covers, Joel stood at your doorframe and took one last look at you. Just like at the grocery today, your face was free of the burdens you carried, the fear and the trauma deep within you. He yearned to be the reason you didn’t worry about those troubles and burdens anymore.
It was just like it had been at the grocer — the realization wasn’t unwelcome or even disturbing, but Joel wanted to take the troubles and burdens from your shoulders. Even if he had to shoulder them himself, he wanted to keep that light look on your face — a lightness of someone not weighed down.
He wanted you to live, like the other people of Jackson had managed to do.
He didn’t close the door and he didn’t close his, either. For once, sleep came easy and he drifted off without dreams of outbreaks or infected.
Joel had never been a morning person. Even all the time of living rough and traveling, it still took him a while to become coherent enough for complex thought. Since he’d introduced coffee back into his life (even instant coffee, ugh) that stretch of time when he resembled a caveman had reduced, but he still needed at least ten minutes where no one expected anything from him.
It helped that his body was so used to waking at first light that he didn’t much need an alarm clock anymore, too. Ellie was a teenager through and through, and there was many a morning that he’d had to knock heavily on the door of the garage to get her up because she was going to be late for school.
But the sun was up, and he remembered that Ellie had promised Kat breakfast, and he had promised you that you wouldn’t have to go to the mess hall. Since the likelihood of Ellie getting up early enough to actually make the breakfast was slim to none, he figured he better go ahead and start.
His bare feet barely managed to avoid the creaky floorboard right outside his room, and his steps were soft as he padded to the stairs.
The door was open, just as much as he’d left it the night before. From where he stood, he could see Kat still sleeping on her small bed, blanket around her feet, and at least five stuffed animals in her arms.
He looked across the room and saw you asleep as well, in the exact same position he’d left you last night. Warmth spread within his chest at that — maybe you had slept deep for once. He hoped so.
Kat groaned, just barely audible enough for Joel to hear. He padded into the room, even softer on the carpet than he had been on the hardwood floor, and reached for the pink blanket, pulling it up to Kat’s chin.
He hadn’t noticed the dresser last night, but it sat between the two beds, a lamp on top of it. He turned, not wanting to pry on the room that is yours for the first time in your life, but something caught him out of the corner of his eye.
There were three tote bags folded neatly on the floor next to the dresser. He recognized the worn canvas, it was what they gave all newcomers whenever they visited the warehouse for any clothing they needed. He figured you’d been loaded down and, when he thought about what you’d been wearing when you arrived, probably grateful for it.
But what struck Joel the most was that they had been unpacked. The canvas tote bags were folded completely flat with nothing in them.
Joel stood there for a second, just staring as his sleep-addled brain tried to work.
If you were planning to run, to disappear after a short rest and refuel like you’d said out in the woods… you would’ve kept one of those bags full of necessities and ready to go at a moment’s notice.
A packed bag, even with something as small as one change of clothes, meant that a person was planning on leaving. Your bag was unpacked. The clothes were in the drawer, hanging in the closet.
By the time Joel reached the stairs, he realized why it mattered so much to him that your clothes were in the drawers and not in a bag.
You weren’t thinking about leaving, or going to the next place, or how you were going to escape. You were thinking about somewhere you and Kat belonged. And that somewhere was with him. In his house.
His steps were lighter as he continued down the stairs, running his hand over the freshly sanded banister. Even though Joel Miller hadn’t had his coffee yet, he was smiling.
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