Let's put a pin in that!

Two months after settling in Jackson, he was still working on changing the way she was seeing him, but he didn't hold a grudge. He probably would have reacted the same way if he'd been in her shoes, considering what Joel and Tommy had  to do to survive, until his brother couldn’t deal with it anymore, left for Jackson and found a new way of living. 

A part of Joel started feeling guilty about it after Tommy told him he still had nightmares from that time. He admitted it during a heated argument when Joel and Ellie just came to Jackson. He really couldn't blame Maria, especially when those years wouldn’t let Tommy sleep peacefully at night.

At the same time, Joel was convinced he had done what he had to, and that it had helped them to survive for all those years.

“Is this a new guitar?” Tommy asked when he noticed the instrument, picked it up and brushed the strings above the engraved moth. “Yeah. I told Ellie I’d teach her how to play. I wanted her to have her own and I customized it.” Joel paused and scratched his beard with his thumb, then added “she asked me to sing somethin’. I've never been so intimidated my whole life.” “How can this small kid scare the shit out of us is a mystery to me,” Tommy smiled. He had liked Ellie immediately. She was a real whirlwind with a damn mouth on her, and at first he was amused to see her push Joel around. Then he noticed the way his brother was looking at her. It reminded him of the other version of Joel, the one from more than twenty years ago, which he thought he’d never see again. “What did she think of it?” “She said it didn’t suck.” “Best compliment ever from a 15 year old, in my opinion,” Tommy smiled. “It’s good that Ellie’s in your life, she’s good for you. Changed you.” “I reckon she did…” Tommy noticed a veil of sadness over his brother’s face, Sarah probably on his mind. He didn’t want Joel to feel sad. The man had been miserable for twenty years, carrying his grief on his shoulders the whole time, turning into a dark version of himself. The weight seemed lighter since Joel and Ellie joined Jackson for good two months ago, and Tommy wished for his brother to keep healing. 

“How's her arm?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. “It’s ok. We went to the clinic this morning. It still hurts a little, but she’s tough.” “She is,” Tommy agreed. Then he cleared his throat and said, “listen, there’s a party on Saturday night at the Tipsy Bison, with music, stuff like that. Wanna come?” “I heard of it, I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.” “It could help you meet people, y’know?” Joel threw him a glare before answering, “People? ‘m not interested.” “Come on, Joel, I’m not talking about dating, just… talking,” Tommy added, but was soon interrupted by Joel. “I said I’m not interested. I wanna take care of Ellie and keep Jackson safe. So I do my stuff, go on patrols, with people by the way.” “Sure. Ok,” he nodded and patted Joel’s back, before leaving.

Tommy closed the door behind him and walked home down Jackson's main street. He didn't bring the subject to upset Joel, he knew they handled things differently. He was glad to have found his brother again, maybe not fully but a huge part of him, the one to whom he was so attached when he was little, to whom he wrote letters from a camp, missing him terribly.

Tommy couldn’t imagine what Joel had gone through. He wasn’t the one whose daughter died in his arms, and he wasn’t the one that lost the love of his life the same night. He had no idea how he’d have reacted if it had happened to him. Tommy knew that you were still in Joel's mind. He kept going for so long thanks to the idea that you were alive, in the Boston QZ, until he checked the arrival records. Tommy was there that day, next to Joel as he turned all the pages, his face distorted by pain. Soon it morphed into anger and Tommy had to make him leave the office, fearing that Joel would hit a soldier as an outlet when he couldn’t find your name in it.

And now… Now Tommy didn't know if Joel was still holding on to the idea that you were alive somewhere, and he didn't dare talk to him about you. He wasn't afraid of being told to fuck off, he was used to it, but he didn't want to reopen the wound that Ellie had started to cicatrize. When Joel and Tess grew closer, Tommy thought his brother would soften, but it only turned him into a guard dog, obsessed with the idea of ​​protecting her, of succeeding where he had failed before. But once again, fate decided otherwise. He wanted to see his brother happy, really happy, and thought that meeting someone in the safety of Jackson would help, but he also knew how stubborn Joel was. He still hadn't gotten rid of his watch, or at least put it in a box at home. No, it was still on his damn wrist, where he could see it, feel it, all damn day, because he was convinced he had to suffer his whole life as a punishment.

Joel was working on a wood carving when he heard a loud knock on his front door. He put his glasses down on the workbench and wiped his hands on his jeans as he went downstairs. When he opened the door, he gave his brother a smile but it vanished as soon as he noticed the look on his face. “Joel, hey… can I talk to you?” Tommy asked, avoiding his brother’s gaze. “Is Ellie ok?” Joel questioned urgently, worry loud in his eyes and voice. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, Ellie’s fine.” “What is it, then?” "Can I?" Tommy nodded at the inside of the house and Joel stepped aside to let him in. His brother went to the living room, sat down on the sofa and pressed his hands against each other out of nervousness. 

"You huh… you should sit down, maybe,” Tommy said, looking straight at Joel for the first time since he opened the door to him. Joel was about to tell him to stop with that bullshit, to tell him right there, what was going on, but Tommy's look silenced him. The one of someone who didn't know how to say what he had to say. 

Like an augury tingling in his chest, your image appeared in Joel’s mind, but he brushed it aside. No. 

He couldn't hammer another nail into his heart, into that part of him that never lost hope despite all the spikes planted in it, years after years. He couldn't possibly think that Tommy was gonna tell him he'd heard from you, letting hope nestle into its tiny place, like a flame that had never gone out despite the darkness surrounding it in Joel's heart. 

Just to end up being heartbroken once again.

Even if Tommy's expression made it seem like he'd seen a ghost.

Time stopped, and Joel felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. He was afraid of what his brother was going to say, afraid that his stupid, endless hope would shatter into a hundred pieces, for the thousandth time, millionth time, like a glass after it fell to the ground. So Joel sat down on the couch, unable to look at Tommy anymore. 

“What is it?” he murmured finally, gaze fixed on the floor. His hands started to shake and he clenched his fists to stop their trembling, waiting for Tommy to speak. Joel thought he would wait all night if necessary, not rushing him, not forcing him to say what he needed to say, until he'd be able to tell him.  Because hope was already settling in, cozying itself in his heart’s deepest corner, and he was afraid that it’d vanish as soon as his brother talked.

Tommy cleared his throat then said something, his voice so low that Joel wasn't sure if he heard him correctly. A million thoughts swirling in his mind. 

Did he imagine it, or did he really hear your name?

Once again, he pushed the thought away, banished the hope he woke up with every morning, throughout all his years of wandering. Or maybe… Maybe a patrol found your body and brought it back to Jackson, brought it back to Tommy, like it would happen sometimes. The idea made him sick. 

Or maybe you joined Jackson on your own? 

His thoughts were racing, blood pulsating in his ears, and his heart no longer knew which rhythm to beat. Joel placed his hand on his chest, trying to calm it down.

"She’s here, Joel. She’s in Jackson,” Tommy said carefully, his concerned eyes fixed on his brother.

His words sent a shiver through Joel’s body and he was barely able to articulate a weak “what?” “She’s at the clinic right now, they're checking her,” Tommy added. “What… How… How is it possible?”

“There are new refugees all the time, Joel. They hear about Jackson, and they come,” he said softly. “You know it, we improve this place every day to offer them a decent home.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” he answered, eyebrows furrowed, unable to really process what was happening. “Is she hurt?” He noticed the way Tommy's eyes flicked away for half a second, before he responded. 

"She’s alright. Weak and hungry, but she’s okay." "Don't fucking lie to me," Joel growled, his glare darker than ever. It reminded Tommy of the Joel he never wanted to see again. The one that had kept them alive, for sure, but who was barely human. Just a cold and angry man. Ruthless. "Shit. You're such a damn hound. She’s… she’s not in good shape. She was probably living outside for a long time. She’s dehydrated, weak, got some bruises-” He stopped talking when Joel stood up hastily, towering over Tommy before heading to the front door.

“NO! No, Joel. Calm down, stay right here and listen to me for fucks sake!" he said firmly, making Joel stop at the door and take a deep breath. "She's at the clinic, they're taking care of her, ok? Calm down." Joel felt his legs give way beneath him, and came back to the sofa to sit down, head in his hands. “Ok… ok. Did she see you? Did you talk?” “Yeah. I was there when they brought her and a man. I thought she was going to pass out when she saw me, you know… kind of like you right now, damn it!” Tommy got up to pour two glasses of whiskey and gave one to Joel, who downed it in one go. 

“Easy, Joel… I can't imagine the thoughts in your head right now.”

But his brother wasn't listening. Couldn't listen. “Did she ask about me?” “Of course. She knows you’re here, and it was quite a shock.” Tommy looked at his brother again, hesitating, then added in a low voice, “she asked about Sarah. I… I didn’t wanna tell her. Not then, and it’s not my place,” he said before his voice broke and tears started to blur his eyes. “But she understood. She looked at me, and she just knew. Her face… my God, her face, Joel, her pain… I barely had time to catch her before she fell to the ground.” “That’s enough,” Joel spat, his lips pressed in a thin line. It was all too much, and he couldn’t bear the idea that you were alone at the clinic. “Joel…” “I said enough! I gotta see her, I can’t leave her alone there. She must feel lost, she's probably afraid,” he added, his voice so cold and sharp that at first it stopped Tommy. But he couldn’t let Joel go there, not now, not when he was overwhelmed by his emotions. “No, Joel! You can't just show up like that, she's not in the right condition. Not physically, not mentally. So you’re gonna wait until tomorrow and then you'll ask the doctors if you can see her. And if they tell you you can't for whatever reason, you leave. Promise me, Joel. Otherwise, I swear I'll post two guards there and tell them to shoot you in the knee if they see your goddamn face. You can't show up like that, she needs to rest so if she sleeps for three fucking days or more, you wait! Now, you promise me!” Tommy’s words left Joel speechless for a few seconds, but soon he realized his brother was right, he had to do what was best for you. 

“I promise,” he sighed, but met Tommy’s stare. “I said I promise, Jesus Christ. I’ll see her in the morning if they allow me. God, I can't believe she's here.”

“I know… I know, Joel…” Tommy said, squeezing his shoulder, looking at Joel whose gaze was lost in another place or another time.

Once his brother left, Joel sat down at the dining room table and looked at his watch. He was terrified to face the past and learn what happened to you, and couldn't fully realize that you were here, in Jackson. That you were so close.

He did not sleep that night.

“She was almost in a state of shock when they brought her last night. We haven't been able to give her a full exam yet. She asked if you were really here in Jackson, and of course we confirmed it. The nurse said she mentioned another name, Sarah, and cried."

Joel was trying to cope with the information and with his heart suddenly racing way too fast when he heard his daughter's name from a doctor who didn't know her or what she meant neither to him nor to you.

"She woke up several times during the night, and asked for you. We told her you'd come today. We had to give her some tranquilizers because she needed to sleep but was too agitated.”

"Is she hurt?" Joel repeated the question he had asked his brother the day before, trying to put aside his emotions after hearing that you had inquired about him, that you needed him. Meanwhile anxiety was whispering to him in its sly voice that once you knew what kind of man he had become, you would no longer want anything to do with him.

"From what we could see, physically she has some bruises, some fresh and some not. We stitched her lip up and bandaged her wrist. It looks like just a sprain, but today we'll make sure it's not fractured, with other exams she has to undergo."

 He paused for a moment, looking at Joel carefully, then added, "mentally… It's hard to say until we know more about what happened to her. She's been living in the wild for a while, that's for sure. She was starved and dehydrated, very weak, so we put her on an IV drip. She's going to need time and support. You can go see her but don't wake her up, let the meds work. Tommy told me that you had known each other before the outbreak and that you hadn’t seen each other since?” “Yeah, that's right." "Okay, so it’s a shock for you as well. If you need help with it, come see us, okay?" Joel agreed, even if he'd probably deal with it in his own way. 

"There was a man with her, dehydrated and starving as well. I'm gonna check on him right now. Wait for her to wake up and then go easy.” "Of course," Joel replied, then walked down the corridor, his gaze fixed on the third door on the right. The room where the doctor said you were. He couldn't believe you were so close, more than twenty years after being apart, after he lost you. He didn't know how he would react, he was afraid that the smallest scratch on your body would shatter the sanity he had left since the night before.

Joel paused when he reached the half-open door, his trembling fingers frozen in midair before he grasped the handle and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, forcing himself to move slowly, gradually taking in the room and the sunbeams on the foot of your bed. His gaze followed the curve of the blanket from there, your feet and your legs, your arms along your body, the IV, as he was taking long and deep breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. 

But when his eyes set on your head, he had to fight back the sobs that threatened to burst out of his throat at the sight of your gaunt face, your hollow features and your stitched lip. Your brows were furrowed and twitching in your sleep. He wondered what you had been through, what your life had been all these years and his throat tightened painfully. 

Flashes of you in Austin, happy and smiling, appeared in his mind.

He remembered when you used to go to the lake, his hand on your thigh while he was driving there.

He remembered you in his arms, in bed. The way he could feel your heartbeat fasten when he laid his hand on your chest, the way you used to bite your lip before kissing him. The way you looked at him. 

His memory went blurry as your soft expression faded in his mind, turning into a determined one, a will for survival plastered on it, then morphed into a scared one.

The visions made him clench his fists. He couldn't bear the thought of not having been there for you, there to protect you, as he should have been.

Scared to wake you up, Joel resisted the urge to take your hand that wasn’t wounded in his, and only  sat in the armchair beside your bed, watching your face and your worried features, your chest rising and falling. His eyes mentally photographed every scratch, every wound. 

He thought about the last time he had seen you at the airport. The smile you gave him when he told you it was just for a few days, that you'd be back soon, trying to cheer you up because he knew how disappointed you were to not be there for his birthday. The “I love you” you mouthed to him, before heading to your flight. He immediately started missing you. 

Joel pushed back the thought of what had happened after, instead he focused on your face, and his gaze softened, as he was slowly realizing you were truly here, bruised for sure but alive. He had never lost hope and for the first time in many years he felt grateful and relieved.

And then you said his name in your sleep. A soft “Joel” escaped your lips, and without a second thought he murmured “I'm here” back and took your hand in his. Your features softened instantly, and he stayed still, amazed, holding your hand in his, his warmth gradually enveloping you, your heartbeat resonating from your wrist to the tips of his fingers. Joel was watching you, not tearing his eyes off, until he drifted off without realizing it because he hadn't been able to get a second of sleep the night before, anxiously waiting for the morning to finally visit you. His free hand slid off the bed and hung by the side of the armchair.

You woke up to the sound of birds, confused, trying to remember why you were on a bed, a real bed, in what seemed to be a hospital bedroom. And why you were overtaken by a feeling so familiar and comforting and had been lost for such a long time, that you were unable to put a finger on it. 

Until you felt him, his presence, his hand on yours. 

Joel.

That feeling was stronger than everything else, a certainty filling your entire being, without laying your eyes on him. It was the warmest sensation you had felt in two decades, before your brain went blank, heart beating so fast that you were afraid it could explode. You stared at the ceiling, needing some time before turning your head to check if Joel was really there or if you imagined it like so many times before.

You heard him straighten up and felt his eyes on you, as if they were a magnet you couldn’t resist. You turned your head to his side, and your heart felt like it stopped when your eyes met. A weak “fuck” escaped your lips, your hand leaving his to clutch at your shirt, just above your heart. Quickly staring back at the ceiling again, everything became blurry and you were afraid your body or your soul would dive into the mattress, scared that you were going to pass out. “Christ, sweetheart,” he said as he got up, his voice, his drawl, unmistakable, even decades later. Joel. Joel was beside you and you were overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions that you were struggling to deal with.

You raised your hand, urging him to wait a second, catching your breath and processing what was happening.

Joel stopped mid-stride, slowly lowering his hands, desperately helpless as he watched you try to manage your emotions alone. 

For a moment, he forgot the decades that kept you apart, acting on instinct, thinking that if you needed comfort you’d naturally turn to him. 

As he instinctively, immediately, went into protective mode with you. 

Thinking you’d throw yourself in his arms, seek comfort in his embrace to let go of all your fears and cries and the years that passed apart from him.

But you didn’t.

Letting aside the anxiety already trying to drown him, Joel relied on his rational side as best as he could, acknowledging that you might have to handle things differently, and need time to process your emotions. 

He turned to the bedside table and poured some water in a glass for you but stopped when he heard your quiet “Joel?”, your eyes filled with tears fixed on him. The sight of the drip needle in your bluish hand broke his heart, then threatened to fill it with anger against the whole world, but he managed to stop his dark thoughts, realizing it wasn’t what you needed.

“Joel, are you really… is it real?” you sobbed, your shaking hands finally raised towards him, pleading for his touch. He sat hastily on the bed, and you finally wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“It's real, I'm here,” he said, and you let your tears flow as he roamed your back softly, cuddling you, whispering “I got you.”

And you broke down. 

Your tears quickly turned into sobs, the ones you  couldn’t hold back when it was too much, as loud as the ones you had let out on your first night in the QZ. But this crying in the clinic’s room was different. Full of joy at finding his arms again, and of pain at everything that had been lost.

Twenty years later, Joel and you were finally reunited. 

Still crying, you let go of his shoulders and curled up against him, your fists pressed against his chest, indifferent to the drip that was pulling on your vein, as if you wanted to melt into him, into everything he was and that you had desperately missed all these years.

He was rocking you slowly, gently, his large hand resting on the back of your head, lulling you with soft and comforting words.

“You’re gonna be ok now”

“You’re safe”

“We’re gonna help you get better”

“No one will ever hurt you again”

“I got you”

I got you.

He repeated those three words several times, finally finding what he'd been chasing for so many years. What kept him going, making him more stubborn and persistent day after day, never losing hope as time went on. Now he could feel your body letting go, the tension slowly escaping second by second, and it was the best sensation he had felt for so long. His reward of not letting you go. Despite everything that had happened, all the losses and heartbreaks, this moment he’d dreamed of so many times before finally came.

As you felt Joel’s reassuring touch, you slipped your arms under his and wrapped them around his waist, snuggling close to him, as close as you could, letting him embrace you, surround you with his warmth. 

And you felt safe, hearing his low voice again, nestled against him. Safer than you'd been in those two decades, your shoulders relaxing, the tension in your body gradually dissipating.

Both of you lost track of time, your nose pressed against his plaid shirt, tears rolling down your face continuously, until they slowed down then stopped, once you had no more tears to cry.

“I’m sorry about your shirt, Joel,” you sniffled.

“I don’t care about my shirt, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his voice so soft you were afraid to start crying again, his hand still cradling the back of your neck, keeping you against his chest.

“I’m afraid if I pull away, you’ll disappear,” you murmured.

“I won’t, I promise. I’m right here.” 

You tightened your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his bicep. You weren’t sure what to say to him after all this time, words seemed meaningless in that moment. 

You looked outside, through the window. Everything was so quiet, but not the kind that used to make you wonder if something dangerous was hiding behind a tree, when you were outside. If someone or something was waiting to kill you. 

This time, it seemed to be just a real, peaceful life.

Until you suddenly thought of Tommy. You had arrived here the day before when the doors of Jackson opened. The shock it had been to see him. 

And it struck you, Sarah's face appeared in your mind, her radiant smile gradually blurred until it vanished as if it were made of smoke, and you gasped.

The effect of the medication probably made you forget what you had learnt the day before, the pain on his face when you had said his niece's name. Made you forget that she was gone. Tommy didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. 

So many times, you tried to imagine her face over the years. How she would look, at 16 years old, 20, 30. You didn't even know when she died. When you whispered "when? How?" Tommy shook his head, unable to answer.

You pulled away from Joel, your hands clasped tightly on his forearms.

“Tommy told me about Sarah. Well, not really, but…” you said, your voice breaking up. “ I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry. I wish I could…”

His face changed, its indecipherable expression left you confused. A mix of harshness, repressed sorrow, and guilt. Then his features softened.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Joel said, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “What’s important is that you’re here. Safe, okay?”

“But-”

“Please,” he begged. “I finally found you. We’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

“Okay,” you replied. 

“I found you,” he said, then smiled, his dimples popping on his cheeks. “Well, you found me.” You tried to smile, too, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah, making your heart bleed.

He probably felt it and took you in his arms again. The time would come when you could talk about what had happened to both of you, but right now he couldn’t deal with it, talk to you about Sarah, and probably disappoint you. He couldn’t handle saying her name for now, couldn’t see you cry over the loss. 

A knock at the door interrupted you and the doctor came in, asking how you were going, nodding when you said you were ok.

“Your friend’s good, too, I checked on him this morning. A few bruises, and he’s suffering from dehydration, but nothing serious. Now we’re going to run some tests, okay?”

Your “friend.”

You hadn't thought about Eric once since you’d woken up, and you brushed aside the questions that would inevitably arise. But not now.

You looked at Joel, not ready to leave him. You were afraid to lose him again, to lose his reassuring presence, the way he was able to make you feel like everything was gonna be fine now. He exchanged a glance with the doctor, then agreed with him, “they need to check on you, okay? Take care of you. I’ll come back in the afternoon,” he said, nodding to you as a reassurance. He stood up and kissed your forehead.

“I’m so happy and relieved to have you back. That you’re here, in Jackson, safe”, he murmured. “Let the doctors get you back in shape,” he added, standing up, and smiled at you.

You nodded and smiled back, keeping your eyes on him until he left the room, doing your best to swallow the tears that were threatening to come again.

When you woke up in the afternoon after they had run their tests leaving you exhausted, Joel had kept his word and was in your room, sitting in the armchair turned towards your bed. He straightened up when you woke up, murmuring a soft “hey.”

“Hey,” you returned back, trying to straighten up as well, but the pain in your body made you wince.

“Woah woah, it’s ok, don’t push it. You must be tired and sore.”

“Yeah,” you answered weakly. You felt dizzy. You had so many questions to ask, but you wanted to respect Joel’s wish for a more appropriate time, so you talked about something more neutral, Jackson. You didn’t see a lot of it, but you were already amazed. The place had a clinic, it was highly protected. It felt surreal. 

“So.. this is really a community? A whole town?”

“Yeah. Being run by Maria- Tommy’s wife, and him. They’re doing a great job.”

“It’s… it’s really amazing. We heard about it, but to be honest, I didn't really think it was possible. And I certainly didn’t expect something that big!”

“Yeah, a lot of refugees hear about it and join us. We’re working hard to make the place better, day after day. Where did you hear about it?”

“At the QZ,” you answered, and saw him frown.

“Which QZ?”

“Boston. I stayed there for several years. Got sent there a few days after… it happened, and… what?” you asked, when you saw his eyes widening. 

“Boston?! I don’t understand,” Joel replied, eyebrows furrowed. “I went to the Boston QZ… I checked the arrival records, your name wasn’t there.”

It left you confused. Joel was there, at the QZ? Why didn’t you see him? Why didn’t you find each other?

“When were you there? I don’t understand either… All those years and I didn’t see you? I don’t understand,” you repeated, tears threatening to run down your cheeks again at the thought that you could have met sooner.

“I thought I could find you there, so Tommy and I left Austin right after the Outbreak day, but it took us so many years to reach it... And you weren’t there.”

“They checked me in… Put my name on the list, I don’t- Oh my god!”

“What?”

“I… I registered under your name… I said my name was Miller, I…” You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You’ve been so stupid to put a different name.

“You gave them my last name?” he said, his eyes so soft that you melted. He leaned towards you and wiped the tears from your face softly with his thumbs. 

“Yeah, I… you were my family. So was Sarah and Tommy, and… I don’t know, it just felt so natural and I wanted to keep that connection. I didn’t know if you were alive, what happened to you… It felt like the right thing to do, but it was so stupid.”

“Hey,” he said, leaving the armchair to sit on the bed, and took your hand in his. “It wasn’t stupid. And I guess you already left the QZ when I got there, so it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you could have known I was there!”

“No, stop torturing yourself,” he said softly, his big brown eyes fixed in yours. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have known where to find you, right? And I would have been even more worried to know you were outside.”

“Yeah, but you would have known I was alive, or at least that I was at some point and joined the QZ…”

“Sweetheart, quit it,” he cooed, and the nickname made you sob. His worried yet soft eyes were as comforting as they were before. Calming you down. Joel was here, facing you. Maybe you made a mistake, but being by his side was all that mattered now.

“I can’t believe I found you,” you breathed, seizing his hands in yours. You dreamed about it so many times, and finally he was here, with you.

“You did,” he smiled, and hugged you. You cuddled against him, letting him rock you. He was your happy place, your comfort, twenty years ago, and the fact that he was still now, making you feel safe again, in this world, was overwhelming.

“Ok, I’m gonna let you rest now. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, ok?” Uncertainty seized him when he noticed the way you were looking at him, as if you weren’t ready to let him go, as if you wanted to tell him something.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Don’t leave me,” you breathed. “Please, stay with me.”

Joel masterlist

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You had been staring up towards the canopy of twisting vines and tangled branches for far too long, barely illuminated by the sheen of the casting moonlight draping the forest floor in gentle hues of blue. The sleeping bag felt too thin and yet too tight, clinging to each limb like a second skin.

You’re not even sure if he’s awake or not.

“Joel?”

“Hm?”

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

There’s silence for a beat too long, his own confusion stringing through the air like a dubious cloud.

“What?” He gruffs, his voice low and serrated at the edges. Far away. And not just from the consequences of his sleeping bag being nearly five feet away from yours.

“If I asked you to kiss me, would you kiss me?” You repeat, not giving your tongue a moment to tangle and unravel with apprehension. It’s just a question, a curiosity that’s embraced you like a coiled hug from barbed wire.

Your head tilts slightly to the side with the smallest movement in your peripherals, watching as Joel’s hands clench and unclench by his sides where they’re poked out of his own navy blue sleeping bag. He’s not looking at you, keeping his gaze firmly planted above, like he’s scolding the trees for obscuring the view to a clear sky shrouded in blurring stars- like that’d give him some reprieve.

He hesitates, “You want me to kiss you?”

Your heart thuds once in a frantic pace in your eardrums, heat rising rapidly through your veins before you forcibly chill them, not wishing to lose your voracity already. Telling yourself it’s innocent; a place born from curiosity and not direct interest, or a contrast of vulnerability.

“I want to know if you would kiss me,” you rephrase slightly, weariness traced through your tone at his immediate stiff response.

You swear you can hear the grind of his jaw as he attempts to map a way to answer.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” he eventually says slowly. If it weren’t for the gruffness of his Southern drawl singing through the chilled zephyr like the swimming current of a river, you might not have heard him. 

“The truth,” you reply easily.

“Stop fuckin’ arou-”

“Joel. Stop avoiding the question. Would you kiss me?” You huff, determined despite his callousness. He freezes again. His head still doesn’t turn towards you.

For a few leaden, strenuous moments, the only sounds you can hear is that of your own breath casting in small plumes of cold air by your cracked lips and the gentle chitter of wildlife within the forest, the air blowing in gentle streams through brackets of green in the undergrowth.

“If you asked?”

“Yeah,” you concur, gaze blinking back towards him, head straining just to spy a glimpse of his twitching cheekbone as his molars clench.

“No.”

You frown deeply. And despite yourself- despite knowing having travelled with Joel for months now, knowing he’s a cantankerous, malcontent, grumpy old man- something pinches in your chest. 

You know he’s an irascible man. And you mean that in the politest sense of the meaning. Because as he loves to remind you so continuously, he could drop you off in the middle of the woods at any time and not look back to make sure you haven’t stumbled over your own feet yet.

You don’t wish to call what you feel now hurt, but it burns the same. Stings like a prick of a splinter in your side.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he starts, his bottom lip pursing, his broad shoulders set in a terse line where he's laying on his back. He scoffs, peevish. “Just ‘cause. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You can’t help the way your eyes roll in a sardonic manner.

“That sounds like deflection,” you mumble back in a quip.

“It sounds like you’re being a pain in my ass,” he retorts sharply.

“Why can’t you just say why you wouldn’t kiss me?” You insist, shuffling yourself up suddenly onto your side, slotting your elbow beneath yourself to prop up and stare across the shrivel of dirt and sticks between you.

“Because I don’t care enough to amuse this conversation,” he hisses back emphatically. He doesn’t look at you once, instead throwing himself onto his shoulder, the broad expanse of his back facing you. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”

It’s firm. Final.

You stare at the stretch of his dark flannel in the dim lighting for a strangled beat, weighing your options, wondering if you should push this question that’s been curled over the edge of your tongue like dripping molasses for months now, or if you should acquiesce. If you should forget the unsaid words tied between stolen glances murmuring promises to your consciousness you told yourself you shouldn’t listen to. The panicked flash within the depths of his glare when a root tangles over your ankle or a close-call becomes too stark of a depiction to dread. The flutter of your stomach each time he’d do something as simple as making two coffees in the morning instead of one. The trip of your heart in those few, serene moments where he has begun to teach you guitar, the calloused firmness of his fingertips suddenly gentle and reverent as they guide yours over plucking strings.

But maybe you made it all up in your head just to survive this trip with him. Just to tolerate him. God knows you’d need some ridiculous fantasy such as attraction to deal with Joel Miller.

Because even if you did push, and you did insist, there’s no promise he’d capitulate any of his emotions. Because Joel always insists on being both the welded, serrated knife and the one wielding it.

So you surrender, laying back down and snagging your sleeping bag up to your chin, stubbornly turning away from him like that’d change anything.

You eventually fall into a restless sleep. Joel doesn’t rest at all that night.

You stir to the habitual smell of burning coffee beans wafting through the gradually warming morning. Winter was settling down over the surface, turning the frayed edges of leaves frigid, but to your relief- some of fall still hung throughout the air, the light oscillating whisk of sunlight peering through the windows of the branches overhead.

It settles over your shoulders like a blanket, the waft of the coffee stirring in the boiling pot with a bubbling background noise, the crickets insistent chirping from the night prior replaced with the scuttle of squirrels over the dried bark of trees and the distant crack of twigs from a deer.

Then, mingled within it, is the low strum of strings.

Gentle, slow, and tranquil. Like the first wash of a sun-bleached tide against the heel of your foot when you’re standing on the shoreline.

Rousing, you pull yourself up to a sitting position on your hands, your eyes trailing over to where Joel is set on the edge of the truck’s tray. A light blue Chevvy you had both managed to secure about a month prior. You guess you’ll have to abandon it in a few short days, the gas stations surrounding becoming further and few apart.

In his lap, curled in his arms, is a guitar. You had found it buried in the backseat inside the Chevvy, still locked away in its casing. Miraculously surviving in a condition well enough to use. Since then, Joel had grudgingly given you two lessons after you had practically gawked and pleaded when you heard him playing softly in the room opposite when you had been stashed away in an abandoned safehouse.

His fingers work over the strings now. Ruthless hands reduced down to a benign touch as he plucks a fingerpad against the tuned steel. The rhythm is familiar, something you’ve heard before, in a distant life. One forgotten and faded away into ash. Hank Williams, if you had to guess. Joel had once said how much he used to enjoy him when he was younger. The thought is so Southern it nearly hurts.

Strenuously slowly, you curl your legs beneath you and shift yourself out of the sleeping bag, maneuvering up to your feet. Joel’s facing to the side of you, not yet noticing you waking, his eyebrows slightly pinched with a more intent focus on the unveiling song, his one deaf ear only allowing him to lay that much attention on one prominent sound at a time.

Carefully, you pad up towards him. You keep your footsteps light, not wishing to startle or snip off the short-tempered man. And you’re not sure what his thoughts are of you currently after the previous night's debacle.

He doesn’t notice you until you’re nearly standing beside him. His hands pause, his forearms flexing with a stiffness, dark eyes drawing up towards you sharply. He blinks once, like he’s examining you and your sleep-mussed features. You swear you see his gaze soften, even for just a passing flutter of a moment.

Then he nods to the space on the open metal tray beside him.

“C’mere,” he gruffs.

You perch up next to him without a second question, relieved that he’s not instantaneously brash or impudent this morning. He clears his throat hoarsely, his hands sliding to the neck of the guitar with a soft screech of protest from the steel as he lifts the base from his lap and passes it towards you wordlessly.

You take it, settling the bulky object into your lap like how it was in his just beats ago. Curling your arms over and under, one at the base, the other at the neck.

“Show me a G chord,” Joel instructs, tipping his chin down towards your hands intently.

You inhale shortly, drawing your own attention down towards your hands, mind flicking through invisible folders of information for the correct direction of your fingers. Then, you tilt your digits, and press them down against the steel, and use your other hand to strum downwards once.

It rings out in something adjacent to a cord. Shaky and awkward, slightly stiff- but progress none the less. And Joel doesn’t immediately call you out on any mistakes.

He nods once, murmuring, “Better than last time.”

He directs you on a second chord, then a third, your gaze settled locked steadfastly on your task, determined to get each one right. He rewards you with rare, but solemn praises;

“Starting to get it,” he'll say.

“Getting there,” he’ll mutter.

It’s not exactly gentle or awe-inspiring, but it’s far more encouragement than you’re accustomed to with him.

“Now an E major,” he says eventually. You pause, fingers stilling on the guitar’s strings. They thrum a short beat over the wood as if that’ll bring the answer to the forefront of your mind.

“You forget,” Joel states. You exhale sharply, disappointed, but nod once. Joel doesn’t reprimand you for it like you expect- instead just saddles himself slightly closer, his thick thigh pressing against yours. Then, his hands reach across to yours.

Large palms encompassing yours, rough fingers meeting more frangible skin. Violence melded down into something simple, benevolent. That indulgence of softness spoken- sung- with the curve of his fingers over yours, directing them into the correct placement. He’s precise, careful. His eyes set on the meticulous act.

But your gaze draws up to his face instead. His face that’s suddenly so close to yours, his skin that’s suddenly touching yours; brushing and grazing. You can hear the vague thud of your heartbeat skip a calamitous beat in your eardrums. The calloused pads of his fingertips prod over your knuckles. His head tilts, his cheek nearly colliding with yours. From this distance, you can properly make out each pluck of silver in his stubbled beard, the streaks of the same grey shrouded through the dark curls atop his head, still tangled with sleep, or a restless night.

He pulls his hands away with an affirmative nod to himself, then his gaze flicks up to you.

You both pause as your eyes meet. Stares connecting in some unsaid tangle of frayed rope that’s been tying itself in bewildering loops for months now.

You look away. Instead focusing back on the placement he angled your fingers in. But you can feel it; his eyes never tear away from your face. They remain there, steady and present, searching for something you’re too perturbed to name.

You strum downwards. The notes ring jagged, shaky, your fingers bent awkwardly.

Your bottom lip purses with a deeper frown in irritation. His eyes track the movement beside you unconsciously.

You huff, and go to retry, hand flexing at the base of the guitar.

“I lied.”

You blink at the sudden sound of his voice, head upturning to face him again. He’s still gazing at you, that same firm clench of his jaw set in place like it always is, his brows still furrowed to crease that line in his forehead you always want to smooth out- but there’s something more. His eyes; they’ve darkened, the usual mahogany of them wavered down into something lower, his pupils wider.

“What?” You breathe.

“Last night. I said I didn’t care. I lied,” he says. It’s stiff, like the words don’t really know how to smoothly tip from his tongue. His eyebrows saddle together even further, and you even more desperately want to press your thumb between them. “I care. Always have.”

Then, with more certainty, or maybe it’s a force of nature, his eyes drop. Down to your lips, tracing the line of them as they instinctively part under his gaze.

Looking at your mouth as he adds lower, “Maybe too much.”

You feel your throat tighten, your breath stumbling through your windpipe with your sudden incredulity. You don’t have a moment to collect your thoughts before his eyes snap back up to yours, piercing and trying to discern.

“Do you still want to ask me?” He questions urgently.

“If..” you start, weary.

“If I’ll kiss you.”

Oh- oh.

You stare bemusedly at him. Wondering if you’ve misheard him. If he’s chiding you. Mocking you for getting the E major chord wrong. You don’t know how to read this situation, all of it feeling so starkly dissimilar to how you’ve known Joel to be for so many months now.

“Would you want to?” You ask back breathlessly. Your eyes search, and his soften. That coffee brown melting away, juxtaposed to the short space of quiet right before dawn breaks- where everything in the world stands still, waiting for anything to be the first to shatter that solitude. 

A moment of warmth weighed in the uncertainty.

“Every part of me has wanted to since I met you,” he murmurs lowly, his attention never breaking away from you. “There isn’t one part of me that doesn’t want every part of you.”

This time, you know your breath ceases entirely. Your pupils rounding, jaw slackening. Because how is it now, after so many months, Joel is suddenly saying all of this to you? That he’s bruised with his words for so long, dug and chided until you felt bitter, just to turn and admit that he's wanted you this entire time. That everything you’ve felt hasn’t been some sick imagination your mind conjured up.

Sure, he bruised, but it was always like those blooming purple and blue marks on your skin you couldn’t help but amuse; poking and nudging at it until it ached like something tender. Maybe you just hadn’t noticed how he had never aimed to cause those bruises in the first place before.

“Yes,” you breathe quickly before your throat can forcefully swallow the words, “I still want to ask you.”

Joel’s face slackens with surprise, then hesitance, then something darker. Firmer, but not unkind. More like certainty.

Like he’s been searching for too long for a base to ground him, and now that’s he’s confessed his exploration for something more than just hopeless reaching, and he’s been gifted kindness, agreement- he realises that each time he’s taught you guitar now, it’s been about more than the pluck of string under your fingertips. It’s been about the song you sing without words, without a tune- like the very hymn of your veins calls out to him instead, winding through him, pulling him forward.

And now, after far too long of biting it back, snapping off the rope- he finally lets it tug him forth. And you don’t stop him, your hand and heart tied just the same around the same rope.

His large hand lifts to frame your face, cupping your cheek. Eyes searching yours for another moment, before darting down to your lips. He leans forward, your breaths mingling in the space between like the slow reverberation of a fleeting chord.

Then he closes the distance, and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss is slow at first. Tentative, seeking. Searching for more in the unsaid, reassuring you both to the ground, soothed, eyelids slipping closed.

Then your head tilts, and it deepens. His hand tightens slightly against your burning cheek, and his tongue swipes out to trace the seam of your lips like he already has them memorised. You part them, allowing him entry, and it’s like a burst of skittering fireflies in your belly as his tongue meets yours. Melding gently, tasting and experimenting.

He kisses like everything else he does in life. Steady, unyielding. But there’s a softness to it; like he can finally allow himself to relax, let the furrow between his brows slacken. This base he’s found tethering him down, making him groan into your mouth with a hushed relief.

He kisses like he’s worshipping.

You exhale a small moan into his mouth, breathless, senses consumed by him. You kiss him just as fervently. Deep, slow. Neither of you rush it, taking your time to explore each other. His scent smoothing over you in a rush, a bergamot and sandalwood you’ve never noticed so piquantly before. The pour of hot water over coffee beans, the rough press of his hardened palm against your cheek in contrast with his soft lips, slightly chapped from the cold.

Your lips work in tandem, tongues tangling a dance from the chords that aren’t being strung, the guitar hanging limp in your lap. Only when your grip loosens from it and the guitar nearly goes tumbling from your thighs do you both break apart from the kiss, reeling and dazed.

Your eyes still closed, he lulls his head forward and presses his forehead to yours. For a while, all there is the gentle sound of your panting breaths as you both gather your bearings again. If there’s any song you wish you could memorise and play on cue; it’s the sound of his gentle, shallow breaths intertwining with yours, the way it casts over your lips.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone once. Soft, reverent, your eyes fluttering open, melded against him on the truck bed. The corner of his mouth ticks in just the smallest smile. You know it’s from content.

“Come on. Show me an E major again,” he murmurs, letting his hand reluctantly drop away from your face and nodding back to the guitar in your lap. You grin back, lopsided and pleased, nearly surging back just to steal his lips with yours once again, but instead you settle back, arms tightening around the instrument again.

His thigh pressed to yours, his shoulder brushing yours. His breath tender and tone guiding, hands reaching out to direct yours when needed. The moment now softer than it was, than it ever has been.

That rope pulled taught between you. But it didn’t snap or shred when you got too close. Instead, it entwined. Looped and weaved in harmony to hum a synonymous hymn. And you both settle and sway into it.

With Joel, you realised it was the little things.

Maybe it always has been. The way his gaze would narrow with alarm when a shimmer of a wound appeared on your skin, how his hands would grab for you to shield you with his own body the moment any apprehension stirred in an unknown moment. The way that he would wordlessly offer you a flannel to place over your sleeping bag at night just for extra warmth. The two coffees brewed in the morning even if you were running out. The way he would slow his steps down to a reverent, knowing pace after you rolled your ankle, even after he insisted that you could just walk it off. The way he would always take the first shift at night, and go far into the night until he finally woke you. How his eyes would soften sometimes at the most mundane things; like you being elated over a find of an old, worn chocolate package in a rundown supermarket, or the bliss on your face when you’d get to dip your feet into the cold, comforting embrace of a river.

These guitar lessons. The two coffees made and ready to be poured from the pot ahead of you.

It had always been the little things with Joel. And the culmination of them was far less daunting than you could’ve imagined- it wasn’t rugged and hardened, sharpened like razors at the edges prepared to strike. Instead it was like the first sweep of the comforting breeze when Winter finally broke into Spring, offering nothing but serenity; soft, unhurried, and forgiving.

"Whether you come as a lover or an executioner, I am ready to receive you." - The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustín Gómez-Arcos, tr. William Rodarmor

I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry - Hank Williams

Joel stirred awake at the sound of the front door creaking open.

It only took his brain a moment before an immediate wave of relief washed over him—especially hearing it click shut. That simple sound brought him nothing but relief after the evening you two had just had hours earlier. 

Earlier that day - 6:21 PM

Joel sighed as he sat down on the bench near the front door to begin taking off his boots, watching you hang up your jacket a few feet from him. “I'm sorry, I just... I don’t understand why you’re so upset…”

Yeah, that’s not the right thing to say to someone who had been a swirling storm ever since you'd left Maria’s office. Meaning, the walk home had been completely silent. You gave him the cold shoulder, walked two paces in front of him—steam rolling off you in a fiery fit of anger. 

“So upset?” You echoed, scoffing as you let your foot go—your disbelief for such a diabolical question completely stopping the motion of taking your boots off. “Why wouldn’t I be upset? You stood there and told everyone I wasn’t ready to go back out—”

“Because you aren’t!” He looked up at you from where he sat, voice laced with a painful type of honesty.

You stood there for a moment, silent, shocked by his bluntness. 

Joel sighed as he set his boot down beside his leg before continuing, softening his voice a touch. “Baby, you… You can’t act like you aren’t wakin’ up every mornin’ in pain. That going back out would smart with how bad your knee has been treatin' you..” 

You swallowed the sour words you had cocked and loaded to spit back if he’d said anything else, but this? He was right about this. And god damnit, he knew you knew he was right. 

You hated how you couldn’t lie to yourself. Not when you did wake up every damn morning stiff and aching. You hated it—getting older, but also you couldn’t deny that your knee hadn’t been the same since the accident less than a season ago. No matter how hard you tried to push yourself or ignore it—you couldn’t pretend it was ever going to be like it was. You were forever going to be feeling the ramifications of that day.

But on a more important note—you couldn’t stand to wake up and live another day in this.

You needed to get back to the swing of things. You needed some sense of normalcy; you needed to get back to your routine.

And somehow you thought Joel of all people would understand that. But now? Now you felt that maybe he didn't know you at all. 

God, you hated that.

You shook your head and looked down at the ground, trying to keep yourself from boiling over again. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me.” 

When he didn't answer, you looked up just as he shook his head and slightly rolled his eyes—getting ready to cut in. Big mistake. 

“No, you don't get to roll your eyes. You don't get to do that… God, you don’t get to stand there like you speak for me and—”

“And what? Tell the truth?” He scoffed as he stood, cutting you off again—shedding his jacket from his shoulders, moving past to hang it up on the coat rack. “You were there... You heard them ask me what I thought and I—” 

You turned your body to follow him, your voice starting to rise like the fire in your chest as you interrupted now, “You told them that I’d be a fucking liability, Joel!” 

You rarely ever called him by his name in moments like this—but he wasn't stupid. He knew when you did, it was more serious than he was treating it. And especially now, with the way you were looking at him? He knew you were more than just hurt.

“No, I…I didn’t say that—” He started to try and reason, taking a step toward you, reaching out for your hand or to try and ease you. 

But you stepped back.

You stepped back and kept your hand away, putting it behind you, your voice having a fraction of restraint, “No... no, you don’t get to do... that.” 

“Do what?” He asked, trying not to show how much that singular motion wounded him. 

“You can’t do that." You took a shaky breath and shook your head as you looked down at your half-unlaced boot. “You can't act like you did nothing wrong, Joel.” 

“But I didn’t—I just…” He sighed, feeling like no matter what he said, you weren’t in the place to hear him, you were too upset. “What did you want me to say? What would you have me do? Lie?…”

“I just... I just feel it wasn’t your place to say anything…” 

He furrowed his brow, confused by the things you were saying. “Wasn’t my place?”

You hesitated, but then you went to shake your head only for your body to betray you into a shrug, like you were unsure. Your heart's silent way of telling you deep down it was his place—just like it was yours with him.

“I don't understand." He scoffed—now his anger was starting to simmer at how cold you were being. "Then tell me, what is my place?”

The way he firmly planted himself made you clench your jaw in frustration at his stubbornness. He wasn't going to let this go.

“I’m not doing this… You know what I meant.” You muttered as you knelt to lace your boot. You needed to cool off, and he wasn't going to let you do that here. Not now that things were misinterpreted and tempers were sure to boil over.

Joel looked down at you and shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, “Apparently, I don’t. Apparently, you and I are on two different pages of what is and isn’t our place. So enlighten me, please. What is my place?” 

The more he kept pushing, the more he kept pressing on a button that was going to make you react in a way you hadn't around him yet.

“Joel, stop.” You warned, your hands starting to shake in anger or frustration... but it was only making it worse as you had to retie the lace again.

“No, tell me.” He pressed again, his tone losing that softness it started with. 

Your head was swimming with nothing but anger. Enough that you knew if you fed into this, you’d say things out of that ugly place it always took you to. Things you’d regret. 

“I’m not doing this right now. I can’t…” You muttered as you pulled the laces in a sloppy, half-assed bow out of frustration and rose to your feet, moving past him to grab your jacket you’d just hung up. “I... I can’t do this with you.” 

“Can’t do this? What? You can’t talk things through?” He followed you, his heart now pounding in his ears—his anger taking over faster than he could control. “Look, I know we’re new to this… this…” He scoffed a small cold chuckle before continuing, “...God, whatever this is.” 

You pulled your jacket on and kept your gaze down, biting the side of your cheek to keep yourself silent. 

But silence didn’t bring him comfort. But would it to anyone else? With all the things you were saying? All the things you weren't?  

For Joel, it just fed into his insecurities about not being good enough—not being enough to fight for. It cracked the very fragile part of himself that he had only opened for you. 

He watched you for a moment, watched you struggle to line up the zipper to your jacket. Something in him didn't understand that you weren’t stepping away—you were stepping back.

You needed to pause.

You needed to find your head and pull it out of your ass. 

But he just saw someone leaving—someone hurting him. 

So he did what every insecure man does when they feel small…

He kept fucking talking until he would regret it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and painfully chuckled. “Right, because I guess the only place you see me being is the one between your—” 

But then he stopped the moment his brain caught up with his ass was about to say.

Something that wouldn’t be easy to take back. 

You finally lined up the zipper and pulled it up in a sharp and quick motion, your eyes finding his—filled with hurt at the words he left lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

“What? Between my legs?...” You paused for a moment and looked at him—really looked at him before finishing off with, “You really think that’s all we are?...” Not able to help the way your voice broke on that last word—your eyes suddenly started to burn as they filled with tears. 

His face fell in that sad puppy sort of way that only he could achieve, especially in moments like these—in moments where he knew he massively fucked up.

“N-No, fuck, I didn’t mean that… I–” He took a step toward you, instinct making him reach out for you.

You felt a heat crawl up your neck, and tears suddenly started to cloud your vision. But before he could see any of that, you brushed past him and headed for the front door. 

“Fuck… I was so stupid." You mumbled, wiping a tear that fell down your cheek.

Your voice broke as you felt yourself start to spiral. "You... You don’t give a shit about me if that’s what you think that is all we are...”

"No, whoa, hey... no." He started to scramble, not knowing what to say, what to do. How to fix this. "Sweetheart, you know that you mean more to me than anythin' in this world."

You didn't need to hear this. You weren't going to believe it, no matter how sad or desperate he sounded.

You needed air. You needed to get out of this damn hallway. You needed a fucking drink.

You reached for the doorknob and twisted it. “I need to go. I... I need to leave.” You said a bit louder, your voice still unsteady. 

“No, No… baby—fuck, you know I didn’t mean that.” Joel quickly followed after you, putting his hand on the door from behind you—in an attempt to keep it shut just as you were about to pull it open. “Baby, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Please. Please don’t leave.”

You stayed facing the door, your hand clenched around the handle, voice small and eerily even. “Joel... let me go.” 

Joel stayed there for a second, contemplating his options before he slowly let his hand off the door with a soft, defeated sigh.

His voice softened to a gentle plea as he stayed where he was, standing behind you, “Please don’t go. Please—” 

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him as he stood behind you. You could smell the comforting scent of his citrus and pine soap with each inhale.

The urge every atom in your being was fighting against? Not to take a single step back? It was painful.

Because in any other scenario, you would fold. You would take that step back and lean into him. You’d surrender in the name of your love for him and let all this anger go.

You’d let him wrap you in his arms and hold you close. You’d melt against him, and he'd lean over your shoulder and kiss your neck—in that soft, sweet way he'd begin to apologize.

You’d stop being so damn stubborn and let the man love you in the way you never felt you deserved—even though he insisted every day he’d never stop trying to show you how much you do. 

But this time, it felt different. This wasn’t any other fight you two had come across in the past.

This struck something deep that you didn’t know how to navigate. It was something you hadn't ever felt.

It was something that only came from the world ending and finding yourself with someone. It was unfamiliar territory, and that was terrifying. 

However, the longer you stood there, the more Joel could feel you fighting back every instinct. He could feel the energy pulsing off of you. 

So he did what he always did: he moved in to offer comfort. 

He moved a few inches closer, closing the space even more so that you would be able to feel his breath against your neck as he continued to softly plead, “All I meant… all I was tryin’ to do was protect you by what I said with Maria. I need..." He sighed softly, his hand hovering the side of your hip. "I need you safe…”  

Your eyelids betrayed you as they slowly closed—only for a few seconds—but it was enough that you felt yourself lean back and touch his chest before you snapped forward and shook your head, shaking yourself out of his spell. “Joel, please…” 

You opened the door to leave when his voice came one last time from behind you, completely broken. “You know that I’d never hurt you. You know how much I need you... how much I love you…” 

You held onto the doorknob—your knuckles now turning white as you allowed a few tears to run down your cheeks before you nodded and swallowed the lump sitting high in the back of your throat. 

“Of course I do.”

Then you looked back at him, and there he saw it: the utter heartbreak you’d been hiding under all that anger since leaving Maria’s office. 

“But that makes what you did hurt even worse…” You choked out before turning around and walking out—softly shutting the door behind you. 

Joel stood there and just stared at the door. He didn't move from that spot for an hour before he moved to sit at the bench—where he sat for a few more hours.

Waiting for you.

Waiting to make things right. To be there when you get back. 

If you came back. 

He’d just drifted to sleep when he heard the front door creak open. He didn’t waste a moment before he moved to sit up in bed—his racing.

He turned the nightstand’s lamp on and saw the time on the clock next to it: 

12:11 AM

He realized he'd been asleep for no more than 20 minutes, and that in some way felt like he’d betrayed you. By not being down there when you came home. 

“Baby?” He called from the bed before rushing to his feet and slowly stepping towards the door—slightly hesitating in case he'd dreamt the sound. 

He heard you stumble and crash into what he could only assume was the coat rack before you called out, “Jesus, you’re still awake?” Your voice filled with a small level of disbelief, like you didn't expect him to wait up.

He rushed out of the bedroom and stopped at the top of the stairs to see you at the bottom, already looking up for him.

You looked lighter than before—not so angry or upset. Needless to say, however much relief that brought him, he couldn’t assume and risk a repeat of earlier.

“Well... yeah, I...” He said softly as he stepped down a few steps before sitting on the top stair, keeping his voice gentle. “I wanted to be awake when you got home. You know, in case you wanted to talk or—” 

“Mm, I was angry... and real fuckin' stupid earlier...” You hiccupped as you cut him off, holding tightly onto the railing, keeping yourself steady as it was clear now that you were a bit tipsy. 

“Whoa, hey... no… I said some really—” Joel tried to start, only for you to cut him off again. 

You hiccupped louder, and you waved your hand out in front of you to stop him, “Mm, stop talking and let me get this out, m'kay?”

Joel couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips before he exhaled in mock defeat and nodded towards you, “Okay…” 

You took a deep breath and stumbled up a few steps, slightly tripping on the third one, but caught yourself and looked up at him again. “I... I was angry for several reasons...” You sighed and shrugged as you saw him soften somehow even more as he waited for you to carry on. “I felt angry for feeling overwhelmed at the way I literally can’t do the one thing I’ve been doing since I got to Jackson.” 

You looked away for a moment, trying to find the words—before looking down.

“For… For feeling like a burden to you and Ellie while I've been recovering.” Your voice changed, like there was shame woven into it.

You heard him inhale, like he was going to speak up, so you quickly continued, needing to get it all on the table.

“I felt—no, I feel like I’m losing my sense of routine. I just—I was or am… feeling a lot.” You looked up at him to only see him give you the softest nod—like he was giving you the small nudge to keep going. 

You swallowed and took another step up towards him—this one more solid—opening up more. “But… what I was mostly upset about is… because I tried lying to myself and everyone else today. But you?” You helplessly chuckled as you pinched the bridge of your nose, slightly annoyed that you didn’t understand this before. 

“You held me accountable."

Joel hummed in agreement before he tilted his head slightly, watching you—like he was reading all the unspoken things you were holding back. 

“Tell me more…” He plead.

Your cheeks warmed at the soft patience of his voice before putting your hand back on the rail, thinking of how to put what you wanted to say into words, before looking up at him.

But then you realized who was looking down at you with those soft brown eyes, and suddenly, the need for perfect words and for it all to make sense left. 

"I uhm, I talked to Gail... at the bar tonight, and she said a lot of things that just… fuck—they obnoxiously made sense..." You started to chuckle. 

Joel grinned as he leaned in to listen. 

"She said that I uhm..." You sighed as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to remember Gail's exact words. “That I didn't communicate my feelings and anxieties before going to Maria's… and so, when it didn’t go my way—she said that ‘I put an unfair amount of blame on you’..." 

You slowly opened your eyes and shrugged as you looked down at the step in front of you. Focusing on the small line of finish that had worn off the wood. "I guess… what I need to come to terms with is, I'm a bit rusty and should probably retire from patrol with how bad my knee is..."

Joel simply hummed again, not in agreement or anything—just to let you know he’d been listening. 

But this time, when you looked up at him, the weight of everything that had been said and happened earlier caught in the back of your throat. Your lip quivered before you whispered, “And I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry for leaving. I know that—” The shakiness in your voice instantly made Joel move to come racing down the stairs toward you. 

“Hey, hey no… c’mere—” He whispered tenderly before collapsing back down on the stairs in front of you, reaching to put his hands on your cheeks. 

“Can I say somethin’ now?” He asked as his thumb brushed a tear away. 

You let out a sad chuckle and nodded, stepping closer to lean into his warm hold. 

His eyes danced across your face as he studied you for a few seconds before softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You mean more to me than I will ever be able to… say or show you.” His thumb wiped another of your tears away. “But if tonight taught me anything? It showed me a real ugly taste of what my life would be without you.” 

You leaned into his hand and couldn’t help but smile, “That bad, huh?” 

“Mm, horribly miserable darlin’…” Joel murmured as his lips matched your smile and his thumb began gently stroking back and forth over your cheek. “I never want to go up to that cold bed alone, mm?”  

Your cheeks warmed a soft blush, and you closed your eyes as you hummed in agreement, “Can’t say I wanted my evening to be spent nursing a bottle of vodka… getting therapized by Gail of all people…” 

That made Joel chuckle—but the noise only came through his nostrils and through his chest. 

The sound was so small and simple… but it was that familiar vibration that always warmed your soul.

It was the warmth that welcomed you every morning when he kissed you awake. The sound that he couldn’t help but let out when he pulled you close and begged for five more minutes with you—which always made you smile and giggle—as you’d never dare deny yourself of that level of absolute bliss, especially with him.

But tonight, it was the trigger that you needed. It was the spark needed to feel that same wave of relief that washed over Joel after hearing the door click—this was your wave. 

You opened your eyes to find him already soaking you in, in a way only poets could describe. In a way that no matter how deep you looked, you couldn’t find a single ounce of anger or betrayal that was there before. 

Nothing ill harbored towards you. 

Instead, there was nothing but love and respect and compassion and absolute commitment. 

But then again, Joel could never hold anything against you after a fight for long. If there was one weakness that man had, it was his devotion to you. 

He was utterly and helplessly in love with you and could never stay upset for too long—even when you were the one who massively fucked up. 

Instead, he forgave you—every single time.  

He moved on. 

He gave you a second chance more times than you felt you deserved.  

He was the one good and fair thing this world had given you after taking so much away. And you were the same to him. 

You were his second chance at being happy—being truly, stupidly, blindly, and endlessly happy.  

“Well, in that case, how about we finish out the night… the right way…and head upstairs?” He murmured as he pulled down to his lips—adding before his lips touched yours, "Let me make it up to you..."

You leaned into him as you kissed him slowly the first time, lingering on his lips long enough to taste the peppermint from his toothpaste. You then moved your hand off the railing to land on his chest before gripping the soft fabric of his t-shirt and kissing him again, deeper this time. 

He inhaled at what that did to him and moved one of his hands through your hair to cradle the back of your neck—while the other moved down to your waist to pull you up to straddle his lap, muttering, “Mm, c’mere…” 

You blindly stumbled up the few stairs needed to meet him, giggling against his lips before straddling his lap and kissing him deeper. Your free arm easily wrapped around his shoulder—bringing yourself close enough that your chest pressed against his. 

His hand stayed cradled at your neck as his lips moved against yours in a slow and deep passionate fit of kisses. Your hand slowly moved to thread through the soft curls at the back of his neck, softly panting between each pass.

Eventually, you slid your tongue gradually more and more between his lips—a silent plea for more—until his began dancing with yours. 

Joel groaned before his hands moved down to grip your ass, moving your hips to grind against the thin fabric of his pajama pants—sending a clear message he also wanted more. 

You moaned quietly at the growing bulge grinding slowly against the seam of your jeans. You pulled back only for his lips to move to your jawline, then your neck, sucking soft marks into your skin. 

“Joel…” You breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers curled around his hair, holding him right where you wanted him.

There. That was the version of his name he loved to hear roll off your tongue.

He groaned, the rumble coming up from deep in his chest—bouncing off the soft skin he had between his lips as he began making his mark.

His hands stayed on your ass, grinding you back and forth against his lap until you eventually began doing it yourself.

Your breathing became heavier before small whimpers bubbled their way out—making him smirk against your skin. “Mm, I love when you make those sounds.” He muttered before slowly gliding his lips across your skin, back up to yours, before kissing you passionately.

You kissed him back, continuing your rhythm against his growing erection that was now stimulating something for you with each pass it rubbed against your clit. You could feel his hands move up your body and then underneath your shirt to eventually tug your bra down before he cupped your tit—making your breath hitch in between a kiss.

You kissed him harder, a touch sloppier, as you both were too hot and hungry for each other. So when you pulled back, he chased after you—his eyes lidded and grinning wide.

"Where do you think you're going?" He murmured leaning in for you, palming your breast with one hand and gripping your waist with the other.

You moaned again, your breath hot against his lips before you kissed him once more—this time slowly pulling back and leaning your forehead against his.

"Ellie... she's down the hall..." You whispered as you combed your fingers through his curls, your hips slowing down their rhythm.

"Mhm, and she's one of the heaviest sleepers we know..." He grinned as his thumb teased your nipple, making you gasp, and your hips roll once more against him.

"Come on... think about it..." He almost sounded like he was begging.

Your cheeks flushed red at how hot that made you feel. How wet you could feel yourself getting, imagining the thrill of it all—the thought of what could be done on these stairs.

But then you realized two pretty important points:

You were still somewhat drunk. Additionally to that point, you were in no way, shape, or form going to have the coordination to fuck him on these stairs.

You both were not as young as you'd like to believe. Because if you were to put it back in your pants for a second? You'd both agree that the outcome would most likely end in one or the both of you getting hurt, rather than having any fun.

Joel took your silence as a way to further his cause—so he leaned in and kissed your chin, then jawline, humming along with each kiss.

"You could ride me, right here... give me a show with those pretty little tits of yours." He purred before lightly pinching the bud of your nipple.

Your grip tightened on his shoulder—the instant sensation shooting a heat down to your core. You bit your lip to hold in a moan that would be loud enough to stir the house.

"Or I could bend you over... get you on your hands and knees..." Another small pinch and kiss to the soft spot just under your jawline. "Watch that perfect pussy of yours take me so well from behind..."

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you swallowed down another moan. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help the way your hips began to grind slowly against him—helplessly weak to feel his cock move against your cunt.

His teeth gently grazed your jawline before he groaned, feeling your hips press further onto him—your passive way of teasing him back.

"You and I both know we don't have the back or knees for these damn stairs..." You breathed before a moan slipped out, as he lightly pinched and tugged at your nipple—easily driving you mad with lust.

"Fuck, well if that’s the case… you gotta stop makin' those little noises you know I like, baby..." He teased before tugging lightly again at your nipple. "You're going to make me weak in the knees...” He kissed down your neck to the hem of your shirt before kissing back up. “…then I’ll really be unable to make it up to the bedroom."

Your head was swimming and everything in you screamed to stay where you were. But, when the perfect moment came, for that small pause of when his lips reached up for yours—you put your hand on his chest and gently pushed him away, putting his back against the stairs.

Something similar to a growl escaped from his chest and rumbled against your palm as he looked at you with that devilish smirk. “What are you up to?"

You kept your hand on his chest as you maneuvered up and off his lap to stand in front of him—his hands sliding off your body.

He looked up at you from where he sat—drinking you in—his chest lightly heaving, lips pink and swollen.

You began to undo your belt, keeping eye contact, trying—and failing—not to grin too wide as you whispered, “Giving you some motivation to get upstairs…”

Joel watched as your pants slid down and off your body before you kicked them down the few stairs behind you.

He bit his bottom lip as his eyes locked in on you standing there—wearing his favorite lacy black panties. “Mm darlin’, you could be wearing a fuckin’ parka, and I’d want you on your hands and knees.”

You crossed your arms over your torso to grab the hem of your shirt before you slowly pulled it up over your head—revealing a matching lace black bra, one that left little to the imagination.

You tilted your head to the side and bit your lip as you noticed his hand had moved into his lap. He had starting to stroking himself slowly—needing relief.

"You're favorite, right?" You teased as your thumb slid just barely, underneath the elastic around your hip.

He groaned as he watched—nodding once at you. "You're being a tease, baby..."

You smirked and tossed your hair to one side, another one of his favorite sights before innocently asking, "Am I?"

He groaned, the sound animalistic as he tightened his grip and nodded. "You know what you're doing."

"Do I?" You cooed, knowing you were getting him pent up.

He watched you slowly draw the elastic down your hip bone—exposing that soft skin between your hip and mound. His jaw clenched, and his eyes fluttered shut as he let out a small whimper. “F-Fuck…”

You smirked as you stepped up a stair to stand more so over him than eye level. You put your hands on his knees and leaned forward—your cleavage was on full display—another one of his favorites.

“Tell me how you want me waiting for you…” You purred, slowly moving in—inches from his lips—making his eyes open immediately.

You now fully had his attention. And as you expected, his eyes dipped down to your tits like the man couldn’t help himself.

"Mm, eyes up here, handsome..." You taunted.

His gaze darkened as it snapped up to meet yours, his smirk widening as he moved to lean forward—wanting to catch your lips—only for you to tease him and pull back.

"Tell me..." You whispered as you began sliding your hands slowly up his thighs.

His breath hitched the further your hands crawled. He swallowed before lightly nudging his nose against yours, "Fuck... we should fight more often if it gets you like this..."

"Joel..." You whispered, like a soft warning for him to focus.

"On your back." He nudged your nose again, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head to the side to kiss you—needing your lips on his. "Legs spread wide, like the good girl you are."

You bit your bottom lip and muttered as you leaned in to meet his lips with yours, "Yes, sir..."

He groaned as your lips collided in a deep and passionate kiss. He waited only moments before he couldn't resist but reach up and cup your cheeks as he continued to kiss you—getting slowly sloppier and heated with each kiss.

You moaned softly, the sound not able to be held back when he kissed you like this.

You felt his tongue begin to dance with yours and for a small moment, you were tempted to say 'Fuck it' and crawl back into his lap.

You could easily pull your panties to one side and pull him out through that buttoned up opening—one that you were no stranger to.

It took everything in you not to give in.

So before you did something you'd both regret in the morning, you ran one of your hands up his abdomen to his chest before gently pushing him back against the stairs again—your lips reluctant to separate as your foreheads stayed together .

"Mm, wait—" He mumbled, out of breath, slightly dazed.

You murmured as you nudged his nose playfully, "Don’t keep me waiting.”

Then you maneuvered past him and began rushing up the stairs, tossing your bra behind you at him.

He snapped out of whatever spell he was in at the feeling of it hitting the back of his head—only to spin around and find you at the top of the stairs with your panties around your ankle—giggling as you kicked them down the stairs at him—swiftly flicking your index finger, beckoning him to join you.

The voice rips through the gray Seattle afternoon between ragged breaths as two men shove past abandoned cars, shoulders slamming hard enough into dented metal to shake loose fragments of broken glass.

Another gunshot cracks across the street.

Not close. Far. Sharp enough to split the city open.

The bullet tears past the first man’s head so close he feels the heat of it scrape his ear before it punches into the rusted hood beside him—

CLANG.

Sparks burst violently off metal. “Fuck!” he gasps, stumbling sideways.

Another shot. The second man’s head snaps backward in an explosion of blood and bone.

Red sprays across the survivor’s face.

For half a second the body keeps running. Then collapses violently against the pavement with a sick crack. The remaining man chokes on a scream.

“Aah— Jesus fucking Christ!”

He runs harder.

Adrenaline floods his legs so violently they barely feel attached to him anymore. His boots slam through puddles as he forces himself forward between abandoned FEDRA trucks swallowed by vines and collapsed barricades overtaken by moss.

Another shot cuts through the rain-heavy air. This one hits. The bullet punches straight through his thigh.

“AHH— FUCK!”

He drops instantly, shoulder smashing against wet asphalt hard enough to tear skin through his jacket. Pain detonates through his leg while blood spills hot between trembling fingers clawing desperately at the wound.

He tries dragging himself toward the nearest overturned truck.

Breathing too hard. Too loud. Too terrified.

He glances back.

His friend’s body lies twisted in the middle of the flooded street twenty feet away, rainwater slowly carrying diluted ribbons of blood toward a clogged drain.

Then—

Nothing. Silence. No third shot. The man’s chest heaves violently.

Why didn’t she kill me?

Shaking hands fumble at his torn pant leg, yanking the soaked fabric high enough to reveal the bullet wound shredding through the side of his thigh.

Clean shot. Missed the artery. Deliberate.

Then—

Footsteps. Soft against wet grass nearby.

Slow. Controlled. A revolver cocks. The metallic click echoes louder than the gunfire. The man jerks for the pistol holstered at his hip instinctively—

BANG.

The bullet tears straight through his hand. He screams.

The gun flies uselessly across the pavement as he throws himself backward in panic, scrambling away on elbows slick with blood and rainwater.

“You fuckin’ psycho bitch!” he screams hysterically, clutching his ruined hand against his chest. “I told you everythin’! What the fuck else do you want?!”

The footsteps stop. A figure emerges slowly through the drifting rain. Black jacket darkened by water. Sniper rifle hanging loose against your back. Expression cold enough to freeze blood. You crouch slowly in front of him and press the revolver against the center of his forehead.

The man’s breathing turns ragged instantly.

“Listen— listen to me, okay?” Blood bubbles faintly at the corner of his mouth as panic makes him speak too fast. “I swear to God we ain’t WLF anymore! We left! We’re headin’ south, alright? Santa Barbara! We told you where the hospital is! I wasn’t lyin’!”

Your eyes narrow slightly. No sympathy. No hesitation.

“You shot my fuckin’ dog.”

BANG.

The back of his skull bursts against the pavement. Silence crashes back over the street. Rain taps softly against abandoned cars. Thunder rolls somewhere far beyond the skyline. The faint ringing left behind by gunfire hums inside your ears. Without another glance toward the corpse, you holster the revolver. At your boots lies an unfolded map stained dark with rainwater and blood.

Earlier, while you questioned them, one of the Wolves managed slipping free from the zip ties around his wrists and bolted.

Taxi lunged before you could stop him. The gunshot came immediately after. Too fast. Too close. The bullet only grazed his front leg.

Lucky.

You crouch beside the map beneath the weak glow of your flashlight and study the markings carefully.

Hospital.

A rough circle near a cluster of taller buildings farther north. Your jaw tightens slightly. “Thirty miles,” you mutter quietly.

The map folds neatly before disappearing into your back pocket. Behind you, Taxi lets out a low whine. Your head turns instantly.

“There you are.”

The shepherd limps toward you through wet grass, ears tilted back slightly in annoyance more than pain.

You kneel beside him immediately, gently lifting the injured leg into your lap. “Hey.”

Your voice softens despite yourself. “What did we talk about, huh?”

Taxi huffs.

“You don’t throw yourself in front of bullets.”

He barks once.

You snort quietly while wrapping fresh bandages around the graze wound.

“I had it handled.” Another bark. Then a softer whine. “Yeah, yeah.” You lean down and press a kiss against the top of his head. “Good boy.” Taxi leans briefly into your shoulder before you stand again, slinging the rifle back across your shoulder.

“C’mon,” you murmur. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep.”

Your eyes drift toward Seattle looming against the storm-dark horizon. Huge. Silent. Waiting. “We move again tomorrow.”

Taxi barks once. Together, you walk past the cooling corpse left behind in the rain. Your boots splash through shallow puddles. Taxi’s paws thud softly beside you. Neither of you looks back.

The café sits dark between two collapsed storefronts, half-hidden behind overgrown ivy and years of rain damage. The faded sign overhead swings lazily in the wind. You stop across the street first.

Always across the street.

Your eyes move slowly over shattered windows, rooftop lines, alley entrances. Listening before moving. Watching before breathing.

Seattle feels wrong at night. Too quiet one second. Too alive the next.

Taxi stands beside your leg, ears twitching toward the dark building. “You smell somethin’?” you murmur.

The shepherd huffs softly but doesn’t growl.

Good enough.

You cross the street carefully, boots splashing through shallow rainwater before stopping beneath the old café awning. Rain drums softly against rotten canvas overhead.

The front door doesn’t budge at first.

Swollen wood. You shove your shoulder into it harder. The hinges groan.

Then the door finally jerks inward with a burst of stale air carrying old coffee, mildew, and wet dust.

Your flashlight cuts through darkness slowly.

Tables overturned. Broken mugs. A mold-covered pastry display near the counter. Dead vines crawl across one wall where rainwater leaks through cracked ceiling tiles.

Taxi slips inside first, paws silent against warped hardwood.

You wait. Listen. Nothing.

No clicking. No breathing. No shifting somewhere deep in the dark.

Still, your hand stays close to Joel’s revolver at your hip.

You slip inside the café quietly and pull the door shut behind you before dragging a rusted metal chair beneath the handle.

Not enough to stop somebody determined. Enough to buy you a few seconds.

Habit.

Your backpack drops beside the counter with a tired thud while you crouch near the entrance, pulling thin wire and two empty cans from one of the side pouches.

Taxi watches silently from the doorway.

You glance toward him briefly while tying the wire low across the handle. “Better find more of these tomorrow,” you mutter. “We’re officially running outta food.”

Taxi blinks once. “Yeah, don’t look at me like that. You eat more than I do.”

One of his ears twitches.

The cans clink softly together while you secure them beside the wall. Crude. Fast.

Enough to wake you if infected—or worse—wander inside during the night.

Only after that do you finally move deeper into the café. The beam of your flashlight catches an old employee sign hanging crooked near the kitchen entrance.

MANAGER

The office door sits half-open beyond it. Small room. No windows except one narrow pane overlooking the rain-soaked street outside. Rain taps steadily against the cracked window overlooking the street outside, the sound muffled beneath distant thunder rolling somewhere deep over Seattle.

Taxi limps in after you, nails clicking softly against warped hardwood.

Your flashlight beam moves across the room slowly.

Peeling wallpaper curls away from damp walls. Water stains spread dark across the ceiling above. An old chandelier hangs crooked overhead, half its glass bulbs shattered, long dead electrical wires spilling downward like black vines tangled through hanging ivy creeping in from the broken corner of the ceiling.

The whole place feels abandoned in a tired sort of way. Not violent. Just forgotten.

Your eyes land on the couch against the far wall. Dark leather. Old. Still intact somehow. “Well,” you mutter under your breath. You walk over and drag your palm across the top cushion first. Dust coats your skin immediately. You grimace faintly before smacking your hands together a few times, watching gray powder drift through the flashlight beam. “Jesus.”

Taxi huffs softly behind you.

“At least somebody around here’s clean.”

The shepherd blinks at you without remorse. You drop your backpack beside the couch before finally sitting down. The leather creaks beneath your weight. Then your eyebrows lift slightly. “Hm.” You lean back deeper into the cushions. “Actually kinda comfortable.”

The room answers only with the soft groaning of old pipes somewhere inside the walls.

Your gaze drifts toward the desk near the window. A little metal plaque still sits crooked near the edge beneath layers of dust.

LEONARD MITCHELL - GENERAL MANAGER

You stare at it for a second. “Nice office, Leonard.”

Taxi circles twice before climbing carefully onto one of the smaller armchairs nearby, turning until he finds a comfortable position despite the bandaged leg. He lets out a tired grunt before finally curling into himself.

Your mouth twitches faintly at the sight.

Then silence settles over the room. Heavy.

A leather couch rests against the far wall beneath dusty shelves stacked with old paperwork and mold-swollen binders. The room smells old.

Thunder rolls softly somewhere far outside while rain streaks down the office window in silver lines. For a moment, neither of you moves. The city groans around you. Old pipes. Distant wind. Something metallic banging somewhere far down the street. Seattle never really sleeps. Neither do you.

You finish wrapping Taxi’s leg before leaning back against the couch with a tired exhale. Your rifle rests within arm’s reach. Revolver beside your thigh. Knife still strapped near your boot. Taxi stares toward the office door, ears twitching sharply. You both listen. Nothing. Just distant movement somewhere outside. Far enough away. The sound fades slowly back into the storm. Taxi lowers his head first. You follow a second later. Neither of you fully relaxes. You doubt either of you remembers how anymore.

You lean your head back against the couch and stare upward. The ceiling above is cracked open in places, tangled electrical wires hanging loose between patches of water damage and creeping ivy. Rain leaks steadily somewhere deeper inside the café.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You close your eyes for a second. And immediately think of him.

Of course you do.

Your chest tightens before you can stop it. This office—cold, damp, rotting around the edges—is so far away from the warmth of Jackson it almost feels unreal. So far from his bed. From the heavy warmth of his body pressed against yours beneath thick blankets. From the way his arms wrapped around your waist in his sleep like some stubborn instinct he couldn’t turn off even unconscious. From the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. From the rough scrape of his beard against your shoulder. Even the occasional snoring that always dragged a laugh out of you eventually.

The corner of your mouth lifts before you can stop it. Then the smile fades just as quickly. A deep breath leaves your lungs.

You reach for your backpack beside the couch, unzipping it slowly. Metal clicks softly together inside. Ammo. Knives. Canned food. Taxi lifts his head again immediately, watching you with quiet attention like he already knows exactly what you’re looking for. Your fingers eventually find the sketchbook buried beneath everything else.

You hesitate for a second before opening it.

Joel stares back at you almost immediately.

A rough pencil sketch from Jackson. Then another. And another. The lines change slightly between pages—different expressions, different angles—but it’s always him.

Two weeks. That’s all it’s been. And somehow you already miss him enough it physically aches.

Your throat tightens. You stare at the drawings longer than you mean to. Unable to stop yourself from wondering what happened after you left. You tried not to think about it on the road. Tried not to imagine the morning after. Joel waking up. The empty side of the bed. The drugs wearing off. That look on his face when he realized.

You swallow hard.

The thought hits like a punch straight to the ribs.

You’ve never worried about people before. Except William. You’ve feared losing him before. Feared ending up alone again. But Joel... is different. Joel makes your chest hurt in ways bullets never could. Makes you understand why people in old movies ruined themselves for love.

The idea of breaking his heart somehow feels worse than breaking your own.

Your eyes burn, your heart clenching.

God.

So this is what loving someone feels like. Not the happiness part. You already knew that part. It’s him laughing quietly against your neck in bed. It’s his hand finding yours without thinking. It’s the way your body relaxes the second he walks into a room.

No—

This part. The ache. The fear. The terrifying realization that someone else now has the power to break your heart just by existing somewhere you can’t reach. Your gaze drops back toward the sketchbook. Joel’s face follows you everywhere now. You barely recognize yourself anymore because of it. You have something to lose now. Someone.

If this goes wrong… If you fail…

You may never hear his voice again. Never feel his arms around you again. Never see that tired little smile he gets when he looks at you like you’re something dangerous he decided to keep anyway.

A bark suddenly cuts through the silence.

You blink hard. Only then noticing the tear that slipped free and landed against the page. “Shit,” you mutter softly, wiping it away quickly.

Taxi climbs down from the chair immediately, limping over toward the couch.

“I know,” you whisper quietly. “I miss him too.”

Taxi rests his head against your knee. Your fingers slide automatically through the fur behind his ears.

“But I have to do this.”

The shepherd lifts one paw slowly onto your leg. You stare at him for a second. His eyes look strangely human sometimes in the dark. “You think I broke his heart?”

Taxi whines softly. Your chest tightens harder. “I couldn’t let him come with me.” Your voice turns quieter now. “Ellie needs him. Jackson needs him.” You swallow thickly. “And… maybe I just showed up and fucked that old man’s life all up.”

Taxi barks once immediately.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “Yeah. I know.” Your fingers continue stroking slowly through his fur. “He meant what he said.” Your voice nearly cracks. “But that’s not the problem.”

You stare down at Joel’s sketch again.

“Being the daughter of someone like Clouser feels like carrying rot around inside your chest.” Your jaw tightens faintly. “As long as he’s alive, I’m never gonna stop feeling it.”

Rain rattles softly against the broken windows outside.

“I can’t build a future with Joel while all this still exists.” Your eyes lower slowly. “Not while I keep lookin’ at Tommy, Maria… Dina, Jesse, Benji, Ellie…” Your throat tightens. “They deserve to feel safe around me.”

Silence stretches for a moment.

Then quieter: “I think…” You blink slowly. “I think I finally know what having a family feels like.” The words hurt to admit out loud. “And I can’t let him take that away from me.”

Taxi lifts his head and licks the side of your jaw suddenly. A weak laugh escapes you before you grab his muzzle gently. “Hey.” You rub your thumb along the bridge of his nose. “When I go back…” Your voice softens almost into a whisper. “I want my head clear.” Your fingers move slowly through his fur again. “Maybe then I’ll know how to be someone better. A better girlfriend.”

The word feels strange but warm.

“Assumin’ he forgives me.”

Taxi presses closer immediately.

You finally set the sketchbook aside before sliding down fully against the couch cushions, pulling him close against your side.

His fur still smells faintly like rainwater, old forest, dirt, and gunpowder. For years, that smell alone meant safety more than any human being ever could.

But now—

Now there’s another scent your body misses more.

Worn leather. Gun oil. Damp flannel dried near a fire. Sawdust caught in rough hands after long afternoons working wood in Jackson.

Him.

Your eyes drift slowly toward the cracked office window overhead. Beyond fractured glass and tangled ivy, the night sky barely peeks through Seattle’s storm clouds. A few weak stars flicker faintly between them.

You stare at them quietly.

And for the first time in years—

You make a wish.

Just one.

To see him again. To hear his voice again. To come back alive long enough to fall asleep in his arms one more time.

Your fingers tighten gently in Taxi’s fur.

Then slowly—

Exhaustion finally pulls you under.

Horse hooves echo hollow against cracked highway.

Slow now. Careful.

Joel keeps one hand near the reins while his eyes scan the massive quarantine wall rising through the rain ahead.

Seattle.

Even from a distance, the city feels wrong.

Too big. Too quiet.

Fog crawls low between abandoned checkpoints and collapsed military barricades swallowed whole by ivy and moss. Old FEDRA fencing stretches along the road in rusted lines, parts of it torn open long ago by something stronger than time.

Rain taps steadily against Joel’s jacket. The horse shifts uneasily beneath him the closer they get. “Easy,” Joel mutters quietly, patting its neck once.

Ahead, the massive outer gate hangs crooked on broken hinges, chains swaying softly in the wind. Faded quarantine warnings still cling to metal signs eaten away by rust. Across the center of the gate, someone has painted a message in massive white letters now streaked by rain and time:

WLF TRESPASSERS KILLED ON SIGHT

The dripping paint almost looks like bone beneath the gray Seattle sky.

Joel squints upward toward the walls towering over him.

Dead guard towers stare down empty streets. Or at least they look empty. Seattle reminds him too much of places where people disappear. His jaw tightens.

The horse carries him slowly through the open gate. Immediately the city swallows sound whole.

No birds. No distant voices.

Just rainwater dripping from collapsed buildings and the faint creaking of old structures somewhere deeper inside the streets ahead. Joel’s eyes move constantly.

Cars. Windows. Rooflines. Habit.

Then—

Something catches his attention near the mud alongside the road. Fresh tire tracks.

Joel pulls the horse to a stop instantly.

The tracks cut sharply through rainwater and dirt before disappearing farther into the city.

Fresh. Very fresh.

Joel slides down from the saddle with a grunt, crouching low beside them. WLF vehicle. His fingers brush against wet mud before his gaze shifts farther ahead.

Then he sees it.

An abandoned pickup truck half-crashed against a storefront farther down the street. “Shit.”

Joel stands quickly and moves toward it, boots splashing through puddles. The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes. Bullet holes shred the side panels. One tire blown out. The gas tank leaking slowly beneath the truck into rainwater mixed with oil and blood.

Joel’s eyes narrow immediately.

Not random.

Forced stop.

His hand brushes against the hood. Still faintly warm beneath cold rain. “Goddamn…”

Then he notices the steering column hanging open beneath the wheel. Wires ripped loose. Hotwired. A humorless breath escapes him through his nose. “Course she did.”

His eyes drift across the street automatically. Searching. Reading. Tracking. Then he sees blood. Not much. Drops leading toward a nearby alley.

Joel follows carefully.

One hand already resting near the revolver—your revolver—on his hip. The alley opens into another ruined street farther ahead—

And that’s where he finds the bodies.

Three WLF soldiers sprawled across wet pavement. One near an overturned patrol truck. Another collapsed against a wall. The third barely recognizable anymore.

Joel slows immediately.

His stomach tightens. Rain runs steadily down the corpses, washing blood into the gutters. Then he notices the bites. Deep tears through exposed throat. Another through the forearm. Jagged canine marks.

Taxi.

Joel exhales slowly through his nose. “Attaboy.”

He crouches beside the nearest body carefully. Then spots the spent casing laying near the corpse. Joel picks it up between rough fingers, rolling it once against his palm.

Sniper round. Your sniper round.

One clean shot. Two heads. Straight through the glass.

Precise. Efficient. Smooth. Exactly your kind of work.

“Goddamn it, Kat,” Joel mutters quietly. “You can’t take ’em all down at once.”

He rises slowly, eyes scanning the street again. Unease settles heavier in his chest with every passing second. He plants both hands briefly against his hips, jaw tightening hard.

Ten straight days riding from Jackson. Ten days barely sleeping. Ten days chasing your ghost across half the damn country—

And still he’s late.

The bodies tell him immediately. Spacing. Angles. Timing. Experience never lies.

You’re ahead of him. One day at least. Maybe more.

Joel’s back screams when he straightens fully, exhaustion dragging through every muscle in his body, but he ignores it automatically. Pain barely registers anymore. Rain continues falling steadily around him while Seattle groans somewhere deeper ahead.

Waiting. Watching.

Joel stares toward the dark streets disappearing farther into the city. “Can’t be late,” he mutters quietly. More to himself than anyone else. “Gotta find her before it’s too damn late.”

Then he turns back toward the horse. And rides deeper into Seattle.

Morning comes gray and wet.

Not bright. Not warm. Just a thin, colorless light spreading over Seattle like the city is too tired to wake up properly.

Rain still clings to everything. Broken windows. Rusted signs. The hoods of abandoned cars. The sagging awnings over dead storefronts. Every surface shines dull and cold beneath the low sky.

You move north with Taxi at your side.

The hospital doesn’t appear right away. Nothing in this city gives itself up that easy.

The map says it should be somewhere ahead, past a mess of flooded streets and half-collapsed buildings, but Seattle keeps folding in on itself. Roads blocked by wreckage. Alleys choked with vines. Military barriers left behind like broken teeth.

And people.

Too many people.

By noon, you’ve already run into more WLF deserters than you expected. Small groups. Two here. Three there. Scared. Armed. Dirty. Running from something behind them and terrified of whatever might be ahead.

The first few don’t tell you much before they die.

The next group gives you the name you're looking for.

After that, you stop killing first.

You start listening.

That is how you end up crouched on the second floor of a half-collapsed building, one hand resting against Taxi’s neck while voices drift up from below.

The ground floor beneath you is split open in places, the concrete caved inward toward a lower level thick with spores. Pale fungal growth climbs the walls down there in swollen veins, pulsing through the damp like something still alive. The air below looks yellow in the weak light, heavy and ruined.

You keep Taxi close. No way in hell you’re taking him through that.

Below, four WLF soldiers move through the street, unaware of you above them. “What the hell is goin’ on?” one of them mutters. “This is what, the sixth group?”

“Sixth if you count the ones from yesterday.”

“Jesus.”

“Isaac made an example outta the last ones. Had ’em executed in front of everybody. Thought that’d be enough.”

“Guess it wasn’t.”

“It’s that fuckin’ doctor.”

Your whole body stills.

The man beside him lowers his voice. “Clouser?”

“Yeah. People don’t wanna stay and die for Scars or for some bullshit vaccine that ain’t ever gonna work.”

“Wasn’t the whole point of taking FEDRA down to build a liberation front?”

A bitter laugh. “Does this sound like liberation to you?”

“You sound like you’re about to run too.”

“Hey. You hear what he’s been doing to pregnant women? Kids?”

The silence that follows feels heavier than the rain.

“Rumors.”

“You sure about that?”

“Fuck.” Another voice exhales shakily. “Isaac should’ve killed that old bastard when he had the chance.”

“He still sending his A-team to the hospital?”

“Yeah. The ones he trusts.”

Rain taps softly against broken concrete overhead. Then another voice lowers slightly. “Hey… you know Jordan?”

“The Firefly guy?”

“Yeah. Him.” A pause. “Heard that immune girl everyone’s looking for? Supposedly she’s Clouser’s daughter.”

Silence. “…Bullshit.”

“And apparently she was with the other immune girl for a while. Somewhere in Wyoming.”

Your stomach tightens instantly.

“Word is Isaac’s planning to send a group out there soon.” The man snorts quietly. “Abby might lead it.”

“No fuckin’ way Isaac lets Abby leave Seattle right now.”

“Why the hell would she even care?”

A longer silence follows.

Then quietly: “That smuggler from Salt Lake? The one who killed all those Fireflies in the hospital?”

Your pulse stutters.

“He’s supposedly in that town too.”

Silence crashes over the group immediately afterward. Even from above, you can feel the tension shift.

“…That’s too much coincidence for my taste.”

“Think that crazy doctor’s making half this shit up.”

“Or that Jordan guy.”

“Alright, enough gossip.” Boots scrape concrete. “Get back to your posts and keep your eyes open.”

That is enough. More than enough.

Your grip tightens around the rifle. Taxi’s ears twitch. You glance down at him and press two fingers to your lips.

Stay.

He understands. You’ve taught him this too many times to count.

Stay unless you whistle.

Stay unless you scream.

Stay unless he sees you bleeding too much.

That last part is always the problem.

Because Taxi listens until fear takes over. And fear makes him stupidly brave. You point toward a patch of tall weeds and vines growing through a broken section of wall. He lowers himself reluctantly, still watching you. “Good boy,” you mouth.

Then you move.

Silent across the cracked upper floor, stepping over broken tiles and rotted office chairs, rifle raised. The building groans softly beneath your weight.

You line up the first shot from above. The suppressor does its job, but barely. A soft, ugly pop.

One soldier drops. The others turn too late.

Second shot.

Third.

Fourth.

Each one clean.

Each one fast.

By the time the last body hits the pavement, the street is quiet again except for rainfall and Taxi’s low breathing behind you.

You stay crouched for a moment, listening.

No infected. No returning fire. No shouting.

Good.

You climb down carefully. The air grows colder near the broken ground floor. Spores drift lazily below through the collapsed opening, glowing faintly where thin daylight touches them. The fungal growth along the walls looks old and thick, spread in rootlike patterns beneath peeling paint.

You avoid the edge. You’ve seen enough basements like that. You search the bodies quickly.

Ammo. A dull knife. Nothing useful.

Your last suppressor is already ruined, and the one currently screwed onto your pistol is close to useless. The metal is hot from overuse, the sound less clean than it should be.

One left after this.

One.

You’ll need to save it for something that matters.

You’re about to move on when you find a photograph in one of their jacket pockets. Not an old one. A fresh one. Instant film.

You hold it between two fingers and wipe rain off the glossy surface with your thumb.

A group of people smile back at you. Young. Tired. Alive.

Behind them rises a massive structure, round and crowded, with stands and lights and lines of people moving in the background.

A stadium.

Not a checkpoint. Not a small base. A real settlement.

Crowded. Organized.

You don’t know any of their faces. You don’t care to.

But the place itself matters.

You unfold your map and compare it quickly, marking distance with your thumb and eye. The stadium sits too far west to be your target.

The hospital is north. Far enough away from the stadium to make sense. Far enough to hide things.

You crouch beside a cracked wall, using a rusted pipe as a flat edge while you sketch a rough route across the paper. Streets. Blocks. Waterlogged underpasses you’ll avoid. Higher ground where possible.

Ten miles, maybe. Two hours if the roads don’t fight you. They will.

A burst of static crackles from one of the dead men’s radios. Taxi lifts his head instantly. You freeze.

“Cooper, you copy?” The voice is rough, irritated. Static. “Cooper? Linda? Come in.”

You stare at the radio. Taxi gives one sharp bark. You raise your hand. “Shh.”

The radio crackles again.

“Cooper, listen up. We found a deserter group wiped out near your last checkpoint. Clean shots. Somebody hunted ’em. Doesn’t look like Scars.”

Your jaw tightens. Yesterday’s bodies.

“Answer me, Cooper. Goddamn it. We’re coming to your position.”

Taxi growls. Not the low warning he gives for people.

Different. Deeper.

Your eyes flick to him immediately. That growl means infected. But then you hear it too. Not infected. Footsteps. Multiple. Close.

You move to the broken window and look down through hanging ivy.

Five people. Armed.

WLF.

And a dog.

“Shit,” you whisper. The dog has its nose low, pulling against the leash. Taxi’s lip curls. “So that’s what you smelled.”

Your mind works fast. Two exits. One dangerous. One worse.

The patrol is already too close. The dog will catch your scent any second. You crouch in front of Taxi and grip the fur at the sides of his neck gently, forcing his eyes to yours. “You stay in the grass,” you whisper. “I’ll pull them away.”

Taxi whines.

“No.” Your voice hardens. “You can’t come with me. I don’t have a damn gas mask for you, understand?”

Below, the WLF dog barks.

“Hey, what is it, boy?” one of the soldiers calls. Too close.

You point sharply toward the weeds leading along the collapsed wall. Taxi hesitates. “Go.”

He goes, but he hates it. You can see that in every line of him.

You drop low and begin crawling along the upper ledge, aiming for the vines that spill down toward the lower level. If you can get to the other side, maybe you can circle out before—

A snarl erupts behind you.

You twist just as the WLF dog lunges out of nowhere.

Too fast.

You barely throw yourself sideways before its teeth snap where your arm was. Then Taxi hits it like a damn wolf.

The two dogs crash into the floor in a violent tangle of teeth and muscle. “Taxi!” you hiss.

Too late. The WLF dog yelps as Taxi’s jaws lock around its throat. Voices explode below.

“Trespasser here!”

“No—Jesus, that’s Lenny! He's dead!”

“There’s another dog!”

“Shoot it! Shoot it!”

Taxi shakes once. The WLF dog goes limp. “Stay there!” you snap at him. “Goddamn it, stay!”

Gunfire tears into the wall beside you.

You dive behind a broken concrete partition as bullets chew through plaster overhead. Your heart slams against your ribs. One soldier breaks off toward Taxi. Another moves to flank you from the rear. The man behind you rounds the broken wall too fast.

You move faster.

You catch his wrist, twist, slam him chest-first into the concrete, and drag him back against you with your revolver shoved beneath his jaw. The others freeze the second they see you.

“Drop it!” one of them shouts.

Your hostage spits blood. “Shoot her!”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl against his ear. You shift backward, dragging him with you toward the collapsed edge. Behind you, the lower floor waits.

Dark. Yellow. Thick with spores.

The woman in front stiffens. “Ari—no!”

Good.

That matters. That means they won’t shoot through him. You press the barrel harder under his jaw. “Back up,” you shout. “Or I paint the floor with his head.”

“You got nowhere to go,” another soldier says, weapon trained on you.

You understand what he means.

The spores. The drop. The infected below. No mask. No escape.

For them.

Not for you.

You tighten your grip on Ari and take one more step back.

He realizes a second too late. “No—no, we’ll both die!”

“Maybe,” you say.

Then you throw your weight backward.

The fall is short but brutal.

Air rips out of your lungs as you hit broken concrete and roll hard, dragging the man down with you. Dust and spores explode upward around you in a sick yellow cloud.

Above, voices scream.

“Ari!”

“Fuck!”

“No, no, no—”

You roll behind a collapsed support beam just as bullets cut into the ground where you landed. “Leah, stop!” someone yells. “You’ll die too! We don’t have masks!”

“I’m gonna kill that bitch!”

“She’s already dead! Come on!”

“Isaac’s orders—nobody goes into spore zones. You saw what happened to Ramirez!”

“Fuck!”

Bootsteps retreat above. You stay still until the last one fades. The spores hang thick around you. You inhale once through your nose.

Damp. Earthy. Rotten.

It tickles faintly. Nothing more. Like mildew in an old basement.

Ari is somewhere in the dark, coughing violently. “God…” he chokes between ragged breaths. “Goddamn…”

You glance toward the sound instinctively.

Then freeze. The wall behind him moves.

No. Not the wall.

Cordyceps.

Pale fungal shelves bloom across concrete and brick in thick layered growths, veins spreading outward like diseased roots through the entire lower floor. Some of it is old and dry, cracked apart like dead bark.

Some of it still glistens wet beneath your flashlight. Fresh. Breathing.

Bodies cling half-swallowed inside the growth. Arms. Ribcages. Open mouths permanently fused into the fungus climbing over them.

The entire building smells damp and rotten enough to taste.

Then—

Click.

Click-click-click-click.

Your blood runs cold instantly. The sound echoes from deeper inside the dark.

Clickers.

The explosion upstairs must’ve drawn them down here.

And now Ari’s coughing is doing the rest.

Another clicking cry bursts through the building.

Closer.

Wet fungal chatter bouncing sharply through concrete halls while something shifts rapidly in the dark ahead.

Ari hears it too. “No…” His breathing turns panicked immediately. “No no no—”

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK.

Another answers somewhere nearby. Then another. The entire lower level suddenly feels alive. Movement everywhere.

You crouch lower immediately, barely breathing while Ari drags himself backward across the floor, one ruined leg useless behind him.

“Please—” he gasps. “Please help m—”

The first clicker lunges. Fast as hell. Ari’s scream cuts violently short beneath tearing flesh and wet crunching bone.

You look away instantly. Not because you feel bad. Because he’s already dead.

More clicking erupts nearby. The feeding sounds alone are enough to turn your stomach. You lower yourself silently and begin backing away through the darkness instead, keeping low beneath hanging cords of fungus spreading across the ceiling. Slow. Controlled. One careful step after another.

Then—

CLICKCLICKCLICK.

A clicker jerks its head upward somewhere behind you. You freeze instantly while it listens, twitching sharply toward the noise. Then Ari’s dying screams echo deeper in the room and the infected bolts away from you immediately.

You exhale slowly through your nose.

Lucky. Very fucking lucky.

Keeping your flashlight lowered, you slip silently between collapsed cubicles while wet ripping sounds echo behind you. Bones snapping. Flesh tearing. You don’t look back once.

The faint glow of daylight finally appears ahead through thick hanging vines near a collapsed loading exit. Fresh air. Rain. Freedom.

You push through the overgrowth and stumble outside into the cold Seattle evening just as another horrible shriek erupts somewhere deep inside the building behind you.

The city air never smelled so good.

You suck in a breath.

The street is empty. Too empty.

“Taxi,” you call softly.

Nothing.

Your heart climbs straight into your throat. You whistle once. Sharp. Low. Still nothing. “Taxi.”

This time it comes out rougher. Panic starts crawling up the back of your neck while you scan every broken window and dark doorway around you.

No.

No, no, no—

“Taxi!”

Then a bark echoes from above.

You spin just as Taxi comes barreling down from the broken upper level through a sagging stairwell, ears back, tail low, alive.

Alive.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe.

You drop immediately, grabbing his face between both hands while he whines and pushes into you. You check him fast. Neck. Chest. Legs. No blood. No new wounds.

You exhale so hard it almost hurts. “Okay. Okay.” You press your forehead briefly to his. “You’re okay.”

Taxi licks your chin and a broken laugh slips out of you.

“Yeah, we definitely need to make you a gas mask.”

He barks once like he agrees.

You stand slowly, wiping rain and sweat from your face. Through the gap between buildings, beyond a broken bridge and the skeletons of old towers, you finally see it.

A distant building rising above the gray. Hospital lettering barely visible through the rain.

Your chest tightens.

There. Finally.

You take a long drink from your canteen before letting Taxi drink from your cupped hand too. “You ready?” you ask quietly.

He looks toward the hospital. Then back at you.

You sling the rifle over your shoulder and fold the map away. “We’re close. Let’s go.”

Seattle, Day Two.

Dusk settles over the city in bruised shades of blue and gray by the time you reach the hospital district. The rain weakens into a thin mist drifting between buildings, but Seattle still feels soaked through to the bone. Somewhere far off, gunfire rattles across distant streets before fading back into silence again.

The hospital rises above everything else. Massive. Cold. Its upper floors disappear into fog while floodlamps burn pale through rain-streaked windows below. Even from here it dominates the skyline like something watching the entire city.

Close enough to see. Still too damn far away.

Between you and the hospital stretch blocks of ruined streets, flooded intersections, and whatever the hell WLF has waiting in between. Too many lights. Too many guards.

You crouch behind an overturned bus with Taxi pressed close beside you, eyes moving carefully across the perimeter. Watchtowers. Patrol routes. Barricades. Armed Wolves everywhere.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath.

Taxi’s ears twitch.

Then—

A whistle echoes somewhere nearby. Sharp. Seraphites.

Your head snaps toward the sound instantly. Another whistle answers deeper in the street before shouting erupts.

“CONTACT!”

Gunfire explodes seconds later. WLF soldiers sprint across the street ahead while arrows whistle through the rain. One Wolf jerks backward with an arrow through his throat. Another drops seconds later. Chaos spreads fast.

Exactly what you need. Not to win. To disappear.

Your eyes lock onto a WLF transport truck sitting crooked near the curb thirty feet away. Driver dead. Engine still running. Headlights cutting pale beams through the mist.

Perfect.

You glance toward Taxi. He already looks ready. “We need that truck,” you mutter. Then you’re moving. You sprint low across rain-slick pavement while bullets crack somewhere behind you. The city erupts into noise around you— Wolves shouting, whistles answering back, glass shattering somewhere farther down the block.

You wrench the truck door open and climb inside fast. Taxi launches in beside you just as you slam the gear forward. The truck lurches violently. “C’mon, c’mon—”

Tires screech across flooded streets. Then somebody notices. “HEY!”

Gunfire slams into the truck immediately. The windshield spiderwebs near your shoulder. “Shit!”

You duck instinctively while jerking the wheel sideways around abandoned cars. Taxi barks wildly beside you every time the truck fishtails through standing water.

“Taxi, get the fuck down!” you shout over the engine. “Down, boy!”

He finally ducks lower as another engine roars somewhere behind you through the rain. They’re following.

You glance into the side mirror briefly—

And your stomach drops.

It’s them. Ari’s squad. The woman from earlier leans halfway out the passenger window with a rifle in her hands.

“That’s her!”

Gunfire erupts again. Bullets punch through the truck bed beside Taxi.

“Fuck—!”

You slam the wheel hard around a collapsed ambulance while the hospital looms closer between buildings. So close. Almost there—

Then headlights catch something too late.

A collapsed barricade stretches across the flooded street ahead.

“Shit.”

You wrench the wheel sideways but the truck clips the barricade hard enough to launch metal screaming across pavement before smashing broadside into a storefront.

The world snaps sideways. Glass explodes. Pain detonates through your shoulder. For a second all you hear is ringing.

Then Taxi barks. Loud. Panicked.

“I’m okay,” you choke out immediately, forcing yourself upright. Smoke curls from beneath the crushed hood outside while voices already close in.

“MOVE!” “THEY CRASHED!”

You kick the warped truck door open and force yourself out. Taxi jumps down beside you instantly. You grab your rifle and run toward the nearest half-open building entrance beneath a flickering neon sign drowned in vines.

You and Taxi disappear inside just as bullets rip through the doorway behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole.

The air changes immediately. Wet. Rotten. Wrong.

Your flashlight snaps on. Broken shelves and collapsed walls stretch endlessly ahead inside what used to be some kind of office building. Too quiet.

Your stomach tightens instantly.

“…shit.”

Taxi growls low beside you.

Then something moves. Fast. A shape darts between walls ahead before disappearing again.

Stalker.

Of fucking course.

One of the Wolves swings his flashlight toward the hallway just in time to catch two clickers sprinting straight at them through the dark. “FUCK THIS!”

Gunfire erupts instantly.

Muzzle flashes strobe violently across fungal walls while the infected slam into the group. One Wolf screams as a clicker tackles him sideways into broken office furniture.

Another fires wildly while backing toward the exit. “Pull back!”

A stalker explodes out of the darkness behind them. The scream that follows cuts brutally short. The remaining Wolves don’t hesitate after that. “GO GO GO!”

Boots thunder back toward the entrance while infected shrieks and wet tearing sounds swallow the lower floor behind them.

Your flashlight catches movement sprinting low across the ceiling beams overhead.

“Taxi!”

The shepherd lunges before you finish the word. A stalker crashes into him midair with a shriek. The two slam across the floor together in a snapping mess of teeth and claws.

You raise your rifle—

Another infected explodes out of the darkness straight at you. You barely get your knife up in time. The stalker slams you backward into the floor hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Its fungal face twitches inches from yours, jaw snapping wildly while rotten saliva drips onto your sleeve.

“Get the fuck off me—!”

You jam the knife upward.

Miss.

The creature shrieks directly into your face. Somewhere deeper inside the building, gunfire mixes with screaming.

Taxi snarls viciously nearby.

The stalker pins your wrist harder against the floor—

Then suddenly—

BANG.

The infected jerks violently. Warm blood sprays across your throat. The body collapses instantly on top of you.

Dead.

For one second you can only hear your own breathing.

Then boots step into view beside your head. Worn leather darkened by rainwater steps into view beside you. Jeans soaked dark at the hems. Holster strapped low against his thigh.

One large hand gripping a revolver steady at his side—

Your revolver.

Your pulse stumbles instantly. Then you see the watch. Cracked glass. Worn leather strap.

His broken watch.

The one that never leaves his wrist.

Your breath catches so sharply it hurts. No. No fucking way. Your eyes lock onto his hand again. Calloused fingers. Faint scars across rough knuckles. You know that hand.

God, you know it.

That hand held your face like something precious. Fixed your weapons at the kitchen table late at night. Curled warm against your waist in bed. Your chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.

The man crouches immediately beside you, grabbing the dead stalker by the shoulder and hauling it off your body with a grunt.

Then flashlight beam finally cuts upward across his face.

Rough beard. Wet curls. Dark exhausted eyes already locked on yours like they’ve been searching for you for days. For a second your brain genuinely refuses to process it.

You just stare at him. Breathing hard.

Rainwater still dripping from his jacket onto the floor.

He looks tired. Older somehow. Terrified. Relieved. All at once.

Still unfairly handsome.

“…Joel?”

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.

Another stalker scream echoes somewhere nearby.

Neither of you looks away.

Joel’s jaw tightens hard enough you see the muscle jump beneath wet stubble The stalker crashes into Joel so fast.

One second he’s crouched in front of you, rough hands hauling the dead infected off your body while rainwater drips from his curls onto your jacket—

The next—

Movement explodes out of the dark behind him. Fast. Too fast.

“Joel—!”

He twists instantly, revolver already snapping upward on instinct. Nothing. Just a hollow click.

Empty.

For the first time since you’ve known him, you actually see it—

Pure panic.

Not fear for himself.

For you.

Because the creature is already on him.

Its mouth opens wide enough you see strings of rotten saliva stretching between fungal-split teeth. Its face barely even looks human anymore beneath the blooming cordyceps splitting through skin and jawbone.

Joel shoves against it hard, but the stalker slams him backward into the wall before he can reload.

“Fuck—!”

Its teeth snap inches from his throat.

Joel’s forearm jams against its neck violently, muscles straining beneath soaked flannel while the infected screeches directly into his face.

The sound is horrible. Wet. Not human.

Taxi lunges across the room barking viciously, claws scraping across concrete as he tries to reach Joel. Your body moves before your brain does. You throw yourself into them. The impact knocks all three of you sideways.

The stalker turns instantly. Its jaws slam down around your forearm, just as you planned. Pain detonates through your entire body. “AHH— FUCK!” The scream tears itself out of your throat raw and sharp as teeth sink deep through muscle. You feel them puncture skin. Feel the pressure of its jaw locking harder the more you fight.

Warm blood floods instantly down your wrist.

Joel freezes. Actually freezes. His face drains of color so fast it terrifies you more than the bite itself.

“No—”

The word barely leaves him. The stalker thrashes violently against your arm, snarling through flesh still trapped between its teeth.

You could pull away. But you don't. Instead, you force your arm deeper.

Joel’s eyes widen in horror. “Kat, NO!”

Pain burns white-hot through your entire arm as the infected tears harder into flesh, fungal teeth sinking deeper with every violent jerk of its head. Taxi loses his mind somewhere beside you, barking viciously.

Joel lunges forward—

Too late.

You wrench the revolver upward with your free hand and jam the barrel directly against the side of the stalker’s head. Then pull the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot explodes through the room. The bullet punches straight through fungal plates and skull with a sick wet crunch.

The creature spasms violently.

Its jaw clamps one final time around your arm before the body suddenly goes limp and collapses heavily against you.

Dead.

For half a second nobody moves. You can actually hear blood hitting the floor from your arm. Taxi keeps barking hysterically beside you. Then Joel grabs the infected and literally rips it off you hard enough the corpse slams against the wall nearby.

“Jesus Christ— Jesus fucking Christ—”

His voice sounds wrong. Shaking. Panicked.

You’ve heard Joel angry. You’ve heard him violent. You’ve heard him terrified.

But this?

This sounds like a man watching the world end all over again.

His hands grab your arm immediately. Too fast. Too rough. Then suddenly gentle the second he sees the damage. The bite already looks ugly. Deep punctures torn into flesh. Blood running between his fingers while fungal saliva mixes with rainwater across your skin.

Joel stares at it like he can somehow undo it if he looks hard enough. He’s not even looking at your face anymore.

Only the wound. Only the blood. Only the teeth marks.

He knows you’re immune.

But it doesn’t matter. Because watching something bite you still breaks something inside him instantly.

“Hey.” Your free hand catches his wrist hard enough to force his eyes back to yours. “Joel.”

His gaze snaps upward finally.

And God—

You’ve never seen him look this terrified before. Not even close.

“It’s okay,” you whisper quickly. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re fuckin’ not okay!”

The words crack out of him louder than intended. “You let it bite you,” he says, staring at you like he genuinely cannot understand what he just watched.

Your jaw tightens against another pulse of pain. “It was gonna get you.”

“So you let it tear into your goddamn arm?!”

“Yes!”

The word echoes harder than expected through the ruined building. Silence crashes down afterward except for both of your breathing.

Joel looks furious. Terrified. Completely shattered.

You swallow hard before quieter: “I knew it wouldn’t kill me.”

Joel’s expression twists instantly. “That ain’t the point. You think watchin’ that was supposed to be easier just because you can survive it?”

“I—”

More screeches erupt somewhere deeper inside the building.

Not one.

Several.

The sound bounces violently through dark hallways and collapsed floors, wet clicking mixed with the frantic shouts of WLF soldiers still trapped somewhere below. Joel’s head snaps toward the noise instantly. “Shit.”

Another scream echoes. Closer this time.

Taxi barks furiously beside you while the dead stalker’s blood continues dripping slowly from your bitten arm onto the floor. Joel grabs your wrist immediately. “We gotta move. Now.”

You stagger upright beside him, adrenaline barely drowning out the burning pulse ripping through your arm.

The building groans around all three of you.

Something crashes downstairs.

Then running. Fast running. Too many footsteps.

“Infected?” you ask breathlessly.

Joel reloads while already moving. “All of ‘em.”

That answers enough.

Taxi bolts ahead first as Joel shoves open a warped emergency door leading into another hallway thick with mold and water damage.

“Where are we going?!” you shout while running after him.

“My place ain’t far!”

You blink. “Your what?!”

“Keep runnin’!”

Another stalker bursts from a doorway ahead.

Joel fires before it fully reaches you.

BANG.

The infected folds violently against the wall. “Right!” Joel shouts. “Take the right!”

You skid around the corner hard enough your shoulder slams concrete.

The hallway opens toward a collapsed loading bay exposed to rain and fading evening light outside.

The sky has turned nearly black now.

Seattle after sunset feels less like a city and more like something alive waiting to swallow people whole. Taxi leaps through the broken opening first.

You follow immediately—

Then freeze.

A chain-link fence blocks most of the alley outside except for one narrow gap near the bottom where the metal has been bent upward. “Fuck.”

“Go!” Joel shouts behind you.

Gunfire erupts somewhere deeper inside the building. Then shrieking. Taxi squeezes through the gap first before spinning around barking wildly for you. You drop low and crawl after him just as Joel grabs the fence hard enough to yank the opening wider for you.

The metal tears loudly.

Your injured arm screams in protest while squeezing through. “Joel—!”

“I’m comin’, keep movin’!”

A runner crashes through the loading bay doorway behind him.

Then another.

Joel rips a molotov from his backpack, lights it without hesitation, and hurls it straight into the entrance.

Glass shatters. Fire erupts instantly.

The hallway behind him explodes into orange light and screaming infected. “GO!” he roars.

You don’t argue.

All three of you sprint through rain-dark alleyways while flames spread violently behind you, infected shrieks echoing through the burning building. Joel catches up fast despite the extra weight of his rifle and pack.

“Left!” he shouts over the rain. “Take the left!”

You follow him blindly through narrow streets flooded ankle-deep with rainwater. Taxi keeps pace beside you, breathing hard while distant gunfire and infected screams slowly fade farther behind.

Eventually—

Finally—

The noise dies. The city quiets again.

Joel slows near an old brick building squeezed between two collapsed storefronts. A faded neon saxophone still hangs crooked above the entrance.

JAZZ • LIVE MUSIC • COCKTAILS

Or at least that’s what’s left of the sign. Joel grabs the door handle first.

Locked.

He shoulders it once. Hard. The wood gives immediately. “Inside.”

You and Taxi slip in first while Joel slams the door shut behind all of you. Darkness swallows the room.

The beam of Joel’s flashlight cuts across overturned tables, dusty bottles behind the bar, ripped velvet booths, and a stage sitting abandoned beneath hanging lights coated in years of grime.

Then Joel immediately starts moving furniture.

Fast. Efficient. Like muscle memory.

He shoves a heavy cabinet against the door before dragging another beside it.

You bend forward, hands braced against your knees while trying to catch your breath. Rainwater drips steadily from your hair onto the floorboards below. Taxi pants nearby, ears still twitching toward distant sounds outside. You glance around the bar slowly.

“…I passed this place earlier,” you mutter between breaths. “Didn’t exactly scream safehouse.”

Joel grunts while forcing another chair beneath the door handle. “That’s ‘cause you think like a survivor.” He finally looks back at you briefly. “You gotta think like a smuggler.”

The corner of your mouth almost twitches despite everything.

Taxi finally relaxes enough to lie down beside one of the booths, though he still watches both of you carefully while licking rainwater from his fur.

Outside, thunder rolls softly over Seattle. Inside, everything suddenly feels too quiet.

You straighten slowly while pressing your palm against the bandage wrapped around your arm. The bite throbs beneath soaked fabric now. Hot. Sharp. “Joel,” you say quietly. “How did you find us?”

Taxi huffs softly at the sound of his name.

Joel completely ignores the question.

Instead, he walks straight toward you, grabs your uninjured arm gently but firmly, and guides you toward one of the old leather couches near the stage.

“Sit.”

“Joel—”

“Sit down.”

Something in his voice makes you listen.

You lower yourself onto the couch slowly while he drops his backpack onto the nearby table and kneels in front of you.

“Lemme see.”

The bite still bleeds slowly through the bandage. Joel pulls fresh gauze and alcohol from his pack with practiced hands.

Your eyes stay fixed on him while he works. The furrow between his brows deepens immediately the second he unwraps the blood-soaked cloth from your arm.

There it is. That line in his forehead. The one that only appears when he’s angry or worried enough it physically hurts him.

God.

You missed him. So fucking much. More than you allowed yourself to admit.

“This’ll hurt.” Joel pours alcohol over the wound.

“Wonderful.”

The second the liquid hits torn flesh, pain rips straight through your arm. “Ah— fuck—”

Your whole body tenses instantly while Joel grips your wrist tighter to steady you.

“Easy,” he mutters quietly.

You hiss through clenched teeth while he carefully cleans dried blood from around the bite marks. Your eyes drift across his face again. The concentration. The exhaustion beneath his eyes. The tension in his jaw. You wonder how many nights he hasn’t slept.

“You showed up at a pretty convenient time,” you breathe, still staring at him like he might disappear again. “How the hell did you even find us?”

Joel keeps wrapping the bandage.

Doesn’t answer.

There are a hundred other things you want to ask him too. How long has he been here? Did Ellie know? Was he hurt? Was he angry? Did he hate you for leaving? But after drugging him and disappearing in the middle of the night, asking those questions feels almost selfish somehow. So instead you ask the smallest one. The safest one.

“…Why are you here, Joel?”

This time he finally looks up. And the expression in his eyes makes your throat tighten instantly. Dark. Tired. Hurt.

“S’pose I’m the one oughta be askin’ questions.”

Silence stretches between you.

You glance away first. Joel doesn’t.

“How the hell do you hear every damn thing I tell you,” he says quietly, “and still leave anyway?”

Your jaw tightens. “Joel—”

“That stubbornness of yours real or you just enjoy makin’ me lose my goddamn mind?” His voice sharpens now. “You come here to kill yourself? Was that the plan?”

The words hit harder than expected. Because part of you knows he’s not completely wrong.

“I got close,” you argue quietly. “I’m almost done. Tomorrow I finish this.”

Joel lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Finish it how exactly?” He rises suddenly to his feet. “You see how many Wolves are out there? This ain’t a mission, darlin’, it’s a suicide note.”

“I’m not leaving without killing him.”

“Well you ain’t gettin’ the chance if you end up dead first!”

Taxi lifts his head immediately at the sharpness in Joel’s voice. You stand too fast. Pain flares through your arm but you ignore it. “What, you think I came all this way for nothing?!”

“Yes!” Joel explodes. “That’s exactly what I think!”

You stare at him in disbelief. Rain rattles softly against the windows behind him while the neon sign outside flickers weak blue light across his face. “You don’t understand.”

“No, YOU don’t understand!” Joel snaps back immediately. “If I hadn’t found you tonight you woulda died in there!”

“I saved you too!”

“That ain’t the damn point!”

His voice echoes through the empty jazz bar. Taxi whines softly from the couch. Joel runs one rough hand through soaked curls before pointing furiously toward your bandaged arm.

“You ain’t bulletproof, Kat! You ain’t immune to gettin’ your head blown off or blown apart or buried under some goddamn building!”

“I KNOW THAT!”

“Then why the hell are you actin’ like you got nothin’ left to lose?!”

Your breathing turns uneven instantly. “I always find a way.”

Joel stares at you for one long horrible second. Then suddenly he crosses the room and grabs both your arms hard enough to stop your pacing completely. “Goddamn it, Kat—” His voice breaks lower now. Rougher. Desperate. “Why don’t you get it?” His grip tightens. “Not everythin’ goes the way you planned.”

Your heartbeat stumbles.

“One mistake,” he whispers harshly. “One bad second and everythin’ falls apart. Why you runnin’ toward death like this, huh?” His jaw clenches hard. “You don’t think about yourself, fine. But do you ever think about what happens to me?”

Your lips part. Nothing comes out. So you look away instead.

“…Ellie needs you,” you whisper weakly. “If somethin’ happened to me, you’d still have—”

“Don’t.” His voice cuts straight through yours. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

You look back at him slowly. Joel’s eyes burn now. Actually burn.

“She ain’t you.”

The words hit like a punch. Joel breathes hard once through his nose before quieter now:

“You’re not Ellie to me.” He steps closer. So close you can feel warmth radiating from him despite the cold rain still clinging to his clothes. “You’re worse,” he mutters roughly. “So much goddamn worse.”

Your breath catches.

“Because I let myself love you.”

The confession lands heavy between both of you. Joel laughs once under his breath. Bitter. Broken.

“This stubborn old heart was finally startin’ to beat again and you just…” He shakes his head slightly. “You rip yourself outta my bed and disappear across the country like I’m supposed to survive that.”

Your throat tightens painfully. “I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

Joel stares at you like the words physically offend him.

“And what the hell you think happens to me if you die?”

Silence. Real silence this time.

Joel closes his eyes briefly before leaning forward until his forehead rests against yours. When he speaks again, his voice barely sounds steady anymore. “I told you about Sarah.” Your heart cracks quietly. “I told you exactly what losin’ somebody like that does to a man.” His nose brushes yours lightly when he exhales. “You’re there for me now.” The words melt something inside your chest instantly. “You understand?” he whispers. “Right fuckin' there.”

Your lips part softly.

Joel’s mouth hovers barely inches from yours now. Close enough that every breath mixes together. Close enough that thinking becomes impossible. You should keep arguing. You should push him away. Tell him to go back to Jackson. Tell him tomorrow changes nothing. But all you can think about is how badly you missed him. The smell of him. The warmth. The roughness in his voice. The way he says your name like it belongs to him. Your thighs tense unconsciously.

Joel notices immediately. Of course he does.

His eyes darken slightly while his hand slides from your arm to your waist slowly. Possessive. Careful.

Like he’s trying not to break under the weight of his own feelings.

“Listen to me,” he murmurs roughly. “I don’t give a damn about anybody or anything in this world the way I do you.” Your breath catches harder. “You hear me?” His fingers tighten slightly against your waist. “You got some kinda single-digit fuckin’ IQ or somethin’, huh? How many goddamn times do I gotta say it before it gets through that stubborn skull of yours?”

Your brows pull together immediately.

“Joel—”

“No.” His grip tightens when you try pulling back slightly. “No, you don’t get to pull that runaway bullshit and then stand there actin’ confused when I come after you.”

Heat flashes through your chest instantly.

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Exactly!” Joel snaps. “That’s the damn problem!”

You turn your head away sharply, jaw tightening.

For half a second you almost step back.

Joel catches you immediately.

One rough hand locks around your waist and pulls you flush against him again before you can move an inch.

“You scare the livin’ shit outta me, Kat.”

The word comes out low. Dangerous. Desperate.

His forehead nearly touches yours now.

“You run into gunfights, infected, goddamn armies like your life don’t matter and it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”

Your pulse stumbles hard.

Joel’s jaw tightens once before he says the next part slower. Like he needs you to understand it this time. “You’re mine to lose sleep over now.”

Your breath catches sharply.

Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours.

Possessive. Furious. Completely wrecked by you. His hand slides tighter against your waist. “Mine to worry about. Mine to come look for. Mine to drag back alive if I gotta.”

Then he snaps. One hand grips your jaw. The other yanks you hard against him. And his mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is brutal.

Desperate.

All teeth and heat and weeks of fear poured into one violent collision.

You gasp against his mouth immediately and Joel takes advantage instantly, kissing you deeper like he’s angry at you for making him miss you this badly.

Like he’s trying to punish himself and you at the same time.

His beard scrapes harsh against your skin while his fingers dig into your waist possessively enough to ache.

You clutch his soaked flannel automatically.

Joel groans low into your mouth the second you pull him closer.

The sound nearly destroys what little restraint you had left.

“Christ. Look what the hell you do to me,” he mutters against your lips before kissing you again harder somehow.

Raw. Messy. Needy.

Like neither of you fully believes the other is really here yet.

Joel kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you were gone. Like anger and relief and love have tangled together into something too big for him to hold quietly anymore.

Your back hits the edge of the old piano beside the stage with a dull thud.

Neither of you cares.

Rain fades into background noise beneath rough breathing, shifting clothes, and the scrape of calloused hands against soaked denim and flannel.

Joel’s fingers bury into your hair hard enough to tilt your head back while his mouth keeps finding yours again and again like he physically can’t stop once he starts.

You kiss him back just as desperately.

All the fear.

All the missing him.

All those nights alone in ruined buildings wishing he was there instead—

It all crashes out at once.

“Jesus…” Joel breathes against your lips, forehead pressing briefly to yours. “Missed you so goddamn much.”

The confession nearly breaks you.

Your fingers work shakily at the buttons of his flannel while he crowds closer between your legs.

“You weren’t supposed to come after me,” you whisper breathlessly, teasing despite yourself as you push the shirt from his shoulders.

Joel lets out a rough, humorless laugh against your mouth.

“Tough shit.”

His belt unfastens with a metallic clink.

Then he kisses you again before you can answer.

Harder this time.

Needier.

One large hand slides beneath your jacket, rough fingers spreading against the small of your back while the other grips your waist possessively enough to pull a soft sound from your throat.

Joel immediately catches it.

A dark smirk ghosts briefly across his face.

“Look at her now,” he mutters roughly against your mouth. “All needy.”

Heat rushes through your chest instantly.

“You keep makin’ sounds like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “I’m gonna forget we’re supposed to be arguin’.” His thumb drags once along your cheek. “Real damn loud for somebody who left me.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Before you can answer, Joel’s hands find the zipper of your jacket instead.

He yanks it down impatiently.

Then your shirt follows, leaving you in nothing but your bra beneath the dim neon glow leaking through the rain-streaked windows.

Joel’s eyes drag over you slowly.

Hungry.

Overwhelmed.

Then his gaze catches on the fresh bandage around your arm. The softness disappears immediately. Joel leans down and presses a rough almost angry kiss against your forehead. “You scare the hell outta me,” he mutters. “Don’t pull that shit again.” Your hands slide over his bare chest, palms spreading across warm skin and tense muscle beneath your fingertips.

God.

You forgot how solid he feels. How warm. How safe. It almost hurts remembering it.

Joel exhales sharply the second you touch him. Then his hands are on you again. Touching like he physically can’t help it.

Your shirt snags briefly while he pulls it over your head one-handed before tossing it somewhere behind him without even looking.

His eyes move slowly across your skin afterward. “Christ,” he whispers quietly.

The way he says it sends heat straight through you.

Joel notices instantly.

That rough little smirk flickers again before something heavier replaces it.

His fingers brush lightly along your ribs before settling against your waist, thumbs hooking into your jeans and dragging them slowly down your legs. Cold air kisses exposed skin while rain taps softly against the windows outside.

“There she is,” Joel murmurs, voice low and wrecked as his hands settle against your thighs, holding you close. His kisses trailed to your neck and you gulped back a lustful sigh. He couldn’t know how much you were enjoying it. His fingers glided in between your folds, the vibrations already making you far too excited. He chuckled to himself, cupping you so your clit was between his fingers as he rubbed your heat. “She’s so fucking pretty and always ready for me,” he purred against your neck and you loved the excited rush his breath gave your skin. You yanked his hair pulling him back into another hungry kiss. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your soft spots, groping your ass, weaving his fingers through your hair, noting the places that made you squirm when he gave them attention. 

You started to retort but your knees dipped when he inserted a finger. His other hand reached around your back to hold you up and you moaned when he started to pump his fingers deep inside of you. Your hands slide up into his curls while his mouth moves against yours with enough care now to make your knees weaker than the violence of the first kiss ever could.

Taxi lifts his head from the couch nearby, ears twitching as he watches both of you pressed together beside the piano.

Joel notices immediately.

“C’mon, buddy,” he mutters roughly without taking his eyes and fingers off you. “Give us five goddamn minutes.”

Taxi huffs loudly from the couch. You grin softly against Joel’s mouth. “He’s protective,” you murmur, breathless. “Kinda reminds me of somebody.”

“Yeah? Smart dog then.”

“Smartest one around, actually. Shame he ended up with an idiot owner.”

Joel’s mouth twitches immediately. “Make that two idiots,” he murmurs.

Taxi barks once from the couch like he’s agreeing. You laugh softly. Joel points toward the dog without looking away from you. “Alright, smartass. Turn around.” Taxi lets out a dramatic huff before very pointedly turning his back to both of you and flopping back down onto the couch.

“How the hell do you just disappear on me,” he murmurs rough against your lips, his long finger curling inside you, “and take that pretty laugh with you too, huh?” You latch onto him, digging your nails into his arm, he exhales softly against your mouth. “Damn near forgot what it sounded like.” The vibrations shake through your core and curl low in your stomach, where a terrible and wonderful sensation begins to build, pulling a broken moan from your throat. “Yeah,” he mutters low against your lips. “Missed that too.”

With a grunt, he pulls his fingers out of you, still wet with your arousal, and presses them to his lips, sucking hungrily, almost angrily.

Then suddenly you’re in his arms.

Joel lifts you easily and lays you back against the old couch, one large hand settling against your waist as he leans over you. “‘M about two seconds away from losin’ what’s left of my damn self-control here.” One large hand slides up your thigh slowly before his dark eyes lock onto yours again. “So open wide for me, darlin’.”

You obey and spread your legs while he gets rid of his boxers and settles between your thighs. He leans down again and kisses you deeply. You wrap one hand around his dripping cock and squeeze softly, and simply feeling the way your grip trembles makes him weak. He can feel you smile against his mouth.

He drags his tongue across your lip and spreads your legs wider with his palm. He nibbles gently on your bottom lip, and you moan, arching against him.

He presses his swollen tip against your slick pussy and tries to still the swirling darkness inside him; he wants you, and he’s going to have you now and forever.

Even still, he feels anger clawing at the edges of his lust: anger that you left him like that, that you almost died, that you were so ready to sacrifice yourself for him and didn’t give a damn about dying so fearlessly.

Against all reason, he wants to punish you because you still don’t fully understand how much you mean to him, and because you’ve turned your immunity into an advantage, risking your life as if it were nothing. But he pushes those thoughts out of his mind.

He presses his fingers to your clit and teases you, and you moan against him, wrapping your legs around his hips, trying to urge him further. Exhaling quickly against your lips, he buries himself inside you in one smooth, severe stroke, and you cry out. You are so wet that the suddenness of it doesn’t sting, but the insistent burn and stretch inside you makes you shiver. He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes. From the way he looks down at you—like you are small and helpless and beloved, all for him—the realization makes his heart beat hard against his ribs and arouses him even further.

His next thrust is even harsher, and you dig your nails into his shoulders and writhe against him, wordlessly meeting his challenge. He grins darkly at you and fucks you in earnest, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the old jazz bar. He grunts with each thrust like he is exorcising something strange and wild, and you find yourself clutching at him with a ferocity that surprises you. You move against each other like animals desperate for release, but as your orgasm approaches, you realize he has no intention of finishing yet, even though he is struggling to hold back. When you grow insistent and press firmly against him each time he withdraws, he shakes his head at you like you are an insolent child. You whine and scratch his back, and he bites your shoulder where it meets your neck.

The couch shifts hard enough to bump against the wall, drawing a long suffering sigh from Taxi somewhere nearby.

Neither of you can help laughing softly at that. 

His gaze stops at your bra — the last piece still clinging to your body. He reaches with his large hand and unfastens it easily, grabbing your breasts possessively and burying his face between them.“Fuck, Joel, I’m—”

He crashes his mouth against yours before you can finish, swallowing the rest of your words as the kiss turns messy and desperate, teeth clashing briefly in the heat of it.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs roughly against your lips. “Jesus Christ… keep doin’ that and I ain’t gonna last.” He pulls back just enough to look at you before drawing you closer again, moving with a rhythm that grows rougher and more desperate the longer he kisses you. “Fuck… so goddamn tight, fuck, fuck. Feels too damn good.”

You scratch your nails down his back again as he finds that spot inside you once more. Joel sucks on your neck and uses the hand that isn’t holding yours to roughly pinch and twist your nipples.

“Right there,” you gasp softly, barely able to think anymore. “Joel… right there.”

He slams into you harder with every thrust, losing whatever control he had left the second he feels you falling apart beneath him.

Your moans break into desperate little sounds that only make him rougher, his forehead pressed against yours while he pushes his thick cock deep inside you. “That’s it,” he groans hoarsely. “Fuck, baby… just like that.” You cry out his name as pleasure crashes through you, your whole body trembling beneath him while your fingers clutch helplessly at his shoulders.

Joel watches you come apart with something almost feral in his expression, like the sight alone is enough to ruin him completely. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes shakily, gripping you tighter. “… gonna fuckin’ kill me one day.”

The way your walls squeeze him finally snaps the last thread holding him together, he grips the back of your head possessively and pulls you up into a searing kiss as he begins filling you up. His masculine groans are the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard—raw, rough, completely wrecked by you—and even if you hadn’t already been overwhelmed with pleasure, you know you’do anything just to hear them again.

By the time the both of you finally come down, exhaustion settles heavily into your bones. Your entire body still trembles from overstimulation, you feel him softening inside you, and without thinking, you cling closer to him — hooking one leg over his and wrapping an arm tightly around his waist while burying your face against his chest.

Joel lets out a tired breath and settles back against the couch with you tangled around him. One hand rests protectively over your arm while the other lazily twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, finally realizing how sweaty and completely spent both of you are. “Kat,” he murmurs quietly, fingertips tracing slow patterns against your skin. The softness in his voice makes you shiver more than anything else tonight. “Y’know I love you, right?”

Your eyes flutter half-shut as you look up at him. “I know,” you whisper back, voice rough and sleepy. Your fingers trace lazily across his chest. “Love you too, old man.”

A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth — soft enough that most people would miss it entirely. Then, reluctantly, Joel starts untangling himself from you.

“C’mon,” he mutters gently, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Gotta clean you up before you pass out on me.”

Seattle, Day Three.

Joel wakes first. He doesn’t move right away. For a long moment he just lies there on the narrow couch with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist beneath the heavy wool blanket he’d found sometime during the night.

The thing had smelled like dust and old cedar when he shook it out upstairs near the storage room. Probably untouched for years. He remembers beating the hell out of it against the railing while muttering curses under his breath, trying to get enough dirt off it so you wouldn’t complain.

You still complained. Half asleep. Mumbling something about “old man nesting instincts.”

Joel almost smiles remembering it.

Now you sleep against his chest completely unaware, warm beneath the blanket, breathing slow and steady while Taxi snores softly nearby. Joel watches you quietly.

Your hair’s a mess. One cheek pressed against his shoulder. One leg tangled with his beneath the blanket. Peaceful. Too peaceful for somebody who spent the last several days fighting through Seattle like a damn one-woman apocalypse.

His fingers move carefully through your hair, brushing strands away from your face slowly enough not to wake you. Then his eyes drift downward.

And the softness in his expression changes immediately.

Bruises. Scratches. Old healing cuts layered beneath newer ones. Your shoulder carries a dark purple mark from rifle recoil, probably from firing that sniper nonstop for days. Your knuckles are split open in places. Another bruise blooms faintly along your ribs.

Joel’s jaw tightens quietly.

He’s seen bodies like this before. Survivors. People who lived too long outside walls. But seeing it on you feels different somehow. More personal. More infuriating.

His eyes stop at the bandage wrapped around your arm.

The bite.

Joel exhales slowly through his nose and looks back at your sleeping face. You were probably the strongest person he’d ever met. And that scared the hell out of him too.

He thinks about everything you survived before Jackson. Ten years outside. Fighting. Sleeping in ruins and abandoned cars and forests filled with infected. Your own father hunting you.

Your own father.

Joel still can’t wrap his mind around that part completely. His old man had been many things. Mean sometimes. Hard. But there had still been moments. A hand on the shoulder. A “good job, son.” Tiny things. Enough to know he’d been loved at least once growing up.

But you?

You learned young that love came with scalpels and cages and being hunted like an animal. And somehow you still came out capable of loving people anyway. Joel honestly doesn’t know how. Maybe he never will.

Taxi suddenly lets out a soft whine nearby. Joel glances over immediately. The shepherd lifts his head slightly from the floor, favoring his injured leg again.

“Hey,” Joel murmurs quietly. “Easy there.”

Carefully making sure not to wake you, Joel slips out from beneath the blanket and pulls his jeans back on before crouching beside Taxi.

“Lemme see it, boy.”

Taxi growls softly at first. Joel clicks his tongue.

“Shh. Relax, kiddo. Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Taxi grumbles dramatically anyway. Joel snorts quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. You sound just like her.”

The wound isn’t terrible. Bullet graze. Angry-looking but clean. Joel pulls out antiseptic and carefully spreads ointment across the injury. Taxi flinches once.

“There ya go.” Joel scratches behind his ears afterward. “You did good lookin’ after her.”

Taxi’s tail thumps once against the floorboards.

“Hell,” Joel mutters quietly, “somebody had to.”

Taxi barks once like he fully agrees.

Joel laughs softly under his breath. “Yeah, well. That stubbornness rubbed off on you too apparently.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Your sleepy voice makes Joel glance over immediately. You’re sitting upright now near the couch, pulling your shirt back on while watching both of them.

“Yeah?” Joel turns slightly toward you. “Dog’s almost as hardheaded as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitches faintly. “Guess crazy attracts crazy.”

You snort softly while stepping closer.

“How’s your arm?”

You notice immediately he avoids saying bite. Like the word itself pisses him off.

You flex your fingers carefully beneath the bandage. “Sore. Little throbbing. I’ll live.”

That does absolutely nothing for the look on Joel’s face.

“Lemme see.”

You hold your arm out without arguing this time. Joel unwraps the bandage slowly. His fingers shake slightly. You notice. He notices you noticing. Neither of you says anything about it.

The bite still looks ugly. Deep crescent punctures surrounded by bruising where the stalker’s jaw clamped down. But otherwise—

“No infection,” he mutters quietly, thumb brushing carefully near the wound. “No spreadin’. Nothin’.”

The awe in his voice almost sounds uncomfortable, like he’s rediscovering your immunity all over again.

You reach automatically for the knife lying nearby on the table. The second you angle it toward the bite— Joel catches your wrist hard.

“What’re you doin’?”

“If the mark’s still fresh, I can cut over it. Make it look like something else.”

Joel stares at you like you just suggested sawing your own arm off before immediately taking the knife away from you.

“You always this eager to carve yourself up?”

“It makes sense.”

He tosses the knife aside with a sharp look. “The bite’s deep enough already. Last thing you need’s an actual infection.”

You open your mouth to argue. Joel gives you a look. You close it again.

Satisfied, he starts rewrapping the bandage carefully before reaching into his bag and pulling out two cans of food.

“Eat somethin’.”

Your stomach betrays you instantly with a quiet growl. Joel hears it. Of course he does. A smug little look flashes across his face while he hands you the can.

“Knew it.”

You roll your eyes softly. “Don’t get cocky.”

Taxi suddenly perks up at the smell of food. Joel grabs another can from his bag, pops it open with his knife, and dumps the contents carefully onto a folded paper plate near the floor. “Found dog food near Seattle’s big ‘Fuck FEDRA’ gate.”

Taxi immediately starts eating.

You blink. “I checked there.”

Joel smirks slightly. “Yeah, well. Smuggler rule number one.” He settles back against the booth beside you. “There’s always another stash.”

You shake your head while eating a spoonful from your can.

“So…” you mutter thoughtfully between bites, “Joel Miller rescues us, patches us up, finds us shelter, feeds us…” Your eyes flick toward him. “Anything you can’t do?”

Joel looks at you over the rim of his coffee tin. “Convince you to come back to Jackson.”

“There it is,” you murmur.

“Damn right there it is.”

You stare down at your food for a second before quietly: “I can’t leave before this is finished.”

Joel exhales slowly through his nose. “Alright.” He nods once. “Then tell me the plan.”

You stare at him for a second like you’re waiting for the argument to come back. Joel shrugs one shoulder lightly.

“Pretty sure I could live another hundred damn years and still not win against that stubborn streak of yours.”

A faint tired smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“So I figured the next best thing is stickin’ around long enough to stop you from gettin’ yourself killed.”

His eyes meet yours then— steady and serious beneath the exhaustion.

“And help you finish this.”

You set the can aside and reach quickly for your backpack.

“Okay so—”

Joel steals the rest of your food while you’re distracted.

You whip your head toward him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“You were done.”

“I was thinking.”

“You think better fed.”

You glare at him while he takes another completely unapologetic bite. Joel looks deeply unbothered for exactly two seconds before your expression finally cracks into genuine annoyance.

Then, with a quiet sigh like he’s dealing with the world’s grumpiest stray cat, he reaches into his backpack again.

“Relax, darlin’.”

He pulls out another can and tosses it into your lap. “Got another one.”

You look down at the label and immediately snort softly.

It’s actually your favorite.

“Wow,” you tease while turning the can in your hands, “that’s, like… suspiciously boyfriend behavior from you, Joel Miller.”

Joel immediately stops eating. Slowly lowers the spoon. “Take it back.”

You grin instantly. “What? Boyfriend?”

He exhales hard through his nose, already looking irritated in that deeply familiar way that only makes this funnier.

The second you laugh, Joel grabs your wrist and suddenly pulls you toward him hard enough that you let out a surprised noise, the can nearly slipping from your hands as you end up sprawled across his lap.

“Joel—”

“Y’know,” he mutters while leaning closer, one arm locking securely around your waist before you can even think about escaping, “I still think tying your stubborn ass to the back of my horse and draggin’ you back to Jackson’s a solid plan.”

“Wow.” You shake your head, grinning. “There’s the romance.”

Joel shakes his head under his breath before leaning closer suddenly, brushing a quick kiss against the tip of your nose.

“Romance,” he murmurs low while pulling back just slightly, “comes after we get your stubborn ass back to Jackson alive.”

“Deal,” you whisper.

Joel studies your face for another second like he’s trying to memorize it all over again before finally letting you slide reluctantly off his lap.

You settle back beside him while Joel reaches over to open your canned food for you. You lean forward and dig through your backpack before pulling out the stolen WLF radio.

“Let’s see what Seattle’s assholes are up to today.”

Joel’s entire posture sharpens instantly the second he sees it in your hands.

You twist the dial slowly. Static crackles loudly through the jazz bar.

“…patrol…” hissssss “…copy…” More static. You adjust it again. “…doctor…” You turn the dial carefully. The signal clears. “…repeat, Doctor Clouser’s requested package has been transferred to the hospital facility.”

Your stomach tightens instantly. Joel’s eyes lock onto yours.

Another voice answers through static: “Copy that, Ed. Use Route Six on your return. Scar activity’s spreadin’ east— avoid conflict if possible. And keep the lower quarantine level sealed. Doctor says nobody enters without clearance after last night’s incident.”

You and Joel stare at each other.

Hospital.

Confirmed.

The streets around the hospital feel dead in the wrong way. You move beside Joel through flooded streets littered with shell casings, broken arrows, and bodies left where they fell. WLF soldiers. Seraphites. Some so torn apart by infected it’s impossible to tell which side they belonged to anymore. Taxi walks ahead quietly now, ears twitching at every distant sound. The city smells like wet concrete, blood, mold, and smoke. Joel keeps his rifle raised while both of you move through the remains of another firefight. A burned-out military truck still smolders near the curb, its doors covered in bullet holes and dried blood. One entire wall nearby is painted black with huge dripping letters: FEEL HER LOVE. The words stretch across the brick wall in massive white paint, dripping down the rain-soaked surface beneath crude Seraphite symbols carved deep into the concrete.

But someone answered it. Down near the corner of the wall, sprayed violently in black paint over dried blood splatter, another message cuts across the white letters: FEEL THIS, BITCH. Below it, bodies are piled carelessly against the wall. Seraphites. You recognize them instantly from the rough dark cloaks hanging from torn limbs and rain-soaked rope belts still tied around waists. Some still clutch hammers and crude blades in stiff dead hands. The blood beneath them hasn’t fully washed away yet. Fresh enough that the rain still carries thin red streams slowly down the curb nearby. Your stomach twists slightly. “Those whistling assholes,” you mutter quietly while stepping around shattered glass and blood pooling near the curb. “Saw ’em gutting Wolves yesterday. Creepy fuckers.” Joel studies the hanging bodies for another second, jaw tightening slightly. “Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “Spent twenty years thinkin’ I’d already seen every kinda fucked up thing this world could turn people into.” You glance back toward the wall covered in blood and hanging corpses. “Then Seattle said hold my beer.” Joel actually laughs under his breath at that. Low. Brief. Real.

Then his expression hardens again as he scans the street ahead. “Everyone’s killin’ everybody,” he mutters. “Wolves, Scars… whole damn city’s at war.” His grip tightens slightly around the rifle. “Means we keep our heads down if we wanna make it to that hospital alive.” You glance toward the massive building looming farther ahead between flooded streets and collapsed apartments. “Front entrance probably crawling with Wolves anyway.” “Yeah.” Joel immediately turns away from the open street. “Too exposed.” He gestures with the rifle toward a row of half-collapsed buildings running parallel to the hospital district. “We circle around. Stay off the main roads. Maintenance tunnels, supply docks, rooftops… there’s always another way in.” You nod once and pull your hood lower against the rain. Taxi falls quietly into step beside both of you as you disappear deeper into the ruined side streets surrounding the hospital.

The hospital finally comes fully into view between buildings ahead. Massive. Concrete gray against the dark sky. Floodlights glow faintly near the lower levels while fog drifts around upper floors. So close now. Your hand automatically drops to the revolver holstered at your side. Your thumb brushes the worn grip while you pull the cylinder open and reload quietly. “Joel.” “Hm?” You hesitate. Which already tells him this matters.

Rain drips softly from broken signs overhead while Taxi pauses ahead to sniff cautiously near abandoned cars. You finally look at Joel. “I know leavin’ was selfish.” Joel stills slightly but says nothing. You swallow once. “It wasn’t just for me.” His eyes lift fully now. “It was for us.” The words feel strange out loud. Too vulnerable. Too honest. You look back down at the revolver while continuing quietly: “You and me. Future Days and all that shit.” A weak breath escapes you. “Before Jackson I never even let myself imagine havin’ somethin’ like that. Then I met you and suddenly…” Joel’s mouth slowly curves into the faintest smug smile. “Suddenly what, darlin’?” You roll your eyes instantly. “Don’t--” Joel’s grin grows slightly. “C’mon now. Wanna hear this part.” You glare at him briefly. Then finally sigh. “…I fell in love with you, alright?” you mutter. “There. Happy?” Joel looks devastatingly pleased with himself. “Little bit.” You shake your head while fighting a smile. Then your expression softens again. “I just wanted peace for once.” Your thumb traces the revolver grip absently. “Wanted somethin’ that actually belonged to me.” Joel watches you quietly for a long moment. Then he lowers his rifle and steps closer. “C’mere.” Before you can react, one arm hooks around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. The revolver remains loosely in your hand while Joel wraps both arms around you tightly beneath your jacket. “I know,” he murmurs against your hair. Joel pulls back just enough to look down at you. “But Christ, baby…” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Wish you hadn’t disappeared after I told you I’d help.” Guilt flickers sharply through your stomach. “I know. When we get back,” you whisper softly, “I’ll fix your heart.” Joel snorts. “Baby, you got yourself one hell of a fixer-upper.” “Maybe you can teach me."

Joel raises an eyebrow slightly. “Teach you what?” “How to fix old things. Worked pretty well with the guitar.” “Yeah?” he murmurs low. “Guess you’re a fast learner.” "Fuck yeah, I am." Your chest hurts from loving him. And that realization terrifies you a little. Joel squeezes your waist once before both of you continue moving again toward the hospital. Closer now. Too close. The streets gradually grow quieter the farther you go. No patrols. No distant shouting. No gunfire. Nothing. Joel slows first. You feel it too. The wrongness. You glance toward him. “…You feel that?” Joel nods once slowly. “Too quiet.” His grip tightens slightly around the rifle. “Don’t like it.” Neither do you. According to the radio traffic earlier, the area around the hospital should’ve been crawling with Wolves. Instead the streets feel abandoned. “We keep goin’ straight, we’re too exposed."

His eyes move toward the buildings lining the side streets near the hospital perimeter. “We circle around back first. Figure out where they got people stationed before we get anywhere near that place.” You nod, but Taxi suddenly growls low. Joel immediately raises the rifle scope. “Runner.” He points slightly right. “Two of ‘em.” You spot movement on the left side too. "There’s more over there.” Taxi suddenly bolts forward. “No— Taxi, wait!” The shepherd ignores you completely and charges ahead. You immediately move after him. Joel grabs your arm hard. “Kat— stop!” “What—” “Trap.” Your eyes drop instantly. Thin wire stretches low across the street between two wrecked cars. Shit. A runner slams into it first. BOOM. The explosion detonates loud enough to shake nearby windows. Fire and smoke erupt across the street while the infected body tears apart midair. Taxi yelps painfully as the shockwave throws him sideways onto wet pavement. “Taxi!" You rip free from Joel immediately. “NO!” Joel curses sharply behind you. Gunfire erupts the second you move. Not one shot. Several. “NOW!” someone yells from somewhere above. Fuck. Bullets slam into the pavement around your feet. Too close. Too precise. Joel fires back instantly. “Kat, NO!” But you’re already sliding across the pavement toward Taxi. The dog whines sharply on the ground, dazed and limping. “I got you,” you breathe quickly while reaching for him. More gunfire cracks overhead. But then— You realize something. They aren’t aiming at you. Every bullet hits beside you. Near your boots. Not kill shots. Joel notices too immediately from behind cover. “What the fuck…” Taxi struggles weakly beneath your hands while you kneel exposed in the middle of the street. Then a voice cuts through the chaos. Your real name. The name almost nobody alive still knows. You freeze. Cold spreads through your chest instantly.

Only two people ever called you that anymore. Slowly— You turn. Figures emerge near the hospital barricades ahead beneath floodlights. Armed Wolves surrounding them. And there— Him. Even from this distance you’d know that face anywhere. The same calm eyes. The same awful smile. Your stomach drops violently. “we were expecting you." he said "we" like.. pointedly… The world narrows instantly. Then you see another figure beside him. Bruised. Restrained. Gun pressed against his head. William. Your breath leaves your lungs. “…William.” Joel’s expression changes immediately the second he understands. This wasn’t coincidence. This wasn’t random. They were waiting. “Drop your weapon!” another Wolf shouts. Clouser smiles wider. “You came all this way for him, didn’t you?” His hand tightens against William’s shoulder possessively. “See? Here he is.” William’s eyes meet yours from across the street.

And suddenly for one horrible second you feel like you were little girl again. “Come now, sweetheart,” Clouser calls smoothly. “Wouldn’t want him dying before your reunion.” Joel’s rifle rises instantly. “Kat,” he says sharply. “Get your ass back here. I’ll cover you.” But you barely hear him anymore. Your heartbeat pounds too loud. William. Alive. Your eyes flick toward Taxi lying injured beside you. Then toward Joel behind cover. Then back toward Clouser. One shot. That’s all it would take. You’ve made harder shots before. Much harder. Your hand slowly drifts toward the revolver at your back. Joel sees it instantly. His expression changes immediately. “No.” You barely hear him. The world tunnels. One target. One bullet. One chance. You draw the revolver in one impossibly fast motion and fire. BANG. The bullet tears straight through Clouser’s head— Or almost. The shot hits the side of his skull violently, ripping through his ear and grazing along his temple instead of killing him outright. Blood sprays. Clouser collapses sideways screaming. Chaos erupts instantly. You almost laugh from the sheer rush of seeing him finally bleed— Then another shot slams through your shoulder hard enough to spin you backward onto the pavement. Pain explodes white-hot across your body. Joel’s voice roars somewhere distant. Gunfire erupts everywhere now. Joel immediately returns fire from cover, dropping one Wolf before being forced back behind concrete barriers under heavy fire. But even through the pain he sees you move. Still alive. Still conscious. Thank God. Clouser screams furiously from the ground while Wolves scramble around him. “STOP SHOOTING, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!” Blood pours down the side of his face while medics drag him partially upright. “WE NEED HER ALIVE!” Your revolver skids across wet pavement out of reach. You lunge for it— Too slow. Three Wolves hit you at once.

You slam one in the stomach with your elbow hard enough to fold him in half before kicking another directly off you. But there are too many. Hands grab your wrists. Your legs. One Wolf twists your injured shoulder hard enough to force a cry from your throat. Joel immediately rises again from cover. “GET THE FUCK OFF HER!” He drops another Wolf with a headshot before bullets force him back again. Taxi snarls viciously from the ground, dragging himself toward you despite the pain tearing through his injured leg. “Hold her down!”

A Wolf slams your arms painfully behind your back while another drives your knees hard into the pavement. Zip ties cinch brutally tight around your wrists. You fight anyway. Thrashing. Kicking. Spitting curses through gritted teeth while they struggle to pin you properly. One soldier catches your boot directly across the face with a sharp crack. “Fuck—!” “Hold her still!” “Watch her hands!” Too fast. You waited too long.Should’ve moved faster.Should’ve had a better plan. Then rough hands yank you violently upright. Your boots drag through rainwater while Wolves force you across the flooded street toward him. Clouser’s eyes finally shift toward you. A faint smile twists across his mouth. Blood runs down the side of his face while rainwater drips steadily from his ruined coat. “…There she is.” Your stomach turns violently. “All those years hiding,” he murmurs. His eyes drag slowly over your face. “Just to walk yourself right back where you belong." “Fuck you!” You lunge toward him instantly. The Wolves wrench you back hard enough pain tears through your shoulders. “Easy!” “Hold her!” Clouser barely reacts. “Take her inside.” “No!” You twist violently again, panic flashing hotter now the second you realize what that means. “Get the fuck off me!” Then your eyes snap past them. “Joel!” Clouser pauses. His expression shifts slightly at the name. Slowly, his eyes drift past you toward the gunfire beyond the barricades. Toward Joel. Joel sees only you. “Kat!” And something inside him snaps completely.

He rises from cover without hesitation and opens fire again. One Wolf drops instantly. Another barely ducks behind a barricade before bullets rip apart the concrete beside his head. But there are too many. Gunfire explodes from three directions at once, forcing him back behind the ruined ambulance near the curb. Taxi barks frantically through the chaos, still trying to crawl toward you. Joel tries again anyway. Of course he does. The second he breaks cover, two Wolves rush him from the side. One slams into his ribs hard enough to drive him sideways into the wall while another hooks his rifle away violently. Joel elbows the first man directly in the throat. The second gets his nose shattered against Joel’s forehead. Then another Wolf grabs him from behind— Joel throws him over his shoulder hard enough to crack concrete— But someone finally jams a rifle against the back of his knee. “DOWN!” The shot doesn’t fire.

Instead the force behind it kicks Joel’s leg out from under him and drives him heavily onto one knee. Three rifles snap toward his head instantly. One pressed directly against his temple. Joel’s chest heaves violently as rain pours down his face. Still fighting. Still trying to look past them toward you. “Taxi!” he shouts hoarsely. The shepherd answers with another desperate bark somewhere nearby. One Wolf glances toward the injured dog lying near the street. “You want me to kill it?” he asks coldly. Clouser presses a blood-soaked cloth tighter against the ruined side of his head while staggering closer through the rain. “Leave it,” he rasps. “Thing’s practically dead already.” Taxi growls weakly anyway. Joel’s entire body tenses violently at the words. Then Clouser finally stops in front of him. Really looks at him. Recognition flickers slowly across his face beneath the blood. “…Well.” Rain drips steadily from his chin while he studies Joel almost curiously. “You’re Joel Miller.” Joel says nothing. His jaw clenches hard enough to twitch. Clouser lets out a faint disbelieving laugh through the pain. “Hm.” He shakes his head slightly. “Funny.” His ruined ear leaves blood running down his neck. “All this way…” His eyes darken. “Just to walk into your own execution.” Joel barely even processes the words. Doesn’t care. The only thing he’s still looking for is you. One of the Wolves glances toward Clouser questioningly. Clouser gives a small nod.

“If you touch her, I swear to God I’ll—” The rifle butt slams violently into the side of Joel’s head. Pain explodes white behind his eyes. Darkness swallows the rest of the sentence whole.

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masterlist

The night train is silent. Most would say it’s peaceful. People caught in a slumber, no loud conversations, no laughter.

Harry slowly regrets he didn’t pick the one in the afternoon.

He wonders if it would be easier in the bustling crowd. If the truth would be easier to handle.

No. No, it wouldn’t.

Because either way, he’s still alone here. Sitting in the corner in his compartment, staring out the window at the train station shrouded in quietness and absence of the usual jam.

She was supposed to be here with him.

Visit his family in Darien for his parents’ annual New Year’s Eve party. Smile politely and charm them with her witty responses.

He was supposed to finally show his family that he is capable of settling down, that he found the woman who fits perfectly into their family picture. Lucy was all that.

Instead he sits here like a failure, an idiot.

His mother’s ring weighing in his pocket.

The train departs, heading his destination. He could’ve just asked his driver to take him to Darien. Or drive there himself. Or even hire a helicopter. But he didn’t.

He remembered all these times when as a student he took trains to Darien and tonight, Harry felt it could save him. Sitting alone in his compartment, but at the same time being aware there are some people near. Having a moment of quietness to figure out what to do next. How to tell his family Lucy didn’t accept the proposal… How to save face.

He reaches to his pocket and grasps the red, velvet box. He opens it and stares at the beautiful, shiny Cartier ring. It’s vintage, his dad bought it when he was proposing to Harry’s mom. Did Harry really want Lucy to wear it?

Now, that he’s thinking about it… He is not sure.

This ring holds history. Holds a story about true love, something beautiful that later created him and his brother. Something real that lasts almost fifty years.

Would Lucy really be it?

With a sigh he snaps the box closed, which seems loud in the silent compartment. Over an hour left to get to the holiday home.

The moment Harry steps into the house, he’s hit with the warm scent of gingerbread and his mother’s famous roast. He hangs his wool coat on a hanger next to many other jackets. He can hear the echos of voices and laughs, clinking of the champagne glasses. All people here tonight are here to celebrate.

It makes a knot in his stomach tighten.

He came back with nothing. All the family friends, all his mom’s business associates… all his childhood friends will see he still didn’t bring a girl home. Despite all he said. Despite the fact he already told his mom he’s gonna propose.

He didn’t have it in him to call earlier and admit he failed.

And now, wearing an armor which his black turtleneck and slacks, holding a wine bottle… He steps into the big, elegant living room, where the party swings.

Guests notice him, his parents beam when he enters.

„Harry! You made it!” His mom is fast, already by his side with a grin, wearing a fancy emerald dress. She always likes to impress with her clothes and the parties she hosts.

„Hello, mother.” Harry hands her the bottle and kisses her cheek.

But the moment she notices there is no one at his side… Her smile fades.

„Son… Where is Lucy? She in the bathroom?” She glances around searching for his fiancée. At least that’s what she thinks.

His dad approaches just perfectly to hear his wife’s question. The raised eyebrow of an oldest Castillo makes a drop of sweat trail down Harry’s neck, beneath the fabric of his turtleneck.

„N-no. I came by myself.”

„Oh, she couldn’t make it?”

„No, we… split up. She rejected the proposal.” He finally says, trying to keep his voice steady, like he wasn’t facing the biggest embarrassment in the new year.

His parents’ faces are expressing pure shock. That’s definitely not what they expected.

„What do you mean she rejected?” His dad frowns.

„I mean, she saw the ring, told me she doesn’t want it and left. What’s there to understand?”

„But… You must have done something wrong! I can’t believe she would just…” his mom tries, but he cuts her off. „God, we’re two adult people who realized they don’t love each other the right way. I’m here alone, I brought wine. The end of story.” He sighs.

His parents stare at him. But under the layer of disbelief he can see the disappointment.

Once again Harry Castillo proved he’s not capable of relationships.

Some guests standing near also heard the conversation. Harry can feel the lingering, pitying eyes on him. He fucking hates being here.

„It’s a wonderful party, mother. You outdo yourself every year.” He steps to pass his parents. „Happy New Year.” He pats his father’s arm and goes straight to the table with Dom Pérignon glasses. He grabs one and huffs under his breath. It seems ironic. Everyone’s here drinking champagne to celebrate, while Harry feels like it’s the last thing he wants to do.

He just has nothing to celebrate. Just another lonely year.

Some people approach him, talking, wishing Happy New Year. He keeps the polite smile glued to his face. It’s what he’s supposed to do.

Harry tries to not wonder how it would look if Lucy was here, but… He would stand in the middle, with an arm wrapped around her waist. Say proudly she’s his fiancée. She would show off the ring which is the family heritage. Everyone would gasp delighted. Everyone would see he has finally found the one…

Yeah, he tries to not wonder what if.

He stands by the window. The beautiful garden, always blooming in the summer, now covered in snow. The lights gently illuminating it, making the white, cold blanket shimmering.

Despite what others might think… Harry feels kind of relieved. Once Lucy told him it’s over… He couldn’t help, but take a deeper breath. Because deep down… he knew she was right. They didn’t love each other. He just wanted to have a wife, so his mom would let him be and Lucy just wanted his money.

It’s just the feeling of loneliness that got him so thoughtful.

Is he really this horrible, arrogant person that is too afraid to love someone?

Or he just hasn’t met the right one yet?

He tears his gaze away from the window just to see some woman steal one of the champagne bottles and quickly sneaking out towards the hallway. He chuckles and decides to check what she’s up to. He is not sure if he ever saw her…

Harry sees her leaving through the backdoor to a terrace. He hesitates for a moment, standing alone in the hallway. He can go back to the party and deal with all the pitying eyes, or… Go outside where there’s no one, but this stranger. Her idea is better.

So without even grabbing his coat, he slides the door open and instantly shivers at the cold temperature. The mysterious woman is sitting in one of the chairs left there. The terrace is under the roof, so at least there is no snow here.

She looks up at him, surprised and a bit disappointed she’s no longer alone.

„This seat taken?” He nods at the second chair next to her. For a longer moment their eyes just linger, but finally she speaks. „No.”

Harry sits down, glancing at the windows and the guests too busy to notice someone is freezing their asses off outside. The woman uses the corkscrew and soon the Dom Pérignon opens with a pop. She takes a swig from the bottle and he just watches from the side.

„Sorry, I didn’t bring any glasses.” She says.

„That’s okay.” He cracks a smile. „I see you’re celebrating big time.”

„Oh, yeah.” She chuckles from above the rim. He notices her eyes crinkle beautifully in the dim light of the night. They reflect the snow covering the grass.

She bites her lip, like she’s hesitating, but then hands him the bottle. Harry accepts it and also takes a swig of champagne. Yeah… Celebrating.

„So… Is there any particular occasion besides the New Year?”

The woman huffs, half amused, half… sad. Like the weight is too much, but she still tries to say it’s okay.

„Yeah, ugh, let’s see… I lost my job a week ago.” She has a big smile on her face. „And my boyfriend broke up with me the same fucking week! That means I had to move out, so now I also don’t have a place to stay.”

„Oh, fuck.” Harry breathes surprised.

„So many reasons to celebrate over the champagne.” She says and grabs the bottle to have another sip. „And you? You seemed pretty occupied there.”

„Ugh… I asked a girl to marry me. She said no.”

He stares ahead at the glimmering snow, at the way it’s still slowly falling. The woman observes his profile. She admires the curve of his nose and the stoic expression on his face. They both stopped shivering already, the alcohol doing its magic.

„You don’t seem very concerned.” She notices and that makes him chuckle.

He has no idea who she is, but, God, she actually makes this party bearable.

„Yeah… I don’t think I ever really loved her. But still… Being forty eight and not having a family already is a failure, isn’t it?”

„Nah, didn’t you hear my story? That is a failure.” She laughs quietly and he joins her.

„So.” She hands him the bottle again. „Let’s just drink and celebrate our miserable lives.”

Harry lays his eyes on the Dom Pérignon, then shifts his gaze to the stranger. He has no idea who she is and how the hell she got to his holiday house… But he’s glad she did. It’s the first time since Lucy left him that he feels better about himself.

Without a word, he accepts the bottle.

„To our miserable lives.” He raises it and takes a swig.

They sit there for a while, just talking. They laugh at aunt Mildred stucking the appetizers to her Gucci bag. Or try to stay silent and don’t move when Harry’s dad is looking out the window. He probably searches for his son. But Harry is comfortable just where he is now.

„So… What are you doing here actually?” He whispers after a moment and she glances at him. „My mom is a caretaker of this house, when your parents are not here. I’m currently living with her.”

„Wait, you’re Catherine’s daughter? You’re y/n?”

He stares shocked, because now he remembers you. You’re not a stranger woman. You’re you. The one he spent some time with when he was younger. There was Harry, his brother, their cousins and sometimes you. You were the youngest, always following them, until they were done with your presence.

„Yep. We played pool together, remember?”

„Yes. You were pretty good for a six-years-old.” He chuckles. „I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you earlier.”

„Oh, come on. I wouldn’t recognize myself either. We were kids then. Especially me.” You say smiling. „You’re right… A lot changed in you.” He says and then coughs. „For better, I mean.”

You smirk to yourself and let your eyes linger. You always had a little crush on him. And now that you’re both grown… This hasn’t changed. He’s an attractive man.

But for now… it doesn’t mean anything. You’re just drinking outside in the middle of the winter. Two people who feel like failures, like there is something wrong with them… Finding solace in this. Whatever this is.

After a moment of silence, a smile grows wider on your face, like you just came up with an idea.

„Do you want to go to the beach?”

„The beach?” He huffs surprised.

He came to Darien feeling like a complete idiot. He was standing on that party while others just stared at him. Harry Castillo is always an attraction, especially when his yet another relationship ends. He felt awful until he saw you sneaking out. Until he saw this smile on your face you kept despite your own problems.

Now, even his mother’s ring stopped weighing him so much in his pocket.

„Unless you want to go back inside?” You raise an eyebrow and that’s when he knows.

„Let me grab our coats.”