Nat🌻

“Oh yeah, genius? You worried about me?”

“Ha! As if, I just don’t want any pathogens from your blood getting into my system via food. Who knows what you’ve got floating around in you.”

“Tch! Asshole.”

Maybe she was wrong… But her eyes still linger on the two of you, long enough to notice the soft smiles on your faces and the perfect sync between you while cooking.

“Taiju.” She whispers, smiling gently when he pauses the game and leans closer. “They’re pretty close now, don’t you think?”

Taiju leans his head back, staring into the kitchen where you’re standing, with a spoon held to Senku’s lips and a hand underneath to catch anything that drops. “Huh, I guess so!”

“Let’s keep it a secret, okay?” She laughs, putting a finger over her mouth. Taiju nods in agreement, casting another look in your direction. Right, it’s probably what you two wanted.

———

3000 years later, Gen’s the first one to catch on.

It was inevitable; he was always looking for the minor details, the slightest hint of gossip he could have fun with– it was the main source of entertainment in this Stone Age, after all.

He watches from afar as you slip away from the crowd, grabbing a basket and filling it with miscellaneous fruits and bread—an apologetic look cast to Francois, who replies with a nod. He figures they said something about being of service.

You make your way to the lab, which gets his attention. He’d known you and Senku were friends in the modern day, but that’s all the knowledge he’s gathered on you two from Tsukasa and Yuzuriha– other than the obvious superglue that stuck you to his side. Though, Gen always wondered if it was Senku who was glued to your side instead.

Though, whenever he spoke to Yuzuriha about you, she’d always seemed a bit jittery, as if she was hiding something.

But, there was another person he could talk to about his theories….

“Dear Taiju!” Gen happily slides into conversation with him, appreciating the full attention he’d given him. “May I ask you about our dear scientist and his ever oyal-lay assistant?”

“Huh? Oh, Senku and Y/n!” He laughs at himself, setting his hands on his waist. “Is it about them dating? I was told to keep it a secret, but it’s been so long. Does it even still apply? I’m sure you’ve figured it out anyway!”

Eyes blown wide, Gen glances around him, deflating when seemingly everyone has mimicked his expression. Oh, he hopes he could make himself the good guy in this situation.

“Taiju, we were supposed to keep that a secret!”

He sputters, looking around him before casting his gaze down to Yuzuriha. “I thought it was okay…” Gen thinks he looks like a kicked puppy. Taiju turns to the villagers, waving his hands frantically in front of him. “It was all just a joke!” He sputtered, hoping they’d believe him. Whatever came out of Taiju’s mouth was pure, unfiltered truth.

“They’re courting each other!?”

“Why did he marry Ruri then?” “He did get a divorce right after.” “For the alcohol!”

“Look, they’re coming out–”

Breaths held still, forced awkward chatter, and too many whistleblowers instantly tells you something happened. One look cast in Gen’s direction, standing with Taiju, whose tail is tucked between his legs, and a sweating Yuzuriha tells you everything you need to know.

Senku sticks his pinky in his ear, resting his other hand on his hip. “Ah– so you found out.” The village bursts out, shouting out question after question— some of them make you wonder if they even know what privacy is.

Taiju wordlessly walks up to you, dropping to his knees and throwing his head down to the ground. “Sorry for exposing your relationship!”

“Taiju–” a laugh slips out at the use of dogeza, hands tugging at the shoulders of his shirt to pull him up. “It’s fine, seriously. We weren’t hiding it– just private.”

“Private my ass!” You look over at Yo, who mimicked a shriveled bunch of leaves. “I had no idea, and I thought you were as single as can be this whole time– somehow!”

Senku raises a brow, “What’s it matter to you?” You glance in his direction at the sudden shift of tone, clasping your hand over his shoulder to silently tell him to stand down.

“What’s it matter–” Yo scoffs, waving his hands near his head in frustration, face nearly beet red. “You know, so why bother asking!” He storms off, angry puffs of air coming out with each stomp. You think he resembles a bunny having a tantrum.

“So, why not mention you both were an item?” Gen asks, sauntering over with his signature mischievous smile.

“Not in the mood for your dimwit games,” Senku mutters, twisting his pinky into his ear again. “I’m busy trying to restore humanity, mentalist. No time for that illogical romance talk.”

Gen gasps, holding his hand over his mouth and chest, popping up suddenly behind you. “Watch what you say around your long term partner, dear Senku. You never know what might hurt them.”

Senku deadpans, looks at you, then back at Gen. “They’re not the slightest bit affected by this thing you’re trying to pull. Give it up while you still have some dignity.”

“He’s doing laps,” Maggie murmured under her breath.

You bit back a smile.

Sure enough, Daryl wandered past again carrying exactly one arrow.

Then he stopped near you awkwardly.

Silence.

You looked up.

Daryl looked at your feet.

Then immediately said:

“Those boots look stupid.”

Maggie choked violently beside you.

Daryl froze.

Your eyebrows lifted slowly.

“…Thank you?”

“Shit,” Daryl muttered instantly.

His face twisted like he physically heard himself too late.

“I meant— they ain’t stupid.”

Maggie outright turned away laughing.

You stared at him trying very hard not to smile.

Daryl looked deeply distressed.

“They look fine,” he corrected aggressively.

“Wow,” you said solemnly. “You silver-tongued devil.”

Maggie nearly fell over.

Daryl glared at both of you.

Then, incredibly, doubled down.

“Just sayin’ the old ones looked better.”

You burst into laughter.

And Daryl—

Daryl’s brain immediately short-circuited because apparently making you laugh mattered more than preserving his dignity.

He stood there red-faced and grumpy while you laughed into your hands.

Then muttered quietly:

“…Worth it.”

Your heart did a weird little flip.

Unfortunately for Daryl, his romance attempts did not improve from there.

The problem was that Daryl genuinely did not know how to flirt.

At all.

The man approached romance like it was a hostage negotiation.

Awkward. Sweaty. Slightly threatening for no reason.

But he was trying.

Which honestly made it worse.

Because every attempt was so painfully sincere that you physically could not stop yourself from falling harder for him.

Like the flowers.

One afternoon he disappeared into the woods for hours.

Nobody thought much of it.

Daryl did that.

Then he came back looking vaguely annoyed carrying a fistful of crushed wildflowers.

He stopped in front of you.

Held them out.

Silence.

You blinked.

Daryl blinked back.

Then grunted:

“Found these.”

Your chest melted instantly.

“They’re beautiful.”

Daryl shrugged too quickly.

“Mostly weeds.”

“Daryl.”

“What?”

“You picked me flowers.”

His ears turned bright red immediately.

“Ain’t picked ‘em.”

You stared.

“…You are currently holding them.”

Daryl looked betrayed by reality itself.

Carol walked by at that exact moment, took one look at the flowers, and immediately started cackling.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl scowled at her.

“Shut up.”

“You picked her flowers.”

“Ain’t—”

“You absolutely did.”

You carefully took the flowers from his hands.

Daryl watched your face the entire time.

Like he needed to know whether you actually liked them.

Which you did.

Desperately.

You smiled softly.

“Thank you.”

Daryl’s entire expression changed instantly.

Tiny shift.

Small enough most people wouldn’t notice.

But you did.

Soft.

Warm.

Like your happiness physically relaxed something inside him.

Then he ruined it immediately by blurting:

“Almost fell in a creek gettin’ those.”

You laughed helplessly.

Daryl looked relieved.

His next attempt involved food poisoning.

Not intentionally.

Mostly.

The prison kitchen was chaos on a good day.

And Daryl had apparently decided that cooking for you would be romantic.

This was objectively insane behavior.

“Has he ever cooked before?” Glenn asked nervously while watching smoke pour from the kitchen.

Carol crossed her arms thoughtfully.

“Not successfully.”

You arrived halfway through the disaster.

Daryl stood over a pan looking furious at it.

“What’s happening?”

Daryl looked over sharply.

“Nothin’.”

The pan burst briefly into flames.

You blinked.

“…Is the food on fire?”

“No.”

“It is actively burning.”

Daryl grabbed a towel and smothered the flames aggressively.

Then muttered:

“Was makin’ ya dinner.”

Your heart betrayed you immediately.

Because despite the smoke and the near death experience, that was genuinely sweet.

“You were?”

Daryl shrugged without looking at you.

“Ain’t a big deal.”

The kitchen smelled vaguely toxic.

You smiled anyway.

“What were you trying to make?”

He looked offended.

“Tryin’? I was makin’ spaghetti.”

You stared at the blackened pan.

“…I think the spaghetti lost.”

Daryl glared at the stove like it personally betrayed him.

Then after a second:

“…Can still eat around the burnt parts.”

Carol physically had to leave the room because she was laughing too hard.

You stepped beside Daryl carefully.

Then quietly:

“I’d love to eat burnt spaghetti with you.”

Daryl looked at you.

Really looked at you.

And the sheer affection in his face hit you hard enough your breath caught.

“Yeah?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.”

You both ended up eating terrible slightly-charred spaghetti on the prison floor while Daryl muttered death threats toward the stove.

It was honestly one of the best dates you’d ever had.

Then came the compliments.

Or rather—

Daryl’s horrifying attempts at compliments.

“You look less tired today.”

“Yer hair’s doin’ that thing again.”

“…You got nice elbows.”

You stared at him.

“My elbows?”

Daryl looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Forgot the word for… the other parts.”

“The other…”

Then realization hit.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl covered his face with one hand.

You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

Which unfortunately meant Daryl accidentally became addicted to making you laugh.

Even at his own expense.

Especially at his own expense.

Because every time you laughed at one of his disastrous attempts at flirting, you looked at him like he personally invented sunshine.

And Daryl—

God.

Daryl would’ve humiliated himself a thousand times over for that look.

The worst attempt happened during a run.

You and Daryl had stopped at an abandoned gas station scavenging supplies.

You stood on a shelf trying to reach a box when your foot slipped suddenly.

Before you could even react, Daryl grabbed your waist hard and hauled you safely against him.

Your breath caught instantly.

So did his.

Because now you were pressed directly against his chest.

One of his arms locked around your waist. Your hands braced against his shoulders.

Very close.

Daryl stared at you.

You stared back.

The air changed immediately.

Heavy. Warm.

Then Daryl, apparently deciding this was the moment to be smooth, said:

“Good thing I got fast reflexes.”

Not terrible.

Actually decent.

Until he immediately followed it with:

“Coulda fell and busted yer ass.”

You burst out laughing directly into his chest.

Daryl groaned loudly.

“Why am I like this?”

Your laughter softened into something affectionate.

“Honestly?” you smiled up at him. “I think it’s kinda charming.”

Daryl blinked.

“You do?”

“You’re trying.”

His face went strangely serious then.

Because yeah.

He was trying.

Trying harder than he’d ever tried for anyone before.

You touched his chest lightly.

“I know this stuff doesn’t come easy to you.”

Daryl looked away briefly.

Then muttered:

“Wanna do it right.”

Your heart physically ached.

Because Daryl Dixon trying to romance someone looked messy and awkward and deeply confusing—

But it was honest.

Every terrible compliment. Every burnt dinner. Every crushed flower.

All of it meant something because it was him.

You smiled softly.

“C’mere.”

Daryl looked wary immediately.

“What’re ya doin’?”

Instead of answering, you grabbed the front of his vest and kissed him.

Daryl made a startled noise against your mouth.

Then immediately kissed you back hard enough to stumble you both against the shelves.

Something clattered loudly to the floor nearby.

Neither of you cared.

When you finally pulled back, Daryl looked genuinely dazed.

“…Oh.”

You laughed softly.

“Oh?”

“That was…” He swallowed hard. “Better than spaghetti.”

You snorted.

“High praise.”

Daryl’s hands stayed carefully on your waist.

Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

Then quietly:

“So uh… this mean my romancin’ worked?”

You grinned.

“Against all odds? Yeah. It did.”

Daryl looked deeply smug for approximately three seconds before walking directly into a shelf on the way out of the aisle.

You laughed so hard you had to sit down.

Daryl pointed at you accusingly.

The first thing Daryl noticed about you was how quiet you were.

Not weak quiet.

Not nervous chatter filling silence quiet.

Just…

Soft.

You moved through camp gently. Spoke carefully. Always seemed like you were trying not to take up too much space.

The prison was loud most days.

People arguing. Carl running around. Generators humming. Walkers snarling beyond the fences.

Then there was you.

Calm in the middle of all of it.

The first real conversation Daryl had with you lasted maybe thirty seconds.

Carol introduced you after a supply run.

“She helped drag your stubborn ass back here,” Carol informed him while Daryl sat on the edge of a cot getting stitches.

You immediately looked horrified at the attention.

“Oh— no, I didn’t really—”

“She absolutely did,” Glenn cut in. “You were bleeding everywhere.”

Daryl grunted.

You looked at him briefly before quickly looking away again.

“…Sorry.”

His brow furrowed instantly.

“For what?”

Your fingers twisted together awkwardly.

“I don’t know.”

That made absolutely no sense.

Daryl stared at you.

You stared determinedly at the floor.

Then after a long pause, Daryl muttered:

“…Thanks.”

Your face lit up like he’d handed you the moon.

“Okay.”

And for some reason—

That tiny smile hit Daryl directly in the chest.

Hard enough to hurt.

You were painfully shy.

Everybody noticed it eventually.

You spoke quietly during group discussions. Apologized constantly. Nearly jumped out of your skin anytime too many people looked at you at once.

The first time Rick asked your opinion during a meeting, you physically startled.

Daryl noticed that too.

Noticed everything, actually.

How you stood slightly behind people in groups. How your voice got softer around strangers. How you smiled with your whole face once you got comfortable enough.

Most people overlooked shy people.

Daryl didn’t.

Maybe because he understood what it felt like to live like your existence was an inconvenience.

He started paying attention without meaning to.

Started gravitating toward you.

At first, it was small things.

Saving you a seat at dinner by silently kicking a chair out beside him.

Waiting for you during runs when the others walked too fast.

Wordlessly handing you things he noticed you needed before you asked.

You thanked him every single time.

Every. Single. Time.

Like nobody had ever done nice things for you consistently before.

It did weird things to his chest.

The first time Daryl realized he was completely fucked was because you laughed at him.

Not mean.

God, never mean.

He’d been repairing part of the outer fence while you handed him tools.

At one point he dropped the wrench directly onto his own foot.

“Son of a bitch—”

You laughed.

Tiny. Bright. Completely unrestrained.

Daryl froze.

Because he’d spent months slowly learning your smiles.

The polite ones. The nervous ones. The shy little hidden ones.

But this?

This was different.

This was you forgetting to be self-conscious.

Your hand flew over your mouth immediately afterward.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”

Daryl blinked.

Then slowly:

“…Do it again.”

Your eyes widened.

“What?”

“That laugh.”

Heat crawled instantly across your cheeks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You looked horrified.

“Because you’ll stare at me like that again.”

Daryl frowned.

“Like what?”

“…Like you just got hit in the head.”

Well.

That was unfortunately accurate.

Daryl looked away first.

Ears pink.

You noticed.

And suddenly you smiled shyly to yourself for the rest of the day.

The problem was that Daryl had absolutely no idea how to flirt like a normal human being.

None.

Zero.

His version of romance looked deeply confusing from the outside.

Following you around silently. Fixing things before you realized they were broken. Giving you the last piece of jerky without mentioning it. Staring.

A lot of staring.

“You know she ain’t gonna evaporate if ya talk to her,” Michonne informed him one afternoon after catching him watching you from across the yard.

Daryl scowled instantly.

“Ain’t starin’.”

Michonne raised one eyebrow.

“You’ve been holding the same bolt for ten minutes.”

Daryl looked down.

Shit.

Meanwhile, you were not doing much better.

Because Daryl Dixon was terrifyingly attractive.

Not in a polished way.

In a rough dangerous devastating kind of way.

The kind that snuck up on you.

Strong hands. Quiet loyalty. Eyes that softened only around people he trusted.

And somehow—

Those eyes softened around you most.

Which made functioning difficult.

Very difficult.

You became incapable of making eye contact for longer than three seconds.

Daryl noticed that too.

He noticed everything.

One evening, you nearly walked directly into a fence because he smiled at you unexpectedly.

Carol laughed so hard she had to sit down.

“Oh, honey,” she wheezed. “You’ve got it bad.”

You covered your face immediately.

Daryl looked deeply confused.

“Got what bad?”

Carol just laughed harder.

Everybody knew before either of you did.

Or maybe before either of you admitted it.

Beth caught Daryl carrying your favorite snacks back from runs.

Glenn noticed you unconsciously searching for Daryl first anytime he returned from hunting.

Carol caught you wearing Daryl’s poncho one cold morning.

That one nearly killed him.

Because he stepped into the courtyard and saw you wrapped in his clothes looking warm and sleepy.

Then you smiled shyly at him.

Daryl forgot how words worked for approximately thirty seconds.

“You okay there?” Glenn asked, clearly enjoying himself.

Daryl grunted something unintelligible and walked directly into a railing.

The thing about shy people was that once they trusted someone—

Really trusted them—

They became different.

Softer. Warmer. Braver in tiny quiet ways.

Daryl learned that slowly.

You started sitting beside him more often. Started nudging his shoulder gently during conversations. Started looking for him automatically.

And Daryl—

God.

Daryl soaked up every tiny scrap of affection you offered him like a dying man.

Because nobody had ever treated him gently before.

Not consistently.

Not without wanting something.

But you touched him softly.

Looked at him softly.

Like he was something worth caring about.

It terrified him.

The first time you fell asleep against him happened accidentally.

Long day. Late watch shift. Everyone exhausted.

You sat beside Daryl on the prison tower while he kept lookout.

At some point your head slowly tipped sideways onto his shoulder.

Then stayed there.

Daryl went completely rigid.

You made a tiny sleepy sound and instinctively curled slightly closer.

And that—

That nearly fucking ended him.

Because you trusted him enough to sleep against him.

Daryl sat there for two straight hours barely breathing.

Terrified moving would wake you.

Terrified because he liked it too much.

When you finally woke up, your eyes widened in horror immediately.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl looked over quickly.

“What?”

“I fell asleep on you.”

“…Yeah.”

“And you didn’t move me?”

Daryl shrugged, suddenly unable to look directly at you.

“Didn’t mind.”

The softness in his voice stunned both of you.

You stared at him.

Daryl stared very aggressively at the horizon.

Then slowly—

Very slowly—

You smiled.

And rested your head back on his shoulder intentionally this time.

Daryl thought his heart might genuinely stop.

Unfortunately, neither of you knew how to actually confess feelings.

Which meant the entire prison suffered through months of unbearable tension.

“Please just kiss already,” Maggie begged one night.

Daryl nearly choked to death.

You turned so red Carol physically had to leave the room laughing.

“We ain’t—” “We’re not—”

You both stopped.

Then stared at each other.

Then looked away immediately.

Rick sighed heavily.

“Painful.”

The actual confession happened because of a thunderstorm.

The power had gone out. Rain hammered violently against the prison roof. Everybody crowded together in the cafeteria with lanterns and blankets.

You hated storms.

Daryl figured that out quickly from the way you flinched every time thunder cracked overhead.

Without a word, he sat beside you.

Close.

Your shoulders relaxed instantly.

Then another loud crack of thunder shook the room and you startled hard enough your hand grabbed his sleeve automatically.

Both of you froze.

Your eyes widened immediately.

“Sorry.”

Daryl looked down at your hand clutching his arm.

Small. Warm.

“…Don’t apologize.”

Your breath caught slightly.

Then, after a moment, his rough hand carefully covered yours.

Tentative.

Like he expected you to pull away.

You didn’t.

And suddenly Daryl realized something horrifying.

He never wanted you to.

Ever.

The realization hit him so hard he spoke before thinking.

“Think m’in love with ya.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Somewhere across the room, Glenn choked on his drink while Carol whispered, “Finally.”

But Daryl only looked at you.

Terrified now.

Because he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Your eyes were huge.

“Wh… what?”

Daryl looked deeply alarmed by himself.

“Forget I said—”

“No.”

Your voice came out tiny but firm.

Daryl stopped immediately.

You swallowed hard.

Then admitted softly:

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Daryl stared at you like the world had just tilted sideways.

“You do?”

You laughed nervously.

“Yes, you idiot.”

Something helplessly fond broke across Daryl’s face then.

Small. Crooked. Beautiful.

You’d never seen him smile like that before.

Then awkwardly—because of course awkwardly—he reached for your face like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft.

Careful.

A little clumsy.

Perfect.

Daryl kissed like he did everything else honestly.

Like he meant it with his whole chest.

When he pulled back, your foreheads rested together while rain thundered outside.

“You’re blushin’,” he murmured softly.

“You’re staring.”

“Can ya blame me?”

Your shy smile returned instantly.

And Daryl thought, not for the first time, that maybe heaven wasn’t a place after all.

“What?” you asked.

Carol took a slow sip of her tea.

“Nothin’.”

“You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re about to make my life difficult.”

Carol smiled.

“There it is.” You groaned immediately. “Oh God.”

“You know,” Carol began, “Daryl was looking for you earlier.”

Your heart betrayed you instantly, the tiny leap in your chest happened before you could stop it.

Unfortunately, Carol noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“Interesting.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Carol laughed before settling back into her chair. For a few moments she didn't say anything else, and you foolishly allowed yourself to believe the subject had been dropped.

Then Carol ruined everything.

“You’ve got a crush on him.”

You nearly choked on your tea.

“No, I don’t.”

Carol raised one eyebrow.

The gesture alone somehow conveyed years of disbelief.

“I don’t.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“Mhm.”

You pointed accusingly at her.

“That is not a response.”

“It’s the only response necessary.”

You groaned dramatically and dropped your head into your hands.

“Carol.”

“What?”

“I do not have a crush on Daryl.”

The older woman hummed.

“Right.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course.”

“Carol.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

She looked completely unconvinced.

You stared at her, she stared back.

The silence dragged on for several seconds.

“Oh, come on.”

Carol burst out laughing.

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately she was right. You sighed heavily before looking out across Alexandria’s streets, watching people move between houses while children played nearby.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then Carol said very casually:

“So why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Why don’t you have a crush on him?”

The question caught you off guard.

“I…”

You stopped.

Because honestly? You had no good answer.

Carol waited patiently, you rolled your eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“Answer the question.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then opened it again.

“You know what?”

Carol smiled, that was never a good sign.

“What?”

You pointed vaguely towards the street.

“Fine. Maybe I do.”

“I knew it.”

“Don’t celebrate yet.”

“Oh, I’m celebrating.”

“Carol.”

She waved for you to continue.

“Look around.”

“What am I looking at?”

“The world.”

Carol blinked.

“The world.”

“Yes.”

She looked confused.

You laughed despite yourself.

“It’s the apocalypse.”

Carol stared.

You stared back.

“It is,” she agreed eventually.

“And somehow, somehow in the middle of all this, Daryl Dixon exists.”

Carol immediately started smiling again.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You ignored her.

“No, seriously. Look at him.”

Carol snorted.

“I unfortunately do every day.”

“He’s ridiculous.”

“How?”

You threw your hands into the air.

“How isn’t he?”

“Oh, keep going.”

You absolutely should have stopped, but instead you found yourself talking.

Maybe because it was Carol. Maybe because keeping all these feelings inside had become exhausting. Or maybe because after so long, denying them felt pointless.

“He’s loyal.”

“True.”

“He’s protective.”

“Also true.”

“He’s brave.”

“Mhm.”

“He’s capable.”

“Very.”

“He’d literally throw himself in front of a walker for someone he cares about.”

“Yeah.”

“And have you seen him?”

That made her laugh again.

“Oh my God.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“You sound serious.”

“I am serious.”

You pointed emphatically.

“The man is beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Daryl Dixon?”

“Especially Daryl Dixon.”

She looked seconds away from falling out of her chair. You continued anyway.

“Look at him. He’s all broad shoulders and blue eyes and that stupid hair and…” You groaned dramatically. “It’s not fair.”

Carol was laughing so hard tears had started gathering in her eyes.

Meanwhile, hidden just around the corner of the house with an armful of firewood balanced against his chest, Daryl had completely stopped moving.

He had originally been looking for Carol. Now he was questioning every decision he had ever made.

His face felt hot.

Very hot.

Had you just called him beautiful?

Daryl genuinely considered turning around and walking directly into the woods. Instead, he stood there frozen while your voice continued to float across the porch.

“Honestly, before the apocalypse he’d have been perfect.”

Carol raised an eyebrow.

“Before?”

“After too.”

“Oh?”

“Absolutely.” The smile on your face softened. “He’s everything anyone could ever want.”

Something in Daryl’s chest nearly stopped working.

“He takes care of people. He protects everyone. He never asks for anything in return. He’s strong, he’s kind even when he pretends he isn’t, and honestly, if I wasn’t already completely doomed, watching him carry firewood would probably do it.”

Carol made a strangled noise, which made you laugh.

“I’m serious.”

Daryl abruptly turned around and left before he accidentally heard anything else and died on the spot.

The next morning was somehow worse.

Because now Daryl knew.

Every time he saw you smiling at him, he remembered.

Every time you spoke to him, he remembered.

Every single time you looked at him, he remembered you calling him beautiful.

It was torture.

Wonderful, confusing torture.

Which was probably why he agreed so quickly when Aaron suggested the two of you take the next supply run together.

Daryl wanted answers or maybe he just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.

Possibly both.

The drive passed surprisingly comfortably, filled with easy conversation and occasional teasing whenever you caught him staring.

By midday, the two of you were searching through a small hardware store several miles from Alexandria.

Everything remained quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

The crash came from somewhere deeper inside the building.

Then another.

You immediately grabbed your knife.

Daryl raised his crossbow.

A second later walkers emerged from the back storage area.

“Got company,” he muttered.

The first walker reached you seconds later.

Instinct took over.

You stepped aside smoothly before driving your knife through its skull and shoving the corpse away. Besides you, Daryl was already moving.

And unfortunately for your dignity, watching Daryl fight was genuinely one of your favourite things.

Not because violence itself interested you.

Because Daryl looked completely in his element.

Confident.

Capable.

Dangerous.

The kind of man who could survive anything.

One walker lunged.

Daryl sidestepped effortlessly before burying his knife in its skull.

Another followed.

Same result.

You found yourself staring.

Again.

And again.

And again.

By the time the last walker hit the floor, you had spent more time watching Daryl than helping.

Daryl wiped blood from his knife before glancing towards you.

Immediately catching you staring. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Your brain chose violence.

“No.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“You keep starin’.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You were killing walkers.”

“Yeah.”

You immediately regretted speaking. Because the next words escaped before you could stop them.

“God, that’s attractive.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Daryl froze.

You froze.

The entire universe froze.

“Oh no.”

Daryl blinked.

“Oh no?” he repeated.

You covered your face.

“Oh no.”

The smile threatening his mouth became impossible to hide.

“Did ya just…”

“No.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

You groaned into your hands.

“This is awful.”

Daryl looked dangerously amused now. Which somehow made everything worse.

“You think killin’ walkers is attractive?”

“I think you are attractive.”

The confession slipped out accidentally. You stared at him in horror.

Daryl stared back.

“Good.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His expression softened. Because suddenly he wasn’t teasing anymore.

“Dunno if ya noticed, but I’ve been kinda stuck on you for a while.”

“A while?”

“A long while.”

“You like me?”

“You called me beautiful.”

Your entire soul left your body.

“Oh my God.”

“Was my favourite part.”

You wanted to disappear, but instead Daryl stepped closer. Close enough that your heart immediately started hammering.

“You really think I’m perfect?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“I’m never recovering from this.”

Daryl gently pulled your hands away. The smile on his face was softer now.

“You ain’t gotta.”

You gave it all a thought, and decided to go with it. What else did you have to lose anyway?

“I meant every word.”

Daryl’s expression changed instantly. All teasing disappeared, leaving only something honest. Something that looked suspiciously like love.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

The smile that appeared on his face was small but real.

A second later ,he cupped your cheek gently before leaning down and kissing you.

The kiss felt warm, soft and long overdue, and by the time you finally pulled apart, neither of you could stop smiling.

“So,” you spoke first.

“So.”

“You overheard everything, didn’t you?”

Daryl immediately looked guilty.

“Daryl.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“…Maybe.”

“Oh my God.”

A laugh escaped him. An actual laugh. And honestly?

That alone was worth every second of embarrassment.

Even if Carol was absolutely going to hold this over your head for the rest of your life.

At least now you finally had the man you’d been hopelessly in love with all along.

~Masterlist~

Every morning he told himself he was being stupid. Every night he touched the small velvet box hidden inside his jacket and thought about you anyway.

It had happened during a supply run outside Alexandria. It was just like any other day. Just another abandoned house slowly being swallowed by time and nature. Broken windows, collapsed furniture, dust coating every surface.

Daryl had only entered because Aaron wanted canned food from the kitchen cupboards.

Instead, Daryl found the ring upstairs. A tiny velvet box hidden inside a bedside table drawer.

He almost ignored it completely, but then he opened it.

And there it was.

A simple ring with a small diamond that still caught the afternoon sunlight somehow despite years of dust and ruin. Daryl stared at it for a long moment. The old world felt strange sometimes. He found ghosts everywhere.

People who once loved each other enough to promise forever. Most days Daryl thought forever was a dangerous thing to believe in.

Then he thought about you.

About your sleepy smile every morning when he returned from runs. About the way you automatically reached for him. About sitting on the porch together after dark while you rested your head on his shoulder, fingers interwined. About how Alexandria finally felt like home because you were there. And suddenly the thought appeared so naturally it nearly stole the air from him.

Marry her.

Daryl immediately shut the box again.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself.

Yet somehow the ring still ended up in his pocket. The problem was that once the idea existed in his mind, it refused to leave him alone.

By the second day, Carol noticed something was going on with him. Mostly because Daryl kept absentmindedly checking his pocket every five minutes.

“You’re acting weird,” Carol Peletier observed casually while chopping vegetables.

“Ain’t.”

“You nearly walked into a wall earlier.”

Daryl grunted and Carol narrowed her eyes.

 “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re going to ask her to marry you.”

He looked genuinely horrified.

“Keep your damn voice down!”

Carol gasped dramatically. 

“You are!”

“Shut up.”

“You found a ring, didn’t you?”

Daryl stared at her silently, Carol placed a hand over her heart.

“This is the best day of my life.”

“It ain’t even like that.”

“You have carried around that expression for three days straight, Daryl. You look like a frightened raccoon.”

“A what?” He scowled deeply.

“You heard me.”

Carol spent the next several days being completely unbearable. Every time you walked into a room she smirked at Daryl like she knew a secret.

Which she did.

Daryl considered throwing himself off Alexandria’s walls at least twice.

Meanwhile you remained blissfully unaware, mostly because Daryl still acted normal around you.

Well.

Mostly normal.

You noticed the increased staring and the fact he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something before changing his mind. One evening while sitting together on the porch outside your house, you finally nudged his shoulder lightly.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothin’.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

“Said I’m fine.”

You studied him carefully, he looked nervous, which almost never happened unless something truly mattered to him. You reached over and took his hand gently.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Daryl’s chest tightened painfully, that was exactly the problem, because he loved you so much it genuinely frightened him sometimes.

That night he barely slept, and by morning he had decided two things.

First, he was absolutely going to ask you.

Second, he might actually die from the anxiety beforehand.

The opportunity arrived unexpectedly later that afternoon, most of Alexandria gathered near the centre of the street helping repair fencing after a recent storm.

You stood nearby sorting tools while laughing at something Glenn said.

And Daryl suddenly thought, If I don’t ask now, I never will.

His heart hammered violently.

“Hey,” he muttered.

You looked over immediately, smiling the second you saw him.

There it is, Daryl thought helplessly.

That damn smile.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.”

He absolutely was not. Daryl rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers before glancing around.

Too many people.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

“Can ya come with me a sec?”

You tilted your head curiously but followed him without question, Daryl led you behind one of the quieter houses near the edge of Alexandria where the noise from the others faded into the background.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried, you have never seen Daryl like this before. Daryl turned towards you. Then immediately forgot every single sentence he had prepared.

Brilliant.

“Daryl?”

He swallowed hard, his fingers fumbled nervously inside his jacket pocket before pulling out the small velvet box. Your eyes widened instantly.

“Oh.”

Daryl stared firmly at the ground, he was too afraid to look at you in the eyes.

“Found it on a run.”

You looked down at the ring before looking back at him, he was still staring at the ground.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

Daryl’s heart pounded so hard he genuinely thought he might throw up, finally he forced himself to continue but he still couldn’t look at you. 

“Been carryin’ it around.”

“Why?”

Daryl finally looked up at you then, his blue eyes were full of something so open and vulnerable it made your chest ache.

“Cause I kept thinkin’ about you.”

Daryl rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his neck.

“Ain’t got some big speech planned or nothin’,” he admitted roughly. “Don’t really know how ta do this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you whispered, he laughed a little under his breath.

“Nah. Prob’ly not.” Then his expression turned serious again. “But I know I wanna wake up next ta you every day I got left.”

Tears immediately filled your eyes Daryl stepped closer.

“Know the world’s all messed up now. Maybe rings don’t mean much anymore.”

“They do,” you whispered shakily as his thumb brushed nervously against the edge of the box.

“You make this place feel good.” His voice cracked slightly. “Make me feel good.”

Your heart completely melted.

“And I…” He exhaled shakily. “Hell.”

“Take your time.” You smiled, you could only imagine how difficult this was for him. He was never a man of many words. Daryl looked at you with so much love it nearly hurt.

“Will you be my wife?”

Silence.

Daryl’s entire body tensed immediately. Then you started crying, his eyes widened in panic.

“Oh God. Was that bad?”

“No!” You laughed through your tears instantly.

“You cryin’ seemed bad!”

You grabbed his jacket quickly before he could spiral further.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

Relief hit his face so hard it almost looked painful, you were sure a huge weight fell off his shoulders just then.

“Oh thank Christ.”

You burst into laughter while he shakily slid the ring onto your finger. It fit surprisingly well.

“There,” Daryl muttered softly, staring down at your hand like he could not believe it. “Mine.”

Your entire chest warmed.

“Your wife,” you corrected gently.

Daryl looked absolutely wrecked emotionally by those words.

Then he kissed you, with overwhelmingly tenderness.

One hand cradled your face while the other settled firmly against your waist like he needed to keep you close.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling helplessly. Unfortunately, neither of you realised Carol had followed him.

“Oh my God!”

You jumped, Daryl groaned. Carol stood nearby looking ready to explode with excitement.

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“You were spying on us?!” Daryl snapped.

“Yes,” Carol replied easily. “And I regret nothing, that was so cute.”

Then she spotted the ring on your hand and immediately screamed loud enough to alert half of Alexandria. Within seconds, people started appearing around the corner.

Glenn looked delighted, Maggie gasped happily, Rick blinked once before grinning.

“Holy shit,” Glenn laughed. “Daryl proposed?”

“Everybody shut up,” Daryl muttered, already turning red.

Too late.

The entire street erupted into celebration, yet through all the noise, Daryl only looked at you. Still staring at the ring on your finger like he could barely believe this was real.

“You happy?” you whispered, Daryl looked back up immediately, then he cupped your face gently.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Got everythin’ I ever wanted.”

And honestly? You felt exactly the same way.

~Masterlist~

You’d already cleaned your room twice, slept more than you wanted, and even found yourself cleaning the bathroom earlier this afternoon. 

But after that, there was nothing left but sleep or rest in bed if you wanted to be left alone—and you wanted to be alone.

But you couldn’t even stomach that—no, you would rather pull your arm hair out than rest in bed. 

You needed to stay busy. You needed something to do or you were going to lose your mind.

The only real obstacle if you wanted to be anywhere but the house would be getting past Judy.

She’d been babying you since Joel dropped you off, acting like you’d been on deaths door—cooking 3 square meals for you, making sure you had everything you needed—but she was suffocating you.

She was generous and kind, but you hated being the center of attention—you just didn’t have the heart to tell her.

So instead, you chose to avoid conflict and ignore your best interests and decided you needed to get back to work—you needed to get back to routine. 

Technically, you were supposed to be out of work one more night. Maria had been very clear about that. But you figured if you showed up with a polite smile and a chipper enough attitude—maybe she’d cave. She usually did when it came to you… eventually.

You packed your bag carefully and quietly, movements deliberate.

You rewrapped your ribs tighter than was comfortable, changed your dressings on your face and knuckles, and wiped the dried blood from the corner of your mouth.

You checked the time as you put your pistol into your belt’s holster and smiled at the perfect window that had been bestowed upon you.

7:35 PM

“Perfect,” you whispered before grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. 

Tonight was Judy’s night to host the community book club.

Which meant laughter, tea, and gossip filling the living room—plenty of distraction for a woman like her if you timed it just right.

You crept down the stairs, careful to step where you knew the wood didn’t groan.

You were halfway into slipping on your boot when the faintest creak betrayed you.

“Shit,” you whispered, freezing mid-motion—one leg up, boot half on, heart hammering as you stared down the hall toward the living room.

“Honey?” Judy called. “Is that you?”

You swallowed hard.

Your mind raced—stay still and hope she wouldn’t come out to investigate, or answer and scramble for a lie that might get you grounded like a teenager.

Both options felt equally doomed—so you chose silence.

Slowly, carefully, you pulled the half-on boot off and clenched it between your teeth, then grabbed your coat and rifle from the entryway hook, and slipped toward the door like you were breaking out of prison instead of your own damn house.

You eased the door shut behind you, holding the latch so it wouldn’t click—and just as you turned you almost walked straight into Ellie as she was coming up the steps.

“Jesus fucking—” you gasped, nearly choking on the boot.

Ellie chuckled and raised an eyebrow at you, “Someone sneaking out?” 

You rolled your eyes and smirked, “When you put it like that, you make me sound like I’m sixteen.” 

She put her hands in her pockets and shrugged, “The way you closed that door made you look that young.” 

You shot her a look and bent to shove your boot on properly. “Shut up.”

“Where are you going?” She asked, always so curious. 

You looked up at her and panted softly from balancing on one foot. “Who’s askin’?” 

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m not Joel. I won’t lecture you. Just makin’ conversation.”

You smirked, “Touche.”  

You started walking down the steps as you swung the coat around your shoulders—wincing slightly at the way it made you stretch your ribs, Ah, fuck.” 

Ellie followed, closing the gate behind you both,  “You sure you’re ok to go out?” 

You hissed and nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just sore.” You zipped up your coat and started putting your beanie and gloves on as you began walking down the street. “What’re you doin’ lurking outside my house?”

She kept the same pace as you, hands in her coat pockets as she walked. She shrugged. “Saw how bad the fight was the other day—heard about the hospital from Joel. Figured I’d check on you.”

You hummed and moved the rifle to sling over your body rather than your shoulder, “That’s… kind of you. I’m alright.” 

She nodded, “What’d the doc say?”

You grinned, “Nothin’ more than maybe a few broken ribs, split lip, and fucked up nose.” 

Ellie hummed. “Joel said you were gonna be sore.” 

You glanced over your shoulder instinctively to check if you were being followed, but this time, checking for Judy. “Sore’s an understatement,” you admitted. “But I’ve been through worse.”

“Right.” She said somewhat quietly. “Me too.” 

You bumped her shoulder lightly. “Oh yeah? What’s your worst battle scar, kiddo?” 

She pushed up her sleeve without hesitation, revealing the burn she’d gotten months ago—the one you’d heard about after Joel had come to patrol that next morning, looking like he’d aged ten years overnight.

You started to lead your horse out of the barn as you looked back at him. “You’re extra grumpy this morning—you doing ok?” You asked after he’d snapped at you more than three times in the first ten minutes—truly a new record.

Joel grumbled, his jaw tightening. “I’m fine.”

You glanced at him after saddling up on your horse, sensing what might be on his mind. “I heard uhm… I heard about Ellie’s accident yesterday—is she going to be ok?”

Joel mounted his horse and began steering it toward the gate. “She’ll be fine.”

You nodded. You knew not to press any further, but were completely surprised when he continued, unprovoked—

“I just don’t get how it happened. How no one was watchin’ her.”

He exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated. “She’s… She’s just a kid and somethin’ like that just goes to show that—”

Before he could finish, you came up beside him and nudged his knee with yours in an attempt to ease him. “Hey. Accidents happen. It’s no one’s fault. The important thing is she’s ok, right?”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he looked down at his reins, this was obviously bugging him, “I just hate seein’ her hurt like that.”

You nodded and shrugged as you looked out at the gates approaching. “I get it. It’s… normal to feel that way about the ones you care for.”

Joel turned and saw a shift in your expression, like you were reliving something for a moment—a memory. He didn’t know where you went or who it was—but the moment you realized you went somewhere, your jaw tightened, and you cleared your throat like it was too much emotion that had come to the surface.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He said softly, turning to look ahead as well.

Your lips curled into a grin and taunted. “I’m sorry—what was that, Miller? I’m what?”

Joel tried not to smile, but one curled on his lips for a moment before he clicked his tongue and rode away from you, “Oh, for Christ's sake, shut up.”

You hummed and looked down at it. “That’s your burn from the kitchen, right?” 

“Yep.”

“Bitch of a burn,” you said as she turned her wrist a bit more to show you. “But you wear it well.”

She grinned and pulled her sleeve down, “Been thinkin’ of getting a tattoo over it.” 

You chuckled, picturing Joel’s reaction. “That’d be bitchin’... but you gotta let it heal first.” 

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I know. I’m thinkin’ for my 17th or 18th birthday. Really lean into adulthood.” 

You chuckled more this time and shook your head, “Hell yeah.” 

You turned down the street to go toward the stables and glanced at her. “If you’re lookin’ for any words of advice? Wait til you’re 18—that way you won’t give Joel a heart attack... maybe.” 

She giggled and put her hands back in her pockets, “He would be pretty pissed, wouldn’t he?” 

You nodded and scoffed with a small smile linging your lips. “Absolutely livid.” 

She laughed. “I can already imagine his face.” 

You snorted and cleared your throat before doing a poor impression of his southern drawl, “Ellie, what the hell were you thinkin’?” 

She giggled and did the same poor impression, “Jesus Christ, Ellie… a tattoo? What’s next, smokin’ pot?” 

You chuckled and shook your head, then said after a moment of silence. “To be fair, he’s going to be livid no matter how old you are.” 

She nodded and shrugged, “I’m not afraid of him.” 

You grinned, “You should be.” 

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments before she glanced at you. “I am afraid of Judy, though—and she’s going to be livid with you.” 

You shrugged, mimicking her, “I’m not afraid of her.” 

She nudged your arm playfully, “Liar!” 

You chuckled as you began to approach the stables, “Ok, maybe a little.” 

She giggled and nodded toward the path ahead, realizing where you were now going, “Couldn’t stay away, could you?” 

You sighed, your breath coming out in a white puff from the cold, “I’m going fucking stir crazy in that house.” 

Maria was standing just outside the doors, writing on her clipboard, clearly unaware of your arrival with how relaxed she looked. 

Ellie hummed. “You think she’s going to let you go?” 

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back. “I’ve got a polite smile and some sweet talkin’ that can charm anyone.” 

She pursed her lips as she saw the look on Maria’s face as she looked up at you, “Good luck with that.” 

You swallowed and exhaled a breath before turning towards Ellie, “Hey, thanks for checking on me.”  

She smiled. “Be careful out there.” Then she headed back toward home, leaving you alone with your impending doom.

You slowed your steps as you approached Maria. “I know what you’re gonna say...”

“Good,” Maria snapped without looking up. “Then turn around and go back home.”

“Just… hear me out—” You started, holding up your hands defensively. 

“No,” she said flatly. “You’re not sweet-talkin’ me.”

You chuckled, undeterred. “Oh, come on, Maria. You know you don’t have anyone to go out tonight with, Wilkins.” 

“I’m pulling Rick.”

“Rick?” You scoffed. “Rheumatoid Rick? Are you trying to have my partner killed before I get back?” 

She didn’t look up. “He’s on his way.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m here first.” You smirked. 

She looked up at you, eyes squinted, “God, how old are you?” 

You grinned, “Younger than Rheumatoid Rick.” 

She sighed, “You’re a pain in my ass.” 

You tilted your head, knowing you got under her skin enough to win the argument, “You know I’m right though…” 

She studied you, then narrowed her eyes. “Do not lie to me.”

You straightened your posture and nodded, “Honest answers only.” 

“Are you medically clear to go?” She said every word clearly. 

You hesitated about to tease her a bit more, but then saw her expression and stopped as it made the hairs stand up on your neck, so you just nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She watched you for a long moment, then jerked her chin toward the stables. “Report back after.”

Your grin widened. “You’re a gem.”

She muttered, “Joel was right about one thing…”

You grinned and turned back to look at her. “I’m stubborn as hell?” 

“You don’t follow rules to save your ass!” 

You chuckled and opened the door, “Ask him about the doctor’s orders—he’s not so much of a rule follower either.”

Joel's POV

Joel was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of whiskey he hadn’t meant to pour, when the front door opened and shut with a soft thud.

He perked his head to the sound, then heard hurried footsteps climbing up the stairs.

“Ellie?” he called, already pushing his chair back.

She was halfway up the stairs when she stopped and leaned over the banister. “Yeah?”

Joel stepped out of the kitchen, the low light catching the tired lines in his face. “Where have you been? It’s pitch dark out.”

Ellie hesitated for just a fraction of a second—long enough for him to notice—then shrugged. “I went to run an errand quickly.”

She turned to keep climbing.

“An errand?” Joel followed her a step, irritation bleeding into his voice before he could stop it. “What—where were you?”

Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She sighed, long and dramatic, then muttered your name under her breath, somewhat hiding the fact that she saw you from him.

Joel stilled. “What?”

She said it again, louder this time, whining as she spun around to face him. “Ok? I went to check in on her! You happy?”

She stomped up another step, daring him to say something.

Joel blinked, caught off guard. “Whoa—wait. Why?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the questions spilled out too fast. “Did you hear somethin’ happened?”

Ellie narrowed her eyes immediately. “You’re bad at pretending not to worry.”

He hesitated, somewhat offended. “I’m… I’m not pretending,” he said gruffly.

“You are,” she shot back. “You do that thing where your voice gets all tight.”

Joel exhaled through his nose. “I just—” He paused, recalibrated. “I just wanted to know if she was alright.”

Ellie rolled her eyes and started up the stairs again. “She’s fine.”

“Fine?” he echoed, not liking how vague that sounded. “Fine, how?”

Ellie stopped again, turning just enough to look over her shoulder. “Fine like ‘still breathing, still stubborn, still bored outta her mind.’”

She continued up the stairs, her voice carrying down the hallway. “You keep tellin’ me I should be more active in the community, right? Be neighborly?”

Joel rubbed a hand over his mouth. “That’s different, but—yeah.”

He watched her reach the top of the stairs, something uneasy settling in his chest. “She’s okay, though?” he asked again, quieter this time. “Really?”

Ellie tutted, already walking toward her room. “She’s fine, Joel. Just bored as shit.”

Her bedroom door creaked open. “You’ll see her in the morning and can ask her yourself if you’re so damn curious.”

“In the morning?” Joel repeated, confusion sharpening his tone.

He climbed a few steps after her. “Ellie, what do you mean in the—”

Her bedroom door slammed shut—the sound echoed louder than it should have throughout the house.

Joel stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, jaw tight. He sighed and turned toward the small window at the top of the stairs, peering out into the dark street below where the lanterns flickered softly in the cold.

“In the morning,” he muttered to himself.

The words didn’t sit right, the longer they echoed in his mind. 

Sleep wasn’t kind to him that night either.

It hadn’t been in ages, but this time it felt cruel in a way that lingered even after his eyes snapped open. 

Joel had tossed and turned for hours, drifting in and out of half-sleep before he finally fell asleep, but not soon after, the nightmare finally took hold—vivid and merciless.

You were back on patrol. The trees were too quiet, the air felt wrong. He watched from somewhere just behind your eyes as shadows moved between the trunks. 

He knew what it was before they showed themselves—raiders. 

And too many of them. 

They swarmed you and Wilkins before either of you could react, rifles torn from your hands, voices barking orders you couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in your ears.

You fought like a wild animal after seeing them overtake Wilkins—of course, you did. You were always someone who would fight to ensure everyone else’s safety. He saw it—the way you always did. Teeth bared, fists flying, stubborn to the bitter end. But there were too many. They dragged you both to your knees, rough hands wrenching your arms back, knives flashing at your throats as they demanded answers.

How do we get in? 

Where are the weakest parts of the gates? 

Who’s on watch?

You didn’t answer—defiance in your smirk as you watched them.

But that was the worst part.

He saw them hurt you for it. Saw your face split, blood running down your chin, your breathing ragged but rebellious with each breath you dragged into your lungs. 

He tried to move—tried to get to you, but his body wouldn’t respond. He was trapped, forced to watch as one of them pressed a blade to your throat and held you up by your hair as your body slumped in exhaustion. He watched as you started to cry out, started to beg for them to stop, whimper for mercy. 

But then he saw you look his direction and cry for him—say his name and hold out your hand like you were trying to get to him, and just when he felt himself reach back out—

He shot upright in bed with a strangled gasp, your name tearing out of him before he could stop it.

His chest heaved violently, lungs burning as if he’d been running for miles. Sweat soaked his shirt and plastered his hair to his forehead. His hands trembled as they clawed at the sheets, eyes wild as they locked onto the dark wall across from him.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell where he was, but then the room came back into focus—the familiar shape of the dresser, the faint glow of moonlight through the window, the quiet creak of the house settling around him.

‘It wasn’t real. It was just a dream.’

He swallowed hard and dragged a shaking hand down his face. “Fuck…” he muttered hoarsely.

Joel flopped back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, heart still racing, mind refusing to slow as images from the nightmare clung to his mind, refusing to fade. 

Your face, the blood as it poured down your head, and then the worst part—the sound of your voice as you called for him.

He turned his head and cursed, “God damn it.” 

Then squinted at the clock on the nightstand.

04:44 AM

Almost morning—and about the time he’d normally get up for patrol.

He let out a low groan and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor harder than necessary. There was no going back to sleep now—not with his nerves buzzing like this. 

He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders back before he stood from bed and dressed quickly, movements rough and automatic, trying to shake off the lingering dread that had clung to his skin.

He left the house before 5 AM and by the time he reached the stables, the first thin line of sunlight was creeping over the mountains, painting the sky in pale gold. 

As he got closer, he realized that Reyes was already there—standing near the doors with Maria—both of them tense and on edge, radios pressed close to their mouths.

Joel’s stomach tightened instantly—he knew too well those looks meant nothing good.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked as he approached, already bracing himself.

Reyes didn’t look away from the radio. “Cache Creek’s night patrol hasn’t made it back yet.”

Joel felt like there was something more than just that, based on how they were reacting, which made that sinking feeling go deeper. 

Reyes raised the radio again. “Cache Creek, this is Jackson. Do you copy?”

Nothing but static crackled back in response.

Joel turned to Maria. She looked… rattled. She was bordering on pale, her jaw was tight, and her eyes were darting like she was trying to solve a problem that she didn’t have all the pieces for. 

“Who went out with Wilkins?” Joel asked quietly, trying to get an idea of who, besides Wilkins, they were dealing with.

Maria didn’t answer—she didn’t have to. Not with the falter in her expression—the brief flicker of guilt that crossed her face. It was enough to make Joel’s heart drop straight through his chest.

“You didn’t let her…” His voice came out low and disbelieving.

Maria exhaled sharply as she turned, walking into the barn while fiddling with the radio, trying to adjust the frequency. “She said she was fine, Joel—”

“She was just beat to a fuckin’ pulp in the middle of the street,” he snapped, following her inside on her heels. His anger flared hot and fast, cutting straight through the lingering fear. “What the fuck were you thinkin’?”

Maria stopped short and turned to face him. “Okay. I get it,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I made a poor judgment call. You happy?”

Joel scoffed and moved, going to grab a saddle from the wall, muscles coiling tight as he began strapping it onto his horse. “Poor?” He clenched his jaw, voice tight with anger and frustration. “Idiotic is a better word.”

Maria watched him move with growing concern. “Wait—what are you doing?”

He didn’t slow—didn’t even look at her as he moved to grab more gear. “I’m going to find them. Reyes and I.”

He grunted as he lifted the saddle into place, hands moving fast and efficiently as he pulled the buckle tight. “Their comms are either down or they’re hurt. Either way, they need backup.”

Reyes burst into the barn a second later, breath quick, radio held out so they could all hear.

“Cache Creek, this is Jackson,” he repeated. “Can you repeat? Over.”

For half a second, there was nothing but static, but then—

“This is Cache Creek,” your voice crackled through the radio, choppy and strained. “We are two miles out. We—” There was a pause and static before your voice came through again, “We’re gonna need medical on arrival. Over.”

Joel froze as relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled, but then he realized what you’d just said, and it was like he’d been woken up with ice-cold water.

Maria’s head snapped up, all panic instantly replaced by sharp focus. “You two head to the gate,” she ordered. “I’ll radio Tommy and have him meet you there with the medical team.”

Joel didn’t waste another second. He glanced at Reyes, who was already moving towards his side of the barn, both of them finishing up with their horses in quick, practiced motions.

As they began trotting toward the gate, Joel’s chest was still tight as he couldn’t help but think— was his nightmare somehow a sick glimpse of last night's events?

Reader’s POV

For the majority of your night, everything went exactly as expected: it was quiet and fucking freezing.

The cold crept in within a mile of leaving. It didn’t matter how many layers you wore—it quickly bit through the wool and canvas until it settled deep in your bones. 

But even that was better than being locked up in the house. Better than sitting by the fire pretending to listen while Judy talked about gossip she’d heard in her shop or what she would have heard in book club tonight—who traded what, who was sleeping with who, who’d said something they shouldn’t have. You loved her, truly, but you needed movement—needed purpose. 

You needed something to keep you busy—and that’s the release that patrol provided you. Out here, at least, your mind had something to focus on.

As the night went on, you were holding up better than you’d expected if you were being honest. Your headache had faded about an hour into patrol, the bitter air doing what painkillers hadn’t been able to all day. Your ribs, though—god. Every breath felt like drawing air through broken glass, sharp and unforgiving, expanding in your chest until spots began to dance at the edges of your vision in the last hour. 

You swallowed it down because you knew if Wilkins caught even a hint of how bad it hurt, he’d report it straight to Maria—and you’d be benched faster than you could argue your way out of it. So you squared your shoulders, kept your posture loose, and made sure your breathing looked steady even when it wasn’t.

You had just under a half hour left. The gate was only a few miles out when Wilkins suddenly clicked his tongue and pulled his horse off the trail.

You sighed and glanced over, already knowing exactly what this was.

“God damn,” you groaned. “What the hell are you drinkin’ to make you need to piss this much?”

He guided his horse into a small clearing and dismounted, chuckling as he swung down. “My wife’s got me on this tea her mama swore by. Said it’d ‘clean me out.’ Even said it’d help with makin’ us some babies.”

You shot him a look. “Clean you out? As in—”

He hummed, entirely too pleased with your reaction. “Oh yeah. That’s part of it, too. But mostly it just makes me piss like a racehorse.”

You shook your head and turned away. “God, you’re nasty.”

Behind you, you heard the unmistakable sounds of buckles loosening, denim shifting. You chewed the inside of your cheek, impatience creeping in—eager to get back, to get out of this damn cold air.

The longer you sat, the more you noticed the forest felt… wrong—too still.

After a long moment with no sound from your partner, you sighed. “Will you hurry? We’re supposed to be back soon.”

He laughed. “You that scared of the Millers?”

You snorted. “Fuck you.”

Then, softer, “And for the record, I’m not scared of them. Just Maria...”

That earned a louder laugh and then a satisfied sigh as he relieved himself against the bark of a nearby pine.

You couldn’t help but scan the treeline—keeping yourself busy, breath puffing out in pale clouds. 

At first, everything looked normal, nothing that caught your eye—but then your horse’s ears pinned back and its body shifted beneath you—muscles jerking, tight and restless. You glanced back to see Wilkins’ horse react the same way, hooves shuffling, breath snorting sharp into the cold air.

Your stomach dropped as that only meant one thing.

You reached out, resting a steadying hand against your horse’s flank. Instead of calming, the muscles jumped beneath your palm. It was fear—pure and instinctive.

Something was out there.

You lifted your gaze just in time to catch a shadow sliding between the trees ahead of you—enough to make every hair along the back of your neck stand on end.

You cleared your throat once and whistled—a sharp, coded sound that you two had put in place for situations like this. Wilkins’ stream cut off instantly, and his body froze mid-motion as he looked back at you to gauge what was going on.

You didn’t dare look back at him—your eyes stayed locked on the tree where the shadow had vanished as you slowly dismounted, hand already reaching for your pistol on your belt.

“Twelve o’clock, 30 feet,” you whispered. “Behind the large pine.”

Wilkins moved fast, fumbling only slightly as he buttoned his jeans and grabbed his rifle from the saddle. He brought it up to his shoulder and clicked the safety off, his breath shallow, mirroring your stance.

You advanced together, steps careful, boots barely whispering against fresh snow.

Your heart slammed harder with every step, and when you got close enough, you raised a fist in the air—Wilkins stopped immediately.

“We don’t wish to harm!” you called out, voice firm despite the tightness in your chest. “Please make yourself known if you don’t want to be shot.”

The forest answered with utter silence—the kind that made your blood run cold.

“Shit—”

Before you could react, the clicker came out of nowhere, nowhere near the pine you’d thought it to have been. It exploded from the shadows, fast and feral, slamming into you on all fours. The impact sent you flying backward, the air ripped clean from your lungs as you hit the ground hard.

You gasped, vision blurring as it skidded over your body and turned back toward you, screeching.

Your hands scrambled at your sides out of pure instinct, but couldn’t find your pistol.

‘My gun—where the fuck is my gun—’

A gunshot cracked through the air. The clicker’s head snapped back as Wilkins dropped it where it crouched.

But before you could even suck in a full breath, another one launched itself onto Wilkins’ back, its nails digging in as it shrieked as it held on.

You rolled onto your side, coughing, lungs burning. But the second you heard Wilkins scream, adrenaline drowned out everything else.

You scrambled to your feet, found your pistol a few feet from you, and grabbed it before standing and turning towards him.

You aimed—but he was moving too much. The bastard clung to him like a parasite.

“God damn it! Hold still!” you shouted, panic edging your voice.

He slammed backward into a tree, yelling in pain and fear. The clicker lost its grip just long enough for you to take the shot, so you fired.

The shot tore through its throat, and it dropped. You didn’t hesitate as you took another step forward—one more round to the head.

Silence, broken only by yours and Wilkin's frantic breathing—then the horses screamed.

You spun around just in time to see them rear as another infected tore between them. Wilkin's horse bolted in the opposite direction, running like a bat out of hell. 

“What the fuck are these things!?” You fired but missed by inches.

“Another one behind us!” Wilkins yelled before firing.

Your mind raced at what this was—these weren’t normal clickers. They were fast, they were more than coordinated, they were stalking you like prey—they were hunting.

‘They should be hibernating. There hadn’t been a sighting in six weeks.’

This was wrong. This was all wrong. What the fuck was going on, and how the hell were you two going to get out of this alive?

“Fuck!” You fired again but missed, your nerves making you second-guess. “It’s an ambush! We can’t handle this on our own!”

You squeezed off another shot, finally hitting the one running at you as it leapt.

“Radio!” you barked, back pressed to Wilkins’. “We need reinforcements!”

He reached behind him to his belt, where he’d usually kept it, but then went pale when it wasn’t there. “Shit.”

You knew immediately—it was on his fucking horse. “God damn it, you fuckin’ idiot!”

Another infected lunged from your left. You didn’t even aim—just fired. It dropped like a sack of shit.

Wilkins’ breathing turned frantic as he started to reload. “Fuck… fuckfuck… fuck.”

You scanned the area, then grabbed his hood and yanked him toward your horse. “Stay with me!”

You ran, ribs screaming, lungs burning—he followed, his fingers shakily putting bullets into the chamber.

Your horse reared as you grabbed the reins. “Shhh—please,” you begged, voice shaking as you fought to steady it.

You were seconds from calming it when three distinct croaks echoed from the trees behind you.

You froze and listened—you heard a branch snap from your left and snow crunch to your right—both too close for comfort. You had no time to escape. 

So survival took over.

“Fuck me. Fucking fuck me fuck,” you muttered, hands shaking as you holstered your pistol behind you and tied the reins to a low branch. You quickly grabbed your rifle from the saddlebag, checking the chamber.

Wilkins covered your back, rifle shaking as he held it up.

“Shoot anything that fucking moves,” you said, planting yourself beside him, rifle raised, your chests heaving heavily in unison. 

A moment passed, and you swallowed, narrowing your gaze through the scope. “Then the second we get a break—we get on that horse and bolt. Got it?”

“Got it,” he breathed.

You both stared into the trees, waiting—silence falling over the clearing again.

Whatever was out there… it was waiting too.

Wilkins swallowed and adjusted his grip before whispering, his voice shaking, “If something happens, tell my wife I love her.” 

You quickly glanced at him and let out a slow breath to steady yourself before whispering, “Don’t talk like that.” 

He glanced at you and nodded, fear in his eyes, his voice catching. “We get each other home, right?” 

You nodded once and looked back out to the clearing. “Right.” 

He looked back out, and his eyes frantically looked back and forth between the trees. 

Something moved too quickly from one tree to the other, and he fired before he knew what it was. 

“Shit.” 

It wasn’t until all three came out from behind bushes and trees and just… lingered, standing there like something sinister, that you both realized the situation you were in. 

You were surrounded from all sides but the back.

You quickly glanced behind you before you put your hand on his shoulder and said with a quiver in your voice, “We use what ground we have. We don’t let them get behind us.” 

He nodded frantically and gripped his rifle tighter. “What’s the plan? Take ‘em out one by one?” 

Your eyes looked at each one, gauging distance and probability of your survival before you nodded to your left. “We take that one out first. Clear a path back home if shit goes sideways—then each take a remaining one from the front and right.” 

He swallowed. “I’ll take the one from the front.”

You rolled your shoulder back and quickly glanced at the one from your right as it was slowly creeping through the trees, getting closer. “Got it.” 

He let out a slow, measured breath, forcing his shoulders to loosen as he adjusted his stance just enough to stay balanced on the uneven ground.

“Ready?” he asked, voice tight but steady.

You both moved in unison—rifles snapping to your left, aimed at the shape crouched low near the brush along the path. The creature clicked softly, an awful, wet sound that scraped down your spine, its body coiled like it was waiting to spring.

Your mouth suddenly went dry, so you swallowed hard, then let out a sharp, piercing whistle to force them out of hiding.

The response was immediate—the creature shrieked and lunged forward on all fours—as did the others.

“Now!” you shouted and aimed.

Gunfire erupted, deafening in the quiet woods. 

Snow kicked up where bullets missed by inches. You both readjusted instinctively before firing again—this time, one of you landing a solid hit that made the creature collapse.

“Shit—duck!” Wilkins yelled as he turned toward his target.

You dropped to your knees just as movement exploded from your right.

The infected vaulted clean over you and landed squarely on Wilkins’ chest—he fell onto his back with bone-jarring force. He started screaming as it clawed at him, his rifle wedged uselessly between them while he fought to keep its jaws away from his throat.

“Fuck—!” you shouted and pulled your rifle up to your shoulder as you stood.

You fired, the round tearing into its shoulder. It shrieked but didn’t let go.

“Hey! Fucker!” you yelled, yanking your pistol free from your holster and firing again to draw its attention to you. You took several quick steps back, heart slamming against your chest. “Over here! Come at me!”

It whipped around, face splitting into a scream as it locked onto you.

It began crawling towards you at a jarring speed—much faster than the others.

Your breath hitched as you backed up, boots crunching against snow until your spine hit rough bark.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” You shouted, firing two shots at it, one hitting its shoulder, the other grazing its arm. 

Another shot rang out behind you, and out of your peripheralvision, you saw the other infected drop in the clearing, dead before it hit the ground.

“Help!” you screamed, panic clawing up your throat as you raised your pistol and started firing wildly—not aiming so much as surviving.

A gunshot cracked from behind you, and the creature collapsed inches from your face.

Blood splattered across your cheek and lips, warm against the freezing air.

You stood there shaking, pressed to the tree, staring down at the lifeless body. Your lungs burned like fire, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might rip its way out of your chest. The ringing in your ears drowned everything else out.

For a second, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t think.

It took you a moment to snap out of it, only to hear a thump and then Wilkins call your name. 

You blinked and saw him sprawled in the middle of the path, breath coming in short, frantic bursts that fogged the air. You called out, your voice hoarse from yelling. “Wilkins?”  

When he didn’t answer, your stomach sank. “Shit.” 

You ran over and saw he’d been shot in the abdomen, the blood pouring from his side. “Fuck—” You whispered, voice almost gone. 

He let out a shaky chuckle, eyes glassy as he looked up at you. “How bad is it?” 

You scrambled back to your horse and ripped the first aid kit free, before sprinting back and sliding back beside him, knees soaked through as you shoved his coat aside—your hands came away slick with blood.

“Shit, I did this—” You put your hands on the wound to put pressure. 

“You didn’t mean to,” he breathed, lifting his head just enough to glance at your hands. “See? It’s not that b—bad.”

You shook your head, pressing harder. “James, I’m so sorry. Fuck. I’m so stupid.”

He reached up, trembling, and put his hands over yours. “Hey. None of that.” He managed a weak smile. “You did what you had to do.”

You looked down at him and then heard the radio in your pack crackle with Maria’s voice, “Cache Creek, this is Jackson. You guys close? Over.” 

You glanced over your shoulder and then back at the path that led back home. “We need to get you back home.” 

You shifted his hands to the wound. “Put pressure. Don’t let up.”

He tried, but his skin was already going pale, his shivers violent.

You tore into the kit, watching him closely. “James, stay with me. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, eyelids fluttering. “Just… feel…”

“Don’t.” You slapped his cheek lightly. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

He hummed faintly, eyes cracking open.

“Tell me about that tea,” you said quickly, voice bright despite the panic tearing through you. “What’s in it? How does Emery make it?”

You rolled him gently, biting back a groan as your ribs screamed. 

He grunted and groaned when you moved him. “She… she puts it on the stove,” he slurred.

You laid him back down softly, seeing that the wound had gone through.

“Yeah, no shit,” you said, forcing a chuckle. “What else? Honey? That syrup from Mrs. Roberts’ stall that I know you like?”

He coughed, a weak laugh slipping out. “Smartass.”

“Damn right.” You grinned as you began packing gauze into the wound from both sides. “Tell me more about the tea. I need you to keep talking to me.” 

You heard Maria’s voice again, “Cache Creek, this is Jackson. Do you copy?” 

Wilkins smirked faintly. “She’s going to be pissed.” 

You snorted. “Can already hear the lecture I’m bound to get.” 

“She’ll ring your ass,” he mumbled.

You began wrapping his torso as best you could. “You think she’s going to bench me?” 

He didn’t answer.

You looked up at him to see that his eyes were closed. “Shit.” 

You gently tapped on his face, voice laced with concern. “James? Hey, wake up. Eyes on me.” 

He didn’t respond again, so you checked his pulse—still there, but slowing.

“Fuck—” 

You quickly zipped his jacket up and then stood, grabbing him under his arms and began dragging his body towards the horse. “Come on. We’re goin’ home.”

You got him to the horse and then realized you had no fucking idea how you were going to get him up and on the saddle. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to do this?”

You panted and stood there, racking your brain, thinking of your options, your hand to your forehead. 

You looked at your saddlebag and saw nothing that offered you answers. Then, when you looked down at him, it was like a lightbulb went off. 

You remembered this maneuver Tommy demonstrated in one of the patrol meetings a few months back.

You looked down at his lifeless body and shrugged, having no other ideas, and muttered. “Fuck it.” 

You hauled his legs up to bend his knees and then positioned his feet between yours. 

You remembered you somehow needed to pull him forward and then pick him up over your shoulder from this next motion. 

The only issue was getting him on the damn horse. 

You had an idea—wasn’t sure if it was going to work—but either way, you had nothing else. 

You took a few deep breaths before you leaned forward to pull his arms up and towards you, before you threw them behind your shoulder for you to then toss him over your shoulder. 

Pain ripped through you, and tears burned your eyes—but you knew you couldn’t stop. 

“Fuck you’re heavy.” You muttered as you angled yourself to the side of the horse. 

You whispered as you panted heavily, “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do…” then slammed your fist down hard against his back near the wound—hoping it would shock him into consciousness and give him a small adrenaline rush that he could pull himself onto the horse. 

He screamed awake.

You grunted and shouted through gritted teeth. “Grab the saddle and get on the damn horse!”  

Somehow, he did, crying out in pain as he did so. 

You panted as you tried to help him as he eased off your shoulder and onto the saddle, whispering. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.” 

He collapsed forward as soon as he got on, and so did you. 

You panted heavily from where you lay, your lungs screaming with each breath you took. 

You closed your eyes and put your hand on your chest, “Breathe… just fuckin’ breathe…” 

Reyes voice came through the radio, “Cache Creek? This is Jackson. Do you copy?” 

You opened your eyes and swallowed, focus snapping back regardless of the pain and exhaustion. 

“Ok. We need to get up.” You said to yourself before you winced in pain as you leaned onto your side to get back up. “Fuck—I should’ve stayed home.” 

You found your way to your feet and then quickly gathered your guns before putting them in the back of your saddle and hoisting yourself up behind Wilkins. 

You reached behind you to the walkie and pushed the button to speak. “This is Cache Creek… 2 miles out. Medical on arrival. Over.” 

You panted and groaned in pain as you sat there—looking around as the sun started to come through the trees—the rays creating a scene of beauty after such horror had taken place.

Reyes' voice came through the radio again, “Cache Creek, this is Jackson,” he repeated. “Can you repeat? Over.”

You sighed and spoke again, trying to sound clearer, but still sounded like you’d just been run over by a train. “This is Cache Creek,” you paused and swallowed, your throat dry. “We are two miles out. We—” Another pause as you hissed in pain, the adrenaline starting to wear off, “We’re gonna need medical on arrival. Over.”

You didn’t wait for a reply before you put it back in your pack and pulled Wilkin’s body up and held him against you, wrapping an arm around his torso before clicking your tongue and kicking the horse's side to get it to start moving at a faster pace. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to need a word with your wife about this tea.” 

You grunted as the two of you lightly bounced with each trot from the horse, holding him close. “Almost got us killed.”

Joel’s POV

It took no more than ten minutes from the moment Joel heard your voice crackle back over the radio for the shout to ring out from the watchtower above the gate. 

“Patrol approaching! One horse—two riders!”

Joel’s heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to break free. He barely remembered swinging down from his horse, barely felt the frozen ground beneath his boots as he moved forward with Reyes, Tommy, and the small cluster of medical staff already gathering near the entrance of the gate.

Every second felt like it dragged on as they waited, but then the hinges groaned as the gate began to open.

The moment there was enough space to see through, every single one of them went still.

Wilkins’ head was slumped back against your shoulder, chin tilted skyward, skin ashen and waxy in the early morning light. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he could’ve been mistaken for dead.

You were hunched forward in the saddle, one arm wrapped around his torso to keep him upright, the other tight on the reins. Your face was smeared with blood—some dried dark, some still wet—and your hands looked worse, red to the wrists.

You were whispering to him, constantly. Like you were afraid that if you stopped, he’d slip away.

“Easy… I’ve got you… we’re almost there… stay with me,” Joel caught fragments of your voice the closer you got, as you guided the horse through the gate.

As soon as the gate slammed shut behind you, the world erupted into motion.

Tommy rushed forward, grabbing the horse’s bridle and bringing it to a stop. “Talk to me,” he said firmly, eyes flicking between you and Wilkins. “What’s going on? What happened?”

The medical team moved fast—three of them lifting Wilkins from the saddle with practiced efficiency, lowering him onto a gurney as one of them barked for supplies.

You slid from the horse on unsteady legs, swaying as you hit the ground.

“We—” Your voice shook, words tumbling out too fast. “We were ambushed. Infected. They were fast—too fast. They hunted us in a large group.” You swallowed hard, eyes glassy. “I—I shot him by accident. I didn’t mean to—” 

You were out of breath, your voice more and more hoarse the more you talked. “He… He has an abdominal wound, left side—clean through.” Your hands gestured helplessly towards him. “I–I packed it with gauze, but—he’s not breathin’ right, Tommy. He hasn’t been breathin’ right since the border.”

They started carrying Wilkins away, and panic surged through you. 

“I need to tell his wife,” you said desperately, stumbling after them. “I told him I’d tell his wife—”

Tommy stepped in front of you, hands firm on your arms, grounding. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” His voice softened. “He’s alive. You did good. You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

Your eyes flicked up to him—but they weren’t really seeing anything anymore, not with the night you’d just survived. 

You blinked a few times, then nodded in acknowledgement, his words somewhat seeping through—enough for the adrenaline to finally let go.

Your knees buckled, and you staggered back a step, then another, before collapsing hard to the ground with a strangled gasp, clutching your side as pain ripped through you. 

You couldn’t seem to get air into your lungs fast enough, and you began frantically gasping, sucking air in.

Joel didn’t even remember moving—one second he was standing there frozen, the next he was on his knees in front of you, hands framing your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey—hey,” he said urgently. “Look at me. Are you hurt?”

You shook your head weakly, voice hoarse. “Had to lift Wilkins… bad idea.”

His eyes scanned you anyway, sharp and searching. “Then what about all this blood? You’re not bleedin’?”

Your breath hitched as tears finally spilled over, your lip quivering. “It’s not mine.”

And then to everyone’s surprise—even your own—you folded forward into him, fingers curling into his coat as a sob tore out of your chest.

The sound of it cracked something raw open in him.

Joel wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you close, one hand firm at your back, the other cradling your head as he murmured into your hair. “Shh. I got you. I got you.”

You clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world—something about him felt comforting and safe after surviving such chaos. 

He looked up over your shoulder, voice sharp but controlled. “I need to take her to get checked out. Can one of you find me a replacement for patrol?”

Tommy nodded immediately, already lifting his radio to his lips. “On it.”

Reyes stepped closer, squeezing Joel’s shoulder briefly. “I’ll check in on her and Wilkins once I get back.” Then he turned and moved off, mounting his horse and taking Joel’s reins with him.

Joel shifted slightly, then pulled back just enough to shrug out of his coat and wrap it around you—you were trembling now that the shock had worn off.

He waited until your breathing slowed before asking quietly, “Can you stand?”

You wiped your tears and nodded, voice cracking. “I think so.”

He held his hands out, palms open. “To help you?”

You hesitated only a second before placing your hands in his. The warmth was immediate—steadying—and something unfamiliar fluttered low in your chest.

As he pulled you up, your gaze caught on his face, and your brow furrowed. “Joel… what happened to your lip?”

He huffed softly and deflected instantly. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.” He guided you gently to take a step with him. “Come on. Let’s get you to the clinic.”

You nodded, but the world tilted before you could take a step. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

You whispered, “I—I don’t feel so good—” Then, before you could catch yourself, your knees gave out.

Joel caught you effortlessly in his arms, scooping you up before you could even fall to the ground again. 

He grunted and readjusted his grip before looking down at you. “That’s alright.” He murmured, then his voice got softer as he held you closer. “I’ve got you.” 

Previous Chapter — Next Chapter

You lifted your hand halfway. “That’d be me.” 

As he turned toward you, you began to ramble, taking what little control you could back from the shit day you'd had so far. “I'm pretty sure my ribs are bruised, but then again, if they are broken, there isn’t really anything you can do. Although I’m pretty sure my nose is broken—just need you to reset it.”

The doctor stepped closer, nodding as he joked. “Glad you think you’re a doctor." He grinned and gave you a short, tight nod, "You got a name?”

Joel huffed a soft, involuntary sound that was almost a laugh at the doctors banter back, but quickly cleared his throat when you glared his way. 

You gave it as you glared, but then looked back at the doctor and straightened as he began to get closer.

The closer he got, your jaw set, bracing for fingers on your face. His touch was careful, but it still made you flinch and wince when he gently pressed along the bridge of your nose.

“Hurts?” he asked.

You scoffed and jabbed. “Well, I don’t know, you tell me. Does it look like it hurts, doc?”

“Smartass,” he murmured, but there was no heat in it. He tilted your chin to examine your split lip next. “You know I hear that words go a long way rather than swinging your fists.”

You swallowed a grin that would’ve hurt anyway. “Yeah, I tried the whole 'words' thing. He still swung first.”

The doctor hummed. “Let me make one guess. Gerry Tomms?”

You froze. “You know him?”

“Oh, everyone here knows Gerry,” he said, not looking thrilled about it. “Been in here at least three times in the last month for getting drunk and trying to pick fights with the wrong folks over stupid shit.” 

He hummed and gave you a small smile, “Looks like he finally met someone who hit back.” He brought your knuckles up to look at them, making sure they didn't need any stitches and pressing on each to test if any were broken. You winced or groaned with each press, the skin tender.

"No breaks or stitches needed there." He noted, setting your hand back into your lap.

From the chair, Joel shifted, shoulders tensing. You could feel him listening and watching, even without looking at him.

The doctor poked gently again along your nose, then let go. “Mm, surprisingly, it’s not broken. Swollen as hell and probably going to look worse tomorrow, but structurally you’re intact.”

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Lip probably needs a stitch or two,” he continued. “Or, if you don’t want a needle in your mouth, I can glue it. Less fun, but quicker.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Gosh, aren’t you the salesman of the year with a pitch like that, doc?”

He grinned at your banter. “What d’you want? Stitches or glue?”

You hesitated and caught yourself going to glance sideways towards Joel for his opinion.

'You do not need Joel Miller’s opinion on your face.'

“Glue,” you decided. “Just… get it done, y'know?”

“Good choice.” He turned to the tray, digging around. “So, you wanna tell me what happened other than you beat the guy?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Joel said quietly.

You looked at him, surprised. His elbows were on his knees, hands clasped, brow furrowed—not in disapproval, but something closer to concern then he looked at you and nodded, a silent way he'd used to tell you to stop talking or moving in moments of danger.

You understood clear as day and cleared your throat, "Doesn't matter. He deserved it."

The doctor glanced between you both, reading the tension just fine. “Right. Well, let’s fix you up,” he said lightly. 

He cleaned your lip and nose with something that stung like hell. You winced, fingers curling into the thin mattress so hard that they turned white.

“Sorry,” he said as he stuck Q-tips with saline up your nostrils, lightly swabbing them around. “Bite your tongue if you need to swear. The head nurse doesn’t like cussin’...”

You hissed through your teeth. “You scared of your own nurse?”

He chuckled and worked quickly before moving on and gluing your lip with practiced efficiency. When he was finished, he taped a small bandage across a small opening on your nose and another on your cheek that had a small split, but not enough for stitches. “There. You’ll hate how it feels, but it’ll heal clean. Minimal scar.”

You shrugged. “What's one more? Got worse elsewhere.” You gestured vaguely at your arms, your chest, places under your clothes no one needed to see.

He didn’t press before wheeling back a little and looking towards your abdomen. “You said your ribs were possibly broken?” he asked instead.

You hesitated, then nodded once.

“We can wrap them,” he offered. “I just need to take a look—”

“I’ll be fine,” you said, a touch too quickly, something in your eyes close to fear, but you looked down and muttered, "There's no need."

Joel caught it and wondered what you didn't want either of them to see. It made his stomach sink and a lump form in the back of his throat for you.

The doctor watched you a moment, then let it go. “Suit yourself. I will insist you come back in a day or two if you’re still wheezing.”

You looked up at him and nodded, saying nothing more. 

He stripped his gloves off and turned toward Joel. “And you. The nurse said you were here for something, too?”

Joel shifted uncomfortably, then tugged his collar aside again, revealing the healing wound near his shoulder that needed the stitches to come out.

The doctor hummed and put a pair of new gloves on. “When’d you get that?”

“A few days ago,” Joel muttered.

“Have you been keeping it clean and dry?” he asked as he sat back on the stool and wheeled over with the other tray of instruments.

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Even put on that medicine the nurse gave me to do after showering.” 

The doctor leaned in and saw evidence that he had been picking at the wound. “Seems you didn’t listen about not pickin’ at it…” 

You snorted softly and teased, “So you don’t follow all instructions?”

Joel shot a look at you, and you held up your hands in mock surrender. 

The doctor turned slightly and looked at you, grinning. “Oh, I like you.” He chuckled before he leaned in and examined Joel’s wound more. “Well, lucky for you, there's no obvious infection.”

“Been takin’ care of it,” Joel said, looking back at the doctor. “Best I could.”

The doctor nodded and cleaned it again anyway. Joel winced, teeth gritting, and you pretended not to care, staring at your hands in your lap instead. 

But your fingers still twitched like they wanted to reach, steady, help when you heard the pain in his voice.

“Bullet go all the way through?” the doctor asked, starting to remove the stitches.

“Yeah,” Joel said as he watched. “My idiot partner flinched.”

Joel glanced at you, “Didn’t have to worry about that with my last partner.”

You kept your gaze on your fingers, trying to ignore the way your heart raced and your cheeks flushed at that compliment. 

The doctor finished re-wrapping the wound, then rolled back, throwing the gloves he had in the trash. “Well, you’re both mostly in one piece. Try not to make a habit of this.” He looked at you both, but mostly you. 

“Hey now, this wasn’t my fault,” Joel said, adjusting his shirt back to cover himself up.

You looked up at him and nodded, eyes apologetic. “I’ll work on my impulse control.”

The doctor shook his head, half amused, half tired. “Right, well, I’ll send the nurse in with something for the pain.” Then he left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Silence settled again between the two of you. Thick and slightly uncomfortable. 

You stared at the gauze still in your hand, then at the little spots of red dried into the grooves of your knuckles. You flexed your fingers but hissed at the ache they gave. 

Joel cleared his throat.

You didn’t look up. “If you say, ‘shouldn’t have done that’—I can still swing with my good hand.”

He chuckled—a low sound that came from deep in his chest before he shook his head and leaned forward onto his knees. “I wasn’t gonna say that,” he said. “At least this time.”

You finally glanced at him. “Yeah? What were you gonna say, then?”

He exhaled slowly. “Just… checking in is all. You feelin' alright?”

You rolled your shoulders back before leaning back on your hands. “Define ‘alright.’”

“Well, you’re conscious, not bleedin’ out. Not plannin’ on punchin’ anybody else today, right?” he lightly teased.

You shrugged. “There’s still time for that last one.”

That earned you another ghost of a smile from him as he kept his gaze on you. One that you hated made your chest warm and feel all fluttery. 

You hated that you noticed that his eyes crinkled when he smiled like that, lines carved deep from years of not doing it enough.

“Judy’s probably worried sick,” he said after a beat. “She sounded pretty shaken.”

Guilt stabbed through your ribs sharper than any punch had that day. You dropped your gaze again. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll go home after this. Let her yell at me, you know?”

Joel watched you, his expression softening. “She ain’t gonna yell at you.”

“Yeah, you don’t know Judy like I do,” you muttered, huffing a small, humorless chuckle. “She’s terrifying.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, fingers worrying at the seam of his jeans. You could see him working up to something.

“You scared me,” he said finally.

You blinked, thrown. “What?”

“In the street,” he explained. “When I saw you on top of Gerry, when you weren’t stoppin’… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that.”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck, so you looked away, back to your hands in your lap, jaw tightening. “Yeah, well. People hit certain buttons, they get certain reactions.”

“You still didn’t deserve what he did to you,” Joel said.

You didn’t say anything to that—not when a part of you believed you deserved every bad thing that happened to you. 

Another beat of silence.

He leaned forward slightly. “You know they’ll deal with him, right? Gerry. Maria won’t let this whole thing slide.”

You snorted. “He’ll get latrine duty for a week and whine the whole time. Call it slave labor.”

“Maybe,” Joel said. “But he ain’t gonna lay a hand on you again.” There was something in his voice there—something edged and dangerous. Something you didn't dare call protective, but it was.

You felt it, even if you pretended not to.

You looked at the door and chuckled, “What, you gonna give him one of your famous lectures?” you asked lightly. “Tell him about the importance of followin’ the rules?”

His mouth twitched upwards, not being able to help it. “Don’t tempt me.”

You let a small smile slip, then immediately regretted it when your lip twinged. You hissed and pressed the gauze to it, more firmly.

Joel’s eyes followed the motion. “You need some ice on that—somethin’ cold to help take down the swelling.”

You looked at the gauze, “I’ll grab some snow on the way home.”

“That ain’t sanitary.” He grumbled and nodded toward the door, “I think they keep some here,” he said almost so simply. “I'll ask on the way out.”

You studied him for a moment. It was… strange, seeing him like this. Not barking orders, not tearing you down, not using your worst parts as ammunition.

He was still guarded, always still as gruff—but softer and considerate around the edges. He was being careful with you in a way that both unnerved you but settled something deep inside you that you'd been missing for years.

Before either of you could divert the conversation to a place that didn’t make you feel things you didn’t know what to name, the door clicked open again, and the nurse stepped in, holding a small vial and a paper cup. “Pain meds,” she said. “Nothing too strong, but it’ll take the edge off.”

You took them, knocked them back with the water she offered, and handed the cup back with a quiet thanks.

“Try to rest the rest of the day,” she said. “If you get dizzy, if the nose swells more, or you get a headache that won’t quit, you'll need to come back. You might have a mild concussion.”

“Sounds good,” you said, sliding off the bed slowly.

Joel stood as well, rolling his shoulder stiffly. The nurse gave him a pointed look. “And you—no lifting anything heavy with that arm or picking at it at least for a few days.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll try,” he muttered.

“Try harder,” she warned, then left, closing you into that too-small room together one more time.

You grabbed your coat and shrugged into it, biting back another wince at how it made your ribs ache. Joel watched for a moment, then moved to open the door for you.

He grabbed an ice pack on the way out, like he said he would, and held open the front door for you. 

You stepped out and put one hand into your pocket as you held the ice pack on your lip with the other, starting to walk down the street.

Joel quickly caught up with you, his hands deep in his pockets and breath fogging in the colder afternoon air. 

You kept your gaze forward before pointing out. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m goin’ that way so...”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” You glanced at him. 

He shrugged and looked at you for a moment, “Just think of it like it’s more for Judy’s peace of mind than anything.” 

You shook your head and scoffed, your lips curling just a bit, “That’s manipulative.” 

Joel suppressed a smile, but his voice said it all.

“Whatever you say.” 

The walk back was quiet after that. It wasn’t the brittle, angry kind of silence you’d lived in for a week whenever you’d thought about being around him—this was something different. Something heavier that pressed against your ribs and made your heart beat just a little bit faster.  

Joel kept half a step to the side of you, just enough to give you space, just close enough that you could feel him there. 

It had started to not feel miserable or uneasy to be near him. 

It started to feel like something else. 

And you hated that your body had started to ease and relax because of it. 

When your house finally came into view, Judy was already on the porch, arms crossed, foot tapping as she’d been waiting—worry flooded every line on her face.

“Good Lord above—finally,” she breathed. “I was about to march straight to the clinic myself.”

You both started to climb the steps, and you opened your mouth to reassure her, but she brushed right past you and went straight to Joel.

“Thank you,” she said, grabbing his forearm like he’d saved you from a burning building. “I appreciate you taking her and then walkin’ her home.”

Joel blinked, startled. “Oh—uh—it wasn’t any trouble. Plus, I was headed this way.”

“You’re a blessing, Joel Miller. Thank you again.” She said as she squeezed his hand. 

You rolled your eyes. “God, it’s not like I was dying, Judy. He walked with me to the clinic. He’s not frickin' Superman.”

“Hush, you,” Judy said without even looking at you.

Joel’s lips twitched.

Judy straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her apron. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come in? I’ve got stew on the stove. Plenty for all of us.”

Joel shook his head gently and quickly glanced at you, giving you a reassuring nod before he looked back down at her. “I appreciate the offer, but I should get back to Ellie. She’s probably waiting on me.”

Judy sighed, disappointed but not deterred. “Another night, then. You and that sweet girl come over for dinner. We’d like that. And I’d like to thank you properly—Lord knows this one,” she nodded towards you, “won’t let anyone fuss over her.”

Joel looked at you, just briefly. His eyes were careful but respectful in a way that made your stomach do a little annoying flip.

“I’d like that,” he said softly, glancing back at Judy. “But… another time.”

He didn't push. He didn't antagonize. He respected your boundaries.  

You pretended that didn’t do something warm and confusing to the center of your chest.

Judy smiled, satisfied, patting Joel’s arm. “Good man. I’ll hold you to it.”

She turned and reached out to squeeze your arm once before she headed inside, leaving the door open behind her in invitation to join her.

Joel shifted his weight, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, so he put them in his coat pockets. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. The winter air pressed in, cold enough to bite at your bruises, but Joel was a steady warmth across from you.

You hated how used to his presence your body still was. How odd it was that he felt secure—how you never worried about being unsafe on patrol wit him.

God as your witness, you couldn’t stand him as a partner, but you were lucky to have him.

He was right about very few things, but one was that you two made a great team—just horrible partners. 

Finally, you stuck out your hand—not looking directly at him, not trusting your face to hide whatever was flickering through your chest.

“Thanks,” you said, voice steady but small in a way you didn’t intend for it to sound. “For… y’know. Earlier.”

Joel stared at your hand for half a second like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

Then he took it.

He took it ever so gently and carefully—like your fingers were something fragile he wasn’t used to holding.

His hand dwarfed yours. It was warm and calloused, and the contact sent a strange current up your arm. You almost pulled away too fast, but his grip was barely there—soft enough that you couldn’t slip away. 

“Anytime,” he said quietly.

You withdrew your hand and tucked it into your pocket, looking down at your shoes for a moment before looking back up at him, taking a small step back toward the door.  

“Well,” you said, forcing a bit of edge back into your voice because you needed to feel like you had some sense of armor left, “I’ll see you around.”

He nodded once and stepped back onto the porch steps. “Yeah. See you.”

You reached for the doorknob, then hesitated just long enough to say, softer this time:

“Thanks again, Joel.”

Joel turned just as you pulled the door closed, catching only the small, tired, grateful smile you gave before disappearing behind it.

He stood there on your porch for a long moment, breath fogging in the cold, staring at the door you’d shut between you, and couldn’t help the small, hopeful smile that lined his lips before he turned and started heading home. 

As Joel made his way back home, his mind kept running through the last hour.

How there was a softness starting to seep through, how you could look at him without him feeling that you wanted to tear him to shreds. 

He couldn’t stop wondering what had done it, what made that wall you built so high up start to crumble? Could it have always been this way? This easy if he had just left you alone to be yourself? 

As he turned down his street, all he could see was the way you’d looked at him before you shut that door. It was like the anger was still there, sharp and protective, but underneath it… something warm was coming through.

Something he didn’t feel he deserved to be given from you yet.

And that damn handshake.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was nothing. A mere courtesy. 

But it sat in his palm like a brand.

He could still feel the warmth of your hand—the softness of your palm compared to his calloused one.

“Fuck—” He muttered as he flexed his hand to get rid of the flutter he felt before he pushed the front door open and made his way inside.

He stomped snow off his boots and shut the door behind him. The house was warm, smelling faintly like whatever Ellie was trying to cook in Joel’s absence. 

“Ellie?” he called out, shrugging his coat off and hanging it on the rack next to the door.

“In here!” she yelled back from the kitchen, voice muffled around what sounded like food.

He stepped in to find her perched on the counter like she owned the place, one leg swinging, chewing with exaggerated focus. A cutting board sat in front of her with half a tomato hacked to pieces.

Joel paused. “You… cookin’ kiddo?”

Ellie swallowed dramatically. “Define cooking.”

He stared at the mess—knife sitting on the counter, tomato juice on the counter, a skillet sitting cold on the stove. “Mm, looks like you got in a fight with that poor thing.”

“The fucker attacked first,” she said, deadpan.

Joel huffed a laugh that came out tired. 

He went to the sink to wash his hands to make her something more sustainable. But as soon as his hands hit the water, against his will, his mind snapped back to you when he first saw you: the blood on your face, shaking so hard you could barely breathe, eyes wild like you weren’t fully in the same world as everyone else.

Ellie watched him for a beat, then cleared her throat softly before speaking up, quieter than before. “You okay?”

Joel didn’t look at her as he shut off the water and dried his hands on a nearby kitchen towel. “Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.” She hopped off the counter and leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you lie with one word instead of several.” She waved a hand. “So. Try again.”

He exhaled slowly, setting the towel back where he’d found it. “I’m fine.”

Ellie tilted her head, examining him, “You don’t seem fine.” 

He ignored her and moved toward the cupboard, grabbing bread. Anything to keep his hands busy and Ellie from well—being Ellie and pressing his buttons. 

“You hungry or was that tomato fillin’ enough for you?” he asked, voice gruffer than necessary.

Ellie snorted. “I’m not a rabbit. I need more than just a tomato, Joel.”

“Mm,” he grunted, setting the bread down and reaching for a bread knife in the drawer.

Ellie hopped back onto the counter. “So how’d it go?”

Joel paused just long enough that it counted.

Ellie’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Oho… good then?”

He shot her a look. “Don’t.”

She leaned forward, chuckling lightly, delighted. “Well, you’re back in one piece, so that’s saying something after the way she’s been looking at you lately.”

“It’s not like that. I had to get stitches out—I just tagged along to ease Judy's concerns,” he said, almost sounding rehearsed as he sliced into the bread a little too aggressively.

Ellie’s eyes flicked to his face. Then her smirk spread, slow and wicked. “You two had a moment.”

Joel’s knife stopped mid-slice. “What?”

Ellie leaned back, a smug smirk on her face. “You heard me.”

Joel resumed slicing. “Nothin’ happened...”

Ellie went to say something more to poke at him, but then the front door opened before she could even start.

Tommy’s voice carried in as he shut the door. “Ya’ll home?”

Before either of them could answer, Tommy and Maria stepped into the kitchen, both still bundled in coats, cheeks pink from the cold. Maria’s expression was all business—jaw set, brows drawn together like she’d been arguing with someone long before she even walked through the door.

“Hey,” Tommy said the moment he saw the two of them, friendly as ever, then caught the tension in Joel’s posture. “You alright?”

Joel nodded once. “Fine.”

Maria didn’t waste time. She shook snow off her gloves and set them on the counter with a little too much force. “We’ve got a problem.”

Joel didn’t react. Just kept cutting the bread.

Maria’s eyes flicked to Ellie. “You mind giving us a minute, kiddo?”

Ellie pointed at Joel. “Can’t. He’s making me food. I’m supervising.”

Joel muttered, “You’re harassing.”

“Ok, fine, I'm providing emotional support,” Ellie corrected, grinning.

Maria sighed, clearly not in the mood. “Anyway—there’s a mess now at the Tipsy Bison because of today's brawl." She leaned against the counter, looking at Joel, "Seth’s in there right now tryin’ to clean it up, but half the tables are wrecked, dishes broken, blood on the floor—” She exhaled sharply. “And the council’s already asking if she is going to be fit for patrol in two days when she’s supposed to be back.”

Joel’s knife scraped the board a little too hard, knowing where she was going with this. He set it down slowly.

Maria continued, voice edging toward frustration. “I know she’s had a long week, and that was the point of me giving her a few days off. But if she’s not making your blood pressure skyrocket on patrol, she’s making a mess somewhere else. Messes that we can’t afford—”

“This wasn’t her,” Joel cut in, calm but firm.

Maria blinked. “Excuse me?”

Joel finally looked up to meet her gaze. His voice stayed even, but there was something else braced beneath it. “That mess ain’t on her. Gerry started it. He swung first.”

Maria’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I know what happened. And I’m not saying he’s innocent. I’m saying now we’ve got the whole town buzzing again, and if she can’t patrol because she’s hurt, that puts us in a bind—”

“Doctor didn’t say she was skipping patrol,” Joel said.

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know what the doctor said?”

Joel’s throat went dry.

Ellie’s head snapped up like she’d been waiting for that exact line, grin spreading instantly wider than it was. “Didn’t you know? Joel took her.” 

Joel’s eyes shot to Ellie. “Ellie—”

Tommy’s face split into a grin. “She let you into the appointment? Like you two sat in a small room together and didn’t tear each other apart?” He chuckled and took off his gloves and then coat, excited to hear all about this recent news update. 

Joel’s cheeks warmed—just slightly, but enough to piss him off. “She said it’d save space if we shared a room. The hospital was busy when we got there—there weren’t many rooms.”

Maria’s expression shifted from annoyance to surprise. “Wait a sec, you… took her?”

Joel stared at the counter. “Yeah. Judy asked me to, after Tommy and I helped break up the fight.”

Maria’s brows rose. “I guess I didn’t know you two made up...”

“We didn’t,” Joel said immediately, too fast.

Tommy leaned on the counter across from Joel, enjoying himself. “Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. I bet you even walked her home.”

Joel’s silence only meant one thing, and everyone knew it.

Maria turned her head sharply, now just as excited as Tommy was. “You walked her home?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Ellie looked like she might explode with glee. “Shit,” she giggled. “You guys kissed and made up, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t—” Joel started, then stopped, because nothing he said would come out right.

Tommy laughed. “Jesus, look at you! You’re all flustered.”

“Shut up,” Joel snapped, sharper than he meant.

The room went quiet for half a beat.

Ellie raised her eyebrows. Tommy’s grin faded just a little. Maria’s expression softened, like she was suddenly seeing something else entirely beneath Joel’s irritation.

She realized that when he pleaded with her in the stables, it was more than making things right. It was because he cared for you. He cared for you more than even himself realize. 

There was more underneath all of it than she knew it was at the time. 

Joel exhaled hard and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It ain’t like that,” he said, lower now. “Don’t start makin’ it somethin’ it’s not.”

Ellie crossed her arms. “Uh-huh.”

Tommy held up his hands. “Sorry, we’re just sayin’—”

Joel cut him off. “She got hurt. She was shaken up. Judy was worried. I took her to the clinic. She got fixed up. I walked her home. That’s it.”

Maria studied him carefully. “And you guys are still fighting?”

Joel’s gaze flicked away. “We’re… It’s just not that easy.”

Ellie’s voice softened just a hair, teasing but not cruel. “But she doesn’t... loathe you?”

Joel didn’t know the answer to that, not truthfully. 

Honestly? He could tell you still didn’t trust him. You still didn’t look at him in the way he’d wish you would. 

But did you loathe him? 

“She has every right to treat me the way she’s been treatin’ me,” he said, words rough around the edges. “I said somethin’ I shouldn’t’ve. I pushed where I didn’t have any business pushin’. And I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t deserve every cold look or hurtful thing she says because I hurt her first.”

Tommy’s face shifted—less amused now, more understanding.

Maria took a step toward him, her voice soft. “Joel…”

Joel shook his head and stepped back, putting a boundary up.

He sighed softly before forcing himself to say it clean. “I ain’t trying to get on her good side. I ain’t trying to—” He stopped, jaw flexing before he looked at the group. “I was just helpin’ someone who was hurt. That’s all.”

The group nodded, and there were a few moments of silence before Ellie hopped off the counter and spoke up, quieter now. “You sure you’re ok?”

Joel looked at her then—at the kid who’d seen him at his worst and still looked at him like he could be better.

“I’m sure,” he said.

But when he turned away to get the jam and peanut butter out of the pantry—when he reached for the jar, his hand remembered the feel of yours.

He muttered to himself, “Stop it,” before shaking out his hand and grabbing the jars before anyone else could notice.

He turned back to the counter and started making PB&J sandwiches for himself and Ellie. 

Maria sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Alright. Well then, that’s settled—Gerry’s the problem. I’ll need to handle him.”

Tommy nodded. “I can talk to him. Get him to help Seth fix up the place.”

Maria’s gaze stayed on Joel a moment longer. “Besides the doctor saying she was fine for work—is she going to be ok?”

Joel swallowed. He saw you again—bloodied, shaking, trying to pretend you weren’t. Then, to you offering him your hand like an olive branch, one he knew you didn’t owe him.

He cleared his throat, putting the pieces of bread together. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’ll be fine. She’ll get through this.”

Ellie smirked like she’d caught something in the way his silence spoke more than he did. Tommy noticed too.

Joel looked up and shoved the plated sandwich toward Ellie. “Eat.”

Ellie took it, still grinning. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

The Next Morning 

The early morning air was sharp enough to sting the moment you stepped out into it—the kind that burned your lungs on the first breath and kept you awake whether you wanted to be or not. 

Joel adjusted the strap of his rifle over his shoulder as he cut down his street toward the stables, boots crunching against frost-hardened dirt.

Joel had left for patrol a little earlier this morning, unable to sleep much last night. So he thought he’d leave a little early and have enough time get his head on straight before he'd need to be more focused.

Lately, though, this wasn’t unusual, the clouds he kept getting lost in—not anymore—but this time it wasn’t the usual ghosts of his past keeping his attention where it wasn’t supposed to.

This morning and all last night, as he tossed and turned in bed, at the memory of blood on your face. At the way you winced when he made you smile or chuckle at the clinic. The hurt that still lingered in your eyes every time you looked at him a certain way. The weight of your hand in his—the warmth that still remained there. 

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and kept walking, muttering to himself to think of anything else. 

But he didn’t need to tell himself to snap out of it, not when something just down the street did that for him—a stumble followed by a wet laugh and the unmistakable shattering of glass.

Joel slowed just a fraction to see Gerry being tossed out of the bar, a voice from the doors shouting at him, “Get the hell outta here, Gerry! Go home!” 

His face was a mess—one eye swollen nearly shut, cheekbone purpled and yellowing already, lip split wide enough that the stitch in it was barely doing any good holding it together. He reeked of cheap booze and poor decisions.

He pulled out his metal flask from his inner jacket pocket and took a swig before he spotted Joel immediately.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gerry slurred, lifting the dented flask in mock salute. “There’s the knight in fuckin’ shining armor.”

Joel didn’t stop walking, didn’t look at him. He knew it wouldn’t end well if he did, so he just kept walking.

Gerry laughed again, louder this time, the sound scraping against Joel’s last few nerves. “What, too good to talk to me now? Or you still babysittin’ that crazy bitch?”

Joel’s jaw tightened at that insult, but he kept moving. 

“You know,” Gerry continued, voice carrying in the quiet street, “I knew she was a bitch the second you threw her off your patrol. But I didn’t know she was fuckin’ unhinged.”

Joel stopped dead in his tracks and then, slowly—he turned to glare at Gerry.

Gerry’s grin widened, emboldened by the pause, by the flask in his hand, by the liquor coursing through his veins, by his own stupidity. “Oh? Did I hit a nerve?”

Joel crossed the distance between them in three strides.

Gerry barely had time to register what was happening before Joel’s hand fisted into the front of his jacket, hauling him forward so hard his boots scraped uselessly against the ground.

“What did you just call her?” Joel said, his voice was low and flat. It was a type of deadly calm that made Gerry’s grin falter and a lump form in the back of his throat.

“Hey—hey, man—” Gerry stammered, breath sour and panicked now. “I was just—”

Joel didn’t let him finish before he shoved him hard toward the alley beside the bar, slamming him into the brick wall with enough force to knock the wind clean out of his lungs. Gerry’s flask fell out of his hand and onto the ground, the liquor bleeding out into the dirt.

Joel leaned in, forearm pressing into Gerry’s chest, close enough that Gerry could see the darkness that was begging to be released in his eyes.

“You don’t get to say her name,” Joel growled. “You don’t get to talk about her. And you sure as hell don’t get to call her anything other than a fucking saint for not killing your fat fucking ass today.”

Gerry coughed, trying to shove Joel back. “Who do you think you are—” He swung, clumsy and wild.

Joel took the hit across his jaw. He instantly felt the sting, the split of skin—and then everything went deadly quiet when Gerry saw him put his fingers to his lip and see blood.

He knew he fucked up. 

“Fuck—” he mumbled moments before Joel drove his fist into his ribs—once, then another time. He felt his knuckles connect with the bone and felt something give before he hit a third time and heard a sickly crack. 

Gerry wheezed, folding forward, but Joel caught him by the collar again and shoved him back against the wall.

“Listen to me real close,” Joel said, breath coming harder now. “What happened in the hall yesterday? That’s on you. What happens next?”

He leaned in further, voice dropping even lower. “That’s all up to you, too.”

Gerry tried to laugh, but it came out broken and pathetic. “Christ, you’re defendin’ her now? What, you sweet on her or somethin’?”

Nope—that did it. Now he really fucked up. 

Joel’s fist connected with Gerry’s face—the movement was hard, controlled, but absolutely devastating as it hit him square in his nose before pulling back and hitting once more, right in the middle of his forehead, his head whipping back and smacking the wall behind him. 

Gerry crumpled, sliding down the wall until he hit the ground in a heap, groaning, holding his nose.

Joel stood there for a moment, chest heaving, knuckles throbbing, more blood starting to run warm from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and looked down at Gerry like he was nothing more than a pile of filth before crouching in front of him and grabbing a fistful of hair to make him look at him. 

“You ever come near her again, or I hear her name come out of our mouth in any way, shape, or form,” Joel said quietly, “you won’t be seein’ the light of the next day. Got it?”

Gerry groaned and moaned in pain, which Joel took as an acknowledgement. 

He let go of his hair before rising to stand, his knees cracking from the cold, before he stepped back, adjusted his coat, and flexed his fingers through the pain.

He grabbed his rifle that had fallen off his shoulder in the heat of the moment before he turned and left toward the stables, leaving Gerry in a pile of his own blood and booze.

By the time he reached the stables doors, his knuckles were already swelling, the skin beginning to split and become red. His lip throbbed with every heartbeat and gust of wind.

Reyes took one look at him and frowned from where he stood, dressing his horse the rest of the way up.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “What the hell happened to you?”

Joel didn’t slow. Didn’t look back as he went into his horse's stable across the way. 

“Slipped on some ice,” he said, barely loud enough for Reyes to hear as he put on his gloves to hide his hand.

Reyes knew better than to press when Joel was in a mood like this.

So instead, he reached into the front pocket of his bag on the back of his horse's pack before he cleared his throat softly—to clear the obvious tension starting to build. 

Joel glanced over his shoulder to see him walk across the way with a small piece of gauze from his first aid kit, holding it out for him to take. “For your lip.” 

Joel exhaled out a heavy sigh and reached out to take it, putting it to his lip to stop the bleeding. “Thanks.” 

Reyes nodded and leaned against the stable door, “Why don’t you stop that from bleeding, and I’ll dress your horse before the captain shows up for his briefing in a few minutes.” 

Joel went to hesitate—to protest, but before he could say anything, Reyes had the stable door open and gave him a grin as he walked past him to reach for his saddle blanket hanging over the stall's wall, “Sorry, that was more of a demand than an offer…” 

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle and move aside, keeping the gauze to his lip. "Understood."

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