Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

Home.

Or what used to be.

I stand at the edge of the property near the fence, staring at the farmhouse on the hill. My shoulders sagging, feet aching from the journey. Every part of me weighs heavy with the need to know what's inside, what's left for me.

The gate groans as I push it open. The same rusted whine, same dry hinges but today, it hits different.

The trees around the farmhouse still rustle in the breeze. The porch swing still sways the way it always has.

But everything else?

Everything else is gone.

I stand there for a long time… just gazing at memories. Willing myself to move.

Eventually, I slip through the grass. Slow and careful, like if I move too fast everything might scatter into the wind like leaves from the trees.

The house looks smaller than I remember almost like it's shrunk in my absence.

The shutters hang cracked and splintered, one barely clinging on. Paint peels in long curls. Grass has swallowed the sides of the steps now reaching as far up as the porch. A thick layer of dust and dirt has collected on the rails, proof of being abandoned. It even smells different.

No sheep.

No laundry on the line.

No Dina.

No JJ.

No life.

The emptiness punches straight through me. I'm already empty, this just pushes the point.

I look up and sigh deeply, letting my shoulders heave. The sky hangs low and dull with that washed out color of gray that can't decide whether to pour or save it for another day.

For so long now, everything's been gray.

Wincing at the thought, I shake my head and walk through the grass. Feeling the rough blades part for me as I approach my old home. I step onto the porch gingerly. The wood groans beneath my boots. Frayed things, barely holding together after a thousand miles.

I smirk a little at the irony. Just like me.

I stand awkwardly, like I'm an unsuspecting visitor. The porch is silent, even the breeze has stopped for a breath. Hovering at the door, my hand hesitates and trembles before it even touches the knob. Like it always does... You'd think I could stop it by now, train my body not to brace for what's on the other side.

But it always knows.

I take a deep breath and finally push it open, and the house lets out a thick breath of dust, stale and heavy, like it's been holding it in since the moment I left. It hits my face, burning my nostrils like poison. It smells stale and dry like an old closet or shed. 

My shoulders drop as I take my first look around the room. Golden light streaks in from the windows. My shadow casts long and dark across the entry.

Inside, it's eerily silent. That kind of silence that rings in your ears. It makes you feel like you're underwater. My stomach flips hard. Almost enough to drop me to my knees.

The dining room is mostly empty. The old couch, an empty cabinet sit vacant. No toys. No pictures on the mantle.

Just faded outlines on the floor where furniture used to sit.

Dust floats in the air like ash. The kind of air you don't want to breathe in.

It doesn't even smell the same, like time has soured the air. My nose wrinkles at the staleness. 

No trace of warmth.

No laughter echoing off the walls.

No smell of food being prepared in the kitchen.

Just… nothing.

I don't move.

Not at first.

I just stand there, staring at the space where life used to live.

A life I couldn't hold onto.

I finally take a step and it feels like my boots have turned into concrete blocks trying to pin me in place. I drag further, my soles clop across the wood as I pass through to the kitchen. A drying rack now holding cobwebs instead of plates sits beside the sink.

That's all that remains.

I turn back and move up and down the hallway as if I don't have bones. Like I'm some sad ghost haunting an abandoned house. Maybe that's all I am now. Each room feels emptier than the last. 

I brace myself on the railing at the stairs, my fingers trembling. My muscles are weaker than they used to be. I hoist myself up the flight until I reach the landing, I turn immediately to the left, muscle memory, old habits die hard I guess. 

The bedroom door is cracked open. I stand there waiting, feeling like I don't have permission to cross the threshold. I peer into the room the door opening slightly more as I shift.

Then I see it…

The bed is stripped clean. But the sheets and a blanket are folded at the edge. Neat. Deliberate.

Did she leave it here for me?

I don't want to believe it.

I don't deserve that kindness.

My eyes scan the room and there, hanging from the closet door, is one of Joel's button-ups.

The green one.

My chest twists slowly and sharp, like something heavy trying to shift inside me.

I move toward it without thinking. Trying not to dwell on how the room still smells faintly of us, of her.

My hand trembles reaching towards it like I have no control over my own body. My fingers stretch out to brush the linen. It's soft. That broken in kind of softness that only comes from being worn too often.

I close my eyes. Bringing it to my nose and breathing deeply.

I let it hit me.

Did she think of me when she left it here?

Was this her way of telling me she still cares?

I turn away before the thought can settle.

I can't afford to believe that.

Not after everything I've done.

I grab the shirt roughly of the door and turn on my heels to leave, keeping my back to the room I can't get out of there fast enough. It feels claustrophobic now as if the memories are pressing down, strong enough to choke me.

If I don't look at them, they can't hurt me.

I straighten up, keeping my back turned I close the door to our bedroom behind me. The click of the latch is louder than it should be.

Facing the door to the art room I walk across, slowing as I reach it. I grip the knob and twist. It sticks slightly. I give it a gentle nudge, and it creaks open.

Sunlight spills across the far wall like it never stopped waiting.

Oddly, it's the brightest room in the house. It’s feels like a cruel joke. I scan around, my mouth closed tightly. It smells sharp like pencil shavings and old paint.  

Everything is exactly how I left it.

Sketchbooks piled in the corners.

Paper strewn across the desk and floor.

A half-worn pencil still lying abandoned on the desk.

Still waiting for me as if I still belonged  

On the wall I see a drawing of JJ. It used to be in the living room.

He's mid-giggle, cheeks flushed pink, his green onesie crumpled around his chubby knees. It was his favorite. I traded a couple rabbits for it on a trip to Jackson. He was thrilled. Dina loved it too, said it fit him perfectly. He used to crawl around in it grabbing at my boot laces. I still hear the squeal he’d make when I’d tickle him and pick him up.

Goddamnit. I miss him.

Another sketch sits idly nearby of Dina. So beautiful. Captured smiling, I must've caught her in a rare moment when she wasn't worrying about me. 

"I'm so stupid…" I mutter. Echoing in my head from a conversation I had with Joel long ago. When he asked if Dina was my girlfriend.

God I wished.

All I could think about is how stupid I was for thinking at the time it was possible.. just to throw it all away when it became real.

I hover my fingers over the paper.

Not touching.

Like if I do, it'll vanish.

Like maybe it was never real.

Something catches my eye under a few notebooks on the floor.

A record sleeve, sitting on top of a box. I move the notebooks out of the way, letting them make the faint sound of falling to the floor. 

Crooked Still.

Her — our — favorite.

The sleeve is bent and peeling at the corners. It's been played a hundred times, maybe more.

I see her so clearly it makes my throat close up and my eyes sting. Dina dancing around in the rec room in Jackson that New Years Eve, laughing and twirling around.

 "She’s putting on quite the show." Jesse griped. He was jealous. I would be too if I was him. Poor guy.

When she pulled me into that slow dance, I was terrified. Her arms around my neck, my eyes watching everyone, watching us. 

That first kiss.

That first break in the armor.

Before everything changed.

I turn away sharply, swallowing down the lump rising in my throat. I can't stay in that memory too long. It hurts so much. It was real and I let it slip away. I shake my head and set the record back down.

My guitar case leans against the wall, tucked beside the window. 

I didn't put it here.

Maybe she couldn't bear to look at it either.

I kneel down, pinch the zipper between my fingers and tug it open with a sound too loud for the stillness. Dust spins into the sunlight like a tiny tornado. I try not to cough. I pull the lid open and gaze down at it. The sunlight shines on it just right, showing off the subtle iridescence of the pick guard. It has the warm wood smell from sitting for too long.

Slowly dragging my fingers across the familiar woodgrain, I lift the guitar carefully onto my knee.

My left hand finds the neck instinctively.

Muscle memory, stubborn and sharp.

I try to press my fingers into place.

Reminding me that two of them are almost gone.

Forever reminding me of the cost of revenge. Of all the things I couldn’t let go.

Still, I try.

A squealed note.

Then another.

Then silence.

"If I ever were to lose you…"

The words leave my mouth in a whisper, shaky and broken.

"I'd surely lose… myself."

The chords twist, falling apart.

Like me…

My hands fall away, betraying me. I shut my eyes so tight they burn. Then suddenly I'm not in the farmhouse anymore.

I'm back on our porch in Jackson, under that dim light flickering warm and low. The night before he died. The cold biting through my jacket as we spoke. 

Joel leaning against the rail beside me, voice husky but certain:

"If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment… I would do it all over again."

He looked at me like it was the truest thing he'd ever said. With love and conviction.

I stared out at the quiet, wintery street of Jackson. Watching the snow land softly. Contemplating what he said. My nose running from the cold, tears forming in my eyes, stinging as they collect. The strong smell of coffee filling the space between us. 

"I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that…" I'd told him. "But I'd like to try." I meant it. I was done being angry.

He nodded. I could see the tears gleaming in his eyes. My tears were already falling down my checks.

"I'd like that."

Voice thick with everything he didn't say. It wasn’t complete forgiveness, it was the start. The promise of a new life. That’s all we ever got.

God, it hurts to remember.

But I made myself feel it. I let it burn through me, raw and unforgiving like wildfire through a dry forest.

I owe him that much.

I owe myself that much.

I sigh, lowering the guitar gently back into its case, and zip it shut. My hand lingers on the hard case for a long moment. Saying goodbye to an old friend.

Standing slowly, I glance around the room one last time. After every thing, this is what remains. 

This house doesn't feel like mine anymore.

Maybe it never was. I get up, leaving the door open behind me.

Trodding down the quiet staircase, each step creaking under my weight. The front door swings wide open in the wind as I step off the final stair.

An invitation? Or maybe.. the house agrees I don't belong here anymore either.

Out on the front porch, I pull Joel's shirt tighter around me, let the warmth sink into my skin.

Deep breaths.

In. Out.

I'm trying to leave it here, all of it. The fear, the guilt, the wreckage.

I cross the porch, each step lighter than the last. Not easier, but lighter.

The wind catches the swing behind me, making it creak gently after me. As if it is saying goodbye.

The sky dims into late afternoon. That soft, yellow-gray light that makes everything look like it's fading. The ending of one day, waiting for a new one to begin.

Grass brushes against my legs, untamed and overgrown. I pass what used to be the sheep pen. Just fence posts now, leaning in tired directions. Looks like they'll give out any second. Won't be long before they do.

No bleats of lambs or soft hoof beats on the ground. No sounds but the wind and the crunch of my boots.

At the edge of the property, my old backpack waits for me, faded and tattered. I should get a new one but can't seem to let it go.

I heave to sling it over my shoulder; slouching under its weight.

I stand there for a minute, taking it all in, I make myself feel every moment.

This was the place we tried to make something out of.

A home.

A future.

I loved her here.

I lost her here too.

But that chapter's closed.

I don't know what comes next.

No map.

No plan.

But for the first time in a long time… I'm not running.

I turn my back on the farmhouse one last time.

On the memories.

On the ghost of the girl I used to be.

I set my shoulders straight.

Full of determination, I walk into the valley ahead.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Dina's POV)

⸻

The front gate creaks in the breeze. A low, rusted groan, like the past dragging its heels behind me. Wind nudges it open just a little before it sways closed again, metal brushing softly like it's trying to remind me it's still there.

Still waiting. Like me.

I sit on the porch steps of the small house Maria gave me, it sits in a row of other homes just past Jackson's main street.

It's nothing fancy. Nothing sentimental at all. Which is probably why I'm okay with it.

JJ naps quietly inside in his little room, he's still in his crib but not for long. I have talked to Rob about making him a big boy bed for his birthday. I smile at the thought, he's growing up so fast. The baby monitor buzzes gently in my lap, the static like a slow heartbeat. Quiet and steady, keeping me grounded. I bet he’s already kicked his blanket off, he never stays wrapped up very long.

My eyes aren't really on anything.

Just watching the rain drip from the roof’s edge.  Listening to the soft *plop* of water pooling in the corner of the porch. The smell of earth and plants fill my nose.

I sit here like this most afternoons. When JJ sleeps, chores are done and there’s nothing else left to do.

Just waiting.

For what, I don't know anymore.

I came back to Jackson about a month after Ellie left. I didn't say anything. I didn't send a message ahead.

Just showed up. Dragging all my trauma and ghosts with me. 

I didn't have the energy to care or to make excuses.

No one seemed surprised either. Maria didn't ask questions thankfully. I remember the way she looked at me when she arrived at the gate. Her face tight and sullen, her tired eyes sagging like she could never catch up on sleep.

She just pulled me in. Holding me in her embrace long and tight.

I could help it, I sobbed quietly into her shoulder.

I'm still thankful she shielded me from everyone. She understood. This wasn't the first time I had returned an absolute wreck.

Jesse's parents cried but more with joy, I think. They had begged us so many times to come back. They took JJ into their arms like a piece of their son had returned to them.

That made me smile. Even if it hurt.

Maria helped me get settled in. Helped me find a new routine, the kind that didn’t ask too much of me. I appreciated the quiet.

Quiet was all I could manage anymore.

I was upfront with Maria. No more patrols for me. I told her I was done with dark buildings and quiet hallways. Done with bloodstains. Done with the sound of bullets sliding into place. Done with the sound of footsteps charging towards me, infected or worse.

So I work in the greenhouses now. I'll even mend fences. Sometimes I cook, when I have the energy.

There are moments -silly, seemingly harmless ones- that something catches me off guard.

The clang of a dropped pan. The sharp edge of a knife in the light. A door opening too quickly. A room that’s too dark. Just like that, my body goes rigid. Panic blooms in my chest before I even understand why. 

When that happens, I close my eyes and breathe deep. Then I say something I love.

JJ.

Dancing.

A bright orange sunset.

Thanks to Gail, It really does help.

But nothing makes the ache in my heart go away.

Not even when JJ laughs. Not even when he says something new and I feel that flutter in my chest that only a mother understands. Not even when I hold him in the middle of the night, his breath warm on my collar bone and his tiny fingers curled in my shirt. The sweet smell of his skin, so familiar, so mine.

It's been eight months since she left.

For some of them, I waited.

I forgave.

I told myself she just needed time.

That she was broken.

That maybe, eventually, she'd change her mind, she'd come back to me.

To us.

That what we had would be enough.

I knew more than anyone how she shattered that day in the ski lodge. I understood her need for revenge. Until it consumed her.

I tried. I tried so fucking hard.

But that last morning… I begged her. I pleaded with her not to go.

"We have a family… she doesn't get to be more important than that…" My voice cracked like dry wood splitting in the cold. My fists were so tight, I left little crescent wounds in my palms.

I told her I wouldn't do this again. That if she walked away, if she left me and JJ and the life we were building... I wouldn't be here waiting. The worst part?

She didn't even flinch. She looked through me like I was already a memory.

"That's your choice," she said. Cold, calloused.

Then she made hers. She was already gone before the door closed behind her. Already miles away from me in her head. Someplace I couldn’t reach.

I didn't watch her leave. How could I?

I turned my back, just like she turned hers.

And ever since, I've lived with that moment lodged in me like a piece of shrapnel. It doesn't bleed. It just festers. A constant dull ache.

Some nights I wake up gasping for air. I still see Seattle in my dreams. Still hear the gunfire, the screams. That last second when Abby was cracking my face against broken shelves and everything after that spirals into red and black.

Seeing Jesse on the floor of that theater — God, Jesse — he didn't deserve it.

None of us did.

Some nights I end up on the floor next to JJ's crib. Holding myself in the fetal position. Whispering broken sobs of "I'm sorry" to the ghosts of those I've loved.

Whispering her name like it might bring her back.

Sometimes I get angry.

At her.

At Tommy.

At Abby.

At all of them.

At all of it.

How dare they make me feel like this?

How dare she walk away from what we built?

But more often… I blame myself.

I comb through every second, every breath I took that might've pushed her away. Like the truth might live in the cracks of my mind. If I just stare long enough; maybe once I find it I could fix it all.

But the harsh reality has set in — there's no clear line anymore.

No villain.

No hero.

Just pain.

Splintered into pieces. Latching onto all of us.

And deafening silence.

I haven't listened to music in a long time. I can't.
Every beat reminds me of her. Of Joel too.

The living room in the farmhouse, where songs used to drift through the air like hope. Where I could look at her and believe —for just a second— that maybe we'd be okay.

I was fucking naïve.

I lean back on the steps, letting the sunlight hit my face. But it doesn't warm me, not really. My back pops and creaks under the pressure.

Inside, JJ stirs causing my little monitor to go off. That's my cue.

I stand slowly, knees creaking, my shoulder still aches from that old arrow wound. My body feels older than it should these days. I step quietly back into the house, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Willing myself to be here.

To be present.

To keep going.

Even if the other part of me is still out somewhere in the world, broken and lost. I can only hope she found what she was looking for.

I glance one more time out the window to the sun setting on the horizon. The yellow light fading to dark gray.

But the part that stayed?

She's still here.

Still breathing.

Still fighting for what's left.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Tommy's POV)

⸻

Mornin's come slow these days.

I sit on the edge of the bed, one boot on, the other just… hangin' there in my hand. Takes me a while to get this bum leg to cooperate.

The bed creaks under me every time I shift, like the damn floor's tryin' to warn me not to stand up.

My right leg's a bastard. Stiff and heavy. Never moves right 'less I force it.

Hurts when it rains.

Hurts when it's cold.

Hell, hurts when I'm sittin' still.

My left eye's no good neither — just a milky blur these days. I chalk it up to a war wound.

I know all about those.

My room stays dim most of the time. Don't like bright light anymore. Makes me feel exposed.

Don't trust it.

There's a photo on my nightstand.

Been there a long while now.

Joel, young, cocky, grinnin', holdin' a beer with Sarah hangin' off his arm. She's got that big smile — the kind that made everything else fade away.

I miss that girl.

Still almost thirty years later. I wonder who she'd be now. What she’d of made of her life if the world hadn’t gone to hell. Wonder if she’d be a Doctor or a Vet like she said she’d be. If she’d be married with kids of her own.  

I look at that photo every mornin'. Like I need to remind myself what love used to look like. What I lost. What we all lost.

It's the only thing I ain't moved since Maria left.

Goddamn, she tried.

Stood by me longer than I deserved. Watched me lose myself — chasin' after revenge like it was a cure for the grief. Like it would’ve brought him back. Like it would fix anything- It didn’t.

All it did was rot me from the inside out and took everything with it.  

She couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't stand what I turned into. What I let grief make of me. How I let it ruin everything — for me, for Ellie, for her.

One mornin’ bout a year or so ago, after another long night on that goddamn radio- callin’ out to anyone who might’ve seen a big girl with a braid and a kid with scars across his cheeks- Maria was waitin’ for me at the kitchen table. 

She sat there cool as a cucumber. Quiet, hands folded like she’d be there awhile.

She didn't sigh.

Didn't raise her voice.

Just looked at me with this empty kind of grief — like she'd already buried me.

Then she said, real quiet, lookin' me in the eye — my good one:

"I can't do this anymore, Tommy."

I tried to stop her.

"Are you kiddin' me? After everything I been through? This is what you do?"

I yelled it, anger and pain ridin’ on every word. Like that was gonna make her stay. 

She just sat there, didn’t flinch. Tears wellin’ in her eyes but her face stayed stone. Then she stood up, walked over, kissed me gentle on the cheek.

And that was it.

No yellin'.

No slammed doors.

Just silence.

Now I just… exist.

I help out where I can. Fix broken gear, clean rifles, load what rounds these hands can still manage.

Jackson's got a good group — young ones, hopeful types. They smile and wave at me in the streets like I'm still somebody. Like I ain't just a broken old man with ghosts followin' him everywhere.

Every day, I walk out to Joel's grave.

Don't miss a day.

I talk to him.

Tell him dumb stories.

Apologize for things I never said out loud.

For things I shouldn't have said.

For things I shouldn’t have done.

Some days, I sit under that old elm tree near him and just sip coffee from a dented thermos.

Watch life go on. Watch the kids laugh, the gardens grow, the patrols come home.

I sit there. Still.

Dina walks by sometimes. JJ draggin' her by the hand to every cool rock or critter he sees. She might nod.

Most times, she don't.

I don't blame her.

Hell, if I were her, I wouldn't forgive me neither.

Still miss JJ. When I catch his eye, I used to smile and wave. But then Dina'd turn the other way so fast I thought she'd fall down. So I stopped.

I could watch him a bit longer if I didn't.

He looks so much like Jesse.
I miss that boy too.

I think about that day at the farmhouse more than I care to admit. The last time I saw Ellie.

Me, sittin' at her table.

Busted up.

Bitter.

Eye gone.

Leg barely workin'.

Still spittin' venom like I had any right.

"Well, I can't go" I told her. Bitter, like that justified what I was askin' from her.

"Must be easy to forget about her while you're cozy up here." I huffed.

She didn't even look at me when I spat it out.

"HEY! That's enough!" Dina'd had it by then. Her voice like gasoline waitin' on a spark. Eyes blazin'.

"I'll make her pay." That's what you said when we got back to Jackson. It slipped out before I could stop it. Truth is, I didn't want to stop it back then.

Ellie's voice cracked when she answered:

"I'm sorry…" Barely a whisper.

Dina followed me out. Rippin' into me, rightfully so. At the time, I thought she was actin' entitled. Thought I was the one hurt most.

Now?

I'd give damn near anything to take it all back.

When I heard Ellie went after Abby — followed the lead I gave her — I nearly collapsed.

That's when it got real.

That's when I knew.

I probably sent her to her grave.

My brother loved her. Died for her. And I killed her.

I pray maybe she made it somewhere safe. I hope to God she ain’t alone.

When I saw Dina come back to Jackson — hollow-eyed, carryin' JJ with that empty look…

I knew.

We ain't said a word since that day. Don't know if we ever will. I ain't man enough to face her anymore.

So I keep myself busy. Build ammo in the evenings. Oil rifles in the mornin’s. Keeps the tremble in my fingers at bay. Keeps the nightmares from crawlin' in too early.

The dreams are the worst part.

Joel on the ground.

Sarah screamin'.

My voice yellin' and never loud enough.

A bullet echo in my skull.

When I wake up, I light a candle by the window and just… sit. Sometimes I whisper. Can't bring myself to say it out loud anymore. Just move my lips.

I'm sorry, Joel.

I miss you. Every goddamn day.

I miss your coffee that was too strong.

I miss you savin’ my ass every time I needed it.

I wonder what he’d say if he could see me now. I think about that a lot.

The wind picks up outside. Smells like spring's comin'. New things growin'. People startin' over.

But I don't move. Not yet.

I'm still here.

Still breathin'.

But that ain’t the same as livin'.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Maria's POV)

⸻

Most mornings, I'm up before the sun. Old habits die hard, I guess. Even after everything, I can't sleep in — not with so much left to do. Not with so much I'm trying not to think about.

I start the coffee first. Bitter, no cream or sugar. Never liked it sweet.

The silence in the kitchen used to feel peaceful.

Now it just echoes.

It's been a year since I left Tommy.

I don't regret the decision. I regret the moment it became necessary.

The moment I looked in his eyes and saw someone I couldn't reach anymore.

The man I married — who held my hand under the stars and talked about rebuilding the world — buried under rage and guilt I couldn't dig through.

Hunting ghosts and searching for things he'd never find.

I didn't want to leave. I tried. I don't like quitting things. It's not my nature.

But you can't love someone enough to bring them back if they don't want to come back themselves. In a way, I knew I’d lost him the day he came back. 

Still… I miss him.

In little ways.

The way he used to make terrible jokes while drawing up blueprints. The way his hand would rest heavy on my back when I couldn't breathe after a hard day. The way he'd keep watch over every room, quiet but alert.

A shepherd watching over his flock. Now I keep watch alone.

No one sees how exhausted I am, and that’s the point.

My days are filled with lists — supply logs, shifts, training rotations. I teach kids how to hold a rifle steady and pray they never have to use it. I check the food stores. I answer complaints. I bury my hands in the work so I don't have to feel the vacant space beside me every night.

This has been my normal since they came back from that fucking suicide mission in Seattle.

Not a day goes by I don't curse myself for not forcing those girls to stay.

How did I let that happen?

They would've kicked and screamed, but so what?

It wouldn't have mattered.

I should've sent a crew to drag Tommy home.

Should've locked Ellie and Dina up if I had to.

Ultimately, I didn’t.

I let my own hurt allow them to leave. I'll never forgive myself for that. Not after everything we endured.

I thought surviving would be the hardest part. Turns out, it’s what comes after that rips you apart.

Then one day, Dina came back.

It was an overcast summer morning. I was going over lumber allocations when someone knocked. One of the gate guards — young and nervous looking.

"She's back," he said, eyes shifting away from mine. "With the kid."

I didn't need him to say who.

By the time I made it down to Main Street, people had gathered. Jesse's parents were crying, JJ clinging to his grandmother's scarf like it was a lifeline. He was a little bigger, dark hair longer and eyes that I’ve known for years- Jesse’s.

Dina… Dina looked like a ghost of herself. Pale. Thinner. Eyes rimmed red, but too tired to cry anymore. I didn't say anything. Just walked up and pulled her into my arms. She didn't need to explain. I already knew.

She held on so tight it hurt.

Later, I helped her settle into housing. Made sure JJ had clothes, food, everything he needed. That night, she sat across from me in her kitchen, staring at nothing while the baby monitor buzzed faintly on the counter.

"She loved you," I whispered, reaching for her hand. "I know she still does." 

Dina didn't respond. Her fingers clutched the mug of Tea I brought. Her knuckles turning white. Just kept staring out the window, like she was waiting to see someone that she knew wasn’t coming.

I didn't press. I knew what it felt like — to love someone who couldn't stay. Who was no longer themself.

Since then, my life's gone back to quiet. The kind of quiet that hums behind your ribs and never quite leaves you alone.

I work.

I lead.

I smile when I have to.

But sometimes — late at night — I turn toward the other pillow and let my mind wander.

I wonder if he thinks of me.

I wonder if Ellie's still alive out there.

I wonder what it would take to bring any of us back.

⸻

My eyes are getting tired from scanning these damn to-do lists. Compost needs tended to, Gotta work on the south fence tomorr—

*knock, knock*

Two quick, sharp raps on my office door interrupt my mental reminders.

I look up, expecting a supply issue. Or a squabble over rations.

"Come in," I call, trying not to sound too annoyed.

George peeks his head into the room.

He looks concerned.

"There's someone at the gate," he says warily. "They asked for you. Caleb is holding them there."

I stare at him blankly, waiting.

"…Who?" This stuff rarely concerns me. What's going on.

"They didn't say," he shrugs. "Just said it was important and that you'd want to know."

I sigh. Already tired.

"Alright. Let's go." I grab my coat quickly. Shuffling out of my office. Main street quieting down for the night.

The wind's picked up — cold from the air…and from anticipating whoever is waiting out there.

I don't know who it is.

But I have a feeling, everything is about to change.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

The walls look taller than I remember.

After about four hours of walking, I finally make it.

Walking through the valley trail brings up too many memories. I can’t ignore them even if I try. 

Dina, JJ, and I used to ride this path to visit Jackson. Dina hugging me tightly from behind, her head resting on my shoulder — sometimes she'd gently kiss just under my ear.

The thought makes me shudder. I miss her so much it hurts in my bones.

My little spud would sit in front of me. Pointing at wildlife or the bugs we stirred up.

"Look buddy, a bunny!" I'd say, and he'd clap happily, eyes wide, staring in awe. Dina giggling behind me… for those moments we'd almost be normal.

But every day, my mind wandered back to Seattle. To the bodies we left behind. To the graves buried in those nightmares. 

I was never okay. But I tried to pretend.

For her.

For him.

For me, maybe.

It's not like I didn't want to be better. I just couldn't let go. Like a book stopped right at the cliffhanger — never knowing what should've or could've been. No closure or resolution.

It fucking consumed me.

Like a black hole in the stratosphere, swallowing every thing.

I wish it were different. I wish I were different.

——

Jackson's gate rises like a scar against the skyline — wood and metal lashed together, patched in places that weren't patched the last time I was here.

A few new towers. Some heavier braces. Like they've been waiting for something dangerous to come.

Maybe it has.

I continue to approach, cautiously. My fingers clench tight around my backpack straps. Joel's shirt heavy on my shoulders.

What if someone remembers me?

What do I say?

I don't know if this place still has room for me. Or even if it wants me.

But I have to find out.

Wind kicks up a swirl of dirt across the trail. In the distance, I see a figure leaning over a scope. Another moving inside a tower, reaching for a radio.

I know this drill. I used to do it.

I hope they're less skeptical than I was.

The main gate cracks just enough to let a man slip through — tall, late twenties maybe, rifle slung loose but ready. His steps measured. Not afraid, but cautious.

I don't know him. Must be new.

He raises a hand, palm flat.

"That's close enough. Stop right there." His voice is firm but not cruel.

I stop abruptly. My boots crunching the rocks.

"You alone?" he asks, eyes squinting at me. Tone accusatory.

I nod once, not taking my eyes off him.

He stands there, studying me like he's trying to place a memory he can't quite grab.

Maybe we do know each other?

"Are you from another settlement?" he questions.

"I need to see Maria," I say calm, controlled.

He doesn't move. His face twitches in surprise.

"Why would you nee—"

"It's important," I say, cutting him off, my voice sharper now. My eyes don't leave his.

He frowns.

"Look," I add, not softening. "Just tell her someone's here. She'll want to know." I keep my gaze locked to him. I wasn't going to budge.

He studies me another beat, then reaches for the radio clipped to his jacket. Turns his back slightly as he speaks into it — low and clipped — keeping one eye on me.

I can't hear much. Just enough to catch her name.

Maria.

The sound of her name makes my throat tighten, just hearing it said out loud again.

There was always the chance she wouldn't still be here. In this world, it's almost stupid to hope otherwise.

But I hoped anyway.

The guard pauses, speaks into the radio once more. Then turns back with a short nod.

"Follow me," he says, sounding a little disgruntled, like he's been overruled.

Makes me laugh inside.

He waves me forward, motioning me to follow.

The gate groans as it opens, slow and stubborn.

I step through warily, my shoulders slouching. Nothing like the girl who used to strut these streets without a care.

Now I feel like a refugee. I guess in a way I am. With my scarred body, tattered clothes and I swear the dirt under my nails is permanent. I’ve walked halfway across the country and somehow this is scarier.

The smell hits me first.

Exactly how I remember it — wood smoke, dry earth, the faint smell of the stables and crops nearby. The smell of a town that managed to keep going.

I hear doors and gates shutting nearby. Some laughter in the distance — maybe coming from the Tipsy Bison.

Inside the gate, I stop. My legs feel shaky. Nerves coming undone, making my skin crawl.  

The guard doesn't say anything. Just stands a few paces off, watching me like he's not sure if I'm supposed to be here. His hand hovers a little too close to the pistol strapped to his leg.

Like he’s not sure if I'm supposed to be here.

Guess we'll both find out.

I look around, my head on a slow swivel. The path beyond leads toward Main Street, where I know people are probably heading home for the night. The hum of evening life just out of sight.

I keep my eyes on the road ahead. Everything's quiet now.

I hear the crunch of boots on gravel.

Steady.

Confident.

Measured.

My spine straightens on instincts. I’d know those foot steps anywhere. The calm, no nonsense rhythm of hers.

Maria.

She stops when she sees me — like she's seeing a ghost.

Her lips purse, eyes going wide.

I swear I hear her gasp.

It's been a year since I've seen her. I'm sure she assumed I was dead somewhere by now.

She continues forward. Wrapped in her coat. Shoulders square. Expression unreadable from a distance. But I feel it anyway — some mix of disbelief, disappointment, and something else underneath.

Maybe happiness?

I don't move.

Don't speak.

My eyes drop to my boots. I use the toe to press little indents into the dirt. Bracing myself for what's coming.

The closer she gets, the more I see it.

Her face hasn't changed much. Maybe a few more lines. A little more gray near her temples. But her eyes…

Her eyes say everything.

She stops a few feet in front of me.

Looking me over slowly, like she isn't sure if I'm real.

Her lips part slightly.

Then close again.

Finally, she speaks.

"Ellie."

A statement. Not a question.

It lands like a stone in my chest.

I nod, barely. My mouth dry. Lips pressed into a tight line.

Maria steps closer.

Her eyes don't soften — not yet. There's too much between us for that. But they don't harden either.

"You look like hell," she scoffs lightly.

Not angry. Maybe just... unsure what else to say.

I push a breath out of my nose, half a smirk tugging at the edges of my mouth.

"Tell me about it."

She shakes her head slowly.

A small smile ghosting across her lips. After a beat — too long to be casual — she pulls me into a hug.

Her arms wrap around me with a strength that nearly buckles my knees. For a second, I don't move.

Then I let go.

Just a little.

Let myself lean into it.

My cheek rests on her shoulder. I wrap my arms around her. It feels familiar.

Maria doesn't hug often. But when she does, it's like this — strong, full of emotions she doesn't say out-loud.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she whispers. Her voice cracks at the end.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to," I choke out. Scared that it's still true.

She pulls back, just enough to look at me — I see all the weight she's carried, and all the weight I'm dragging back.

There's disappointment in her eyes. But underneath it…

Something close to forgiveness. Or maybe just the start of it.

"Come on," she says, her voice steadier now.

"Let's get you inside."

Her hand rests on my back, guiding me down the main road. I follow her past the gate, back into the town I left behind.

Not as the broken person who walked away.

But as the person still healing

The person who is wanting to come back.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie’s POV)

⸻

Maria doesn't say much on the walk She rarely speaks just to chat. Her words are always deliberate.

I respect that.

"Who's the guard who met me at the gate?" I ask.

"Oh, that's Caleb. He's newer. Been here about six months. Nice kid. Came with a few others from a settlement they abandoned in Utah.”"

I gulp.

Utah.

Salt Lake City.

Did he know the Fireflies?

Did he know her?

Is that why he stared at me?

Fear clamps down — fast, sharp — until I force myself to shake it off.

No. He wasn't a Firefly.

What happened was years ago.

Maria would've said something if he'd known. He would've said my name out-loud, asked questions.

I'm safe.

I know it.

"Oh. Gotcha. That's good they found Jackson."

"Yeah. Jackson hasn't stopped growing. We're up to around 150 people now. A little worrisome — we're running out of room inside the walls."

She gazes up as we walk, sizing up the community. Always assessing it. Her tongue clicks against her teeth.

Maria never turned away anyone. If they were respectful, worked hard — they stayed.

She always figured it out.

We cut through main street, quieter now with night settling in. Porch lights flicker on. Smoke curls from chimneys. A couple of people glance up as we pass — faces half-lit in the dusk — but no one says anything.

Maybe they don't recognize me.

Maybe they do and just don't want to believe it.

Maria leads me toward a smaller house near the edge of town — not the home she used to share with Tommy.

Seeing it makes a knot in my throat tighten.

Seattle ruined their marriage. Ruined what could've been mine too. It ruined everything.

She unlocks the door without a word and gestures me inside.

It's warm in here. Smells like stew and herbs — something earthy and familiar.

I stand awkwardly by the door while she hangs her coat. Then she points to the table.

"Sit." An order, not a request.

I do as I'm told for once. Wonder if she's surprised.

My legs almost give out when I sit. The exhaustion finally taking hold of me. I can't even hide it. If she notices, she doesn't say anything.

She moves with purpose, grabbing a bowl from the counter, ladling stew from a pot. Her hands always efficient. Steady.

She doesn't glance at me once while she works.

Then she sets the bowl in front of me, I freeze. I know this stew. The way the carrots are soft but not mushy. The way the thyme isn't overpowering. The tiniest pinch of chili that lingers at the back of the throat.

I know this.

I don't say anything. Just pick up the spoon and eat.

It's the first real food I've had in months. But it's not the warmth that hits me. It's the memory steeped into every bite.

She doesn't have to tell me who made it.

We sit in silence while I eat.

Maria takes a seat across from me — arms crossed, watching without hovering. Letting the quiet stretch.

She sips from a mug. Coffee or maybe something stronger for tonight. I see her shoulders slowly ease. Finally relaxing after what I assume has been a long day.

My bowl is almost empty, then she finally speaks.

"You always have a home here," she says, voice firm, even. "That hasn't changed."

I look up, meeting her eyes. My lips press together in that tight, unreadable line. My throat tightening.

"But I'm not doing this half-in, half-out bullshit," she continues. "No secrets. No disappearing in the middle of the night."

My stomach twists.

"If you're here," she says, "be here. If you're not — I'll give you what you need, and you can go. But you don't get to ghost everyone."

The words don't come from anger. They come from exhaustion. From someone who's lost too much already.

I set the spoon down. My hand shakes slightly. Just enough that I notice.

"From now on, we are open here." Her voice taking on the familiar, authoritative tone.

"You're entitled to your privacy. But there are things that need to be said and wounds that need healed. Understand?"

Her eyes lock onto mine.

"I'll be straight with you," I say quietly, more collected than I feel.

But I mean it.

Even if it means I don't stay, I won't run.

I'll face whatever comes.

Maria leans back slightly.

"Good. Now… Why did you go to Santa Barbara?"

I swallow.

"I was looking for Abby."

The name lands like a stone tossed in water, heavy and unforgiving. Even now after everything, I still feel a burn of rage boil in my stomach when I see her face in my head.

Maria says nothing. Eyes steady. Waiting.

"Tommy came. He found a lead and—"

Her jaw clenches. Eyes narrow.

"I would've never let him do that to you," she says low and cutting. Looking down away from my gaze now.

"When I found out, I couldn't even look at him. It was one thing if he wanted to wallow in his obsession. But dragging you with him…"

She looks at me again. There's guilt and regret.

I let out a breath through my nose.

"I think at some point it would've happened anyway," I say. "I wasn't… me, Maria. I thought about Seattle every day."

I'm not much for accepting apologies. I don't feel I deserve them. But maybe she doesn't need to say the words. 

Maria watches me quietly. Lips pressed tight. A slight nod, a gesture to continue.

"I had to leave," I say, voice rougher. "I felt like everything was unfinished. Like if I didn't, I'd never be myself again."

Maria stays unreadable, but I can tell she's focusing on every word.

"So- off I went. Found the place Tommy told me about — an abandoned boat. She was looking for Fireflies."

I pause, the memories scraping sharp inside my chest.

"I came across two men. Well - they found me after I fell into one of their traps — a human-catching trap."

My teeth grit. I swear I can feel the scar from the blade stinging my side.

"They were slavers. Called themselves the Rattlers. I managed to get away from them, took some damage but I got the information I needed. They said they had captured a big girl, with a braid traveling with a kid with scars across his face a few months back. I knew it was her"

My voice catches, I feel it break for a second.

Maria's lips parted slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.

"Somehow I survived raiding their freak-show compound. Released infected on them. Freed the people they were enslaving."

Maria's eyes widen slightly. She knows what people are capable of. Most of us do. But hearing it out loud… living it…

That's something else.

"Abby and the kid — they were hanging there on these tall posts in a sand dune near a beach. Punishment for trying to escape." I swallow hard.

" They were left to die by the water..."  I can still see it. Can still smell the decay in the air. Feel the heat of blood drying on my skin.

"By the time i reached them I was almost dead myself. Bleeding out from a stab wound and bashed to pieces from fighting those people."

I take a breath. The kind you take before telling someone something that might make them change the way they look at you. Like confessing to a lie you've been holding in.

"Jesus." Maria whispers. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah… it was" I say grimacing.

I see it again. The salt air burns my memory. Burgundy soaked sand. Limp bodies.

Her voice rasping above me.

"Help… me…"

"It's you.."  How could she still speak?

Abby hung with her hands bound above her head. Her body more like mine, thin- rather than the formidable being I hunted in Seattle. She was skin and bones, beaten. Her hair hacked off at the scalp. They mutilated her, no telling what else. I can still smell the sickly air, filled with blood and rot. Wounds stinging from salt water. 

Maria reaches across the table, hands clasping around mine.

I hadn't even realized I'd stopped talking. My breath comes ragged, shallow. I feel the sweat on the back of my neck. 

"I'm sorry… I…" I start but the words disappear. I don't know what to say. I'm not lost in memory. I'm trapped in a nightmare. Stuck there on that beach so far away.

"It's okay," she says gently. "Take your time." She lets go, giving me space.

I breathe slowly *in, out, in, out"

I can't tell her everything. She doesn't need the gore.

But I can be honest.

"I had her, Maria," I say through clenched teeth, voice low.

"I could've killed her." I feel my eyes darken. That deep part of me — the one that still screams for vengeance — starts rattling in its cage again. Begging to be let loose.

"But... I let her go," I say, quieter now.

"I had to end it. Joel. Her friends. My friends. Each other. It had to stop."

I breathe out, shaky.

"I don't know how I made it back alive...I just… kept going until I reached the farmhouse, then here." All the air escapes my lungs. It's all out there now.

The room feels heavier, but somehow.. I feel lighter. For a fleeting second, Joel's face flashes in my mind. Just him on the porch with his guitar. 

Silence settles between us like another person in the room. Maria exhales — long, steady. She reaches for her mug, sips from something gone cold. Then something shifts across her face.. relief maybe? I can't quite place it.

"You've been carrying that alone?" Her voice is quiet. Not pitying- but grief. Grief for all of us.

I nod once.

"For too long, huh?"

It's not really a question. Another few moments pass — a clock ticks in the living room, steady and slow.

Then she leans forward, voice sharp but not unkind.

"I'm not gonna pretend to support why you went after her again. But I know what it looks like when someone's trying to punish themself." She pauses, her tone softens, almost pleading.

"Don't you think you've been punished enough?" 

The words hit somewhere deep. Somewhere hollow. I don't answer. I can't.

What if she's wrong? What if I still owe more? Does forgiving myself mean living with everything I've done.. everything I didn't do?

How can I forgive myself yet?

She lets the silence stretch.

"You're not the only one who lost Joel, Ellie…"

That lands hard. Cutting deeper than anything else. They gut me. But they're true. I sometimes forget the grief didn't just belong to me. Hearing it out loud makes it too real.

I look down at my hands.

The scars.

The tremble.

The things I will never unsee.

The parts of me that'll never heal.

"I don't know how to come back from this," I say, voice breaking.

Maria's eyes meet mine.

"You don't have to know right now." she says.

Then a small smile.

"You just have to stop running."

A shaky breath leaves my chest. For the first time in a long time… something eases. Slightly.

But it's enough to let me breathe.

"Thank you," I whisper.

Maria and I have always gotten along. We've always respected each other, but there is something else too. Understanding.

Maria stands, taking my empty bowl.

"You can stay in the spare room here for now. We'll figure the rest out tomorrow." As she turns away and I say it — soft, barely there.

"Was it her cooking?"

She pauses. Doesn't look back.

"Goodnight, Ellie," she says.

Then she disappears down the hall.

I let myself form a half smile. Just for a second.

And for the first time in a long time… I don't feel like I'm running anymore.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Dina's POV)

⸻

The container is still warm in my hands. Steam curls faintly from the lid as I step onto Gail's porch.

It's a bright morning — the town just starting to come alive. As it does every day.

I could've just left it like I usually do — quietly on the bench by her door. Payment for her time, her patience and the space she gives me to fall apart without judgment.

But something tells me to go in today.

Maybe it's the way JJ clung to my leg this morning. Maybe it's the way the air feels too still.

Or maybe… I just need something steady.

I knock once. Waiting patiently. Watching a cardinal pick its favorite seeds from the bird feeder hanging from the tree in the little front yard of her home.

Gail opens the door with that usual calm on her face — eyebrows lifted like she already knows something I don't.

"Hmm. Smells like thyme," she says, stepping aside, her arm outstretched, smile reaching her eyes.

"Extra carrots, this time," I reply, holding up the stew, shaking it slightly.

My smile's thin, pulled tight.

"JJ pulled a few early and I didn't have the heart to stop him."

"You're bribing your therapist with food again, tsk tsk." She clicks her tongue, teasing as she often does. I don't know if her patients enjoy her poking fun at them. Patients... I guess that's what I am?

I shrug.

"t's easy for me to make and everyone else just brings you liquor and weed. I want to be different. Can you blame me?"

"Hmm, I guess not. Fair point. Payment accepted," she winks and turns, carrying the container inside.

The inside of her place is warm and familiar. The smell of tea and old books is comforting — soft light spills through the windows, worn chairs with quilts draping over the back, mismatched mugs on the coffee table. I settle into my usual spot in the arm chair, next to the plant she still hasn't named. It’s still in the same cracked pot. Same drooping leaves. I once asked why she never named it. “If it survives this year.” she said, “I’ll give it one. It'll deserve it then.” 

My eyes drift to the photo of Eugene. She understands loss too.

“He used to sit where you’re sitting." she says, noticing my eyes on the photo. “ Always going on about freudian theories. Or golf. I fucking hate golf.. but mannnn-" her voice draws out long

"He could grow the best weed I have ever toked.” Her eyes glint when she talks about her husband. I feel for her. He was always so cool. 

I smile softly. “He always knew how to make people feel better. Mainly through weed. Other times he was pretty boring.”

Gail raises an eyebrow. “Exactly. Simple man, great instincts for horticulture.”

She places the container on the counter, leaving the stew untouched. Then turns to me with that gentle, grounded stillness that always makes the silence feel safer.

She sits, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on the notebook in her lap. The timer ticking ever so faintly on the shelf.

"You look tired," she observes.

"Oh, that's because I am," I half-laugh. It comes out thinner than I mean for it to. It's not the tired that more sleep fixes. It's the tired that stays in your bones.

She waits.

Eyes scanning my face. Not impatient, just waiting.

"I had the dream again," I murmur. "Same one."

She nods like she already knows.

"She's walking ahead of you still?" She prods.

"Yeah. I call out but she never turns around. And if I stop moving… I know I'll lose her."

Gail tilts her head.

"What happens if you catch up?"

I stare at my hands.

"I don't. I never do. I wake up breathless every time. Like I’ve sprinted miles and still couldn’t catch her."

The defeat soaks through my voice like wet clothes clinging to skin. As if losing in my dreams isn't enough.

She doesn't say anything.

Just lets the quiet wrap around us.

She always does this. She likes to let things sit out in the open, Says it makes it real. That we can't heal if we are afraid to say it out loud.

"I'm so damn exhausted," I whisper exasperated. The words stretching longer than they should. 

"Saying it out loud," she says, "comes right before something shifts."

I shoot her a skeptical look.

"You think this is my prelude to enlightenment? Have I won therapy now?" I smirk.

"No. You win therapy when you stop flinching at the truth. Or when you start chasing what you actually want.. not ghosts or memories.”" she says simply. Patting her leg.

"However! For now, maybe you'll win clarity." She gives an acknowledging smile- the one that says she's five moves ahead, waiting for me to catch up. What is she up to?

She crosses the room and stirs the stew absently. The smell is grounds me — earthy, rich, comforting.

I've made it a hundred times.

"Do you ever cook something and it reminds you of someone?" she asks-- almost like she already knows the answer.

"All the time." I say flatly.

Her expression shifts slightly.

Still calm.

But there's weight behind her eyes now. Intention peeking through. What is this?

"I believe everything not only happens for a reason" she says, in a sing-song type of way. "but everything also has a reason." 

I stare blankly at her.

"Do you think you made this stew on purpose?" She asks quizzically, tilting her head.

"Uhm. No… it's stew. I make it sometimes. I don't think there's some hidden prophecy behind it."

I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. She has methods to her madness, but this?

She hums softly, stirring.

"I've always thought of stew as a meal for an event. Something that symbolizes warmth. Invitation. Like a gathering, or…" she pauses, gazing out the window, then back to me,

"A reunion." She shrugs.

I blink. My stomach twist, tight, immediate.

"Gail… what are you saying?"

She doesn't answer right away.

Just keeps stirring the pot.

"I saw Maria last night," she says softly. "Walking back from the gate. With someone."

My breath catches.

No. No.

I feel it before it fully processes. My face shifts, blood draining. I feel sick. My mouth goes dry. That sharp heat behind my eyes rises fast, but I blink it back. Not here. Not yet.

It can't be. My fingers curl around the couch cushion, like it's the only thing holding me upright. 

"It isn't my place to tell you this," she adds quickly. "I know that. But I saw you with the stew. Everything happens for a reason. I thought you should know."

I sink back into the chair. My breath suddenly too shallow.

"Are you not going to tell me who?" I demand, sharper than intended.

"I don't think I need to," Gail says, meeting my eyes. Calm, honest.

I close mine.

"Jesus Christ."

My voice breaks.

Gail lets the silence expand.

"What are you feeling?" she asks gently.

"I don't know…"

I really don't.

She nods.

That's enough.

We don't say anything else.

We let the truth settle around us like dust. It's thick in the air and unavoidable. 

Eventually, it's time. The little timer makes it's familiar buzz.

I stand. Pick up last week's empty container.

"Bring more carrots next time," she requests, smiling softly.

"Only if JJ signs off," I smirk.

Outside, the sun has climbed higher.

No clouds in sight.

A beautiful day, if you didn't know any better.

Part of me wants to go home. Pretend I didn’t hear what I now know.
But my body doesn’t ask for permission. It just moves.

My feet carry me toward Maria's office instead —past people laughing, talking, carrying baskets and tools.

Maybe there was a reason I made the stew... Maybe there’s a reason I’m walking there now.

I don't plan.

I just walk.

The town hall is up ahead, it'll be quiet this early. Except for her office.

The door isn't locked. I push it open without knocking.

Maria looks up from her desk, pen paused halfway through a line. She sets it down and stands slowly, like she's been waiting for this.

"You saw her." It comes out as an accusation not a question.

"I did." She says nodding, admitting.

"Why didn't you come to me?" My voice spikes — sharper than I mean, but I can't stop. "You didn't think I deserved to know?"

"I was going to tell you," Maria replies, calm as always.

"When? After you tucked her in? After you fed her?" I scoff, bitter.

"Don't do that. Would you rather I kick her back out into the valley? " she says hard. Her authoritative voice coming through.

"You don't think I have the right to be angry?" My hands are shaking now. "She left, Maria. And you—you let me sit in that house while she was here." My voice is rising. I throw my hands up in exasperation- helpless, spiraling.

Maria doesn't flinch.

"She asked for me." Maria says quietly. "Not you."  

The words hit harder than I expect. Like a punch to the gut.

She didn't ask for me. Do I really not fucking matter?

"I didn't know how you'd want to handle it," she adds. "I figured you deserved to face it on your terms."

"There are no terms for this," I seethe. "She was gone. For eight months. I figured she was dead!"

My voice breaks. The sob slips out before I can stop it. I clench my jaw so hard it throbs. Trying to blink it back but it's no use.

I can't hold it together. I'm supposed to be furious. Not sobbing like a widow.

"Trust me. I know," Maria says softly.

"No, you don't!" I snap.

"You don't know what it's like to carry someone in your chest that long. To raise a son with their shadow in every corner of the house. To sleep in an empty bed beside their memory. Not knowing if they’re alive or fucking dead." I'm yelling now. My voice cracking. Tears streaming down my neck and cheeks.

Maria doesn't flinch.

Doesn't move.

"I didn't get to walk away." I spit. "She did. I stayed. I held it together. And now she strolls through the gate and you treat her like she's home from patrol—"

"She's not okay, Dina." Maria cuts me off with a palm raised  

The words land like a knife.

"She's not the girl who left," Maria says. "But she came back. She's trying to be better."

I sink into the chair across from her.

All the fight drains out of me in one breath.

"I hate her," I whisper. "For leaving me."

Maria nods. No words.

"But I think if I saw her…" I can't finish it.

"Maybe you should," Maria says. "Maybe it's time."

I look up.

My throat burns.

"I don't know how to feel." I barely can speak the words  

"You don't have to know right now, I told her the same thing." A smile forms on her lips. 

I nod slowly. My hands wiping at my face, catching the tears before they fully fall. But they come anyway —quiet, steady.

"She's staying here?" I ask after a long pause.

Maria nods.

"My guest room. For now."

"Does she know I know?"

"No."

I exhale, slow and trembling. She's back. I don't know if I can survive seeing her again. I also know I won't be able to stay away.

"Don't tell her." I demand.

Maria's face tightens.

"I won't keep secrets. It's a promise we made. But I will avoid it as long as I can. If she asks, I won't lie." Her words final. Unchanging.

"Ha. Cute." I laugh once, bitter. "Glad you two can keep promises to each other. Must be nice." I snap. I shove up from the chair, storming out. Slamming the door behind me so hard the windows shake.

I hear Maria start to say something. I don't care.

How dare they?

Both of them.

But as I move through the streets, my rage twists into something else — frustration, sadness then.. longing.

Before I realize it, I'm sobbing, jogging down the road. 

Running from everything.

My heart is pulling me.

Pulling me straight toward her.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

I wake to the sound of the house settling — the soft pop of old wood in the chill. For a second, I don't know where I am.

My eyes shoot open. My head snaps to the side. An instinct from sleeping alone too long and being on the run.

Then it hits me.

Jackson.

Maria's house.

*Tap, tap*

Two soft knocks on the doorframe startle me again. Maria stands there, like she doesn't really want to disturb me.

"Hey, sleep alright?" Her face studying me, checking on me.

"Yeah. Thanks for letting me stay," I say, squinting at the sun starting to shine in.

She nods with a small smile.

"I have to head out for a bit. Work. Town doesn't stop for anyone," she shrugs. Her tone light and matter of fact.

"I'll be back this afternoon. Then we'll figure out next steps, okay?" Her tone is comforting.

Next steps. I guess I hadn't thought much about what comes after this.. my mind instantly goes to Dina -no- I already lost her once.

"Yeah, sounds good…" My voice trails off. The familiar knot forms in my throat.

"I'm gonna…"

I swallow hard. Forcing the words out.

"I'm going to visit him." I say with certainty.

Maria's face softens.

"Visit who?" she asks gently.

I take a deep breath, bracing for the pain.

"Joel."

It nearly breaks me. His name feels like a thousand splinters under my skin.

Sadness flashes across her face. Other emotions too, maybe pity? Grief? Or concern? I know she misses him too.

"You can take some flowers," she says gently, catching herself before offering more. "They're on the table."

"Okay, thank you." I whisper.

She turns and leaves. I listen to her boots going down the hall, the click of the front door. And then — silence.

⸻

The guest bed creaks as I sit up.

Joel's jacket is still wrapped around me, crumpled from where I must've pulled it too close sometime during the night. I smooth it out with shaking hands.

The room smells faintly of soap and fresh air. The window cracked open just a little allowing the morning breeze to flow in -crisp and chilly. The curtains flutter around the frame — they're tan with little purple flowers stitched through them. Beautiful, soft in the morning light.

I sit there for a while, staring at the walls. It doesn't feel real yet.

Maybe it never will.

Some part of me wants to stay buried in the covers, where it's warm and the outside world doesn't exist. But the bigger part — the part that always drags me forward whether I'm ready or not — says:

Get up. Go see him.

I pull on my boots. Shrug Joel's jacket tighter around my shoulders. Force my feet into motion, slowly moving into the quiet kitchen.

The flowers sit on the table — purple and white — neatly arranged in a vase. I pluck one out carefully to bring along. They remind me of the ones Dina used to grow outside the farmhouse. Lavender and hyssop, I think. She used to tuck them into JJ’s pockets like little secrets.
I shouldn’t think about her right now. But I do anyway.

Ugh. I can't take just a flower.

Then an idea hits me. I walk over to the cabinets and start searching.

⸻

The town is still half asleep. A few early risers pass by — heads down, busy, or pretending not to notice me. I keep my eyes on the ground. Not ready for big reunions yet so I keep my eyes low.

The graveyard looks bigger than I remember. The tall wrought iron fence is rusting. Dew clings to the grass and fencing— everything is wet and muddy from rain sometime overnight.

I walk inside slowly. Boots squelching in the grass. Heart hammering too loud for a morning this quiet.

Joel's grave is easy to find. In the middle, first row, on the left end. The marker is simple. Plain words for a man who carried so much.

Joel Miller.

Brother. Friend. Father.

My breath hitches. I stand there stiff, fists clenching at my sides.

"Hey, Joel," I whisper. The words scrape low out of my throat. Rough and rusted.

It's been so long since I've sat here. Before Seattle. Before everything I ruined while trying to make things right. I couldn't face the pain coming back after I failed so miserably out there.

I kneel down. My jeans soaking through from the moisture and mud. I can feel little indents forming.

My fingers rest on his etched name. The stone is colder than I expect. It doesn't fit him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

For being angry.

For arriving too late.

For Seattle.

For Tommy.

For leaving Dina.

For going to Santa Barbara.

I'm sorry for everything.

The wind dies down. The world holds its breath.

"I'm here now, though…"

My throat closes up. I press my forehead to the stone. Let the silence drown everything else out.

"I'll fix it all. I promise."

The words dissolve into sobs. Tears falling before I can stop them. My shoulders shudder uncontrollably.

I pull the flower from my pocket. Place it gently at the base of the grave. Then from the other pocket, I pull out something else —

dark brown powder.

Coffee grounds.

The smell hits instantly — sharp, warm.

Reminds me of early patrol mornings, or Sunday breakfast. Of Home.

I sprinkle it carefully around the stone. He would've wanted it. He never turned down coffee.

I don't know how long I kneel there. Minutes. Hours. Time slips away from.

Then, I hear it — the slow shuffle of boots behind me. The squish of wet grass and mud.

I stiffen. Instinctively my hand twitches for a pistol that isn't there.

I turn and can't believe my eyes.. for a second my heart thinks it's Joel. The dark hair, beard and broad shoulders. My heart stutters before reality sets in.

Tommy.

Cane in one hand.

A limp heavier than I remember. That cloudy eye. His face hollowed out by grief. He sees me and stops. Leaning hard on his cane, sinking into the ground beneath it.

For a second, neither of us moves.

Then he huffs a breath. A choked, broken sound.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says. Voice rough as gravel. Not angry. Not bitter. Relief, maybe?

I rise slowly, Knees creaking from kneeling too long.

We stare at each other. I don't have it in me to be mad. Not anymore.

Tommy steps forward — slow, careful — like every movement requires extra effort. When he's close enough he rests his cane on Joel's stone. Then pulls me into a hug.

It's awkward at first, unbalanced. But his arms lock around me tight and steady. He holds on like he's scared to let go.

I hug him back tighter. We don't say anything. There's nothing words can fix now anyhow.

Finally, Tommy leans back, clears his throat like he's embarrassed. I look down too.

"I thought you were…" his voice trails off. He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

Guilt carves deep lines into his face.

"When'd ya get here?"

"Last night," I say. "It was late."

"Maria's takin' care of you?"

The way he says her name, something softens in him. A sparkle in his good eye.

I nod.

"Yeah. She is."

He shifts awkwardly. Winces.

"Ellie… I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't have no right to ask you to—"

"It's okay, Tommy," I cut him off.

And I mean it.

I'm not angry anymore. I understand. Maybe too well.

He looks down, ashamed.

"No, no. It really ain't…"

I pull him into another hug.

"We tried, Tommy," I say, my voice cracking.

"We tried to do what we thought was right."

He pats my back gently. Neither of us knowing what else to say. What words could possibly be enough?

We pull away. Tommy is the first to speak.

"I come here every day to visit him. Talk a little. Sit a while. Don’t always know what to say, but…" -he trails off- "It’s better than bein’ alone."

"Now seeing you here…" he laughs a little. "Feels like something outta a movie."

I smile. A real one.

"Yeah… it does, doesn't it?"

He shifts around, glancing at the stone.

"Hey, remember that time we were scopin' infected off that mountain? With my new rifle?" His eye lights up. A real spark. Breaking through the worn out look.

"Yeah. It was fucking awesome." I grin. We were shooting clickers from half a mile away. Laughing. Living.

"I miss them days," he says, voice rough.

"Me too," I whisper.

Days that felt simple. Before everything broke.

"I miss him every damn day," Tommy says, resting a hand on the stone.

"I wish I could tell him how sorry I am," I murmur, barely audible.

Tommy turns serious."Ellie. There ain't a goddamn thing he'd want you to be sorry for."

His voice is clear. No shaking or doubt. His eye steady and sharp.

"Joel knew what he did. He did it for you. He loved you like you were his own. For better or worse. Ain't nothin' he'd ever want you sorry for. You understand me?"

The words hit me like a truck. 

Images flash behind my eyes —

Will Livingston jokes through Pittsburgh.

Giraffes.

Guitar lessons.

Learning how to swim.

The museum.

The tears fall before I can stop them. Tommy wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"He's still here with us," Tommy says softly.

"Watchin' over ya. Just like he always did. He won't want you all sad crying over a rock. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy."

I want to believe it. Deep down, I think I do. Maybe that's enough. But I know the truth,  Joel wouldn't have wanted the destruction we caused. It wasn’t for him, it was for us. We just wanted to feel whole again. In the end we were wrong- it tore us apart.

"Maybe once I get settled… we could go out again? Shoot some infected off the mountain?" I ask, hesitant.

Tommy's face lights up — fast and real — before he hides it behind a smirk.

"I'll fit ya in my schedule somewhere," he says, laughing at his own joke.

"Yeah, yeah I know how busy you are." I laugh too. A real laugh. I can't remember the last time I really laughed. God, it feels good.

⸻

Suddenly, It all became so clear

"Where is she?" I don't need to say her name.

He smiles big, vaguely pointing to the left road going out of the cemetery.

"Few houses down. Left side. Fence with blue flowers. You'll know."

The weight drops in my chest like a stone. I nod. Too much spinning in my head to say anything else.

"You go on now," he says.

"I'll keep him company a bit longer." Tommy settles in on his cane. Waving me off.

I stand there a minute longer. Let the cold bite at my cheeks. Let the choice sink into my bones.

Then I turn quick and decisive.

My mind made up.

⸻

I walk briskly. Past the fences. Past the houses. Toward the road Tommy pointed at; 2nd street. I know this road.. Jesse's parents used to live here. I continue down the lane.

My heart yanks me forward. 

Toward her.

The road curves slightly. The sun making its way higher in the sky. Late morning warming the day. Less shadows, everything sharp in the bright light.

⸻

I stop in front of a small house. It feels like a siren calling me home.

The white paint cracked and peeling from years of exposure. A chair sits lonely on the porch. Toys scattered in the grass. Plant pots hanging under the eaves, beautiful blue flowers overflowing.

The gate sways under my touch. Rust scratches against my palm. I don't even know if I'm ready. I don't even know what I'll say. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my teeth.

I stand there, staring like I'm outside a life I don't belong to anymore. I can see it clearly —

Dina sitting on the porch steps, her hair tucked behind one ear, laughing at something dumb I said. That soft smile she used to save just for me.

JJ tumbling through the grass in that clumsy way only toddlers can, shouting for me to chase him. His little hands clutching a toy truck, waving it high in the air like it's the greatest treasure he's ever found. His giggles ring like music through the air.

I see myself too — sitting on that porch, guitar across my lap, strumming a song I can barely play. Watching them like I used to. Letting the sound of their voices fill the hollow places in my chest. I look whole. My face not as sunken, my eyes not haunted. My skin not as roughened by the elements. My smile real.

I'm... me.

For one gut-wrenching, beautiful second — it feels real.

Like if I just push the gate open, I'll step into it like another world. Another world where none of the horror and tragedies happened.

But it's not real. It's a wish of a memory.

I squeeze my hand around the gate's metal frame — sharp rust biting into my palm — just to feel something solid.

Just to remind myself I'm still here.

I don't know if I deserve any of it.

Fuck, I want it. I'll do anything to get it. 

For no reason, I turn. Facing down the street. That's when I see her running towards me.

Dina.

She rounds the corner — jacket flapping, hair wild, strays sticking to her forehead and cheeks from sweat. Eyes red and puffy. She's out of breath. I can see her shoulders heaving from here.

She sees me and skids to a halt. I can hear her breath hitch and see her eyes widen. Her lips slightly part, arms fallen to her sides. She looks unsteady like a strong wind would knock her over.

The world seems to shrink around us.

No sounds.

No people.

No town.

Just... us.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

The world falls away. It's just her.

Dina.

Just as beautiful as I remember. The kind of beauty that takes your breath away. The kind that makes you flustered when they’re around. Makes it hard to breathe.

Her eyes are locked on me.

Wide.

Disbelieving.

Shattering.

I don't move.

I can't.

Somewhere in a distant memory I swear I can hear the melody of "Ecstasy”. I know it's in my head, but it lures me to another place in time.

I see Dina staring into my soul on the dance floor that New Year’s Eve, like she knew me better than I knew myself. As if every secret, every wound, every dream was scrawled across my face and she read it without flinching.

Then I see her riding Japan beside me and Shimmer, laughing into the wind on patrol. Shooting me sly smiles and doing her signature eye roll while calling me a “smart-ass” after I made a snide comment.

I see her sitting around a campfire, face lit by the flickering flames, listening to ghost stories and drinking liquor from an old bottle. Our eyes meet in passing glances.. did she wink at me? No of course not.

I see her on the floor of the record store in Seattle. The guitar resonating between us. I try to keep the melody of "take on me" steady.. She was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The soft golden memories fracture. Letting poison and darkness consume me.

I see her again curled up on a busted couch in that rundown theatre. Pale, sick and worrying. Her hands holding her stomach. Me coming and going, more desperate and rage filled each time. Chasing shadows and justice.

I see her broken body, bloodied on a floor. She's barely breathing. I can barely breathe.

It's my fault.

My hand stays gripped around the old gate tighter now, rust digging into my skin, trying to do everything I can to stay up right. My boots feel nailed to the ground but my knees could give out any second.

She looks like she's seeing a ghost.

Maybe I am too.

For a moment — just one suspended second — it feels like the whole town vanishes around us. The fields, the houses, the fences — all of it peeled away.

Leaving an invisible string, tying us together.

She takes a step forward.

Short. Careful. Like she's afraid I'll disappear if she gets too close.

Hope blooms sharp and painful in my chest.

I step too. Pushing away from the gate — it rattles on its hinges — and step onto the path.

My boots crunch softly against the gravel. Each movement feels slow, thick — like treading water before I knew how to swim.

We walk toward each other.

One step.

Another.

The gap closes, the air getting tighter.

Close enough to touch.

But I don't.

I stop myself, fists curling tight at my sides. Everything in me is reaching for her.

I don't know if I'm allowed.

I just stand there, staring at her.

Breathing her in like oxygen. 

And she stares back.

Taking me in.

Her gaze moves slowly across the hollows under my eyes. The new scars etched into my skin. The fingertips that aren't there anymore. The way I stand now — tighter, smaller, broken.

And I see her too.

The faint scar along her eyebrow catches in the light. Her eyes darker than I remember, more tired. She looks older somehow, not in years but in the way she carries herself — heavier, like the world pressed down harder when I wasn't there to help hold it up.

We're not the same people.

New scars.

New ghosts.

Yet somehow... still us.

Her hand lifts — slowly, trembling. Her lips part, dragging short breaths like she's afraid this is a dream.

She brushes a strand of hair behind my ear — barely grazing my skin. Her fingertips feather-light.

I almost sob at the contact, I barely choke it down. Her touch sending electric impulses through my core. It ignites me, like a match to dry grass. Or when your skin feels the sun after months in the shadows.

I shut my eyes just to hold onto the feeling, to make it last as long as possible.

When I open them again, she's still there.

Still breathing the same air as me. Still real.

———

(Dina's POV)

The first time I saw Ellie, she was standing in the Tipsy Bison stuffing her pockets with jerky. She was looking around, seeing if she'd get caught. I thought "Who the hell is this kid?" When she caught me staring she scowled at me, quickly running out.

I was enthralled by her from that moment on. So wild and carefree. She was always herself and I loved that about her. As a best friend. As someone I love so much it hurts.

I never knew that I liked girls, I just didn't think about it really. Jesse was a best friend and a boyfriend who I cared deeply about. But Ellie sparked something else in me that took me so long to understand.

That night at the dance, I took a chance. Fueled by liquid courage and Eugene's best weed catapulting me into her.

"They should be terrified of you..."

I knew what I was doing. I even liked seeing her all frazzled, unsure what to make of it, of me. It felt exhilerating. Seeing the girl who was never afraid... coming unglued for me.

I was never 100% certain she looked at me in that way. We were best friends. I had Jesse, she had Kat. I never knew.. I chalked up the stolen glances, the too wide smiles to just happenstance.. Until I caught her watching me New Years Eve. I don't think she knew but i saw the way she watched me dance. I saw her face. Usually smug and full of confidence. But then.. I saw her eyes soften. Her lips trying not to form a smile. Nervous, maybe jealous? So when I pulled her in, I had made up my mind.

I would've followed her anywhere, I did follow her. Until there was no room for me anymore. That eviscerated me.

And now — now my legs are burning, my lungs are screaming, but I don't stop.

I see her — standing there like something carved from the life I lost. I immediately recognize Joel's jacket heavy on her shoulders. The one I left.

She went back for me. I thought she didn't ask about me, but I was the first thing in her mind.

The thought nearly brings me crashing down in a wave of sobs.

I stare at her.

Hair a little longer.

Face thinner, sadder.

My heart cracks down the middle and keeps cracking.

I don't think.

I just move.

My boots slap the dirt hard enough that people turn to look, but I don't care.

I don't see them.

I barely see the road.

All I see is her.

Every step closer, I expect her to vanish.

To blink out like smoke. As if ill never catch up. Like my nightmare.

Every nightmare I ever had — waking up reaching for her, finding nothing — screams in my ears.

What if it's not her? What if it's a trick my brain plays one more time just to break me? What if it's too late?

I don't remember making the last few steps. I don't remember breathing.

And then — She's right there.

Close enough I can see the fine cracks in her lips.

The tiny twitch in her lips and the crinkle in her eye.

She's real.

She's real.

God, she's real.

I lift my hand before I know what I'm doing.

It shakes — terrified — as I reach for her.

If I touch her, and she shatters, I don't know if I'll survive it.

But I do it anyway.

Her skin is rougher now. Her jaw sharper. There’s a hollowness under her eyes I don’t remember. But it’s still her. It's still Ellie.

I tuck the strand of hair behind her ear — the one that always used to fall forward when she was drawing, or playing guitar, or looking at me like I was her whole world.

My fingers barely graze her and I feel her shudder under my touch.

Everything inside me breaks open.

The anger.

The grief.

The hope.

The betrayal.

All of it.

"Oh, Ellie..." I whisper.

⸻

(Ellie's POV)

Her fingers brush my skin and my whole body pulls toward her.

Like gravity. As if destiny has stepped in, knowing I was always meant to return to her.

"Oh, Ellie..." it sounds like a sob trying to be a whisper.

I instantly try to step closer, wanting her against me.

But before I can move, she pulls back slightly.

Just enough to carve a canyon between us. It's only a few inches but might as well be miles.

Her chest heaves — once, twice — before she speaks.

"You left me," Dina says. It's not loud. It's worse. It's soft. 

Raw. Accusatory.

Her words crack like a whip across my skin. The truth like a knife twisting as it goes in.

I flinch. Because she's right.

Because there's no excuse big enough to stand against that kind of truth.

Her eyes glisten. But she doesn't blink.

"You said we were a family," she breathes, voice breaking.

"And then you left us." Words sharper now.

Each word is a bullet. I let them sink in.

Because I deserve it.

I open my mouth —close it again.

There's no defense. There's only the truth.

"I'm sorry," I rasp.

It feels so small. Like throwing a pebble into the ocean hoping it changes the tide. So fucking small.

Dina swallows. Her jaw clenches so hard I see the muscle twitch.

She steps back another inch — like she's ready to bolt — please no.

My chest caves in on itself. I see it — the tears breaking free, the way her chin trembles — and it shatters something inside me I didn't know was still intact.

It takes everything I have not to fall apart right there, not to reach for her.

"I thought you were dead," she whispers. Her voice cracks like ice splitting open.

"Every goddamn day, Ellie. I woke up thinking today's the day they find your body somewhere. Today's the day someone comes to tell me you're gone. Or maybe worse.. nothing. I hear nothing. I have to continue to wonder and never have peace."

Tears spill down her cheeks now.

I can't stand it. I take a step forward —tiny, hesitant.

And when she doesn't move away —

I take another.

I want to touch her so badly. My hands ache with the need to pull her close. But I stay still. 

I wait.

She lets out a sound — part sob, part surrender — then she’s in my arms, crashing into me.

Her arms wrap around my neck, her body crushing into mine so hard we almost fall over.

I clutch her back.

Tighter than I've ever held anything. Tighter than I thought I could.

The way she tucks her head against my collarbone — she’s folding herself back into me. She used to do that after I'd come home from hunting, after a long night with JJ or when I would make it back alive those long nights in the hellscape that was Seattle.

Like I was the only place she could rest.

The familiarity of it wrecks me.

Her fingers knot in the back of my jacket. I feel her sobbing against my shoulder.

Hot, broken sounds ripping out of her.

I bury my face against her hair. It smells like earth, sunlight and home.

"I'm sorry," I whisper again and again against her hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." My words hard and full of regret. They feel like rocks spilling out.

She clutches me tighter.

As if letting go would kill her. As if it might kill me too.

We stand there, clinging, collapsing under the weight of everything we lost — and everything we might still have.

Finally, finally, she pulls back just enough to see me.

Her hands stay fisted in my jacket.

Her eyes — red-rimmed, shining — search my face like she's trying to memorize it.

Her voice is a whisper:

"Do you want to come in?"

I nod. My throat is too tight for anything else.

She steps back — slowly, reluctantly — keeping a hand on my arm, keeping me in her grasp. She pulls me to the gate, the creak is welcoming. We walk up the short path to the porch. I can smell the flowers in the breeze. There's a little red fire truck resting against the steps. It catches the light, and for a second my chest tightens — thinking of our son.

Of everything I left behind.

Dina opens the door wide enough for me to follow. Wide enough for hope to slip through.

I step forward. Into the house, into whatever comes next.

Into us.

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

The door swings open easily, swaying on the hinges with a soft creak.

Dina steps aside without a word, just a slight nod for me to come in. Her hand hovers near my elbow for a second — like she's about to steady me — but she pulls it back at the last second as if she isn' allowed. Or maybe.. she doesn't want to. I hope that isn't the case.

The house smells like herbs and soap. And something else underneath — old paper, worn leather, the lingering sweetness of a half-forgotten candle.

It smells like her.

I step across the threshold, boots scuffing against the worn wood floor. The place is small — smaller than the farmhouse — but it feels bigger somehow. Fuller. More alive.

The living room is simple, there's a small couch, a chair, a dark oak coffee table, and a TV on a stand. Not mismatched like most homes. It's cohesive, intentional.

Dina always tried to keep things orderly. She likes when it flows.

My mind flashes back to a sunny spring day on patrol.. we were clearing through a few abandoned homes in the valley where she took a dirty rug and a dusty vase. Rolling it on the back of poor Japan, holding the vase like it was treasure. I made fun of her right away.

She rolled her eyes "Don't you start with me, not everyone wants to live in a cave." I start to argue but she cuts me off. "If I was alive in "the world before" I would want to decorate houses for work."

"Seriously? You could be an astronaut and that's what you pick?!"

She shrugged, then gave me that signature Dina smile "You should let me decorate your garage!" tilting her head back. Fuck she's stunning.

The thought burned into my brain. I loved her even then.

The memory brings a smile to my face, makes warmth bloom in my chest. Reminds me of when things were easy.

I keep shuffling through the house. Trying to not be held up by ghosts of the past..

There's a heap of toys piled in the corner of the room — a stuffed dog missing one ear, a battered book about dinosaurs, a couple crayon drawings on the coffee table.

One figure in green — big smiling face, stick limbs, holding a smaller hand.

My throat tightens hard enough to choke me.

JJ.

I look away before it crushes me.

Dina shrugs off her jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair.  She moves through the house like it's all muscle memory — like she never left survival mode, just changed the battlefield.

"You want something to eat?" she says, already heading toward the kitchen. Her voice is steady. Like she's offering a life raft without making a big deal out of it.

"That sounds good," I rasp. More relief than words.

Joel's jacket feels heavy, like armor shielding me from the world. I debate for a second, then slip it off. I drape it carefully over the back of my chair carefully, smoothing it out.

Feels wrong to let it go completely.

The kitchen is full of light. Windows letting in the soft afternoon sun. There are a few dishes in the sink. White cabinets with small scuffs. JJ's high chair sits by the window, a stuffed tiger flipped upside down beside it. I remember when Dina picked out that tiger from the trading store. Said it looked fierce enough to protect JJ at night. I laughed, told her it looked more stoned than scary. But she insisted — he loved it, of course.

Dina moves around the space like she's been here her whole life. This is her rhythm now, I'm the change in routine.

She pulls out a plate and loads it with leftovers — bread, beans, something that smells like stew again. I watch her hands work — graceful, but skilled — like nothing's changed… but everything has.

She sets the plate down in front of me without a word.

I don't want to be a pig, but it looks delicious. For the first time since… really since Joel was killed… I actually want to eat.

I pick up the spoon and shovel big helpings to my mouth. The spices hit hot and fast, but it warms me. Makes me feel whole. I feel like I'm starved, not just for food, but for this.

"You look like shit," Dina says, blunt as ever..

I let out a dry, broken chuckle. "You always this sweet to your guests?" I mutter.

She snorts, rolls her eyes like it's a reflex. God, I missed that.

"You look like you need a cheeseburger and about a week's worth of sleep," she says, dropping into the chair across from me.

The way she says it — half teasing, half aching — makes my chest pull tight.

I glance up — she's leaning forward on the table, elbows resting, hands intertwined, watching me. Not smiling. Not frowning.

Just… watching.

I swallow hard, forcing the food down.

"Where's JJ?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

Her face softens in a way that feels like a punch to the gut.

"He's at Jesse's parents'," she says. "They take him Friday nights. Spoil him rotten." Her voice soft, fond.

There's a flicker of something — sadness, gratitude, all tangled up — but she brushes it away like dust.

I nod slowly. Trying to imagine it — JJ laughing somewhere, safe, loved.

Trying not to imagine Jesse's mom crying the first time she held him again.

The silence between us isn't heavy anymore. It's not easy, but it's not impossible.

It feels… survivable.

Dina taps the table lightly with her fingers — an old restless habit I remember too well. She used to do that when she didn’t know if she should speak — tapping out the words she couldn’t say.

"You're really here," she finally says, almost under her breath. 

"Yeah… I am," I say. Like if I say it too loud, the world might swallow me whole and take me away.

She nods once. A quick, tight motion. Her jaw clenches before she forces herself to relax.

"You gonna eat or pass out at my table?" she mutters, raising an eyebrow at me.

I grin — a real one, small and shaky, but real.

"Trying. I keep getting interrupted," I say around another mouthful.

This time, she laughs — short, small. But a laugh. It feels like the weight of the world has finally lifted from my shoulders.

"Are you staying?" she asks. Slightly hesitant, like she's scared of the answer.

"Yeah. I am." I say it as if it's a vow. 

I don't want to be anywhere else. She's my home. 

I just hope she still wants me here.

If she doesn't… I'll wait. I'll wait an eternity for her. I don't care what it takes.

Her face shifts — a mix of emotions. Relief. Happiness. Doubt. Maybe a little bit of everything.

Understandable.

Then it hits me.

I don't know what or how, but a fire lights in my chest. Maybe it’s the way she’s still sitting there — not asking me to explain, not pushing me out. Maybe it’s the quiet. The way it doesn’t press down on me like it used to. Something about this moment tells me if I don’t move now, I’ll regret it. I’ll miss the opening and I’ve missed too many already.

I drop the spoon and it clatters against the plate. Dina startles, jerking slightly as I push up from the chair.

"Are you oka—" she starts, confused.

I move across the floor and reach her. My hands find hers, pulling her up to stand and face me. I feel the resistance in her body.

But she doesn't pull away.

I look into her eyes — no — her soul. Hers are searching mine, trying to figure out what I'm doing.

"I know what I did. I hate the pain I caused you… I don't know if you'll ever understand. Or if you can ever forgive me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't." I say, my throat tightening. My words almost a panic.

"But what I did… it's making me — me — again. I can sleep now. I can eat. I think about other things…"

My voice catches. The words start to fall apart in my throat.

I squeeze my lips together to hold it in — to keep from crying in front of her. I hate crying in front of her.

Her eyes glisten. I see tears starting to form, but she stays silent. Her mouth opens, then closes again. Her eyes scan mine — like she’s searching for something, something she hopes is still there.

I see the war behind her expression. Anger, love, loss, longing. It’s all there. I don’t know which one will win.

"I've loved you longer than you know…Before I knew..." I whisper.

"I'm so fucking sorry I couldn't be what you needed after Seattle… I really tried.." My voice breaking, I take a deep breath to collect it.

"I can't change what I did or the hell I put you and JJ through. I know that. But I can give you a better future.. if you'll let me. If you don't want me now, that's fine, I'll wait. However long it takes. If you never want me — that's the price I pay. And I deserve it."

She starts to speak, but I cut her off.

"Losing you… it was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. If I never get you back, it will be the worst. But the truth is… if I didn't go back, you would have only had a shell of me. Not the me you deserve."

The words spill out like floodwater. I hope they make sense.

Tears stream down her cheeks, running to her neck and wetting the collar of her maroon shirt. She's staring at me, lips parted like she wants to say something but can't.

Then — almost out of nowhere —

she throws her arms around my neck and pulls me in.

Her lips crash into mine.

This kiss…

It's every emotion wrapped into one. Urgency, anger, sadness, lust, relief — all of it.

I let myself fall into her.

My lips press hard against hers — this isn't a soft kiss. Not the kind that leads to more.

This is the kind of kiss you give when you never want to let go.

My hands slide up her back to the nape of her neck, then cup her face, pulling her closer. Her fingers tangle into my hair, anchoring us in place.

After a few moments, she pulls back — fingers still curled in my hair. Her eyes scanning my face, reading me as she always has.

"Goddamn you, Ellie," she breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

I smile softly, the corners of my lips lifting.

"I never stopped loving you.." she grips my arms as she says the words.

"I was so angry. So hurt. I prayed every day that you'd come back — even if I swore I'd never speak to you again."

That last part cuts like a knife. I feel it — knees weak, heart dropping into my stomach like a stone.

"I have so many emotions… I don't know how to make sense of them all. Ellie, we've been through more hell than anyone should. Hell we never deserved... But fighting this - fighting what I feel for you- is pointless. I can't let it go..  I want you here. I want you with me. With JJ. I want to try and make all of this mean something."

Her words shift into something quieter. A plea. Like she's begging the world to let this be real.

I can't speak.

My heart's pounding so loud I feel it in my ears. It may bust out of my ribs.

I'm ecstatic.

I'm terrified.

I'm ready.

"Okay, babe," I say gently.

I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Leaning in, kissing her cheek under her eye. She tilts her head into me — a motion I've memorized.

It feels like home. Not a home you build with blueprints and tools. It's a person you can't live without.

We don't speak for a while.

We just stand there. Holding each other.

In the quiet. In the space between the past and whatever the hell comes next.

And somehow — even with all the wreckage between us — having her in my arms feels more like home than anything ever has.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Maria's POV)

⸻

By the time I get home, the sun's low enough to paint long shadows through the front windows. Jackson is quiet in the evenings — patrols thinning out, folks drifting toward dinner tables or warm beds. That kind of stillness always used to comfort me.

Tonight, it unsettles me. But I can't figure out why.

I toe off my boots at the door, setting them neatly against the wall like I always do. The habit of order, of tidiness — it's one of the few things that's never left me. I hang up my coat, glance down the hallway toward the guest room. Spending my formative years around cops and lawyers… I know when there's a shift in the air.

"Ellie?"

No answer.

I don't expect much noise from her. She hasn't been loud in recent years. Still, I figured I'd hear something — the creak of the floor, the quiet rustle of a blanket, something… But there's nothing.

The room's empty when I push open the door. The bed is made — not perfectly, but carefully. Joel's jacket is gone. The pillow is still indented. I notice her backpack lying next to the nightstand.

Is she gone? Why would she leave this?

I pause in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. A hundred thoughts run through me all at once.

Did she leave?

No — not again. Not like this.

I spin back toward the front of the house, snatching my coat from the hook. My heart's starting to pick up speed, a thrum in my throat.

 then —

*Knock knock*

Two hard taps. Familiar. I quickly open the door, already halfway into the sleeves of my jacket, and freeze.

Tommy stands there. Trying to straighten up and grin as I open the door. I can tell he’s trying to hide his pain.

Weathered and worn, leaning heavy on his cane. Same stubborn smile, same slumped posture. But his eyes — what's left of them — still burn with something sharp.

For a long beat, we don't speak.

Then finally, "Maria," he says. Tipping his head down like we are just friendly strangers.

"Hey, Tommy" I echo, quieter. Leaning against the door frame. I scan past him, it’s sometimes hard to make eye contact. Hurts still.

His eye darts past me into the house, like he's checking if it's safe to be here. That old twitch of a soldier who's seen too much and trusts too little. He looks tired. Thinner. His limp heavier than before. For a second, It pangs me in the chest.

"How ya been?" he asks, voice rough around the edges. As if he’s trying to make small talk at nearly ten o’clock at night.

I arch an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna have that conversation?"

A flicker of a smile. "Fair enough." He coughs a soft laugh out.

I push against the door frame standing straight, trying to give him a hint to make whatever this is quick.

"What brings you here Tommy? I don't mean to be short but I'm in a bit of a rush…" I shift impatiently.

He hesitates. Scratches at the side of his jaw like he's buying time. Eyes flicking around. I know that look, like he’s trying to say the right thing and not blow the damn thing up. 

"I saw her," he says finally. "Ellie."

My spine goes straight.

"How long ago? Where?" My voice clipped. My prosecutor tone at the forefront before I can stop it.

"This morning. Out at Joel's grave." He says it quieter, but still rough.

That hits harder than I expect. I swallow it, slow and steady. I knew she was going, but both of them being there strikes something sharp inside me. I haven’t been up there in weeks. Told myself it was because of work, the weather, whatever excuse I could justify. I swallow the lump forming in my throat- just another routine pain I’ve learned how to manage.

"I think she's alright now. She was kneelin'. Talkin' to him. Cryin'…" He trails off. "Didn't even look mad when she saw me. Just… empty."

I exhale slow-steady. This is going to take more than a doorstep conversation.

I step back from the doorway and gesture for him to come in.

He hesitates — then follows. Limping his way up the 2 steps onto the porch, he shrinks a bit as he walks past me. Like he’s trying to make himself smaller. 

Inside, he eases himself into the chair near the window, setting his cane beside him with care. I watch the way his hands move — slow, stiff, reluctant. He stretches his bad leg out and flexes his foot. I catch him wincing and my body almost lurches to help him.. old habits wanting to help ease his pain. 

I force myself to stay standing, crossing my arms as a barrier. Grief has a way of pulling people together and pushing them apart when they need each other most- ironic how that works.

"She didn't come back," I say. "She left while I was at work. Her pack is still here. I need you to tell me everything so I can find her and at least make sure she's okay."

He nods once. "I figured." Surprisingly calm tone, like he’s way ahead of me on this.

"She didn't leave town?" My voice curious, questioning.

"No," shaking his head. "I told her where Dina lives." His eyes meet mine and a smile tugs at his lips. Not taunting me, just genuinely is happy about it. Like maybe he thinks he did good and isn’t screw every thing up. 

It makes my jaw tense. Typical Tommy — he always finds a way to meddle, somehow always with good intentions. Always playing savior when no one asked him to. But the part that gets under my skin the most is the flicker of hope in his eyes. Like maybe he still believes in second chances. Damn it… a small part of me wants to believe too.

"You what?" My tone sharp and annoyed. I have to bite my tongue before I say more, say things I'll have to apologize for later.

"She asked!" he says quickly. Putting his hands up in a defeated position "I didn't force it on her. Just said where. Thought she deserved to know."

I let that sit in the room a moment. The space between us filled with old wounds and shared ghosts. 

"She was different…" he adds. "Didn't yell. Didn't cuss me out. Just… stood there. Quiet. I thought she'd be spittin' fire seeing me." Confusion and relief mixed together on his face. He shakes his head slowly, lips in that crooked frown.

"Grief changes people." I keep my eyes locked on his. Truthfully, I wasn't sure how Ellie would react to seeing Tommy. She still surprises me. 

"Yeah I guess it does… so does guilt," he mutters. Averting his eyes down, bouncing his good knee.

We lapse into silence. This used to happen a lot before we split — long spells where neither of us would say anything because we knew words weren't enough. Or when they wouldn't change anything. Or worse- make us resent the other more.

Then he shifts slightly in his seat, clearing his throat. "How is she since she got here?"

I finally sit across from him, letting my shoulders relax as I hit the chair. The chair creaks and I feel the weight of the day pressing on my spine. How can I be so close to him, but feel so far?

"She's struggling.." I admit with a sigh. "But she's trying."

His shoulders deflate, like an invisible weight released to press down harder on him. "It's my fault…"

"Tommy…She loved you… you two had a strong bond once upon a time."

I meant it. I remember how those two acted like kids together. Picking at each other like brother and sister. Bickering about who won what card game, who had better music taste and anything else they could debate. For awhile they were exactly what the other needed. 

That shuts him up.

After a long minute, he clears his throat. "Well, I just came to say… thank you."

"For what?"

"For taking her in. For feeding her. For not slamming the door on her."

I shake my head. "Don't thank me, Tommy. I have always cared for Ellie. I would never turn her away." Just like Joel, Ellie has been apart of this family. 

"I know." His gaze drops to the floor. "But I still wanted to say it."

"I gave her a choice. To stay and be part of this community, again. Or I would give her anything she needs and she could be on her way. She chose to stay. That means something. She has to choose this — the more you force her, the quicker she runs the opposite way."

"Yeah… she's the same kinda hardheaded as my brother. Stubborn down to the bone… hope she keeps stickin' round," Tommy says softly.

"Me too Tommy." I still feel that spark. His name feels warm on my tongue, familiar in a way that still catches me off guard. Like saying it lights something up, even if it’s just for a second. 

He reaches for his cane. I can tell he wants to leave before anything else gets said. But before he stands, I speak.

"Do you remember what I said to you… the morning I left?"

He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. "You said, 'I'd rather lose you than keep watching you disappear piece by piece.'" His lips press together hard.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I was trying to make you see logic." I add softly. I never got the chance to explain this. It's weighed on me since I left. 

"I hear ya…" he says quietly. Voice low and rough. 

"You'll see her again," I say. "Just… give it time."

He nods. Doesn't smile. Doesn't argue. Just stands, slowly, like the weight of it all might collapse him if he moves too fast. He winces again, tries to hide it. This time I don't stop myself- I can't.

I stand up and hold his arm to steady him. He just looks at me, lips in a flat smile. Once he's steadied, I let go, my body moving in slow motion. It's not by choice. 

We both shift toward the door and he starts twisting the knob, it seems to move slowly too.

"She's still got some of him in her," he says, nodding his head like he's agreeing to his own statement.

"Yeah, she does." I laugh softly at the words. Joel, Tommy and Ellie are the most stubborn humans I've ever known. So stubborn they will stop at nothing for those they love, at any cost. 

"That's not all a bad thing though." Joel was a good man, who did bad things.

Tommy nods quickly, and heads out the door.

I watch him leave. It still hurts. But I can't think of that right now. A part of me still wants to ask him to stay. But that part of me’s quieter now. Easier to ignore.
That’s the thing about losing someone slow — you get used to the ache. You start calling it peace.

Right behind him I'm out the door, heading the opposite way.

⸻

The walk to Dina's isn't long.

But tonight it feels different.

Every step down Jackson's main road is slower than usual. The sky's dark now.. a black sky lined with a thousand bright speckles. Porch lights flicker on like stars. Somewhere, a baby cries. A group of people laugh on a porch, I can hear the faint sound of bottles clinking in unison.

It's the sound of a town continuing. The kind of sound that makes you realize how much life moves on — even when you don't.

When I reach the corner near the fence and blue flowers, I pause.

I can see the glow of the windows. I stop at the gate. I listen.

No shouting.

No stomping.

Just a soft murmur through the walls. A voice I think is Ellie's. A laugh — light, short.

I feel something loosen in my chest.

I could go up to the porch. I could knock, check in, play the leader card.

But I don't.

I don't want to interrupt whatever this is.

So instead, I stay at the edge of the yard. Let the cool air settle into my coat. Let the ache of a thousand sleepless nights curl up somewhere quiet inside me.

Ellie found her way back.

And for now — that's enough.

I turn and head back the way I came.

⸻

The road home bends past the cemetery — it always has.

I don't always stop.

Some days, I just can't.

But tonight… I do.

I feel like I need to.

The path up the hill is worn smooth now, carved by years of boots and grief. Wild grass pushes through in places — green creeping back into sacred ground. Nature’s way of reminding us that life keeps going. Even here.

Joel's grave isn't hard to find. I've visited enough times it might as well be muscle memory. I used to come everyday with Tommy.

Until one day...

---

"I want to go alone today." Tommy leans heavy against his cane. Shoulder slumped with that god forsaken satchel full of maps. He keeps it clutched tightly like a lifeline.

I hate that fucking thing.

"Tommy, Why?" I try to hide the hurt in my voice. "We always go together."  I don't like the idea of him going on his own. Nothing can happen.. except what he does to himself.

"Maria, he's my brother okay? I just want alone time with him. You don't gotta follow me every damn second!" 

His face exasperated, voice defensive. Like a man caught doing something he swore to give up. I know what he wants to do. He isn't going to grieve, he's going to plan. He knows it, I know it.

I scoff loud and sharp, throwing my hands up. "Fine. Do whatever you want Tommy."

That was the last time we went together.

---

I stand there for a minute, hands deep in my coat pockets, the cold settling in around my shoulders.

There's a single blue flower placed perfectly in front.

Ellie.

I crouch slowly, knees creaking with age and the weight of all I've been carrying. My fingers brush the rough etching of his name on the stone This is all we are left with, a rock and bones.

I don't have anything prepared. I never do.

So I just whisper,

"She came back."

The words leave me with more weight than I expect.

Not triumphant. Not even relieved. Just… tired. Grateful. But tired.

I let my fingers rest there a second longer.

"Thank you, Joel," I say — just a breath carried in the wind.

It's not about the choice he made — the one that rewrote all our lives.

It's about the girl he fought for- time and time again.

The one who somehow made it back.

That's all I say.

I stand, brushing my hands against my coat. That familiar tightening crawls up my throat and into my nose — that ache right before the tears come.

I walk back down the hill, toward the life that's still moving — one step at a time.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

I wake up to the smell of eggs and something slightly burnt.

It takes me a second to remember where I am.

The couch underneath me isn't familiar, but the blanket is warm, tucked up to my chin like someone gave a shit whether I was cold or not. The sun spills through the windows in soft beams — not harsh like the light in Santa Barbara, not filtered through cracked glass or boarded-up frames. Real sunlight.

I blink slowly, adjusting. I stretch out carefully, my body aches in that dull, travel-worn way. My ankles stiff and shoulders sore. But not broken. Not today.

Voices float through my memory — not dreams, not exactly. Just fragments.

Dina, sitting on the far end of the couch. Legs tucked under her, speaking softly about Jackson like nothing ever happened. Like so much time hadn't passed between us.

She told me about the greenhouse rotation, about the town's expansion on the west end near the old mill, about Maria organizing movie nights again at the schoolhouse. She talked about JJ and how he calls every worm in the garden "bug". How he demands she draw a dinosaur on every scrap of paper he can find. How he tries to run everywhere, never walks. Her voice had a rhythm to it — gentle, patient, steady. Like the world wasn't ending anymore.

I hadn't said much. Just listened, nodded. Let her words wash over me like rain after a drought. I wasn't ready to talk about the heavy stuff- maybe she wasn't either.

I remember thinking I could fall asleep like that.

Guess I did.

Now I sit up slowly, brushing a hand through my hair. Joel's jacket is still draped over the armrest. My boots are lined up beside the couch — not by me. Dina must've done that.

She tucked me in.

The thought hits in a way I'm not ready for, so I push it aside. I don't deserve her unconditional love.

In the kitchen, I hear dishes clinking. A soft scrape of metal against pan. I rub the sleep from my face and push to my feet. The wood floor is cool under my socks. I fold the blanket without thinking and drape it back over the couch.

"You're up!" Dina calls without turning around.

"Yeah," I croak. My voice is still hoarse from sleep. "Something smells… edible."

"You've got high standards for someone who's probably lived off jerky and canned peaches," she replies pointedly, flipping something in the skillet. "It's just eggs. And maybe a little… extra crispy toast." I can hear the smile on her voice. It makes my heart flutter. I grin too, even if she can't see it.

I step into the kitchen. The light is even brighter here. Warmer. It soaks into the pale walls, glints off the edges of the clean dishes drying in the rack. There’s a chipped mug on the table. A dish towel hanging uneven on the handle of the oven. It's not perfect, but it's...home.

"You let me fall asleep," I say 

"You needed it."

She says it like it's a fact. Like there's no argument.

I catch her eyes for a second — just a second — as she plates the food. There's a softness there. No judgement. Just… care. It does something to me I don't have words for.

She's already dressed. Hair pulled back into a tight bun. A few loose strands frame her face. Like she's been up for hours. Like this is already just… life, for her. She's always been this way. She adapts to anything without hesitation.

Dina sets the plate in front of me then settles in a chair across from me with a mug of tea.

"Does JJ come home today?" I ask, trying to be nonchalant, trying to be normal. But when I say his name my stomach flips in this tight, nauseous way I can’t explain. Like I’ve been waiting to ask and dreading it all at once.

She nods. "Yep. We can go get him from Ken and Ellen's."

I pause at the names. Jesse's parents.

Ken — always quiet, formal. The kind of man who gives you a polite nod but kept his thoughts close. Ellen — softer, warmer, but with eyes that always seemed to look straight through me once we came back.

They were never cruel to me. Never said the words I always feared. Never said they blamed me.

But I felt it.

The way conversations shortened when I entered the room. The long silences. The obvious times talking to Dina about the past with Jesse, avoiding me.

They loved their son. Of course they did. We couldn't bring his body home… so all they had were stories full of holes and regrets no one dares to speak of.

I don't know what I expected from them.

But even now, the thought of facing them again makes something coil tight in my chest.

I force myself to nod. Take a bite of toast. It's a little burnt around the edges, but I don't care. It's warm, it's real food made in a kitchen. Not eaten out of a dusty bag in some abandoned home.

Dina watches me across the table, hands curled around her mug, she runs her thumb along the rim. Like she’s deciding whether or not to say something.
Then she looks up.

"You know," she says quietly, "he remembers you."

My heart stutters.

"JJ. He remembers." she smiles slightly.

I swallow hard, the toast sticks as it goes down. I reach for my own mug, hoping water will help. I picture the way he used to cling to my neck when he was tired, head on my shoulder, his tiny hand twisting the collar of my shirt. How we would chase each other in the field in front of the farmhouse. How I'd play him songs and he'd squeal along.
I haven’t let myself think about that in a long time.

"He asks about you sometimes. Not with words — not always. But when he sees a guitar, or a moth.. he points and gets so excited…"

She trails off. Doesn't finish the thought. Her eyes dipping down towards her tea.

I nod again. It's all I can manage, afraid if I speak, my voice will crack.

We sit in silence for a moment. Not the painful kind. Just the kind that says everything words can't.

Then Dina stands, smooth and deliberate.

"Finish up. Then we'll go."

I nod and return to my plate finishing up the last few bites. I'm actually eating these days.

Down the hall, her footsteps fade — that same light rhythm I used to know by heart.

And just like that, we're heading toward something that feels suspiciously like a future.

⸻

We walk through the center of town, down the worn path that cuts past the bakery and what used to be a bookstore, now turned into a communal supply hub with crates stacked under the awning and handwritten signs taped to the windows. The sun's high enough now that most porches are swept and morning chores are underway. People wave to Dina — say hello. A few slow when they notice me.

I recognize most people, one in particular— Joe, the old guy who used to run supply checks before patrol shifts. He's leaning against a post outside the butcher's shop, sipping something hot from a metal thermos.

He catches my eye. Brows lift. He blinks. Then, slowly, he raises a hand in a small wave.

I nod back and wave back, a small gesture. A flicker of something — not quite comfort, but not rejection either — settles in my chest.

As we keep walking I hear whispers behind us as we pass a few small groups of people. A quiet voice says my name — not in anger, just surprise.

I keep my eyes on the path ahead.

"They're just curious." Dina murmurs. "You know how Jackson is."

"Yeah," I mutter. "Doesn't mean I like it."

She bumps my shoulder gently. " It's going to be okay."

We round a corner and approach the short row of duplexes just behind the square. Brick and wood siding, flower boxes still bare from winter, but tended. Dina stops at the second door on the left. This isn’t the house they used to live in when Jesse was alive. The realization tugs at my chest. I understand how things work here, we all do. That's the price we pay to live in a community like this. Still, it saddens me knowing they lost their son, and their home. Maybe, they wanted to. Maybe they couldn't bear to be in the same house that he lived in with them. 

A clay pot sits cracked on the step, fresh mulch inside like it is ready for spring. A string of tiny wind chimes hangs from the porch — tin stars and glass beads that clink gently in the breeze.

She knocks — quick, polite.

The door creaks open a second later.

Ken stands there, exactly how I remember him. Tall, square-shouldered, hair nearly all gray now, but cut short. He wears a sweater with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, hands rough from years of gardening and fence repairs.

He sees me. His eyes widen — just slightly. Then they go still. He doesn't say a word.

Dina speaks for both of us, light and practiced. "We're here to pick up JJ." She smiles politely. Ignoring the elephant on the porch.

Ken's gaze lingers on me another moment, pressing his lips together like he's biting back a thought. He nods once and steps aside - stiff, mechanical- to let us in, almost reluctantly. Inside, it's warm the faint floral scent clings to the air— wood floors, tidy shelves, photos of Jesse and JJ are hung neatly throughout. There’s a photo frame turned inward on a shelf. I don’t need to see it to know who it’s of. My chest tightens. Places like this weren’t built for ghosts, but they’re full of them.

Ellen is by the window, setting a small vase of flowers down on the table. She turns at the sound of the door.

She stops cold.

Her eyes land on me. They narrow. Not harsh — just sharp with recognition, confusion, and something else behind it.

Then she says, "Ellie. You're… you're here."

Not a question. Not warm. But not unkind either. Just a fact.

"Yeah," I say, my voice dry. "I… yeah. Good to see you Ellen."

She nods once, as if cataloging the moment for later. "What a lovely surprise! Welcome." I don't think she means it. She steps aside anyways and motions for us to come in.

JJ sits on a cushioned mat by the coffee table, his back to us. He’s stacking blocks — or trying to. One strap of his overalls hangs loose off his shoulder. His feet are bare. He babbles nonsense to himself in a little rhythm like he’s narrating a story only he understands.

Dina steps forward first.

"Hey, buddy," she says softly.

JJ turns. His whole face lights up. Blocks scatter as he scrambles to his feet, he wobbles toward her with all the grace of a baby deer.

"Mama!" he shrieks, laughing, arms flailing.

Dina crouches just in time to catch him, pulling him in to a hug, kissing his cheek, his silky black hair, his nose. His laughter fills the room, sweet and loud.

I hang back. I just stand there and let it hit me.

The sound of him. The size of him. His voice. His legs. He’s not the same baby he was when I left. He was just babbling before — crawling, pulling himself up on furniture. Now he’s running. Talking. A whole person forming in my absence.

I’ve missed so much.

My stomach twists hard. A deep kind of ache — the kind you can’t patch up or walk off.

Then — he spots me.

He goes still in Dina's arms, eyebrows furrowing. His mouth opens like he might say something, but nothing comes out yet. 

"Hey, spud," I say trying to keep my voice steady, keep it from breaking.

He stares for a second longer — those same dark, kind eyes Jesse had. The kind that see more than you think — then something clicks in that quiet way little kids piece the world together. He knows me. Somehow, he still knows me.. His little body wriggles until Dina sets him down. He toddles towards me on unsteady feet, unsure at first, until I open my arms.

Then he's there. Reaching up to me excitedly, his little fingers gripping towards me. I lift him carefully, scared he'll drop or that we both will. He squeezes his arms around my neck, giggling in my ear loudly. "El-lie El-lie" his broken words babbling out.

I feel something inside me give way without warning. I didn't know how much I needed this until now. I hold him like I've missed him for a lifetime. In a way I have.

JJ wriggles in my arms, babbling nonsense, tiny fingers wrapping in the collar of my shirt like he used to. I hold him carefully, memorizing the weight of him — heavier than I remember, but still so small. So real. He smells faintly of peanut butter and fresh laundry. I love him so much it hurts. He's a piece of Dina, a piece of Jesse. A piece of a life we never got to start.

Ellen watches us from across the room. Her expression is gentler than Ken's, but there's something behind her eyes that flickers — a kind of wary tenderness, like she wants to say something but hasn't decided if she should.

She steps closer, smoothing a hand over JJ's hair.

"He gets really excited when he sees a guitar or a horse. We just told him you went on a trip" She speaks carefully, not unkind either. Just truth.

I nod. "I've missed him." I force a smile. I have to.

Her words hit somewhere deep, but she doesn't say them to hurt. They're just facts.

I shift JJ against my chest, he is playing with my hair and patting my back. I feel a hole being bored into me, I glance over at Ken. He's standing near the door, arms crossed tightly. Watching hard. I can see a scowl forming on his brow.

My scalp prickles — not fear. A low, familiar hum of something about to snap. The silence around him sharpens. He’s holding something back and it’s not going to stay in.

He finally speaks.

"So you're here for good?" His words coated in disbelief.

Dina stiffens beside me. I hear her breath hitch. I freeze. The words hang in the air — blunt and hard.

"Ken," Ellen murmurs low and warning, but doesn't stop him. Her eyes bouncing between the 3 of us.

"Yeah, I am." I say flatly, holding his stare. I can feel the heat rising to my face.

"Well, I'm glad you're so sure." Ken scoffs rolling his eyes. He says it like a challenge. As if my certainty is an insult. 

I think the room dropped 10 degrees. Everyone is frozen.

I lower JJ slowly to the rug. He toddles off toward his blocks, babbling to himself like nothing happened. Thankfully unaware of the hostility that is growing.

My chest tightens. There’s the low burn building in my gut — sharp and rising. Before I can stop it, the words are coming out like acid.

"You think I don't I know what I did?" I say quiet, sharp. My eyes fixed to his. Not backing down. I know how it looks — leaving, staying gone, showing up now like it's easy. I’d judge me, too. But I also know what I did to come back.

Ken doesn't blink. "I think people say a lot of things." he said flat, shrugging. "I think it's easier to disappear than to stay and face things head on." He gruffs, voice gravely. Hands placed flat on the counter. Staring me down, bracing for the fight.

Dina flinches beside me. I can feel her start to shift in front of me. I move a step closer to Ken.

"Do you think I went on a vacation? " I mock laugh. "You think what I did was easy?" My voice is rising. Becoming sharper. I can feel the fire climbing through my gut, up my throat.

"You have no idea what I've lost or what I've been through. What I did to get back here, to her and him. You don't get to judge me." The words are seething now. Hot like coals.

Ken straightens "First you ran out of town to that farm, taking them with you. Then you disappear for almost a year." Shaking his head "Don't you see how that makes everyone feel? How JJ and Dina feel? We were the ones picking up the pieces." His words hit like bricks to the chest. One by one. No mercy. What he doesn't know is these are things I've said to myself countless times.

Dina starts stepping between us. I can feel her getting nervous. "This isn't the time or place for this. You both need-"

"You think I've let myself off the hook?"  I snap. "You think I don't blame myself every damn day? That I don't regret things I've done? There isn't a day that has gone by that I haven't thought about all of it. But I wasn't the only one to make choices... I never asked anyone to follow me.." my words fading, my teeth clenched. 

The last line hits him heavy. Ken’s face flickers — just for a second. Like a nerve got hit. We both know what I mean. This isn’t just about Dina anymore. This is about choices we can't take back. 

"Maybe you should've stayed gone." His words ice. His eyes locked to mine, unflinching. It hits like a slap. My heart spikes, but my face stays still. I’ve taken worse, but it still burns with truth.

I clench my fists. JJ is playing behind me, and all I want is to be soft for him — for Dina. But Ken keeps scraping at wounds that aren't closed.
I already gave up everything once. I’m not doing it again. 

Dina steps fast in front of me. "Okay! That's enough!" she turns to face me and puts a hand on my chest, firm but shaking slightly.

"Kenji!" Ellen's voice cuts across the room- sharper than I've ever heard it. "Stop. You don't mean that."  She glances at me, then Dina. "This is a lot to take in - but please, let's be rational." her voice pleading with her husband.

We are both at the edge, willing to jump. Neither of us are giving in.

"Maybe.." I say, voice low. "But I came back. I'll be here as long as I'm wanted." my words are sharp, and it's deliberate.

"You're wanted," Dina says quickly, stepping closer to me. "Let's just go, okay?" She's trying to usher me back.

Ken's eyes flick to her. "We never left, Dina. Don't forget that."

Something in me snaps. Heat floods my face, fast and relentless. My hands clutch into tight fists.

"You think I don't carry that every fucking day?"

The room stills.

"I left because I couldn't breathe," I continue. "Because everything inside me was broken. I couldn't forgive myself for everything that happened. I wanted to avenge Joel... and Jesse too. He was my best friend.." My voice cracks slightly at their names, they land heavy in the air. Ken's eyes go glassy. Ellen flinches at the sound of her son’s name. Dina sighs beside me. She knows this is a lost cause.

"But I'm back now. I'm not here to ask for a gold star or your forgiveness. I'm here to prove I'm not going anywhere. So you can get over it." The last sentence is louder. I want to prove a point.

Ken doesn't respond. Just looks at me. Measuring.

Ellen exhales moving forward steadily. "Let her try, Ken. That's all we can ask. This fighting.." her voice softens "It only tears us further apart. We've all lost enough. I don't want to lose anymore." Ellen is trying to reason. With all of us. She knows she doesn't want to lose JJ too.

Ken nods once — not quite approval, not quite dismissal. Just… acknowledgment. We both take a small step back. Neither giving in, but realizing this is over. The air still hums with tension, but the sharp edge of it dulls.

I kneel to pick up one of JJ's blocks, my hands trembling faintly. He looks up and grins at me like nothing happened. That smile is all the permission I need. He doesn’t care about the things I’ve done. Doesn’t ask questions. Just smiles. It’s the kind of forgiveness only kids know how to give — simple, complete, and without conditions. 

"I'm going to grab JJs stuff." Dina says already moving around the living room. "Same time next week for drop off?" Dina is trying to smooth things over. I think to ease the mind of Ellen.

"Yes Dina that would be great!" She replies quickly, relieved. "Let me give him a hug bye bye." Ellen shuffles then bends down and pulls JJ into a hug, kissing his cheek. He squeals with delight and laughs as she squeezes him.

We make our way to the door. Everyone is more quiet now, some of the tension has faded but not forgotten.

Deep down, I don't blame Ken. I know he's hurting. I know as well as anyone that grief doesn't always come out clean. But some things just.. aren't simple. I dont expect him to understand.

JJ says his goodbyes, a few cheerful babbles and dramatic waves. We all nod then step out into the crisp spring day and start making our way down the road. JJ insists on walking, even though it slows us down, I don’t mind.. We all walk in silence for a while, the sound of JJ's feet tapping along the road grounding everything.

"Well" Dina says eventually, her voice light. "That was awkward." She gives a half-laugh, like she’s trying to will the weight of it all away. Then, more softly, "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, it just.. bothers me." I mutter. "He looked at me like I decided to go off on a trip to the beach." I stare ahead as we walk.

"They've always blamed me. Blamed me for you and Jesse breaking up. His death. All of it..." I pause chewing on the words. The worst part is. Some of it.. I do blame myself for.. if we would have left sooner.. we'd all be whole. Well, most of us.

"They lost their son. He doesn't blame you." Dina says gently.

"Plus, I chose you longggg before Jesse followed us to Seattle" she smiles playfully nudging me "He just doesn't understand. Honestly, It's not his place to say those things so it doesn't matter. You two will learn to get along again, eventually." I think she's trying to convince herself. She knows how I can be. Apparently how Ken can be too.

"We'll see." The emotions too raw right now. Then she reaches out, her hand gripping mine. Our fingers intertwining, grounding me. I look at her and smile for real.

"See.. it's going to be okay" she says cheerfully. Leaning in for a small peck on the cheek. Soft and assured, she believes it. I guess I can too. She's usually right.

I have a feeling this won't be the last awkward reunion. I only hope she'll be by my side for each one, if she is- I'll be okay.

I swoop and pick JJ up swiftly then lift him to my shoulders. He shrieks with delight, kicking his legs like I'm a horse. We all move a little faster down the road, towards home. 

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

We get home around midday, JJ bouncing on my shoulders, babbling something about a dinosaur. He's heavy, but I don't mind. It feels good — solid, warm. Real. The kind of weight I want to carry.

Sunlight spills across the floorboards as we walk in. The house is quiet in that soft way only midday can be. Dina slips off her boots by the door. JJ wiggles, so I set him down, and he takes off toward the coffee table — crayons already calling his name. He laughs as he grabs a handful, talking to himself like he’s got an audience.

I shut the door behind us, pausing for a second, my hand still grasping the doorknob. This still doesn't feel real — not yet. But it's close. It's closer than I thought I'd ever get.

Dina gives me a look over her shoulder. A sweet smile. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say nodding. "Yeah, I'm good." We both smile at each other now.

I’m about to sink into the couch when a sound cuts through the living room, there's a knock on the door. A few short taps. Dina and I exchange a glance. She crosses the room and opens it.

Maria stands there, boots dusty, hair tucked back. She's holding my backpack. She definitely just got done with work.

"Hey, Dina. Hey, Ellie," Maria says as casual as ever, like this is just part of the routine.

"Figured you might want this," she says, holding up my backpack, giving it a shake.

I nod, taking it from her. "Thanks, Maria."

Her eyes flick past Dina and land on JJ, who’s sitting cross-legged now, scribbling big loops of green on a sheet of paper. His tongue sticks out in concentration.The corners of her mouth tugging into a small smile. It’s the same look I’ve seen her give other kids in town. The kind that says she’s still fighting for the next generation. 

"I was coming to check on you anyway," she adds shifting her weight. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything."

I shake my head. "No, you're fine.” I add quickly. “I meant to come back by. I'm sorry I left you hanging. Just… we had a big day." I glance at Dina, who's still smiling.

Maria's nods, her expression shifting into something softer. "I figured. You don't have to explain.” She pauses. “Looks like you're settling in just fine."

Dina steps back slightly. "Want to come in for a minute?" she offers.

Maria doesn't step all the way inside, just lingers after shutting the door, like she's keeping it casual. But she’s observing, she always is.

"So… are you staying here now?" she asks. Not judging, maybe hoping? Before I can open my mouth, Dina beats me to it.

"For now," she says with a little smirk, folding her arms across her chest. "She's got a cot and everything."

Maria chuckles under her breath. "That so, huh?" She raises her eyebrow at me. All I can do is smirk back at Dina.

JJ notices her and lets out a cheerful, "Ree-yah!" before going back to his drawing.

"Hey, JJ" Maria smiles, nodding toward him. Maria and Tommy never had the chance to have kids. I think they both wanted at least one. The way she looks at him is a longing that I have come to understand.

She looks at me again, more serious now. "Council meeting's happening later this week. I know you just got back, but… I figure if you're staying, it'd be good for you to be there. Get back into a routine of things."

I nod slowly. "Okay, I'll be there." I haven't been to one since before we left for Seattle. Never cared for them that much. I'm more of a doer than listening to the woes of others. 

She gestures toward my pack. "Also got a few jobs I'd line you up for — nothing crazy. Just stuff to keep your hands busy. We'll need you pulling some weight again."

I hesitate for a second. Not because I don't want to — just because I don't know how it'll feel to work like everything's fine. I used to help in the gardens, before I started patrols. Worked in the kitchens too- that sucked.

"Sure," I say. "I'll help."

"Good," she says simply. "You can help Dina at the greenhouse to start. If you get bored of that, the stables can always use a hand. You might even remember some of the sheep." Her lips turn into a smile.

They must've brought the sheep from the farmhouse. The thought makes me stupidly happy. I loved the sheep.

I nod, a little too quickly. "I'd love to see the sheep and horses."

Maria gives us both a last look — half leader, half family — then nods once and heads back down the road.

Dina closes the door behind her and sighs.

"Guess I'm stuck with you, huh?" Her eyes squint at me teasingly, her head tilting to the side. I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful she is.

"Hmm, for now." I walk to her and pull her into my arms. Her eyes are bright, but I see something flicker in them. She's still unsure — like any second she'll wake up and this will all be a dream. I don't blame her. All I can do is show her.

⸻

The next few days pass in a kind of quiet rhythm. It's easy, simple. Dare I say normal? It really feels like it.

We don't talk about what happened with Ken. Or Santa Barbara. Or Seattle. Or really anything other than what's happening right now, in the moment.

Not yet at least…

Instead, we fall into the simple things.

In the mornings, Dina makes tea while I get JJ into his little overalls. He calls them his "work works," like he's heading off to dig fence posts or harvest potatoes. I salute him like he’s heading off to war. He grins so wide it almost swallows his cheeks. I catch myself staring too long — not only because he’s cute, but because he makes 'pretend' feel real in a way I used to need, too. Dina rolls her eyes when he says it, but she still packs him a tiny satchel with snacks, like he's got somewhere real to be. We've even given him a few plastic shovels — kids' toys we've found over the years.

Most days we spend time working in the greenhouse. Dina's been managing part of the spring planting rotation — she's got the whole place mapped in her head. She knows which trays need soaking, which beds need turning. I follow her from row to row, sometimes just watching her work other times following her orders- like a good soldier. She moves with this quiet confidence — like she’s been doing this a long time. I guess she has. She’s built a real life here. Something I don’t want to mess up.

Everyday I follow her lead, digging into the dirt with her. It's slow work. My nails are always caked in soil by midday, and I kind of love it. We have a healthy crop of spinach, carrots, asparagus, and tomatoes so far. We've started on potatoes too.

Dina hands me a packet of tomato seeds and says something about spacing in the planting pans. I just nod, there’s a lump in my throat. Joel used to grow tomatoes. I bury the memory with the seeds.

One afternoon, we sit side-by-side in the garden bed, sweat on our foreheads, JJ sleeping in the shade with a half-chewed apple slice still in his hand. Dina reaches over, brushes a smudge of dirt from my cheek, and smiles like it's the first time she's seen me in weeks.

"You're not bad at this," she says, raising her eyebrows.

"I've learned from the best." I shrug into her shoulder. "I'm more of the hunter though. Plants aren't quite my thing."

"Oh, and I can't hunt? Remember all of those rabbits? You would've starved without me." Her voice lifts, mock-offended.

"You're right, you're right. Those traps have always been effective. I definitely would've starved without you. Or broken an ankle and died somewhere." I see flashes of the past in my head, hunting together outside of Jackson's walls with Jesse. On the road to Seattle... I shake that away quickly.

She laughs quietly, then leans her head on my shoulder for a few seconds. I let it stay there. Lean my cheek on her head. Normal.

We walk through town most evenings. JJ perched on my shoulders, babbling nonsense songs. People wave at me now, some have said hello. Others still avoid my eyes. It doesn't sting as bad. Not with her next to me. Not with his little hands tugging at my hair and calling me "El-lie." Or sometimes, just "mom." Some days when we walk JJ sings to the rhythm of our steps — little songs about clouds or bugs. One night we pass the bakery and he starts yelling, “Cake!” until Dina promises he can have have a slice tomorrow. The golden light shines off of both of their faces, shadows cast around us as the day fades. For the first time in a long time, Jackson feels like home again.

Nighttime can be difficult. The nightmares haven't stopped completely. But they're quieter. It's his voice sometimes, calling for me. Other times it's Abby's face, staring at me. Sometimes it's just a feeling of dread. I'm not sure Dina even notices. I jolt awake sometimes with my hands clenched in a fist, breath caught in my throat. But there’s no screaming, no lashing out. Sometimes I walk into JJ's room, watch him from the doorway — his little chest rising and falling. A few times he's woken up, and I visit with him for a minute. I'll rock him to sleep in the bassinet — or let him sit on my lap in the rocking chair until he starts to drift. Other nights I'll scoot closer to Dina, holding her to me. The nightmares stay away when they are in my arms.

The next day, Dina tells me the council meeting is set for tomorrow. JJ will stay the night with Ken and Ellen. Her voice is casual, but I can hear the weight underneath it.

"They'll talk about the mundane stuff — the expansion, spring jobs, new arrivals." she says. Her eyes scanning my face like she's looking for an answer. "You know you don't have to participate if you don't want to…" Her voice trails off quieter, expecting.

I nod. "I want to go. If you'll go with me" 

"Of course I will, dummy." She teases and blows a kiss my way.

I'm not running. Not anymore.

That night, we sit on the porch steps after JJ's asleep. The sky's turning gold and purple above the treetops. The wind smells like coming rain. It's perfect weather — not too hot or cold. The porch creaks softly beneath us. Somewhere out past the fields, a dog barks once, then nothing. The breeze brushes past my face gently, causing Dina to shiver slightly. I watch the wind stir the trees, and for a second I forget what fear feels like. Dina rests her hand on mine and snuggles closer- she doesn't say anything. Doesn't have to.

I squeeze her fingers gently, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like I'm waiting for something bad to happen.

I just feel here.

And here… feels like something I want to keep.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

⸻

The light pours into our room, the alarm making the familiar *beep beep beep* at 6:30am — Dina groans next to me, turning and slapping the clock once, twice until it shuts up. JJ had a rough night — up a few times crying and a bit inconsolable. We took turns. One time we both sat up with him. My head aches from the lack of sleep. I turn and see Dina. She's laying on her stomach, head into her pillow and her hair tousled around. It makes me smile. I feel that same flutter in my chest — even with the lack of sleep, I wouldn't trade this for anything.

I hear JJ starting to fuss. Dina flips around mumbling something I can't comprehend.

"I'll get him. You just get up when you're ready, okay?"

"Mm, you sure?" she says, barely audible.

I just lean over and give her a kiss, pausing before getting up.

JJ has pulled himself up on his crib, cheeks still red from the late-night tears. I know he's exhausted but he starts getting more frustrated. "Moooom," JJ blubbers, his little lip trembling.

"I'm here, buddy. It's okay." I reach in and scoop him up. This soothes him enough to get him downstairs and into his highchair where I can get him fed. I make him a small plate of fruit, which he quickly decides to dump — unimpressed with the blueberries.

"Ah, gonna be one of those days, huh?" I say, a bit exasperated. I pick up the blueberries and a toy dinosaur that had been kicked under the table at some point. Finally, he smiles and takes the toy, playing with it on his high chair. In the meantime, I start getting JJ's stuff together. We're going to drop him off at Ken and Ellen's before the council meeting. I pack his backpack with a few toys, a coloring book, and jammies. Thankfully he stays preoccupied with his dinosaur and the few blueberries he has yet to discard.

Dina saunters downstairs, the half-asleep look really suits her. She catches me staring and blows a kiss my way. I think I'm blushing. She pours herself tea and sits down at the table.

"I don't feel like cooking this morning — sandwiches from the restaurant after we drop JJ?" she asks with a smile.

"Yeah, sounds good to me. I think we could use an easy day, huh?"

About a half hour and one tantrum later, we're out the door. JJ was in no mood to walk so we pushed him in his stroller. The town is coming alive — patrols are starting to head out, stores opening. School is delayed so the teachers can join the council meeting. People wave now, instead of averting their gaze. I smile and wave back — no longer concerned by their whispers or glances that last too long.

I start to feel uneasy as we approach the tiny house. Dina hugs a little tighter to me.

"Play nice, okay?"

"I will if he does," I mutter under my breath.

Before we can knock, Ellen answers cheerily.

"He just dozed off. He had a rough night. I hope he's easy for you guys the rest of the day but he may need a nap now," Dina says, keeping her voice light.

"Oh, poor baby — Jesse would get tough bouts of colic at this age. I'll make sure he gets his rest," Ellen says quietly, ushering us inside.

Hearing Jesse's name still feels like a punch to the gut. I try not to show the grimace on my face. We move the stroller in slow increments to avoid waking JJ — that could be a nightmare for all of us.

Dina hands JJ's backpack to Ellen. I just smile and try to stand back — until I see Ken in the hallway. Instantly, I stiffen. Prepared for the possibility of a battle. But this time, his face is just a touch softer. No longer the furrowed brow and harsh gaze. I think he's trying — just a little — to soften.

"Dina. Ellie," Ken nods, a flat-lipped smile.

I nod back. "Morning." I try to keep my tone even and light.

"Well, we really need to get to the meeting — and quite frankly don't want to wake the little monster up," Dina says with a laugh.

"Of course. You girls head on out. We'll be just fine." Ellen smiles gently at both of us. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like she's looking straight through me.

Dina and I head out toward the restaurant — my stomach growling now.

"I'm starving too," Dina says, picking up her pace.

The restaurant is bustling, always like this before a meeting. People hungry, socializing before the weekend begins. Most chores are wrapped up by Friday, except the usual — patrols, butcher shop.

"I'll go get us food. It's pretty busy. Just wait here, okay?" Dina points to a little standing round table.

"I'll be here." I nod and lean against the table.

A few seconds later, I feel someone approach. Instincts kick in. My arm stiffens, fingers twitch — still remembering what it's like to always have a weapon ready. But I remind myself I'm here. In Jackson. With my family. I'm okay.

I don't realize I'm breathing in and out until —

"Hey Ellie!... Ellie, you okay?"

I snap out of it. "Oh — yeah, sorry. Late night." I try to sound convincing.

Kat stands in front of me, her black hair a bit longer. A new scar runs along her chin.

"All good... I haven't had a chance to say hi since you've been back. You, uh... doing good?" She asks, studying me a bit longer than I like.

"Yeah. It's been a lot. A big change, but I'm glad to be back. Hope you're doing well too." I avoid her gaze. Kat and I dated for several months. She even gave me my tattoo. After we broke up, we didn't talk much. She was a patrol leader and I hated being in her rotation. It was awkward. She never wanted to actually do anything I thought was fun at the time.

"I'm doing pretty good. I run patrols mainly through the valley. Still do tattoos on the side — if you ever want more," she says, nodding toward my arm.

"Ha. Yeah, maybe I could add to it. Not sure what thou—"

I get cut off by Dina's approach. Oh, this'll be good.

"Hey Kat!" Dina says, overly nice. I know she's always been a bit jealous.

Kat straightens up a bit. "Hey Dina." She barely gives her a look.

"Ellie and I are running late. We have to touch base with Maria before the meeting. We'll see you there, okay?" It's not a question. Dina wants me away from her as fast as possible. We don't have to check in with Maria. I almost laugh.

"Yeah, I should get in there too. See you guys... Oh — Ellie, by the way — if you want to get back on patrol rotation, we could use an extra hand." She smiles as she walks off.

Oh, brother.

"Hm. Ironic she'd want you back on her patrol," Dina says, jealousy coating her words. She stares hard as Kat walks away.

"Guess she's feeling nostalgic," I mutter. Trying not to smirk.

If looks could kill... Dina stares at me.

"I'm kidding, you know that." I kiss her cheek. She rolls her eyes.

"Let's go before I hurt someone," Dina grumbles.

The chairs at the town hall creak louder than I remember.

We sit near the back. The smell of old pine lingers. Windows are cracked, but no breeze comes through. Light filters in at sharp angles, catching motes of dust. People trickle in — patrol leads, farmers, parents. Familiar faces I used to pass without thought. Now they glance at me. Not with anger. Just… curiosity. Like I've stepped out of a story they thought had ended.

Dina's knee brushes mine. Her hand grazes mine beneath the table — a quiet tether.

Tommy limps into the corner seat. He lost his spot on the council after Seattle. Not everyone approved of what we did.

The council takes their seats at the oak table.

Maria clears her throat, clipboard in hand, her hair pulled tight like always.

"All right," she begins. "Let's keep things moving. First up: repair updates. West perimeter's been reinforced, thanks to Matt and Aliyah's team. East solar panels are still spotty. If you've got someone in your household with mechanical experience, we need them at the barn Monday morning, check with Jason to sign up. Roofs, there are several buildings that need their roofs inspected. We will be coming into rain season and we can't afford for wood to rot from the moisture. Matt will be conducting checks and will be requesting assistance."

She pauses while someone scribbles notes. Across the room, I see Seth raise his hand about feed distribution. They talk about irrigation leaks, a busted plow, who's on kitchen duty this Sunday. It's the kind of talk I used to tune out when I thought I had much more important things to do. Now, I listen. It's not thrilling — but it's real. It's what people do when they're trying to build something that lasts.

Then Maria looks up — right at me.

"Next — new arrivals. In the last month, we've had three join and one return."

I feel all eyes on me. Dina squeezes my hand.

"Brandon, from a QZ in Idaho. Former vet. He'll help with livestock — and maybe us, if we get desperate," she says, earning a chuckle.

Brandon, late 60s, bald with hair at the ears, raises a hand.

"Jim and Laura — a father-daughter pair. Jim's a former contractor. Laura's got a good eye with a rifle."

Both wave. Laura looks close to my age.

"Lastly, most of you know her. Ellie is back. She's started working in the greenhouse and will be helping elsewhere."

A nod from Maria. A murmur in the room.

"We're looking forward to having her back," she says gently. "Let's move forward."

Not ceremony. Not praise. Just acknowledgment. That's enough.

Then her body language shifts. She flips a page, sighs softly. What is this?

"Our last agenda item- this topic has been an emotional discussion. I want to preface this with the council is still debating the best course of action. We will listen to concerns and make a decision asap. We are exploring expansion and repurposing," she says, flipping a page.

"We've got a handful of homes that've been vacant too long.. The council's looking at reorganizing housing assignments to make room for growing families, folks who've arrived needing shelter. Some homes can be repurposed into apartments to house singles, couples or the elderly. This is utilizing the space we have before we consider expanding the walls. Please submit requests for these homes to Trisha. We will be reaching out in the coming week or two with final decisions. I am going to list off the homes that we are assessing..." Maria's voice trails, I can see her gulp.

I know where this is going, I feel it in my bones and I hate it.

"The homes under review are: 202 Moose Ave, 1098 Bull St, 400 Ram Ln, and… 331 Rancher St."

Joel's house.

Silence falls.

Maria continues. "This isn't easy. But we have to look ahead, for those who are here now." Diplomatic as ever.

I hear a few murmurs ripple across the room. Dina's hand tightens in mine. I look over to see Tommy, he looks like he may leave. The quiet starts to burn my ears.. I didn't think..

I raise my hand.

Maria nods. "Ellie, go ahead."

I rise, slowly. Dina's hand still in mine. My boots scuffing lightly on the wooden floor.

"Since Joel's house is being considered," I begin, "I'd like to formally request to move into it. With Dina and JJ. It was once my home. And Joel did so much for Jackson. I'd like it to stay with us."

The silence deepens.

Maria gives a single nod.

"We'll take that into consideration. Thank you."

But I know she already has. I sit. Dina squeezes my hand.

The rest of the agenda passes in a blur.

More updates — supply routes, fencing rotation, a request for volunteers to help build new compost bins near the barn. People speak, nod, scribble notes. I catch maybe half of it. My mind's still stuck back on that moment when I stood up — when I said his name out loud and it didn't break me. It… empowered me.

Finally, Maria stands. "Okay everyone, I thank you for your patience. We are going to take a short recess and come back with final decisions on a few of the agenda topics. Please stay close by so we can get to our weekend."

Indistinct chatter rumbles around the room. Dina and I stay seated.

"I guess I need to start packing boxes," Dina says with a smile.

"They better agree to it." I try not to get my hopes up.

"I don't see you letting that one go. I think they all know that."

For a minute, I realize I didn't even consider Dina when I asked for this. Of course I want—no, need—her to come with.

"Are you sure you'll be okay with it? I'm sorry I didn't ask you. I would've if I had known—something just came over me."

"You know, I'm not sure," she teases with a fake frown. "I really enjoy having very little space and stepping on JJ's toys all the time."

"I just can't bear the thought of someone else in that house. After everything…" My voice trails. I feel my throat tighten. I see Joel now on the porch, humming and playing his guitar. I see him at his desk, whittling wood into some figure. The smell of popcorn as we watched another Curtis and Viper movie. I can feel the sting of tears welling, but I choke them back.

Dina wraps an arm around my shoulder for a quick hug.

"Ellie, If this is what you want, we're gonna make it happen. I have memories in that house too, you know." She nudges me gently.

"I know. Thank you," I whisper.

Maria rings the bell in front of her a few times.

"Okay everyone, we're ready. Please be seated." Maria stands with a paper, her reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"First order of business. We have agreed to allocate resources for a group to go scout a nearby town. Now, this town has not been visited by us before. We've had a couple people go around the perimeter and it seems to be abandoned, but that can always change. We are going to be looking for any and all resources that can be used—food, tools, clothing, building materials, and anything else useful. Anyone who would like to volunteer, please see Kat and Mark. This recon will begin next Friday with a return on Wednesday. As an added benefit, anyone who does this job will have one week off from any and all other duties. We know this is a big ask and we appreciate your sacrifice."

The crowd murmurs a bit. Some people are already talking about signing up, some look nervous about being asked. I consider it briefly—maybe. But I don't want to leave Dina. We'll see. I'm deep in thought as Maria begins again. Dina nudges me to ensure I'm focused.

"The last order of business is the housing allocation."

My face hardens—prepared for whatever comes next. I feel that familiar flame rise up.

"We have decided to turn the old Robinson place into a four-unit family apartment duplex. These will be efficiency units, great for couples, singles, and new arrivals. The other two houses will be assessed more deeply for families or those willing to be housed together. Starting today until the week before the next council meeting, please submit housing requests to Trisha. The council will go over which families would be best suited for these homes and make a decision at next month's meeting."

I hear a few families murmur. That's going to be popular. Those are pretty nice houses.

My jaw clenches for what's next.

"Lastly, the council has decided that Joel Miller's home will…" A pause that feels like a lifetime. I can feel sweat on my forehead and my hands are clammy.

"…need further review." Maria avoids my gaze. I can feel my face turning red. Beside me, Dina sighs.

"I know this may not be what someone wants to hear, but there's been a request for— review to see who would benefit the most from the property. The two parties that are interested in this home will be called to a private meeting to discuss best course of action. Meeting adjourned." Maria slams the gavel down once.

I can't move. My teeth are clenched and I'm scared if I get up, I'm going to lose it. Who the fuck else thinks they're entitled to Joel's home? Who in their right mind would think—

Then it hits me… Tommy.

I think Dina figured it out before I did. She's good like that. I see her face turn dark, her head turning toward the seat Tommy had occupied—but now it's empty.

"Coward," Dina growls. I guess he didn't get off as easy as I have.

"They're just doing this to make him feel better. There's no reason a single man needs that large of a house. Don't worry, Ellie. They're going to choose us."

"Yeah. I hope."

Chairs scrape back, people stand, stretch, file out in small groups. The clatter and chatter return — subdued, but present. It's over. At least for now.

Maria walks past on her way out. She meets my eyes for a half-second — gives a subtle nod — then disappears into the crowd.

— — —

Dina and I walk out together, the warm air hitting us like a second breath. The plaza outside the hall is quieter now — most people scattering off toward chores, lunch, life.

I stuff my hands in my pockets. "You really okay with it? The house? If they agree to it?"

She shrugs. "It's Joel's. It's yours, too. I love you both."

"I don't want it to feel like I'm dragging ghosts back in." I mutter, my head down.

Dina stops, standing right in front of me now. "Ellie," she says, firm. "If we can make something new out of the place he left behind? That's not dragging them back. That's honoring them."

I stare at her for a second. Then nod.

"But... will you let me decorate?" She grins excitedly. "I won't change anything major. Just some decor and maybe paint. Anything you want to keep stays, promise."

"Deal." I can live with that. Joel wouldn't mind either. He loved Dina too.

She laces her fingers through mine. We start walking. JJ's still with Ken and Ellen — I'm sure he's playing with every toy they've got, probably covered in applesauce or dirt or both. Hopefully he's behaving better than this morning. We're both quiet for most of the walk and then suddenly Dina jumps up—it startles me.

"What?!" I say, instantly looking around. Habits.

"I just realized this is our first night kid-free… we should have a little date night. I can cook, maybe watch a movie... you know, be normal." Her eyes sparkle when she talks to me. I don't think there's anything she could ask for that I wouldn't agree to.

"That sounds really nice. A very good idea. Why don't I go to the market and pick a few things out? You go home and get stuff ready. I'll surprise you."

"You sure? I don't mind going with." She still worries about me.

"I promise I'm good. I'll be back in less than an hour. Then we can get started on our date night." I lean in for a kiss and she meets me halfway.

"Better be more where that came from," she whispers in my ear. My shoulders shudder.

"I can do that."

She winks, turns, and starts toward home.

⸻

Chapter Text

( Maria’s POV )

——

I leave the council building with a headache blooming behind my eyes, sharp and pulsing like it’s drilling through my temple. The echo of voices clings to the inside of my skull. Fencing plans, food stores, recon patrols. Ellie standing tall in front of everyone like that. And now… Joel’s house. Fucking ridiculous. Now I have one more thing on my plate. One more damn fire to put out before it burns through everything we’ve rebuilt.

When Tommy walked up during the recess, I knew what he was going to say.

“I formally request the council consider letting me move into his house. Joel was my brother. Him and I helped run this town for years.”

He stood there like a man planting a flag. His chin up, eyes steady, voice full of the kind of pride that doesn’t ask permission. And I swear to God, I almost cussed him out right then and there. Like he hadn’t already ripped enough open. As if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing and still thought it was noble.

After he spoke I felt the shift around the table. Everyone's eyes moving, people hesitating. No one wanted to speak first. But I felt the weight of their empathy. The mess of it all. After he walked away, the murmuring started.

“ He was his brother… ” Marcus trailed off quietly.

“ Ellie and Dina could’ve lived there after… but they went to that farm instead."  Susan added.

“ Tommy’s a single man he doesn’t need it. There’s no denying what Ellie and Dina bring to this community. They’re a growing family. They need the space, ” Greg said, firm.

“This is what we’re gonna do,” I cut in, before it turned into a shouting match. “We’re not making any decisions right now or we’ll be here all night. We’ll meet with Tommy, Ellie, and Dina separately, and then we’ll vote. Everyone agree?”

Nods all around. But it didn’t sit right. I’m not supposed to feel like this. I’m the one who calls the shots when shit gets messy. I keep the room calm. Keep the peace.

——

I don’t go home. My feet carry me the way muscle memory does. Past the tool shed, the chicken coops, past everyone shuffling to their regular afternoon activities. Not I.

The little house behind the stable waits like it always does. Used to be ours. Now it’s just Tommy’s. No flowers anymore. Grass up to the knees. That busted wind chime still hanging from the porch beam, clinking in the wind like it’s trying to whisper something I don’t want to hear.

I stop at the door. Inhale. Hold it. Let it out slow. I’m not calm. I’m royally pissed off. But I’m here.

I knock once. More out of habit than manners then I push the door open without waiting. He has to know I’m coming. He’s at the kitchen table, hunched over like always — hands busy sorting brass casings, lining them up with that old soldier’s precision. Doesn’t even look up.

“I figured you’d come.” he mutters. There’s a scoff in there, buried under the words.

“Then why the hell didn’t you come to me first? Privately.” I shut the door behind me with a little more force than necessary. “You really want Joel’s place?” Emphasizing really for the point.

He shrugs, casual as ever. “It’s empty. Somebody’s gotta take care of it.”

“You’ve had your own house for years.” I snap. “Now you wanna squat in your brother’s like you’re building a shrine? Seriously? We are trying to keep this place calm, Tommy. Not start a war.”

I look at him and all I see is what’s gone. Joel’s voice echoing in this room. A guitar propped in the corner. The nights we sat at this table, drunk and exhausted, just trying to make Jackson work. And now Tommy’s here alone. Brittle and half-broken, pretending he’s doing this for legacy or memory or whatever bullshit lie he’s telling himself today.

My palms hit the table, flat and loud. Like I’m interrogating him. Like I can crack him open if I just press hard enough. Finally, he looks up. That cloudy eye still hard to look at straight — not because of how it looks, but because of what it means. What it cost.

“It ain’t like that.” he says flatly, a touch of annoyance bleeding through like it’s safer than sadness.

“Then what’s it like?” I fold my arms tight across my chest. A shield. A warning. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re dragging the past up by the throat just when people are trying to heal.”

He doesn’t snap back. Doesn’t spit something cruel like he used to. He just stills. Hands frozen over the casings, jaw working. Something loosens in his face — not enough to be soft, but enough to show the hurt’s still there.

“I walk through that place.” he says, voice low, “and I swear I can still smell his damn coffee.” A pause. “Mine never tasted right after he died.”

That knocks the wind out of me a little.

I let out a slow breath. “Tommy…”

“I know it don’t make sense.” he mutters, eyes back on the brass like they’ll organize the grief for him. “I just—this house don’t feel like home no more. Not since you left. Not since I lost everything. All I got now is a busted leg and bad memories.”

I don’t say anything at first. Just… look at him. The way his shoulders curl in on themselves. Grief built itself a room inside him and bolted the door shut from the inside.

“I miss him." he says finally. And there’s a crack in his voice I haven’t heard in months. Maybe years. “I miss you, too.”

It takes me a second to speak. “I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you, Tommy.”

He nods, slow. Like it costs him something. “I know.”

The silence after that is familiar. The kind that used to stretch between us at this very same table. When we were too tired to fight, but too hurt to touch.

“I know you miss him.” I say, softer now. “But that house... it’s not your home. No more than this one is anymore. But it could be for Ellie. Do you really want to take that from her? After everything?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks down at his hands. The scars on them and the shake in his fingers he tries to hide.

“I’m not tryin’ to take anything.” he says. “It’s just… you never know with them. Where they’ll go off to. But me? I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
He gestures toward his leg. Lets the casings fall from his fingers. The clatter is sharp. Final. It echoes through the quiet house like gunfire.

“Of course we don’t know.” I say gently. “But it seems like they’re trying to put roots down, don’t you think? Shouldn’t we let them?”

“If that’s what you think is right.” His eyes shift away. To the window. To the past beyond it.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s right.” I shake my head, tired down to the bone. “On one hand, you’re his brother. And I love you, I do. But Ellie and Dina? They’re a family. And I think you know as well as I do if Joel were still here, he’d say give it to them.” My voice catches on Joel’s name like a snag on barbed wire. I don’t try to hide it.

His breath stutters. “You love me?”

I sigh. Shoulders sagging under the weight of everything we didn’t fix. “You know I do, Tommy.” My voice comes soft. Frayed at the edges. “But I couldn’t love you enough to make you choose me… could I?” I feel the sting rising in my throat.

He stares down. Silent. Like he knows he can’t argue with any of it — not really.

“I’ve always been the strong one.” I say, voice quieter now. Like something in me’s leaking out slow. “But you didn’t even fight for me.”

He looks up. Mouth opens like he’s about to speak, to defend himself, to lie. I raise a finger and he shuts it again like a child.

“The only argument you gave...” I say, sharper now, “was how could I do this to you. Never once did you stop and ask what the hell you did to me.”

My voice rises, not from anger, not exactly. From years of swallowing it down until it sickened me.

“I waited for you!” I snap. “When you left for Seattle. I kept things together. I let those girls go after you, and then Jesse—” I choke there, just for a second.
“Jesse was gone too. It was a fucking nightmare. Every day.” I’m pacing now. Back and forth like the movement might burn the ache out of me.

“Everyone had questions. Where were you? What will we do? When will you be back? Have we heard anything?” I shoot him a look, hard and unforgiving. “And I had no answers. None. You know how that feels? Facing down a town full of fear and grief and needing something from me I didn’t have? While you were out chasing revenge?” My voice cracks like a whip, but I keep going. Can’t stop.

“And when you did come back... after all that... the first thing on your mind, and Ellie’s too, was more fucking revenge. Like what you lost wasn’t already enough. Like the two of you couldn’t see that there was no winning left to do. You’d already lost.” I pause. A long breath. Try to stop the shaking in my hands.

“I tried to love you through it. Console you. Hold you when the nightmares got bad. I tried, Tommy. I tried. But the more I reached for you, the further you drifted. Like I was the one dragging you under.” Then, finally, the words I never wanted to say. The ones that cut us both.

“Joel would be ashamed.”

He jerks like I slapped him. His head snaps up, eyes wide, raw. That cloudy one shining.

“He would be so ashamed of what you and Ellie have done. What you became.” My voice is low now. Not yelling. Not scolding. Just done. “He made his choices — and he lived with it. We all did. But you…” I shake my head, tears burning at the edges. “You’ve been spreading that grief like wildfire instead of owning it.”

I step back from the table, breath hitching. It feels like something in me just broke loose and won’t go back in place. He just stares. Shocked. Like he never imagined I’d say this or maybe he did and hoped I wouldn’t. I turn toward the door, hand gripping the knob. My chest’s tight. Eyes stinging.

“If you miss me like you say you do…” I swallow hard. Voice barely above a whisper. "…then fucking do something about it, Tommy.”

I don’t wait for a response. The door slams behind me. Leaving him sitting in that quiet, with nothing but empty brass and a ghost he’ll never stop chasing.

——

The walk back feels longer than it should. The sun’s dipped behind the hills, draping the town in that blue-grey hush that comes just before night settles in for good. A few porch lights blink on down the path. A dog barks once, sharp and distant, then nothing. Somewhere off to the west, someone’s hammering, one nail, maybe two. Life, still going.
Mine feels like it’s just been looping in circles for years. My boots crunch against gravel, slow and steady. Each step heavier than the last. Like I left something behind, but it’s still clinging to me anyway.

I don’t feel better. Not really.

But I feel emptier. Like I finally put something down after carrying it for too long. I pass the greenhouse. Someone’s left the lantern on — the little one Eugene rigged back in the day. Rows of seedlings stretch toward the glow like they’ve got a reason to grow. I stop. Just for a moment. Just to see.

Joel used to say the world didn’t end — it just changed its shape. I used to believe him. Maybe I still do, on the right kind of day. Tonight’s not that day. But it’s close.

The house is dark when I get back. I don’t bother with the lamp. I know the floorboards by heart — which ones creak, which ones don’t. The walls groan with the night wind. Just enough to remind me: It’s still standing. Still mine. I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment with my eyes closed.

I kick off my boots by the door. I’ll put them away tomorrow. I head straight to the kitchen and reach up into the cabinet above the sink. The bottle’s still there, half-full. The good kind.
The one we used to save for birthdays, council victories… those rare nights when the world felt steady enough to trust.

I pour a glass. No ice. Just burn. I carry it into the living room and drop into the couch with a soft groan. The cushions sink under me like they’ve missed the weight. The air smells like old fabric, dried sage, and dust.

On the side table sits a small, dented picture frame. I pick it up without thinking. It’s us, me and Tommy. Years ago. Before the storm took root behind his eyes. I’ve got one arm slung over his shoulder, laughing at something he said. Him... he’s smiling. That rare kind of smile, like he didn’t know yet how joy could be stolen.

My thumb brushes the glass. A gentle sweep. We look so young.

I take a slow sip of whiskey. Let it settle in my chest. Lean back into the couch, photo still in hand.

If you miss me like you say you do… Fucking do something about it.

The words echo in my skull. Not with regret. Not even with hope. Just truth.

I let the silence stay. Let it stretch its legs for once. For the first time in a long while, I let a bottle keep me company.
Wishing it was the man I used to know.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Tommy’s POV)

——

The casings are still lying there on the dusty floor long after she left. Brass scattered across the boards like bones left out to dry.
She left them there.
She left me there.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sittin’. Could be hours. My eyes are still locked on the door like it’s gonna swing back open if I just wait long enough.
Both legs are numb. My back’s on fire. Hands already shakin’.
Ain’t no use pretendin’ otherwise anymore.

Her words keep echoin’, warped, mean and true all at once. “If you miss me like you say you do… then fucking do something about it.”

What the hell does that even mean? What’s left to do? Ain’t like there’s a map for diggin’ your way out of a grave you dug yourself. Would it even matter? Would she even care?

Truth is, I ain’t said this to anyone. Not even myself till now, but I don’t got much left to lose. Whatever’s still buried inside me? I ain’t lettin’ it out again. Not ever. Next time it’ll kill me. That’s just fact.

I wanted a life with her. A real one. Maybe kids, if the world had given us a second of mercy. But we never got that far. Now we never will.

I wasn’t tryin’ to take the house from Ellie. That ain’t what it was. Hell, I didn’t even know she’d want it. I just thought… maybe if I lived in that place, breathed the air he breathed, sat in his chair, touched his goddamn walls… Maybe it’d help me breathe again too. But then she stood up in front of everyone. Said she wanted it. For her, Dina, and JJ.

And me? I left like a dog with its tail tucked. Didn’t wait for the vote. Just bolted. Now it probably looks like I was tryin’ to take somethin’ from her. Like I was pickin’ at scabs that ain’t even healed.

Jesus Christ. I’m a goddamn fool.

Now it probably looks like I was tryin’ to take somethin’ from her. Like I was diggin’ at wounds that were already torn wide open.

Jesus, I’m a goddamn fool.

I should’ve stayed. Should’ve stood beside her. Said it plain.
Let her have it. I don’t need it. Joel would’ve wanted this.

But I didn’t. 

That ain’t the man I used to be. That ain’t the brother Joel knew. That sure as hell ain’t the man Maria married.

I ain’t never run from a fight in my life—
Not raiders. Not the infected. Not even the hell Joel and I used to drag behind us.

Until…

——

I see the trees first.

Up above me like a oil painting. Just shapes. Gray and green, bleeding into each other. The leaves sway like ghosts, rising and falling with the breath of the wind.
I’m bobbing. Strapped to something hard. A plank?

Hoofbeats echo, steady and close. A horse? Every jolt cracks through my body like lightning down old wood.
I must be tied down. Or maybe I just can’t move.

Every time I try, fire ripples through my chest and limbs. My muscles twitch, useless. Like I’ve been peeled open and sewn back together wrong. Something’s wrong with my eye, the left one. Gone, maybe. That side of the world’s gone black. Hot and pulsing. The pain’s a drumbeat behind my temple. Blood’s dried into the corner of my mouth.
Tastes like rust and bile. My jaw’s locked. I try to open it, but it won’t open.

Breathing hurts. Deep in the ribs like every inhale’s trying to crack me in half. One’s probably broken. Maybe more. Muffled voices float around me. Ellie’s.
“Woah.” she barks. Firm but fraying.

I think she’s on Jack — Jesse’s horse. Dina’s voice follows, softer, raspy. Pained. Like she’s trying not to fall apart. I catch Jesse’s name in the wind and try to lift my head— But he’s not there.

My stomach drops. Cold dread floods in where the blood should be. I try to speak. Try to say his name— And then it’s gone.

The light.
The pain.
The sound.

Darkness rises like a tide and swallows me whole.

⸻

Ellie’s kneeling over me, hands soaked red. She’s pressing something hard into my leg- cloth, maybe gauze, maybe just her own damn shirt. I try to scream but all that comes out is a choked grunt.

“Fucking stay with me!” she begs. Her voice is hoarse, cracked down the middle. “Tommy, you with me!?”

I want to answer. I do. But the pain is a riptide, pulling everything else out with it-  breath, thought, time.

My leg’s fucked. Twisted wrong, pulsing like a second heartbeat gone berserk. I can’t feel anything below the knee. But the part I can feel? It’s on fire.

My left eye’s leaking.. not just blood, but something thicker. Hot and nasty running down my cheek. I know this kind of wound. I’ve seen it. Seen it on men who didn’t make it ten minutes past. Men like me. Men dragged into wars they didn’t start and couldn’t win.

Ellie’s still working, still trying. Packing gauze into me like she can hold the world together with just her hands. But her hands won’t stop shaking. Dina’s behind her — gripping her shoulder, pale as a ghost, an arrow shaft snapped off above her collarbone. Her breath is shallow, wheezing. She’s not crying. Not screaming.
Just holding on.

I remember thinking, we’re all gonna die in this fucking place.

Then Ellie looks at me. Eyes wide and wild. Jaw locked like she’s biting down on the fear to keep it from spilling out.

And in that second, just one second . I swear to God, if Death had reached for me, she’d have clawed his fucking eyes out with her bare hands.

Somehow...Some-fucking-how... She kept us alive.

⸻

Days blurred into weeks.

Ellie took watch every night. Even when she could barely keep her eyes open, she’d sit with her back to the fire, rifle across her lap.
Said it was for safety. But I knew better. It was to avoid sleep. Avoid him — the nightmare version of Joel that kept clawing at her in the dark.

Dina cried in the tent. Quiet, but not quiet enough. She thought no one heard her. Her eyes would be puffy and rimmed red come morning, voice soft like it had been sanded down by the night.

And me? I laid there with my busted leg, my one good eye, and the sound of my own breath. Thinking. Planning.

I turned her name over in my mind like a coin I couldn’t stop flipping.

Abby.

Didn’t matter how old she was. Didn’t matter what story she told herself. Joel was gone. Jesse too. My life was shattered. And she was still out there. Breathing.

I told myself I’d heal. Get strong again. Then I’d finish it. Hunt her down. Bring her to justice. Make her pay — for Joel, for Jesse, for me.

Hell, I’d already killed some of her friends. She was just the last name on the list.

But the truth started catchin’ up with me. Not in a flash. In drips. Like a slow faucet leak.

My leg wasn’t healing right. My sight wasn't coming back. My aim was shot to hell. I was trying to reload a rifle I couldn’t even shoulder.

I still remember the day the doctor told me. Clear as crystal.

“Tommy.” he said, voice flat. Like he’d had to say this same speech a dozen times to a dozen broken men.

“What you’ve been through, no one should have to endure. But I’m going to be blunt.” He adjusted his glasses. Trying to be all professional.

“You will never walk normally again. The wound behind your knee was critical. It needed surgery — not gauze and adrenaline. Your ACL was severed. Cartilage destroyed. Ligaments torn.” A pause. “There’s nothing left to repair. We can manage the pain. Joanne will get you into physical therapy. But patrols? Running?” He shook his head. “That part of your life is over.”

I didn’t argue. Didn’t curse. I just nodded. But inside... something snapped. Quiet. Final. Like a branch breaking clean.

If I couldn’t do it... Maybe someone else could.

So I started planning again. Not for me this time. For her.

Ellie.

I thought I was bein’ clever. Strategic even. Just layin’ groundwork. Plantin’ seeds. But the truth is... I was usin’ her. And deep down, I knew it. Even now, sittin’ here with this busted leg and half an eye, I can still feel it when I think of Seattle — that rage. Like a dog on a chain, yankin’ at the leash, clackin’ its teeth every time I shut my eyes.

But rage don’t build nothin’. It just burns everything down. I told myself I was fightin’ for Joel. For justice. But I was just runnin’ from guilt. For not bein’ there. For survivin’ when he didn’t. For not protectin’ what he loved most. For still breathin’ when better men are buried six feet under.

Then Ellie... I put that weight on her shoulders like it was hers to carry. Told myself she could handle it. That she needed it like I did. But that was a lie. I pushed her. Because I couldn’t go and pull the damn trigger myself.

Now? I got nothin’ left to blame but the man starin’ back in the mirror. A coward. A fool.

I stand slow, careful. My leg screams with every inch. I lean into the cane, shift my weight, breathe through the fire in my joints. My hands are still shakin’. But I don’t sit back down. I grab my coat and step out into the night air. It's sharp and cold, like it’s tryin’ to bite me. The town’s quiet. Most lights gone dark. Just a few flickerin’ behind shuttered windows. Except one. Maria’s place. Her porch light’s still on.  I don’t know what I’ll say when I get there. If I’ll say anything at all. But I start walkin’. Toward the woman I never deserved.

I’m not runnin’ anymore.

⸻

Chapter Text

(Dina’s POV)

——

It’s warm out, and the sky’s still pink at the edges. One of those late spring evenings that clings to you like a promise. I walk home slowly from the town hall, my boots scuffing at loose gravel. 

Tonight’s supposed to be easy. I want it to be easy. Dinner, maybe a movie, just time together…Maybe if I don’t push her, if I don’t say too much, we can have one night where things feel… like they used to. I’ll take that. I’ll take crumbs, if that’s what she can give.

The thought is comforting, if a little fragile. The porch steps creak under my weight as I stroll into the house. When I open the door, it smells like bread and soil — warm, earthy. The kind of familiar scent that says you’re home, you’re safe.

But the quiet feels strange. Not bad… but hollow at center.

Like something missing in a room you’ve lived in too long to notice what used to be there. I haven’t been alone since Ellie came back. We haven’t been apart for even five minutes. It’s oddly familiar. I don’t like it at all. It makes me anxious. 

I light a few candles. Pull the blanket tight over the back of the couch. Set the table. Nothing fancy. Just enough. I even put out that chipped ceramic dish Ellie once called “fancy as fuck” — just to make her laugh.

I make my way around the house, touching things into place. Toys into bins, dusting the shelves. A quick sweep and wipe here and there. Curtains pulled open to let the fading light spill in. It feels so effortless. I catch myself humming, I don’t even realize it until I’m halfway through the verse — a lullaby I used to sing when JJ couldn’t sleep. I’m cleaning the kitchen when the hum suddenly dies in my throat.

My eyes are stuck on the kitchen window. Outside, the yard is shaded by the fading sun- everything tinted grey, darker than it should be. The wind stirs the laundry line. Shirts tug gently in the breeze, swaying like ghosts in a slow dance.

Just like that, I’m there again. The morning she left us. 

I see it as if it were happening now in this moment— the swing of the screen door slamming behind her, the ground shifting beneath her boots as she walked away. Each step taking her further, each step begging her to stay.

I remember pressing a hand to my chest, I thought for sure it caved in. The breath tore out of me so fast I didn’t make a sound, silent sobs wracked my body. I was shaking so hard my knees gave out. I had to slide down the wall, hand clamped over my mouth to hold it all in. I couldn’t scream like I needed to. I couldn't wake JJ..

I brace myself against the counter now, breathing deep. In. Out. Slowly. 

Ellie. JJ. Japan. Orange sunsets…

It’s been better. It really has. Ellie’s here, really here. She helps around the house. She smiles more, like she used to. She touches me again — my shoulder, my waist, the backs of our fingers brushing in passing.

But we haven’t talked about any of it. 

Not the morning she left the farmhouse.

Not Santa Barbara.

Not the scars. Not the missing fingers.

Not the nights I hear her shoot upright in bed, gasping like she’s drowning in her own breath.

She thinks I don’t notice.

But I do. I notice everything.

My stomach twists even now, while I light the candles and straighten the forks. How I keep glancing at the clock, even though I know she’ll be here any minute. She’s just getting food for dinner. That’s all. But there’s something missing.

We can pretend we’re okay a little longer — play house, share soft moments and easy silences — Maybe a part of me likes pretending. It's easier in some ways. But if we don’t talk about what happened, it’ll keep sitting between us like a shadow. Following us room to room. Haunting us. 

I sigh and brush my hands down the front of my shirt, smoothing the fabric like it might steady me. 

Tonight. Tonight, we are going to talk about it.

No more tiptoeing. No more waiting for the right moment that never comes. If this life is going to be real again — not just safe, not just quiet — we’ve got to face the storm. We have to be brave enough to say it out loud. 

Even if it hurts.

The front door starts to rattle, then the latch clicks.

I freeze, just for a breath.

--

The door creaks open, letting in a gust of late spring air and the sound of her boots on the hardwood. Ellie steps inside, arms full of groceries, a wild grin already tugging at her mouth. Her eyes bright and hair tousled from the wind. 

“Hey,” she says, breathless. “They had steak. Real steak! I about tackled Susan for the last cut.”

I smile — and it’s real. “You didn’t, right?”

She shrugs, kicking the door shut with her foot. Her signature smirk on her lips. “No promises.”

I follow her into the kitchen, wiping my hands on the nearest dish towel. She moves like she never left. I watch her like I'm waiting for the moment she'll disappear again. Like this is a dream I’ll wake up from — the part before it turns cold and quiet again. I hate that I can't just let myself enjoy it. 

She starts unpacking with a kind of rhythm I haven’t seen from her in a long time. It’s not just muscle memory. It’s comfort. Like her body remembers what it feels like to be home. She lines the ingredients up, ready to be sliced, diced and whatever else. Potatoes, butter, garlic and a bunch of wild greens someone must’ve picked fresh this morning. Maybe Karen, I think she was in the garden today. I’ll have to tell her she did a good job. 

“Gonna make mashed potatoes,” she murmurs softly. “Like he used to.”

Joel.

Her tone isn’t mournful. If anything, it’s fond. Like the memory isn’t pulling her down anymore, but holding her steady, giving her strength to go forward. 

I nod, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Ugh, I remember he used to drown them in butter.” My stomach growls at the thought. They were always so good. 

Ellie chuckles. “That’s how you know it’s the good stuff.” The corner of her eyes crinkle, the way they do when she speaks about something she loves. 

I smile with her, the kind that reaches my eyes before I can stop it. And for a second, I’m back at those dinner tables. 

Jesse next to me, rambling about the latest patrols or the newest shooting drills. Ellie across from us, stealing glances she thought I didn't notice. Joel and Ellie on good terms— discussing 80s action movies or the current outer space book Ellie finished. Tommy and Maria, still in love. Him telling her about the infected he killed that day, always a bit dramatic. Her eyes mixed with concern and quiet pride. 

A time before everything fractured.

I blink hard to shake the memory off.

Ellie moves through the kitchen with that quiet confidence — kinda hard to watch and impossible not to. Sleeves rolled up, her tattoo catching the light, hair pulled back in that careless way that’s always made her look annoyingly attractive without trying. There’s something in the way she moves — easy, effortless — like the world didn’t fall apart and rebuild itself sideways. 

I should hate how much I still ache for her. But I really hate how easy it is to love her anyway. 

I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching her rinse the potatoes.

“You cook like someone trying to impress a date.” My smirk teasing her. 

Ellie glances over her shoulder, grinning. “Am I not?”

I arch a brow, leaning in ever so slightly closer. “You tell me.”

She shrugs, eyes flicking to the candlelit table. “You’re the one lighting candles and busting out the fancy chipped plate.”

I try not to laugh. “Hey, that plate’s a classic!”

Ellie tosses a peeled potato my way, low and lazy like she’s handing over a secret. “You,” she says pointing at me, “Are dangerously good-looking when you’re all domestic. Makes me wanna burn the steak just to see what you’d do about it.”

I toss the potato back without missing a beat. “Try it and see what happens.” Narrowing my eyes for good measure. 

She catches it — easy, smug, of course — and sets it down with a smirk. “You always this flirty when someone cooks for you?”

“Only when I want dessert after.” I s it ok to still want her like this?

She raises her brows, mock scandalized. “Steak, potatoes, and dessert? Damn. I really am lucky.” Her smile reaches her eyes again. 

I shake my head, but I’m smiling too. Probably blushing. It’s stupid how easily she does this — reels me in like gravity. Like she always has. One deep look and I was gone. 

We fall into a rhythm as we prep our meal. I peel, she chops. She seasons, I stir. We move around each other like we’ve never been apart. Our bodies have memorized what the other will do next. Her hand brushes mine when we both reach for the butter. It lingers — just long enough to be felt. Her fingers are still calloused in the same places. I remember the way they used to move across my skin. The touch sparks static in my finger tips, shooting up my arm like an electric current. 

Outside, the sky deepens into lavender. Inside, the scent of garlic and searing meat fills every corner of the house. The hiss from the pan is like a background melody.

It feels warm. Full. Like a life we could have — I love the thought of it. Even if it scares me to trust it. 

⸻

(Ellie’s POV)

The steak’s not perfect. It’s a little over-seared at the edges, but the middle’s still pink, and the smell alone makes it worth it. Joel would’ve said it needed less pepper — but Dina clears her plate like it’s her last meal on Earth. I’ll take that as a win.

We sit across from each other, knees brushing now and then under the table. The candles flicker just enough to make her look younger. Softer. Like the Dina from my first few years here. From patrols. From late night hang outs. From back when I still believed we’d never lose each other.

“Okay,” she says, groaning as she licks something off her thumb, “I hate how good that was.” 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that” I say, smirking, smugness practically dripping. “But you’re welcome.”

Her eyes rolled so far I’m worried they’ll get stuck. “I’m serious. That was, like… annoyingly good.”

I lean back, folding my arms. “What can I say? I learned from a southern man with loud opinions about meat.”

She laughs, and it hits me right in the ribs.

“He’d be proud,” she says, and it’s quiet. Honest.

My heart skips — part happiness, part grief. I miss Joel.

Fuck, I wish he was here. Even for a minute. Just long enough to see this.

We linger longer than we need to, picking at the last of the greens, scooping up the garlic potatoes like we’re trying to stretch the night. The quiet between us isn’t awkward — it’s warm, electric. Like we both know it can’t last forever, but we’re savoring every second anyways. 

After the dishes are scraped clean, we stand side by side at the sink. I rinse, she dries. Our elbows keep bumping. Hers hits mine a little harder than necessary, I know she’s doing it on purpose.

I bump her back.

She doesn’t say anything. Just smirks, drying the plate slower than she needs to. A few moments pass and I almost forgot…

“Oh!” I say, snapping the dish towel at her hip. “I have a surprise for you.”

Dina jumps, rubbing her side with a dramatic mock glare. “UM—ow! What kind of surprise?” 

“The good kind.” I grin. “Go sit in the living room. I’ll be right back.”

She narrows her eyes, skeptical. But there it is — that flicker of excitement under the surface, just barely peeking through, not trying to be seen. 

"If it’s another one of JJ’s dead frogs, I swear—”

“No frogs. Promise.” I smirk and turn on my heel, already halfway up the stairs.

I take them two at a time, heart thudding from adrenaline. I feel like I’m seventeen again, sneaking out with her and our friends. 

In the corner of the closet, buried deep in the bottom of my pack, is what I need. I go to dig it out, my fingers brushing a knife, matches, rope and then-- my knuckles hit the cover of the frayed journal and I freeze. My throat clenching. I can't bring myself to open a single page, it probably still smells of blood and sea salt.

I haven’t written since… it doesn’t matter. 

I shove my hand deeper, my fingers grasp and pull out the cool metal tin. It’s still sealed tight, waiting for this moment.

When I crack the lid, the smell hits me — pungent and earthy, like Eugene’s hideout in the old library. A time when things were easier. Or at least, less broken.

Three joints. Carefully rolled. A little bent, but still solid.

I head back down, trying not to smile too wide. Dina’s curled into the couch, one leg tucked underneath her, arms crossed like she’s not waiting with bated breath. She’s trying hard to look casual, but I catch it — the way her foot bounces, just once. The flick of her eyes toward the stairs. The kind of restless waiting you only do for someone you care about.

I hold up the tin and give it a shake. *Click-clack*.

“Surprise.”

She sits up straighter, eyes going wide like she just saw fireworks.

“No fucking way.”

I toss it to her — a gentle arc. She catches it without missing a beat, pops the lid with ease, and when that grin spreads across her face, it’s real. Like something in her just unlocked. Makes my stomach twist- in only the way she can. 

“Where did you find this?”

The answer’s already halfway out — on the way back from Santa Barbara — but I stop myself, cut the words before they can be spoken. My fingers curl a little tighter around the armrest to steady myself.

“In a house. Middle of nowhere.” I shrug, trying to keep it light. “Lucky find. Joel taught me where to look for things.. ya know being a smuggler and all.”

She looks at me. Really looks. Like she sees the gap in the sentence — the part I’m not saying. But she doesn’t press. Just picks out one of the joints and holds it between her fingers like it’s a relic from another life. I just hold my smile, hoping she believes it. 

“I haven’t seen one of these since…”

She goes quiet, her eyes fixed somewhere that isn't here. It’s not just nostalgia. I know exactly where she’s gone. 

—- 

(Dina's POV)  

I’m back there.

Snow falling so hard we could barely see the horses’ heads in front of us. Our scarves were soaked through. Snow crept into our boots, our fingers freezing stiff, useless on the reins. Every gust felt like it was trying to knock the breath out of us. We'd just cleared the supermarket, remnants of the infected we killed still fresh on our boots and weapons. We thought the storm would hold off. We thought we were seasoned, that we could handle it. We found ourselves almost totally lost in the frost. The wind howled so loud we had to shout to hear each other. At one point we almost got separated, but by luck we found each other quickly.

We figured the blizzard was the worst of it — not realizing what else hunted in the tundra.

Eugene’s bunker felt like magic. Silly, skunky, dust-covered magic. Gas mask bongs, weed hanging everywhere, mason jars packed tight, even a crusty old porn stash for good measure. It should’ve been gross. We didn't care.

For the night it was ours. It was freedom.

We were alone. Completely.

We sat on that scratchy old couch, it smelled like weed and wet socks. I remember how she looked at me — like I was something sacred. Her cheeks flushed, her hands hesitant but brave, her heart so loud I swear I could hear it beating across the room.

“This better be better than a six…”

And then she kissed me.

Like she meant it. Like she couldn’t believe she got to. Then she touched me like she meant that, too. 

I remember the way my breath hitched when she climbed on top of me, pinning me down underneath her.

There was no fear between us back then. No weight. No ghosts.

Only exhilaration.

I blink-- she’s in front of me again.

Years older. Hair longer. Eyes darker. Shoulders more slouched from whatever she quietly carries.

She doesn’t meet my gaze.

She’s got that faraway look in her eyes — I think she’s there too. 

⸻

(Ellie's POV)

My heart aches for that version of us. The one before everything shattered. Before I broke into pieces I’m still trying to gather. 

I’m clawing my way back to it — or something close. Some days it feels near enough to touch. Other moments, it’s a different lifetime. Part of another galaxy that I’ll never see. 

I reach for the lighter before the silence swallows the room. Dina leans in, joint between her lips. They quiver slightly as her eyes finally meet mine.

The flame flares orange and red, licking the paper as it burns. She inhales—too deep, too fast. The end burns hot and curls in on itself with a quiet hiss. The light glows across her cheek bones, catching in her long lashes. She looks younger again. She leans in to the draw too eager. 

She pulls back coughing hard, laughing mid-hack.

“Holy shit.” She coughs out the words. “I thought I could handle this, but my lungs are on fire.”

I can’t help but laugh, biting back my own cough I feel coming “Guess we’re not as young as we used to be, huh?”

“No shit,” she wheezes, passing me the joint, waving one hand like she’s surrendering. “First time in years, I think.”

I take the joint and breathe in slow. The smoke burns all the way down, curling in my chest. I let out a rough cough. The taste is old and dry but familiar. It brings back all the memories. Late nights hiding out in my room or just outside the gate in the tree line. Close enough to be safe from danger- but far enough to feel free.

“I’m not sure how good this weed is,” I croak, “But hopefully it gets us high.”

Dina laughs again, softer now, more breath than sound. She leans back, her knees brushing mine. Her skin warming mine through the denim.

For a second, it’s like nothing ever broke.

But I feel it coming. The shift. I can feel it rising in my throat — that edge of something bigger. A part of me wants to reach for her. To tell her the things I’ve been holding onto since I left. But the words get stuck. Like they know it's not quite time yet. 

——

Dina sinks deeper into the cushions, eyes half-lidded, a lazy grin curling at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers toy with the seam of the blanket between us. I pass her the joint again, but she waves it off with a laugh.

“Nope. I’m officially retired. Those hits aged me ten years.”

“Coward,” I tease, taking another pull. It burns smoother this time. “You used to be cool.”

“I am cool,” she shoots back, swatting at my shoulder. “Just… respiratory-conscious now.” She shrugs playfully. 

I chuckle, exhaling a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Fuck. All those times running for our lives — hiding from clickers, dodging bullets — and it’s the weed that finally takes you out? That's how the legend ends?!” I shake my head, mock disappointment in every motion.

She smirks. “Tragic, really. I’ll be remembered as a cautionary tale. ‘Local mom taken out by mid-grade weed after surviving the apocalypse.’ ” She shrugs, tossing her hands up like it’s out of her control.

Laughing uncontrollably, I lean in and nudge her shoulder. “You’ll be remembered as the girl who couldn’t hang.”

She rolls her eyes, slouching closer to me. “Remember when I used to beat your ass at Mario Kart stoned out of my mind?”

“Uh, no you fucking didn’t. That was luck. My controller was all screwed up after you dropped it for the hundredth time.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, champ.”

We’re both grinning now. It’s stupid and warm, and my stomach feels light in a way I forgot was possible. Her thigh presses against mine, and neither of us moves away.

She’s watching me now — really watching — like she used to. Like she sees all the pieces, even the ones I’ve tried to bury. I want to stay right here, forever. 

My voice drops, softer now. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?” she asks, tilting her head — too casual, like she doesn’t already know.

“Like you’re trying to read me.” I glance down, I feel the heat rising in my cheeks before I can stop it.

She shrugs, that sly little smirk tugging at her lips. “Maybe I am.” 

She says it low — almost a whisper.

The words shouldn’t hit me as hard as they do. Like electricity coursing through my veins. 

Then her smirk fades — not gone, just softened. Like it melted into something more fragile. She shifts slightly, and her fingers brush mine — not holding on, not asking for anything. Just… there. And it’s enough to make my breath hitch.

——

(Dina’s POV)

I lean my head back against the couch. Letting the haze settle. Everything feels soft — my limbs, my chest, even the space between us. Like the world finally loosened it's grip on us.

Ellie hasn’t moved much. She just sits there, quiet, her fingers resting on mine under the blanket- like neither of us wants to break the fragile peace.

I glance over at her, sideways. She’s doing that thing again — watching me like I might vanish.

“You know…” I start, voice low, barely more than a whisper, “You used to look at me like that back when I was with Jesse.”

Her eyes flick toward me, surprise flashing across her face. I can feel the tension ripple through her — even though she barely moves.

“You did,” I say again, softer this time. “You thought I didn’t notice. But I did. Every time I laughed too loud. Every time I leaned in to whisper something to him. You were always watching. It made me feel… wanted.”

I pause, breathing in slow. The honesty thick on my tongue.

“In the moment, I didn’t really get it. Told myself I was making things up in my head. But now… I see it so clearly. It was beautiful.”

My gaze drifts to the ceiling, unfocused. “Back then we were just dumb kids running on adrenaline. Sneaking out after curfew. Stealing warm bottles of beer from the storage crates. Jesse would make some joke that didn’t even land, and I’d catch you smiling. But not at him. Not at the joke.”

I close my eyes for a beat before tilting my head back to her. “At me.”

There’s no awkward silence between us, just hope.  

Ellie’s still watching me — still with that same look. Like she’s standing on the edge of something and hasn’t decided if she’ll jump or run. My chest tightens, it always has when she looks at me like that.

Part of me wants to pull her in, the other wants her to do it first. 

“I always wondered how long it would take you to say something,” I murmur. “Or if you ever would.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just blinks slow, the smoke curling past her lips.

——

(Ellie's POV)

“I thought about it every day,” I murmur, my voice hoarse — dry from smoke, or maybe from swallowing words I refuse to say. The words feel too big for my throat. Saying them makes me relive it. Those days feel like another life. Back before horror gripped us barehanded and didn’t let go. Before the things we loved started rotting at the edges. 

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t need to. I see it in the way her lips press together, in the way her hand inches closer to mine again. She doesn’t lock her fingers with mine, not yet. But I can feel the current pulsing between us, like a steady heartbeat. Electric and expectant, like she’s waiting for me to come the rest of the way. 

“Didn’t wanna mess things up,” I say, quietly. “Didn’t wanna be the reason everything changed if you didn’t feel the same..” Brushing my thumb over hers slowly.

“I used to hate the way he would wrap his arm around your waist like he knew you belonged with him. I hated how much that made sense.” The words scoff, leaving me like a confession. Ugly truth blistering in my chest. 

I pause. Swallow. A shaky breath trying to steady the words.

“If you didn’t feel the same…I Could’ve lost you. Could’ve lost Jesse…” the thought fades, gripping my throat on the way out. I try to swallow but I can't. 

I did lose them. Not just once, either. Over and over in different ways. 

Dina exhales — a long breath that sounds like it’s been stuck in her chest for years. “Everything changed anyway.” She shrugs, helplessly. Her tone isn’t bitter, it’s tired. 

I nod slowly. “Yeah..." the words a whisper "Guess it did.”

The joint’s burned out. Just a stub now, cold between my fingers. I place it snuffed out back into the tin. All that’s left is the shared heat between us — and the weight of everything we still haven’t said.

——

(Dina's POV)

The joint’s gone, but neither of us moves. Her hand rests next to mine — close enough that when I shift slightly, our fingers brush. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t press either. Just waits.

She’s always been like that. Restless with the world, but patient with me. 

“I’ve always thought…” I say slowly, letting the words come when they’re ready, “That you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Her eyes meet mine — steady, unsure — there's a flicker like she's unsure whether to brace or lean in.. but I don’t stop.

“Not just because of the way you face infected. Or fearlessly go toe to toe with raiders. Or worse, the dumb shit you used to pull just to prove a point.”

A small smile flickers across my lips. “It was the little things. The way you were never afraid to be yourself. How you spoke your mind, even if it made people uncomfortable. You always showed up. You’d defend the people you loved like your life depended on it. Sometimes it would scare me, seeing how far you’d go.. but mostly it made me feel safe.” 

I glance down at our hands — still barely touching.

“Fearless. And brazen. Even when you didn’t see it.”

Ellie lowers her gaze to our barely touching fingers. Her throat bobs, like she’s trying to swallow something back. I think the words take her off guard.

“I think it’s…” she starts, voice rough. Her jaw clenching like she’s trying to wrestle with the words. Her eyes stay on our hands, where our fingers are touching again now. Hers on top of mine, closing in. 

I blink at her, gently. “Think what?”

She shrugs, and it’s small — but something about it feels brittle. Her voice comes quiet, almost like she’s afraid saying it too loud might break her confidence.

“Joel told me once… no matter what happens, you keep going, you keep finding something to fight for.”

She pauses. Fidgeting slightly, her thumb tracing circles on the side of my palm. It's barely there, but I feel it like a heartbeat.

“I guess I took it to heart.”

My chest tightens. “I think that’s good advice,” I whisper, and I squeeze her hand — light, but steady.

She lets out a slow breath, and I watch her lean into it — just enough for our shoulders to touch. It’s the smallest touch but it feels like a lifeline. Like we are pulling each other to shore, one inch at a time. 

——-

(Ellie’s POV)

Her hand in mine is the softest thing I’ve felt in months. It's soft like how I remember it. It unglues me. 

She doesn’t ask for anything. Doesn’t press. Just sits beside me — warmth, and patience, and home.

I squeeze her fingers lightly. Dina leans her head against my shoulder. The room is quiet. Like every breath matters.

My heart thuds steady against my ribs — slow and solid. It feels like it used to. Back when we were dumb and reckless.
Maybe we still are. I'm still reckless enough to hope.

Her hand shifts in mine — fingers sliding between my own in a slow intertwine — and when I look at her, she’s already watching me. Eyes low, soft. Searching. I don’t know who moves first. Her nose brushes mine. Then her lips. She’s so close I can’t think straight. 

It’s the kind of kiss that steals the air from my lungs. Not from force. Just from knowing. She kisses me like she remembers everything. I kiss her like I’ve been dying to forget how long it’s been.

I pull her closer, my other hand sliding up to the back of her neck. She climbs into my lap without hesitation, her weight grounding me, her warmth sinking straight into my chest. Our mouths move together like they never forgot how — slow, then deeper. So familiar.

Her fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, palm flat against my ribs. I shiver — not from the cold. She feels it, too.

She exhales softly and presses her forehead to mine. Her hands move slower now, not just undressing me, but reading me. Every scar. Every breath. When her fingers brush the scarred patch near my ribs, I flinch — not from pain. Just memory. She lingers there for a brief moment, I think realizing she doesn’t remember this scar. 

I don’t want her thinking about that. Not now. Not tonight. Santa Barbara can stay buried, just for this moment.

I help her pull my shirt over my head. She sheds her own sweater next. And suddenly, there’s nothing between us but skin and silence, electricity and history. We move to the floor without thinking. Pillows. Blankets. Whatever’s soft enough to hold us. My legs knock the coffee table, the rug scrunches beneath us, none of it matters. 

She kisses down my throat, over my shoulder, down my arm to the edge of the bite scar she’s touched a hundred times. Her lips brush the scar like it’s sacred. Then back up — trailing her mouth under my jaw.

I suck in a breath when her hips settle against mine, when her hand drifts lower — slow, steady. I gasp her name once, and she kisses me deeper, like she wants to bury every sound I’ve ever made inside her.

Our bodies find a rhythm. Gentle at first. Then desperate. Then gentle again. I touch her like she’s sunlight — warm, golden, alive. I feel like if I let go, she might slip back into being a memory.

Her back arches when I reach her, her breath catching in that way I used to chase. She curls into me, hand fisted in my hair, face buried in my neck.

I follow not long after — trembling, unraveling with her.

For a moment, the only sound is our breathing. Shaky. Real.

We lie there tangled together, chests rising and falling in sync. Her arm drapes across my stomach. Her cheek rests against my shoulder. Everything I thought I’d lost is breathing against me. And for the first time in so long, I don’t feel like a ghost in my own body.

“I missed you,” I whisper.

She doesn’t say it back. She doesn’t have to. The way she holds me says enough. She kisses the center of my chest, right above my heart, and holds on tighter.

Dina’s breathing softens. Steadies. Her hand stays draped across my ribs, her skin warm against mine. Every so often she lets out a tiny sigh in her sleep — the kind you can feel more than hear.

Something in my chest tightens. Then loosens. No more running. No more fighting. No more vengeance. 

Just now, her breath against my skin. And mine, finally steady.

——

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

---

*CLATTER* a sharp sound slices through the dark from the kitchen.

My eyes snap wide open as I jolt upright, breath caught in my chest. The room is pitch black- my vision scrambling to adjust. Instinctively, my hand shoots towards the weapon at my thigh that is no longer there, just skin and a phantom holster.

My gasp is audible but it doesn't wake her -Dina- she's still curled beside me on the floor, sleeping peacefully- chest rising slow and steady with every breath. Her leg still draped across mine, her fingers still tucked in the waist band of my pants. Like even in sleep, we were afraid to let go.

For a moment, I just watch her.

Letting myself breathe. Slowly, I run my thumb gently along her cheek, feeling the warmth from her skin. Her lashes flicker, but she doesn’t wake. A few stands of her dark hair stick to her lip. I move them without thinking and her eyelashes flutter but she doesn’t stir. Seeing her now, so tranquil, it's like nothing bad ever happened. Still, the sound echoes in my head. I can't help myself. Carefully, I untangle myself from her limbs, gently, not to wake her.

The hardwoods are cool under my feet, It makes me want to be back under the covers with her. Where I'm safe. But the other part of me -the part that never really sleeps- pulls me toward the noise. As I make my way down the short hallway, every floor board creaks like a warning behind me, but I don't listen. The kitchen is illuminated, washed in the faint blue glow of moonlight. Shadows move on the floor like a slow dance from the curtains that are billowing from the breeze. Under the window the broom lays on the floor, knocked over- must've been the wind. I scoff and roll my eyes at myself.

See, it's nothing.

I shuffle toward the window, shivering, rubbing my arms against the chill. I press my hands on the window frame and push it to close.

**SLAM**

The frame smashes down harder than I mean for it to. Loudly, too sudden. The sound pierces me like a gun shot.. I move backwards on unstable feet, I feel sick and my vision has black holes in it.

Just like that- I'm back in the lodge.

My cheek is ice against the tile. I can’t breathe. Something’s pressing down — crushing the air out of me, pinning my chest like a slab of concrete. My arms are wrenched behind my back, nerves screaming from the socket. A sharp snap echoes through my ribcage — maybe real, maybe a memory. There’s blood in my mouth, I can taste it. Metallic, thick, coating my tongue. Pain coils in my stomach, sharp and angry like something tearing me from the inside out. The smell hits me next. The iron stench of blood floods my nostrils and climbs into my lungs, suffocating me, making it harder to breathe.

I brace myself for what comes next, the moment I can never stop.

He isn't here. I wait for it — for his grunts of pain, for blood spray, the sound of metal pummeling his marred body, for the shape of him slumped on the floor. For the sound of a last breath that never comes. Joel isn't here.

It's just me. Alone. I'm alone.

I try to move but my limbs are frozen stiff. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. I shut my eyes, then open them again. I'm stuck here.

Quickly the air shifts, it smells like salt and rot. My vision starts to warp. I blink hard, shaking my head. Not prepared for what's appeared in front of me

It's her. Abby.

She's crumpled on the floor, so close I could touch her. Face down on the tile, beaten bloody, sweat and dirt clinging to her body like a second skin. Her cropped hair is matted with crusted blood and sand. She lifts her head just barely. One eye swollen shut that looks like a piece of rotted fruit, her lip busted clean through with a chunk of tooth lying on the floor next to her. Her other eye is blood shot, I can barely make it out but I catch her gaze. Her lips barely move and when they do more blood starts drooling out. We can't speak.

It’s so quiet, so quiet it hurts. She stares at me.

Like she knows. Like she knows we’ve both been here before. 

----

(Dina's POV)

A crash jolts me awake. I shoot up instantly, my heart pounding before I understand why. I scan the dark room, not quite placing the sound.

Then.. I hear her. Panicked breathing from the kitchen.

"Ellie!?" her name rips out of me, hoarse and sharp. I'm on my feet and moving before I realize it. Stumbling out of the bed we made on the floor, I sprint to the kitchen, the floor chilling my feet as I move. I flick on the light and my heart sinks to my stomach.

She's on the floor, curled into herself. She has her arms wrapped around her waist and her eyes are squeezed so tightly shut it has to hurt. Her face is twisted in agony, mouth half-open like she’s mid-scream, but nothing’s coming out. Her skin pale — Beads of sweat glisten on her temple, catching the light like glass shards. I see red marks where her nails have dug into her arms. The breath leaves my lungs like a punch. For a split second, I swear I see blood on the tiles. But it’s just shadow. Just a memory.

Shit. Not again. It’s been so long..

I drop to my knees beside her, the impact I feel deep in my bones- I don't care. One hand brushing her hair back- it's damp, plastered with sweat to her forehead. My other hand finds hers — balled up into fists against her stomach, knuckles white.

"Ellie, It's me. You're okay, hey, it's okay.” 

My voice is even, practiced. “You're home. You're not there. You're here, with me." She flinches under my touch, not recognizing me yet. Her eyes still shut. She’s somewhere else — not with me, not even close.

“It’s me” I whisper. “I’m here. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe.” Trying to keep the shake out of my voice.

No response. Just the same ragged breaths, like she’s choking on the air. She's reliving it all over again.

I press my forehead gently to hers. My voice doesn’t waver this time. “Come back to me.”

Her shaking starts to ease and the tension slowly releases from her muscles, then she's still. A short pause and Her eyes slowly open, vacant expression on her face. Breath still shallow.. but more even.

"There you are.." I say softly, caressing her cheek with the back of her hand. Her skin is damp and ice cold. She shivers under my touch.

She stays still for a moment, until her fingers start to wrap around mine. I feel them shift, 2 of them shorter, jagged. I try not to look. Try not to think about everything her hands have done and lost. Her mouth opens, then closes. Slowly she starts to shift into a sitting position. Her back resting against the wall. Her breath steadies but her eyes avoid mine.

"I'm fine." She says barely audible.

A bitter laugh slips from my mouth before I can catch it. Not cruel, tired. "Ellie… You're not."

I slide next to her, shoulder to shoulder. The cold tile shocking my legs. Our hands still laced together- her grip tighter. For what feels like an eternity, we just sit. Our backs pressed against the wall while the stillness surrounds us. I can hear the kitchen clock ticking faintly from the living room. The wind pressing the chimes into a hollow rattle on the front porch. Something about it feels off. Like the house is holding its breath.

Then Ellie says, so quietly I almost miss it. “It wasn’t him…” she sounds confused. Her voice is thin. Not quite a whisper — more like something caught in her throat that finally forced its way out.

I freeze. I know who she means. Joel. She’s told me — just a handful of times — what the flashbacks are like. Seeing him and hearing him dying. Over and over. I wait but she doesn’t say anything else. Just stares into oblivion like she is still watching the trauma unfold in front of her.

“I used to have these dreams… my sister’s killers would somehow find me. They’d found Jackson and they’d try to kill me. I never saw their faces though. Just, shadows. I guess because I didn’t know what they looked like.” I say shrugging my shoulders. She looks at me now, eyes glassy. I feel my own chest tighten, that old familiar grip of dread.

“For awhile..” I breathe deep steadying myself... “I had dreams about you”  Ellie stares expectantly. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the fun kind.” I say with a soft, crooked smile. Trying to lift the weight. It doesn’t go far.

She gives me that same sad half-smile. The kind people wear when they’re trying to pretend something doesn’t hurt.

“You'd have your back turned, walking away from me. No matter how hard I tried, how fast I ran, I could never catch up." She looks down. Her hand tightens again around mine.

"I tried to scream your name, but you'd never turn around. So I just kept running. Trapped in this… fucking loop. Until I’d wake up.” I laugh once, breathless. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m in it.”

“That.. sounds awful” she says quietly. Still avoiding my gaze.

I just lean into her. She’s trembling again, but not from cold. Her breaths are shallow and unsteady.

“I don’t know..” she murmurs, so quiet I have to lean closer to catch it. Her voice is cracking, fraying at the edges. I pull back just enough to see her face, but she won’t meet my eyes.

“I don’t know.. if I made the right choice.” she says hushed.

My stomach tightens. I pull back farther, instinctively, my heart bracing for something I don’t want to hear.

“You mean… coming back?” My voice is hoarse. Hollow. “If you don’t think you’re happy here…” I feel the familiar panic crawling up my throat and into my chest. the same overwhelming panic I felt the day she left.

“No!” Her voice cuts through me, a little to loud it makes me jump. She realizes it instantly, grabs for my hand, grounding us both.

“No..” she says again, softer. “Of course I am. This… this was the right choice. I know that. I just…” Her voice trails off, her fingers, what's left of them, tightening around mine. “I’m talking about what I did.”

There's a pause that sits heavy between us. I exhale slowly and push myself to my feet, tugging her hand gently.

“Come on." I say managing a weak smile. "Let’s go sit on the couch... my back can’t take this like it used to.” She lets me pull her up, her hand still clings to mine like a lifeline.

We walk back to the living room. I flick the lamp on, the soft glow casts long shadows across the walls. I pile a few pillows together, drape the blanket over us. For comfort and safety, like the threads will keep everything dark away from us. She sits on the other side of the couch facing me, legs curled beneath her, like she’s bracing too.

“I want to tell you…” she starts. Her voice is thin, like a thread straining, trying not to snap. “I want to tell you everything... I think… I think that’s what this means.”

Her eyes meet mine, glassy and red veiled. She isn't hiding anymore, something has changed in the way she looks at me. 

"Then I'm listening..." I say softly, squeezing one of her hands under the blanket.

Ellie squeezes my hand back, a tight-lipped smile pulling at her mouth. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

"I never stopped thinking about you and JJ." She says, voice low. "I'd hide in places — away from infected, away from people — and just… think about what you two were doing. I'd draw you in my notebook, or shut my eyes and try to picture your faces." She exhales, almost like she’s bracing for impact.

"I know you can’t understand why I left. I know I betrayed you. But I couldn’t let it go. I was rotting from the inside with guilt — over Seattle, over Joel… Everything. Dina, everything that happened — it was my fault."

I open my mouth, ready to tell her she’s wrong. That she didn’t drag us into anything we didn’t already agree to. That we all wanted revenge. It just turned into a nightmare we couldn't of imagined. Before I can she cuts me off, sharp and quiet:

"Don’t say it isn’t." Her eyes flick to mine, dark and distant. "You haven’t heard everything yet." There's a stillness in her voice, a quiet acceptance like she has already sentenced herself to a punishment.

There’s something in her face — a shadow I’ve seen before, but never like this. Like the version of her sitting here isn’t entirely her. Like part of her never made it home. For a second I wonder if she’s scared to look at me. Or if she thinks I might not look at her the same when this is over.. So I stay quiet. Leaning back against the armrest and let her speak. 

"I went to the place Tommy showed me on the map." Her words slower now, Tommy's name still sparks rage in me. I wonder where we'd be if he hadn't shown up... 

"I found a boat beached on the cove, and a camp that looked like it’d been abandoned in a hurry. Food rotting, beds unmade — stuff scattered like they didn’t plan on being gone long." She pauses. Her fingers twitch against mine. "There were notes. She — Abby — wrote about what they were looking for. They were trying to find the Fireflies. I guess she found a lead that pointed to Santa Barbara."

Fireflies? My brows knit together. That doesn’t track. Something about it sticks wrong in my gut. Abby… chasing after the Fireflies? Why? The woman who heinously murdered Joel in a blind rage, the one who tore everything apart — chasing after some dead government rebellion? It doesn’t fit?

Unless…Unless it wasn’t about them. Unless it was something personal.

I don’t say anything. Not yet. Something about the way Ellie says Fireflies... like the word cuts her on the way out. It makes my stomach turn.

Ellie’s voice—it’s unraveling something deeper. There’s weight behind every word. Not just grief, not just guilt. It's different. I can feel it in my chest like pressure building under water. It makes it hard to breathe. I realize she’s not only telling me about what happened. She’s confessing. For the first time, I get this awful feeling that I don’t know the whole truth. That I never have.

"I found this neighborhood she'd marked in her notebook. I assume it might've been a Firefly outpost at some point. Houses were sun-bleached and gutted, yards overgrown, infected wandering everywhere. I’d barely made it two steps into the street when a fucking rope snared my ankle. Yanked me into the air like some fucking animal trap. I hit hard — a branch or something stabbed straight into my side on the way up. Just —" She moves her hand toward the jagged scar on her side. "Ripped my side open." Her breath catches for a second, a kind of hollow sound in her throat.

"So I’m up there, swinging like fucking bait, bleeding out, baking in the sun. I couldn't really see much everything was a blur of dark patches and light... and then I saw two people walking towards me. I thought it was her and that kid. Thought I’d finally found her." Ellie’s eyes drop. She exhales. Slow. Controlled. "Wasn’t her. Just my brain fucking with me. Turned out it was two guys — real psychos — out catching people."

The thought of her — strung up, bleeding, alone — makes something in me twist. Imagining her delirious, talking to ghosts makes my heart drop.

"That's..." My voice comes out rough. I shake my head. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah.." She doesn't look at me, just keeps staring ahead. "This group they called themselves the Rattlers… they were running a freak show compound. Capturing people to enslave them. Treating them like livestock. Men, women, kids — didn’t matter. If you could lift a crate or swing a hammer, you were theirs." Her lip curls slightly. Not in disgust — something colder. Satisfaction. Not sadness.

"I was able to kill those two fuckers though." She says, voice low and deliberate."One of them got too close after they cut me down — I shoved him straight into a clicker that was strung up next to me. Fucking idiot didn’t even see it coming. While it was tearing his throat out I was able to jump up and grab his gun, using him and the clicker as a shield from the other one. Then I shot his knees out. He was screaming — begging. I didn’t care. I wanted him alive. I needed answers. I guess I'd been muttering her name — Abby — while I was hanging there, half-conscious.. He said they captured a girl named Abby a few months back.. She was built like a tank and was with a kid who had scars on his face."

My mouth goes dry. I want to say something — anything — but I can’t find the words. Her voice is too calm. I feel cold. Not from fear of her — not exactly. But from the realization of how far she went. How deep into hell she had to crawl to get here. Her hand still twitches in mine. I can feel the phantom echo of that gunshot, her muscles tensing with the memory of it.

I swallow hard. My voice is thin when it finally comes. “You made him talk.” I say, not accusing. Just… naming it.

She doesn’t look at me. Just stares ahead. She nods once. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches. My chest aches — not from judgment, but from heartbreak. From imagining her bleeding, strung up, hallucinating. Still holding on to revenge like it was oxygen. I squeeze her hand. It’s the only thing I can think to do. Her eyes flick to mine, and for a second, I see it — all of it. Guilt. Fury. Pain. Love.

Her voice drops for the words. "I found her."

Something shifts in Ellie’s face. That tight, buried storm I used to see all the time in Seattle. The part of her that wanted to hurt the world back. For Joel. For Jesse. For me.. At times it scared me but I feel a similar pang of anger thinking about her, what she took from us. 

"What that bastard didn’t bother to mention was how well-armed his crew was." Her mouth twitches. There's a glimmer in her eye — Revenge. Satisfaction soaked in blood.
 
"Luckily they were lazy. Complacent. Didn’t expect someone like me. They had infected tied up outside like watchdogs, chained and starved. I undid the chains and let them loose right in the middle of their compound." She shrugs like she’s talking about a trick to win a video game.

I feel the hairs on my neck rise. It’s smart. Brilliant, even. She’s immune. But I can’t help the wave of nausea. The idea of her walking through that chaos… through screaming, blood and snapping jaws… untouched. I think of all the ways I imagined her dying. Broken. Torn open by infected. Or worse... The idea of her fighting like that, surviving that… it should comfort me. But instead it scares me.

"Once the Rattlers were distracted by the infected, I made my way through the compound — I found the prison in the basement where they held them. Concrete walls sweating with rot, streaked dark with stains... I didn’t want to guess the what it was. The smell hit first. Sweat, blood, shit, and desperation. No windows, just one single flickering bulb buzzed above rusted bars. I heard the chains, metal scraping against metal. Then I saw them. The people down there... it was like nothing I've ever seen. Dozens of them. Most were shackled, starved. Skin hanging loose, eyes sunk deep. Some flinched when I came in — others just stared like ghosts. Most of them sat in their own blood crusted filth. Some didn't move at all, just laid on the damp floor. When I stepped into the light, a kid in the corner screamed. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. One eye swollen shut. He thought I was one of them. I said I wasn’t, That I'd help. I don’t think he heard me. All of a sudden a rattler jumps out and tried to grab me. I bit down so hard on her arm the blood almost choked me. Then I pushed her into the rusted bars. Their arms wrapped around her like vines, choking her to death. I moved toward her and snatched the keys from her waist as they continued to ravage her. She deserved it, so I didn't stop them . They were all screaming 'help' at this point. I unlocked the doors and let them go. They ran, or tried to. Some crawled on all fours like dogs, dragging themselves out. Others just sat there, not believing it. Like they'd forgotten how to move. The ones who could still stand stumbled toward their freedom. One woman — she was clutching her stomach, whispering thank you over and over like I was some kind of answered prayer. I guess in that moment… maybe I was."

Ellie’s eyes flick up to meet mine. Just for a second. Then they drop again, like she’s ashamed of it.

"They started grabbing weapons left behind — guns, rusted knives, broken pipes, anything sharp. They wanted blood. Honestly? I hoped they'd kill them all. Those people were sick. I asked if anyone had seen a girl named Abby — tall, strong, with a kid that had scars on his face. A guy handing out a crowbar paused. Said the big girl — she tried to escape, so she was moved to the beach. That she was probably already dead. He said I could probably see her if I hurried.. That’s when I noticed it…"

She lifts her hand. I follow her eyes to the back of it. The same hand I held a dozen times. I can barely make out what look like teeth marks, it had been scarred over in jagged lines. "I’d been bitten. Somewhere in the chaos. I didn’t even feel it. Some guy saw it and started screaming 'she’s infected!' He pulled a gun and I pointed mine back at him. Ready to shoot. I was so close, I wasn't about to let that stop me. The other one — the one who told me where she was — shoved the barrel down. Said to let me go. Said I saved them." She lets out a quiet scoff. "I guess I did."

My eyes are locked on hers. I can feel my pulse in my throat, beating like a drum. My mouth is dry, tongue thick with the taste of fear. I can't speak even if I knew what to say. She doesn’t wait for permission. She just keeps going.

"At this point.. I was barely hanging on. The stitches in my side had split open. I was sick, starving. I could hardly walk. I hobbled in the direction the guy told me to go. Behind me I heard screaming and gun shots, then cheering. Guess they were winning." She pauses to swallow.

"I didn't have to go far. I smelled the beach before I saw it..." Her voice is low, distant. A rasp more than speech. "Sour and salt stained. Rotting flesh. It was getting dark so everything was gray. Then I saw it." She pauses, jaw tightening. Her breath hitches like the stench is back in her nose, it’s clinging to the inside of her mouth. I see her chest rise too quickly. Her hands clench in her lap.

"There were wood pillars staked all throughout the sand. There had to be twenty of them.. People strung up by old rope with their hands above their heads. Hanging from these posts. Their feet had tiny little planks under them. Just enough to keep them from fully dangling. No mercy, So the torture could last as long as possible."

I don’t realize my hand’s over my mouth until I feel it — shaking.

"Most of them were dead.." Her voice is colder now. Detached, like she’s staring into it again. "Birds picking at their wounds. I could see the gaping holes, from old wounds or from the scavengers, probably both. Flies had infested them, crawling out of their bodies." 

The bile rises in my throat like a wave. It hits the back of my tongue and I swallow hard. Seattle flashes behind my eyes. The TV station with the WLF bodies hanging from the ceiling, eviscerated. Organs slapping the floor in wet heaps. Blood dripping into buckets beneath them. "Feel Her Love" written in bloody letters on the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, like I can erase it. Like I can’t smell the death in her story. Like I’m not going to see this in my own nightmares. Ellie doesn’t react. Her gaze is locked somewhere behind me, unfocused.

"I heard her before I saw her,” Ellie says, voice low and tight. “ 'Help me.' she said, she sounded like she had sand in her mouth."

My mouth is in that in-between state of dry but about to vomit, That metallic, sour taste bubbling up behind my teeth. Not from the imagery — from what I know must be coming

"She said .. 'it's you..' ." Her voice a hoarse whisper now. Like the words hurt coming out. 

"Even half dead, strung up and rotting, she recognized me right away. Maybe she thought she was dreaming, or relieved. I don't know.." 

My throat is dry, but my stomach lurches again, heaving at the edges. Not because of what Abby looked like — because of what Ellie must’ve looked like to her. Seeing her there, at that very moment after all that time.

“I thought about just—” she hesitates, her jaw twitching. “Just stabbing her. Right there. Ending it, finally.”

I swallow.

"I got my knife out, but I couldn’t move. My side was bleeding through my shirt. My head was pounding." She looks up at me for a split second. I don’t breathe.

"Honestly... I don't know why I didn't...Instead I cut her down. I thought… maybe she’d charge at me. Maybe we’d kill each other. But as soon as she hit the ground —” Ellie shakes her head, breath stalling — “she stood up. Turned her back to me like I wasn’t even there.”

My brow furrows, it’s more than confusion — it’s shock. I blink at her, trying to picture it. Ellie, bloodied and barely standing with a knife in hand. Abby, half-dead, turning her back like none of it mattered. No fight. No screaming. Just… walking away? It doesn’t add up. My chest tightens, my brain scrambling to make sense of it. After everything, that’s how it happened? I feel like I’m missing something.

“She walked straight to the kid. Started undoing the rope on the post he was tied to. Her hands were bleeding, palms and fingertips raw. Her legs shaking so hard she barely made it to him. I didn't think she would. I wasn’t even sure the if he was alive. He looked like a corpse — ribs showing, skin cracked. His wrists were chewed raw from the ropes. He didn't even move when she got him down. He just folded to the ground. When he hit the sand she pulled him into her arms, cradling him... she could barely walk a second ago... but somehow she carried him. She didn’t say a word to me yet. Just… saved him.”

Something in my chest loosens for this girl. I don’t know what it is or what that kid meant to her. Ellie was close enough to slit her throat, to finish it. The way I’d seen her do before — knife to the jaw, throat opened in a blink, breath stolen before a scream could form. But she didn’t. Neither or them did. I try to picture it, that moment at the edge of all her pain… and instead of violence, she walked away? It doesn’t make sense. Not for Ellie. She crossed the country bleeding and broken just to chase this ghost. I look at her — really look at her. There’s no satisfaction in her face. No pride. Only the kind of exhaustion that burrows into your bones and stays there after surviving too long.

"I watched her do it…" She says quieter. "Cut him down, holding him like he wasn’t half a corpse. I don’t know what snapped in me, but it was like something inside just... shut off. This dead silence in my chest. Like all of it — Joel, Seattle, Santa Barbara — had burned through me and left nothing behind. She walked past like I wasn’t even there. Then all I could think about... was walking away. Coming home. To you. To JJ."

Her words echo. But my mind drifts elsewhere — to the image she just painted. That boy. The smell. The birds. Twenty bodies strung up like meat, rotting in the sun. Ellie, walking through it, torn open, her insides hanging by threads, still dragging herself forward. And what did she find at the end? Not revenge. Not closure. Just a girl she hated… saving someone else. There’s something almost cosmic about that. Some sick joke the world played. All that blood. All that time. And in the final moment — silence. A chill creeps up my spine, but it’s not the cold. It’s the dawning realization that I don’t fully know the girl sitting across from me. Not anymore. Not who she had to become to survive this. Not what parts of her died along the way. And even now, holding my hand, I can feel the distance in her touch. A part of her is still somewhere else.

"She looked at me and said 'there's boats at the water' like she was trying to help me? She turned around again and started walking off down the sand. I don’t even remember what I was thinking. I was bleeding through my shirt, my side was on fire, and I just… followed. I stumbled after her like some fucking stray dog. Over the little hill, there they were Two boats. Bobbing in the shallows like they were waiting for us."

I watch her carefully. Something about this part of the story makes her smaller. She’s sinking into herself. I want to pull her out, but I don’t even know where to reach.

“She got the kid into one of them. Somehow. His legs barely moved. Then I went to the other. I bent down to untie it and—”

She hesitates. Her fingers twitch where they rest against the blanket. Then she lifts her hand, presses her palm against her side. My brow furrows, the confusion and dread coming back. Her face shifts down like she's ashamed.

"I reached over to put my back pack in and I felt it. The stitches tearing. That stab wound ripping open. It felt like fire cutting through my stomach. I put my hand there to stop the pain and the bleeding. When I looked down and saw red soaking through everything... I wasn’t on that beach anymore.”

I feel it in my stomach before she even says it. The numbness. That awful knowing.

“I saw him.” she whispers but her voice is dark, deep.

oh no..

“Not just… a memory. Not just my mind playing games. He was there. Dying. Right in front of me again. The golf club. The spraying blood. The sound he made when it hit his bones. The way he looked at me before—before…”

Her voice breaks and she clutches her middle tighter like she can hold herself together through sheer force.

“I turned and saw her — Abby — getting ready to climb into the boat to leave. Something… snapped in me. The hate came back all at once. Boiling in my bones. I couldn’t let her go. Not after everything.”

She’s shaking her head now, eyes wide, like she still doesn’t understand it.

“I told her.." she murmurs, “I told her, ‘I can't let you leave'."

I freeze. Heat coils in my gut, slow and tight. Her voice is not the Ellie sitting in front of me now. Not the one who played guitar and stole glances from across the room. This voice was lower. Rougher. Dangerous. Like it’d crawled out from under the floorboards and dragged something with it. I want to look away. I don’t. Her hands are trembling again. But her eyes? They’re clear. Steady. That’s what scares me most.

I know that look. It’s the look of someone who’s already decided. I feel like I’m watching her through glass. A thick, smudged pane I can’t get past. The words echo in my skull — I can't let you go. I don’t know if she means Abby. Or herself.

"Abby just froze, but didn't turn around she said ' I'm not doing this '. So I grabbed her... threw her into the water.. She sat there on her knees. ' I won't fight you' she told me. I said yes you will."

Her voice is flat. But I can see it all over her — the way her jaw tenses, how her fingers worry at the blanket like they’re looking for a place to disappear. She won’t meet my gaze.

“I threatened the kid.”

My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes go distant again, and when they return to me, there’s something dull behind them. Not emptiness — something worse. A flickering memory she hasn’t put down yet.

“I stuck my knife to his throat. Pressed it in. I told her I would kill him if she didn’t fight me.”

It hits like cold water to the face. My body jolts — a subtle recoil, but I know she sees it. My spine stiffens, and I suddenly can’t find a place for my hands. Shame burns across my chest, though it isn’t mine. She looks at me — just for a second — and in that second, she’s the smallest I’ve ever seen her.

“This isn’t the worst part.” She whispers. “I’m scared you’ll turn away from me.”

I want to deny it. I want to reach for her, pull her close and say none of it matters — but my hands don’t move. My voice catches before it even leaves my lips. She sees that too.

So I force it out. “Ellie… I won’t. I promise. Whatever it is... we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The words taste thin. Like a lie I haven’t decided to believe yet. Because somewhere in the back of my head, a door is creaking open — a place I’ve never let myself go. A place that whispers: what if you don’t recognize her anymore? What is she hiding?

"She said 'He isn't apart of this' " Ellie’s voice barely cracks the silence. She swallows, hard, like the words themselves are coated in glass "I told her she made him apart of it." She tries to clear her throat but it catches — a rasp in the dark."She agreed." Her eyes close. The muscles in her jaw twitch like she’s fighting back something too big to name. 

“I wanted to kill her. I wanted to hurt her… I…”

A long breath. Shallow. Drawn like a blade across her lungs.

“For a moment, I enjoyed it.”

That last part drops like a body into still water. No ripple. No reaction. Just weight. I stare at her. Her face — twisted in the dim light, eyes glassed over with something between grief and shame.

“We traded punches. I slashed at her, tried to stab her. She wasn’t strong like she was in Seattle — not anymore. She was smaller. Brittle. Her arms were trembling. She didn’t even dodge right.” Ellie shakes her head, teeth clenched. Her hands are fists now, strangling the edge of the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

“She was battered and broken. Which, in a fucked up way, made it fair. I was dying. I could feel it in every cell, every breath — like my blood was slowing down. But I didn’t care. I wanted her to suffer. I needed her to feel what I felt.” Her voice gets tighter with each word — not louder, just more jagged, like it’s tearing its way out.

“I had her, Dina. After everything… I had her.” A tremble in her lips. A pause.

“We struggled. Wrestling in the water. She knocked my switchblade away. And that’s when she—”

She sucks in air.

“She bit my fingers off.”

I blink. “Wait. Holy fuck… she bit your—”

Ellie lifts her hand from under the blanket. Slowly. Like it weighs more than her whole body. The breath leaves my chest.

Her left ring and pinky finger are almost gone. Not clean — not like a blade. The skin is ragged, torn at the knuckle. What’s left is tinged blue-gray, the edges cracked and dry like old leather. I can’t look away. I’ve never seen her so still.

"Yeah... I was trying to choke her, and she bit down. Hard. So I slammed my fists into her skull, over and over, trying to get her back under. When her head finally disappeared beneath the water, I followed — one hand gripping her throat, the other twisted in her hair. I pressed down. Harder and harder. I felt her panic rise through her body like electricity — her legs thrashing, fingers clawing at anything. The salt water bubbles were stinging my eyes as they splashed. I kept pushing. I wanted her lungs to fill with salt and silence. I felt it — the moment her limbs started slowing. First her legs. Then her arms. Just twitching. Then... nothing. Like she’d finally accepted it."

I stare at her face, searching for a flinch, a crack — something to tell me she hates herself for this. But there’s nothing. Her expression is glass. Shiny. Empty. My vision blurs. My chest tightens like something is crawling through it. For the first time, I don’t just hurt for her — I’m afraid of her. I always knew what she wanted. I followed her to Seattle, willingly. Was it even justice at this point? After so much death and torture?

I can’t breathe. Not because of the gore — I’ve seen gore. Hell, I’ve been gore. But this? This is the girl I love. Lovesick, stubborn, selfless Ellie... Something hot and ugly curls in my stomach. I’ve had these moments too — moments where I wanted to hurt someone so badly. In a way, I wanted that when we were in Seattle too. I wonder… what if I had gone with her? Would I have tried to stop her — or would I have helped hold Abby under?

"I wanted to end her. Tear her apart. I wanted her to feel everything I did. I was ready for this to be over, for everything that we did to mean something... But then… I saw Joel. Not bloodied. Not screaming. He was alive. Sitting under the porch light, smiling that crooked smile like he just heard me tell a dumb joke. His eyes soft. His hands warm. For once, I couldn’t see the pain. Couldn’t see the blood. He wasn’t dying anymore. For the first time... He was there, happy, alive." 

The tears are warm against my cold cheeks, my mouth slightly open but nothing coming out. I can see Joel right now... smiling and waving to me when I would go on patrol. I see him at the Tipsy bison eating a sandwich when Ellie and I would go for lunch. I see him helping build a house. Drawing up blue prints. I see him now, in a lifetime we never got.. he's holding JJ on his lap bouncing him around. Ellie sit's next to them with a guitar. A life we will never have. The pictures fade, and I see her in front of me now. Face not empty, I see the glimmer of love when she thinks of him. I. only hope she sees him that way right now. She takes a deep breath that pulls her back to where we are.

"The rage that fueled me… the thing that kept my legs moving, kept my hands bloody — it vanished. Just like that. One breath, and it was gone. The pain that pushed me forward, the guilt that gnawed at my insides like a caged dog — it all slipped away. I tried to hold onto it. I tried so fucking hard. I searched for the memory, the moment. All of their faces. The crack of the club. His last breath. Her face when she looked at me after she killed him. I needed to feel it again, needed the anger to keep burning. But it wouldn’t come. Instead… I saw him. Just him. Smiling like he used to on the porch in Jackson. Playing guitar under the golden porch light. I could even hear the melody as he played. As if he hadn’t been taken from me... It broke me. I held her under, and I started sobbing. The memory had been waiting this whole time, patient and cruel. I couldn’t do it. Not with him looking at me like that. So alive. So full of love. I couldn’t kill her when I could see him looking at me like that."

Everything is silent around us.

"I... I let go. I jumped off of her. She came up spewing salt water and hacking. Scrambling away from me. For a second she looked at me. Maybe because she couldn't move or maybe she expected me to attack her." Ellie shakes her head as if she was answering her unspoken question. " I told her to 'Take him, just take him'.. I realized she was trying to save him.. like Joel always tried to save me. She got in the boat and drove away.. But I saw her. She looked back at me, a few times.. before she disappeared. Then I just sat there in the water holding my fingers."

I don’t know when her tears started — maybe when she said she saw him. Maybe when her voice cracked and all that rage slipped out of her like smoke from a dying fire. I’m crying too. Not loud. Not sobbing. Just silent streams down my face, salt touching my lips. I don’t even wipe them away. I’m too afraid to move. Like if I shift, this version of her might disappear — or worse, crack apart. She’s looking at the floor, eyes glazed over. Her hands have gone still. That quiet, eerie still. I… I don’t know what to say.

She didn’t do it.

For a second… just a second… something bitter creeps up my throat. After everything — Jesse’s dead body left in the theater, me bleeding out on the floor, missing out on JJ growing…You let her go? The thought isn’t fair. I know it isn’t. But it comes anyway, uninvited and sharp. I swallow it down, feel it burn on the way. Her fingers are still trembling where they rest in mine. She looks like a shell barely stitched together — not a victor, not even a survivor. Just… someone who endured. I remember what Gail said once, when I told her how much I hated Abby —
"Hate wants to destroy, it masks itself as healing. It makes you think you're doing something for the greater good. Hate, only hurts us more, it changes nothing. However, Love wants to repair. To love is to be vulnerable and compromise. It doesn't always give the final details that hate might, but the big picture is what we need. Even if we don't think so."

I grip Ellie’s hand tighter. I’m here for the repair.

I should hate her for it — that girl ruined our lives, in so many ways. After everything, she should've killed her, she deserved it.

But I don’t hate her. Something in me breaks open, raw and shaking. And all I can do is whisper.

"It had to stop..." I whisper. "I told you that... so many times. We had already lost so much." My voice cracks "Now you see what I meant." Ellie’s eyes flick up, then down again. She nods — barely. Like she's trying to convince herself. "I know you wanted revenge. Fuck I did too... but it wouldn't bring him back." It slips out before I can stop it. She nods, again. I press my palm against her cheek, slow, gentle — Her skin is chilled from sweat.

"Joel didn't deserve what happened to him..." I breathe deep. "and you didn't deserve the burden of feeling like you had to kill them to bring justice in his name."

Ellie meets my eyes. There's something in hers that looks… hollow. Not just grief. Not just guilt. Something lost. Like she’s been walking in the dark too long and can’t remember what light looks like. Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. Like she’s begging for forgiveness.

"That's where you're wrong… It is my burden. It IS my fault."

I shake my head, slow but firm. "Ellie, you have got to quit blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. I know you wish you could’ve saved him, but it was just—"
I exhale sharply. "It was a horrible circumstance. There was nothing you could’ve done different."

But she doesn’t believe me. I see it in the way she shakes her head, slow, like she’s watching something replay behind her eyes. I don’t get it. Why can’t she see this for what it was?
She shakes her head like she’s trying to shake me off, too.

"I’m not talking about trying to save him at the lodge…" Her voice is quiet, small. It trails off like it’s afraid of where it’s going.

I reach up and cup her face in both hands, gently but firm — grounding her.

"Ellie. You’ll never be able to heal if you can’t say it out loud. You have to let go of whatever it is you’re carrying. You have to stop punishing yourself."
I pause, my voice softening. Hoping Gail's tricks work on her, they do for me.

"Whatever it is… I’m here."

Her eyes meet mine again. Red-rimmed. Glassy. One tear slips free, carving a silent line down her cheek. She opens her mouth, and the words come out so faint they almost don’t exist:

"I lied to you…"

----

Chapter Text

(Ellie's POV)

----

Dina gawks at me, her eyes wide and unmoving. Her brows are drawn, lips parted like she’s about to speak — but nothing comes out. The confusion isn’t loud, but it’s etched in deep, like it’s been waiting.

Everything around us has gone still.
As if the whole world is holding its breath with her.
Waiting to see what happens next.

"What... What did you lie to me about?" Her voice is soft, but I hear it strain at the end. She’s trying not to sound afraid, trying to make it seem like this can't be that bad. I see it through it anyway. I see a thousand thoughts flickering behind her eyes. She’s trying to solve it. Trying to connect the dots with the pieces I haven’t given her. Trying to figure it out... She never will.

I swallow, jaw tight. My mouth’s dry as dirt. "You said.." I pause — just long enough to feel that tightness bloom in my chest — and exhale, slow. "That I can't heal, If I don't say it out loud?" The words come out quieter than I mean to.

Dina nods slowly. Her brow drawn together, thoughtful. "Yeah... It means you can't have closure without confronting it. If you say it out loud, it makes it real." She says it gently, but there’s weight behind it. 

I push a breath out through my nose. "Sounds like Gail." I mutter my voice low and brittle.

The corner of her mouth pulls up — barely, but it’s there."I think she's qualified to make that statement."

She always has a comeback. Soft but sharp. One of the things I've always loved about her. I shake my head lightly. Not in disagreement — in resignation. My thumb finds the frayed seam of the blanket between us. I trace it like I’m following a map out of my own head. Nausea stirs in my gut, slow and sour. The words are coming.
Whether I want them to or not.

"That's what I'm afraid of." I whisper. The words tremble on the way out. "If its real.. I could lose you too." I look down, my face burns hot. "I already lost Joel because of it." The words catch in my throat, tearing on the way out. Like a punch I didn’t see coming. My lungs seize as if there's no air to breathe.

Dina reaches over, her brow still furrowed — but she’s trying. Trying to soften her voice, trying to hold me steady in all this. Always trying. Even when I’ve made it impossible. That’s who she is. She grasps my hand and threads her fingers through mine.
A gentle squeeze. A signal that she’s still here. Her face relaxes, but her eyes stay clear.

“Ellie…” she says, her voice low, steady. She squeezes my hand again — tighter this time, like she’s anchoring us both. “We’ll figure it out. What’s done is done, and we survived it. We can put whatever this is behind us. You and me.”

She scoots a little closer. Her knee bumps mine. “I don’t believe whatever you lied about is worse than the hell we’ve already been through. Just… talk to me.”

“I… I don’t know how.” My voice cracks. The frustration slips through, raw and tired. “I don’t know how to make it make sense.”

Where the hell do I even begin? How do I explain what it was like crossing the country with him? Sleeping in shifts in abandoned houses, eating just enough to survive. Hiding from hunters and infected. Watching him kill without hesitation. Watching him try — again and again — to protect me like I was his own, even when I wasn’t his burden to carry. Watching him almost die under my hands, and he STILL tried to make me leave to save myself. Even now I think of his voice. That rough, low way he used to say my name when he was trying not to argue with me. I’d give anything to hear it one more time.

How do I explain fighting with every fiber of our being to stay alive out there? Just to make it one more day, one fucking mile closer to the Fireflies? I believed we could save the world, just like my comic books, Endure and Survive right? I think he finally started to believe it too. How else could we have made it that far? Avoid death's grip that many times?

Then… somehow, we made it. Past everything. All that death, all that distance. We were there. I could’ve been the cure. But- Joel didn't let them. She'll think he was selfish. Fuck, he was.. but it's not that simple. Is It? Joel lost his daughter, himself, Tess, his friends.. I didn't have anything left to lose. I would’ve been okay. My life could’ve mattered. But he wasn’t okay.
He was done losing.

I glance up. Dina shuts her eyes, like she’s bracing or giving herself the push she needs. Her inhale is long and slow — like she’s trying to hold herself together from the inside out.

"I never asked anything of you." Her voice isn’t sharp — it’s frayed. Worn thin like fabric that’s been pulled too tight. Her shoulders sag like she’s been holding something heavy for too long.

“I never asked you not to go to Seattle. I never asked you why, or how you did what you did out there. I never asked anything.” She shakes her head, the words starting to break apart.

“I let you have it — all of it — because I knew it was already lost. I knew there was nothing I could do or say that would change what happened.” She breathes in, deep and uneven.

“So I tried to move on. I tried to pull you along. I tried so fucking hard and it didn't work.” Her voice lifts a little — not yelling, but louder. 

“Then you leave me again. And I thought… that was it!" She throws her hands up and they come slapping back down onto the blanket we share. "There was no chance you'd make it out alive.” She chokes up on the words as they come out. 

“Now you show up…" Shaking her head disbelieving. "Now you’re here. And somehow… somehow life feels better than it did before. I don’t know if it’s because I missed you so fucking much that my brain’s faking it — or if it really is better.” Her eyes shine now, glassy and full. Tears cling to her bottom lashes, trembling ready to fall at any blink. Her voice drops back down to a whisper. Tight and trembling.

“Now... I am asking. Tell me the truth, Ellie. Tell me everything.” Her voice is soft but it lands like a rock between us. An unyielding barrier. 

She’s pleading. Maybe with me. Maybe with herself. I want to tell her. I think I do. I want to stop holding it. Let it pour out and be done with it once and for all. But the second I try to force the words, I see him —leaning beside me on our porch, the late light catching the grey in his beard, that somber look in his eyes as he told me why he did it.

I’m backed into a corner. Not by her, by the truth. By the years I spent hoping this would fade away. That I could pretend long enough that he was telling the truth. That there was no cure. 

But the world didn’t allow that. The world allowed me to spiral, overthink, obsess. Allowed me to waste years trying to understand it all. The world allowed me to stay angry at him.

Then the moment we tried to fix it — the fucking second we tried — it shattered. Like it had just been waiting to fall apart.

My breath falters. That familiar tremor starts rising in my hand- a dull buzz, like static under my skin. I breathe in — as deep as I can — until it feels like my lungs might split from the stretch.
I hold it there, let it sting. Then I let it go. That kind of exhale you do when there’s no other choice left.

I try to memorize every part of her face — because it might be the last time I get to. If this breaks us, if she walks away, I want to hold this version of her in my head.. Her dark brown eyes, the way they always catch the light like they’re made to hold it. Her lashes, fanning out and curling just slightly at the corners. The shape of her mouth, the way the corners twitch when she smirks. Her freckles, perfectly scattered across her nose and cheeks like she was hand-painted.

My throat tightens again. My chest locks. My body’s doing everything it can to shut me up — like it knows what I’m about to say, and it’s trying to save me from it. Even when I'm like this — broken, bent and swallowed by guilt — I still see the love in her eyes. After everything.

If I say this — if I really say it — she deserves to see my face. So she knows I'm not hiding anymore. Maybe I deserve to see hers too.

There’s this part of me — loud, aching — that wants to defend him before I even tell her the truth. I want to say he had already lost everything, that he couldn’t lose me too. But if I lead with that — if I justify it, excuse it — it might make everything worse. It may ruin everything before I have the chance to try and save it.

Maybe I deserve that too.

Maybe that's the final price I pay.

----

(Dina's POV)

She’s staring into my soul like she could never look away. Her eyes start to glaze over — not like she’s going to cry, like something inside her is fracturing open. Then, I see it: a flicker resolve peaking through the cracks.

She takes another breath.  The deep kind that hurts going in. The kind you take when there's no turning back.

I settle back into the couch, barely moving, keeping my back straight. My fingers knot together in my lap to try to keep from fidgeting. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to burn.

“Do you remember… sometime after Seattle, before JJ was born. I woke up from a nightmare, and for the first time we talked about what happened?”

Shit.
Yeah, I remember...

I could never forget those first days back in Jackson. The whole world felt washed out, like the color had been drained from everything. Like we’d crossed some invisible line and left pieces of ourselves on the other side. I was still bruised and stitched and aching in the places you could see.
But Ellie... she was bleeding in all the places you couldn’t. She’d go quiet for hours, eyes staring through walls like she was somewhere else.
Sometimes she’d wake up screaming. Other times… she’d just shut down completely, like something flicked the switch inside her off.
We were both broken. Just in different directions.

Ellie never took off Joel's jacket, even when it got too hot. Every time someone knocked on the front door, she’d freeze. Not like she was scared. Like she was ready to fight. She’d go still sometimes — eyes fixed watching something I couldn’t see.
She would be somewhere else entirely.
I’d call her name. Once. Twice.
It’d take a moment before she’d even blink.
Other times she’d wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Thrashing, fighting off invisible attackers.

The worst were the moments that came out of nowhere. Broad daylight. Everything calm.
Then some small thing — a creak, a voice, the scrape of metal — would catch her sideways.
Then just like that, she’d fold in on herself. Like a building finally giving in to the rot beneath it.

“I do.” I say quietly. “Most of it. I try to block it out, to be honest.”

“Yeah. Same…” She mutters, picking at the blanket again. “Do you remember asking me if I ever found out why they killed Joel?”

I nod once. “I remember.”

She didn’t tell me then.
I wanted to believe it was because she didn’t know — that maybe, somehow, she’d never found out.
But deep down… I knew better. I think I always did.
I just kept hoping it wouldn’t matter. That time would do what it’s supposed to — sand down the edges, dull the weight. Make it easier to carry.
That we could live with whatever we had left.
Was that selfish?
Was I wrong to want peace over truth?
Maybe I didn’t want to know.
Would it change anything?

“Nora told me…” she says, her voice barely more than breath. “When I made her talk.”
She pauses — maybe to brace herself. Maybe to admit the thing she already knows.
“The worst part is… I had a feeling. I think I always knew. I just couldn’t let myself believe it.”

I knew it. I always knew something wasn’t right.
When she told me Nora gave up Abby’s location before the spores took her — or maybe it was after Ellie… tortured her.
It never sat right. I remember lying on that couch with Ellie’s battered body pressed against mine, holding her like she’d fall apart if I let go…
Wondering why.
Why didn’t she ask?
Why didn’t she want to know?

But the truth is... she already knew.
She always knew.
She just didn’t want to say it.
Saying it would make it real.

“Ellie…” My voice comes out cracked and too soft. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
I swallow hard. The words sting on the way out.
“You didn’t have to lie. I would've listened. I would've understood… whatever the reason.”

She's trying to keep eye contact, but I can tell she wants to look away.

“It wasn’t that simple.” she says quietly, the words falling hard.
“Telling you meant telling you everything.”
A beat. Her voice shakes.
“Everything he did.”

A cold chill bursts down my spine. It’s not fear. It’s something heavier.
The pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place — but somehow the picture looks different than what you had expected it to be.

“I’m not stupid, Ellie…” I say, rougher than I mean to. I’m not trying to be angry. I’m just… exhausted.
“Even back in Seattle, I questioned it. I said it didn’t make sense — that they went straight for Joel. That they didn’t kill you. Or Tommy. Even when they had the chance.”
I shake my head slowly.
“They were there for something. Not just revenge. Not random.”
My chest tightens. I pause, the pieces starting to slide into place. “I knew something was off. I just didn’t know what.”

Part of me already suspected something dark. Joel wasn’t perfect, I heard the stories. He had that edge — the kind you get from surviving too long in a world like this.
I figured maybe he’d hurt someone. Stolen. Raided a settlement. Something ugly that left blood in its wake.
Something from before Ellie.

But even then…
Why would they hold onto that hate for so long?
Why chase him across states?
Why carry vengeance so far?

Then Ellie speaks again — flat, emotionless, like she’s reporting the weather.
“They killed Joel… because Joel took me to a Firefly hospital in Salt Lake City.”

The air leaves my chest. My thoughts scatter. She says it with no emotion. No theatrics. Just fact. Suddenly… everything goes quiet in my head.

“He took me there because they were going to use me to make a cure. A cure, Dina.”

The word cure hits harder than anything else could. My heart stutters. My mouth goes dry. My stomach flips like I’m falling — like the floor just dropped out from under me.
Something cold crawls up my spine, spreads into my ribs, settles in my chest. Hearing the world could’ve been saved… and wasn’t.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. The words bounce around my skull but none of them make it to my mouth. It doesn’t feel real.
It feels like she’s reciting an urban legend. Like she’s telling me a story about someone else — some myth passed around the campfire.
A cure? For Cordyceps? What would that even look like?
My mind can't comprehend what it would look like, all of us together, rebuilding the world. But it tries. No danger, no destruction. No monsters in dark corners. 

“But… making a cure would mean I had to die.” she says, barely above a whisper. “It would’ve killed me. Whatever it is that makes me immune… it’s in my brain.”

Just like that — the life I’d started imagining vanishes. Blown away in an instant. All I can see is her — lying on some cold table in a lab like a science experiment.
Her heart stopped. Her blood drained. The world might’ve been saved…
But not mine. I can't see that life because I could never imagine a world without Ellie in it. I stare at her. I don’t even know if I’m breathing.

She swallows, hard. Her voice is thin, ragged.

“Joel… he found out. And he…” She goes still. Her chest rises like she’s about to speak — then doesn’t. I can see it in her eyes — the panic, the guilt.
Like she’s afraid that telling me this will make me see him differently.

“He killed them all.” Her voice sounds like it’s been scraped raw.
“Every Firefly soldier. And the doctor… the one who was supposed to make the vaccine. He shot them. One by one.” A single tear spills down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away.
Doesn’t even flinch.

“Because he couldn’t live without me.” Her voice splits down the middle — half a whisper, half a sob. The words echo between us.
I can’t look at her. She can’t look at me. We both stare off — like if we focus hard enough on the dark corners of the room, the words will go away. It'll all be make believe.

“Abby and her friends… they were Fireflies. Joel killed their people. That’s why they killed him.”

My hand covers my mouth. I can’t breathe. My whole body goes cold. Like the universe finally balanced a scale we didn’t know existed. But did it? The saying an eye for an eye makes every man blind... it rings true. We all were blinded by this in some way.

She could’ve been a cure. She could’ve saved us all.
And Joel— Joel killed the Fireflies. He took the cure away from all of us. So they came to kill him.

All the stories about him start to look different. Not just the ones Ellie told me —The one's he told, the ones I heard from Tommy and Maria. All of them. They start to blur together now, reshaped by this truth. Like I’m seeing him through fogged glass — same man, but every line distorted.

I lower my hand slowly, chest tight. He chose her over the world. Part of me wants to hate him for it. Wants to scream at the memory of him — call him selfish, reckless, unforgivable.
But that same part of me still remembers how he looked at her. Like she was his world. That steady, stubborn, man who used to sit across the table and tell awful jokes that made Ellie groan and me laugh anyway. The one who kept the fence lines safe, patched up walls, hauled lumber in the snow without complaint. The one who would play card games with Ellie and I during sleepovers. Joel made this place feel safe.

That same part of me starts to view Abby and her friends differently. Less like monsters.
More like people who had their own stories. Their own scars. They weren’t attacking a stranger. They were chasing revenge.
Joel was the evil in their story. The butcher who stole their future. If I look at it from their side —
Were they really wrong?

“I knew if I told you… you’d think of him differently.” Ellie’s voice is soft. Not fragile — just tired. Like this has been rotting in her chest for years. She doesn’t look at me. Just keeps her eyes on the floor like she’s afraid of what mine might say. She’s unraveling now, and I don’t move. I barely breathe.

“He told me the Fireflies had been raided while I was sedated for testing. That he got me out just in time. He said my immunity meant nothing — that the tests came up empty.
That I wasn’t special. That actually… there were tons of immune people. And none of it made a difference. They weren’t looking for a cure anymore. The world had given up.”

A pause. She swallows.
“I wanted to believe him. I tried to. I really tried.” Her voice catches — almost like she’s ashamed of it.
“But I couldn’t let it go. Every time someone died… every time we lost someone in Jackson, or on patrol… it came back. That maybe they didn’t have to die. That maybe… I could’ve stopped it.”
She shakes her head slowly.
“It never left me. No matter how much I wanted it to.

She goes still for a second, like she’s stepping back into it.
“Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore,” she says. “So I went to Salt Lake. I snuck out one night and went to the hospital.”
Her voice doesn’t waver — not yet — but I can feel the shift in her. The way her body tightens. Like saying it might make her relive it all over again.

“I found the operating room. My old notes. A tape recorder…” She pauses. “It talked about it — the surgery, the intent. Enough to know the truth. Enough to know what happened.”
She draws in a sharp breath, and I swear it sounds like a sob she’s trying to swallow.

“Joel showed up while I was there. I left a note behind for him — just in case I didn’t make it back. I Told him if he kept lying, I’d leave. He’d never see me again.”
Her voice dips, rough now. “So he told me. Everything. I told him I’d go back to Jackson… but him and me? We were done.”

My throat tighten for her, that's whe she was mad for so long..

“I hated him for it,” she says. “For lying. For taking it from me. It was my choice.”
The bitterness isn’t loud — but it’s deep. Like it’s carved into the words.

Then, her voice cracks — just slightly. “I was supposed to die.” she says it like a confession.
“My life was supposed to fucking matter.” She says through clenched teeth.
“And he took that from me. From everyone. I was so fucking mad at him. For so long…”

She looks at me now, and I see it in her face — not just grief. Guilt. Buried deep inside her. She still believes she should've died. That the world would be better for it. Would it? I don’t say anything. Can’t. I don’t even know what to feel - everything makes sense, and yet nothing does at the same time. How's that possible?

Joel. Holy shit. He did it.
He really fucking did it. He gave up the cure to keep her. To keep Ellie.
My head shakes in disbelief.
How? How do you make that kind of choice and live with it?

Then I see JJ — his soft voice, that wild laugh, those dark brown eyes. His black hair flowing in the breeze, just like Jesse’s.
Could I let someone take his life… even if it meant saving the world?
My stomach turns at the thought. The part of me — the part that’s a mother — twists in on itself.
Through all the confusion…I start to understand. Unwillingly even.
Why Joel saved her. Why it wasn’t even a question.

The words slip out before I can stop them — soft, unsure. "That’s… why you went to kill her? Because you didn’t get to forgive him?”

 Ellie looks like she might fall apart. “No...” she whispers shaking her. “I went after her because I wanted revenge for taking him from me… when I finally forgave him, she murdered him the next day.”

Deep in my chest something caves. I close my eyes, just for a second. That night floods back into my memory. The dance. The fight between Joel and Seth and how she yelled at Joel in front of everyone. Then oddly, the next day on patrol she told me she was going to watch a movie with him later. I was so confused, she had been so cold to him for months- but she said they were okay. It all makes sense now, now I know why.

“I finally let myself open up again to him.” she says. “I wanted to try to forgive him. That night after the party… we talked. I started to understand. Not all the way. But enough to try... I told him I’d try.” She blinks fast, like she’s trying to hold herself together by sheer will. Her breath hitches “But I didn’t get the chance. She took it from me. Before I knew why they did it I was trying to bring justice to him. To make myself feel better about what happened. Once I knew... really knew... It didn't change anything. I still wanted her dead. I still hated her. Then I went after her again because she took the chance to forgive him away... I blamed myself for everything." She sucked in a deep breath

“That’s why it's all my fault. If I had died like I was supposed to. Like I would've wanted… none of this would’ve happened. Joel would still be alive. There’d be a cure. It wouldn't have all been for nothing.”

For a long time, we don't speak. I don’t even know what to say. Ellie sits there like a storm’s ripped around her — and she’s the last structure still standing in its path. I stare at her — at the way her shoulders are hunched, the way her fingers have gone white from clenching the edge of the blanket.

For a second, I feel like I’m looking at a version of her I never knew existed. Not the girl I built a home with. Not the one who makes JJ shriek with laughter or kisses me with dirt-stained hands in the greenhouse, laughter still caught in her throat. The one who tells silly jokes and always has a smart ass comment to make. The one who would go to the ends of the world to save us.
This version is carved out of guilt, loss and too many fucking years of keeping secrets.

She really believed she was supposed to die. That her life only mattered if it ended. My throat tightens. I feel like I’ve been punched. I can't even picture life without her now. 

And Joel…Damnit. I want to be angry for her. But I can't. When I think about JJ and his tiny hands reaching up to me. His wide toothless smile. How he somehow looks like with certain faces, then right bak to Jesse. Even Ellie, Her once steady hands. Her soothing voice when she sings. How she holds me at night.  

I know, with every part of my being — I would burn the world down before I let anyone take them from me.

I understand Joel, I shouldn’t. But I do.

I feel the sting build behind my eyes, sharp and sudden — but I blink it back. Ellie’s already drowning. She doesn’t need me to sink with her.

I reach for her — slow and careful, like we are both fragile glass that could shatter any second. My hand finds hers. She puts her head down like she doesn’t think she deserves to be held.
I squeeze tighter. I don’t let go.

“It isn’t your fault.” I whisper. She looks up at me — red-eyed, barely breathing. “Any of it.”

I want to say more. I want to tell her she mattered. That she matters now more than ever. But the words catch in my throat — thick and sharp like glass. My chest tightens around them.

So instead, I move closer. I pull her into my arms. She finally breaks. Her shoulders shake — a violent tremor under skin — and she sobs without a sound, like the grief is too deep to make noise. I hold her tighter. Like I could keep her from falling apart completely. The words start to form before I can stop them.

"I couldn't do it either ya know..." My voice is low, almost ashamed. I’m still holding her, arms wrapped around her like a lifeline. But I feel her shift slightly — just enough to listen. “Maybe it’s crazy. Maybe it’s selfish. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you go. Or JJ.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are red, cheeks flushed, lashes wet and clumped — and even now, she tries to look strong. That same stubbornness I fell in love with. That same fire, even when she’s breaking.

“But… there could be a cure.” she says, voice trembling, like she’s still trying to hold onto that idea — even now.

“I know,” I whisper. I meet her eyes. Steady. I need her to believe me when I say this.
“But there isn’t.” I breathe in slow. Let it settle between us. “I’d be lying if I said I’d do something different.”

“That’s why I tried to forgive him.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I started to understand. Even if I didn’t want to.” Ellie looks down. Her shoulders fold inward — like she’s trying to make herself smaller, trying to hide from the guilt that won’t stop chasing her. “It felt wrong… to forgive him when he stole something so valuable. From me. From the world.” Her voice is cracking again. Raw.

“I felt like if I stopped caring… then everyone who died — everyone we lost — it’d be for nothing.” I feel the ache in her words like it’s my own.

So I reach for her again, gently. “Ellie.” I say, meeting her eyes. “It’s okay to forgive him.”

Somehow I already have. Joel was never anything but good to me. Like a father figure in some ways. I can't hate him for this. All I see now is her in front of me... broken, grieving, and still so goddamn beautiful. A selfish part of me is… grateful. Because she’s still here. With me.

She blinks — slow, uncertain — like she didn’t expect me to say that. Like she’s waiting for the catch. For the judgment. But I don’t give it to her.

“You were mad. You grieved what could’ve been. You had every right to. But we can’t keep holding onto the past. We’re not there anymore.”

She’s still staring at me, as if waiting for me to take it back. I don’t. “Your life doesn’t have to end to matter,” I say. “It matters right now. To JJ. To me. To Maria… even to Tommy, as much as I want to punch him most days.”

A breath escapes her, something almost like a laugh. Almost. “I know you’ve lost people. We all have. That’s life now — brutal and unfair and still somehow moving forward. Like Joel told you... we keep finding something to fight for right?” I see her face twist, in pain, in grief. But I keep going.

“You being immune… that doesn’t mean the world gets to own you. You’re not responsible for fixing everything. You have your own people to take care of.” I pause, brush a strand of hair from her face. “We can help in other ways now. Jackson’s growing. It’s thriving. We’re not surviving anymore, Ellie — we’re living. Or trying to.”

Her eyes are glassy again. But softer now. “We can build something here,” I say, voice quiet but sure. “Or if that’s not enough… we can go. We’ll start over somewhere new. I don’t care.” I lean my forehead to hers, and whisper the last part: “I just want you. All of you.”

She just nods, short little shakes of her head like she’s trying to convince herself it’s real. Like if she moves any more than that, the whole thing might collapse again. “I don’t want to lose you too." she says, and her voice breaks around the words — not loud, not dramatic, just broken.

A sob leaks through on the end, and my chest tightens watching her break. I give her a soft, crooked smile — the kind I haven’t felt in a long time. The kind that still feels a little foreign on my face. I lean in and press my lips to her forehead.

“Then stay.” I whisper. My voice is hoarse, but steady. “You don’t have to go anywhere. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, still glistening with tears. “Let’s fix what’s broken here…” I say, brushing my thumb along the curve of her cheek. “That’s something, right?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice still a little cracked. But there’s something behind her eyes now.
A glint — faint, flickering, but there.
Hope?

I sit up a little straighter. My chest still feels tight — but something in it starts to ease.
Just enough to breathe a little deeper. “I’ve got two things to ask you,” I say, brushing my knuckles against hers. “Okay?”

She looks at me, eyes curious but cautious. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffling once.

“One’s harder,” I add. “So I’ll start with the easy one.”

Her head tilts slightly, and I can tell she’s wondering where the hell I’m going with this. I smile — really smile — that kind of rare, honest one that feels like it comes from deep in my chest — and nudge her gently. “Tell me…” I pause, just for a second. “How you really met Joel.”

Her brows lift, just a little. The surprise flickers across her face, but she doesn’t pull away. I can see her processing.

"We don’t have to go over everything… not all the details. We’ve got a lifetime for that, right?” She lets out a breath of a laugh — soft and shaped like a maybe. Not quite a yes. But not a no either. “But I want to know,” I say, a little softer now. “If you’d tell me.”

She smiles, just a little. The kind of smile that flickers before it stays. Her eyes are clearing now — not dry, but steadier. Calmer. “Well…” she says, her voice still hushed. “It is a lot of details.”

She glances down for a moment, thumb brushing against mine where our hands are still linked. “We could talk about it… maybe one day.”

Then she looks up again, the corner of her mouth tugging upward, gentle. “I don’t know where to start. But I can tell you the gist?”

I smile — that smile I used to give her when she told ghost stories under the stars, or played guitar by the campfires, the firelight dancing in her eyes.
That old, familiar flutter comes back for a moment — the kind that made me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Okay,” I say, almost grinning now. I scoot a little closer, bumping her leg with mine. “Tell me the gist, then.”

She smiles — that little half-smile of hers, all smug and crooked. “Alright…” she says, like she’s still deciding how much to give me, but knows she’s going to give it anyway.

There’s a pause. A breath. Something softer in her face now, in the way her eyes linger on mine. For the first time in a long time… it feels like the weight between us has shifted.

-----

(Ellie's POV)

“I lied to you about how Joel and I met,” I say, voice low, my throat tight. “Obviously, I couldn’t tell you the truth at the time.” Dina doesn’t flinch. Just waits — patient, steady, like she’s bracing herself but won’t turn away.“He wasn’t a friend of my mom. He never even knew her.” I rub the side of my neck, eyes fixed on the floor.

“There was this woman, Marlene. She was the leader of the Fireflies in Boston. My mom… she used to be one too, before she died. She made Marlene promise to look after me.” I picture Marlene again — that clipped way she used to talk, like she never had time for anything but the truth. My voice starts to tremble, but I don’t stop.

“When I got bit… and didn’t turn, I found her. I had to show her. She thought I was full of shit at first — fuck, she even pulled a gun on me.” I pause, swallowing hard. “I had to beg her to listen. I remember the way she looked at me… like she didn’t want to believe it. But when she saw I wasn’t changing…” I shake my head a little, exhaling slow. “She told me there was a hospital out west. A Firefly hospital.” My voice trails off. And before I even realize it, I’m back there.

Back in that crumbling room. That awful uncomfortable chair. The broken light buzzing overhead. I see Marlene again — sharp eyes, calm voice. Like she carried the weight of the whole damn world and somehow still stood tall.

“Ellie,” Marlene said, “You have a greater purpose than any of us could’ve ever imagined.” I remember the way her words hit me — like scripture, like hope I didn’t know I needed. “We’re going to take you to a hospital. The doctors there — they’ve been working on a cure for twenty years. And with you… It might finally be real.” I didn’t understand all of it at the time. Just that the world had been broken forever — and maybe, somehow, I was the key to fixing it.

I let myself believe it. That I could matter. That maybe all the pain, all the death — Riley, Tess, Sam — it wouldn’t be for nothing. That maybe I wouldn’t be for nothing.

I hadn’t realized I stopped talking until Dina’s voice cuts through, soft as breath.

“How did you get bit?” Dina asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Marlene didn’t take you, though… right?” She says it like she’s listening to a ghost story. Not scared — just drawn in. Cautious wonder. Like she knows this part of me has never been spoken aloud.

A part of me… softens. Because Joel and I never talked about this. Not once.
 

“No,” I say quietly, shaking my head. “Marlene didn’t take me.” I glance down at my hands — one scarred, one trembling. I rub my thumb along the inside of my arm, tracing the place where it all began. “It happened before. A few weeks before I ever knew Marlene. I was still in the Boston QZ. Still in school. I had a best friend, her name was…” My voice catches, just for a moment.
But I push through it.

“Her name was Riley. She was my best friend in school,” I say, my voice a little steadier now. “Well… she was my first crush. My first kiss, actually.”

Dina’s lips press together — not tight, just enough to show something’s turning behind her eyes.
A small twitch, like she finds it kind of cute… maybe a little too cute. “I thought Kat was your first?” she asks, head tilting slightly.

I let out a short breath — almost a laugh — and shrug, my shoulders sinking into the couch. “Yeah… well, I had to kind of tell everyone that.”

I glance over, and she’s still watching me — a mix of amusement and something gentler. “Didn’t really feel like telling the whole town my first kiss ended with both of us getting bit.”

I see Riley now. Grinning at me while we rode the carousel — her smile wide, reckless, full of light. Her eyes twinkling under the bulbs overhead… maybe from the lights, maybe from the liquor. Maybe both. The way my heart skipped when our hands brushed. When she leaned in, close enough that I forgot how to breathe.
Fuck, I wanted to freeze time. Just for a minute. I try to shake the memory, but it clings. Riley wouldn’t want me stuck there. She’d want me to move.

“So anyway…” I start, trying to keep my voice steady. “We snuck into this mall. Thought we were being smart.”

I glance at Dina — she’s listening, still holding my hand. “Got jumped by a runner. We managed to kill it, but… we both got bit.”

I hear the words come out and feel them hit the floor between us like iron. “We decided we’d be all poetic and shit. Sit there and wait. Let it take us like… like it was some kind of tragic ending in a movie.”

I gulp. Look down. My fingers tense, and Dina squeezes mine tighter — like she knows what's coming.

“But I didn’t turn,” I whisper. “And she did.”

I pause. The air thickens. “I had to kill her.”

The silence stretches. “That was the first infected I ever killed,” I say, quieter now. “My best fucking friend.”

Dina’s brow creases. That little frown she gets when she’s hurting for someone else. She leans in slightly, like she wants to close the space grief tries to make.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” she murmurs. “She sounds lovely,” Dina says softly. “If you liked her, then she must’ve been.”

I let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, trying to catch myself before I fall too deep. “She was,” I say, smiling despite myself. “You two would've got along... if you weren’t too busy fighting over me, of course.”

Dina snorts gently, the sound cracked around the edges, but real. 

“So,” I say, a little lighter now. “I went to find Marlene. That’s where it began.”

Dina shifts slightly, thumb brushing mine. “Was Joel there? Was he a Firefly or something?”

“Fuck no,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He hated the Fireflies. Mostly ‘cause of Tommy. I guess Tommy left him in Boston to join up with them — bit of brotherly discourse there.”

Dina huffs softly through her nose — the closest thing to a laugh either of us can manage right now.

“Anyway,” I go on, “Marlene and the Fireflies got hit by FEDRA. Big mess — some killed, some injured. Joel and his friend Tess showed up looking for weapons Marlene had. Instead of paying up, she cut a deal.”

I can still picture it — Marlene clutching her side, the blood soaking through her shirt. The way Joel stared at me like I was a ticking time bomb. Before he even knew about my immunity.

“She told them to smuggle me to the Capitol building outside the QZ. Said some Fireflies would meet us there and take me the rest of the way. Real simple, right?"

I give Dina a flat look. Clearly not that simple.

“Minus hordes of infected. FEDRA patrols. Almost getting fucking mauled every ten feet. Y’know, the usual.”

Dina doesn’t laugh, but her lips twitch like she might’ve, in another life.

“So we finally make it — and everyone’s fucking dead. Infected got there first.”

My voice flattens again, the memory too sharp to dull.

“No backup plan. No map. And of course Marlene never bothered to tell me exactly where this magic cure lab was.”

I let out a slow breath and rub my thumb over hers again — steady, grounding. Like if I just focus on that one point of contact, maybe I won’t spin out.

“Joel wanted to turn back. Said it was over.”

My jaw tightens. I remember how loud the silence was in that room — the light slanting across the floor, the blood, Tess’s hands twitching at her neck like she could will the infection away. Like denial could buy her time.

“But Tess… Tess had gotten bit somewhere along the way. She didn’t say anything until we got there.”

I glance at Dina. “Her dying wish was for Joel to take me to Tommy. Said he’d know what to do. Where to go.”

A split second of silence hangs in the air.

“So…” I breathe out, voice thin. “Off we went. Crossed the country. Nearly died a hundred different ways. But we made it. And… you know the rest.” I shrug, like it’s nothing. Like it didn’t shape every part of me.

Dina lets out a soft breath — half a laugh, half disbelief. “I guess… yeah. That makes sense.” She smiles, tired but still warm, like she’s trying to absorb it all without letting it break her.
“What a fucking trip. The fact you guys made it… it had to be meant to be. Or luck.”

"Not sure I believe in luck" I mutter.

“I do.” she says soft and certain.

The words hit heavier than they should. Not because of how she says them — but because of everything they bring back. The theater. That bracelet. I catch her glance — a flicker, drawn to my wrist like it remembers something. She doesn’t say a word.
“I still have it,” I murmur.

HeHer eyes shoot up to mine — glassy now, searching. “I didn’t see it on you. I figured…” She trails off. Doesn’t need to finish. I already know what she thought.

“It’s in my backpack,” I say. “I didn’t wanna lose it in Santa Barbara. I kept it safe.”

A tear rolls slow down her cheek. “It did its job.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “It did.” I pull her closer. She fits into me like she always did — like no time passed at all. Like we were made to fit here, even after everything.

A sigh slips out of me before I can hold it back. “Okay…” I murmur. “You said you had two questions. Hit me.”

She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. That little tssssk sound that always means trouble. “You’re not gonna like it,” she says, widening her eyes in mock apology. “But it’s non-negotiable. Sorry.” She flashes me that big fake smile — the one she used to do when she stole the last piece of bread and blamed it on me.

I narrow my eyes. “Uh huh… go on…” My voice is steady, but something in me shifts.
I’ve faced murderers, cannibals, infected — every nightmare this world’s thrown at me.

And yet somehow…This makes me nervous.

Dina stretches her legs out a little, eyes still on mine. That playful look drops, just slightly. “We’re not doing what we did last time,” she says, steady but soft. “No pretending it’s fine. No suffering in silence.”

I swallow hard.
That can’t be good.

She lifts her brows just enough to let me know she means it. “We… are going to talk to Gail.”

I blink at her. “Gail?”

The name alone makes my shoulders bunch up tight. She nods — real slow. Real serious. Like we’re about to walk into a room full of clickers.

“Yes. Gail.”

I let my head fall back against the wall, groaning dramatically. “You mean the cryptic hippie shrink who talks like she’s got a crystal ball lodged in her frontal lobe? The one who's permanently high and drunk?”

Dina snorts, but stays firm. “See? You two already have stuff in common!" 

I roll my eyes hard.

"She’s smart. She listens. This was her job before the outbreak. I really think she will help.”

I stare at the ceiling for a second. My chest tight. My brain already trying to find the exits. “Am I gonna have to talk about my feelings?”

“You already did,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “And I think you did pretty fucking great.”

I sigh — deep and tired, the kind of breath that feels like it’s been sitting in my chest for years. I lean back against the wall, let my head thump softly against the wood. A dull echo.

“Dina…”

"Non negotiable" She says, her voice gentle but firm — like she’s trying to soften the edge without dulling the blade.

I groan, dragging it out loud enough to let her know I’m playing along. Just enough sarcasm to keep things from feeling too heavy.

“Gail talks in fucking parables. Half the time I don’t know if she’s quoting a book or describing a hallucination. She told me once I had ‘a soul like a cracked jar in a fire.’ What the fuck does that even mean?”

Dina laughs — soft, but real. The kind of laugh that pulls from her heart, even if her eyes are still rimmed red. “She’s weird,” Dina shrugs. “That’s why I like her.”

I shoot her a side-eye, but there’s no heat behind it. Just that old teasing rhythm between us that I didn’t think we’d ever find again. “Of course you do.”

She turns toward me, expression settling into something softer. I rub my palms on my knees. Think about the hundred things still tangled in my chest. About what it might mean to say them out loud again.

“You don’t have to talk about everything. Just... what happened with Joel. With us.” Her voice stays steady, but her hand finds mine again. “It might help you figure out how you really feel about it all. Please…For me.”

I let out another sigh, but it’s quieter this time. More surrender than protest. I know I’m not getting out of this — not if I want to keep Dina. And goddamnit, I do.

“Okay. Fine.” I pause. “But if she says one weird thing, I’m calling her out.”

Dina grins — not triumphant, not smug. Just… relieved. She leans in and rests her head against my shoulder, her breath warm where it touches my skin.
We sit like that for a long time. Not talking. Not fixing anything. Just breathing together. I catch the golden edge of sunlight as it slips across the floor, stretching past the shadows.
And for the first time in forever, it doesn’t feel like I’m carrying it all alone.

---

Chapter Text

Tommy's POV

“Goddamn leg, move.” 

The words come out under my breath, low and bitter. This pain’s been my shadow ever since Abby tried to put a bullet in me. Most days it just lingers—dull, like a bad memory. Tonight it’s screamin’. Like someone’s got a knife wedged in my leg and they keep twistin’. Still, I press on. Ain’t the first time I’ve had to fight through worse. Won’t be the last. The road ahead’s empty, lit by the flicker of old streetlamps. Amber light glints off the blacktop like fireflies caught in a jar. Town’s asleep now. Just the breeze, wind chimes in the distance, and a dog barkin’ somewhere off to the west. Probably Tank. Bastard never shuts up.

Jackson nights always get cold after sunset—even this deep into spring. Not like Texas. Down there, the heat clung to you like a second skin made you feel like you were in a sauna even after dark. I used to bitch about it, Lean to the AC vent in the truck and swear I’d never miss it. But I do. I miss the way it made the asphalt sweat. I miss the smell of gas station pavement after rain, even the way your hands’d burn if you touched the metal too soon.

Funny, the things you mourn. Not the big stuff. Just heat. Smells. Sounds. That’s what sticks when the world falls apart I guess. But this ain’t about the past. I keep walking.

Her house comes into view a few blocks down. I recognize the shape of the porch before anything else. I used to walk by almost every day after she left. Told myself I had errands, or I needed to check on patrol rosters. But that was bullshit. Truth is, I was hopin’—just hopin’—to catch a glimpse. A shadow in the window. Her boots on the steps. Anything that’d tell me she was still here. That maybe she hadn’t vanished completely.

My chest tightens like a fist. I stop just standin’ there in the middle of the road like a damn idiot. What the hell am I even doing? Marching up to her door like it’s gonna fix something? Like saying I’m sorry’ll wipe the slate clean? I glance back down the street. Think maybe I should just turn around. Go home. Crawl back into that quiet little room Maria lets me pretend is mine. Ain’t nothin’ left to fix anyway. I take a pitiful step and start limping back the way I came.

Then I see it.

Joel’s house.

The porch light is buzzing a soft yellow. A gray and blue glow leaks through the front window, the TV flickering enough to throw shadows on the wall.  For just a second…
I see them.

All of them.

Ellie kicked back on that leather couch, Dina next to her, legs tucked under a blanket like always. Jesse’s laugh echoing from the old arm chair—he’s telling some dumbass joke that ain’t funny, but they’re all laughin’ anyway. 

Joel—he’s on the porch, six-string in hand, pluckin’ out some old tune he halfway remembers from twenty years ago.

It makes my throat close up, my eyes start stingin’.

I might be dreamin’. But in this dream?

He ain’t dead.
I didn’t get him killed.

Ellie ain’t broken. Dina didn’t have to watch her fall apart. Jesse’s still alive, still crackin’ jokes and doing his best to be a good leader. Their kid gets to grow up with all of them, not just stories and pieces.

I blink hard rubbing my eyes till it hurts. It’s gone. The house is dark and empty. Roof still needs fixin’, Flowers from his service have overgrown or shriveled up and died. 

“Ain’t nothin’ but ghosts and memories back there.” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. Tryin’ to keep away the memories. But I can’t.

I hear his voice. Clear as day like he's standin’ right next to me. “Take care of that wife of yours.”

He said that to me before he went off lookin’ for the fireflies with Ellie. I didn’t think much about it then, not like I do now. 

Jaw clenched, I turn back toward Maria’s.

Each step feels heavier than the last. The limp’s worse on cold nights. Tonight, it’s draggin’ behind me like a fuckin’ anchor. My breath puffs white clouds in the cold as I reach her porch. Everything looks exactly the same. Rusted chair by itself. Potted plants lined up in a neat little row. She always kept things tidy. Even when the world was falling apart around us.

I pause at the steps. Hand on the railing. Listening. The house is quiet, but I know she’s up. Maria never could sleep after a fight. She’d sit in that little chair by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight, running through every word we said like she was filing them in a cabinet.

I reach the top step, exhale through my nose. My hand hovers above the door. My fingers won’t move at first. This ain’t just about earlier. Hasn’t been for a long time. There’s shit between us we never finished saying. Maybe never wanted to say. But I ain’t walking away from her again. Not ‘til she looks me in the eye and tells me she’s done.

Sucking in a deep breath, knocking on the door two times firmly. I immediately hear shuffling through the house. Louder stomps as she gets toward the door. Can’t tell if she’s pissed to be disturbed or thinkin’ someone’s tryin’ to break in. I stand up straighter. Lean into my cane.

A moment later the door slowly cracks open, just half her face peering out lit by the yellow light. A strong waft of whiskey, the good stuff, flows between us. 

“Wha—Tommy? What’re you doing?” she says, shaking her head. “It’s late. You should be at home.”

“I need to talk to you.” I square my shoulders, meet her eyes.

She stares at me a second. Blank, maybe deciding if she’s gonna slam the door or not. Eventually, she lets out a long breath and steps aside.

“Well,” she mutters, “It’s not getting any earlier. You want a drink?”

I chuckle lightly. Usually I was the drinker. 

“I’ll have what you’re havin’.”

She nods, gesturing towards her living room. “I’ll grab a glass. Go make yourself at home.”

I limp may way in there. My cane knocking every step. Her living room is small. Not like the one at our house. She’s got a couch, a love seat and a small coffee table. She doesn’t even have a tv. Just a couple books on the edge of the table. Everything neat and controlled, just like her. 

Easing down on the couch there’s a book splayed on the table, spine up. I lean towards it, “Dead Man Walking by Sister Helen Prejean”. 

Huh. Don’t know if I’d seen that one. Doesn’t look like her normal law books that she’d re read. Or the books she’d hand out to council members to educate them on trials and such that we’d have in Jackson. We’ve never had any major issues. Couple fights, divorces, one or two thefts from newcomers that never stayed. Luckily that was rare but she always wanted us prepared. 

She walks in with two glasses, sets mine down without a word, then drops into the seat across from me with a quiet sigh. Bringing the glass to her lips for a big swig. 

I follow her lead. The whiskey burns, but it’s exactly what I need. Before she can speak, I nod toward the book. 

“Whatcha readin’?”

She glances at it, picks it up and dog ears a corner before setting it back down. 

“It’s a memoir. About a nun who visited death row inmates. She also spent time with the victims’ families. Even spent time with the convicts' families if possible. She sat through the executions. She tried to shed light on why the people did what they did or try to show they weren’t all evil.”

She shifts in her seat, eyes on the glass in her hand. “It’s a tough read. We want to believe in black-and-white justice. But it rarely ever is.”

I nod slowly. Figures. Of course she’d be reading something like that.

We sit in awkward silence for a few moments. I know what I need to say — but gettin’ it started is the hardest part. I shift in my seat, let out a slow breath through my nose.

“My life since the outbreak’s been nothin’ but nightmares and survival,” I say. “I’ve got Joel to thank for that. And blame, in some ways.” I bite my tongue on his name. Maria just leans back watching me, collected as always. 

“When I met you... things changed. I saw a future. A real one. I fell in love with you and Jackson. It became my family.” I glance at her. She doesn’t flinch. 

“Then Joel showed up, pullin’ along Ellie and I thought, man... now we really got a family.” I swallow hard. My throat feels dry.

“I told you back then, I couldn’t let him take her because of how he lost Sarah. That I couldn’t let him relive that if something bad happens.” Maria sits up straighter. Eyes narrow, just a little.

“Wasn’t a lie.” I add quickly. “Not entirely. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.”

I stare at my glass. Can’t look at her. “It was how he tried avoidin’ lookin’ at her... that’s what got to me. The way he tried to not watch her walk through town. Tried to not check around corners for her. Tried not talkin’ about her like she mattered. He was tryin’ not to care.” The memory catches in my throat. Chokes me for a second. Maria’s eyes soften. She doesn’t speak. Just listens.

“I saw him strugglin’ to care for her. Wouldn’t let himself. Wouldn’t even try. He was scared. Scared he’d lose her. Get her killed.” I pause, stare at the book.

“So I offered to take her off his hands. Thought maybe it’d help. Give him a break from the guilt. Maybe... maybe he’d heal a little.”

I let out a breathless laugh and shake my head.

“But when they came back... I thought, damn. This is it. We’re really a family now.” I trail off. Maria stays quiet. Her eyes somewhere else. Maybe she remembers it too.

“I don’t really know why I’m sayin’ all this…” I rub a hand down my face, feel the scratch of my beard. “I guess… it’s just… this all’s gotta mean somethin’. Now she’s back… it changes things.”

“Yeah,” Maria says quietly. She exhales through her nose. “I guess it does.” I glance at her glass, the way the ice clinks as she shifts it in her hand.

“There’s, uh… somethin’ I promised Joel I’d never tell. Told him I’d take it to the grave. Never even told Ellie…” I pause. Scratch my chin again. Buying time. “If I had to guess, though… I think she found out. Eventually.” Maria doesn’t move. Just looks at me.

“I’m assuming you want to tell me.” she says, calm but not cold. “So go on. Can’t make anything worse.” She shakes her glass gently, lets the cubes rattle. Like a clock ticking down.

“Well… you said it.” I snort, a breath of something like a laugh. She rolls her eyes. Familiar. Steady.

There was never anything I couldn’t tell her. She never judged me. Never looked at me like I was less than. Even when I was wastin’ away. Even when I deserved it.

“Joel and Ellie… they really did find those Fireflies. Out in Salt Lake City. It was all true.” Maria’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t interrupt. “They ran tests on her. The doctor said they could make a cure. A real one. But umm...” I look up. She’s watchin’ me close now. She knows this part, the story Joel wanted us to know.

“Let me guess,” she says, eyebrow raised. “No raiders?” Her voice is flat, but there’s heat behind it. Like she already knows the answer.

I look down. Shake my head. “No raiders.” I let out a long breath. “Not a damn one.” She doesn’t move. Just waits.

“If they were gonna make a cure..” I say slowly, “It had to come from her brain. From the place the cordyceps grew. Which would kill her.” Maria’s lips twitch. Just a little. Eyes start to shine — that kind of red that comes on slow, like storm clouds.

“What did he do?” she asks. Real quiet. I meet her eyes.
She already knows. But she wants me to say it.

“He killed all of ‘em.” I swallow hard. “To save her.” 

Maria leans back slightly. Like I’d hit her without touchin’ her. There’s a long pause. Her glass rests in her lap. Untouched. She breaks the silence first. 

“He didn’t save her, Tommy.” Her voice is steady now. Harder. “He stole her.” She locks eyes with me like she was cross-examinin’ someone in front of a jury. The attorney stare. Cold and cutting.

“That ain’t fair,” I grumble. “She was gonna die.” Maria’s head tilts, slow. Like she’s chewing on that.

“Not fair, huh?” She sets her glass down. “What is fair, Tommy? We’re all gonna die. Most already have. For a hell of a lot for less.” She leans forward now, elbows on her knees, eyes locked. “That girl was a cure. The cure. For mankind. I know Joel loved her. Hell, we all do. But he didn’t save her, Tommy.” 

I open my mouth. She cuts me off quick. “I know Ellie. She would’ve wanted to sacrifice herself. She would’ve chosen it. ” Her voice cracks just a little there. “So tell me again how he saved her? Because now she just gets to wait. Wait for raiders, or sickness, or some infected to rip her apart.” She breathes in through her nose.

“If she’s lucky, maybe she dies of old age. But how many of us get that? Especially with her pension for recklessness.”

I stare at her open mouth. “How can you judge him?” I say, heat rising in my chest. “After everything he did for us? You had kids, Maria. You’re tellin’ me you’d let some doctor cut open your baby’s skull just ‘cause it might save the goddamn world?” My leg starts to twitch. I squeeze it tight, try to stop it.

Maria doesn’t flinch. Her voice comes cold. “I didn’t say I judged him, Tommy.” She looks at me like she’s looking through me. “I didn’t even say I wouldn’t do the same if it was my child on that table.” She sits back.

“But if we’re calling it what it is. He didn’t save her.”

I shake my head, scoffing. “I can’t say I’d’ve done different.” I mutter. “Don’t matter what you call it.”

She gives a tired smile. “I can’t say I wouldn’t either, Tommy.” she says softly. “If you want to be honest with me, then be honest.” She leans forward, eyes glassy now. 

“If it was us making that impossible choice… we wouldn’t want to live without them. But, we wouldn't be saving them… We’d be saving us. ” She reaches across the space between us and sets her hand on mine. Gives it a light squeeze. That’s all it takes. It breaks me clean in half.

My throat tightens. I try to shake my head but I can’t. The tears come fast, sudden, ugly. I bury my face in my hands. Maria stands, moves beside me, wraps her arms around my shoulders. The sobs tear out of me. I sound like a damn baby. But she doesn’t pull away. She just holds me.

“It’s my fault.” I choke. “I should’ve killed that girl the second we saw her. Should’ve known. Should’ve been smarter.” I gasp, try to breathe, but it all comes out ragged.

“I let my guard down. That’s what got him killed. Then in Seattle I let it down again. We should’ve left the second we were together.”

Maria doesn’t let go.

“You don’t know that.” she whispers into my shoulder. “She could’ve found you anyway. Could’ve happened on the road back. You can’t keep blaming yourself, Tommy.” She holds me tighter. Rocks me, just a little, like she used to when I came home and the nightmares would keep me up. I can barely breathe. 

My nose is all stopped up. I sound like hell. “I think that Abby girl… her whole crew… they were Fireflies.” Maria’s hand stills, just for a second.

“I reckon they came for revenge. They were too organized. Too strategic. Like soldiers. I just didn’t see it. Not ’til she blew Joel’s leg off with that shotgun.” I press my face into her shirt. Eyes shut tight. “I wasn’t sure when it all first went down. Why they killed him. Just had a hunch.” Maria strokes my hair, slow and steady. Doesn’t flinch.

“That would be a plausible reason.” she says quietly, mulling it over. “I just pray everyone’s had enough revenge. That we can truly move on.” She releases me slowly but doesn’t leave. Sits beside me, her hand still resting on mine.

“I can’t speak for anyone else.” I say, voice hoarse. “But I’ve had enough. I’m tired. Tired of pissin’ away what’s left of my life on bein’ angry.” I pause. Swallow the ache. 

“I’m sorry, Maria. For wastin’ away. For leavin’ you high and dry the second I took off for Seattle. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just needed to say it  and mean it. So I can try to forgive myself.” She stares at me for a long moment. The tears have dried for both of us.

“I do forgive you, Tommy.” she says, voice steady. “I’ve never stopped loving you.” She looks away. Her jaw tightens. “But you really hurt me. You pushed me out and forced me to be okay without you. I can’t just go back to what we had.”

I nod. The words land like a kick to the ribs. I knew she wouldn’t just take me back but I still hoped. Still wished. “I know.” I say quietly. “You forgivin’ me don’t mean you owe me anything. I just needed to get this damn load off. Even if I don’t deserve to.”

Maria squeezes my hand. Her voice soft, but sharp as ever. “When we find forgiveness in this world, Tommy… it’s not always ‘cause we deserve it.”
She looks at me now, eyes clear. “It’s because someone loves us anyway.”

I give a small, cracked smile. “I love you, Maria. You’re the first and only woman I’ve ever loved. If I never find another, so be it. I want to show you I’ve changed. Even if that just means bein’ your friend.”

She nods. Her hand on mine. “I love you too, Tommy. I don’t know what the future holds. For any of us.” She exhales. “I’ve missed you. Every second my mind wasn’t busy, I missed you. We can see where this leads. You’ve got a lot of makin’ up to do.” She leans in and rests her head on my shoulder.

I stare down at our hands. My chest finally still. “Whatever time I’ve got left,” I whisper, “I’m gonna spend it makin’ it up to you.”