Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You supposed it was innocent enough; what else was there to do?

          Your job was simple enough: make the cigs, make the booze, and deliver on time. None of these things were what you knew how to do back then, but now they were your specialty. Your purpose. Your reason to convince people to not kill you.

          After the outbreak, while everyone was scrambling, traveling and praying, you’ve decided to pick up on a few hobbies, and when everyone eventually became disillusioned by the government, you knew you had to find a way out. Sure, the service-men were getting hanged and new leadership regimes were being created, but you knew it was only a matter of time until everyone decided that being alone was the best way to survive.

          You didn’t enjoy watching the endless piles of children, pregnant women, and elderly burn, but you knew this was a necessary evil, figuring if you were one of them, you’d appreciate it. During this time, you’d only heard the infected beyond the walls, and only caught a glimpse of them from your window, but you knew what they were capable of. You’d seen the bites, tears, and chunks of flesh ripped off by jagged teeth or clawed hands, how the officers would beg to be put down like a sick animal.

          Death was mercy.

          Naturally, militias began to grow, and as QZ’s became abandoned, overthrown, or sent to hell, civilians decided that banding together for the quest of fairness and unity was a noble feat. Matching armbands and chains, code-names and “assignments”, great big objectives and the ability to save the world was enticing to those who were either stupid or desperate, or both.

          Not you, though.

          You were far too smart, of course, too logical, and certainly far too solitudinarian. You were far better than them, and you knew the bigger the groups, the bigger the targets. You couldn’t risk being caught when you had loose-lipped, graceless fools turn on you to preserve themselves at the first sign of trouble. You couldn’t blame them, though, you’d probably do the same, which was why you avoided it altogether.

          Time allowed progression, and finding buyers became easier once you found a radio inside of a truck. It was modded to fit the dash, which meant it was a standalone piece that just needed a bit of magic and some current. You had nothing but time.

          You moved around the country, trying to find people to trade with using your new radio. You were pretty good at handling yourself, but every single town you went through had been raided years ago, and sometimes those cuts need more than a dash of moonshine. At first you didn’t really mind the travel, seeing as you had the truck, but when that eventually died out on you, it was just you and your radio, and that was a growing pain in the ass.

          You had reached Utah a few years prior to tonight, and your silent radio whirred with excitement. As it turned out, Utah and Colorado were home to big groups of Fireflies – one in a hospital and one in some university. They kept in close contact with each other, and thus you were their main provider of medicinal supplies, and eventually cigarettes and moonshine, since you found a good place to settle somewhat in between.

          Strangely, you’d come to actually like some of these people, despite their dense ideologies. But aside from them always trying to get you to join, they were funny, smart, and some of them were even cute. Actively seeking out someone to get you off was not something you bothered yourself with, but you found yourself settled in and with extra time on your hands, so there would be no harm in the hunt.

          As fate would have it, these dorks didn’t care much for the chase, and they were able and willing. A simple ‘when’s the last time you got laid’ was enough to get them into nearby housing and go at it like inexperienced teenagers. Clumsy gropes, far too little spit, and very quick encounters didn’t really satisfy you, but it was good enough, considering the other option was rubbing yourself until you either got too frustrated to finish or friction burn.

          The only one you had taken a liking to left Utah for some ranch to ‘just exist’, as he’d put it. You took precaution to make sure it didn’t hurt as much as you feared it would, but you both were very clear on your intentions at the start and he just wasn’t your type. That was long before tonight, though, and as soon as he’d left it seemed like there were a lot less Fireflies to trade with.

          Life went on, and so did you. Once the Fireflies disappeared, you’d continue to go between Nevada, Arizona, and Colorado, partially for connections, but also for sightseeing. The Firefly guy gave you two freebies – the Grand Canyon and Santa Monica Pier – and decided that this was going to be something you’d do in your free time. When money and time mattered, you never had enough, but now that you had the time and money was no object, you made sure to take a keychain from each tourist shop from every landmark just for hell of it. Along with your radio, now you carried little reminders of your adventures.

          Settled back in Salt Lake City, you scored with a nearby settlement in Wyoming, which you creatively called ‘Wyoming’. The chats were extremely brief, but those quick conversations were the only times you’d actually spoken words out loud. Being recluse was good, and it kept you alive, but sometimes you missed casual banter; jokes were far and few in between, so it was always welcome on the other side of the station. Plus, they were pretty generous with their booze, which was the only thing you wanted from them in return for your services.

          But the voice behind the station changed a few weeks prior. The first guy was older – he said he was seventy-five – but this guy sounded relatively younger. He certainly wasn’t a young man, probably aged about the same as you, and his voice was deep and flat, often making sure the two and a half minute conversations were in fact two and a half minutes. He didn’t budge on jokes at first, but he had given you an inkling of a chuckle when you reported back to him when you heard his call for you – “Mr. Motormouth, welcome back.”

          Unfortunately for him, it stuck, but you were convinced he liked it. He never gave you his name, nor anything that would help you identify him in the slightest, but he started making strange requests that were certainly not his own. Comic books, books on space travel, even Star Wars were some of the things he’d ask of you. The guy before had only ever asked for the basics – toiletries, medicines, paper, screws, and the likes; these were still on the list, but these new items made you think about who he was giving these things to. You’d asked him about this, and his only response was ‘are you gonna to get them or not?’

          As time went on, and he became the official voice for Wyoming, you’d assumed he began to trust you, as your short conversations had not only become longer, but more relaxed. He’d even let you know what he was up to in his spare time; he carved things from wood, and you told him you’d expect a wooden cat sometime soon.

          From him, you learned the radio at the settlement was meant to only be used for official business. Assuming there was some sort of log book, it probably had its own office, but the radio began beeping for you at strange hours of the night.

          At first answer, the radio would cut out the moment you’d respond, as if it were only a random interception. After it happened a few times, you had brought it up to the radio man as an off handed comment, “maybe aliens are real.”

          He scoffed, “I doubt it. It’s probably a bad signal trying to reach you.”

          “Consistently? On the same frequency and channel? No way, it has to be aliens. Y’know, Washington state has aliens. There were sighting as early as the forties.”

          “Are you in Washington state?”

          “No.”

          “Then it ain’t aliens.”

          “So you’re telling me aliens only exist in Washington state?”

          “I’m tellin' you aliens don’ exist.”

          “Then it’s you.”

          The silence was a split second longer than anticipated, but he declined.

          “Oh my god,” you mused, “it is you!”

          “I’m telling you it’s not.”

          “Why are you trying to get to me after hours? How illegal,” you joke with a whisper, “what is it?”

          “It ain’t me –“

          “Do you like hearing my voice,” you sit up and pushed out your chest, subconsciously feeling his presence right in front of you. “You wanna hear how I sound at night? Should we have radio sex?”

          The man laughed heartily, the first time you’d ever heard him. You bit your lip and waited for his response, half expecting him to bite.

          But the silence after made you feel nervous. Maybe you came on too strong?

          “I’m uh, not sure how popular radio sex would be, but you do have a, uh, a voice.”

          “Wow, I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented me. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

          Teasing him was fun because he made it so easy; he was so rough around the edges that he was always easily snagged by a flirty quip. It was probably because he hadn’t flirted in decades, and even before the outbreak he was probably a loner. You bowed your head and pushed your headset closer to your ears in case he’s trying to speak, but he was still silent.

          “You do have a nice voice,” he finally stated, and it made you feel a bit hot in the cheeks.

          “So it is you,” you spoke with a subdued tone, as if trying to enchant him through the waves.

          He said nothing.

          “Y’know,” you continued, finger tracing the handwriting on the crumpled supply list of the last trade off, “it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been asked to intercept signals late at night, when everyone else but us were asleep.”

          “Just get the shit I asked for. I’ll send someone in a few days.”

          “Okay.”

          But this brought you to tonight’s events.

          Long after parting waves, you shot off the mattress in a cold sweat. 'A higher dose was necessary', you thought to yourself. Comfort never returned since the outbreak, so your sleep suffered the most, even despite knowing you couldn’t be reached.

          Living in the QZ, one of the guys got you a pill that helped with this, but as time went on you needed stronger, better. You found drinking while taking the pill really helped knock your ass out, but then you always needed more.

          The settlement you traded with often needed painkillers, medications, and the like. It got you busy looking, and you were able to skim from the top for yourself, but you had to go further, fight harder, and even rob a few groups to get painkillers, and the supply around you started to dwindle, so you had to find alternatives.

          On your journey in the college campus in Colorado, you happened to find a funny little plant near the dorm. You rooted this plant, learned to pick the seeds and grow your own mini garden. The Wyoming folk were a bit apprehensive, and it took weeks of convincing them to take it as trade. They only relented when you spent almost a month unable to get pills. For them at least, it was enough.

          But not for you.

          You’d managed to find pills recently, but only a handful, which was why you were awake tonight.

          After the anxiety wore off, and the itch from your palms subsided, the warmth returned and you slowly sunk back into the mattress. Your body was sensitive to the touch, and the fleece blanket started to feel like an orgasm waiting to happen. When you were considering your options to help you sleep better, you heard a familiar beep.

          The radio.

          You sighed and slowly crawled to the table, pulling the cord, making the radio fall to the floor with a loud thud. The headset came down with it, but it persevered.

          You pulled it as close to the mattress as possible, making sure the blanket covered you as it did before. On your back, you put the headset on and tuned to the station, your heavy eyes staring at the ceiling, begging to stay open.

          With a deep breath, you speak, “what?”

          “Utah?”

          The honey-sweet voice sent a shock straight through your stomach. You snuggled deeper into the mattress with a newfound energy, “Wyoming? I thought you’d never call.”

          “You sound like you been having a good night.”

          “Would you believe I’m having an even better one?”

          You could hear the curl of his lip as he hummed, “is that right?”

          Your fingers lifted your shirt just over your stomach and lightly grazed the sensitive skin, offering a low hum in response.

          “You been drinking?”

          “Something like that.”

          “I reckon your lips look good wrapped around the bottle.”

          You couldn’t hold back the full-bodied laugh, but he laughed with you. Despite never having seen him, nor even know his name, you felt that hearing him laugh was more intimate than the what was to come.

          “I’d reckon you’re right,” you giggled, mocking his southern drawl. “My lips look real good doing lots of stuff.”

          “Oh yeah,” you heard him lean back, “like what?”

          “Kissing,” you closed your eyes, your hand making its way underneath the band of your pants, “sucking.”

          “Now that’s somethin’ I wanna see,” he sighed.

          You were bold by this point, and your fingers were gently spreading yourself and your stomach flooding with heat, “so come find me.”

          He hummed, “darlin’, I wouldn’ even know what to do with you if I did.”

          “Well,” you started as you push a finger deep inside you, igniting that once dead spark, “you can start by kissing me all over.”

          “You want me to treat you real good.”

          Giggling, you quipped, “only if you got it in you.”

          “You tellin’ me I dunno how to treat a lady?”

          You laughed at the idea of anyone calling you a lady, let alone this asshole. Curling your fingers, you kept at the uneven pace, feeling yourself build as you imagined him. His tongue would lick every inch of you, and he’d hum at your taste, moan at your tense grip on his scalp. He’d breathlessly praise you, calling you pretty, maybe even transcendent if he had the vocabulary. He’ll vulgarly lap at your body, drinking your come as if it were his last meal on earth, begging you for more. Your breath unevenly echoed through the mic, encouraging him to continue while you imagined a new scenario.

          “Yeah,” he rolled, “I’d be real gentle with you at first. I’d make sure I learn every inch of you with my hands before grabbin’ at my favorite parts.”

          “You an ass man or a boob guy?”

          He huffed, “more interested in what your legs look like.”

          “In stockings or socks?”

          As if he were giving it serious thought, he mused for a moment, giving you nothing to hear other than his gravelly voice, “stockings; I like the spot where the lace wraps around your thigh.”

          “Oh,” you cooed, “so you like legs on shoulders?”

          “Thighs on shoulders.”

          You plunged your fingers into your core and coated yourself with your wetness. You could feel your stomach tense imagining him, not even needing him to describe anything else. The image of a tall, hefty, bearded man pinning you into a mattress by your hips, pulling orgasms out of you with his mouth had you biting your lip, holding back your soft sounds. You could practically feel his soft hair between your fingers as you rub frantic, imperfect rounds on your clit.

          “Mmm,” he shifted, “you like thinkin’ ‘bout that – pullin’ my face into your pussy with your legs.”

          Your facetious response was hollow as you tried to hide yourself from the mic, “suffocating you.”

          “I’ll make you come far before you kill me; I already hear you gettin’ close now.”

          Sarcastically, you groaned, “you’re just so damn good –”

          “Oh, baby,” his gruff voice lowered into something sweet, as if the act of calling you baby alone could get him to finish, “I know you better than anyone else; I ain’t even have to be there for you to come for me.”

          Your stomach turned as he tried to coax you through it, forcing your voice back into your throat. All you could really do was mumble a string of profanities, still trying to conceal his hold on you, but he could hear your restraint. He could hear you trying to hide from him, so he shifted gears.

          “Oh, honey, you’re so close I can hear it. Fuck, I wish I was there to feel it; let me hear you, baby, give it to me.” His voice hitched as he’d gotten closer, but he needed to hear you. His statements and requests became desperate, “baby please let me hear you. I have to – just please, give it to me.”

          And with his plea, you came so hard you swore you’d get a migraine. Your voice echoed through the mic, deep breaths following as you felt it in waves. You could feel your come drip down from your pussy to the mattress, the lines tickling the soft skin and welcoming bursts of cold through the cracked window.

          You heard the man on the other end finish right with you, his gorgeous voice strained as he tried to keep quiet; he’s probably in the office hiding from the rest. You imagined him leaning all the way back in his chair, frantically chasing the same high you’ve ridden, trying to keep his come from making a mess of his table or floor. To you, he was shirtless, his thick come roping up his chest as he heaved pathetically.

          Once you both caught your breath, he broke the silence, “you better have my shit.”

          You laughed, “sure thing.”

          “Have a good night,” came out softer than you’d expected.

          “G’night.”

*

You spent the better half of the morning out looking for the items on the tiny paper.

Needs
Medications - painkillers, antibiotics, cold/flu, allergies (lots), cough syrup
Cleaning - iodine/salt, alcohol (any)
Medical - gloves, gauze, rubber bands, masks
General Health - menstrual products, contraceptives, toothpaste, pregnancy tests

Aliens vs predators vs the terminator issues 3 and 4
Hawkgirl

          You scoffed at the hastily scrawled additions on the bottom; it was clear that these two were added right before the note was sent by messenger, and it got you wondering about the person asking for them.

          They were consistent with their requests – space themed, superhero, sci-fi – and you almost went with the guy back to the settlement when you found out they could play movies. They had you find Jurassic Park, both the books and the films, and you felt a tinge of heartbreak when you had to part ways with them. You’d read the book before the hand-off, and for some reason, the wave of nostalgia hit you harder than anything else had in years. You had to be heavily medicated that night.

          Honestly, though, going out of your way to find these extra requests was annoying and borderline a nuisance. It was hard enough to find the medical supplies, but Jurassic Park on VHS that worked? A nightmare.

          On these quests, however, you’d spend the day thinking about what the settlement was like.

          None of the guys who picked up trades ever really discussed what it was like, most of them being quite young and put off by the entire experience. The most you had gotten from one of them was that it was ‘big enough’, and that was to answer your ‘how many people are there’, which didn’t really answer your question, or make sense. You speculated the life that was thriving there, kids were probably living there, maybe a makeshift school of the sorts. They certainly had movie nights, but did they have popcorn and cushions to sit on? Did they have an extensive collection before you or were you the first to bring them a DVD? Who was running it, and how did it come up?

          Thinking about the settlement felt like thinking about a foreign country, except you haven’t had a clue about it, riding on the image of it being big enough and having more spare time than they knew what to do with. You tried not to dwell on it as it was a wasted effort regardless; like every other QZ, this settlement was bound to fail.

          For you, it was bunch of tents, or sometimes dilapidated cabins, like the ones in Colorado you’d passed by. It was a relatively small group, since they never really asked for a lot, and tight knit, hence them being deliberately vague about it. They never invited you to live there, so you assumed they don’t take in just anyone, and they always sent assholes to do pickups.

          For the first time, as you scoured the comic book shop, you flipped through pages of different comics; maybe you needed something to do. You took a deep breath as you stepped carefully around the store, avoiding anything that looked like it’d give you tetanus. Most of your supply of antibiotics was in the carrier for the trader since you couldn’t find any more.

          As the glass cracked under your heavy foot, you happened to glance over the counter and saw a colorful pink box with Hello Kitty on the top – “fuck me”.

          You hopped the counter and immediately crouched to see it – a Hello Kitty boombox, unopened, and in fantastic shape. You’d had a CD player before, but it eventually gave out on you and you couldn’t find the tools to fix it, so your small CD collection only collected dust.

          The box was large and bulky, not something you could afford to carry, but the barrier between you and suicide was Abba. You could learn to hook it up to your radio and get better sound…

          You opened the box and pulled it out, marveling at the apricot face and bright pink buttons. The speaker mesh was a rich purple, and it had a handle at the top. It could even play cassettes. You couldn’t help but to smile at your treasure, immediately dumping your bag to shove it on the bottom. You packed the instruction manual with it and repacked your bag.

          You stood up to take a moment to relish in your find, then it was back to work.

          You were able to find the issues, but not much else. You shoved a few extras in your bag to give to the trader as a bonus and left the store.

          You’d wandered Salt Lake City more times than you cared to count. You knew the city like the back of your hand, and you also knew where all the infected roamed and where the raiders and hunters usually set themselves up for the night. You’d considered blockading them to certain parts, but that required time and patience, neither of which you had. So, backpack heavy and bulky, you snuck into a relatively small apartment complex and rummaged through the bathrooms, living rooms, and kitchens looking for at least a few more medical supplies. You could accept a single, half empty bottle of alcohol, drinking or other, but you found nothing. You had to kill a few runners while deep in the basement of a small home in the suburbs, but you’d manage to find most of the things from the list.

          By the time the sun started to set, you were miles from your place, and figured you wouldn’t get back until well after dark if you stayed any longer. You hated wandering the city after sunset, but it was a necessary risk in the work you did. There’s a reason this settlement relied on you to get supplies, and it wasn’t because you liked to sweet talk the man on the other end.

          But thankfully, like every night before, you managed to make your way back home, safe and sound. You opened the carrier case and reanalyzed everything inside, making sure you didn’t miss anything. Quietly, your voice mumbled softly as you checked off items from the list, determining which ones to be skimmed off the top and which ones to give entirely. Tonight, you decided sleep was important, so you nicked a bottle of cough syrup and cold medication and decided everything else was theirs.

          You closed the carrier and latched it, leaving the note at the top to make sure you return the paper with the carrier box; a strange quirk, as they didn’t need a reminder of what they needed, but it was a good way to cover your ass in case they wanted to try accusing you of not getting something they'd asked for.

          You took off the safety seal from the cough syrup and sniffed the liquid; you weren’t sure why, as it was long expired and you were going to drink until you pass out regardless, it just seemed like the thing to do. You took a swig and reached for your moonshine, but just as you opened the jar, you heard your radio beep.

          Your lips curled in excitement as you knew exactly who this was, so you put down the drink and crawled to the radio, donning the headset,

          “Wyoming?”

          Within seconds, you received a reply, “Utah?”

          It was him again.

          “There’s no way you’re calling about the pickup tomorrow,” you spoke with your signature flirtatious tone.

          “I am,” he stated flatly, “expect a pickup at 10am, near the hotel. Don’t be late again.”

          You rolled your eyes, “it was one time and I was fighting off a hun– whatever. 10am.”

          “Good.”

          “Good.”

          And the call ended.

          This guy could be so back-and-forth sometimes – some nights he’s pleasant, talking about things before the outbreak, but sometimes he’s so fucking curt you wondered if maybe you were talking to two different people.

          You took off your headset and sat back on your mattress, taking a hefty swig of liquor before you heard the radio beep again.

          “Fucking guy,” you sighed exasperatedly. You put your headset back on – “what?”

          Silence.

          “Hello,” you questioned, “who is this?”

          Silence.

          Just as your hands reached for your headset, the man replied, “jesus, long night?”

          “Prank calls,” you replied sarcastically, “what do you want?”

          “You haven’ had your drink yet, have you?”

          Your smile tried to hide behind a stern demeanor, but you could hear it in your own voice, “you’re interrupting my drinking time.”

          “Don’ mind me, get to drinkin’.”

          “No, you already have me on the radio so tell me what you want.”

          He took a moment to speak. You could only faintly hear background noise on his side, assuming no one was there with him, but you could make out some sort of muffled movement. “I had a long day,” was his answer, and he sounded miserable.

          The crack in his voice made you feel slightly guilty, but you obliged unchanged, “so what do you want?”

          “I just,” he took a deep breath, “I just wanted to get drunk, 'n hear your voice.”

          You could feel something in your chest rush forward, like a door opened inside and water poured through, settling in your abdomen. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to find the right thing to say. “What do you want me to say?”

          Smooth.

          You imagined him swallowing hard, maybe putting his drink down and even refilling his glass. In your head, he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, “anything.”

          You nodded, and offered a reading of Prey by Michael Crichton, to which you received a chuckle, and a tired “sure.”

          You tucked your bookmark deeper into the spine as to not lose your page in the middle of the novel, and you started from the beginning.

          This wasn’t the first time he had you read something to him. He enjoyed most of your personal collection, which err on the side of fiction and sci-fi; you had romance novels, but you never opted to read any of those to him. Before the outbreak, reading to people was a big part of your job, so you didn’t really feel shy to do this for a grown man in an unknown location, but tonight felt different. It was the brokenness in his voice, the desperation to conceal himself with a quip. It gave you a sense of feeling wanted, something you so rarely felt.

          So, as you continued down the pages, you thought of him slowly falling asleep, arms crossed over his chest and legs up on the desk. His chest slowly rose and fell in a tight fitted t-shirt, with his strong arms stretching the fabric around the sleeve.

          And with this, you slowly started to feel sluggish, the first in a very long time without the use of moonshine, and you found yourself repeating words and sometimes entire sentences because you’d lose your place. You powered through until he had you pause.

          “You sound tired.”

          You scoffed, “I could tell you the same thing.”

          He grunted, “I guess now is a good time as any to call it a night.”

          “Yeah,” you sighed, putting a piece of paper between the pages.

          “Thank you,” he croaked, his honey-sweet voice now gravelly and riddled with exhaustion.

          You exchanged good nights, and you managed to sleep good.

*

The sunlight bled through the dark curtains, piercing lines across your eyes. You were surprised to wake up much after the sun rose, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

          The air of the city was thick and had a slight odor to it, but you’ve adapted well enough to not feel it, but some days the air is heavier than usual. Today being one of them.

          You glanced out the window, seeing the buildings illuminated completely by the sun – “fuck!”

          You shot up off your mattress and grabbed the watch on the counter. You had exactly an hour to walk to the meeting point, which was about an hour trek, but you knew this meant you’d be late for the drop off. Again.

          At least you had someone to blame.

          You carried the carrier box on your back in some contraption you threw together to make the transport easier. You hurried down the roads leading you further from the city, the morning sun beginning to wear you down as you crossed through barriers made of cars, broken asphalt, and huge piles of garbage.

          Just as you reached the hotel, you saw a freakishly tall young man on a horse that had to have been half his size. You stared into his face and you saw nervousness in the form of beaded sweat on his brows.

          You had never seen this man before.

          You cautiously walk towards him, he waved to you awkwardly, as if to try to get your attention. When you reach him, with a distance of at least twenty feet, you called to him, “who are you?”

          “I’m uh,” he motioned behind him, pointing to no one, “I’m here to pick up something?”

          “Are you asking or telling?”

          “Telling, ma’am.”

          You searched him up and down, trying to see if you can recall the horse he rode on. You looked into his eyes again, “who are you?”

          “Oh, I’m Alex, sorry, this is my first time and –“

          “Who are you with?”

          “I’m uh, with a guy, his name is Richard,” he motioned behind him, “but I’m not sure where he went.”

          You shook your head; the bastards came in from the densest part of the city. If he really didn’t know where this Richard guy went, then he didn’t know he was probably dead, along with the poor animal he came in on. “I’m not giving you shit.”

          “Oh,” he looked at you, eyes straining in the sunlight, “why not?”

          “Because I don’t know you.”

          “Well, like I said, my name’s –“

          “Fuck off,” you turned on your heel to walk away. He called for you, telling you he came from Jackson for this pick up, and this made you pause.

          He repeated himself, “Jackson, y’know, in Wyoming?”

          You turned to him, sweat now dripping down your back, “Wyoming?”

          “Yeah, I’m from the settlement called Jackson City,” his voice wavered. You could see his throat swallow what was probably his anxiety, “you got medical supplies, yeah?”

          You weren’t sure how else to prove he was the guy, but it would be an insane coincidence for this asshole to be at this location at this time on a horse, which every Wyoming guy had. You put your hands on your hips and shook your head. You took a moment to scratch your cheek, thinking, before looking up at him through your lashes, “fuck.”

          You knelt down and took off the jury-rigged backpack, taking the box from its straps.

          Alex almost fell from his horse trying to dismount, so you told him to just stay on, and he followed your order. You walked towards him and handed him the box, and he gave you an empty one in return, with a new list. He thanked you for your work, and for a moment you considered asking him about the settlement.

          But before you could, however, shots echoed the area and you’d caught a glimpse of Alex falling from his horse. You dove behind a car, peeking over the corner to see the perpetrator.

          You’d seen nothing, but the horse took off and Alex slowly rose from the pavement, shaking on his arms. Fear and guilt rose in your stomach, slowly turning to nausea as you tried to figure out what just happened. Your thoughts were racing a million miles a minute, but you were experienced enough to know what you were doing.

          Slowly, you turn the corner to fully face the car and called for Alex, “you hurt?”

          He looked up at you with wide eyes, a line of red dripping from his mouth.

          From behind him, a group of four ran into view and immediately you fired at the figures without second guessing.

          They fired back at you, their bullets clinking against the metal. You looked back and over and seen you had gotten at least two of them – one dead and one severely injured. You fired again, nicking another one in the neck and one chest center.

          One of them managed to get you in the shoulder, the adrenaline making you feel invincible as you poked your head over and shot at the ones remaining. You glanced down at Alex, who had his head down and didn’t move an inch.

          You decided this guy wasn’t worth whatever little ammunition you had left, so you had to work quick. The moment you breached the air you pulled the trigger. Before you could even confirm if it made contact, you dropped back down and reloaded, making sure you weren’t caught.

          You turned your head around the corner of the brake lights and saw the man convulsing from underneath the car he hid behind. Slowly, you scanned the area for anyone else, trying to count how many you thought you’d seen. When you deemed it quiet enough, you rose from the ground and walked towards Alex, who was now sobbing into his arm.

          “Hey,” you kicked his shoulder, “get up we gotta go.”

          He shook his head and mumbled, so you rose your voice, “I said let’s go, they probably got more people coming.”

          “I can’t,” he managed in between sobs, “I can’t move my legs.”

          You lowered your pistol and stared at his writhing body. The adrenaline drowned, but a new ill feeling crept up in its place. You swallowed hard and moved towards his legs to see the damage – two entrance wounds in his back. You closed your eyes and sighed as you now had to make a decision for him.

          You couldn’t drag his ass back to your place; you barely got here with an extra twenty-five pounds on your back. And even if you brought him back, the kid was paralyzed. He’s a liability and an unnecessary risk, he won’t be able to defend himself against people, let alone clickers, and the odds of Wyoming coming back to pick him up was laughable.

          He’ll die, painfully and slowly.

          “Alex,” you sighed, “man, you gotta tell me what to do with you.”

          His shaking head tried to look up at you, but you refused to meet his face, “what?”

          “I,” your voice began to crack, “I can’t take you back to my place. I can’t take you to Jackson.”

          “Please,” he whimpered pathetically, his voice bearing his young age, “don’t leave me.”

          “I won’t I just,” to took a pause, trying to find a way to tell him, “I can’t take you with me either.”

          His hand reached out for your foot and you stepped away, still refusing eye contact as he begged you not to kill him.

          “There’s no other choice, Alex.“

          “Please!”

          “Alex,” you grunted and fell to your knees. You took his chin in your hand and forced him to look in your eyes, hoping this would make everything easier.

          It didn’t.

          Those glassy eyes, now red and stained with fear bore into your brain like a screw, slowly twisting, inching its way into your head. He needed to listen to you, so you spoke firmly and without a hitch, “I can’t take you anywhere, Alex. But I can make this easier for you.”

          He closed his eyes tight and cried, quietly pleading for a different option, begging to be saved. “Please, I don’t wanna die.”

          You continued to look into him, “it’s gonna be okay, Alex. You’re gonna have to now, unfortunately, and you gotta accept it.”

          “No –“

          “You’re paralyzed, goddammit – you can’t walk, can’t move. You won’t make it in time for your friends and I can’t do anything to save you. I can, however, make it painless. It’ll be easy, you won’t even know what hit you.”

          His lack of response showed he was finally coming to terms with the situation. For what felt like eternity, you could see the acceptance in his face as it relaxed, “put me on my back please.”

          “Yeah,” you agreed and carefully rolled him over. It was probably more painful than getting shot at, but he finally faced the sky, his hand looking for yours.

          You hesitantly took him into your hand and he squeezed you tight, “when my people come for me, can you tell ‘em I died in a super cool way? Like, I died because I was in a shootout? And won?”

          You nodded, confused as to what he was saying because that was what happened, but you promised, “yeah, I’ll, uh, tell ‘em you saved me.”

          He shook his head before he took a deep breath, “tell my girlfriend, her name is Lily, tell her I had every intention on spending my entire life with her.”

          You agreed, knowing you’ll never meet these people, but it felt right to promise. You won’t be here for if his friends come by, and you probably won’t even tell the radio man what happened. You will, however, try to find that box because it had everything you were running low on. But for now, you focused your attention on this poor kid.

          “The sky’s nice, today,” he sighed.

          You looked up, “yeah, nice day.”

          “Could be worse days to die, right?”

          “Worse ways too,” you tried to smile, but it fell flat.

          “I think I’m ready,” he squeaked, and you readied your pistol.

          “Just close your eyes, it’ll be like you’re sleeping.”

          “Yeah,” he exhaled, shutting his eyes for the last time.

          Putting the gun close to his head, you didn't waste a moment to pull the trigger, the loud bang ringing in your ears. You’ve shot your gun at close range far too many times, so the ringing never really stopped, but today it seemed especially loud.

          You looked down at this kid as his head bled out onto the black pavement, his chest stiff and his fingers twitching.

          Today was gonna be a long day.

          You’d decided to stay inside for the rest of the day, finding the energy to continue scavenging to have left hours ago.

          You spent half of the day hooking up your boombox to the contraption you built off a generator, trying to occupy your mind with something other than a child begging for his life. You’d even read the manual twice just because you felt like you had to. Your notes on the components were haphazardly scrawled on a cardboard sheet, your shaky hand reminding you of the day’s events. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and you thought the solace of him accepting it would make this easier for you, but you couldn’t help but to see the childlike misery in his face, even after you had left him.

          You blinked away your tears and continued working on your project in silence.

          You’ve opted out of reaching out to Wyoming; they’ll realize something had happened eventually. You couldn’t make yourself tell the man on the radio what you did, that the supplies were lost and the horses were gone. Part of you felt like this was your fault – if you’d just trusted the guy from the get-go, give him the box and left, he may have been able to ride off before the group showed up.

          You took deep breath and decided that five in the afternoon was a fantastic time to start drinking. You drank the entire jar before you realized, and you watched the radio, waiting for the beep that never came.

          The next morning, you’d spent most of your time throwing up and crying, attempting to heal the bullet wound in your shoulder. Billy Joel playing softly in the background gave you little relief as you sat in the bathroom, head sweaty and stomach turning violently. You sat with your back to the wall, palms holding the cool tile beneath you to lower your temperature, but to no avail.

          When you finally decided to leave, you decided it was for good.

          You packed your radio, boombox, your CDs and a few books. You poured your moonshine and the other liquor you had into plastic alcohol bottles to save space and to prevent broken glass becoming an issue. The pills, cough syrup, and weed you shoved in your pockets for easy reach. You set off, half sober, to find another place to live.

          You were right on the outskirts of Salt Lake City. The city was overrun by infected, but the further away from the dense architecture you’d realized it was more peaceful, but as you wandered, you felt that something was off.

          It may have been the stilled summer wind, or the eerily silent city, but a sense of dread followed you as you walked out of the dense concrete and met expansive open air. With a sense of foreboding, you turned over your shoulder, a cautionary step to find if you were being stalked, but saw nothing. Despite this unsettled feeling, you carried on, hoping it were the pills that were behind your anxiety.

          You weren’t even sure where you meant to go; you just decided your legs will take you to as far as they’d go. You carried maps of the states you’d visited, sheets torn from a larger atlas of the Southwestern part of the United States, but you’d decided to go north into Idaho. That’d be a long trek, but you figured you could get there before mid summer, maybe even early fall before the temps dropped. You weren’t in such a rush, and you’d want to spend time passing through small towns.

          But that was ahead of you.

          Right now, you managed to get to Bountiful, a small city with few high rises, but seemingly sparse with infected. The city itself was quaint, so you wandered through on tired legs, looking for a place to rest.

          After ducking into a few storefronts, you decided to set yourself up in a tiny mom-n-pop shop; what once was a small convenience store became a dilapidated remainder of what once was. You missed buying loosies on your way home from work, especially during similar summer months where you worked even more for damn near nothing. It was a simple practice, now so primeval.

          It took a few hours to set yourself up, throwing a bunch of old blankets and cushions to the floor, plugging in your radio, and listening for a frequency, having a change of heart and wanting to do what you thought was the right thing.

          You weren’t sure if Wyoming was going to beep for you, but you waited anyway. You hoped he would so you could explain the situation, try to let him know that you didn’t go ape shit and decided to kill the trader they’d sent. The guilt of avoiding him entirely was eating away at you.

          But he never beeped for you.

          It was the next day when he did, but he’d given you another man. The man you spoke with was not the same man you’d been speaking with. As a matter of fact, he sounded as though he was rushed, and you were under the impression that he wasn’t supposed to be talking to you in the first place.

          You told him what happened, and he seemed like he understood you.

          “Look man, it was just a wrong place wrong time kinda thing; I didn’t know what else to do.”

          “I know,” he quietly responded, “it’s just…” he trailed off. You waited anxiously for his next thought, “I have to make sure what the situation is.”

          “Why would I screw you guys over, you’re the only group I work with.”

          “I know,” he sighed, “I believe you, I really do. This situation is just fucked, y’know?”

          “Yeah,” you slouched on the floor, “fucked.”

          “Look, we’re gonna put a pause on our trades with you and –“

          “No,” you begged almost pathetically, “no, we can keep going, you can send someone to me and we can talk it out.”

          “We can’t –“

          “Yes we can,” you pleaded, cutting him off harshly, “I need the supplies you give me, I can’t –“

          The man’s voice thundered as he called your name, something you hadn’t heard in years.

          An overwhelming panic flooded your chest as you realized this man knew you, well enough to know your name, which you’d never gave, not even to Wyoming. The silence that ensued felt like eternity, your breath shuddering as you reached a shaky hand toward the radio.

          “How do you know my name,” you strained.

          The man didn’t answer.

          “Who are you,” you asked louder this time, “how do you know my –“

          The radio cut off and you were left with your consternation unwavering. You threw off your headset and stared at the radio, as if it were to resolve your anxiety. You decided to unplug the radio for the time being, and immediately reached for the slowly diminishing alcohol in your stash.

          You drank until it burned enough to make you gag, the fear being so overwhelming that you didn’t notice your cheeks were lined with tears. You wiped away the stray lines and looked around – you couldn’t stay here.

          If this guy knew your name, he was probably trying to get your location. He was far too kind, far too understanding, and he’d kept you on the radio long enough to pinpoint a general area, and you couldn’t risk them coming for you.

          Half drunk, you’d decided to pack whatever shit you took out and leave once again. You shoved the radio back into your bag, along with some necessary supplies, and crawled out of the hole in the wall. You stumbled towards the front of the store, leaning against the shelving, hoping you could make it to wherever the fuck you had to be.

          Your peripheral vision seemed to catch something from among the extensive shelving, making you pause and jerk your head.

          Nothing.

          You looked behind you, and then in front. You tried to listen to anything – a crack, a step, even a breath, but there was nothing to be heard. You nodded to yourself ‘great, now you’re going crazy’, and continued to make your way to the front.

          The hairs on the back of your neck stood as it happened far too fast for you to notice.

          With a surge, you whipped out your pistol and turned around, pointing your gun at a tall, male figure, who also had his gun drawn on you.

          He slowly raised his free hand, as if surrendering, but you could barely think about it before you fired the gun at him anyway.

          Drunk and still afraid, you’d missed, but he dove behind a shelf anyway, and this was your chance to run.

          You raced through the broken window, hopping over the ledge. You were absolutely in no state to run, not very far anyway, but you’d manage to get a few feet in before you slipped on broken glass and fell on your side.

          You landed directly on your left hip and elbow, the pain shooting up your torso as you landed, reopening the scabbing wound on your shoulder. You could feel a jolt in the side of your neck, but in a mad-dash, you’d tried getting back on your feet. The moment you put pressure on your foot, however, a searing pain ripped up your leg, making you fall back onto your hip. You looked down at your foot – it looked slightly swollen, but it had a gash from the flying glass and you pulled your pistol out once again.

          You flip backwards and point the gun and the man, who now hid behind the corner of the window you’d flown out of – “it’s loaded,” you yelled, unsure of what the purpose of that statement was.

          “Yeah, I got that,” he quipped, sounding more annoyed than frightened, “I ain’t gonna hurt you, just put it down and we can –“

          “Fuck you asshole, I don’t know you!”

          He groaned, “no, but I know you’re a shit shot. Doubt you’d do any real damage anyway.” He slowly peeked over the corner and spun back into safety, “look, I’m gonna come out and put my gun away.”

          You stared as he slowly crawled through the window. He raised both his hands before sheathing his gun, “you done now Oakley?”

          “Oakley?”

          “Annie Oakley. You know, the –“ he shrugged, “whatever. You gonna put the gun down so we can talk?” He took a good look at your body, huffed at the sight of you, “you’re hurt real bad.”

          “Nothin’ but a scratch,” your hands shook, “what do you want from me? I have nothing.”

          “I don’t want anything from you. I’m, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “name’s not important, but I know you knew my friend, back in the outskirts of Salt Lake.”

          You swallowed hard, tears burning your eyes once again. You didn’t answer.

          “Look, I’m only here to talk –“

          “How did you find me?”

          “Well, you weren’ really that hard to track.” He motioned towards your leg, “you want my help or not?”

          “Look, John Hardin,” you put your gun down, “I don’t know who you are, but I didn’t kill your friend.”

          He rolled his eyes at the reference, putting his hands on his hips, “no, you did, but I ain’t here to kill you.”

          You sat up, eyes piercing, studying him as he spoke, taking notes of his appearance to figure out who you were dealing with.

          His fluffy, but now sweaty, brown hair carried gray strays, which followed down his sideburns and his beard. His features were strong, rugged, but handsome nonetheless. His eyes were rich, dark and intense, but ironically soft and expressive. He was probably older than you, but not by much.

          He spoke with a type of unfriendliness that kept you nervous about his intentions, and his deep voice only furthered this anxiety. “You got the box?”

          “Did he have family?”

          “What?”

          “Did he have family,” you repeated at the same, quiet tone, “someone who cared about him.”

          He put his hands on his hips, but took a beat to think about a response thoughtfully, “we all cared for him.”

          “You’re not gonna get the body?”

          “Look,” he took a step forward, “that ain’t your concern. Where is the box?”

          You shook your head, “you’re an asshole.”

          “You’re wearing my patience thin, and I don’t have time for this.” He began walking towards you and you tried crawling backwards away from him. His long legs covered distance faster than your drunk self ever could sober, and before you knew it he crouched in front of you, his dark eyes boring a hole in your head, “I don’t wanna have to ask again.”

          You shook your head, realizing this guy was kind of a pussy, “the horse took off with it.”

          “Which direction?”

          “South,” you started, “in the house.”

          “Which house?”

          “Your mom’s house.”

          You knew that answer would only piss this guy off more, but he hadn’t hurt you at all since meeting, so you figured you’d risk it for the shits.

          He nodded, and you swore you could see a smirk creep up as he looked down at your foot. “Looks pretty bad.” He continued nodding as he took his hand and slapped the severely swollen ankle, forcing you to grab onto his arm like a loaded spring trap.

          Tears ran down your face as you held in your scream; you had no idea what the infected population was here and you weren’t going to risk it anymore than you already did. He stared into your eyes, persistent and angry.

          Swallowing hard, you forced out a final ‘fuck you’ before a deafening screech shook you both out of your shared misery.

          The man stood up and ran towards it, leaving you essentially crippled and defenseless in the middle of the sidewalk. You could hear the infected from a nearby distance, and your hands froze as you realized you were stranded here.

          You heard a few gunshots ring from behind you before it fell silent again. You tried to focus your hearing, but all you heard was the blood rush as you began to panic. Drunk, injured, and alone was a shitty way to go.

          Strong hands grabbed your shoulder and you screamed, swinging your arms behind but they were grabbed swiftly, “’s just me, I got you.”

          You looked up and it was, in fact, just him. He asked if you could stand, but it wasn’t really an option for you, not without his help. He held you with surprisingly strong arms and looked down at you. You must’ve looked pathetic because he wordlessly wrapped your arm around his shoulder and helped you walk down the street with him, “it’s getting late. We don’t have a lot of time, and we already made too much noise.”

          You only just realized he had a huge bag with him. It was tattered and re-sewn and was essentially held together by duct tape and a prayer.

          “Where do we go?” You didn’t mean to sound so helpless, but the fact was that you were.

          “We’ll find someplace here in the city to spend the night, then we leave bright and early.”

          “Okay.”

Chapter Text

The sting of the alcohol made your leg go numb.

          You lied on your back as you let the man, who still refused to tell you his name, work on your ankle. He’d already sewn your bullet hole, citing it was the ‘easier’ of the two, and said the gash on your leg wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, but you still unquestionably needed medical attention for your foot.

          “There’s no way this won’t get infected.”

          “So what do we do about it, doctor?”

          He sighed, “we’re gonna have to make do with what we have.”

          “So, like wrap it?”

          He shook his head and looked up at you, as if telling you that you should know what happens next.

          You look back down at your ankle. It was more than swollen – it was black and blue, and you couldn’t even move it. You feared it was more than sprained, and the look he’d given you was more than enough confirmation.

          He had to fix it himself.

          You groaned in pain as your head hit the pillow again, staring up at the rotting ceiling.

          He managed to find a small office with no basement, but you had to be on the second floor. He had blocked the entry to the second level after making sure it was free of people or infected, then set up a spot for you to lie down so he could care for your injury.

          “Please,” you begged.

          “I’ll make it quick,” he stated as he prepared for what was going to be the worst night of your life, “bite.”

          He shoved a cloth into your mouth and you accepted it, also accepting you weren’t going to watch him work, so you tried to focus on creating pain in your own mouth with the cloth. You heard him grab around in the dark silently and it made you feel even worse, so you started to hum.

          You could sense him pausing, about to tell you to stop, but he chose to ignore it, “ready?”

          “Mhm.”

          “On the count of three; one -“

          He shoved the bone back into place and you sat up fully, howling behind the cloth gag. Shock waves struck through you like lightning and you sobbed, barely hearing him shushing you as you cried. You fell backwards once again and cried quietly as you felt him wrap makeshift splints around your ankle.

          Your body vibrated as you began to feel as though you were suffocating. You pulled the gag from your mouth and tried to roll to the side, but you felt a large hand hold your hip try to keep you in place, “you need to relax.”

          You could feel your chest get tighter and your breathing was borderline uncontrollable. You tried to reach down to your foot, but the same large hand pushed you away, “relax.”

          He spoke softly as though he was trying to comfort you. He pulled you flat on your back again and crawled up to meet your gaze; you couldn’t feel your foot anymore and a dizziness started to settle in. Your hands rubbed your entire face, trying to get back to the present, but your body wanted to shut down. Warm hands covered yours, fingers wrapping around them, gently pulling at them. You allowed your hands to follow and he held you in his hands to force you to look at him. When you opened your eyes, instead of an understanding, gentle demeanor, you were met with stress and frustration, “it’s over.”

          He looked at you looking for a response, but all you could do was nod, and he followed. He stayed with you for a moment more, ensuring you were doing, well, better, than five minutes ago.

          “You’re okay.”

          Rolling your eyes, annoyed, you turned on your side and decided it was better to try to sleep than to look at him for any longer. The next morning came quick, however, and you barely got a wink of sleep in, the throbbing in your leg making sure you stayed awake for every minute of it.

          The man, on the other hand, had stayed up all night intentionally; you could tell due to the hoarseness in his voice and the exhaustion in his eyes, “let’s go.”

          Slowly, he stood you back up, warning you about putting too much pressure on your foot, “infections only gonna get worse until we find somethin’ a bit stronger than moonshine to pour over it.”

          Embarrassment heated up the back of your neck as you realized all of your isopropyl alcohol bottles were filled with moonshine, not the antiseptic he thought you carried with you. You needed something else to talk about before he asked about that, “why are you helping me? Where are you taking me?”

          He didn’t respond to either question, but instead looked you up and down before asking if you were good, signaling his hand on your waist. You nodded and you both continued towards the highway, marking the beginning of a very long journey to… wherever.

          After an hour or so, you could tell he was getting tired; “we should stop.”

          “Like hell we should,” he sighed, “we gotta at least make it out the state.”

          “You can’t drag me out of the state,” slowly taking your arm from his shoulder, “we have to rest -“

          “No.” His voice was stern and harsh, but that didn’t stop you from trying to prevent him from passing out.

          You tried to pull yourself away from him but his grip on your hip tightened, making your heart-rate spike. You used all of your force to shove yourself out of his grasp, and he let you fall on your ass, watching you with a look that was somewhere between irritated and pitiful, which made you even more frustrated.

          You managed to stand up despite only having one working leg and you faced him, “we have to rest.”

          “At this rate it’ll take a month to get back to Jackson.”

          “Jackson?”

          His lips tightened, as if he wasn’t allowed to tell you where you were headed, “we can’t rest every hour; the longer it takes us to return the harder it’ll be to get there.”

          “Well,” you scoffed, “you’re on the verge of having a heat stroke, old man. You’re drenched in sweat and you smell. I’d cut off my own head before we get to Jackson at this rate.”

          His deep eyes bore into you with the force of a thousand suns, but you didn’t budge. “Ten minutes.”

          And those ten minutes were spent in silence. He stayed seated as you tried to walk on your broken foot, his only statement being ‘that’s a bad idea’.

          You looked around – not much was surrounding the immediate area. Dense trees mostly, and a scattered car or two. You limped painfully towards the tree line, looking for something you could use as a cane. He could bitch about time all he wanted, but dragging you across state lines was unnecessary. There was no point in trying to walk an innumerable amount of miles if the only able bodied person is exhausted.

          You managed to find a tall, thick branch just past a few rows of trees. You bent the knee of your good leg to reach it, and you cleared off the moss as you sized it up. It was a bit taller than you, not ideal, but it’d have to do for the time being.

          You tested it out walking back, trying to put all of your weight on the branch instead of your leg, and it seemed to work.

          Breaking into the road, you saw the man’s head pop up. He watched you as you got closer to him before speaking, “the hell you doing?”

          “Well,” you sighed, trying to hide the exhaustion from your voice, “I can’t use you as a crutch, seeing that you’re old as shit and can’t get very far carrying any weight, so…” you trailed off, motioning to your branch.

          He stood up wordlessly and grabbed the branch out of your hand, “this’ll only slow us down –“

          “Easy for you to say, asshole, both of your legs work.”

          “And you look stupid.” You watched as he dropped the branch on the street, using one leg to hold it down. He bent over and pulled at it, breaking it. Before you were able to comprehend what he’d just done, he handed back to you a shorter branch, “you gotta lean on it.”

          The branch was at a better height, and arguably was better overall, but you opted to keep that to yourself. He took off his jacket, then flannel, revealing his surprisingly fit body through a comfortably fitted t-shirt. With this, a flash of pink caught your eye. A handmade bracelet on his wrist above and slightly shoved under his broken watch. You watched it disappear as he put his jacket back on and wrapped the flannel around the broken bit of the branch – “should make it more comfortable to use.”

          When he finished wrapping it, he looked up at you and his gaze stayed for a moment. His face was extremely hard to read, and you watched him as he packed his stuff and continued, “let’s move, I wanna get at least quarter of the way before nightfall.”

          “You still didn’t answer my question.”

          “I know.”

          That was the last thing the both of you had said until you reached what he deemed a reasonable place to spend the night.

          You’d gone off the road and down through the trees once they’d thinned out. You noticed signs posted on trees at the edge of the line -

        POSTED
PRIVATE PROPERTY

          You weren’t able to read the fine print on the signs, but you assumed this was hunting land of some sort. And since this was hunting land, there might be a trailer or cabin, which meant people.

          “Do you know where we’re going?”

          He took a moment, “I do.”

          “Is someone gonna be there?”

          “Shouldn’t be.”

          “But you don’t know.”

          He shook his head and ignored your statement. “Is this a cabin or something? Or a trailer? A house –“

          “Which one would you prefer?”

          “Listen –“

          “Stop it,” he turned to face you, his face sweaty and reddened by the day’s hike, “I can’t think with you yapping behind me.”

          You stuck your middle finger at him, and he mumbled something under his breath before continuing down the overgrown path.

          The night was falling fast and you both were still in the woods with no property in sight. You prepared yourself to pull your gun out at a moment’s notice, but the man didn’t seem to phased by the situation you both were in. His coolness made you feel somewhat safe, but this guy sucked so you didn’t let your guard down.

          You jumped at the sudden break of silence when his voice, tired and gravelly, sounded.

          “Few more steps.”

          “Okay,” you sighed. He turned to face you, asking you if you were doing fine, the first time the entire trip he did so. Wordlessly, you nodded and pressed on.

          You reached a clearing and in front of you was a tower of sorts. It was a steel frame about ten feet high, and on top was a five by five plastic cube. The ladder was thin and began to rust.

          When you reached the base, you both looked at each other and said nothing. He rubbed the back of his neck and put his hand on his hip, “guess you can sleep out here if you want.”

          “You’re hysterical,” you quipped, “but seriously, what are we supposed to do?”

          He took a deep breath and looked around. There weren’t many options at this point, and there was no way you could leave the woods and return to any nearby city before complete darkness overcame the horizon. He rubbed his face and looked at you, “guess you gotta hold on tight.”

          “You are not carrying me up a ladder into a plastic box –“

          “You want me to set up a pile of leaves for you under it?”

          “Dude.”

          “Did you forget you don’t have any other option?”

          You looked up at the ladder and back at him. He had his arms crossed waiting for you to agree with him. You groaned, “fine, but can you at least tell me your name? It’d be less awkward I think.”

          He rolled his eyes, “Joel.”

          “Joel,” you repeated, “whisk me away.”

          He had you stand in front of him while he bent his knees, his chin just inches away from your chest. He looked up at you from below, his large hands grabbing your thighs as he lifted you up and against him. Your hands fell on his shoulders for stability and the eye contact was concentrated.

          “Wrap yourself around me,” he spoke gently, clearly trying to not make it any more uncomfortable or show that he actually struggled.

          You wrapped your legs tight around his waist and clutched to his chest, your arms hugging over his shoulders and your chin on top.
  
          “Hold on tight,” he whispered, his voice creeping down your spine.

          Your breath hitched as he took the first step on the ladder and you watched as his skin bumped down his neck. Weirdly enough, your first instinct was to gently press your lips against the strong vein in his neck, but you pushed the intrusive thought away and closed your eyes.

          The height was beginning to be very noticeable and you held on tighter as he took his sweet, goddamn time gaining altitude. He paused at the top, opening the door, and making his way inside. By the time you’d opened your eyes, you were inside.

          You lifted your head to face him, your hand pushing against his shoulder. His grip on your thighs grew tighter as he looked at you, “you can get off me now.”

          “Right,” you tapped his shoulder and slowly let him go.

          The area was tiny.

          The five by five became damn near four by four. The floor angled upwards about six inches and connected to the walls, which had tiny windows also made of some sort of plastic. The interior was black and not insulated in the slightest.

          Before you could even comment, as if reading your mind, he stated very plainly “this is strictly for sleeping. We sleep, we wake up and we leave.”

          “Sure.”

          It was all that you could say. It was shelter (in the loosest terms), it was safe (surely) and it was nearer the destination (probably). You placed your bag at his foot and shrugged. You had to make this work.

          You watched as he lied on his back, his legs bending at the knees and his head resting on his bag.

          Your bag had a boombox in it, something you didn’t feel like justifying, so you just laid down next to him on your back, one knee bent and the other elevated on your bag. You stared up at the dark ceiling, unsure of how to even trick yourself into falling asleep.

          Your head began to hurt, probably the withdrawal kicking in, and you were growing increasingly uncomfortable.

          “Stop shaking,” he commanded.

          You didn’t realize you were shaking, but you tried to stop. It felt as though it was uncontrollable, but he was already on the fence about you so you had to find a solution quickly.

          You sat up, moved your leg and fished out a plastic bottle from your bag. There was a considerable amount of your moonshine left, some being used for your ankle earlier. You closed your eyes and prayed this would be enough as you finished the bottle, the bite barely burning your throat as it went down.

          You lied on your back again and waited patiently for the headache to subside. At least if you continue, you’re bound to find alcohol somewhere. You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate on sleeping.

          But sleep never came.

          The image of the kid kept replaying in your mind, his shattered voice begging for mercy. His big, youthful eyes wet with fear, looking up at you – you were unfortunately the last thing he’d seen before he died, and that was the tragedy.

          You turned your head softly to face Joel, whose eyes were closed, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep, just trying, like you. You faced upwards again, attempting to bury Alex with something else, but nothing came up for you. Shimmying a bit, you whispered, “sorry about your horse.”

          “What,” he didn’t bother lowering his voice.

          “Your horse,” you repeated, keeping that hushed tone, “sorry it, y'know, died.”

          He opened his eyes and looked at you, his brows furrowed, “you apologize for a horse before the kid?”

          His response rendered you speechless, and as you stared at him mouth gaped, he scoffed and turned his head, closing his eyes. Turning your head back, you fought back tears.

          You convinced yourself he was a self-righteous asshole who had no right to speak to you like that because he didn’t know shit about anything. Still, tears rolled down the sides of your face, pooling below you. Instead of sniffling, you tried to soak up anything you could with your sleeve.

          He must’ve felt you moving because he asked if you were crying, and with a sob, you said ‘no.’ He didn’t respond to that, and you closed your eyes to sleep.

          The sun broke into the shelter before you knew it, and now your back was sore, a fever was kicking in, and your need for alcohol was becoming irksome. You could feel your palms itching for it, and you couldn’t quite get away with your cough syrup alone.

          Joel slowly rose from the dead, his back and shoulders cracking as he stretched. He’s gonna be twice as miserable now.

          You pretended you wake up by stretching your arms up over your head. You felt the cool morning breeze skim your stomach and it surprisingly felt amazing.

          Your eyes opened and you caught Joel’s eyes watching your stomach fall, but with a dissatisfaction in his face.

          You rushed to pull your shirt down and sat up, keeping your eyes from meeting his.

          “I gotta carry you down,” he started, “you ready?”

          “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

          On your way down, you noticed the curls at the base of his head. They were perfect for twirling fingers and light tugs, a light brown with gray streaks perfectly aligned to create perfect spirals down the back of his neck.

          He put you down and pointed towards a specific direction, “we continue up there, but I don’t wanna go through the dense wood, so we’re gonna go around it.”

          “Sounds easy enough.”

          “Yeah” he sighed, “I bet.”

          As you limped along, you decided you would remain quiet the rest of the way there. He didn’t care for your company, and he made that clear, so you were going to behave for the sake of not killing each other before getting to Jackson.

          By noon, you had already come up with what Jackson looked like, what kind of people were there, and if you were going to meet the guy on the radio. You thought about what you were going to say to him if you did manage to catch him, or better yet, what you were going to do to him if you got the chance. Since it had taken some time for him to warm up to you, you’d start by getting to know each other a bit more, and maybe even see some of his wood carvings. He’d probably take you someplace private to chat, to reminisce, to touch. He’d take his time with you, making sure every inch of your skin had been kissed, gently pushing your shirt up to get to the sweet part right under your belly button, eyes widened with a teasing smile as he inched towards your –

          “Hey.”

          Joel’s sharp tone removed you from your daydream, “what?”

          Ignoring your inciting tone, “how’s your leg?”

          “Oh,” you sighed, knowing you couldn’t be totally honest with him right now. It was hell. It felt like your ankle was wrapped in molten glass every step you took. The daydreaming gave you some comfort, as your brain was far more preoccupied with Wyoming, but you just wanted to cut it off.

          “It’s fine.”

          “Do you wanna take a break or –“

          “No,” it came out more sudden than you anticipated, “I just wanna get to Jackson.”

          Joel wasn’t as stupid as he looked; he could tell you were just echoing what he said, and he was well aware that you were just being petty, judging by his half-annoyed half-guilty expression on his face. “’S gonna take a few days, ‘n we’re makin’ good time, I don’ mind –“

          “It’s fine. Since we’re making such good time we’ll get there a day early.”

          He glanced at you for a moment before taking a look at your leg, wincing at the sight. “well, you can keep goin’, but I’m gonna take a break.”

          Thank god. “Whatever.”

          In the middle of what seemed to be the interstate, you watched as he surveyed the area, pointing towards the grassy clearing, “there’s a few boulders down there, might be a good spot to sit.”

          “Sure,” you nodded, not offering him anything else.

          Just a few feet from the road, you set yourself up on the boulder furthest from him. He tossed his bag to the floor and began setting up what seemed to be a moka pot and a butane tank in the dirt between you.

          Fuck.

          Your eyes lit up as he filled the pot with water, then grounds. You hadn’t had coffee in years, and now knowing that Jackson had coffee, you were more eager to get there.

          “Once the coffee goes up you – “

          “I know how a moka pot works.”

          He looked up at you, still on his knee. These moments of staring at each other were getting uncomfortably longer the more time you spent together, even if it was out of annoyance.

          He dusted his knee off and without saying anything else, started to walk off towards the woods. You figured he had to take a piss, so you sat against the rock without trouble.

          You figured this would be a great time to see how your leg was doing, so you pulled your jean up to reveal the wound. The sticks wrapped around your ankle for support were fucking up the gauze wrapped around it, rubbing away the cloth and irritating the sensitive skin near your ankle, which was still quite swollen. You considered taking off your shoe to see if it’d fare better being aired out, but the moment your hand touched the sole a sharp jolt shot up your leg.

          Joel was right – you were beyond fucked up, and you hoped that Jackson had the right people to fix it.

          You stared at the flame under the pot, its steady light persistent and rich. You just wanted to be in a room somewhere in some city with your little radio and boombox, shooting the shits with some guy in a different state.

          You wondered if he was trying to beep you every night to hear your voice, touching himself to the memory of you speaking to him. Despite him trying to be so quiet, it always made you blush, the way he’d whisper ‘please’ into the mic once you’d stop talking.

          He couldn’t finish without you.

          And you loved hearing his choked and strained voice as he came, his breaths deep and heavy, his head falling to the back of his chair, broad chest heaving and shirt stained with sweat. He’d probably have a glass of liquor with him to help keep his mind off the stressors of life, or give him courage to ask you to speak with him after hours. You could see his come spilled onto the floor, or cupped in his hand, or even on his shirt.

          Maybe once you’d stop responding he’d set out looking for you, like some knight. Somehow, he’d find you and whisk you away to the promised land, and all of your problems would disappear. You’d finally wrap your arms around him and feel like you’d gone home.

          And go back to the way things were.

          The radio and boombox seemed to double in size as their weight began to make your shoulders ache. Your neck felt tight and as you rubbed it, you noticed the moka pot boiling over – “shit!”

          You turned off the butane and tried to take the pot off the rack without burning your hands. The coffee continued to overflow so you opened the lid to try to cool off the hot liquid, but it only invited the coffee to spurt out at you. You snatched your hands from the pot and held onto the burn, looking at your skin and back at the pot.

          Fucking. Great.

          Joel wasn’t in sight yet so when it cooled down enough, you dumped the thick, dark roast and remade the pot, putting it back over the butane and waiting.

          A few minutes after, he reappeared from the tree line, “coffees not done?”

          “Uh,” you shrugged, “nope. I think your moka pot sucks.”

          He looked at you and you at him, seemingly coming to the conclusion that you fucked up somehow, but was too tired to care.

          He sighed and leaned against your boulder, meeting your eye level, “how’s your foot?”

          “Ah, it’s seen better days,” you said with a hint of despondency. He noticed your tone, so you continued, “but I think the coffee’ll make it feel better.”

          He hummed and looked down to check the damage, “gotta get you a better support.”

          “What’s the plan?”

          “Well,” he stood up and sat near the coffee, popping open the moka pot and looking suspiciously at the now boiling coffee, “I wanna be in Evanston by tonight. ‘S a very small town, but probably got some gear we could use to make this a lot easier.” He motioned towards your foot, “could even get a brace. But we can’t take another break.”

          You hummed, the thought of it already made your foot feel numb, “sounds good.”

          He nodded and poured the coffee into a thermos. You looked at him questioningly, and he gave it to you.

          “I was joking.”

          “Take the damn thing.”

          You rolled your eyes, “want me to carry your bag too?”

          “Your’s ain’t heavy enough,” he questioned as he held out his hand to help you up.

          You took it and managed to make it, “not at all.”

          “You gonna be this difficult the entire way there?”

          You thought about a response that would annoy him more, but you opted against it, “not unless you decide to play nice.”

          His lips tightened as his head tilted towards you, the lines in his face becoming more prominent, “what do you have in mind?”

          “Well,” you tried taking a sip but burned the fuck out of your lip, so he took the thermos back, “I got a few questions.”

          As if he knew he was going to regret it, “like what?”

          This is the perfect time to ask him a million questions for retribution for last night; “did you set that up?”

          “The hunting blind?”

          “Is that what that is?”

          “I didn’t set it up, and yeah, that’s what that is.”

          “So you found it?”

          “Yup.”

          “How?”

          “So this is what we’re doin’? We're gonna bother me?”

          You chuckled, “yeah. Unless you got a better idea.”

          “I do actually.”

          “Look,” you stepped around the large boulder, starting to make your way back to the road, “we’re gonna be together for what seems like a few days, we might as well get to know each other.”

          “For what?”

          “For the fuck of it, I guess,” you shrugged, “I don’t talk with many people.”

          “By choice?”

          “Sometimes.”

          He walked without countering.

          “So, what’s Jackson like?”

          “Fine.”

          “Why are you taking me there?”

          “You need medical attention.”

          “Yeah, but why are you taking me there? Why not just let me fend for myself?”

          No response.

          “Is it big?”

          “Is what big?”

          “What do you think?”

          He turned around, eyes boring into you with disgust. You held up your hands, “Jackson. Is Jackson big?”

          He rolled his eyes, “sure.”

          “What did you think I meant?”

          Silence.

          “What’s your favorite thing about Jackson?”

          “Are you done now?”

          “No.”

          “I’m not answering any other questions.”

          “Can I ask you three more?”

          “Two.”

          “Who gave you that bracelet?”

          The bracelet in question was the beaded one you’d noticed when his jacket was off the other day. You noticed how he instinctively went to touch it, tapping his wrist once, “next.”

          You rolled your eyes, “what’s her name?”

          “One more.”

          “How old is she?”

          “I think we’re done here.”

          “Wait” you pleaded, “one more and it won’t be about her.”

          “Fine.”

          “How did the guy on the radio know my name?”

          “What?”

          “The guy,” you repeated, “I spoke with him before I met you. He knew my name.”

          He shrugged, “I don’ know anything about that.”

          “Do you know my name?”

          “I don’ want to know your name.”

          “But do you?”

          “I don’t,” he looked over his shoulder, his voice irritated.

          “Are you always so fucking annoyed?”

          “Yes.”

          “Why?”

          “Because I am.”

          His tone let you know you’d reached his limit already, so you decided to remain quiet.

*

          Getting to Evanston was easier than you’d thought.

          The conversation flowed pretty good once he had calmed down. He didn’t tell you a damn thing about his past or present, but he did mention his time in a QZ in Boston, smuggling drugs, cigarettes, and liquor for ration cards.

          You mentioned you made and traded cigarettes, but weather was unpredictable and it took too long to crop. Then, weed became something you grew and traded, but was another difficult crop to care for when moving around often. Moonshine was a bitch, but people would kill for it, so it was worth the time and effort.

          Your lab was back in Utah, one of the many things you couldn’t take with you. You wondered what you were gonna do after you left Jackson, and Joel entertained the idea of you returning to Utah and staying on the radio.

          “Seemed like you enjoyed the life you made for yourself, no reason not to go back.”

          “I don’t think your group is gonna wanna trade with me again.”

          He shrugged, “never know. Cigarettes are always rare, same with medical supplies.”

          “Nah,” you playfully bumped his shoulder, “maybe I’ll stick around and bother you all day.”

          He laughed, “I got enough people bothering me during the day.”

          “So what’s one more?”

          You chatted until you reached a camping store, clearly raided and emptied, but Joel was hopeful there was going to be something of use inside. That, and it was already pretty dark, so getting out of the open was necessary.

          With flashlights, you both wandered inside, you behind him as he had his gun drawn. You watched his back as he moved silently through premises, scanning, looking for movement while trying to keep up. You felt useless as you did, your bulky stick trying to avoid things that would trigger a clicker. You hated needing to not only fully depend on someone else, but to be at their mercy completely, but there wasn’t much else to do.

          Once the store was cleared, he pointed to an RV in the vehicle showroom, “wanna open the door?”

          “Not really.”

          “Open it.”

          You sighed and grabbed the handle, nodding to him to ask if he was ready. He dipped his head, and you pulled the door open fast.

          Nothing.

          He carefully walked towards the door and peeked his head in, “no smell, no sign of life, no –“

          “Dibs on the bed,” you shuffled past him.

          He stared at you, lips tight, “there’s two beds.”

          “Dibs on the bigger one,” you smiled, looking over your shoulder.

          For the first time, he offered a genuine smirk.

          The RV was pretty nice considering its use. It looked like luxury – stainless steel counters, adjustable living space, and it was massive. It had to have been at least thirty feet long, had it’s own bathroom, and one large bed along with a bunk. You shimmied off your bag and threw it on the bed, excited to sleep on a mattress that didn’t smell like shit or blood.

          You turned to face the front and you watched as Joel looked around. He opened cabinets, the fridge and stove, and pulled down the wall to reveal the bunk. He slowly made his way into the large bedroom and you hopped towards him, “I already called the bed, you sleep in the cabinet.”

          You put your hand on his chest to stop him from moving forward, but he looked at you vexed, “there’s no mattress on the bunk.” He looked down at your hand and you swiped it away.

          “Fine,” you jokingly agreed, “but I call the right side, you stay on the left.”

          He put his bag on the table and scratched the back of his neck. He turned to you, “you got a radio in that bag?”

          You looked towards your bag, “why?”

          “Why do you think?”

          “I don’t.”

          “You don’ think or you don’ have it?”

          “Getting funnier,” you gave him a half smile, “I don’t have it.”

          He stared at you, hands on hips, “I know you have it, I can see it.”

          You crossed your arms, “you’re an asshole, so I don’t want you to use it.”

          He mumbled something as he shook his head, “give me the radio.”

          “No,” you stood defiantly, even after he paced towards you like a truck.

          “I need to speak with someone and if you don’t give me –“

          “You’ll what? Banish me to the bunk?”

          “I’m not fucking around.“

          “Can you just ask nicely?”

          He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and bowing his head, “can I please borrow your radio so I can call someone in Jackson and let them know where we are?”

          “No.”

          “Motherf -“ he got in your face and you raised your hands, “I’m just kidding take it, jesus christ.”

          You opened your bag and pulled out the boombox first, then the radio. He wanted to ask about it, but he knew it’d be better to just talk about it later. You questioned where he was going to find the electricity for it, and he mentioned some generator somewhere.

          “Have fun.”

          He closed the door as he left, taking his gun with him. You stuffed everything back in your bag and leaned the stick against the wall by the headboard. You lied in bed and waited for the exhaustion to kick in, but the uncomfortable feeling returned with a vengeance.

          You sat back up and rubbed your eyes, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get drunk. You looked around and noticed he didn’t take his bag with him.

          Were you really going to go through this guy’s bag for booze?

          Yes!

          You practically raced towards his bag, but hesitated as you held the zipper. You studied the bag; it was covered in stitches and duct tape. It had to have been at least ten, if not twenty years old. You could see faint markings all over – sharpie, pen, marker, blood, and mystery stains. The sharpie seemed more recent, as if someone had drawn something weeks ago but use and weather washed it away. The adjustment straps for the shoulder handles had writing on it with silver marker;

DONT DIE

          Cute.

          You pulled it apart and right on top was a flask. Your face couldn’t stop the pull of a grin at the sight of it. You looked back towards the front, ensuring he was still gone, and you immediately cracked it open and drank.

          The bourbon struggled to run smooth down your throat, the faint oaky flavor stayed at the forefront while the bite of stale vanilla spilled into your stomach like lava. You had to take a deep breath before taking another swig, capping it and throwing it back on top of his stuff.

          It wasn’t nearly enough on its own, but with your pills it could suffice. You limped back to your side of the bed and sat, pulling out the tiny baggie of colorful pills. At one point you knew what you were looking at, but these days the name or use doesn’t matter much to you, as long as it made you sleep.

          You pulled out three.

          You looked at them for a moment before throwing them into your mouth and dry swallowing them. That never got any easier, and the chalkiness always made the experience worse.

          You heard the door open and in he came with your radio in hand.

          “Got it working?”

          “Mostly.” His heavy footsteps indicated the type of exhaustion that set you back pre-outbreak.

          “How did you talk to them without the headset?”

          “We use code.”

          “Oh,” you nodded, staring at the floor avoiding eye contact, “cool.”

          He handed you the radio and you took it without lifting your gaze, which prompted him to stay standing in front of you.

          You swallowed hard as he stared, your eyes turning to see him before your head.

          He stood tall above you, his eyes drilling into you, as if knowing your misdeed. You stared back silently, blinking nervously.

          “What did you do?”

          You closed your eyes and stumbled over your words, “wh-what?”

          He grabbed your face and leaned close, “what did you do?”

          His question was more stringent and harsh this time, commanding an answer from you. You stared at him with wide eyes, afraid he’s found you out.

          “Nothing,” you said with nothing more than a breath, advertising your weakness.

          He looked towards his bag, then back at you before and released your face. You could feel the sting from where his fingers dug deep into your flesh. Turning on his heel and his unrelenting stare fixated on your reddening face, he moved towards his bag.

          “I have pills,” you blurted. You stared ahead of you, your palms sweating as you held onto your knees, “I took one.”

          He didn’t respond, and you could tell he was over it, over you. The silence in the trailer felt suffocating, the air thicker than blood and you felt like clawing your heart out.

          “That’s it?”

          Your breath returned, “yeah.”

          ‘Okay’ was the last thing he said before going through his bag. You could hear him drink from his flask and prayed he didn’t notice an ounce or two missing.

          You slowly turned your head to face him, and when you found he was busy getting ready to sleep you relaxed. The weight from your bag was fucking up your shoulders and neck, and you knew you had to do something about it.

          You couldn’t part ways with the radio, even if it was the heaviest object to carry. It was your lifeline, the only consistent thing in your life. It connected you to people, to groups, to him.

          The boombox was less of a necessity and more of a “I need to find a reason not to kill myself from the silence” item. It kept noise behind you as you worked, made you forget you were truly alone. You weren’t alone now, but that could change.

          This guy – Joel – could be as convoluted as he wanted to be, but he’s still a man at the end of the day, a human. He had aches, pains, bruises and scars. His body would turn on him one day, and you hoped it wouldn’t be before reaching Jackson.

          You decided you trusted him enough to take your bra off to sleep. You unhooked it from under your shirt and slipped your arms inside to slide the straps off. You stuck your arms back out and folded the bra neatly and hidden away in your bag. Out of habit, you grabbed your sore breasts, massaging them lightly. They’d been in a bra for almost three days straight.

          You let out a hum as you felt the skin on your chest begin to tingle. Your mouth pulled itself into a smirk as your body began to truly relax; the pain in your foot was subsiding, and the cool sheets felt amazing against your palms.

          Your eyes began to blur as you tried to act sober, slipping under the paper thin blanket and resting against the pillow.

          You looked over and watched as Joel continued doing whatever the fuck he was doing. Writing?

          He hunched over the vanity and seemingly scrawled something in a book. His broad shoulders towered over his frame and you could make out his back muscles from the stretch of the fabric. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to imagine him hunched over you.

          You watched his bicep tighten as he wrote, his sleeve rolled up a bit to show off his scarred arm.

          You ducked your head under the blanket and rolled over to face away from him. What would he even say if he caught you ogling him? He’d probably think you were weird, or a whore, or both. A weird whore.

          He probably wouldn’t even give you a second thought. He seemed the type to be into women who were feminine, who liked dresses and making things pretty, not pill popping alcoholics. You swallowed hard as you managed to hurt your own feelings, closing your eyes as you tried to keep the waterworks from coming. Then, you felt a weight enter the bed.

          He groaned as he sat, typical old man. You could tell his back was against the headboard by the awkward dip near your shoulders.

          He’s so heavy.

          With a sniffle, he asked, “wanna drink?”

          You turned over to face him. He didn’t seem the slightest bit upset, but he held his flask tightly, like it had the tendency to grow wings and fly away. “It’s the only time I’m offering.”

          “Uh,” you started, “yeah, sure.”

          “Might make the pills work better.”

          “Huh”, you replied trying to ignore the creeping heat rising in your body.

          You sat up next to him, shoulders touching, and he passed you the flask, “what is it,” you asked innocently.

          “Bourbon.”

          “Nice,” you nodded, taking a swig. It sucked just as much as before, “you look like a whiskey guy.”

          “Yeah.”

          You passed him back his flask and silently took turns drinking from it. His unblinking eyes held a sight so far from the RV, and as if he were in a trance, his hands moved robotically, accepting and passing the flask. You followed suit, trying to focus.

          He cleared his throat, probably to get on with it already – “what do you have?”

          “What?”

          He moved his hands abstractly, “pills.” He spoke with a low whisper, as if not to get caught.

          “Oh,” you began reaching for your bag, “y’know I dunno, I just have –“ you pulled out the baggie, “these.”

          He took the bag and inspected it, moving the pills around with his thumb, seemingly looking for some sort of marking.

          None of your pills had markings; they were made by some hillbillies when you passed through Kentucky. You gave them hemp seeds and they gave you pills, lots of them. You had no idea what they were made of but they were potent.

          He looked at you and his eyes seemed to sink into his skull. His large, dark brown eyes now pitch black. You felt slightly intimidated by him as his features became warped. He was saying something but you couldn’t hear him, your heart beat too fast and the blood rushed behind your eardrums.

          “Hello?”

          “Huh?”

          He muttered your name, his gaze intensifying. “Which ones did you take?”

          “Oh, uh,” you trailed off. Your hands moved but you felt nothing, not the bag, not the contents, not even the stiffened air. You pointed to the ones you thought you took, mouth agape, and looked back at him. He just laughed at you.

          You laughed with him as he opened the bag and pulled a pill out. You watched in awe as his jaw opened and he accepted it so willingly. You could almost see it crawl down his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow of bourbon.

          Your hand slowly reached for it, the prominent figure in his throat, and he let you. You could feel him wrapping his arm around you, laying his hand on your arm.

          Your head fell to his shoulder and you tried not to drool on him as your fingers barely grazed his sensitive skin. He swallowed again, making your hand jerk from his neck from surprise. You looked up at him and you both laughed.

          Your eyes trailed all over his face, studying him like you’d never seen him before. You looked at every line, every bump, every white hair sparse on his face. Each time your eyes reached up, he was always looking down at you. His eyes didn’t assault your face like yours with his, instead it stayed steady, searching for something.

          Your open mouth smile turned into a fit of giggles as your head crashed back onto his shoulder. You looked back at his neck and took a deep breath. For a split moment, you caught the scent of something. Not sweat or dirt, but something foreign.

          Cologne.

          Or maybe even aftershave, but a lab made scent blessed your nose and you needed more of it. He’d probably put it on days ago, but it lingered ever so slightly.

          The realization sunk directly into your stomach. This was a bad idea. An astronomically bad idea. But you felt his chest rise and fall softly, like a boat on a smooth ocean, and his arm kept body heat inside, making you feel fuzzy and warm. His entire body felt like a blanket, a blanket you wanted wrapped around you.

          Your hand cupped the side of his neck, using this to pull your face closer into him, trying to get even more drunk from his scent. You could feel yourself throb between your legs as the smell grew stronger. You breathed him in like your life depended on it, taking him in through nose and mouth – you could practically taste him.

          Wait.

          You stuck your tongue out and the tip quickly slipped up his throat, making him catch his breath.

          “Don’t,” was all he could say but you didn’t care. You already wanted all of him. You wanted to devour him, take his heart and soul with you, and his body absolutely wanted you to.

          “Just a taste,” your hollow whisper sent bumps up his neck. Your tongue met his skin again, but this time he tipped his head to the side for you. You licked him up to his jaw, where you planted the faintest of kisses.

          Your hand slid up to his face and you pulled him towards you. He looked like he was in pain as he covered your hand with his, “we can’t.”

          “I won’t tell,” you managed to slur. You could barely keep your mouth closed as your body began to go limp.

          “No,” he sighed, “I want to, but you’re – ”

          “No,” you tried to kiss his lips but he pulled away.

          He closed his eyes and shook his head, “’s been a long time -“

          “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

          “No, it’s,” he took a deep breath and squeezed your hand. You pulled your palm towards his lips and touched him with your thumb, inviting him to bite. His grip on your arm grew tighter and you got closer, “I’m gonna hurt you.”

          You laughed, but he shook his head, “if you tell me to stop,” he opened his eyes, “I can’t trust that I will.”

          As serious as the conversation was, you couldn’t help that you were wet, legs rubbing against each other for friction. You planted a kiss against his chin and his hand finally grabbed your face. He looked at you with fear, fear for you.

          Your heavy eyes could only stare back, unbothered and tired. Your hand stayed on his jaw, thumb trying to coax his mouth open, “what if I don’t want you to stop?”

          “Please –“

          “What if,” your fingers trailed down, gently circling over his painfully hard cock through his pants, getting a gasp from him, “I want you to hurt me?”

          He forced his lips onto your neck and you smiled. His entire body weight pushed you to your back and you tried to pull him on top, but he stayed on his elbow beside you.

          The kisses were messy and borderline pornographic. He forced his tongue against your skin with every kiss as you grabbed his hair by the root, listening to his strained moans vibrate from his lips.

          His lips made their way down to your shoulder, but neither of his hands did any work, so you took the liberty of taking one and situating it at your breast.

          He kneaded you through your shirt as he bit the skin curving between your neck and shoulder. One final, harsh grab made you yelp and he stopped.

          Looking down on him, you noticed he was a complete disaster. Pathetic, even. He looked at you like a virgin, wide eyed and frantic, but even you could tell the pill was wearing him down. They were wearing you both down.

          Your hand lazily pet his soft, but greasy, curls as he pushed his forehead against your chest. You could feel his warm breath blow down your shirt as he tried to figure out what to do.

          You wanted more, but it seemed like both of your bodies had different plans. You watched as he closed his eyes on your chest, his body moving with your breath, tangling your fingers through his hair.

*

Neither of you brought it up.

          Hell, when you woke up, he pretended like he wasn’t asleep on you. No one mentioned anything, made comment, or even a joke. He just got up from your body, aching and groggy, but well rested, and got to his feet.

          And the morning was spent in complete silence.

          He did manage to check out your leg, take some supplies, and bring you to a small medical office to check for a brace. He said the brace was meant to walk in, as he needed to make sure you could fend for yourself in any event.

          At this point, you were on the verge of asking him to cut it off. The pain never ceased, and even with your walking stick you still felt every nerve fire with each step, and it was becoming clearer that it may not get any better.

          Joel didn’t really offer anything other than ‘I dunno’ and ‘when we get to Jackson we’ll see’.

          You sat on an exam chair and waited as he rummaged around, looking around the room. You scoffed at the passing thought that you actually missed this.

          The stupid appointments and the sterile, plain white and cold rooms. Using paid time off for this hour long appointment and spending the rest of your day either stressing about the results or going for a midday drink.

          After one particularly upsetting appointment with your gynecologist, your friend had taken you to get burgers, milkshakes, and eventually the movie theater. You’d spent the entire day laughing, crying, and just enjoying spending time with her. She’d died not too long before the outbreak, and you were always thankful she did, but you always wondered what she’d be like, whether she’d be willing to kill someone over bread, or pills, or rags and alcohol.

          You pinched the corners of your eyes and sighed, the memory stale, but it still hurt.

          Joel appeared from behind you, carrying a first aid kit and a boot, “not much in here, but just enough to help.”

          You stared at the sorry excuse of gauze and isopropyl alcohol, but the plastic boot seemed promising. You didn’t respond, and honestly you may have been a bit hungover, but you were tired of everything. This had been the worst two (or three?) days of your life, and that’s saying something.

          He didn’t say anything else and got to work on your leg. The sting made you jerk your body, which meant you kicked his shoulder and hurt yourself even further – “fuck!”

          He held your leg steady as you tried to curl around it, “stay.”

          “It fucking hurts!”

          “I know.”

          “Fuck!”

          He stared at your foot for a moment and back at you, “I gotta take your shoe off –“

          “No!”

          “I have to.”

          “Joel,” your voice stern and slightly harsh, “just fucking leave it.”

          “It’s going to help you if –“

          “Just leave it,” you swatted his hand off your leg but he forcefully grabbed it again.

          He stared into your eyes and just as forceful as his hands, his voice followed, “I’m taking it off.”

          You must’ve missed when he untied your laces, but the moment the final word left his lips, he pulled the sneaker right off your foot.

          On instinct your fist crashed against his face and knocked him down to his elbow. Tears poured out of your eyes as you held onto your leg in pain. You swore he’d dislocated your ankle again and the frustration of always being in pain with no solace had you slide off the chair and try to leave.

          The moment your leg hit the floor you collapsed, only fucking up your day even more. You lied on your back and cried out a series of profanities and pleads. You weren’t sure who you were begging for or for what, but your loud cries became sobs, and shrunk into quiet weeping.

          You rubbed your face with both your hands as you tried to dry your wet face, but your injury wouldn’t relent. Your body began to shake from the trauma and your anxiety started to spike.

          What the fuck were you doing?

          What the fuck were you doing following this random guy to some random place for help? Why the fuck were you such a feeble and puny thing? What happened to you?

          Your thought process was interrupted by the sound of someone spitting near your body.

          You opened your eyes and looked towards the sound. Joel still crouched, but now faced you, his face becoming swollen.

          Fuck.

          You couldn’t really read his face, your eyes were still blurry from the tears, but you imagined he was pissed. Maybe even beyond pissed. Maybe this was him preparing to leave you here, laying on the floor of some random tiny pharmacy in some shithole city in some shithole state. He was going to leave you to the clickers, or worse.

          “Are you done now?”

          His question caught you off guard, and you blinked away whatever was left and sat up on your elbows to really see him. This was so much worse than you’d thought.

          He looked at you like you were the biggest inconvenience to him. He was far beyond pity, and he felt like you were a waste of space. A waste of time.

          You tried not to cry again, but somehow your heart broke. You were a waste of space, time, and energy. You were only slowing him down, only making the journey back home more dangerous, and he didn’t deserve that. He showed nothing but his own version of benevolence, even after killing someone he’d known, and you repaid him by being a nuisance.

          “Why did you take me, Joel?”

          He stared at you.

          “Please.”

          “You’re an asset.”

          You could appreciate his honesty. You provided him, provided Jackson, with everything they’d ever asked for, even the strange comic books and films, which on multiple occasions you’d almost died for. You gave them copious amounts of medicines of all varieties and medical supplies, probably enough to keep a whole town well. If not your wonderful personality or spirit, at least you were needed for something.

          “I can’t be your only one.”

          “No, but you’re a good one.”

          “But not the best.”

          “Do you want the help or not?”

          You shrugged, “would I even be worth it?”

          He looked at you with softer eyes, lips tightening as he tried to figure out a response; “yes.”

          Fine.

          Sure.

          You had no idea why you were so important to these people; you gave them supplies yes, but there’s no way they didn’t go out on their own, or have others giving them stuff. You shook your head at the idea and looked back at him, “fine.”

          He looked back at your foot, which was now turning a strange shade of blue. He knelt by your foot and looked up at you, “I have to take your sock off.”

          You laughed.

          You laughed with your whole body as he just looked at you unmoved. You raised your hands, “sure, Joel, just do it. Might as well.” You lied on your back and waited for the touch of his rough fingertips to shock the injury.

          But he didn’t upset your nerves, instead he was extremely cautious, and talked you through everything he was doing. It still hurt like hell, but you could tell he was purposeful in his movement and meticulous, one hand steadily pulling the dirty fabric under your heel and the other lifting your leg.

          Your heel touched the cold floor and both of his hands now wrapped around your foot, gradually lifting the fabric up to your toes until it was fully removed.

          Humiliation crept up your neck as you realized you probably smelled. Bad. You wore the same socks for days, and you hadn’t even taken off your sneakers at all during this whole ordeal. Classy.

          He set up the boot in a way that you only had to lift your leg and place it in. You didn’t bother looking at it, you didn’t want to, but you felt his strong hand take your shin and lift your leg for you. Your face twitched in pain as he fixated the boot around your ankle and tightened it, “how’s it feel?”

          “Uh,” you sniffled, finally sitting up, “I dunno. Can I walk on it?”

          “Sort of.”

          “So what was the point of this?”

          “I can’t have you getting an infection or re-breaking the ankle. This’ll help stabilize it for the time bein’.”

          “Hmm.”

          He took a moment before standing up on his feet. He offered his hand to you and you accepted it, helping yourself get up. You stood awkwardly in front of each other, not really looking anywhere other than the surrounding area.

          “Time to get goin’,” he finally broke and you agreed.

          He handed you crutches, and at first you thought he was joking, but the thing you found about Joel was that he never seemed to fuck around. You reluctantly took them and walked next to him out of the medical office and back into the gorgeous summer weather. It was a bit chilly today, which meant the night was expected to be freezing, but you felt comfortable enough with Joel to assume he had something planned.

          The walk was faster using crutches versus your stick, but now you had to really watch where you were going. The conversation between you both was much easier today than it was before, but you still only knew very superficial about the man you were trekking with.

          He was your very typical man – football, whiskey, and action movies. You asked if he watched Jurassic Park and you were met with a laugh, “yeah, I saw it in the theater.”

          “No,” you bumped his shoulder playfully, “I meant recently. I got it for your group.”

          Him immediately looking towards you at the touch didn’t pass you, neither did the flash in his eyes at the sudden nudge, one you knew all about.

          “I did, actually,” he replied, “it was fun re-watchin’ it. The kids liked it.”

          Kids.

          There were kids in his group. The strange requests made more sense now, but you had to ask about them. You weren’t sure how to ask other than bluntly – “they yours?”

          He laughed, and you were able to see his full, genuine smile for the first time, and it was soft but vibrant, and it made you feel warm seeing it. “none of ‘em are mine.”

          “How many are there?”

          “A few,” he shrugged, his tone and energy shifting slightly.

          You nodded at the sudden alteration, feeling he wasn’t willing to discuss more about them.

          “How big is Jackson?”

          He looked up and opened his mouth, but closed it and turned his head towards you, but continued looking towards the ground, “big.”

          “How big?”

          He looked at you, “big enough.”

          “That’s what everyone says.”

          “How many people did you ask?”

          “Everyone I ever spoke to from there.”

          He looked forward, seemingly avoiding eye contact now. His mood seemed to alternate between wanting to tell you and wanting to keep you in the dark, which only made you feel a bit uneasy.

          You continued, “you’re taking me there anyway, why keep it a big secret?”

          The back of his hand braced against your stomach, “you see that,” he whispered.

          You tried looking in the direction he was looking towards, but you’d only seen a military vehicle, some garbage, and the remnants of a micro battle, “what am I looking at?”

          He looked at you then pointed, “the truck. It’s FEDRA.”

          “So?”

          “So it’s probably still working.”

          “Oh.”

          “Stay here,” he ended as he slowly walked towards the car.

          You pulled out your gun and lied your crutches on the road, scanning the area for any stragglers or ambushes. You didn’t see anything out of place, but you also kept an eye on Joel as he managed himself around the car. He disappeared behind the vehicle and you waited.

          And waited.

          And waited.

          Until you’d grown nervous at the lack of movement or sound from him. You considered your options – walk there and inevitably fuck up your leg, and use your crutches as weapons, or leave him.

          You decided to limp towards the car, leaving the crutches behind, gun drawn. Slowly but surely, you were making your way when he reappeared next to the car, seemingly unscathed. He got in and tried to start the car, revving for a moment before it finally started.

          Relief flooded over you as he drove it towards you slowly. You turned to grab your crutches and by the time you had them, he’d pulled up.

          He got out of the car and opened the passenger door, which you commented on, “such a gentleman.”

          He rolled his eyes and closed the door behind you and got back in, “there’s not much left, maybe a couple dozen miles or so, but it’s better than nothin’.”

          You sighed a breath of relief as you watched the trees zip past you as he took off. You stared out your window, watching the horizon run past you like film. You wound the window down a bit to let the cool air in and for a second, you were driving down the California coast in your rental with your husband. Instead of ocean and sand, it was dirt and grass, but you couldn’t complain. You rested your head on your hand and watched the world go by.

          “Enjoying it?” Joel’s voice was neutral, but there was a sense of calm to it, which was different.

          “Are you kidding? I hope this baby goes for miles.”

          “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

Chapter Text

“How much gas do we have?”

        “I’d wager we’d get about half way, maybe even further,” he leaned further back into his seat, his knees spreading further apart.

        You couldn’t hide the excitement of finally being able to relax. The few days you had were a fucking nightmare, but the Humvee felt like a change in the right direction. Maybe the universe was finally rewarding Joel for his sacrifice.

        You quickly scanned him – you could tell he was beginning to let loose a bit too, which meant you could probably push a few buttons to pass the time.

        “So what city do you think we’d make it to?”

        He shrugged, “not sure. I have a map of Wyoming in my bag if you wanna look.”

        His attitude had also changed, and you wondered if maybe his temper wasn't necessarily you, but the result of intensely stressful situations. You decided to test this theory; you weren’t sure why you had to drive him crazy, but it felt like something worth doing.

        “You don’t know from the top of your head?”

        “I do – “

        “So what town?”

        “What difference would it make if you knew?”

        “Maybe you’ll miss an exit.”

        “I won’t.”

        “Maybe you – “

        “I think you’re tired,” he interrupted, “you should probably get some rest.”

        You smirked, “I’m not tired, I feel wide awake.”

        “I’m sure you do.”

        You rolled your eyes and sunk into the passenger seat, knees to chest. You’d stolen a few looks towards Joel, not for any reason in particular, but because you wanted to know if he was thinking about last night. He stared forward, his eyes focused solely on the road. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his arm, showcasing the years of hell he'd gone through. His arm laid on top of the steering wheel, his fingers rubbing against each other as he watched the asphalt zoom past.

        You’d noticed a scar on his temple, looked like it came from a projectile. Odds are a bullet grazed him in some big, manly shootout. You looked to your right and watched as the horizon dipped and rose like rolling ocean waves. Your eyes grew heavy and you figured now would be a good time to, not sleep, but to rest your eyes.

        You listened to the hum of the truck, the shocks as they creaked over potholes and bumps, and Joel's intermittent sighs and hums. His fingers tapped the wheel as he drove, and you could hear him scratch the stubble on his face. He was probably lost in thought, thinking about where he was going, or what he was going to do when he returned to Jackson. You hoped he had an unlimited supply of coffee. 

        The stiffness in your legs and back woke you from your eye rest. You stretched your legs and arms and looked towards your chauffeur; his head leaned against his fist as he held the steering wheel with one hand, tired but alert enough. You hadn’t driven a car in decades, and weren’t sure if switching roles was even worth it, considering the amount of gas available.

        Looking back out the window, you’d seen it was still desolate plains, but with a backdrop of thundering mountains, capped with ice. You looked in awe at the change in landscape; it reminded you of the time you’d seen the Grand Canyon with a friend of yours. He’d taken you there just to say goodbye, but it was an experience nonetheless.

        “Sleep well?”

        “Hmm,” his question caught you off guard, “oh, yeah. Wasn’t asleep, though. Bit stiff, but I’ll survive.”

        He hummed.

        “How long has it been?”

        “‘Bout an hour or so. Not too long. We’re making good time ‘n distance.”

        “Good,” you stretched your back, taking a deep breath in. You looked towards him for a moment then out the windshield, “what did you do before the outbreak?”

        “Why?”

        “Just curious,” you mumbled.

        “Let’s not do this right now, please,” his tone rising with indignation.

        “Do what,” you rolled your eyes, “I would like to know something about the guy taking me across state lines to some –“

        “Stop it.”

        “Some random group, and for what?”

        You could see the anger boil out of him as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He now sat up and was fully focused at the argument you’re about to have.

        You asked again – “for what?”

        “We’ve already been through this.”

        “Yeah, but considering last night –“ your thoughts became vocalized and your voice stopped mid sentence with realization. Guess you will be having this conversation.

        You looked at him at he stared forward, an attempt at ignoring the impending fight. You were nothing more than a voice in his head, one that was starting to wear his patience thin.

        “Are we just not gonna talk about it?”

        “There’s nothing to talk about.”

        Classy.

        “Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m not giving you any more pills.” You picked up your bag and started to rummage through it when he demanded you tell him what you were doing. “None of your business.“

        “I swear to god if you take – “

        “I’m not taking anything, goddammit,” you raised your voice, “I just wanna see something. Fuck.”

        The landscape, and Joel's short temper, had you emotional over your travels from before. Your trip through Colorado, Utah, Arizona, all with a small souvenir to remind yourself of them. Without pulling it out of your bag purposefully so Joel couldn’t see it, you stared at the plastic key chain of the Grand Canyon. Your busted thumb softly glided over the smooth surface, the paint not only withering away, but inviting a familiar sorrow in. For the first time in years, you thought about him, and started to miss him again.

        You dropped the key chain in your bag and held it tight against your chest, as if hugging him. It’d been about ten years, and the pain mostly subsided, but still left a lingering gash in your chest.

        The remainder of the car ride, even the sharing of food, was silent, until he decided to was time to ditch the truck.

        You only okayed him to death, not bothering to ask about gas, distance, or even what bumfuck town you were in. It looked like at its peak had a population of fifty. He didn’t bother telling you anything, only a ‘stay put’ with a disproving look.

        He wandered into some building, the words of the sign faded to almost nothing to bare wood. You watched as his figure disappeared behind the darkness of the room, until his flashlight turned on. The beam of light wandered the walls, ceiling and floor; if not anything, he was thorough.

        It’d been a few minutes and a sunset later when he meandered his way back outside and towards the truck. He exhaled heavily as he thought about what he was going to say.

        “It’s, uh, rough, to say the least.”

        “The building?”

        He stared at you.

        “Okay, asshole, so what do we do?”

        He looked around, “the truck’s not gonna make it to the next town, much less the next, well, anything.”

        “So…”

        “We got two choices, sleep inside the store, which is on the verge of collapsing, or stick with the truck.”

        You looked inside the truck. There was no way you weren’t going to break your back sleeping in this thing. You looked back at him, and he didn’t seem too keen on either idea, so ultimately it was up to you.

        “Guess we get back in the car.”

*

The night was cold, so you opted skipping dinner to try to warm yourself up in the car. The light of Joel’s fire flickered through the window and its faint crackle was surprisingly therapeutic. You huddled under the scratchy blankets that you had found in the trunk, praying the pills work their magic. Unfortunately, they only gave you a slight buzz.

        You needed a drink.

        You sat up and looked out the window. In the glow of the flame, you could see Joel toying with the beaded bracelet, holding it with both hands, staring at it. He didn’t seem sad or angry, he just looked neutral, like looking over a route.

        Next to him was his flask, the very same one you’d finished off the night before. The bastard found liquor and didn’t even bother to tell you. You stared at the flask, determining whether it was worth leaving the cold of the truck to go into the cold of the night for liquor.

        With your eyes fixated, you didn’t realize he had noticed your longing gaze. His hand covered the flask and your eyes followed as he raised it, his eyes focused on you, as if inviting you outside.

        Fuck.

        You whipped the blanket off and carefully slid out of the car, making sure you didn’t put pressure on your foot. Your crutches were laid against the truck for easy reach, and you hopped your way to him silently. He helped you sit on the ground and passed the flask to you.

        You tried to hide your excitement as the bite of citrus gin welcomed you. It was strong, but the aftertaste was worth it. You took another swig and passed it back to him. You stared into the fire as you wiped your mouth, basking in the warmth.

        “Can’t sleep?”

        His voice was hoarse and dry, an effect from the gin and lethargy probably. His sound rumbled deep under your skin, riling up your insides.

        “Nope. You?”

        He shook his head.

        You didn’t look at him, but you could hear him bow his head and slip the bracelet back on his wrist, stretching it behind his broken watch and pulling his sleeve down. That’s when you decided to look, “you had a kid?”

        His deep, brown eyes looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read. He blinked and his eyes fell, “yeah.”

        You motioned lazily and vaguely towards the bracelet, “she made that?”

        “No.”

        “Did you make it,” you asked half joking.

        He scoffed, “no. It’s, uh, complicated.”

        You leaned a bit, having your shoulder touch his, “girlfriend?”

        This gave you a genuine laugh, his eyes wrinkling with his smile, “god no. It’s uh, someone I’m taking care of. She’s a kid.”

        “Right,” you nodded, unsure if you could keep on. You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

        Nothing to listen to but the crackle of dry, scorched wood. It could be worse.

        “What about you?”

        His question took you by surprise, but you indulged, “no kids. Never had ‘em, didn’t really want ‘em. I worked with kids, though, before the outbreak.”

        “Oh yeah,” he said with a level tone, “what’d you do?”

        The memory of you seemed so distant. It didn’t even feel like you, or your memory, even. Almost like remembering a movie you’d seen as a child, you recalled the important bits, “I was an art teacher. Taught a bunch of stuff, sculpting, painting, drawing, you name it.” You smiled as you continued, “I was severely underpaid, but I loved the work. It made sense to me.”

        You felt his flask tap your leg and you accepted it. This sip went down better than the last.

        “What’d you do,” as you passed his flask back, watching him drink it. You noted how his neck moved as he nervously spoke, strained and stiff.

        “Contractor. Nothing fancy.”

        “I knew a guy who was a contractor, y’know, before the outbreak,” you reminisced.

        “What was he like?”

        This question struck you as strange, and you could see him uncomfortably shift, making you giggle. You took his flask and took another drink, your body beginning to feel heavy.

        “Jealous?”

        “Not at all,” he drank, “just curious. You brought him up.”

        You were sure you took another sip, but it seemed like the flask moved at the speed of light between the both of you, “just trying to relate.”

        He looked at you with a pointed expression, “don’t.”

        You held his flask between your hands, its growing incredibly light as the clear liquid steamed out of it, “why not?”

        You weren’t sure how that question came off, but he seemingly received it as some flirtatious response, and he was mostly right in thinking so.

        He looked at you and you stared back, except your vision was becoming less clear and more following the orders of the fire light. The environment around you began to separate from the man in front of you, two separate entities moving in opposite directions. You felt your heart rate increase, but your breath felt steady and relaxed. It’d been hours since you asked your question (probably really only thirty seconds), but the crack of the wood sent you to bed.

        “Sorry,” you whispered so low he probably didn’t even hear it, “I’m really tired.”

        He nodded, his expression tender, and his voice just as soft, “I know.” He inhaled sharply, “I’m gonna help you get back to the truck.”

        You nodded, your head feeling like it was filled with lead, and not only due to the growing weariness. His hands were strong as they led you back to the Humvee, his fingers pushing into your soft thighs as he lifted you up into the vehicle and watched as you crawled into the space where seats once were, but were removed for living.

        You dropped to your chest and a breath huffed from your body. Your arms struggled to free themselves from under your weight while the breeze from the night washed over you.

        He stood watching, speaking grimly and flat “you took something.”

        Disappointment pricked at your skin. It wasn’t a question, and he meant to scold you for it.

        “I couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled quietly, your cheek pressed against the coarse fiber flooring.

        He didn’t respond, but he didn’t move from the door either. You saw him looking back and forth between the fire and you, as if trying to decide whether to return or to remain.

        “Is the blanket enough?”

        You huffed a smile, “hardly. It’ll do, though.”

        The door closed; you heard dirt shift and the glow dimmed until darkness sunk into the car. The night had become quiet, nothing but his boots crunching and the sound of his bag swinging over his shoulder to replace the flame.

        The door swung open again and the truck dipped to his weight, the shocks creaking. Your eyes closed as you tried to focus on the tiredness in your body, your face nuzzling under the blanket.

        He lied next to you, a deep groan escaping from his chest when his back touched the flooring. You could hear him attempt to make himself feel comfortable, his moving body shifting the truck, making you feel nauseous.

        “You have to stop moving.”

        “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

        “Take a pill,” you joked, which didn’t get you much of a laugh from him.

        “It’s not that.”

        You took a deep breath, not willing to bicker with him tonight, but something told you to face him. Slowly, you turned your head and body towards his direction, rolling under the blanket trying to make sure you remained covered.

        You opened your eyes and found him, arms crossed, staring at the roof. You could see the force in his eyes, his body restless, and his breath unsteady.

        It took a moment for you to realize he’d kept his jacket on.

        “Fuck, did you wanna share the blanket?”

        He blinked, “no, it’s fine.”

        “It’s really not,” your words beginning to slur, “come.” You lifted your arm to welcome him underneath, disregarding the implication.

        His focus pivoted to you, brows squared, “no.”

        You giggled weakly, “come on, big guy.”

        He turned his head away from you before turning to his side, facing away from you, “I’m fine.”

        You dragged your body towards him, making sure the blanket came with you. Before you could even reach him, he warned you not to touch him.

        “I don’t wanna touch you, you gotta get warm.”

        “I’m fine,” his voice raised but it didn’t deter you from moving closer.

        For you, it was less about him being warm and more about you being warm. The blanket wasn’t nearly enough to make you comfortable, but his warmth might be.

        You hesitated at first, unsure of how to go about this endeavor. You ended up wrapping your arm around him, but you threw the half of the blanket over him and pushed your body against his back, your face shoved behind his shoulder blades.

        The heat from his body was instantly gratifying, making your breath leave your body in relief, “oh fuck.”

        He didn’t say anything.

        You took a deep inhale, taking in his smell. The jacket was made of animal hide, but held the smell of him. A mix between tree sap, sweat, and blood, with such a vague scent of cologne. Your finger hooked his collar and gently you pulled it down, exposing his flushed skin.

        Your head tipped up to take in more of him, bumps raising on his neck. His shoulder raised to push you away, “what’re you doing?”

        “I just,” your words trailing into a hollow breath, relishing in his body heat. You pushed your face harder against his back, “you’re so warm.”

        “No, I’m not.”

        “Under your jacket,” your cold hands slipped underneath it as you spoke, causing him to jolt at the sudden cold, “warm.”

        Your hands crawled up his back, and despite his protests, he didn’t really stop you from touching him. Your fingers trailed over his waist, down to the band of his jeans, and back up to his shoulder blades, his body getting warmer as you traversed his form.

        A smile crept on your face as you removed your hands from his body and to the front of his chest, grabbing the zipper of his jacket. His hand held yours as protest, but he only squeezed you tighter as you pulled it down, exposing him to the cool air. When you’d reached the base of his jacket, you paused at the feeling of his belt buckle.

        You weren’t sure what you were doing or why, but it felt like a natural progression – he saves your life, you owe him one, and maybe in a way you both could agree on. He didn’t seem to mind, and you could argue he wanted this too. You felt your relaxed heart begin to race against your chest, hitching your breath as your stomach turned at the thought. You’d never cared for anyone to want you, but pretending that this was Joel wanting you felt incredible, your lust being a betraying sleeper agent.

        Your fingertips opted to pull the jacket open, his body obeying your silent order and shifting for you to remove it. You swore the inside could cook a steak with its heat, and from under the blanket, you wrapped it around you, snickering at the situation you’d manage to put yourselves in.

        You felt infinitely warmer with his jacket, moaning as you settled in, which made him roll to face you. You pushed the blanket to fully cover him and he took this opportunity to move closer to you, “you warm now?”

        His voice was sonorous and it vibrated the blood in your veins. The weight of the pills grew heavier as your hands pushed against his chest, unsure of what they wanted to do, but his hands felt you enticingly.

        He gently pushed open the jacket and his fingers wrapped around your arm, rubbing up and down a few times before crawling up to your shoulder. You moved your head to signal him to wrap his fingers around your neck, which he followed through, his rough fingertips gently squeezing your throat, his eyes never leaving yours, "you drive me crazy, y'know that?"

       You laughed, pulling yourself closer to him, "yeah."

        You both shared the same breath, mouths mere inches from each other. You could feel his thumb rub circles against your soft skin before his fingers rested at the base of your head. His thumb tipped your chin up, exposing your neck. You swallowed hard once his thumb reached the corner of your lip.

        Your mouth opened to take his finger in, wrapping your lips around him, while looking up at him through your lashes. You could hear a low rumble from his throat as he inched his thumb in and out of your mouth, your cheeks hollowing with his movement.

        He licked his lips before forcing his mouth against your throat, his teeth grazing your delicate skin. His thumb moved from your mouth and his fingers tangled the hair at the base of your skull, tugging your head back even further.

        Your mouth hung open as a moan cut off, your hands reaching for his throat. Your fingers gently touched his neck and lower half of his face as he sucked at yours, his facial hair trickling against your cushiony cheeks.

        His hand released your hair and pulled you in closer to his body by pulling your lower back. Your flushed chest pressed against his and in desperation for friction you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and legs around his waist, rolling your hips against him desperately. His arm wrapped around your waist and he swung you on top of him, your legs straddling his hips.

        The sudden movement made your head spin, but you managed to hold yourself steady above him, fighting the sleep.

        He held onto your thighs tightly, eyes looking you up and down. He shifted his hips under you and looked up at you with a submissive look, almost like he was telling you to make the next move.

        Your palms held his face, thumbs coursing over the lines and stress over his cheekbones, staring blankly at him. You smiled weakly at your attempt to be alluring; you were way out of your element.

        It’d been years since you’ve fucked anyone, let alone touch, grope, or undress. You felt clumsy pushing your forehead against his to keep you stable as your hands fumbled down from his face, down his chest to his jeans. You didn’t care to expose his upper half because you didn’t want to expose yours, but he felt fit. You knew what you looked like, and he’d probably be shocked at the state of you. Littered with scars, faded tattoos, and age, you felt you weren’t as attractive as you’d been, and your assessment had been proven time and time again. Men would fuck a hole in the ground, and this guy had a warm body willing on top of him, so you figured he thought you were good enough.

        Your hands pried his jeans open and you shoved one under the fabric of his denim, grabbing his stiff dick through his underwear. His mouth hung open and his head rolled back as you worked him, brows furrowing at the gentle touch of your hands.

        You laid lazy, open mouthed kisses over his cheeks and his jaw as he writhed at your touch, hands rubbing up and down your legs. He inelegantly reached for the band of your jeans and unbuttoned it, forcing his hand to slip between your hands and his cock.

        “What’re you doing,” you used a hollow breath to ask.

        “I just,” he rolled his hips into your unstopping hand, “I wanna feel you.”

        “Joel,” you warned.

        A truly pathetic whimper escaped from his lips at the sound of your tired voice speaking his name – “all of you.”

        His fingers slipped under your panties and touched you, soft and gentle, but also with eagerness and need. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers took your wetness and massaged it all over your sensitive area. His fingers split you apart, rubbed around your lips, and teased your entrance, his fingertips only pushing against it, threatening to enter.

        Your breath became uncontrolled and you woke from your pill induced trance. You wanted to kiss his lips so bad; they trembled under you as he breached your wet pussy, begging for attention.

        You swore he enjoyed fingering you more than you did.

        His thick fingers filled your lower stomach, a sensation you’d longed for. You craved more of him in a way that made you uncomfortable.

        He pumped two of his fingers inside you, deep and meticulous, making sure you felt every inch of him as he continued rolling himself into your palm. His boot tried to grip the fabric of the flooring for more leverage but failed, making his hips move erratically and frantic, his hushed whimpers becoming full body groans.

        With this, you decided you couldn’t wait any longer. This was another astronomically bad idea, and you knew it, and he probably knew it, too. But how could you not want more – he felt amazing and he sounded even better.

        In a haste you pulled yourself from his eye level, carefully inching down to sit at his legs as he tried to sit himself up. He helped you take his pants off, huffing like he was nervous. You adjusted the blanket to sit over your shoulders and angled yourself, taking in the sight of his aching cock, begging for release. You both looked into each other’s eyes.

        This was bad.

        “Baby, this is a bad idea,” he spoke hoarsely.

        Finally! Some sense! Now you could crawl back next to him and pretend this didn’t happen.

        “I know,” was all you said, breathlessly and determined, as your lips wrapped around him. He stretched your mouth in a way you’d never felt before, and you felt nothing but whole and complete. You could feel him practically force himself from ramming his dick into your throat as you slowly moved him deeper in your mouth. His head rolled back and his neck strained, probably stopping himself from fucking into you like an animal.

        After a breath, his hands slipped behind your head, a half smirk on his lips, “looks good’n you.”

        You moaned, damn near out of breath. You didn’t even know if he meant the jacket on you or his dick in your mouth.

        You lifted your mouth and at about half way up, he gripped you hard and thrust back into you, pulling a sharp whine from your throat. “Sorry,” he only half-meant as he guided your head only slightly more gently over his length, trying to move his hips in tandem. You did as you were told, running your tongue around him when you could, your fingers leaving lines down his thighs as he held your against his body.

        He was careful but selfish, disregarding the awkward angle you were in as you were being led up and down his shaft. His vein throbbed as he pulled you from his cock, and you stared at each other, both out of breath and out of practice.

        You licked your lips as drool ran down your chin, wiped away by his thumb. He was drenched in sweat and panting, giving you pleading eyes, but still unsure of what he wanted – “please.”

        “Just hold my hair,” you dismissed him as you took his cock back into your hand. Your tongue dipped into his slit, his knees jerked as he tried to brace himself against the floor of the truck, his hollow moans growing as you continued to swallow him whole. You tried making eye contact with him, but he was beside himself, overstimulated and… afraid?

        Pulling him out, you licked the base of his shaft, wrapping your tongue around his girth. A few gentle kisses were placed against his thigh and cock, each one eliciting a twitch of his lower body, jerking his hips up. As your back ached at the weird angle you sat in, you decided to take this opportunity to lay yourself halfway on top of him, hand gently jerking him as you kissed his neck.

        Laying on your shoulder, hand moving faster, you whispered against his sweaty, reddened skin, “it’s okay, baby. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

        His face contorted into something painful; his jaw tensed and his eyes shut tight. His hand grabbed yours, but you refused to let him hold you. You stopped your movement and he whined, pulsating in your palm. Angling yourself closer to his ear, you pressed a kiss against his temple and with a single, hollowed breath you commanded him – “don’t touch.”

        He swallowed hard, looking towards you for the first time, and in his eyes, you could see him switch from a submissive frustration to just frustration. Before you could blink, he rolled to his shoulder and his hand grabbed your ass hard, pulling you into his chest. He hovered over you as his hand slipped under the band of your pants again and without hesitation, he sunk his fingers back into you.

        The sudden intrusion sent static up your body, and as he fucked you desperately, your body tensed around him, your words getting caught in your throat. You reached for his thighs, and as you dragged him even closer, you got your hand wrapped around him again.

        Shamelessly, you both tried making the other cum first, biting, licking and nipping at the skin you could barely reach. His thumb rubbed your clit haphazardly, failing to keep in tandem with his thrusts or your tugs, but he held an expectant smirk; “give it a break, baby, just give it to me.”

        Spitefully, you bit into his jaw, “you first.”

        He huffed a laugh as he pressed his lips against your cheek, curling his fingers inside you. He moved more intentionally now, but you could feel him strain in your hand; he was getting close.

        The realization excited you, as you had a point to make. You leaned backwards, having most of his body weigh heavily against yours, and you wrapped your free hand around his neck. You felt his blood race through his arteries, and instead of defiance or fear, he leaned into your palm, his forehead resting against yours. He slowly closed his eyes and you took this as compliance, so you increased pressure against his neck.

        His mouth hung open, a moan vibrated under your hand and you felt his warm, steady breath against the lower half of your face. As his breathing grew erratic, his hips jerked with your movements and you kept at your pace.

        “Harder,” was the last thing he said, and you squeezed his neck tighter, feeling him sink further onto you, completely at your will. You cooed praises against his skin, demanding him to give himself to you.

        “Joel,” you called for him, “come on, baby, come for me.”

        As if he were on command, ropes of come shot against your stomach. Your grip on his throat didn’t waver, and you watched as he fell into you, face bathed in sweat and relief. As he tried to catch his breath, you slowly released him from both of your hands, watching his reaction. His fingers lied still inside you for a moment more, attempting to generate the energy he had once before, but failed.

        For some reason, you didn’t mind this outcome. There was something satisfying about watching him writhe below you and finish because you told him to. Your eyes traversed his entire body, taking in everything, planting a kiss at his neck before pushing him to his back.

        His face sweaty, scrunched up, and red, he stared as you pushed your forehead against his. You could feel his pulse running a million beats a second as you held his arm; “your first time,” you asked breathlessly.

        “In a long time,” he smirked, breathing out a laugh against your mouth. For a moment, that was a good enough answer for him, but with a more sorrowed tone, he continued “it’s been so long.”

        He turned his head, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest. Lazily, his hand rubbed your arm as his other hand pinched his nose, undoubtedly regretting everything. Once his hand removed from his face, his eyes scanned every inch of you before his hand cupped your cheek, looking at you with an indiscernible expression.

        He pulled your face into his lips and he kissed your temple, then your jaw and neck, moving your head up to give him space. His soft lips were followed by his prickly beard, making you laugh softly as he tickled. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and pulled him in.

        Suddenly, however, he pulled away, slipping from your arms and retrieving his pants. He made it clear that he was avoiding looking towards you, but still, you giggled at the sight of him pulling his jeans up while laying down, clearly sore from his orgasm, but trying so hard to not look like an idiot. You hoped your response was enough to break him out of his deep-rooted regret, but he stared at you as you watched him; all he could do was shake his head.

        Once his lower half was dressed, he turned his back to you silently, which, if you were being honest, hurt. You buttoned your pants silently and readjusted the blanket, making sure you both were covered. You asked if he wanted his jacket back, but he declined, giving you nothing more than a one word response.

        You lied close behind him, and maybe you were drunk or just desperate, but your arm snaked over his waist and you pulled his back into your body. He didn’t remove you, nor tell you off, so you figured he was okay with the affection. You nuzzled your face between his shoulder blades and for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t need to be wholly inebriated to fall, and stay, asleep.

*

As per status quo, neither of you brought it up.

        You’d woken up to the smell of burning coffee, you shared whatever food you had leftover, and sat in silence. Fortunately for the both of you, this was a one time thing. It couldn’t happen again, for both of your sake.

        Once breakfast was sorted and you felt comfortable enough to start trekking, you did exactly that. The only thing he’d said all morning was ‘Jackson should be just a day or so.’

        Slowly but surely, you walked down the paved road, praying for a miracle. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to make it another day or so walking a million miles in the boot, and the silence had you wondering if you were even worth all this trouble. You couldn’t imagine being anything more than another mouth to feed, another thing to watch over, and worse, you moved at this slow ass pace. Who was this guy and why did he want to save you?

        You looked towards Joel as he walked, clearly moving slower than he was capable to make sure he wasn’t too far ahead of you. You removed your gaze from him and watched the asphalt inching below you. He’d seen nothing of you but you felt you had been exposed. You hated the vulnerability you showed last night, and you hated how easy you fell into it. Wrapping your arm around him felt almost as good as he made you feel – his body heat radiating against you, warming you up better than any blanket ever could. Pushing your face into his back, taking in the scent put you more at ease than any solo drink-a-thon ever did.

        This was a nightmare.

        And what's worse was he liked it just as much, if not more, and he was stone sober, but wanted nothing to do with you after. He was hard to deal with, and as the anxiety crept up as sweat in your palms, you blurted “Joel?”

        “What,” he bit back, already warning you to tread carefully.

        You took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. You had to talk about it, to explain yourself, tell him it couldn’t happen again, and it was a mistake. You were high, and, not to blame anyone, but he was the sober one. He should’ve known better. You should’ve known better.

        “You ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

        His eyebrows twitched, almost as if he didn’t expect such a stupid question, “I have.”

        “It’s nice,” was all you could muster up, “I went a few years back, weirdly enough.”

        “You went there,” he asked with confusion.

        “Yeah, it was this stupid thing.”

        “What thing?”

        You scoffed, feeling red creep up the back of your neck. Now you had to tell him everything.

        “It was just,” you inhaled, “a friend. He, uh, took me there to say goodbye, because I never went and he did, so…”

        “Just to say goodbye,” he repeated.

        “Yeah. Told you it was stupid.”

        He pulled a smirk, “I don’t think it’s stupid it’s just,” he trailed off.

        “Stupid.”

        “Interesting,” he spoke firmly, as if to convince you that saying goodbye to a good friend wasn’t stupid. “This was a few years ago?”

        “Yeah,” you shrugged your heavy backpack on your shoulders, “we became friends after the outbreak, maybe a few years in. We used to travel everywhere, well, the southwest mostly, but we went everywhere together. I think you’d like him.”

        “That so?”

        “Yeah, he was a big ole softie, but a wildly skilled marksman, kinda scary actually. He’s so unassuming, but he carried a lot of grief with him.”

        Joel remained quiet.

        “Every state we went to, we found a little souvenir shop or something, and I’d take key-chains.” You paused a moment to reminisce on the breaking and entering of a handful of shops, poking through the key-chains, laughing and chatting and stealing kisses, “I never got to travel much before the outbreak, so it’s something I wanted to do.”

        He nodded intently, understanding what you felt. You took a few steps before asking him about his post-apocalyptic bucket list.

        He shook his head, “don’t really have one I guess. Just, uh, movin’ on.”

        “There’s nothing you wanna see? Not even with that super complicated relationship you have with a child?”

        He snorted and waited, finding the right words, “she’s young. I don’ wanna keep bringin’ her out of the group, ‘specially for something –“

        “Stupid?”

        He looked at you and sighed, as if in agreement.

        But you continued, “I don’t think it’s stupid. I think she should get to see what she wants. I mean, you’re not a bad bodyguard, I think she’d be fine.”

        “Oh,” he laughed, “I’m sure she could go out on her own and hold it down without me. I just – I don’ want her to.”

        The way he said the closing sentence stirred something in the pit of your stomach. This was much more than a weird relationship between a guy and some random child. This was stronger than you’d thought; not a bond but a connection. He and the child were connected by heartstrings and, clearly, grief; nothing could replace his kid, but she filled a hole left behind. He’d once again become what he was destined to be; a father.

        You took a beat to let his thought simmer, hoping he’d say more, but he didn’t. It was the end for him.

        “Is she into space?”

*

You’d come across a cabin while trekking through the woods.

        It was tiny and smelled like rotting wood and spoiled meat, but it was a roof over your head. About halfway through the woods, though, it began to rain, and as you continued, it poured. You and Joel were drenched to the point you knew your clothes were not going to dry up by tomorrow.

        Interestingly, you’d talked most of the way through, mostly about what to expect in Jackson. He told you they didn’t take too kindly to pill popping alcoholics (your words, not his), but wouldn’t turn you away. You just had to sober up.

        Which was easier said than done.

        You relied heavily on narcotics to keep you sane and sleepy, and now pain-free. You didn’t want to seem like you were addicted, because you weren’t, but he really asserted the disuse of narcotics. He wasn’t sure about marijuana, but that’d be between you and the guy in charge.

        The night was a bit warmer, but not warm enough. You’d noticed Joel walked around like he knew where he was, and watched as he set up a fire in the fireplace.

        The living space was cozy; it was an open floor plan with couches in front of the fireplace, the kitchen was off to the back corner, and two doors – one by the kitchen counter and the front entrance. The ceiling was low and beams bowed, struggling to keep it up. Random trinkets littered the area – paintings, hunting paraphernalia, furs and you’d even poked at an antique sewing machine. You wanted to explore the area, but you needed to get the boot off to let your soggy foot breathe.

        You waddled to the couch but before you could sit, Joel stopped you; “that’s where I’m gonna sleep. You’re wet.”

        “Oh, well you have a change of clothes for me, then,” you asked half sarcastically.

        “Matter of fact, I do,” he led your eyes to a hidden chest under a table in the corner. You listened to the rain fall as he pulled it out and opened it, revealing a bunch of clothes piled inside. He handed you a flannel shirt and jeans that were probably a bit too big and a nondescript nylon bag. You held the bag quizzically, but before you could ask, he interrupted – “it’s uh, under… stuff.”

        “Under stuff?”

        “Yeah, y’know, like socks ‘n… stuff.”

        “Oh,” you pulled, “so like panties.” You drew out your voice playfully and poked his arm, watching his neck go red.

        “Yeah, whatever, just change.”

        You looked around, and he continued, “just go over to that end and don’t face me and I won’t face you.”

        “What if I want you to face me,” you asked satirically and he only responded with a glare. “Jesus, lighten up, you already touched me.”

        You wobbled towards your designated spot and faced the window, watching the rain trickle down the panes. The front and rear doors had some sort of overhang, but it didn’t extend all around, so the windows were being pelted by the summer rain.

        You turned around to make sure Joel wasn’t watching, and found his back was facing you. He’d already gotten his shirt off and you caught his back muscles working achingly slow to get the dry one on. You stared at his smooth but speckled skin as he twisted, his waist looking just as good as it felt. You heard his belt buckle split and his pants dropped, making you whip your face back to the window in a panic. Seeing his soft, chiseled back is one thing, but his bare ass?

        You tried not to laugh as you got undressed, subconsciously wishing he’d make the look over like you did. Part of you wanted him to see all of you, to watch his hands traverse your chest and stomach, watch him kiss down from your chest, between your breasts to your sternum and belly. You didn’t look how you did all those years ago, but you felt that maybe he’d find you attractive. Maybe he’d like you having a bit of weight on your body, tracing stretch marks and sunspots across your skin with his rough fingertip. Kissing you gently against the scars on your body, looking up at you from his lashes.

        But realistically, he’d probably run. You were no spring chicken, and you knew you weren’t really a looker. Your body sagged in places it never used to, the lines in your face made you look rough and angry, and the extra meat only made your bones ache. You caught a glimpse of yourself reflection in the window as you replaced your bra and winced at the sight.

        You rushed to get dressed, now praying he didn’t see you. You’d rather fuck him with all your clothes on forever than have him get even a sight of you. You, however, underestimated how much of a project changing your jeans on were.

        You had to remove the boot in order to take off your jeans, so you decided the best course of action was to sit on the floor and figure it out. You fumbled a bit with your boot, trying to beat the imaginary clock in your head; you couldn’t have him see you. Not like this. Not in this state.

        But once the boot came off, the pain steadily returned, so it was only a matter of time before you felt the torment of a fucked up ankle. You couldn’t wait to get to Jackson and have them cut it off.

        You lied on your back and unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying out of them slowly. They were soaking wet and stubborn, so rolling them down your legs sent pain upwards. You must’ve looked like you were struggling, because above you appeared Joel, “need help?”

        You instinctively pulled your pants up, “no, I got it. Go in your corner.”

        He stared at you and you groaned – “don’t do anything funny.”

        “What, like touch you?”

        Your cheeks burned at the brunt statement and he took notice, offering you what seemed to be a shy apology.

        “Nothing to be sorry about,” you started as you braced on your elbows and watched him pull at your pants, “it’s what happened.”

        “I’m gonna need you to lift your leg, and it’s gonna hurt.”

        You nodded as you did what you were told, quite a change over the past few days. But honestly, you both changed a lot somehow. You felt comfortable with him, and even felt he was familiar, like a lost high school friend you’d find in a random coffee shop on your way to work. You clenched your body as the tight pant leg rolled down your injury. He was as gentle as he could be, and at the very least you were grateful for that. You handed him the pants and he took it in his hand, “you’re not gonna change...” he motioned vaguely.

        You looked down and saw your panties were drenched and probably permanently out of commission, considering the few days you’ve had. You looked at him and he looked back, unsure of the next move. “Don’t look,” was all you said.

        He silently turned himself on his heel and faced the wall in front of you. You struggled a bit to get them off, but you did and hid them under your pile of wet clothes. You returned to your back and slipped both legs through the fresh pair and pulled them up. Just as your head poked up you caught his wandering eyes flick away towards the wall. You hit his side, “pervert.”

        “Can you put your pants on already?”

        “You have them.”

        “Can I turn?”

        “You already did.”

        He turned to face you and without another word, he guided your legs through, being extra careful with your injury. You stared daggers at him and submissively, his eyes focused on your pants. His expansive hands dragged the pants up, his palms smoothing the jeans as they settled. He pulled up until the band reached a few inches under your hips. He needed you to lift yourself up, but he didn’t speak, only giving you a questioning look.

        You could feel your heartbeat against your rib cage as he stayed motionless, as if he short-circuited. His gaze slowly met yours, eyes trailing up your body, drinking every inch of you. Your breathing hitched as the rain lashed against the wood. Suddenly, you could smell the firewood burn, and your senses became overwhelmed one by one, until a single touch ripped you from your inner monologue.

        Exactly three fingers, just the tips of them, met your soft inner thigh. You could feel your head explode as they painfully trailed upwards, just grazing slightly over your flesh. Bumps rose all over your body and you could feel and hear the blood rush through your ears. If intoxicated fucking was a bad idea, sober touching was unthinkable.

        His eyes never left yours, but the way they stared into you changed. He was asking for permission, and apparently your eyes gave him the right of way; your hands certainly didn’t swat him away.

        His fingers crept at the edge of your panties, right where it began to curve inwards of your thighs. Your mouth opened slightly, wanting to vocalize what you knew you had to say, but couldn’t. Instead, you gasped as his fingers softly dragged over the fabric, finding exactly what he was looking for. His touch was too gentle to get off on, but his intense concentration and obedient demeanor made your stomach knot. When his hand turned upwards as he angled his fingers to trace the line of your core, your hand reached for his and you pulled him from between your legs, but he leveraged himself in your grasp to hold the back of your head as he crawled on top of you, putting you on your back. Your legs spread to accommodate his figure, back arching into his body as his nose trailed up your neck, taking in your scent.

        “Joel.”

        You weren’t sure what you wanted from him, but you needed him to get off, to pull your pants all the way up and leave you alone. You needed him to be mean and irritable, make you hate him and question why he dragged you along. You didn’t want this, and you knew it, but he needed to know it.

        But goddamn if his teeth didn’t feel amazing nibbling against your jaw.

        His hand continued to rub you through the fabric of your panties, and your hips rolled with his motion, a sad attempt at getting more friction. His breath was heavy against your skin as he tugged at your skin with your lips, his voice rumbling from his throat as he moaned.

        Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into your embrace. Your tongue licked his neck, tasting the rain, sweat and dirt from the past few days. His head pushed against yours, eyes drunk with need, lips barely grazing yours. It looked to be painful for him not to force his lips onto yours, and for a moment you could feel the pain within yourself, but when you heard him unbuckle his belt –

        “Joel,” this time came out sternly enough to knock some sense into him.

        There was two ways to play this; the first is blame him for everything and tell him you felt coerced (y’know, lie), or be honest.

        “We can’t.”

        He looked at you for a moment before nodding and bowing his head, “right”. He slowly rose from your body and you pulled your pants up awkwardly, missing the loss of weight from your chest. Without bothering to look at you again, he cleared his throat and left.

        You put your boot back on in silence and hobbled towards your designated sleeping couch. He was already lying on his and faced the cushions, his back to you, which somehow made you feel embarrassed. You’ll talk with him about it tomorrow, but for now, you needed a drink.

        You set up your sleeping stuff and limped towards the kitchen. You went through the cabinets, shelving, and even inside the fridge and stove to try to find something to fuck you up. Even if it was just isopropyl alcohol.

        Joel mumbled something from his couch.

        “You say something?”

        “No booze.”

        Your arms dropped in disappointment and you walked back to your couch, “you got nothing?”

        “No.”

        “Fuck,” you sighed, unsure how you were going to sleep. You decided to rummage through your bag and take out the baggie of weed. It was an absolute last resort, as nothing could beat the high and drowsiness of a prescription, but it’d have to do.

        You pulled the pipe from your bag and began prepping. You didn’t have a lighter, but you did have matches and, despite being wet, they worked just fine. You took a long, deep pull and took it into your lungs, feeling the smoke wrap around your soul. You took another deep pull and held it in this time before letting it go. On the third blow, Joel shot up from the couch and looked at you, pissed – “you’re smoking weed? Now?”

        “How else am I gonna sleep,” you replied, slowly sinking into the couch.

        “Jesus,” he mumbled and rolled back into his cushions, “smoke it outside.”

        You rolled your eyes and got up. On your way towards the door, you mumbled “you’re just mad because I didn’t let you fuck me.”

        He didn’t respond, and you ventured to the back door.

        The rain managed to get worse. For a moment you could swear the rain was going to bore holes into the roof of the cabin. Your eyes stared into the dark abyss of the trees until it started to creep you out. A flash lit up the top of the treeline and the loud boom made you jump and yelp. You rushed back inside.

        You took a final few pulls and put the pipe on the counter, your brain good and fully fried.

        You limped cautiously towards your couch and sat, letting the high wash over you.

        Your body became warm and your head light and fuzzy. You lied on your back and closed your eyes, the blackness waving back and forth behind your eyelids. You opened them up to focus, but the swishing of the blackness made you nauseous, so you opted to stay awake until your body shut down.

        The pain in your leg subsided, but you felt like you weighed a million pounds. You swore the couch began to swallow you up as you lied still, staring at the ceiling. Your body twitched periodically and you could feel your mouth dry up, but you were comfortable, albeit maybe a bit too high.

        You heard shifting from Joel, so you tilted your heavy head to face him. You’d seen him get up and disappear in the darkness of the cabin. The strike of a match made you jump, it sounding as though it were being lit right next to your ear. You craned your neck to look over the armrest and you saw the glow of your bowl over Joel’s lower half of his face.

        You stared in awe for a moment, wondering if it were really him. You blinked and he was gone.

        Your eyes looked back to his couch; he sat, knees spread, head dropped on the back of the cushion. He was slouched, his hips against the edge of the seat.

        You blinked slowly at him, unsure of what was happening. His eyes opened and turned to you, and through drooping eyes he stared.

        Your stomach turned as the warm feeling started to sink. Instinctively, your hand pushed against your lower stomach to relieve the pressure, but that seemed to invite him. Before you could even comprehend it, you were sitting up, slouching into the couch, just as he had been seconds ago, mimicking his posture.

        Your knees were pushed in together as Joel clumsily pulled your jeans from your hips. Down once again, his rough palms cupped your knees. He planted a kiss at both, his soft lips leading the prickle of his mustache. Your fingers ran through his greasy hair, stretching and straightening his curls, which were unbelievably soft, considering the state he was in.

        His tired eyes closed as his mouth planted kisses up your thighs. Your breathing hastened as he came closer to your wet cunt, his soft tongue licking up your scarred skin.

        He pushed his lips against your stomach, right below your bellybutton, and again below that, and again until his teeth pulled at the fabric.

        With the band of your panties in his mouth, he looked up at you.

        You tugged at his hair, both pulling and pushing his head away. He moaned at the sting of his scalp, making it even harder to really push him away.

        “Please”, he looked up at you through his long lashes, his fingers kneading your thighs.

        This was fucked.

Chapter Text

          You woke up with a pounding headache.

          Your back ached as you rose painfully from the lumpy couch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You scanned the room; blinding, sharp rays flowed through the thin glass of the window panes. You guessed it was just after sunrise, maybe even earlier, but Joel wasn’t awake yet.

          He was curled up inside of the couch, his shoulder slowly rising with each breath. You looked at your pants, which were still on, buttoned and seemingly untouched.

          But you knew.

          You watched him for a moment, then back at yourself. You couldn’t remember much from last night, not yet at least. You recalled him sitting between your knees, eyes wide, begging to eat you out. You remembered how soft his curls were between your fingertips, how his hollow, warm breath brushed against every hair on your leg. You could still hear his muffled whimpers with every yank and shove.

          Fuck.

          You stood up slowly, making sure you were steady enough, and wobbled towards his bag to make coffee. The opportunity to poke through his belongings presented itself, the moka pot being buried underneath everything.

          Or at least that’s what you were going to tell him if he caught you.

          There wasn’t much of anything interesting; maps of Utah and Wyoming with scrawling of red and black ink, an empty flask, a bottle of water, a small gas camp flame, a thermos, a notebook, and a pen. The moka pot you put on the counter and started to thumb through the notebook.

          You found it had been regularly carried, the leather bound being weathered and worn, and the pages were slightly yellowed. There were incoherent paragraphs - thoughts mostly, but a few lists scattered. A few pages in, there were dates, times, and one sentence notes; it read like a log book, but you couldn’t find for what. The last entry was a few days ago, around late afternoon;

          Quack: D. – C

          Phobos: M

          Zippo: D. - Richard

          You stared at the entry, acknowledging Joel’s, slightly uncharacteristic, but beautiful penmanship before deciding what he wrote wasn’t important enough for you to solve and you returned it to the bottom his backpack. You decided to prep the pot and look at the bag itself.

          It was at least a decade old, and seemed to have been given inside a QZ from the officers. It had a tattered, faded logo and some scribbles over it with sharpie. Most of it was nondescript and too dissolved with age and rain to read, but the strap still read boldly “DONT DIE” and a smiley face on the other. Holes were either patched with duct tape or unskillfully sewn shut. One of the zippers broke long ago and was stained with dark brown spots. Under the flap covering the zipper you noticed a black marking, so you flipped it and it read “Dina was here”.

          Cute.

          The pot overflowed and the handle started to melt. Burning your hand once again, you removed it from the heat and dropped it against the counter, hot coffee splashing everywhere. Cursing, you shook your hand, wiping the hot coffee onto your flannel before using the sleeve to wrap around the melted handle and pour the coffee into the thermos. The pot clinked on the counter and you stared at the mud in the thermos, deciding it was good enough.

          The commotion must’ve woken him up because Joel’s arms stretched high as his back arched forward, groaning as he woke up every muscle in his body. After selfishly taking in his sight, you offered a soft “mornin’”.

          He mumbled in return.

          “Not a weed guy, huh?”

          “What?”

          “Weed,” you reiterated, “can’t bounce back?”

          He looked over his shoulder at you, “what’re you talkin’ about?”

          Confusion slipped in as you stared back at him, “you were smoking it last night.”

          “No, I wasn'.”

          You finally noticed your pipe, still exactly where you left it on the counter last night. It looked as though it hadn’t been touched, and the bowl was filled with charred grass. You looked back at him suspiciously and he stared back, giving you a condemnatory “jesus.”

          “I –“ you started to defend yourself, “are you fucking with me?”

          “Does it sound like I’m fuckin’ with you?”

          You blinked, “I made coffee. It’s fantastic.”

          He rolled his eyes and stood up, bones cracking as he rose. You packed away your pipe, thinking there was no way he wasn’t nose deep between your legs last night.

          After breakfast concluded, you both marched outside and trudged through the wet ground and grass to get back on the path. On your way to, you questioned him about the cabin.

          “I just knew where it was,” was all he offered, but that wasn’t good enough.

          “Yeah, but did you know because you put it there? Or did you kill some sorry bastard for it?”

          “You really want the answer to that,” he looked in your direction, and this conversation didn’t feel as important anymore.

          The weather was gorgeous: a light breeze, bright sun, and clear skies. You missed these days.

          Living in Utah was nice; the climate was pretty standard stuff, like snowy winters and hot summers. But these few rare summer days where the earth is cool is what you missed the most about New York.

          The city’s weather could be a bit unbalanced some years, but that only meant all four seasons offered this kind of day. Chilly days like these were uncommon, but you remembered you’d grab your favorite hoodie and wander through the neighborhood, making your way to your local coffee spot. You always took your coffee plain, cream and sugar, but from time to time you’d switch it up and get what your husband called a “sugar bomb”, which was just a coffee with a sweetened flavor added. You’d sit on your fire escape sometimes, watching the city rush by as you read a book or just listened to music and got high. You loved people watching, and your neighborhood always had some interesting characters to follow.

          You’d kill for a latte.

          The past never really came up for you, and you’d learned it was a waste of time thinking about it, but today felt different. Your eyes burned and the bag you carried finally weighed you down. Suddenly, you felt a wave of heat wash over you and a sweat broke through your skin.

          You rubbed the back of your neck, hoping it was just the sun beating down on you and maybe lack of real food. You took a deep breath to ease the nausea growing, slowing down a step behind him. You didn’t want another reason for him to be annoyed by you, so you tried to push forward as if you didn’t feel faint. You watched as he continued on, not noticing your change in demeanor.

          Your palms grew clammy as the day went on, and your arm twitched as you held your backpack strap, the weight seemingly pulling you into the earth. You swore it’d been three hours, but as you looked around, you realized you’d only covered about a couple hundred yards. You let out a sigh in an attempt to relieve discomfort, but that made him take notice, “you okay?”

          “Huh,” you tried to play it cool, “yeah, why?”

          He turned to you without stopping, and you must’ve shown the symptoms in your face because his expression turned to concern, “are you okay?”

          “Yeah, why?”

          He paused. Fuck.

          He took a step towards you and you stepped back, “Joel, I’m fine.”

          “You’re sick –“

          “Joel,” you raised your voice and he looked at you with skepticism with a hint of bewilderment, unexpectant of your sudden outburst. You took your attitude back a hair, “I’m fine, Joel, I just want to get there.”

          “You don’ look like you’ll make it another mile.”

          You put your hands on your hips, feeling your legs begin to shake, “Joel, I’m –“

          You felt winded as you spoke, unable to catch your breath as if you'd hiked a mountain. You felt his hand take your waist as you motioned vaguely, trying to continue your thought. He held you against his body and stared as you continued. Finally, a word escaped your lips in a single breath – “fine” – as you fell into him, falling unconscious.

*

It happened too fast.

          A quick trade gone awry because they wanted more than what you were willing to give.

          You could feel their palms force into your wrists, your hands going numb from the cut of circulation, the pins and needles never going away, even after the years had passed. Even unconscious, the pain felt just as it did all those years ago. You lied there and took it, hoping it’d hurt less. It didn’t, but you hoped it made it go by faster.

          It didn’t.

          What really broke you out into a sweat was the bite. He damn near took a chunk off your waist, blood pooling under you, dousing your sweaty skin in sticky warmth. He laughed as you writhed in pain.

          They all laughed.

          But the misery didn’t end there. Your face lied inches from a flame, feeling your skin melt from your skull. Your stomach turned as he forced himself into your soul; the pain pulsating through your entire body until…

          You pried your eyes open.

          They felt like they weighed a hundred pounds a piece, threatening to sink into your brain as you stared forward. Your breathing shuddered and your body shook as you curled up against what you assumed was a jacket. You took in the smell of leather and dirt, rolling to your hands and knees, your stomach on the verge of heaving and engulfed in heat.

          You took a beat to try to catch your breath, focusing on nothing but that. You had no idea where you were, or what time it was, but it was dark and the source of the heat you felt was from a small fire that flickered beside you. You didn’t know how long you’d been out or why, but your heart raced and your hands shook.

          Where was he taking you? Why was he taking you? Who was this guy he was taking you to and why did he want you?

          Why did he want you?

          You felt for the knife tucked under the jacket; it must’ve fell from a pocket. Hot and fearful tears ran down your cheeks, and for the first time, you heard him – “take it easy, you’re still…”

          He trailed off as his hand reached for you, and as quick as a bullet, you swung your arm around and clipped his hand with the blade. He cursed and took his hand away, blood pouring from his wound – “fuck!”

          You shakily held the knife at him, finally on your feet. You wobbled with both anxiety and anger, demanding answers from him.

          “Look, I already told you –“

          “Motherfucker,” your voice threatened to quiver as you commanded him. You were slowly losing your grip as the tension grew. You watched every twitch in his face, preparing for him to launch himself at you, to pull his gun and clock you in the knee. What was stopping him from just completely incapacitating you and assault you?

          You couldn’t help but to sob at the thought.

          He raised his arms, “look, I don’ know what to tell you. Can you just,” he motioned towards the jacket, now painted with his blood, “sit?”

          You shook your head, “I can’t. You have to,” you took a deep breath, the exhale being harder than the inhale, “just…” You trailed off, hoping it was enough.

          He swallowed hard, still holding his palm, “can I?” He lifted his hand sheepishly and you allowed him to fix it.

          You watched him carefully as he dressed his wound, pouring a little water onto the cut, which looked like it absolutely needed stitches, and wrapped it with fabric. He remained seated, and wordlessly gestured for you to sit, and you hesitated before doing so.

          Your anxiety started to diminish as you both leered at each other in silence. He shrugged, “what do you want?”

          “Where are you taking me?”

          “I told you – “

          “Where?”

          “Jackson City.”

          “How far is it?”

          He balled his uninjured hand, “I dunno, won’ get there tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”

          “Why are you taking me there?”

          “Because you need medical –“

          “Bullshit,” you interrupted, “don’t make me ask you again.”

          “That’s the truth,” he declared unrelenting, “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

          You narrowed your eyes, challenging him, and he stayed firm, and you moved on.

          “Who’s your leader?”

          He scoffed, “he’s not really my leader.”

          “But you said –“

          “I know what I said,” he rolled his eyes, his thumb massaging around the wound, “Jackson ain’t like that.”

          “Then what's it like?” Your voice softened as your perturbation disappeared and your heart paced steadier. You remained uneasy, but Joel’s compliance proved remedying.

          He took a deep breath, looking towards the fire before making eye contact with you. His rugged features fully illuminated by the light, you could see the bags under his eyes. You realized he was well past fatigued - he was damn near debilitated, and you cut open his good hand, his shooting hand. Remorse flooded your stomach.

          “Look,” he began, “it’s a lot. It’s not a group, but more of, uh, community. There’s a bunch of people, buildings, electricity. Self sufficient.”

          You shifted where you sat, taking in everything he had given you. It’s quite different than how you imagined; it was better. “There’s kids?”

          He nodded, “a few.”

          You thought about your next question carefully. You knew if you asked about the little girl he was with, it really would be half a chance he would tell you, and you couldn’t blame him either. Besides, why would you need to know about her, anyway? Why did you need to know whether she was like a daughter to him or not? He’d be crazy to tell you either way, but you thought if you knew what their relationship was like, maybe he was safe; “what’s her name?”

          He blinked before rejected the question silently, but you insisted.

          “You don’t need to know her name.”

          “Is she like…” you tried to make an implication, but judging by his confused face, you re-framed it, “are you guys, like –“

          “Jesus christ,” his face winced in disgust, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

          “A grown man living with a little girl in some, community, and she's not related to him?”

          “Fuck,” he rubbed his face with his hand, “no, it’s not like that. It’s complicated, but not like that.”

          “So like what?”

          He stared daggers at you, still disgusted by the suggestion, “she’s…”

          You waited.

          He rubbed the back of his neck, “she's like a, uh, niece, to me.”

          His response was sheepish, as if he didn’t want to admit it. You nodded satisfactorily, much to his disdain, “okay.”

          “Great.” His tone was sarcastic and blunt.

          You took a few moments before blurting out, “I need my bag.”

          “What, for your weed?”

          “Yes.”

          “No.”

          You responded indignantly, “why?”

          “You need to be sober. They won’t take you if you’re –“

          “A junkie?”

          He stared at you as if he were agreeing, which pissed you off even more; “fuck you.”

          “Listen to me,” his voice unforgiving, “I’m doing you a goddamn favor.“

          “I didn’t ask for this.”

          “I didn’t either!”

          The confession pushed you back a bit, and it seemed to have had the same effect on him. You both sat in silence, letting it settle in the air.

          Deciding enough settling occurred, you stood up and pounded towards him, your face fuming with anger, fear, and embarrassment. He stood up to challenge you and you reached for his bag. He shoved you away from it harshly, his large hand forcing you from your chest, and you pulled your knife out.

          His face dropped from anger to appalled, offended at your display. His change in expression hit yours like a brick. Your hand shook and the knife wavered pathetically in front of him.

          “You gonna stab me –“

          “Joel,” was the only was you could plead.

          “For weed.”

          Your eyes burned as you returned to Earth, realizing what you were doing. You couldn’t help but to stand your ground, despite knowing you were a bastard.

          He took a heavy step towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. His eyes burned right through you as he grated through his teeth, “do it.”

          You stared at him.

          He took another step towards you, your bodies now sharing the energy. You looked up at him horrified as he yelled “do it!”

          The sudden outburst made you drop your knife, to which his only response was a scoff and a disappointed head shake. All you could do was stare as he turned his back towards you, bag in hand, and sat back down. You closed your eyes as the tears poured down your cheeks, now with humiliation. You grabbed your knife and you sauntered back to your spot on the opposite end.

          You lied down and turned your back towards him silently, covertly wiping the tears from your face. A few moments later, you heard him rummage through his bag, then a tap against your back and a crinkle of plastic.

          He threw the fucking pipe at you.

          Your palms started to itch as you considered taking it. You wanted to just turn around and sulkily take the fucking bag and smoke the fucking grass like the junkie you were. However, you had to prove a point for pride’s sake, but god you wished you weren’t so arrogant, “fuck you.”

          You decided to try to sleep without it. You knew you couldn’t, but he couldn’t be right, and even if he was, you couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

          The least you could do was meditate, so you tried doing just that. You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing; you never meditated before, but you couldn't get high tonight so you might as well try.

          You heard the trees rustle in the night breeze. The air wasn’t too cold, not like last night (or whenever that night was, you still weren’t sure how long you were out). You pinpointed on the sounds around you one by one – leaves, fire, breath, leaves, fire, breath, leaves, fire, breath, thud.

          You tried to ignore Joel’s movements and repeated your survey. Leaves, fire, breath, leaves, fire, crunch, breath, leaves, thunk, fire, thermos, breath, plastic –

          “Fuck, Joel.“

          You looked over your shoulder and directly behind you was Joel. He was on his knees, his body hovering and eyes looking down on you. You couldn’t make his expression, but he broke the silence, “it’s gonna be cold tonight, take this.”

          He tossed the blanket from the truck on top of you, and reluctantly you pulled it over yourself, facing away from him again, “you don’t have to be a fucking weirdo about it, y’know.”

          You heard him remove himself from your space and you tried again. The fire was the first thing back in your wavelength, then the leaves. You snuggled your head under the blanket and continued – breath, fire, leaves.

          Fuck.

          You were never going to get it, and you certainly were never going to be able to sleep. You sighed and opened your eyes again, staring into the dark woods. You could feel the warmth of the fire, but soon you know it’d be gone.

          You pushed your face into his jacket below you, his smell imperceptible. His jacket carried the earth and now you. Your lips parted as you tried to take in the last bit of him, whatever you can manage. You don’t know why, but you figured it might help, as it did before.

          There was something so comforting in him.

          You had never felt so reassured, so safe, in years, and yet you still couldn’t fucking sleep. He was an asshole, he was coarse and unmanageable at times; he was also reserved to his own detriment.

          You curled up, knees tight against your chest. The blanket still wasn’t nearly as warm, but the fire helped. Since you couldn’t hear the sounds you wanted, you tried to hone in on what Joel was doing in the meantime.

          You tried to focus on him, his breath, his movements, his friendship bracelet, but you heard nothing. He’d vanished in thin air from the sound of it. You lifted your head inconspicuously, turning your face to look over your shoulder. You found that he was still sitting exactly where he was earlier, except his head was bowed. His fingers delicately turned the beads on his bracelet, looking pensively at the colorful binding.

          You could see his heart ache through his eyes. His brows turned as the letters rotated between his fingers, his mouth sullen. What was supposed to be a day trip became a week long venture, and she was probably just as worried about him as he was for her.

          You turned your whole body to face him, your vision halved due to the dying fire. You got comfortable as you continued to watch him, the guilt finally settling in. “Joel?”

          He didn’t pay you any mind, still hyper-focused on the bracelet, “Joel.”

          As if he’d gone deaf, you’d called out his name louder – “Joel!”

          Your sudden intrusion made him jump, and he looked towards you in response.

          You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck at the back of your throat. You swallowed hard as you stared back at him, hoping you were giving him a blank expression, but his demeanor said otherwise. You closed your eyes, “I’m sorry.”

          You opened your eyes and you’d seen he continued to watch you, probably contemplating what he was going to say. Your heart didn’t rush, but you felt the blood throb in your veins. Both of you seemed in tandem, allowing the statement to sit in the still winds.

          You could tell he was a bit taken aback by this, not expecting a quick relapse, but he nodded in acknowledgement.

          You scanned whatever you could see, his chest and his face mostly. You took note of his calm breathing, his soft, brown eyes doing nothing but seeping under your skin, warming your flesh hotter than any fire or scratchy blanket ever could. His tired face weary now, he blinked away, “get some sleep, we gotta get up early tomorrow.”

          “What about you?”

          You weren’t sure where you were going with this, as you didn’t particularly care too much about how many hours this guy got every night. It just seemed like a necessary question to ask, though putting it out there made your stomach feel queasy.

          “What about me?”

          “You gotta sleep too.”

          “I will.”

          “Tonight.”

          “Why do you care?”

          You shrugged, “I just do.”

          The silence made you nauseous so you thought it’d be best to fill the silence, “you gotta get me to Jackson. Can’t do that if you’re tired.”

          “Hmm.”

          Your eyes never left his body until you decided you should just try to get some sleep. There’s no point in both of you being tired.

          You rolled over and curled up even tighter, hoping you’d generate enough warmth to get through the night. As a shiver ran up your spine as you realized Joel didn’t even have a jacket on. You looked towards the jacket below you and thought it was stupid to be sleeping on it anyway. Without turning, you spoke, “you can come take your jacket.”

          “I don’t need it.”

          “It’s fucking freezing.”

          “So put it on.”

          You knew that was not what he was getting at, but the memory of him telling you that you looked good in his jacket, the same one you’re sleeping on, sent a roll in your stomach.

          “Joel, stop being an asshole and just take it.”

          “If it’s botherin’ you so bad why don’ you just get over here and give it to me.”

          “Ugh,” you rolled up, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you took the bait. You stepped towards him and shoved the jacket in front of him. He stayed seated in the dirt, looking up at you.

          You felt the heat sink from your chest to your stomach as he took the jacket without breaking eye contact. You swallowed and gave him a half nod, signaling this issue resolved.

          Before you could turn completely, he took your wrist with haste, but not desperation, and you turned to see him, wide eyed and focused. He tilted his head, his brows cocked slightly as he motioned for you to sit with him, which you hesitated in doing.

          His eyes scanned your entire body, “you’re freezing.“

          “Joel – “

          “Put the jacket on.” It wasn’t a request, but you still declined. His hand slowly reached further up your limb, his fingers wrapping around your forearm with the faintest bit of force, “please.”

          His supplication was something you couldn’t ignore. His face was softer when he begged, as if he was at your mercy, and his change in features woke something dormant in you, something you couldn’t help but indulge in, despite knowing the repercussions.

          It wasn’t that strange of a request, but you tread carefully, as you both were fully sober. The blanket fell from your shoulders and you wrapped it around him. You slipped your arms in his large jacket, a huff of his old cologne pushed into your face as you zipped it up, “happy?”

          He nodded and motioned for you to return to your sleep, but you stood unmoving in front of him, fingernails clawing into your palms. Your breath hitched as you suggested that he was cold, “I reckon you still need something to warm you up.”

          His eyes moved slowly this time across your body, evaluating the underlined proposal before him, “I reckon I do.”

          With utmost care, you dropped to your knees and slowly inched towards him, crawling across the dirt. He leaned onto his back as he watched you hover over and on top of him. His nervous breathing wasn’t unseen to you, and neither were his awkward hands that didn’t know where to go as your face met his. His always stoic face now trembling, either at the sight of you or the realization of the situation. Regardless, his hands firmly gripped your thighs, so sure of himself he was now.

          You could tell it’d been years since he had a woman on top of him, and you almost felt sorry for him; a whole community and zero action? Your eyes ran across his face, taking in every line, scar, and imperfection. Your fingers traced over his cheekbones, and trailed over the curve of his nose. Your hips stationary against his, you leaned towards his neck and spoke softly, “you didn’t even apologize,” before planting the faintest kiss.

          You watched as his neck bobbed at the statement, knowing that, sure, he didn’t deserve your weight on top of him, even if it was strictly for survival.

          “I know,” was all he managed before his arms wrapped around your body, holding you tight against himself.

          His warmth, you rationalized, was worth more than a half-assed apology that he probably wouldn’t even mean, and so you accepted this. You accepted him wrapping himself around you before rolling you onto your back, where he stayed wrapped and heavy. He didn’t say anything else, only nuzzled his face into your neck as you shared your heat. You could tell this wasn’t erotic for him, but therapeutic, like he needed to be protecting something.

          Your fingers curled into his hair and gently scratched his scalp, trying to ignore his hums as you settled into the ground. You fixed the blanket on top and closed your eyes, feeling sheltered at last. You conspicuously took in the scent from his neck, attempting to get drunk off his musk. It took everything in your power not to lick the protruding vein from his neck. He laid limp on you, and you needed him to stay limp. You weren’t ready for what he wanted to give you, much less for what you wanted to take, and the thought of being so vulnerable with someone made your skin crawl.

          This will have to do.

*

You didn’t think your hushed hikes could get any quieter. But they did.

          You woke with him already making coffee, handing you something to eat. Like always, neither of you said anything about anything, but the day felt better nonetheless. You didn’t feel anxious or upset at the displays of last night, though you still felt ashamed of your performance. Stabbing a guy who sort of chose to take you to get medical help because you wanted to smoke pot? Real classy.

          But, like every other morning, you’d gotten up and pushed on. You weren’t sure why you passed out, and the odds of him knowing were damn near none, so you hoped this doctor you’re gonna see had the faintest of ideas. You also hoped this doctor was able to help your ankle; you weren’t too keen on cutting it off anymore.

          The environment, though, seemed soothed, as if the battle between you two last night rang peace throughout. He still seemed to be on edge, as he did walk a few steps ahead of you; a new development. You watched as his long legs and aching knees tackled the uneven and hilly land like he had a vendetta. Not once for the first few hours did he break, much to your own detriment.

          You were able to walk fine, your foot still hurt but not as much, and the boot was clunky and awkward, making traction on these uneven surfaces hard. You decided to speak with him about it when he decided it’d been long and far enough for a break, which seemed like ages.

          The closer you’d gotten, the further into desolate and uncharted territory you’d gone. The weather started to change, but nothing you couldn’t handle. And the closer you’d gotten to this hidden settlement, the earth’s scent thread through your nose. The muddy aroma mixed with the sparse grass reminded you of those Kentucky nights, lost in some small town foraging some poor bastards farmland. Time really does pass you by.

          You looked up at the gray skies, studying the matte colors, determining how much time you had left before another downpour. You looked towards him, who seemed to be doing the same, and broke the barrier, “when should we stop?”

          He didn’t respond.

          “Joel?”

          “I heard you.”

          “So you’re choosing to ignore me?”

          “I’m choosing to focus on getting there in one piece within a day or so.”

          You shrugged and continued, not bothering to entertain it. On the bright side, once you get to Jackson, you’ll find your radio gentleman and maybe he’ll whisk you away and ride off into the sunset. You started to wonder what he was up to.

          He was probably carving his little wooden figures on his porch. You wondered if he’d thought about you at all these past few days. Maybe he missed your voice. Maybe he couldn’t sleep anymore, and he beeped for you every night, hoping one evening you’d answer.

          Maybe Joel knew who he was.

          You felt inclined to ask him, but you’d have to really convince him to tell you anything that wasn’t necessary for survival. You’d phrase it like you were going to get away from him forever, leave him be and never have to see him if that’s what he wanted. Really hone in on the ‘I really like this guy, you don’t like me much, so it’s a win-win’ thing.

          But what if he did like you?

          What if the reason Joel engulfed you with his body, buried you in the deep recesses of his chest, was because he liked you? You looked at him once again, determining that he was just lonely, and you were probably the only pretty woman he’d seen in ages, so you ruled out the romance. You snorted at the idea and pushed it away for another day.

          You walked a few paces ahead to match him, to which he responded with a side eyed look. You looked ahead, trying to avoid eye contact, “can I ask you about someone?”

          “No.”

          “Who’s the guy on the radio?”

          He glanced at you quickly before looking back ahead, “there’s a few.”

          “He’s the one who told me what to get. We’d speak maybe a few times a week, but when I got a handwritten list from him, he seemed to add other stuff.”

          He grunted.

          “Does that sound familiar? Does that sound like anyone you know?”

          “Could be anyone.”

          You nodded thoughtfully, duh, “he carves wood.”

          He looked at you with a ting of confusion, “he carves wood?”

          “Yeah,” you felt the excitement rise in your chest, realizing that maybe he did know him, “and –“

          You decided not to tell him about the late night conversations. What if Joel was his boss or something? You didn’t want to rat anyone out, especially for something so silly and borderline embarrassing, so you added that he liked listening to you read.

          Joel looked at you long and hard, as if trying to decipher a code within your asking. He looked ahead, “what would you read to him?”

          His tone implied he was mocking you, and you grew self-conscious. Your face grew hot as you spoke, “whatever.”

          “What? I’m curious.”

          “Fuck off,” you nudged him and he laughed.

          “I was just curious to know what he liked.”

          You peered at him and he could only look back. You sighed and rubbed your neck awkwardly, “it wasn’t what I read that he liked.”

          “So… what? He liked your voice or somethin’?”

          You stayed quiet, knowing he was going to be an asshole about it, but instead he only nodded.

          There were a few minutes of complete silence, where both of you just focused on walking. From the corner of your eye, you could see his mouth fix to say something, but didn’t, so you coaxed it out of him; “what?”

          “I didn’t say anything.”

          “But you want to.”

          He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it for a moment. He bowed his head, staring at the grassy trail, “you’re gonna be mad at me if I ask.”

          “I can’t be any more upset with you than last night.”

          He let out a loud ‘ha’ before chuckling about it, “yeah, you were downright crazy.” He faced you wordlessly, still smirking, “I was just gonna say it sounded like you, y’know,” he trailed off.

          “What?”

          “You gonna make me ask you?”

          “You’re the one who wants to know.”

          He huffed, “sounds like you like the guy.”

          Your eyes widened at the interest, “ooh, nosy.”

          You playfully slapped his shoulder and he brushed you off, “yeah, yeah. I’m only askin’ to see if I gotta let you down gently before we get there.”

          You actually stopped walking and looked forward, mouth gaping as the suggestion knocked the wind out of you. You didn’t once even consider if your radio guy was even single. He stopped walking, having a few steps’ lead on you, and turned to you with an indiscernible expression.

          You were horrified as you stared back at him, silently asking him the question you were too embarrassed to pose. He broke contact as he looked around the woods, hands on his hips. “Look,” he began, “Let’s just get a move on before it gets dark, ‘kay?”

          You nodded, but you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The sheer – and extremely visible – embarrassment felt nightmarish, and all of this was happening with a guy who could barely stand you sober.

          What a day.

          The spot you’d found for the night was in the hollow of a hillside.

          The rain was gentle, and the hollow was deep enough to escape the weather, but there wasn’t much extra room. You two were going to be in very close proximity tonight, whether you wanted to be or not.

          The temperature didn’t drop significantly like it did last night, so you decided to sit on the blanket and smoke a little bit while he was off doing whatever it was he did when he left for a period of time.

          You noticed that with extended periods of time without your pills or alcohol, you felt gravely ill. You felt like you were going to die without them, so you weren’t going to have a discussion like the previous night. You were smoking, and he couldn’t stop you, it’s just you only smoked it when he fucked off for a piss.

          You crammed yourself deeper into the recess, sifting through your bag to forget him and the status of your radio boyfriend. You pulled out a keychain you’d gotten from Texas with the firefly guy you were with. You wondered if he was okay, and if he ever made it to wherever the fuck the was going.

          You didn’t notice Joel come back, so his sudden appearance beside you made you instinctively try to shove the keychain back into the bag.

          He looked, “‘s that Texas?”

          awkwardly, you showed it to him, “went with a guy down there. He wanted to see his house or something.”

          “Hmm,” was all he said as he took it, glanced at it for a few moments, and handed it back to you without comment. You silently thanked him for it.

          You both sat shoulder to shoulder as you carefully put it back into your bag. Upon sitting back, he leaned towards you, “we gotta get up early tomorrow. We have about a five hour hike, I wanna get there as soon as possible.”

          You nodded, “okay.” You stared at the dancing flames as you reflected on the past few days. You started off the week by killing a paralyzed young man, meeting this asshole who you ended up injuring, but only after having his dick in your mouth in some truck you’d found by chance. The very blanket you sat on hid you from that night’s iniquities, and now you’re getting high a night before joining a group you’ve never heard of with a guy who doesn’t even respect you that much.

          As your weight sunk into the earth and your head was engulfed in that familiar, but sleep inducing, warmth, your mouth began to ask questions you weren’t sure you wanted answered, “what’s your deal?”

          “‘S’cuse me?”

          “With me,” your droopy eyes looked up at him, your whole body leaning into the gaze, “what’re you gonna do with me?”

          He looked at you for a moment, unsure of what the fuck you were going on about, before he realized what you’d done, “jesus christ.”

          “Joel –“

          “What do you want me to do with you?”

          Your heavy eyes blinked slowly at his scrutiny, not really bothered by his avoidance of your question. But his question did bring up something interesting for you, though.

          It made you horny.

          Naturally, you didn’t want to give in to him to easily, “can I ask you a question?”

          “Am I gonna like this question?”

          You laughed, “probably not.”

          “Then no.”

          “Did you eat me out?”

          He scoffed and turned away from you, shaking his head disapprovingly. You pushed yourself against him even more, “you have to answer me.”

          He tried shrugging you off, but you were relentless, hands gripping his furthest shoulder to bring him in closer, “Joel, please. I don’t remember it.”

          This confession proved to be a catalyst for tonight's events; he told you everything.

          He faced you, eyes harsh, “you begged me for it.”

          His voice was strident and commanding, and his body followed suit as he pushed you onto your back and he grabbed your face, “you thanked me for it.”

          Your hands roamed across his body, unsure of where to grab or what to touch. Your high had you delayed in reaction, so you really were running on a wire as he grated filth into your ears, his breath slithering down your neck.

          “Even with my tongue deep inside you, you wanted more,” he forced his lips against the spot behind your ear, his facial hair trickling your sensitive skin, “you wanted everything from me.”

          His hips pitched against yours as his voice cracked. You could feel his hard cock through his jeans as his knee spread your legs further apart. You pulled him closer into you as he rocked, your body begging for the friction.

          The weed made you heady, and your reluctance at intimacy seemingly vanished as his free hand crawled up your stomach from under your shirt. His rough palm grabbed your breast as his teeth threatened to break your skin.

          “Even when you begged me to stop,” he tugged your earlobe with his teeth, “your hands forced my face deeper into your cunt. You didn’t even know what you wanted.”

          His confession made you even more willing to give in to him. Your fingers toyed with his belt, but you had no rush, nor any definitive intention. You just wanted to hear more of what he did with you.

          He still held your face, but loosened his grip, “you loved every minute of it. You said nothing but praise as I kissed you all over.” His free hand gripped the inside of your thigh, “even after I bit you, you wanted more.”

          Your hands pressed against his chest in a feeble and unenthusiastic attempt to push him off. You felt his soft but firm pecs through his shirt and closed your eyes, imagining his gentle lips suck against your clit, how amazing his mustache must've felt against the delicate space where your thighs meet your torso.

          “Joel…” you trailed off, unsure of what you even wanted to say.

          He sucked a bruise into your neck and kissed your ear, “talk to me, baby.”

          Your hands pushed into his shoulders, forcing him to lower his position, “please.”

          You were pathetic.

          He kissed your body through your clothes, taking in the chunkier bits between his teeth. He spared no time getting your boot, then pants off and shoving them against the wall. The cool night kissed your thighs as his lips met your skin. Bumps rose across your body and he smiled as he spoke softly, “feel good?”

          All you could do was nod fervently as your fingers pulled at his hair, trying to force his face into your core. You turned your neck to look outwards into the world. You listened to the pats of the rain against the wet soil, the crackling of wood, the moans from the man below you as his mouth gradually met the band of your panties.

          He kissed the top of your hip and curled his fingers through and over the fabric, taking his time with the reveal. You looked back at him as he did, studying his movements. His face showed crucial desperation, something you must keep note of, but his hands moved gently and meticulously. You helped get your underwear off, his hands holding your knees apart as they met the same fate as your jeans.

          It wasn’t lost on you how bizarre this was – your pussy is out in the open, in the wilderness, about to be devoured by a guy who looked at it like he hadn’t eaten in days. You snorted and covered your mouth to stop you from laughing, but you couldn’t help it. He looked up at you confused and you just shook your head. He kissed the inside of your knee as he continued, eyes still focused on yours.

          His lips trailed up your leg, lingering at your thigh. His breath sent warmth across your entire body, “how we doin’?”

          You nodded, but he bit the inside of your thigh to get you to speak, which worked. You mustered up any and all courage to respond to him; “good” was all that you got.

          His lips grazed over your smooth skin, tickling the sweet, sensitive spot where your body meets your thigh, then right above your slit in acceptance of your answer. You thought you were going to pull his hair out at the first long, diligent drag of his tongue up your cunt. You arched your back almost painfully as he kissed gently the area around, and returning with licking you up.

          “Joel – “         

          Your body rolled into his face as his tongue didn’t change pace, but altered location. His tongue was soft and careful, somehow knowing your body better than any man ever could. He rolled it between your lips, prodding your entrance, moaning at your taste, his vibrations sending nerves across your stomach.

          Your thighs clenched around his head as you used him. His grip on your thighs tightened as he was being suffocated, but the buildup deep in your stomach was so concentrated you’d rather kill him than lose the orgasm.

          His impassioned groans continued to course against you, through your nerves, and across your body. His hands reached under your shirt, pulling at your waist for change of angle, and you obliged. You could feel him sucking your clit like his life depended on it, and you strained his name across your lips, borderline afraid of how much this might hurt.

          Your hands pushed against his head while your thighs pulled him into your pussy as you came hard, feeling yourself pulse against his mouth and nose. Waves of pleasure released years of tension, years of pain, and maybe even relieved you of your heartbreak. You couldn’t even recall the last time you came this hard, but something opened up inside you and your nerves started to kick in.

          He whimpered against you as his tongue licked up anything he could get from you, his hips grinding against the ground.

          Once you were good and spent, your legs loosened their grip and he crawled up your body, his face meeting yours. He was a dark shade of red with a worn out look on his face; he was touch-starved and looking for an embrace. His hand cupped your cheek as he pushed his sweaty forehead against yours, breathing heavily against your mouth.

          You closed your eyes, finding the next proposition for him. His lips gently pressed against your jaw, once, then twice, and one final time before he tucked his head into your neck.

          His limp body weighed you down comfortably, your fingers spun the curls above his neck as you caught your breath, listening to his shuddered breathing intently. You enjoyed the silence, and you were ready to sleep, but your brain itched for one more question, and you weren’t sure if you wanted the answer.

          Him eating you out while you were essentially unconscious was… a choice. He implied you were responsive, but you wouldn’t bet on your memory of that night. That was something you could forgive, but you needed to know if anything else happened. You had no intention on getting fucked, considering everything, and you hated the idea of being taken advantage of yet again by someone else, by someone who said he’d protect you.

          You swallowed hard as he kissed your neck softly, his prickly face making your shoulder twitch. You wanted to fuck on your own terms, with somebody safe, someone who’d take care of you. You wanted to do this sober.

          “Joel,” you whispered against his ear.

          “Yeah,” he replied in the same hushed tone, breath trickling down your shoulder, as if you both were hiding from prying eyes.

          You shifted underneath him, prompting him to lift his head at face you. You looked back, lips quivering; “that night in the cabin,” you paused, “did we do anything else?”

          His soft face showed understanding, his big brown eyes scanning yours, “no. Just that.”

          You nodded, and he continued, “it sort of was happening, or about to, but, uh, you said no, and I put you to bed.”

          You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, “okay.”

          He cleared his throat and slipped from under your arms, grabbing your clothes. You awkwardly put them back on as he looked outwards into the rainy plains. You lied back down, assuming he’d come down with you, but he stayed sitting against the wall, seemingly contemplating.

          “No sleep for you?”

          He looked at you, his brows turned downwards, “I’m sorry, for that night.”

          Oh.

          You shrugged, not really knowing what to say, “it’s fine, it’s, uh, not that big a deal.”

          He shook his head, “I thought you were –“

          “Joel, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to do it”. You lied on your arm facing the fire, now dying. You closed your eyes after taking in a deep breath, focusing on the sounds of the beating rain.

          His voice quieted as he called your name, being only slightly louder than the drops against the dirt. You opened your eyes and looked towards him, and he resumed, “the radio guy was right.”

          “Hmm?”

          “Your voice,” he shifted, “it’s nice.”

          You smiled at him, a warm feeling rising in your chest, “thanks.”

          “So, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “you think you can, y’know…” he trailed off, gesturing towards your bag.

          You glanced from your bag to him, and he went on, “you don’t have to, if you’re tired.“

          “It’s fine,” you reassured, “I can’t sleep anyway.”

          He nodded and you grabbed a book from your bag. You curled up against him and leaned your head on his shoulder, propping the book up against your knees. His arm snaked around you to pull you in closer and you began.

          You saw his chest rise and fall softly as you coursed through the book, his head tipping against yours. His body warmed you up comfortably and after a few chapters, you felt the drowsiness settle in. You looked up to see him already sleeping, so you closed your book and snuggled deeper into him, “Joel?”

          “Hmm?”

          “Tonight meant nothing, right?”

          “Tonight meant nothin’,” he responded, “we’re fine.”

          “Good, because the moment we get to Jackson, I’m gonna find the radio room.”

Chapter Text

You and Joel took your time in the morning.

        Instead of making coffee before you woke up, he waited for you. He didn’t make much conversation, but you enjoyed being able to sleep in for once, slightly annoyed you had to wait for the coffee. You indulged in the burnt, stale drink and took in the scent of the morning dew, staring out into the vast openness, taking in the natural scenery; it was undoubtedly gorgeous.

        You thought about yesterday for a bit, recalling the details of last night. Of course it meant nothing, and you could convince yourself of this, but it was the way he looked towards you this morning that bothered you. He looked on with what you determined was a tinge of guilt, but his face being as stoic as ever, it was really only a guess on your part.

        Looking into the plains, you wondered what he had to be guilty about. Last night you had already 'forgiven' him for the night at the cabin, and it wasn’t like he tried making you think nothing happened – he was completely honest with you, albeit the situation being slightly undiscerning.

        You thought about what this meant for you and him now. Sure, you both agreed this was just the cultivation of desperation, but what did this mean? Was he supposed to tell the leader what you guys did, or was it more of a ‘do at your discretion’ type issue? This didn’t change how you felt about the man on the radio – you were still very much interested in him – but maybe he would somehow find out.

        You questioned how this would affect your sex life, or lack thereof. You toyed with the idea of just getting over with it and sleeping with him. After spending almost a decade avoiding any and all intimacy, it only seemed like a natural progression, and you found Joel to be safe. He had already proved to be level-headed (mostly), and your intuition wasn’t telling you to run, so taking the next big step seemed within view.

        You thought about his thoughts; maybe he was quieter because he sucked at communication and wanted an easy morning, and maybe he seemed more contemplative because he had to figure out how to drag you into Jackson because they don’t just let anyone in… right?

        The sound of his fingers tapping his thermos broke you out of your trance and you turned your focus to him, expecting that being his intention, and when he didn’t speak, you tapped his foot with yours.

        He mumbled something before returning a look. You laughed a bit at his gracelessness and picked up, “so, an easy day today?”

        “I wouldn’ call it that, but it should be short.” His voice was deep and croaky, still reminiscent of a good night’s sleep, “even if we leave in a bit we should get there before late afternoon.”

        “Hmm,” you agreed, “and we definitely shouldn’t say anything about anything, right?”

        He nodded, “‘s probably best.”

        “Yeah,” you replied softly. Biting your lip, you decided to bite the bullet, “can I tell you something?”

        He looked at you distrustfully, “look, we already agreed it meant nothing –“

        “I know and it’s not about that.” You bit your lip harder, feeling the sharp pinch threaten to break skin. Your fingers pushed against your palms as you worked up the courage to tell him that you decided he’d be allowed to touch you, to hold you, to use you, even after finding the radio guy. Hell, you might even allow him to penetrate you with more than his fingers, to see the scars on your hips and behind your shoulder; to see your everything, have your everything.

        “So what’s it about?”

        “When we get to Jackson, and everything is settled, before I leave, I’d,” you paused, finding the right way to put it, “I’d, y’know, let you.”

        “Let me?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Let me do what?”

        “Y’know,” you vaguely gesticulated, “it.”

        He blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his head around how the fuck you got here. He nodded awkwardly and cleared his throat, rubbing his neck. He avoided making eye contact with you as he processed this confession, “uh, thanks?”

        You tried making light of the revelation, playfully smacking his arm, “Joel, it means that, if it came to be, I would let you fuck me.”

        “Yeah, no, I, uh, I got that. Jus’ not sure why that had to be said.”

        “Well, I trust you.”

        “Look,” he stopped you, “I dunno what’s goin’ on with you, but don’t drag me into it.”

        “It’s complicated, I know, but Joel this is an important thing for me.”

        “Sex?”

        “Yes,” you sighed, becoming slightly frustrated at the conversation getting nowhere, “I hadn’t done it since…” you trailed off, hoping he was swift enough to pick up on what you were implying.

        He said nothing.

        “It’s been a very long time, and I haven’t gotten naked in front of anyone, let alone allow anyone to touch me. I’m going through something, Joel, and all I’m saying is that there are worse people to go through it with. You’d proven to me that you’re a good man, safe even, despite the weird night at the cabin,” you shrugged, shocked at what you were about to say, “I’m okay that it was you. I don’t know if I could’ve trusted anyone else with myself, but I trusted you. I trust you. And if I’m able to choose who to sleep with, for the first time since, y’know, I’d probably choose you.”

        You both stared forward, now both of you actively avoiding eye contact. You could feel the silence weigh in your stomach; his lack of response was expected, but your body still overheated with shame. He scratched his brow, then his neck again, and closed his thermos. With a sigh, he asked “we ready to go?”

        You felt like throwing up, but managed a pained ‘yup’ as you gathered your things. Now he thinks you’re a weirdo out for some sexual escapade, some intimate pirate looking to land some dick to take care of you. You wanted to bash your head against a rock as you walked beside him towards Jackson. He reiterated it wasn’t too far a trek, but it’d be completely through the woods. You thought he was just letting you know for transparency sake, but he added,

        “So let me know if you’re having a hard time.”

        You huffed, “I managed to walk a million miles in this boot, and through mud. I walked from Kentucky to Colorado to Utah, I think I’ll survive.”

        He scoffed, “right.”

        You shrugged, the weight of your backpack feeling a bit lighter this morning. He looked towards your bag, “‘s heavy.”

        “Hmm? Oh, yeah, it’s my radio I think. Boombox doesn’t really help, but I need it.”

        “Oh yeah? What for?”

        You couldn’t help but reply quietly, “for Abba.”

        Joel barked out a laugh and you followed, feeling looser than you were minutes ago, the stress of the awkward encounter dwindling. He shook his head, “you’re carrying almost fifty pounds on your back, for Abba?”

        “Yes! When was the last time you listened to music?”

        He bowed his head, then looked towards you, “mornin’ of the day I met you.”

        “What?! You have a boombox in Jackson?”

        “We have a jukebox, in the bar.”

        You laughed, but saw he wasn’t, “you’re fucking with me.”

        “I’m not,” he chuckled.

        “A bar?”

        “A bar.”

        You scanned the space around you, trying to grasp what Joel was saying, “how big is this place?”

        “It’s big.”

        “So, what, you found some empty resort area and made it a, a what? A village?”

        “You’re not gonna believe this, but no.”

        He explained how Jackson was built, quite literally from the ground up, by a woman and her father specifically to care for people and create a safe place. He described wooden buildings – The Tipsy Bison mostly – and how the city was run. It was big, and only getting bigger, and he expressed his apprehension for the size it’s becoming.

        “When you have a small thing, a town, it’s easier to govern people. As more people join us, get comfortable, life before the outbreak comes back.” He looked at you with a strong, pensive look, “people seem to forget important things, seem to forget they were outside the walls, forget they were sleeping under cars, in sewers, starving. Once they get comfortable,” he shook his head, “whatever they were like before comes back.”

        You nodded thoughtfully. You didn’t really think about that being a possibility, and you wanted to ask more about what he meant, but he interrupted your thoughts with a seemingly random question; “you carry a bunch of keychains, well, plastic things.”

        “Yeah,” you glanced at him as he stared downward, “it’s stupid, but I always wanted to travel. Couldn’t do it before the outbreak, so I figured now’s a good time as any to do so. Do and see the things I wanted.” A hush blanketed the both of you, either contemplative or meditative, but a necessary pause, “made life feel normal for a moment.”

        Joel hummed, but you were unsure if he was agreeing with you or not.

        “My favorite place was the Grand Canyon. Ended up there to say goodbye to a friend, but I enjoyed it anyway. It’s beautiful.” You nudged him, “ever been?”

        “I have, actually. My brother and I, uh,” he stopped himself, “I have.”

        You nodded.

        He resumed, “so, uh, this friend of yours…”

        “Yeah, he was, uh, interesting. He was a Firefly, came from Boston.” Your face turned jovial as you felt a flush of nostalgia set in, “all he wanted to do was save the world. Guess he realized the Fireflies sold a pipe dream.”

        Joel didn’t say anything, and feeling slightly sheepish, you nudged him, “think you would’ve liked him. I used to call him ‘hometown hokey’, and I wasn’t really wrong about it. He just,” you shrugged, his leaving still stinging a bit, “he was too optimistic, too, uh, smart, for his own good. Couldn’t tell him a damn thing.”

        He remained quiet.

        “So he, uh, left me.”

        “You, uh, really close with him?”

        Relieved at his interest, you divulged, “sort of. More friendly than anything else. I mean, we did, y’know, sleep with each other, multiple times over the course of, god, I dunno, two years or so? He wasn’t with the Fireflies for very long, or at least in Utah. But,” you exhaled, “like I said, he was far too smart, smarter than me. It’s why he joined some survivor group.”

        “Did this group have a name?”

        “No idea. I’m sure he told me, but I can’t remember. Just north.”

        “Just north,” he repeated, but with a tone you couldn’t quite make out.

        “Yep.”

        The sound of dense soil crunched under your boots as you continued trekking, his silence becoming threatening as you moved. You couldn’t explain why or how him going silent was intimidating, but you felt his energy shift.

        Was he was jealous?

        You studied him through your peripheral, wanting to really survey him, but from what you could see, his face was neutral.

        “I’m sorry.”

        “What?”

        You opened your mouth to explain yourself, but you didn’t even know what you were apologizing for, “for talking about him, I guess.”

        He blinked and look at you like you had five heads, “what?”

        Red flooded your cheeks, “I dunno, you seemed upset that I talked about the guy –“

        He stopped and faced you, his finger in your face, “I wanna make myself clear. I don’t care. I don’t care about who you fucked, what happened to you, and why you are the way you are, okay? My job is to get you to Jackson, so whatever, thing, you’re going through, its none of my concern, do you understand me? Whatever we did,” he took a deep breath, carefully stringing his words, “it wasn’t about you. So, if you can just please stay quiet for the rest of the way.”

        Tears pricked your eyes as you tried to keep them from falling. You nodded, realizing that it was far too late to remove yourself from him. Hell, where were you going to go? You were in the middle of nowhere with no concept of direction. You did, however, realize this whole thing was a huge mistake.

        You should’ve just stayed in Salt Lake, broken but happy, listening to Madonna as you drank your liver into oblivion. You should’ve waited for the radio man to reach you, tell him all about your day, and read to him like he always wanted you to, listening to him carve away at wood as you burned through chapters of just fucking anything because he needed you. Joel didn’t need you, and your fear of being a burden to him was being validated, over and over. And if all of this wasn’t enough;

        “By the way,” he broke your thoughts, “there’s a reason I didn’t fuck you.”

*

You’d stopped crying hours ago.

        Crying quietly behind him only made you feel even more ashamed. The sun had just crossed its highest point, and neither of you had said a single word. You gripped your backpack tightly as you traversed steep hills and drop offs, him hardly offering any support anymore.

        You thought about shooting him. He probably wouldn’t even be able to stop you, but you’ve come to terms that he was the connection between you and the radio man, so you figured you’d wait for Jackson to kill him. That was always the solution that worked for you, anyway. You wondered if that was the reason your pacifist Firefly friend left you. You looked around at your surroundings; dense woodland with a river of sorts in which you were following. At a clearing, and within a few hundred yards, you’d seen something insane.

        A huge wall wrapping around a bustling city.

        Tall structures, a far distant radio tower, and people. So many people. You could see them like ants scurrying around buildings, smoke huffs billowing out of houses and the larger properties. You couldn’t even believe something like this was possible.

        Joel was a few steps ahead of you, watching, waiting for you to ‘get on with it’, but he didn’t interrupt. Like showing a child a dinosaur statue in a museum, he’d let you gawk at the settlement.

        Jackson City.

        You looked at him, almost asking him how he found this. He tilted his head towards the path wordlessly, and you followed, still staring at the wonder.

        You wanted to ask him a million questions, but with every new question came a million more upon seeing this microstate. You remained apprehensive with him, and decided you’d just ask your questions to someone else.

        It’d taken about an hour, maybe sooner, to reach the front gate, which resembled the oh-so-familiar QZs. But instead of fascists, they were just armed people with Kevlar vests. No helmets, no symbols or ideologies spray painted anywhere, just a heavy metal gate on wheels in between two guard towers, which were not unlike the one you and Joel had slept in the woods a few nights ago, but these were on steroids. These were at least twenty feet tall with a bridge connecting them both, providing a catwalk over the armored gate. You could even see that the catwalk extended halfway down the walls, giving the guards a greater advantage at surveying the perimeter.

        You watched as they opened the gate slowly, letting out two people and a dog. You tensed at the sight – the dog’s demeanor made you extremely uneasy and he looked more than willing to rip you apart.

        The two people greeted Joel favorably before looking towards you with twisted faces, “give us your bag and guns. And don’t try anything.”

        You slowly shrugged the bag from your shoulders and dropped it on the floor in front of you, along with the gun in your holster and the knife in your injury boot.

        “Take ten steps back.”

        You gripped Joel’s arm instinctively with a panicked whisper of his name. He removed your hand from his arm cordially, “the dog’ll check if you’re infected.“

        “I’m not infected and you know that.”

        “I know that, but they don’t.”

        “So tell them.”

        “That’s not how this works.”

        “Joel please,” you begged, gripping his arm even tighter.

        The guy intercepted, “please step back ten feet.”

        “Joel.“

        “Just do as he says, it’ll take thirty seconds.”

        “Ten feet,” the guy started to raise his tone.

        You watched as the dog menacingly scanned you, probably thinking you would go great with barbecue sauce and a few head pats.

        “Joel.”

        He shoved you off and you stumbled backwards, now alone while this animal bared its teeth at you. You watched Joel step away from the scene, watching from a safe distance.

        The guy held the leash tight, “you infected?”

        Shakily, you declined.

        “Then you got nothin’ to worry about.”

        “But what if he believes I’m infected?”

        “Then he’ll just rip you apart,” he smiled.

        You felt your stomach clench as it wanted to release your bladder, the fear paralyzing you, cementing you into the spot Joel threw you in.

        The dog carefully came closer to you, unnerved and in complete control of the situation. You clenched your fists against your sides as his wet nose grazed over your skin, inhaling your fear to use it against you. He nuzzled your palm, and was promptly whistled back to the guy, who was now holding your bag, “you’re good.”

        You looked at Joel for some sort of solace, but he was laughing at you, igniting your desire to kill him. You rolled your eyes and pressed forward, reaching for your bag. The man handed it back, but kept your weapons, “you’ll get these back later. But for now, I’ll take you to medical and get you looked at.”

        “End of the road for us,” you snide towards Joel, who just pushed past you.

        “Got better things to do than to babysit you.”

        The guy shrugged and lead you inside.

        Pushing past crowds of people was nauseating, and passing by them somehow made you feel more alone than living on your own. They stared as you were led through, their hateful eyes searing your skin with contempt. This was going to get tiresome quicker than you thought.

        And the medical office offered no relief. 

        It was one thing to find out a bunch of people are living harmoniously in a self-sufficient community, but an actual doctor? One with an office, and equipment, and a waiting room?

        You looked around and found it to be extremely uncanny valley, but it didn’t mean to be. You hadn’t stepped foot in a real doctor’s office in decades, so this all seemed like one big practical joke, where the walls would come down and everyone would point and laugh at you for believing something like this. It was just far too contrived to be real. They even had the strange gray and white abstract paintings on the walls.

        You’d seen groups, QZs, and the like, but this was its own ecosystem. Joel forgot to mention that everyone was nice and gentle, despite the looks, and there were enough resources for everyone. This was more than a survival group, this was more than survival.

        This was thriving.

        The guy was nice, cold, but he answered your questions, and even offered a tour of the place.

        “I can’t,” you waved him off, “once the doc sees me I’m headed out.”

        “Shame, it’s always nice to add to our commune. Someone like you would do great here, I think.”

        His Midwestern drawl was charming, but it wasn’t enough. You just wanted to get out of this place before it went to shit like everywhere else. This place was magnificent, but it couldn’t survive forever. The winters will get colder, the infected will get closer. Hell, FEDRA, fireflies, or other wacko-groups might just band together and take over this place.

        The doctor’s assistant called you in, and you and the man walked into the exam room together.

        There, you sat on a cushioned exam chair as the doctor introduced herself, a brief history, and pointed out the obvious – “broken leg?”

        “Ankle, I think.”

        You couldn’t let your guard down. Not here. Your fingers dug into the leather cushions, and the doctor tried to ease your anxiety, “look, I know this place can be a bit overwhelming, but you’ll get used to it.”

        “No, I won’t, actually. I plan on leaving soon after this.”

        She looked at you with her brows raised, “honey, you’re not going anywhere for another eight weeks.”

        “Uh, no,” you reassured, “just give me what you have to give me and I’ll be on my merry way. Well,” you hesitated, remembering the reason you even agreed to be here in the first place, but she didn't need to know any more than she already does.

        She stared at you, but you didn’t budge, “just fix me up doc and I’ll be gone.”

        “It’s not that simple. If it’s completely broken, you’ll need time to recover, more time than if it were a dislocation. I’m gonna take a look.”

        She carefully unwrapped your boot and slipped it from your leg, ensuring your foot didn’t get caught on the way out. You watched as she, with precision, held your foot and leg, making both level with each other. She scanned around completely, taking care to see the entire injury. With the softest touch, her fingertips trailed the side of your ankle, putting slight pressure on the bone and you jerked your foot in pain. She apologized, but continued scanning your ankle, “eh, it doesn’t look or feel like a break. Who fixed this for you?”

        Her question came as a shock, but you answered, “Joel; he shoved it back into place.”

        Tutting before lowering your leg, “did your bone pop out of your skin? Where did this cut come from?”

        “No bone, I slipped in glass, it was probably that.”

        She hummed, standing up, “well, it looks extremely infected. Have you had any strange symptoms recently?”

        “Symptoms,” you questioned.

        “Excess pus, funny breathing, feeling lightheaded or sweating for no reason?”

        “I, uh,” you thought for a moment of telling her about you randomly passing out the other day, but it would only make your stay longer, but you reasoned when else would you have the chance to speak with a doctor, “I passed out for no reason the other day. I was out the whole day.”

        She nodded thoughtfully before rummaging through a cabinet, “I wanna get this infection under control before sepsis comes in, so I’m gonna give you some pretty strong antibiotics and let you go with pills.”

        There was a brief moment where you were excited about the pills, but then you watched as she took a syringe and attached a needle to it, prepping for an injection. Needles hardly spooked you, but seeing her pull the clear liquid into the syringe made you feel uneasy – “is that needle clean?”

        “Sorry?”

        “Your needle,” you gestured, “is it new?”

        She smiled politely, “yes, it’s new. We get enough medical supplies regularly to not have to reuse needles, thankfully.”

        You nodded and allowed her to stick your arm. The liquid rushed under your skin and she carefully pulled the needle, replacing it immediately with a cotton ball, “hold that for me please.”

        You did as you were told and let her work in silence, exchanging a glance towards the guy who brought you in. She then tossed the used needle into a bright red bin and the syringe in a metal one before motioning towards your leg, “I’ll give you a new boot. You should be in a cast, but the boot’ll do fine. I’ll give you a better, cleaner, one. You should be using crutches.”

        “Keep the crutches, the boot’s fine. As long as I can get back to Salt Lake –“

        “In about eight to ten weeks.”

        You scoffed; this lady was stubborn. “I’m not staying here.”

        “Unfortunately,” she wrote on a paper attached to a clipboard, “that’s not necessarily up to you, as of yet.”

        Her emphasis on the last bit sparked your nerves. You looked towards the guy, who only offered a silent shrug; “what do you mean?”

        “Well,” she huffed as she set up a new boot for you, “you’ll have to meet some of the governing members and, uh,” she slipped your foot in, “chat with them.”

        “About what?”

        She fastened the straps tight, “this good?”

        “Yeah, but chat about what?”

        She awkwardly looked towards the guy, who you noticed still carried a gun in his holster with his hand resting on the butt of his pistol, ready to pull at it, before meeting your eyes again. Your breathing started to shake as she chose her words carefully, “about Alex.”

        Fuck.

        That son of a bitch brought you here not because he wanted to get you medical attention, but because the poor kid needed justice. The entire week he’d spent with you, probably lying to your face, laughing to himself at your stupidity, was to drag you to the jury. You’d never felt so fucking dense before in your life. How could you have let your guard down, how could you have trusted him? How could you even admit –

        “No.”

        “Look,” she cut her act, “they won’t let you leave until you do. I don’t know what happened, but from what I seen, you’ll be fine.“

        “Fuck you,” you spit, “I already told Cousin Eddie that it was either that or have him get torn up by clickers. I don’t have to explain myself to any other big shot asshole who thinks they can intimidate me.”

        “It’s not like that; his family just wants answers.”

        “Tell ‘em talk to Joel and to kiss my ass.”

        “Please –“

        “I’m done. Thanks for everything.” You jumped off the exam table, a shock being sent up your leg. You faced the door, but the guy held out his hand, his other still on his gun, “you can’t leave.”

        “You gonna shoot me?”

        “I really don’t want to.”

        You turned back to the doctor, “you can’t keep me in here.”

        “And I don’t want to. Just please, meet with the committee, say your piece, and they’ll work with you, I promise.”

        “You can’t promise me shit.”

        “I can promise you that the committee isn’t as bad as you think. I know what happens in QZs, I know what FEDRA’s like, and they’re not them.”

        “Bullshit –“

        “Don’t you think they would’ve killed you by now if they were?”

        You swallowed hard, sensing her sincerity in her tone.

        “They are having me treat you, they’re letting you stay until you’re completely healed, you will have the benefit of every other person in this community, no exceptions.” She took a step towards you, reaching her hand to cup your shoulder, “they are fair. They’re willing to hear you out. Please, take advantage of this, take everything we have for the next eight weeks. All you have to do is sit with them and Alex’s parents and discuss what happened. That’s it.”

        “And if they don’t believe me?”

        “It’s not about believing you or not, it’s about making peace. People trust Joel’s instinct, and he can be a hard guy to like at first, but he’s nonpartisan, and that you have to trust.”

        You took a deep breath, feeling slightly less edgy, “Joel’s on the committee?”

        She nodded, “yes, and he was elected. The people chose him.” She led you back on the exam chair, “he’s unbiased. He’d seen Alex before he was brought back –“

        “Brought back?”

        She raised her shoulders, “Joel didn’t go to you alone.”

        You stared at her, taking in everything she was telling you. You weren’t sure how to feel that Joel was on the judging committee, but you hoped she was right, hoped he was fair. But considering the last conversation, your odds weren’t necessarily in your favor.

        You closed your eyes, sighing out your frustrations. How the fuck did you let this happen?

        The doctor leaned against the counter, “if it’s any consolation, the other committee member, Tommy, sees you favorably.

        You looked up at her with consternation, “Tommy?”

        Confused at your sudden change, “yeah. You remember him?”

        Just as she asked, a knock at the door jumped, falling into a spiral, your stomach turning. You could feel fire rise in your chest as your heart pumped a million beats a minute, filling your head with a cloud of nausea.

        The guy opened the door, and there he stood, tall and proud, as he always did. That dumb boyish smile was so distinctive it couldn’t have been anyone else.

        This was your Tommy.

Chapter Text

Maybe you were a bit naive, but you were curious.

          You’d managed to get to Colorado by foot from New York. You started with a group, but slowly your number started to dwindle until it was just you and another member, Ruth; an older woman, maybe in her early sixties. She ended up getting bitten and had two options; you or herself. She chose the latter and you got the chance to witness something truly spectacular – suicide. You’d only ever seen one suicide before her's, but, as she did when she was alive, she had buried herself deep in your chest cavity, digging through your flesh and bone to make home inside your rib cage.

          Just like him.

          When you settled in Colorado, you took shelter in a radio store. Initially intending on scavenging, you realized this store had nothing, no supplies, no booze, and just a single radio.

          Your blankets and sleeping bag lied in their permanent spot in the manager’s office, nestled in a corner with the heavy wooden desk blocking the view from the door. You’d kick the chair up under the door handle every night, making sure nothing got in. You cleared what you could from the nearby area and started a new life.

          You found a repair manual scrawled into a flimsy, decaying notebook and got to work. You had no idea what this was for, which model or type, but you figured it’d be a useful skill to have. Getting a radio set up meant you could talk to others from across the country and set up trades with other groups.

          Was this risky? Sure, but you’d make sure to take every precaution: set a comfortable meetup point, find a secret aerial view of said meetup point, and a way to verify who you were trading with. You could never count on others to be kind, but you could count on yourself to be smart.

          And smart you were, because a very large group fell into the palms of your hands while discovering Denver: the Fireflies.

          They were holed up in some university north, working on a "cure". They were under some insane delusion onset to save the world, like every other rebel group imaginable, but of course they were different. They weren’t like FEDRA, they cared about people and believed in democracy and fairness. But as did FEDRA, everyone had the opportunity to be a FEDRA agent, unless you were a minority, of course, and their justice was fair, as long as they’d gotten their bribe, and of course they cared about people, unless they asked for more.

          You’d met Marlene first, the head honcho of the Fireflies, and she was undoubtedly cogent. She had a way with words so good, she could convince you piss was liquid gold. But you could tell deep down she was worried; the Fireflies had been doing pretty good so far, but FEDRA had gotten better by getting worse. Kidnapping, violent interrogations, and point blank executions got them all the information about the Fireflies they needed to intervene, all while the Fireflies were busy taking the "honest" route.

          Marlene said they didn’t believe in merciless killing, but killed when they felt was necessary. They didn’t do violent interrogations, unless that was their only option. And they took care of their people, until they asked a question the higher ups didn't want to answer. You had no interest in debating her on anything, as she was set in her way and that was her prerogative. You weren’t interested in saving the world anyway, just surviving it.

          She’d agreed to your terms, which was the only thing you were interested in anyway. You brought her goods, such as medical supplies, metals, gunpowder, and anything she’d deem useful, and she’d give you medicine, alcohol, and even pills if you asked. She never asked why you needed anything, and you didn’t either. You tried selling her on cigarettes, real alcohol, and doctored FEDRA ration cards, but she declined, citing she needed her Fireflies to be sane and sober at least most of the time, and the less distractions for them the better.

          But she got busy, and you met him.

          At the usual spot in Broomfield, she’d brought him with her on her final pickup to introduce him and declare him her replacement until she returned. She was headed to Atlanta, but home base was Colorado. She admitted a shift into Utah in the future, but promised that wouldn’t happen until she’d gotten back, and the invitation was still open.

          You took one good look at this guy and scoffed. A real cowboy looking motherfucker with a pointed smile, soft eyes, and the longest pair of legs you’d ever seen. His jeans were held up with an intricately carved leather belt with a large turquoise buckle. He had a pair of fucked up workman’s boots, probably a decade old but well repaired, and his rich, black hair curled behind his ears while the rest lied tight against his head.

          He took you in with his eyes, smirking at the sight, and greeted you with a bowed head. You offered an eye roll, then faced Marlene, “how long do you plan on being in Atlanta?”

          She sighed, “not sure, maybe a month or so. We’re trying to round everyone up and get everyone on the same page.“

          “I don’t need all that,” you interrupted her, “a month?”

          “A month, two tops.”

          “Don’ trust me?”

          His playful demeanor wasn’t enough to be disarming, but you couldn’t entertain it, “that’s hardly the issue,” you tilted your head towards Marlene, who was less than pleased with your confession, “don’t trust her either.”

          He laughed, “guess that’s fair.”

          Before Marlene was to continue, she’d been radioed back to the repurposed FEDRA truck for a discussion you or him weren’t important enough to listen to, so you both awkwardly stood in each other’s faces until he broke, “name’s Tommy, by the way.”

          You raised your eyebrows to mock intrigue, “was getting worried I’d leave here without knowing it.”

          He could only find you funny and interesting enough to know more about, “‘suppose you’re not gonna tell me your name.”

          “You don't need it.”

          “I get it,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, something you’d notice was an important part of reading him, “shouldn’ be trustin’ just anyone anyway.”

          You hummed, crossing your arms. You looked around attempting to put an end to his small talk, but he was relentless, “heard you got smokes.”

          Your ears twitched at the question, and you were suddenly animated, “I do.”

          He dug into his pocket and pulled out a dollar, something so foreign to you now, and motioned for you to take it. Unable to hide his amusement at the ancient ritual, he burst into giggles and you followed, unable to keep your stern facade. You took the useless bill from his hand and replaced it with a newly declared loosie.

          He beamed at the sight and immediately took it to his lips, eyeing you with a simple request, the final act of the ritual. You took one between your lips and pulled out a lighter, lighting his first.

          He leaned close to the flame, his eyes staring at the flicker, lips pulling it into his lungs. With his lips tight around the filter, he looked up from his lashes, his intentional gaze piercing through yours.

          You could feel your breath leave your chest as his soft brown eyes studied you carefully, intensively. He pulled himself from your lighter and took the cigarette between his fingers, finally inhaling the fresh spring air before releasing the dark gray carcinogens. Keeping your gaze against his, you lit your own.

          You could feel your chest get lighter as you both smoked a bit in silence, enjoying the headiness the cheap imitation gave you. He huffed, the smile growing wider, “it’s been a long time since I had a real good one.”

          The compliment had gone straight to your head, and now that you’re really looking at him, this guy was hot enough to melt hell. Coming to this discovery only allowed yourself to feel more intrigued by him, something you’ll probably come to regret. But in any case, you never heard how your personal goods go, but you knew your cigarettes were infinitely better than the FEDRA bullshit they’ve been trading. But there was something about him, or maybe about the way he said it that really felt disarming, and maybe even intimate if you squinted.

          Or maybe you were overthinking it.

          “I know what people want.”

          “You grow it yourself?”

          “I grow and roll. Cut out the filler, add a hemp filter, and hell, I could add anything to the blend.”

          Tommy shifted on his feet, clearly holding something back. He’d been pretty headstrong, insistent on talking to you like a person worth speaking to and not just another body, which only made you more skeptical about his shtick. He wanted something from you.

          “What?”

          “Hmm?”

          “You wanna say something.”

          “Oh,” he scoffed before looking over his shoulder at Marlene, and returned his attention to you, “Marlene doesn’t like this shit, but man, I really missed this.”

          You swayed on your feet, “y’know she smokes from time to time, she just doesn’t want you guys to.”

          He hummed a laugh, “trying to incite a civil war?”

          “Just tryna make it fair.”

          “Mmhmm.”

          Marlene reappeared as you both reached the filter, tossing the spent cigarettes to the side.

          “I’m glad you both got acquainted, but we gotta go. List shouldn’t change too much,” she scanned Tommy, “actually, there shouldn’t be any changes. We clear?”

          You nodded and parted ways.

          But months went by, and Marlene never came back.

          You and Tommy hadn’t gotten closer per se, but he didn’t seem to bother you as much as he used to. And you certainly weren’t shocked when he put a pass on you, but you were surprised you entertained it.

          You’ve fucked Fireflies before, but Tommy was different. He was levelheaded and not at all desperate for it, which was a relief from the constant begging the other guys were doing. He was a gentleman through and through, and only flirted with words, no actions. This only created a game between you two – who would crack first?

          Relentlessly and consistently, you both flirted with each other every chance you’d get, he going as far as going solo to meetup points just to tease you. It was silly, but it was new; it was a change of pace, and it’d been so long to just talk with someone casually, no business or strings, just a cigarette and shooting the shits.

          After your usual exchange and smoke, you flicked the butt, “I gotta run; long hike ahead of me. Hope you don’t mind me leaving.”

          “Well, as much as I hate seein’ you go, can’t complain watchin’ you leave.”

          It was stupid, but it got you. You looked at him bashfully, trying to muffle your giggle, and he took this as an opportunity to really get a good look at you. The way his patient but craving eyes lingered on your hips and waist fired up your core, almost making your palms sweat.

          You didn’t hesitate on checking him out either; he looked as you expected a guy in his early forties; he wasn’t built but he took care of himself well. You could see some definition of his chest and abs come through the fitted flannel he wore. Rusted dog-tags hid behind his undershirt, a faint reminder of why he survived for so long, and his first-nation’s belt buckle – he felt the need to let you know he liked collecting native pieces – glistened in the high-noon sun, the turquoise stones a stark contrast against his deep brown leather. His neck was slender and chiseled, and you could feel your mouth twitch at the thought of marking it.

          Your eyes met his. You realized he’d long left your waist and watched you as you discovered him, the corner of his mouth pulled slightly. His smile had a way of drawing you in, pulling yours from your teeth, “you’re really something.”

          “Y’know,” he leaned closer to you, dropping his tone to just a touch above a whisper, “I can walk you home, to where you’re staying.”

          “Oh,” you cooed, “and you expect to make the ten hour walk back to wherever the fuck you come from?”

          He bobbed his head in faux thought, “maybe I’ll consider spendin’ the night.”

          “Oh,” you burst into a fit, “you’ll consider?”

          “Might,” he corrected you, “if there was a good enough reason to.”

          “Mm, a good enough reason to.”

          “Well, if you can convince me…”

          Your full bodied laugh echoed through the empty street, your hands covering your reddening face. You could hear him laugh with you.

          “What if I don’t wanna convince you of anything?”

          “I think I can convince you to try to convince me.”

          “Oh yeah?”

          “I can be persuasive.”

          You nudged him, “doubt it.”

He swiftly moved from beside you to in front of you, his body giving you a sense of restriction, something your body seemed to respond to well. He took his hand and held your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to meet your gaze. Your hands reached for his belt loop, but you weren’t at all in control of them. His smirk widened at your light tug at his fabric, and your face hurt from how big your smile had gotten, a reminder of just how under his spell you were.

          He steadily dipped his head next to yours. You could feel his uninhibited breath against your neck creeping down your back, making your hair stand up. His hands held your waist, thumbs circling your skin through the fabric as he gently pressed his lips against your ear, forcing your shoulder up at the tingly feeling. His hushed laugh spread across you, his smile against your skin, “been a while?”

          His playful voice shot blood through your veins like energy, sending static down your spine. “’Lil while,” you admitted.

          His kisses turned more fervent as he made his way to your jaw, then neck, stopping at the top of your shoulder. His hands slid up your body, stopping just shy of your breasts. “You don’ gotta worry, honey,” he kissed your neck, “I’ll take my time with you.” He took your earlobe between his teeth, tugging, “I’ll be gentle.”

          You could rip his pants clean off with how hard you gripped it, suppressing your eagerness. You bit your lip and wriggled your body under him, turning his attention from your neck to your eyes. Shyly, “hopefully not too gentle.”

          “Ohh,” he murmured before kissing your jaw, “I’ll follow your lead, then.”

          You took his face in your hands and tiptoed to meet him, drawing him into a kiss, but he pulled away. He took your hands in his, “I should probably take you home, first.”

          “Why’s that?”

          “I dunno if I could stop myself from screwin’ you right here.”

          You laughed and nudged his shoulder, “whatever.”

*

The walk back to Denver seemed quicker than it ever was.

          You repeatedly asked if the Fireflies would give him flack for disappearing for a while, and he reassured you that everything would be fine.

          “Marlene isn’t gonna come for me, right? Taking her leading man for the day, yeah?”

          “Pshh, leading man is a bit much. I don’t think I have that much effect on the Fireflies anyway.”

          “Not saving the world?”

          “We’re doin’ something,” his tone uncertain, “but she told me it’d take time.”

          “How long had it been since the Fireflies became a thing?”

          “I don’ fuckin’ know, but I do know they been ‘round long enough.”

          “And what did you guys do?” You didn’t mean for your question to sound so critical, but FEDRA was still in charge of QZs and Marleen’s disappearance only made it apparent that the Firefly factions were probably not even in the same book, let alone on the same page.

          “Y’know, it’s nice to be apart of something bigger.”

          “I’m sure it is.”

          “What? You’re better off on your own?”

          You shrugged, “I don’t gotta take care of anyone other than myself. I can move whenever I want, stop whenever I want, do whatever I want.” You tapped his arm, trying to incite some sort of mutual understanding, “don’t you miss calling the shots?”

          He took a moment to respond, his eyes shifting from you, to the ground, to ahead, “who says I ain’t?”

          You rolled your eyes, “you can’t even smoke a cigarette in front of Marlene.”

          “But she let me do this.”

          “Just because you’re trustworthy, doesn’t mean you’re on her level.”

          “Maybe I don’ wanna be.”

          You turned your head to face him and he met your inquisitive expression, “fair enough.”

          You led him into your storefront, making sure he’s careful climbing through the window. With arms spread, “this is it.”

          He nodded, “not bad.” He pushed a few buttons on a cassette player on the shelf, “doubt anyone even bothers.”

          “Well,” you slipped your bag off your shoulders, pulling the key to your office from a pocket, “you’re the first welcomed visitor.”

          “Well ain’t that sweet.”

          You shot him a disapproving look and unlocked the door, “get in.”

          He slipped past you and took in tiny room, hands on his hips.

          “Don’t say it,” you warned.

          “What could I say?” His knuckles knocked against the wooden desk, “it’s cozy.”

          “It’s not a Firefly accommodation.”

          “Hah,” he laughed, “I’d kill for a private room.”

          “You share rooms? Where are you guys even posted, anyway?”

          “The university in Boulder. Place is huge, but we can only use a small portion.”

          “Infected?”

          “A few,” he shrugged, “nothin’ I can’t handle.”

          “You’re very brave,” you mused wryly.

          “Got you back safe, didn’t I?”

          “Ah, yes, I forgot about the menacing, bloating deer carcass we passed by. Thank you, by the way, for protecting me from that. Very scary stuff.”

          He rolled his eyes and drifted towards you, turning on his heels slightly with every step, thumbs behind his belt buckle, “we made it, though.”

          You sat on the desk, watching him slowly inch towards you, “that is true. Not sure how I could’ve made it without you.”

          He stood ahead of you, his hands finding your knees. You allowed him to push your legs apart, and as he wedged himself between, your arms wrapped around his waist. Your head was level with his chest, so you had to crane your head to meet his eyes.

          His hand wrapped around your neck and just barely squeezed before it held the back of your head. His fingers curled around your hair, gently tugging at your scalp. “I think you need to show some appreciation; that deer coulda’ really done a number on you.”

          You giggled as your hands dragged from his waist to his stomach, feeling him twitch under your touch. Your gaze met his as you let your hands roam across the expanse of his chest, mapping every inch of his body, until they curled over his shoulders. You pushed your palms and fingers into him, lightly massaging the tension, before your fingers found themselves wrapped around the chain of his dog-tags. Carefully, you pulled them from under his shirt and held one between your fingers.

          It used to be painted, but the paint was long gone, the stamped logo being the only remnant. Your thumb touched the engraving; it was a triangle divided even on a thin bar with three large words on the sides and top, with a smaller inscription on the bottom. “Military man?”

          “Gulf War.”

          “They sent you?”

          “No, they just decided to give these to me. Somethin’ about being handsome – “

          You shoved him, “didn’t think they’d send just anyone there.”

          You took the next one;

MILLER
TOMMY, J.
586-14-2013
A POS
XXXX

          The embossing was deep and the tag was scratched to hell. Your index finger traced over the letters, feeling their raised stature, wanting to ask him a million questions about who he was, but he took his tag from your fingers and gently tapped it against your smiling lips.

          Against your better judgment, you took it between your teeth and he fell into your arms, lips sucking at your skin. You laughed as his hands roamed your whole body, gripping at the softest parts of you.

          Your hands ran through his inky hair and pulled at it, getting rewarded with him groaning against your shoulder. Your hands reached for his belt, slipping under it before he took them, “eager, are we?”

          You felt your face heat up, “it’s been a long, long time,” and you weren't talking about sex. Your voice hiccuped at the confession, taking you both by surprise.

          Tommy’s expression slipped into something more than desire. His fingertips gently grazed across your cheeks, wrapping around your face, “‘s a damn shame.”

          You tried to laugh a bit as his thumb wiped away a stray tear, hating how you’re slowly falling in front of him. You took a deep breath and your eyes caught his, your words trying to escape but falling short of your tongue. Your hands gripped his shirt, knuckles feeling his fit body hidden, “just shut up.”

          Tommy huffed and he kissed you again, hesitating before slipping his tongue into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in closer, tracing his mouth with yours. He was meticulous but confident, his hands wasting no time pulling your pants off, but he paused as his fingers slipped under the band of your panties, questioning mutely.

          Your hands covered his and you forced your panties down to your ankles. His pants dropped with a thunk and his hands grabbed your thighs, pushing himself closer to your body. You gasped as he bit into your shoulder, pushing against his chest as his fingers stroked against your entrance. You moved your hips to match his movements, using him not as a lover but as an object. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice the difference.

          His finger slipped into you, moving slowly at first, studying every inch of your core.

          “Tommy” was all you could muster as he pumped faster into you, smiling, watching your face contort and feeling your fists clutch against his flesh. They roamed under his shirt and you clawed at his taut skin, listening to his most lovely huffs.

          “Oh, honey,” he whined, “I know, just – “

          Your body clenched hard against his fingers, the tension almost uncomfortable. Both of your hands flew to his wrist, holding on to him as he continued pumping inside you, pulling an orgasm from the deepest pit of your stomach.

          Your mouth hung open as you begged for him. You didn’t even know what you were pleading for, but his gentle coos and seemingly incoherent words flowed through your ears as you felt the waves of gratification.

          “Such a good girl,” he kissed the corner of your lips before looking at the mess you made. Your cum slicked down his fingers and even dripped to the floor below you and you felt solace as you’ve come to realize that, yes, you were a good girl and reassurance bloomed in your chest.

          There really was just something about him.

          He took his soaked fingers and pulled himself out of his underwear, giving himself a few pumps, making sure to coat himself with you. He pushed his tip against your cunt, looking up at you from behind his lashes, that stupid smirk on his face.

          You playfully smacked his chest, “don’t look at me like that.”

          “Like what,” he snorted.

          Your fingers moved from his waist to his face, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. He kissed your palm and smiled against your skin.

          Holding the back of your head with one hand, he used the other to push himself into you, “look at me baby.”

          You tried as your expression buckled at the intrusion. His brows furrowed as his mouth dropped, that smug look disappearing as he buried himself deep inside you, until he couldn’t anymore. “Fuck me,” his groan strained deep inside his chest when he’d seen you took every inch of him, prompting you to ask him, “been awhile?”

          He exhaled a laugh as his strong hands rubbed your thighs, fingers kneading into the soft flesh, “darlin’ you just got the prettiest pussy I’d ever seen.”

          Embarrassed, you looked away from him, teeth biting into your lip. He hummed softly, burying his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the smell of your body.

          Gradually, he pulled himself out of you, then began rocking his hips at a steady pace. You could swear he enjoyed it more than you; his moans turned to whines to whimpers, deteriorating as he started to slam into you.

          You could feel him hit your cervix with every thrust, the pain radiating deep within you. His arms wrapped around you as he fucked you frantically and desperately, his breath laced with the sound of your name.

          His body was enveloped by yours, unknowing of the greed. With legs and arms curled around him, you pulled him in with every driving force. With a final tug at your neck, he pushed his forehead against yours. His mouth tried to kiss you, but he’d become bewitched by your body, by your voice, by the way your fingernails dug into his back through his shirt that he could only whisper obscenities against your lips. With every profane statement, he begged you - “gotta feel you cum on me, honey.”

          “Gotta work for it, baby,” was the only thing you could come up with, and with how breathless you said it, you both knew you were close.

          Almost instantaneously, he pulled out of you completely and flipped you, bending you over the desk. Despite him leading, he fucked you like you were the last woman on earth. His loud whimpers laid pathetically against yours shoulders, “god do you know how much you drive me crazy?”

          “Tell me about it – “

          “Fuck,” his head fell between your shoulder blades, “I don’t think I can -“

          You grabbed the edge of the desk, feeling another orgasm build up.

          “Tommy you have to, I’m,“ you huffed before his hand covered your mouth.

          “Keep talkin’ like that you’re gonna make me cum.”

          You moaned under his hand, head tilting back with the force he used to shut you up. You felt him kiss the top of your head before lifting your leg up on the desk. Your knee buckled from the impending climax.

          “Ohh, fuck,” he reached his hand to rub your clit and felt just how much you liked him, “so fuckin’ beautiful.”

          Your hips jerked as the feeling grew overwhelming. Your hand reached back and pushed against his stomach, attempting to slow him down, but he took it as a challenge – “don’t stop me, honey, you’re doing so good.”

          You groaned under his palm, your other hand trying to pull it off. He obliged, but his fingers pinched your mouth open. He forced his tongue inside and you took him happily, “Tommy – “

          “Give it to me,” he grated from his teeth, quickening his pace against your clit, “lemme feel you.”

          Choking back your frustration, your walls tensed around him, powerfully enough to drive him out of you in a moment. His sudden disappearance left you feeling empty, and the hot streaks that rained on your bare ass made you scoff.

          His hand pushed you against the desk as the other pumped his cum all over you. The noises he made were pitiful but affirming, a mix of eagerness, frustration and relief, as if he’d been dreaming about this for ages. Hell, he probably had.

          You didn’t mean to sound condescending, and you meant to say it as a compliment, but it landed… strangely, “that was quick.”

          He spanked you clean on the thickest part of your ass, “not quick. I was jus’… admiring you too hard.”

          You giggled as you turned around, watching him take off his flannel, “another go?”

          He raised his brows, a mischievous look growing, “gimme ten minutes.” He pulled off his undershirt and handed it to you, wincing as he did so, “maybe twenty.”

          You laughed loudly as you took his shirt and wiped his cum off of you, “easy Don Juan, I need a cigarette first.”

          “That bad, huh?”

          You pulled your pants up, smiling widely, “it’s the good kind of cigarette. The celebratory one.”

          You handed him one as he got dressed, letting you keep the stained shirt as a memento. Graciously, you tossed it into a corner. You both sat on the desk and smoked in silence. You wanted to break it, but you figured you both needed a moment to figure it out.

          The way you both fell into this was natural, as if you were meant for each other. He was easy, and that was his best trait. He didn’t argue, he was open-minded, and he was nice, everything you could ask for in a man in a time like this. He made you feel a type of way you hadn’t felt in a very long time and it bothered you. He was too sweet, too funny, tall and fit; a whole package wrapped in fucked up plaid and cowboy boots. Clearly, he hadn’t lost much since the outbreak. Arguably, he’d gotten a better life. You could never say this out loud as everyone lost someone, but his coolness and enthusiasm for life was so exhausting, irritating even. You didn’t want him to get off whatever height he stood at, you wanted him to fall;

          “Got any family?”

          He nodded, still facing forward, “a brother. He’s in Boston.”

          “Poor bastard.”

          “Yeah,” he flicked his cigarette, “but it’s what he wanted.”

          “Wasn’t a fan of the Fireflies?”

          He shook his head, “he called me an idiot for joining them.”

          “Are you?”

          “An idiot? Shit,” he laughed, “probably. He thought so, anyway.”

          The sorrow tone he took didn’t fulfill you in the way you’d hoped. As a matter of fact, you felt even worse, “who cares what he thinks. He thought the QZ was better, sucking off FEDRA soldiers for what, a piece of construction paper?” You rolled your eyes and took a drag, “he’s an asshole.”

          This made him bark out a laugh, “that part is true. That’s his whole, uh, thing, but I can’t blame him though.”

          “Apocalypses make people suck, I think.”

          He shrugged, “somethin’ like that.”

          You looked over your shoulder, running your eyes around his face, searching for his meaning. His brows pulled forward and his eyes stared at the floor. His pointed smile turned to a deep frown, the lines in his face uncharacteristically harsh.

          Fuck.

          You smoked silently, the burn of the paper was deafening as your heart beat flooded your ears. You faced forward, regretting bringing anything up in the first place. You nudged him gently, whispering “sorry.”

          He looked towards you, matching your tone almost mockingly, “for what?”

          “Killing the mood, I guess.”

          He observed you for a moment, his eyes taking in every inch of your face, “y’know, I found something interesting the other day, you should swing by the university ‘n I’ll show you.”

          Your face lit up, “oh? What is it?”

          “A new business venture.”

*

Your entry into the university wasn’t as uneventful as Tommy made it seem it’d be.

          The Fireflies seemed strung up at the fact he’d brought a "visitor" to a headquarter, and his casual dismissal of their concerns made you uneasy as they were extremely reluctant to let you in. They threatened him with telling Marlene, shooting you, shooting the both of you, but every warning was met with a shrug, a wave of his hand, or "go ahead".

          These people sucked more than you imagined.

          He didn’t bother to give you a tour of the place, as he intended on you going home before dark. If you were being honest, you couldn’t care about this place. It was far too big, clearly unmanageable by the looks of spray painted doors and blocked exits, and the pockets of completely disregarded areas – loose ends.

          He brought you behind a condemned dorm building in the area considered a loose end for you. He talked about how he and the others tried clearing the dorm, but it was heavily populated with clickers and they figured it was best to just block it off. This whole place was stupid and it was a terrible place to set up, but you tried giving the Fireflies, but really him, the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wasn’t that stupid.

          Around the corner, he pointed to a random dirt patch that clearly used to be home to some nice shrubbery, but they were uprooted and replaced by a better cousin.

          Your jaw dropped as he pointed to the rows of pot plants that lined the sidewalk, “holy shit.”

          “Yeah,” he laughed, “and no one knows about it other than me and you.”

          You knelt to smell the leaves; they were fresh and earthy, thriving in the Colorado heat. They were plump and rich, just the most perfect plants. You looked up at Tommy in awe, “how the fuck did you find these?”

          “Never mind how I found them, just take ‘em.”

          “What, all of them?”

          “Sure,” he lifted his shoulders, “we don’ need ‘em.”

          “Tommy,” you stood up, uncertain of his goal, “you do know how important this can be for people, right? Instead of relying on FEDRA painkillers, people can grow this shit –“

          “That’s why I’m givin’ them to you,” his hand held your shoulder, “you’ll be an unstoppable force. People would kill for this shit.”

          “I know, that’s why I’m asking.”

          “Just take ‘em.”

          “But –“

          He pushed his finger against your mouth, “take. Them.”

          You hesitated for a moment, his only response being him pointing his head towards the plants. You got to your knees and started uprooting the plants one by one, carefully clearing up any dirt from the fragile strings of their roots. You gently put a few plants into your bag, taking precaution that the other things don’t break, tear, or otherwise hurt the plants.

          After filling your bag, you turned to him, “what’s your plan?”

          “My plan?” He put his hands on his hips and looked around, giving his chin a scratch. He rubbed the back of his neck, “you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

          You declined, “haven’t had the chance.”

          “Y’know what,” his Texan drawl oozed into his speech like honey, the suggestion piqued that sharp smirk he always carried, “I’ll take you one day.”

          “Oh? And what for?”

          He shrugged, “just ‘cause. I think you’d really like it.”

          You shook your head, opting to stare at the loose dirt than him. You felt your heartbeat quicken as he took a step towards you, silently. You felt his hand delicately touch the curve of your lower back as he leaned close to your ear, “wanna test the product?”

          You’d both wandered through the dorm for what seemed like forever. The building was stuffy and humid with the air being stiff and heavy. He swore he’d been through the building before, but he had to take a moment at intersections, peek through doors, and backtrack a few times before getting to the roof. You managed to find a giant crater covered with cordyceps networks and spores, to which he commented, “some poor bastard’s gonna end up down there, y’know.” His stupid giggle from behind his gas mask was charming enough to make your chest flush.

          Finally, he shoved the door to the rooftop with his broad shoulder.

          The view from the rooftop was nothing short of beautiful. The sun set over the city skyline, sinking the silhouette in a deep, rich umber as the orange peeked through the cracks. The clouds were painted with reds and oranges and were pulled across the sky by the gentle late-summer breeze.

          Tommy stood at the edge of the building, one leg posted against the ledge with hands on his hips, taking in the view and responding with a whistle, “damn views never get old.”

          You crossed your arms and stood beside him, “never seen the city this far out.”

          He hummed, taking a moment before turning to you, reaching for his pocket, “managed to nick a sample before I got you.”

          He showed you a single, lopsided joint, capped at the butt with your signature filter. You laughed at the poor presentation.

          “Look,” he defended “it’d been a long time for me. This is the best you’ll ever get,” he entertained.

          “No, it’s,” you carefully took it from him, “it’s fine, it’ll do, I think.”

          He rolled his eyes and lit the end. Both of you locked eyes as you inhaled deeply, taking the dry smoke into your lungs. A smile crept on his face as you exhaled, the smoke thick, “how is it?”

          You looked down at the poorly rolled joint, “not bad. Fresh. Didn’t do a good job drying it though.”

          He shoved his hands in his pockets, “I got impatient.”

          “Mmhm.” You handed it back to him and you continued to burn it down to the very end, talking, flirting, touching, and staring out at the city. By the time you’d finished, the heady substance had taken its toll and you both decided to sit against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. It’d gotten quite dark, and you could hear a straggling Firefly wander around below, probably doing rounds.

          His arm wrapped around your waist as you fell into him, head on shoulder, listening to him drone about life before the cordyceps. He talked about his niece, his brother, his job, his time in the military and the war. From how he described his brother, you could tell he not only worried about him, but spoke of him with reverence. His tender tone cracked as he admitted their final argument, “sometimes I wish I’d stayed, for him.”

          You squeezed his body, “I know, but you’re stubborn and so… optimistic.” Your fingers lazily tugged a stray hair that fell into front of his face, taking in the strong features of his face as you did so, “it’s in your nature it seems, to change the world.”

          He took your hand and pushed his lips against your fingers, “I sometimes wish I was more like him; maybe we’d get on like we used to, but he’s just so damn pessimistic, so bleak. He’s nothin’ like he used to be, and watchin’ him tear himself apart was painful, I couldn’t watch him suffer anymore.” He kissed the inside of your wrist, “I always wanted to go back, take care of him like I used to. I didn’t leave him alone, though. This woman, Tess, she took a liking to him, and I think he liked her too, but both of ‘em are too bull-headed to admit it. She promised me she’d take care of him though, ‘n I trust her.”

          He wrapped your arm around his head and looked towards you, his sleepy, bloodshot eyes trailing down your face. His brows furrowed as he tried to hold back his tears before he pulled you in for a kiss. He held your face as he kissed you again, deeply and purposefully, as if trying to convey something to you.

          You, however, tried to ignore it; you pulled away from him, closing your eyes to not see his reaction. He continued, “I’m tired of fighting to survive and gettin’ nothin’ from it. I’m tired of always being on the move, always fighting. There has to be more than this.”

          You couldn’t help but to look at him like he was insane. More than this? There’s nothing. The world had ended, humanity has gone to shit; there is nothing. Being optimistic is one thing but this was straight up stupid, and you laughed.

          His wounded look made you feel guilty, but you asked him sincerely, “do you really believe that, Tommy? That, after all of this, there’s something more than just surviving?”

          He could only blink at you before responding at a tone so low, you almost missed it, “yeah.”

*

It had been almost a year and a half since he’d brought up the idea to go to the Grand Canyon with you.

          He said Marlene was still alive and made it to Boston, her work seemingly piling up into more shit, and he’d become completely disillusioned by the Fireflies as a whole. He stopped bringing them up, he took longer periods of times away from the college. Hell, he even took you to Santa Monica Pier; that trip lasted almost two weeks. And each time he’d gotten back, they’d give him shit for it, but he slowly just stopped speaking to them until he stopped entirely. He even entertained the idea of just ditching them to be with you, but you declined, harshly.

          The way to Arizona was long, but extremely uneventful.

          As a matter of fact, you felt it was therapeutic, like one long hike with a close friend. Each night felt beautiful in every essence; the weather, the company, the laid-back energy and the sudden lack of duties gave you the break you didn’t know you needed.

          Tommy was more touchy once you’d left Salt Lake, but you figured this is just how he was, away from the watchful eye of annoyed Firefly colleagues. Any chance he’d get, he’d plant a kiss square against your cheek, biting your flesh before spanking you playfully. You didn’t mind his grabby habit; it made you feel wanted, seen, attractive. It’d been a decade since you heard a compliment, much less experience a close, hyper-sexual camaraderie where you were the focus of lust.

          He led you to a clearing near the edge of the canyon, setting yours and his stuff down before taking you closer to the edge. Carefully, he led you to the safest point and the view took your breath away.

          It was just past sunset, but the summer sun was adamant about staying observable, so the canyon had a sharp, backlit background of clear orange skies and a blinding white border at the peak. The deep, sunken earth was painted a rich blue hue, the trees and brush tinted with green as they gently stirred in the wind. You were speechless.

          “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

          “Tommy,” you whispered before facing him, “it’s beautiful.”

          His sharp smirk carried pride this time, something new, and he pulled you in close to the side of his tall figure, rubbing your shoulder as you both looked out into the canyon.

          He kissed the top of your head before asking if you were ready to eat, and there was something about him nuzzling into your hair that sent a chill down your back. An uneasy feeling started to pool into your stomach as you’d began to think about why this trip happened to begin with. But, he pulled you away from the edge and towards where you were to spend the night; just a small clearing with a fire pit.

          You sat cross-legged, watching him kindle the flame. You tried to ignore the feeling inside, but found it was growing as you watched his shoulders work in his fitted shirt. Your Walkman lied in the desert sand, the headphones attached, and as you tried to reach for it, his hand wrapped around it first. Looking up through your lashes, you saw his pointed smile, infectious and hard to fight. Shyly, you smiled back, and he let you have it, “tryna ignore me now?”

          You shrugged, attempting to conceal what you were going through, “I just wanna listen to Bonnie Tyler.”

          He laughed as he sat next to you, shoulder bracing against yours, and took an earbud, “mind if I listen with you?”

          You nudged him, “’course I mind, but I’m gonna let you anyway.”

          He nodded thoughtfully, and as the music played, you both lied back onto the ground. You watched as the clear skies showed off far away stars twinkling against the velvet night. As her melody played, you couldn’t help but to feel the deep-pitted feeling turn to energy, to anxiety. You turned to face him and found he’d been looking at you this entire time with wide eyes.

          You sat up immediately, the earbuds pulling from both of your ears as you did so. He followed suit with a concerned look in his eyes, “you okay?”

          Sitting at the fire, you awkwardly played with your fingers, something he’d noticed quickly.

          “What’s wrong?”

          You sighed. Looking at him was heartbreaking enough, but you had to ask, “why did you bring me here?”

          He hummed, seemingly expecting your question. He took a moment to find the right words, answering your question, but keeping it light, like he always did, “the view wasn’ to your liking?”

          “Tommy,” you nudged him, “I’m serious. Why are we here?”

          He shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno, you said you’d never been, so I figured I’d take you.”

          You stared at him, breaking down his cool demeanor. He always had a soft spot for you, and he always proved it.

          He swallowed hard, “I gotta tell you somethin’, and, I dunno, I thought this would make it easier.”

          Your eyes closed, more out of annoyance than anything. You discussed this before; this arrangement was as clear as day. You wanted to chew him out for being too optimistic, too nice and kind. He was a good person, and if circumstances were different you could see him the way he was about to admit.

          “Jesus, Tommy.”

          “So you know?”

          You shook your head disappointingly, “I knew this was gonna fucking happen.”

          “What do you want me to say,” he spoke defensively, “they’ve gotten nowhere since I got there; they kept not a single promise. You can’t be mad at that.”

          You looked at him, eyes squared, “what?”

          “What?”

          “What are you talking about?”

          He straightened his back dubiously, “what’re you talkin’ about?”

          You stared at him dumbfounded, mouth open and really speechless this time. “I – you like me, Tommy.”

          “‘Course I do, why wouldn’t I?”

          “Tommy, you know what I mean.”

          His mouth gaped as he tried to give you a quippy, witty, or otherwise sarcastic remark, but better judgment came along first, “you askin’ me if I fancy you?”

          “I know you do,” you crossed your arms sheepishly, “I just don’t know to what extent, I mean,” you sighed, “I thought that was, y'know,” you trailed off.

          “Okay,” he replied softly, “to what extent do you want me to fancy you?”

          “Ugh,” you shoved him. You hated how much of a smart-ass he could be, especially when it came to things that were very clearly important to talk about. “Just tell me what you were gonna say, asshole.” The embarrassment of clocking the wrong issue heated your face hotter than the fire.

          “Fine.” He stopped in his tracks and you followed. You both sat staring into the dying fire, a warm breeze carrying the anxiety from one to the other. He pulled his eyes from the fire to focus on you, slightly tilting his head, “to start, by the way, I do like you. I jus’ dunno to what extent, truthfully. I like thinkin’ about you, talkin’ to you, foolin’ around with you. There’s a lot about you that I like, and I like the way you make me feel. I feel like,” he shifted, “I feel like you were meant to be in my life, I just don’ know for what.”

          Your heart broke as you prepared yourself for the inevitable. You didn’t want him to love you and you didn’t want his love. You were only supposed to fuck each other’s brains out, cuddle, and talk about dumb shit, like cures, Joan Jett, and familial hierarchy, sharing a cigarette because you were too stubborn to give him his own all the time. He’s supposed to die, or get bored of the Fireflies and leave you behind. He’s supposed to break your fucking heart and he is, just not in the way you’d hoped. You could only stare at the illuminating light, waiting for him to read your mind and to shut up.

          But he didn’t.

          “Look, I don’ expect you to understand what I mean. Hell, I don’ even know what I mean. All I know is, you’ve given me a lot to think about. Things I ain’t even think about at all.” He paused, looking around as if to find his next thought. “I look back on my life before the cordyceps, before all this. I think about my brother’s life, my friend’s lives, and I missed out on something, and I dunno if you’re the one to give it to me. I never felt like this before, but my gut’s tellin’ me to change somethin'.”

          Confused, your eyes finally met his, searching for the answer. He could only look back at you with pathetic, pooling eyes, swallowing his pride hard, “I’m leaving the Fireflies.”

          You’d gone through every stage of grief instantly, landing on anger before sinking back into shock. What the fuck is with this guy anyway? You looked dumb as the only thing you could mutter was “oh,” but he’d always given you grace; he was kind like that.

          “There’s a group in Wyoming. It’s large, self-sufficient, and safe –“

          “Safe?” The huff you let out was antagonizing with every intention on making him feel like an idiot, “when has there ever been a group that’s safe?”

          “Look, I seen it. There’s these huge walls, and so many supplies, and a growing number of people, good people.” He pleaded with you as he spoke, tears trailing down his face, “I don' have to survive, I can finally live.”

          You shook your head, knowing you couldn’t change his mind. This somehow hurt more than his casual admittance of liking you more than intended; he was going to get himself killed in some stupid act of self-righteousness or cannibalism, and there was nothing you could do to stop him. You took a deep breath, “okay.”

          “Okay?”

          “Okay,” you repeated. The silence suffocated you both until you felt the need to continue, but in a way you hated - with reverence. “I’m glad you found someplace to live, Tommy, I really am.” You took his knee in your hand and squeezed, “and there’s no stopping you. Ever. You’re really a force of nature; it’s one of the reasons I took a liking to you.” You looked up into his eyes, “I want you to live, and if Wyoming has life for you, then go for it.”

          He took your hand in his and squeezed even tighter, “I want you to come with me. You’d have to go through Maria, but I know she’d take you in anyway.”

          You never broke eye contact as you forced your hand from his, “no.”

          He looked confused, as if he was expecting you to just drop everything and fuck off into some group to get eaten. You were almost offended that he thought you’d go with him, and you could feel that he’d seen it.

          “I ain’t gonna force you to come with. It was only a suggestion. I know you got bigger and better things to do, anyway.”

          Your heart ached at the implication. You severely underestimated how much you really craved companionship, and this only solidified your desire to stay alone forever. You couldn’t take the pain anymore; it never got easier and you hated the universe for your softness. You hated how close you could get with someone, how little control you had over others. If you had the choice, no one would die, or leave, and you’d always be surrounded by people who love you.

         "And," he made sure to let you know, for some reason, "I will take you back to Utah, so tonight ain't the end."

          Your head dipped back, your sin of desire, your sin of affiliation being washed away, dripping off your shoulders and down your back. You could feel the cool night air rinse off the sticky residue from your brain and body, and being reborn, the stubborn sick feeling in your stomach disappeared. The weight of his love fell from you as you turned to him, his sad eyes meaning nothing to you, but there was one thing that would make you feel better, and thankfully, the blood in your veins turned to stone as you audaciously commanded him for one last time, “just fuck me.”

Chapter Text

The doctor and the guy gave you privacy as Tommy walked into the room and closed the door. He took off his gloves and placed them on the counter, his smile not wavering for a moment.

          You wanted to jump at him, wrap your arms around him and squeeze him like you did before he’d left, but anger and confusion got the better of you. He looked at you like he missed you, but he didn’t even bother reaching out, no visit, nothing. He didn’t deserve the warm welcome you wanted to grant him.

          You both stood facing each other in silence. You watched as he took in your hesitation and accepted it, “’s been a long time.”

          “Tommy.” You spoke his name more as a statement than a question, and he gave you an understanding nod, his smile turning.

          “I knew you wouldn’t come on your own, but I knew you’d do the right thing.”

          “Fuck you, you had no right.”

          “I know.”

          “You had that asshole drag me here for, what, justice?”

          “It’s… complicated.”

          You laughed in his face, which made his face churn into something you’d paint as self-conscious. You bit back what you really wanted to tell him – he’s an idiot, a traitor, a self-righteous jackass with an unfulfilled savior complex. He was just as much an asshole as Joel was, and you wanted to really ream him out for the shit show he’d orchestrated, but for the sake of needing to know what was going on, and for the guy on the radio, you decided to remain calm.

          “So, I’m just gonna stand in front of a jury? For retribution? I showed him more mercy than his partner did. Did you know he came to me alone?”

          “I know.”

          “Yeah? And where is that other guy? Did you get to bring him back here to serve his sentence?”

          “He's dead.”

          “Oh,” you scoffed, “that’s what I got ahead of me?”

          He shook his head, “like I said, it’s complicated.” He took a few steps towards you, hands shoved in his pockets, a trait of his you’ve come to realize was his way of getting through tough conversations, “just come with me to my house. Everything’s already set up, we just need you there.”

          “I can’t, Tommy. I did what I had to do, and I refuse to be punished for it.”

          “It’s not punishment, and you don’t have a choice.“

          “What the fuck happened to you, Tommy? You kidnap me –“

          “You came willing –“

          You swung at his face and it landed hard. The force knocked him back a step and he held his face, “goddammit!”

          “Joel lied to me, just like you are now. Every single person I’ve met here so far has lied to me – even the doctor, for god's sake. I don’t know what’s going on, and every second I spend here I feel like I’m losing my mind. And you,” you paused, watching him recuperate, failing to keep your voice stern, “you can’t do this to me Tommy.”

          He swallowed, taking a breath before speaking low, “this is deeper than you think, and once we get past this, I promise to tell you everything you need to know. But right now, this is the most important thing to me. You ought to kill me, and I know you want to. You don’t owe me anything, but please, just do this one thing. Not for me, but for his parents.”

          He reached his hand out, signaling that he wanted the animosity to end, to end the accusations and anger. He reached out his hand like he did a decade prior, the same one you’d foolishly took so long ago. You watched as he remained grounded, his hand unwavering, waiting for you, but you stared, unwilling.

          Softly, he coaxed you a final time, “just give his parents closure.”

          Your burning eyes dragged from his strong hand to his quivering expression. Despite everything, he was still Tommy.

          “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Tommy’s house was lived in.

          The floors creaked, there was far too much space than you’d know what to do with, and the woody, extremely ‘Texan’ decor really nailed who Tommy was at the heart. He prepared coffee as you strolled through his living room, taking in the wall pieces and furniture. You stopped in front of the fireplace, the heat bringing a sweat to your brow as you read the chalkboard on the mantle;

         Kevin                               Sarah
4/3/00 - 9/29/03         7/20/89 - 9/27/03

          Burnt candles were unlit underneath, but you could still smell the hot wax from the last burning. Tommy never mentioned children, certainly not dead ones. You figured he had none, since that was the implication that’s what he was missing before the outbreak.

          He appeared from behind you, mugs in hand, “cream ‘n sugar, right?”

          “Huh?” You turned on your heel, “oh, yeah, that’s fine.” You took the mug and sipped, the hot liquid burning the shit out of your mouth. Though it was far too hot to determine, you could taste the excess of sugar, a reminder Tommy really hadn't changed.

          He smiled and motioned towards the board, “that’s uh, Maria’s son. Joel’s daughter.”

          Your heart sank at the thought of losing a child. This only added a layer of understanding with Joel, but confused you more as you now questioned Tommy and Joel’s relationship, and this relationship between him and Maria, who you’ve yet to meet. You held the mug with both hands, taking in the exposition.

          Tommy must’ve seen your face change, “I, uh, didn’t have a proper time to tell you, but now’s a good time as any I guess; I got married.”

          Ah. Of course. You were so emotionally drained you couldn’t care to argue. You did, however, see the humor in bringing up something so inconsequential during a situation where you had to defend killing a child. You offered a shrug, “can we just get this over with?”

          He nodded, “Joel should be here soon with the doctor and Alex’s parents. I don’ expect this to take too long. Doctor Singh already discussed the autopsy.“

          “Autopsy?” You huffed a laugh; every new detail about this place just seemed more unbelievable than the last.

          “It’d help if you took this seriously.”

          You held back, and let him continue.

          “Doctor Singh went over the autopsy. She didn’t tell them what she thought, only the facts.“

          “So why am I here?”

          “To tell them what happened.” He exhaled deeply, “they trust whatever Joel says, but it’s important for them to hear it directly from you.”

          Just as you were to inquire further, the door opened.

          Joel and Doctor Singh trailed behind a couple who seemed just slightly younger than you. The man was an amputee, his long sleeved shirt tied just above the elbow. His face was rugged and tired, and you could see the sorrow behind his eyes. His wife was just as harsh in features, her wiry hair lopsided and graying. She shuffled into the living room, boring into you with absent eyes.

          “Let’s get to the kitchen,” Tommy intervened, “get through this.”

          You followed Tommy back into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Joel, who seemed to do the same. You tried to sit upright in your chair, give his parents the decency of taking this seriously, but you couldn’t shake Joel’s strange energy during the discussion. His eyes flashed between you and Tommy before reaching the doctor or Alex’s parents, an inconspicuous quirk you hadn’t seen from him before. He seemed entirely uncomfortable during the whole ordeal, constantly shifting and rolling a pen between his fingers, as if he himself didn’t want to be here. You noticed he managed to get his palm fixed, the white gauze flashing as his hand moved.

          It didn’t take as long as you’d thought, but it was a devastating conversation. Neither parent cried, seemingly accepting of their only son’s demise.

          As promised, you told them he died saving your life, a detail in which they both were skeptical about, while withholding some key details, such as the fact he’d begged for his life before accepting his fate, and the final suggestion came from the doctor, the time came for damnation. You could almost laugh at the idea of being exiled, barred, or otherwise shunned from the community. If they weren’t gonna kill you, what was the point in all of this? What was the point of even talking about it?

          His parents nodded, holding hands as they looked at each other. They both aged as the conversation progressed, but their eyes softened as they turned to you, the wife speaking to you for the first time, “he was my baby. He was my purpose, and having him be taken from me like this,” she took a deep breath, fighting back tears, “ineffable. Your candid recollection was… uncanny, but I cannot censure you for that. I don’t know what I would’ve done; I don’t know if I could’ve done what you did, and quite frankly, I don’t know what else you could’ve done. Having him be brought back home and sent off was a blessing in of itself, but knowing he didn’t die due to senseless violence, and he seemed… alright with his decision; this might help me sleep. I don’t think I can ever see you as anything more than a son-killer, but I can try.”

          Her lack of tonal shift was hard to swallow, but her honesty was a relief. You didn’t expect any more than this, so you bowed your head and waited for the resolve. Without moving your head, your eyes shifted towards Tommy, who sat back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking at Joel, who also sat all the way back, but his attention was on the table, so he looked towards you for a moment before speaking.

          “Thank you for your time. I know this wasn’ easy, but I hope this was helpful in some way.”

          “Yes,” she responded half an octave higher, “I think we should be fine with this. It’ll still take some getting used to a quiet home, but,” she looked at you, “I think we can manage.”

          The couple steadily moved towards the door and the doctor was dismissed. She’d given you an empathetic look before leaving you, Joel, and Tommy alone. Before Tommy could express anything, you’d interrupted him, “so what now? I get stoned to death or something?”

          He huffed, “no, this is it. Nothin’ else happens.”

          “You’re joking, right?”

          He looked towards Joel, who was fixing himself to leave, “no. Like I said, they just wanted closure.”

          Joel forcefully moved through the house like he had somewhere to be before Tommy stopped him, “can you take her to the lot we agreed on? The one on the far right of here?” He looked at you, “your stuff is already there.”

          “I got things to do,” he responded without stopping, reaching the door.

          “It’ll take five minutes.“

          “It’s fine,” you intervened, “I can just go there myself, just show me where.”

          “Maria’s gonna be here any minute and we’re switching shifts. Don’ you want me to owe you one?”

          Joel turned to face him. Tommy’s charming smile didn’t break him for a second, but Joel did tell you to get your shit, which was a win to him.

          Tommy’s voice followed you as you’d left his house, “I’ll try giving you a tour later, just wait for me. Thank you big bro!”

          If you’d never felt like an idiot before, you sure as hell did now.

          The walk to your accommodation was dead silent as everyone in Jackson stared at you. You didn’t care to read any of them as the weight of the past week finally settled into your shoulders. To Joel’s face, you bragged to him about his brother. You praised him, told him you fucked him. You felt like crawling out of your skin as you realized that Joel knew exactly who you were talking about, and probably for the longest time. You felt gross, and suddenly, everything made sense.

          He brought you in front of a small home with a modest front yard and a plain mailbox. He pushed himself through the yard, up the stairs of the porch, and through the front door, making his way inside. You meekly followed him in, taking in the strong scent of wood, not unlike how the cabin smelled a few nights ago.

          The interior was quite large and open, a wall separating the dining area with the living. This wall had a fireplace that connected both rooms, and a mantle on either side of the wall. It was an interesting design, having a fireplace you could crawl through and a chimney probably situated in the middle of the roof. The kitchen was divided from the living space by a partial wall that held a solid wood counter top and came with bar stools. The kitchen also had a back door and a very small back porch, just large enough for the door to swing all the way open. Behind the dining space were the bedrooms and bathroom, but these were accessible by both the dining and living spaces.

          He gave you a moment to look around before breaking your awe, “the bedrooms’ in the back.”

          You followed him and down the hall were three doors, two against the left wall and one on the right; the ones on the left being the bedrooms and the right the bathroom. He took you into the first bedroom, the largest one, and pointed to your bag. It was placed neatly at the edge of the bed, along with a few toiletries, clothes, and another boot.

          The bedroom was huge, and farmhouse style windows let an insane amount of sunlight in. The wooden bed frame seemed sturdy enough, and the wooden bed set was simple but charming. You’d found a large, two door closet at the opposite end, and a tall sulking Joel still stood in the doorway. You could sense he just wanted to leave, but he said nothing.

          You motioned for him to continue and he turned out of the frame and nodded towards the bathroom, “water works. Clean, but not enough to drink, so don’t. In the winter keep the tap dripping to avoid it freezing. You got hot water, too.”

          “Cool.” You tried to sound as disinterested as you could, but hot water? This place was crazy.

          He showed you the second room, which was about half the size of the first, “use this however you want. No radio calls.”

          You had completely forgot about the radio guy. You figured there was no other good time to bring him up, “the radio guy –“

          “I dunno who he is.”

          “But you said –“

          “I know what I said,” his voice was rough, “drop it.”

          “Why won’t you tell me who this guy is?” You crossed your arms and stared at him, his harsh gaze resistant to your pecking, so you had to employ what you knew worked, “you jealous?”

          His brows tensed, “what?”

          “Is that why you’re not telling me where the radio guy is? Cause you’re jealous?”

          He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, “when did the doctor say you could leave?”

          “In six weeks.”

          He mumbled something to the tune of ‘not soon enough’ before asking you “are we done here? I really don’t got the time to –“

          “Just leave,” you butted in, “go. And I better not be missing anything.”

          He looked at you subdued, shaking his head and laughing to himself, “then let me get the hell outta here.”

          You didn’t like the implication so you immediately ran for your bag and all its pockets. You began to lose it when you realized they not only took your radio, leaving the boombox and CDs, but they took your marijuana. Your hands shook as you realized night was coming quick and you had no way of sleeping, and you couldn’t even fight Joel about it because he’d left well before you even realized what they took.

          You could feel your eyes swell up with fear and frustration, throwing the stupid shit off your bed. A rubber object caught your eye as it bounced off your floor. You took a step towards it and picked it up.

          It looked like a tiny silicone shot glass, but alien. It bent easily between your fingers as you studied it curiously for a few moments, breaking your destructive streak. You stood up with it in your hand as you walked back towards the bed, looking for some sort of explanation for this.

          You found a folded paper just behind your bag – DivaCup. You read through the sheet and realized what it was for; you laughed. You laughed, and laughed, until it hurt and tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

          You sat on the floor, staring at the little silicone cup for a moment before setting it down. You took a deep breath and felt your body relax, but you didn’t want to sink into the false sense of security this place so eloquently built.

          You sat in the same place until the sun sank deep below the earth, until the room drank up what it could of the moonlight, until the bright orange wood faded to blue. The night seemed busier than the morning, the sounds of life and happiness and safety muttered beyond the walls of your fabricated shelter. You could hear children play while their parents chattered about nonsense – the crops, movie nights, you could even hear handsy teenagers creep around and giggle and kiss and experience a life you’d well forgotten.

          You shook their lives from your head as you struggled to stand, legs weak from the amalgamation of excessive movement and excessive rest. You slowly dragged yourself out of the bedroom and took in what Tommy had given you.

          The dining area housed a heavy oak dining table with matching chairs, and the mantle matched in color. The rug was well worn but the vibrant hues remained strong, and there were windows on both walls; one facing the neighbor and one facing the front yard, and they carried curtains that offered no privacy. The entire home reeked of wood and polish and dust, but was clean entirely.

          As you walked towards the front and turned at the door, you saw the living space was just as warm as Tommy’s. There were throw blankets on every seat, a large couch with sunken cushions that faced the fireplace and sat underneath a generic abstract painting. The mantle on this side of the wall was stained darker than in the dining and had tiny wooden sculptures. You stepped towards them and scanned; a small horse in a simple pose and a bigger cat, sitting with its tail wrapped around its legs. A smile inadvertently pulled at your lips; the guy from the radio must’ve known you were coming.

          You picked it up gently and took in all of the details, its round eyes with pointed irises, pointy ears, and lines across the body to imply fur. You held the cat tightly in your palm and pulled it to your chest, wishing his energy could seep through your skin. You moved it back into your line of vision and gently pet the head with your finger before returning it with its horse friend.

          You walked towards the kitchen, almost tripping on this darker, even more worn, thick rug. Your eyes roamed the walls and half wall. This counter was stained lighter than the mantle and had a single empty glass vase in the corner. The bar stools were built for this as they were perfect height and had Meso-american patterned fabric cushions.

          You passed the wall and looked around. A working fridge behind the kitchen chair, an electric oven, a small square table against a large curtained window with three matching chairs, and another small empty vase. You opened the fridge and found it had a few glass bottles of clean water, some labeled with masking tape ‘cooking’ and ‘drinking’. You stuck your hand in and felt the cool air on your fingers, “shit.”

          You closed the fridge and found the backdoor; a simple windowed door and a short curtain for little privacy. You carefully reached for the doorknob, anxiety creeping up as you now had so many entryways you couldn’t possibly cover them all.

          The door was unlocked and you slowly pulled it open, the cool summer air bursting through. The porch was only a few feet long and wide, strictly there to allow you to walk out. It was painted a rich red color, the only wood painted, and you took a step outside.

          You didn’t really have a backyard, but a sizable space behind your home that was blocked in by a shin-high fence. You could see houses across the path, some had two floors, some had gardens and painted walls and stones that decorated their steps. The lamp posts and strung lights illuminated the area enough to make out faces.

          The people who wandered by were either leaving or strolling, taking advantage of the gorgeous night’s weather. You stood at the railing, watching as they passed by, only offering you hidden glances, leaned whispers, and forced waves. You responded to none of them.

          You turned and walked back into the house, closing the door behind you. You could never assimilate, you could never integrate, you could never be forgiven by these people. They all knew you and what you’ve done, and they will make sure to remind you of that every single day. You will always be an outsider to these people and you weren’t in the mood to be ostracized by them.

          You heard a hard knock on your front door and it scared you out of your thoughts. You peeked over the half wall and saw a tall, looming figure through the curtains. You reached for your knife, but it wasn’t there; those bastards took it and never gave it back. Your hands fumbled at a drawer and managed to pull it open.

          The knock grew louder as you pulled a small kitchen knife. It’ll have to do.

          You crouched as best you could and made your way to the edge of the half wall, peering around the corner. You could see the figure peering in, and as if it’d seen you, “it’s Tommy.”

          You exhaled and bowed your head. You put the knife on the counter and walked towards the door, forcing it open only halfway, “what?”

          Tommy looked at you with raised brows, and a bruised cheek, the discoloration making the sight gnarly. “I, uh, see you’ve been,” he scratched his head, “getting comfortable.” His smile pulled as it usually did, wide and pointed at the ends. It was hard not to smile with him, as he did with his whole face, eyes squinting slightly as his teeth peeked through his lips.

          Your tension eased and you leaned against the door, “it’s been a day.”

          The sounds of the community rang through your silence for a moment. “Look, it’s gonna take time, but you’ll get used to it. They’ll get used to you.”

          “They won’t,” you disagreed, “they’ll never see me as anything more than a child killer.”

          “I don’ think so.”

          “Well, you didn’t kill a child.”

          "You don’ know what I’ve done,” his cool wiped from his face, "and yet I'm still here."

          You looked at him and seen that familiar sincerity show through his eyes and you nodded in agreement. He tapped your shoulder, lightening the tone as he’d always done, “but I’m here to give you a tour.”

          “Tommy,” you sighed, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

          “Well, you’re gonna be here for at least six weeks, and I ain’t gonna let you sit inside the whole time.”

          You continued to stare at him.

          He shifted on his feet and leaned closer to you, “no one can change what happened, 'n you already repaid what you owed to those that matter.”

          “It hardly felt like it.”

          “It was more than enough for them. Why can’t that be enough for you? They got their closure, it’s all they wanted. Everyone else,” he sighed, “everyone else is irrelevant. They can judge you, but you did what you had to do, and that’s all that matters.” He braced against the door frame and you could feel his breath against your neck as he exhaled, “and since when did you start carin’ about what people thought of you, anyway?”

          You wished you could accept the sentiment, but your heart refused, “since I killed a kid.”

          “You did exactly what I would’ve done.”

          Your eyes met his and for a moment, you could feel it. You felt, as if physical, a wall buckle under his admission. Tommy reminded you that he didn’t kill for sport or for pleasure, he didn’t even kill for survival, not if he could help it at least. He was different from any man you’d met; he still had his humanity, his hope, his serenity. Despite everything, he was still as he was, and that drove you crazy. It simply wasn’t fair.

          You bowed your head and opened the door a bit wider, stepping outside as he’d stepped back, “where to?”

          He chuckled, moving to your side and giving you the space to walk ahead, “how about a drink?”

          “Oh, you should’ve started with that.”

          Both of you laughed as you walked down the dirt path towards what was the city center. As you closed distance, he pointed out various buildings; houses of worship, one of four welding shops, a boutique, a hairdresser, and even a small schoolhouse. No matter how small Tommy tried to make Jackson seem, this place felt like its own state.

          As you rounded the corner, he took you inside the busiest building yet; The Tipsy Bison.

          Inside was a rambunctious gig; jukebox on its loudest setting, people drinking and eating. The center of the room was cleared for dancing, determining by how close the tables seemed to be. Against the back wall was a huge, white canvas attached to the ceiling; a projector screen.

          You pushed yourself against Tommy’s body as this was a lot to take in. He led you directly to the bar, which was just as busy with two bartenders working the shift. Your palm traversed a free portion of the bar top; stained and polished wood, smooth, and slightly sticky, “man.”

          “Still drinkin’ ‘shine or can I get you something smoother.”

          You sat giddily on the bar stool and looked behind the bartender, reading the bottles. Most of them had no label but masking tape with what it was – ‘whiskey’, ‘rum’, ‘mead’ – but there were a few pre-outbreak labels you could catch.

          Your tongue trailed your lips as you thought about it, “what’s gonna get me drunk the fastest?”

          Tommy laughed and ordered for the both of you, “y’know, as much as we like to let loose, there is a limit.”

          “Which is why I want the fastest route to oblivion,” you quipped, only half joking. You figured since they took your weed and you probably won’t be able to keep alcohol in your house, you could use Tommy as a way to get your fix.

          He nodded towards the bartender and you noticed they shared a look. The bartender spoke nothing towards you, but the way he looked at Tommy said more than words could ever. Tommy’s look to him seemed to try to reassure him, but he wouldn’t budge. Tommy then looked at you, passing the drink with a smirk, but your hunch was right – you will never be equal.

          Tommy raised his glass and you followed, sipping the harsh liquor. It was a fresh honey whiskey, the honey coming through as an aftertaste rather than a strong note, but overall sweet. The pour wasn’t any different than a pre-Cordyceps pour, but it simply wasn’t enough. You considered for a moment throwing it back, but glancing over to Tommy, and seeing him try to get you to settle in despite the slight treatment, you figured you owed him some class.

          “How is it,” he asked over the loud music.

          You took another sip, “it’s a hell of a lot better than the shit I made.”

          As you both laughed, your fingers tapped the glass apprehensively, unsure of where you and he stood in terms of relationship. Clearly, he still valued you enough to be seen walking through Jackson with you, drinking with you, but how far did that run?

          You stared at the golden liquid stilled in your glass, tracing the lines of the bar top with your eyes before asking him, “who worked on the radio?”

          He raised his shoulders, “a few people, but we stopped using it ages ago. Well,” he backtracked, “obviously we used it to contact you last week, but before then must’ve been months. We only use it for patrols now.”

          You faced him, “months? Tommy, I was talking to someone on the radio almost every night.”

          He almost choked on his liquor, shocked at what he was hearing, “what?”

          With squared brows, you continued, “I was talking to someone about trades almost every day. How else did you think we managed to set up a meeting time?”

          “Impossible. You sure the signals were comin’ from here?”

          Both of you stared at each other in shock and confusion, Tommy shaking his head, “I guess I’ll have to ask ‘round. The guy who ran the radio, Arthur, was damn near eighty, but he passed away. No one else was scheduled for it, as we figured it was obsolete. Did the guy you speak to give you a name?”

          “No,” you sipped, “but he had me get the usual supplies.” You wanted to tell him about the extras he’d sent you to get, but since Tommy had no idea who was speaking with you, you didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. But that raised another concern, “how did you know to contact me through the radio?”

          He finished his drink and ordered two more, “well, when we realized neither Alex nor his partner were responding to our walkies, Joel suggested we try the radio, since that’s how Arthur got into contact with you in the first place. It really was a last ditch effort.”

         "Oh, so you knew I was still alive, you just chose to not reach out to me?"

         "It wasn' like that," he started, sliding the second glass towards you. A large hand swooped in from behind and took it clean off the counter; Joel swiftly emptied the glass and set it back, “‘scuse me, but I need Tommy,” was all he gave you before turning his back towards you.

          You would be offended if you hadn’t had a drink before, but seeing Tommy order another round made up for Joel’s discourtesy. You took the drink and listened to Tommy request a different time to talk, but Joel insisted, “Myra said she thinks the weather’s gonna be bad, and Dina noted the hinges in the barn were worn.”

          “Joel,” Tommy rubbed his face, “she said the storm’s not comin’ for a day or two, we got time.“

          “I don’t think so,” he refuted, “I think the storm’s comin’ quicker than she says.” Joel leaned against the bar with his hand on his hip; his watch still attempting to conceal the colorful beads. “Let’s just get this done tomorrow mornin’.”

          “Why you so busy all of a sudden, anyway,” he asked skeptically, “shouldn’t you be readin’ or somethin’?”

          You didn’t have to see the way Joel looked down on Tommy because you could see it in Tommy’s smug look.

          Joel turned around unexpectedly, “drink somethin’ stronger.” He looked over his shoulder and back before departing.

          Tommy watched as he left the bar and turned his focus to you, laughing, “I dunno what’s gotten into him.”

          “Is he usually not like this?”

          He shook his head, “hadn’t been for a minute. Think the rains' scarin’ him a bit. We recently started getting pretty bad downpours.”

          “Wild,” came out more sarcastically than anticipated, but you finished your drink, “so you don’t know anything about the radio?”

          “Sorry,” he offered, “but I’ll ask ‘round, see what comes up.”

          You nodded, tapping the empty glass wordlessly.

          “You gonna ask if you can get drunk, yet?”

          Barking out a laugh, you rested your head on your fist, “didn’t know when was a good time to ask.”

          His affectionate smile was unchanged, and you had to talk to him about that, but you decided to watch him call for the bartender and hand him a flask. Without a single word spoken, the man took the flask and filled it with bourbon, probably home distilled, and hand it back. Tommy tapped the bar as to thank him, and turned his head towards the door, “wanna keep walkin’?”

          You followed his lead as he brought you back outside, looking in both directions before pointing towards the left, “I don’ think you seen this half; ’s pretty empty but we’re workin’ on it.”

          You matched his pace as you wandered through the paved, bustling city. As you continued to a dimmer part of the community, he handed you the flask and you kicked off, “pretty cushy life you got here.”

          He hesitated, “eh, it’s better, I think. Lots of work to do still, so always busy.”

          “Yeah,” you took another swig before handing it back to him, “I could see.”

          The area was considerably dark, with sparse lighting attempting to line the path. You could see at the end of the path was a dimly lit round, maybe a hundred feet or so ahead. You looked around at the developing area; mostly built buildings, lumber piles and tiny tool sheds. You looked through the empty buildings, curious to see the layouts and intention. Your eyes caught a two-level building, almost like a loft but bigger; you were in awe at how capable people here were.

          He handed you the flask, “daycare, that one. Next to it another laundromat, and next to that, well, I dunno yet.” He watched you drink for a second, “maybe you got some ideas.”

          “No,” you swallowed hard, “I’m not staying, Tommy. Between you, Joel, Maria -“

          “You haven’t even met Maria,” he nudged you, “I think she might like you.”

          “I don’t think she’d want to know me,” you handed it back.

          “She’s mature, and besides, I already told her everythin’.” You shot him a glare and he took another drink, “I tell her everything, and she’s fine with it.”

          “Tommy,” you snatched the flask from him and took a big gulp, “when women say they’re fine with it, they’re not.”

          Tommy laughed, “not Maria, she means what she says and says what she means. She’s… blunt. Makes married life quite easy, actually.”

          You rolled your eyes, handing the flask, “so stupid.”

          “What, gettin’ married?”

          “In the apocalypse, yeah.”

          “Well,” he took a drink, “not everyone got ‘round to this stuff before the outbreak.”

          You continued a bit in silence, trying to see his point. You wanted to know what was going through his head when he decided to fall in love and get married. It was unfathomable.

          “Y’know,” he continued, “it makes life easier, lettin’ people in.”

          Disagreeing, you took the flask and said nothing.

          “You don’ wanna be like Joel.”

          “Well, Joel’s alive.”

          “Yeah, ‘n so am I.”

          “Whatever,” was all you could say. You tripped over something on the path as you drank, handing it back to him. “She’s only gonna break your heart, Tommy.”

          You didn’t intend on breaking your own heart, but you needed Tommy to know that it’s so fucking different now than it was before. Life is so weak, and a simple cold could turn fatal, but he’s here getting married as if he’s allowed to.

          “Yeah,” he sighed, taking a drink, “but at least life now is bearable. She’d be worth the pain.”

          “Fuck you.“

          “What?”

          “How could you say that,” drunken tears burned your eyes as you tried to keep them concealed and your voice cracked, the admission coming forth as slightly above whisper, “it’s fucking devastating.”

          He huffed, “both of you, the same damn person.”

          “What,” the question biting through his snide comment.

          He passed the flask, “you ‘n Joel, one ‘n the same. No wonder he had a hard time with you.”

          You drank a bit and chuckled, “yeah, he’s uh, something.”

          “He wasn’t always like that, but I think he’s gettin’ back to it, his old self.”

          You passed it back to him, “he was a hardass before the Cordyceps?”

          “Only when he needed to be.” He looked at you and you met his gaze. You’d seen he wanted to say something, but he only passed the flask to you, “‘s almost empty, ‘n it’s gettin’ late.”

          “Gotta get back to the ole ball ‘n chain?”

          He hummed, pulling a smile as he spoke, “gotta get your drunk ass home.”

          “I’m not drunk,” you rebutted, shoving him a bit too hard, “just relaxing. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

          “Sure. Let’s just get you home.”

          You noticed the dimly illuminated round came within feet, the entrance being closed, “what’s in there?”

          “Oh, that’s the cemetery.”

          You stopped in front of the gate and peered in, your eye catching the recently moved soil bombarded by flowers, pinwheels, and trinkets. Like rain, your chest flooded as you pressed your head against the cool wrought iron, tears flowing down your warm cheeks. You cried quietly as you watched the pinwheels turn gently in the breeze. His warm hand met your back, circling as he moved closer. His body heat was enticing enough for you to throw yourself at him, fists balled against his chest as you broke down even further.

          You felt little relief as you cried into his chest, melting in the arms that wrapped tightly around you, as if understanding what it was you were feeling.

          His voice rasped against your ear and you could hear that unique sense of security he’d always seemed to have given you, “I’m gonna take you home now, okay?”

          You nodded silently and parted from him, looking away from his gaze. You stumbled down the darkened path, arm in arm with Tommy. He took you behind the developments, probably to hide your shameful display from the public that already distrusted you, shielding them from what you really are: a despondent drunk. This was a courtesy only a man like Tommy could afford you.

          Quietly, he led you in between emptying businesses and towards your accommodation, carefully sneaking you through the fence and helping you up the stairs. At your door, you slipped your arm from his, finally meeting his eyes under the guise of night. You could barely make out his facial features, but you knew he looked at you with pity.

          “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

          “For what?”

          You stared at him, lips frowning, “Tommy.”

          “Hmm,” he smiled, “you think you’re the first person here to kill a kid and get drunk about it?”

          Your mouth opened to say something, but he cut you off, “you’re more alike with everyone here than not. There are people here who have done worse than you, I had to do things I ain’t proud of, but we deserve peace. You,” his fist dug at your shoulder, “deserve peace.”

          “I don’t know if I can just,” your fingers subconsciously reached for the hem of his flannel, twisting the edge, “live.”

          Like putting on worn shoes, you both fell into the comfortable silence of close proximity. Standing scandalously close, your eyes caught his and the feelings that fell dormant so long ago started to creep back into your chest. Your finger slipped in his belt loop and tugged, proving you are forever plagued with the affliction of perpetual desire for re-experiencing history. Or, you were a touch-starved alcoholic with no sense of boundaries.

          His fingers gently wrapped around yours and removed you from the loop, effectively closing this door for you. His smile never faded, only grew more affectionate, as he bid you good night.

          You nodded, “good night Tommy.”

Chapter Text

The sun breached through your thin curtains, painting a line over your eyes.

        The hangover was the least of your worries as your heart began to break. You’d been on your own since your husband, since Ruth, and since Tommy, but you had never felt lonely. You were your own fantastic company, and you enjoyed the fruits of your singularity, making up your own routines and following no one but yourself.

        But here? You felt isolated.

        You begrudgingly leaned over the side of the bed, trying to forget last night’s performance. You could see Tommy laughing with Joel at the Bison over a coffee, basking in the embarrassment. Joel’s head would shake as he huffed, making a snide remark about your salaciousness and Tommy would agree; making a move on a happily married man? That’s just downright uncouth.

        Groaning, you dragged yourself to the bathroom, your boot thumping over the sanded and stained wooden floors carefully. The cool flooring didn’t help as you wrapped your arms around yourself to keep in some body heat, the home, while nice, poorly insulated.

        The mirror reflected a horrifying image, one that you’ve been trying to outrun. You saw how the wrinkles set deep into your face, how puffy and tired your eyes were, how hollow your cheeks had become. The scars created gross constellations across your skin, and your age had fully settled in. There was no question as to why Joel stuck to oral.

        You watched as your face turned to cry. You wept over the sink, holding onto the edge, shakily trying to regain some form of control over yourself, trying to manage your breathing, but it seemed to have only worked for a moment.

        Taking a deep breath, you looked at the mirror once again, noticing it was being held up by a single screw and some wire. Swallowing hard, you carefully lifted it off the screw and set it down, noting that it had to leave by today.

        You tousled your hair and felt the grime built up. Strangely, it had never really bothered you until now, standing in front of a working shower and sink. You looked around, finding the bathroom to be extremely simple but cozy.

        There was a painting of a duck in a bathtub hung over the toilet and a roll holder tucked between the sink cabinet and the toilet. The toothbrush and toothpaste were set up neatly on the counter with a note;

Need a checkup? Check across the street from the inn :)
-Anne

        A dentist.

        You rolled your eyes and took a peek inside the claw footed tub that definitely did not fit in. It was set in a tiled crevice, creating a smooth entrance. It was spotless and stood in front of a small, frosted window about head-height. In the window were other essentials: a bar of soap, shampoo and conditioner. You took the bar of shampoo and inspected it; it was wrapped in kraft paper and had a business name stamped on the top with the word ‘handmade’ written small and across. You took a whiff and found it to be sunflower scented, an interesting choice.

        You unwrapped the bars and found they were stamped with what they were. You placed them in the shower caddy and looked towards the faucet. There were three handles, the middle you knew was to switch from overhead to tub, but the right and left didn’t have any indication of which was hot water.

        You took a chance with the handles and were taken by surprise when the water turned hot relatively quickly. When the water ran at the perfect temperature, you quickly undressed, removing the boot and using the window ledge to leverage yourself in, closing the curtain and feeling the water rush over you.

        Orgasmic wasn’t enough to describe how amazing it felt. You audibly laughed as you watched the dirt and dried blood run off your body and into the drain. You allowed yourself to feel the warmth of the water wrap around you like strong arms, goosebumps rising across your skin as your palms rubbed away the muck.

        The water poured over your face as you gently massaged your hair, attempting to figure out how to use a shampoo bar. Once the suds were to your liking, you took a moment to smell the floral aroma that flooded the bathroom. Sunflowers were never part of your daily life, but a friend of yours used to love them, so the scent had you think of her for a moment.

        As the shampoo rinsed from your hair, and then the conditioner, you took extra time with the body bar. You could smell the bar’s base being goat’s milk, ingenious considering there was probably a farm someplace.

        Despite the vigorous scrubbing, your body didn’t go raw as you rinsed and repeated. The water remained on well after you finished, praying this would never end, but like life before the outbreak, there was a limit to the hot water.

        Once the water turned to ice, you immediately shut it off and grabbed a surprisingly fluffy towel, wrapping yourself tightly before carefully stepping out. You wrung out your hair in the sink and limped painfully out into the even colder hallway and back into your room.

        Finally, you decided to go through the drawers and closets to see what they, or Tommy, had given you. After quickly discovering there was only a spring jacket hanging in the closet, you moved to the drawers and found a few outfits, mostly flannels, a few t-shirts, and two pairs of jeans. The top drawer had a couple pairs of socks and underwear and two bras. Workable, you thought, and mostly your size but to your own embarrassment as you realized these were probably picked out by Tommy, as he’d be the only one to know your bra size.

        Ignoring the creeping shyness, you hurriedly got dressed. As you put on the flannel, your ears twitched at a sound coming from the living-room.

        You were absolutely defenseless, and looking around gave you nothing. You weighed the odds of being attacked in your own house and decided the chance was slim, but the chance of a creep breaking in were pretty high.

        Quietly, you hopped through the door frame, trying to peek over the corner.

        Nothing.

        You stepped forward and peered past the dividing wall and saw Joel sitting on your couch, staring back at you – “jesus christ, man.”

        He stood up awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “sorry. Tommy sent me over here ‘n you were in the shower ‘n –“

        You cut him off, “you were here while I was showering?”

        He looked just as confused as you felt, “yeah, I dunno why I stayed I just…” he trailed off.

        “Well, don’t do that.”

        “It ain’t like I haven’t, y’know…”

        “What?”

        “Seen you.” He immediately regretted what he said, tightly closing his eyes and bowing his head.

        “Don’t do that, either.“

        “Look –“

        “No,” you interrupted, “don’t pretend that we’re on good terms, that nothing happened.”

        His eyes wanted to challenge yours, but he withdrew. You could hear your own heartbeat with the silence you’ve created, but you had to be as stubborn as he was, so you couldn’t relent.

        “Tommy needs you to get down to the horse stables. He wants to talk with you.”

        “About what,” heat rose into your face, unsure if Joel was aware of last night’s events.

        “I dunno, why do you always gotta make it hard for me?”

        You shook your head and limped towards to the kitchen, “that’s rich coming from you.”

        His arms stayed strong at either side of him as his body followed yours, “I’m not starting this with you.”

        Speaking into the fridge, grabbing the drinking water, “tell Tommy I said he can come here if he wants to talk.”

        Just as the door closed and you turned, Joel’s body appeared directly behind you, making you jump. His stern look bore a hole through your head as he spoke, “you can treat me however you want, but you ought to show Tommy some damn respect.“

        “Or what? He’ll exile me? Take me out the back and shoot me like a dog?” The glass clanked against the counter as you placed it, crossing your arms, “I don’t give a fuck about you, and I certainly don’t give a fuck about Tommy. I’m gonna stay in here until I’m ready to leave.“

        “For six weeks?”

        “Yes,” you responded candidly, “I will just stay here until I’m good to go and then I will go. You should appreciate that I’m not trying to stay, moreso me opting to never show my face.”

        “It don’t work like that,” he stepped closer to you, “everybody earns their right to stay, even if it’s for six weeks. You want food? Gotta work for it. Need a new jacket, boots? Gotta work for it. Wanna get drunk,” he scoffed at you like he held some sort of prestige, his eyes looking you up and down, “gotta work.”

        “I don’t care about any of that,” you spoke softly, “I just want to leave.”

        Joel looked down on you, his judgment was hardly a thing to consider, and it was laughable to think you’d budge on anything. So you stared back at him with equal fire, demanding opposition.

        Without altering his static expression, he nodded, “I’ll go tell him that.”

        “Good,” you crossed your arms, “and make sure you don’t forget the part where I told him to fuck off.”

        He grunted in response and stormed out, surprisingly not slamming the door on the way out. You turned back to your clean drinking water and sighed disappointingly.

        Joel was right; Tommy didn’t deserve any of your wrath, and the repentance made your stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the shit-storm of problems your life seemed to be full of, and you felt even more guilty after drinking the crisp, fresh, and possibly the best water you’ve ever drank in the past twenty or so years.

        You needed a drink.

        If Joel’s direction was any bit faithful, then you really had to play nice. As a matter of fact, six weeks is a long time to be hiding away in a random house, but what else could you do? There was no redemption arc for you, there was no forgiveness waiting for you outside these polished walls. How could Tommy expect you to just… mingle?

        After emptying the bottle, you decided to peek out of the window into your ‘backyard’. Curious, you wanted to study how everyone else was going about their day, and you found it was mundane.

        Imprisoned, you watched as teens strolled around, laughing, gossiping, while adults were pacing around, probably doing chores in order to earn tonight’s drunkenness.

        Bitter at the exclusion, the curtain fell closed and going back to bed seemed to be a better way to spend the day. Slowly, you made your way back into the bedroom, shutting every open curtain to your dismay, as the sun was just as relentless as you were.

        The moment you sat on the mattress, a rhythmic thump sounded from the front door. You stood back up with a grunt before sauntering to the door. Your leg decided it was time to wear your boot, so you made a pit stop in the bathroom to wrap it around yourself once again.

        At the door, and to your shame, Tommy stood on the other side. Taking a deep breath, you pulled the only barrier between you and his warm smile welcomed you, “not so much a mornin’ person?”

        You exhaled his name, as if that were enough of a response, but he didn’t fill the void of silence. Instead, he gazed at you, pulling you through the forest brush that was contempt. His purposeful muteness was far more intolerable than Joel’s. Joel was predictable; if he was upset, he’d make it known, but Tommy? You’d never been on the receiving end of his slight, much less seen it. You hoped that your continued silence would make him budge, but he didn’t; he was just as stubborn as both you and Joel. His face warm and unchanged, his smile still appreciative.

        Fuck.

        “Tommy, I can’t.”

        He remained silent.

        “Tommy,” you warned, but he still didn’t speak, only stared into you, pulling out the woman he’d once known. Your eyes lowered and you shifted on your feet, accepting defeat, “I can’t show my face out there. I can’t belong here, I’ll never…” you took a deep breath, unsure of what you were trying to say.

        His eyes remained steady, but you could tell he was slowly turning to speak as you indulged, a rewarding change.

        “I’ll never be accepted here.” You admitted it as shy as a whisper, trying to prevent the universe from hearing that you might want to be accepted someplace, to have somewhere to belong.

        He nodded sympathetically, his smile only a hint smaller, his eyes staring at the tacky welcome mat you had only just realized was there. His hands anchored at his hips as his head tilted upwards to meet your eyes. You could see he was thinking, a first for you, as he always knew what to say.

        He leaned his head to the side, “come walk with me.”

        At the very least, you felt you owed him the dignity of a conversation, but being daylight and in everyone’s faces made you feel a tinge of anxiety, one that didn’t really shake as Tommy seemingly paraded you around town. The stares felt like physical assaults as you rounded paths wordlessly, their judgmental whispers not falling on deaf ears.

        You tried to take in the summer morning to distract yourself from your reality, but not even the warm breeze or blazing sun could remove you from Jackson. You looked up at the sky, hoping it’s blue could lift your own, but the clear skies offered no comfort.

        Looking around, you noted what was already happening in Jackson; you found the tiniest high school, another boutique, a leather worker, and the dentist, who stood outside her office talking with someone. On the opposite side, a large clearing, fenced in and holding sheep and goats. Their neighbors were cows, and theirs large pigs.

        Unwittingly, you cooed at the tiny calves trotting around with their mother, who relaxed in the grassy area, soaking in the rays.

        “‘S cute to you,” he poked, laughing a bit as he spoke.

        You rolled your eyes, “it’s a baby cow, Tommy, I’m not a monster.”

        He barked a laugh, “I think I got somethin’ you might like, then.”

        “I’m not a rancher”, you warned, “can’t kill ‘em.”

        “But you could eat ‘em?”

        “My burgers are usually well done.”

        Finally, both of you seemed to be on equal footing as you laughed. The anxiety tried to lighten up, but as you entered the barn and saw the horses, all of your apprehension disappeared.

        They stood tall in their stables, waiting for food, for brushing, for gentle kisses or pats on the back. Tommy led you down the aisle, introducing you to the horses, “this here’s Old Beardy, Shimmer, and Japan.”

        You waved childishly at each horse, studying their coats and mane to remember who is who. You couldn’t hide your excitement at meeting the precious animals, all having their own way of greeting you.

        Tommy watched as you got acquainted with them, handing you a random carrot to feed Old Beardy, “this guy’s a bit mean. He’s skeptical about people, but with enough carrots you could probably get him to like you.”

        Holding the carrot in front of him, you waited for the horse to take it, but he didn’t. You hummed with disappointment and Tommy patted your back, “takes him a while to get used to people.”

        Shimmer, on the other hand, gladly took the carrot from your palm. You made sure to pet her real good before moving on to the next. You took a moment to look around, finding there were only three horses in a stable that could hold at least eight – “it’s pretty empty in here.”

        “Oh,” he looked around, “yeah, we, uh, had more but, some of ‘em don’t make it back.”

        “Oh.”

        “This stable’s used for training, anyway. Most of our work horses are in another stable, closer to the gate. Shimmer and Japan here are too young, ‘n Old Beardy’s, well, too old.”

        “He seems like a strong stallion,” you said questioningly, as you had no idea if all male horses were called stallions, or if there were some requirement for it.

        Tommy laughed, “yeah, Joel takes him sometimes, though, keeps him busy.”

        “The horse or himself?”

        “Both.”

        You huffed. Once you’d felt acquainted with all of the horses, Tommy decided to fill you in on the purpose of being here, “Joel probably already told you, but in order to get anythin’ or do anythin’, you gotta work.”

        “Yeah,” you said, still staring at the horses, “he, uh, tried to make that clear when he woke me up this morning.”

        “Hmm,” he nodded, “‘n seeing you’re in no shape to do patrols, you’re gonna have to find work 'round Jackson.”

        The implication set in and you looked desperately at him, but he reassured you.

        “I’m gonna put you here in the stables. It’s quiet, you only see a few people each day, and it’s pretty simple work.”

        “What would I be doing?”

        “Well,” his thumbs caught his belt as he huffed, “feedin’, brushin’, cleanin’.”

        “Cleaning?”

        His mustache concealed his smug smirk, and it was more than enough of an answer for you. You groaned, accepting that this was exactly what you created for yourself, “Tommy, I’m from the city, I’m the worst person to be in here.”

        “I don’ think so. You’re adaptable.”

        You glanced at the horses once again, “fine. When do I start?”

        He turned on his heel and took a few steps towards the wall, grabbing the pitchfork from its hook. He walked back to you and presented it, “today works, unless you got plans.”

        Begrudgingly, you took the pitchfork from him and listened as he taught you how to clean the stalls, how to refill the shavings, and what to look out for. He showed you how to lead the horses out into the field and once they pranced about in the open expanse, he led you back into the stables, “it’s not bad once you get into it. And the horses are probably better company; they don’ talk much.”

        You agreed, and you felt comfortable up enough to bring up last night – “I’m sorry.”

        His eyes furrowed as he looked quizzically at you, stirring up the humiliation that you thought had subsided.

        “For last night,” your fingers awkwardly fumbled with the wooden handle, trying to reclaim the dwindling bravery, “that was, uh, bad.”

        Tommy’s full bodied laugh could almost echo through the empty stable. You hated his unwound attitude about everything; it was something you wished you had. He took every hardship, every issue as a nonissue. Everything seemed so insignificant to him, and that was probably why his features never hardened, why he remained soft.

        “Jesus,” he exhaled, “is that what you’re worryin’ about right now?”

        Your face grew hot as you could accept that this was a stupid thing to be upset about, but your unfaltering, sad eyes kept their glare.

        “Look,” he nudged your shoulder playfully, sliding next to you, “I don’ know what happened with you between yesterday and the last time we saw each other, but you were drunk. ‘N I dunno if we ended on good terms; maybe there was somethin’ more I coulda’ done for you. I probably owe you an apology, if we’re bein’ honest.”

        “Please,” you shoved him, “you’re just doing your own thing. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

        “Yeah, but I think I messed up somewhere.”

        Your throat went dry as he spoke; this was not at all how you wanted the conversation to go. He was beginning to crawl into something you buried deep within yourself and you needed him to abandon ship.

        You closed yourself off at his admission, something he took notice to. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in, “you don’ have to stay. I figured I owed you this, but I see now that I was an idiot.”

        “You’re just now seeing that?”

        You were so grateful that his sense of humor was far stronger than any other of his traits, “yeah, I guess I don’ really see anything other than what I wanna see.”

        “It’s definitely a defining feature.”

        He hummed, head lowering, “I do really want you to stay, though. I think you could use the retirement.”

        “Retirement,” you echoed, “you think I’m capable of that?”

        “Sure. If Joel could do it, anyone could do it, and believe me, it took him a long time to kick the habit of being a cynical bastard, but he got it.”

        “Right.”

        “And that’s another thing,” he turned to face you, hand leaning against the door of the empty stall, “Joel ain’t easy, ‘n he never really was after the outbreak. He didn’t tell me anything about the week y’all had, but I could imagine he wasn’t on his best behavior, certainly not in his element, either. I could apologize for him, but he’s a big boy.”

        You appreciated the sentiment, and you could just air out everything to Tommy and really show him what a disaster of a brother he has, but you decided to remain silent, testing that muteness he’d shown you this morning.

        “Nothin’ can justify what he’s like when he meets new people, but can you be willin’ to give him another chance, for me?”

        The glare you’d thrown at him could break stone, and his irresistible immature smile was the only bearing that could fracture the anger and disarm you, making you yield carefully, “you’re an asshole.”

        His hand connected with yours as he giggled, “come on, we go way back.”

        Your eyes met his, and your lips couldn’t hide your enchantment with him; they never really could.

        “I’ll try.”

        He nodded earnestly before standing on his feet, “y’know, if the thrill of shoveling horse shit wears off, I can be swayed to give you somethin’ else.”

        “Yeah? What else you got?”

        “Well,” his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a black tube, “you always got this.”

        You took the object and pried open the lid, revealing a single rancid joint, “jesus, Tommy, how old is this?”

        “When was the last time we smoked together?”

        The memory of your final night with him was nothing more than a flash, “smells like shit.”

        “Yeah,” he laughed, “but I saw you took a few plants ‘n some seeds. Could probably use it here.”

        “Really,” you asked sarcastically.

        “Sure, beats tryin’ to get FEDRA made painkillers. And we could use another grower.”

        “I dunno, Tommy.“

        “Think about it,” he bid, “it’ll be good.“

        You took a pause at an attempt to consider Tommy’s suggestion. Entertaining his idea was only just to entertain him; you weren’t convinced on staying, and the sudden nonexistence of the guy on the radio was driving your interest further away. You had to ask though, “you ever find the guy on the radio?”

        “Oh,” his voice rolled smooth, revealing he knew something, but he played coy, “I, uh, asked Joel ‘bout it. Told me I should tell you to ask him, since he stations people all around.”

        “He told me he didn’t know.”

        Tommy offered a silent shrug.

        Taking a deep breath, you kicked a stray wood chip, much to Tommy’s delight. He decided to ream you further, “guess you oughta’ go out ‘n be nice with him.”

        “I’m not really in the mood to socialize, and honestly,” you looked around the empty stables, taking in the tranquility and solitude it provided, “whatever. If Joel’s ready to apologize…”

        Something changed in Tommy’s face, something well beyond his unbreakable stare. It was as if he didn’t only know, but understood exactly what you meant, and it was something he knew Joel was never good at. You couldn’t read whether he was hopeful in Joel’s character or sympathy because he knew it was something Joel was incapable of.

        Regardless, he left in silence.

        Leaving you to the solace you craved, the heavy wooden door gently thudded against the wall and you managed your time as he taught you to – shoveling shit and replacing the wood chips.

        Strikingly, the work wasn’t the worst, and after a few minutes, you fell into a groove. It was repetitive and quiet enough to pour your worries into something other than surviving. It was empty-headed work, and for the time being, you thought of nothing, not even Joel. It was nice for what it was.

        One by one, the stalls were cleaned, swept, and refilled. The horses peacefully grazed as you worked, and seeing them through glass-paned windows filled you with a sense of… something.

        You couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact feeling, but you felt warm, accomplished, and a growing sense of duty to these animals. Their stringy tails swung as they pulled at the grass, occasionally startling each other when their distracted grazing found them closer than anticipated.

        Taking a few steps forward, you watched as Old Beardy, which was a stupid name you thought, seemingly watched over the younger horses. Horse rearing was far from your expertise, but the wonder of what he was up to had you fully engrossed.

        Almost a figurehead, Beardy seemingly managed his time not by grazing, but by watching. His head hardly tilted for a nibble, but he stayed a considerable distance from the other horses. His tall stature was intimidating, and his dark coat could probably conceal him completely if it were dark enough. His legs deepened in color, similarly to his inky black mane, but his hooves were a stony gray, one of the only lighter characteristics of this animal. The small, white patch on his forehead was the only imperfection, a shocking contrast.

        But you noticed your interest in this horse wasn’t just his plain appearance; it was his countenance. It was strong and rough, making Old Beardy not a cutie like the others, but a force of nature. The way he looked up through his long lashes was domineering and unyielding. He reminded you of someone.

        After taking in his striking atmosphere, you determined it was time to get back home. Setting the pitchfork against the wall, you turned and jumped at the tall figure standing behind you – “jesus fucking christ!”

        Joel bowed his head, an attempt at an apology.

        Your heart beat hard against your chest and you had to take a few deep breaths to get it back to normal, “why doesn’t anyone ever make any noise in this fucking place, fuck!”

        “Look –“

        You took the pitchfork in your hand again to hang it on the hook instead, “you need a fucking bell or something.” He watched you silently as you hung up the tools and repositioned the emptied wheelbarrow, “what do you want?”

        He stood strong, but his face showed something new. His features had gotten softer and he seemed more relaxed, albeit tense. His hands hung from his pockets, his fingers hooked inside. His jeans were slightly stained a shade of tan and they smoked as he shifted on his feet; fresh dirt. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned at the top, but a navy blue undershirt peeked from behind. He looked tired, but otherwise normal.

        “We gotta talk.”

        You scoffed at the suggestion, but played along regardless, “about what?”

        He rolled his eyes, “you know what.”

        Your mouth had gone dry as you stared at him, waiting for more, but he said nothing else, “fine.”

        “We can’t talk here though, come with me.”

        Reluctantly, you budged and trailed behind him, out of the stable and through the back area of Jackson. It felt as though he was taking you through the backstreets of a large city as you could hear the late afternoon bustle, but almost no one wandered behind the buildings. He was probably embarrassed about being seen with you, and you couldn’t really blame him.

        You turned down a corner to the more busier side and entered an office of sorts. It was a decent size with a large familiar desk covered in paper, pens and other bits you’d find in an office. You read the whiteboard behind the desk: various names and the ‘4 P’s of an Emergency’. The yellow afternoon poured in through large windows, artificial lighting being obsolete.

        There was no time to take in the rest of the room as Joel had closed the door behind you. Anxiety started to fog into your head as he motioned for you to sit on his desk, an act far too intimate for comfort. Awkwardly, you followed his order and watched as he dragged a chair and pulled it in front of you. The back of the chair split you and him as he swung his long leg over the seat, straddling the chair and using the back as a brace.

        His large arms crossed over the back and your eyes crawled up his legs to his knees. They sat so far apart from each other and as you caught yourself looking up his thighs, you immediately took his gaze. The uneasiness you felt of the situation seemed to flow into something else entirely as he stared back at you. The heat sank into the lower half of your body and you closed the space between your knees.

        He looked away and his hand met the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and started, “we gotta sort this out.”

        Your muted stare seemed to have struck him as he fumbled over himself, “I know what we did, I mean, we shouldn’t have, but… “

        He paused, hoping for you to finish for him, but you didn’t. You could see frustration grow rapidly under his skin and it filled you with joy watching him buckle underneath the gravity of the issue at hand. He groaned, “this is stupid.”

        “You’re the one who dragged me here.”

        “I know,” he barked, “but Tommy said –“

        “Fuck what Tommy said.” Your sudden outburst stopped him in his tracks, “are you only here because Tommy told you to be?”

        He bowed his head and you laughed, “what are you trying to get from this?”

        “Some goddamn peace.” His voice echoed through the still air and you took a step back, waiting to see where he was going. “I know you don’ wanna be here, and I wish I could make you happy, but I can’t, so we have to get over this.”

        “Get over what?”

        “Goddammit,” he stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the wood, “you gotta work with me.”

        “I’m here, Joel. This is me working with you.“

        “Bullshit.”

        “What do you want me to say? I don’t owe you an apology, and as a matter of fact –“

        “You sayin’ I gotta apologize to you?” He spoke with a hint of disbelief, “apologize for what? I can’t even shoot anymore ‘cause of you!”

        “For being an asshole,” you spit, ignoring his plea, “you’ve been an asshole to me the entire week for no reason.“

        “I had plenty reason.”

        “Fuck you.” You got off the desk and walked towards him, “you were only bearable when you were drunk or horny.”

        “Could say the same for you.”

        “This is a waste of fucking time.“

        Just as you reached the door, he called, “hold on.”

        Turning on your heel, you faced him again, somehow feeling stupid for attempting to end whatever this was. He dragged his hands over his face, the bright bracelet sliding down his forearm gently, as if commanding him. He seemed winded and frustrated at himself for dragging this longer than necessary, for actively avoiding the point.

        His frown carved harshly into his face as he spoke precisely, “what we did, gettin’ to Jackson, was a mistake ‘n shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have put that kinda trust between us.” He took a deep breath, as if finding the next point, “I don’ care for this petty resentment you got goin’ on. I said what I said.”

        His eyes bore into yours, a gesture you’ve come to realize as his way of dominating the conversation, him telling you to back down and just accept what he says, but he was right about one thing at least; you were petty, so you continued to challenge him silently.

        “So if you’re waitin’ on me to apologize,” he finalized, “don’ hold your breath.”

        Through burning eyes, you nodded, finally deciding to meet him here. He could never allow himself to give you anything more, so you took what he’d given, but you wouldn’t dare to allow him to get away with it.

        “Fine.“

*

You felt as though you were sneaking into the Tipsy Bison, slowly slipping through the door in the late night darkness.

        You still weren’t sure on how any of this worked; how would the bartender even know you worked today? Your feet slowly took you towards the bar, your body never leaving the comfort of the dimmed walls. You watched as people ate and laughed and danced sparingly around any empty space in the center. You were a fly on the wall to them.

        Passing the piano, you slipped onto the furthest bar stool, half-hoping the bartender didn’t see you so you can slip away from these people and back outside. Unfortunately, he caught you sit awkwardly and made his way to you, raising his head, “what can I get ‘ya?”

        “Uhh,” your body crouched forward trying to find the gallantry you once harbored, “what’s the limit?”

        He stared at you for a moment and you could feel regret flash through your body like a current, but he laughed a bit, “I cut you off when I think I got to.”

        “Good to know,” feeling slightly relieved at his friendliness, “then I wanna get drunk the quickest way possible.”

        He hummed softly, knowing exactly where you were mentally. He unplugged a glass bottle and poured the rich amber liquid and slid it towards you, “Canadian whiskey; it’ll get you just as drunk as you’d think, in time, but this is at least enjoyable.”

        You tilted your glass towards him to thank him for more than the liquor and took a sip. Keeping the liquor in, your tongue was able to pick up hints of maple and spice. It went down harsh, but the aftertaste left behind was sweet. “Hmm,” you thrummed, “not bad.”

        He raised his brows, a disarming smile growing on his face, “it’s good stuff. Open tab?”

        You finished it, “keep ‘em coming.”

        His hearty laugh was comforting enough to get you to look around and take in the bustle of the night. There was a jukebox at the far end of the Bison playing loudly, the people of Jackson danced and laughed without a care in the world and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing out.

        You reminisced on your own bar hopping scenes; sneakers, a few girls, and a handkerchief crop top that you haphazardly strung up with a shoelace. You remembered your friends helping you cut the hole and tie it around your neck, laughing over a few glasses of wine.

        It was your thirtieth birthday and your friends wanted to take you out to celebrate so they claimed your husband hid you away. You disagreed and blamed work, cracking open a wine bottle and pouring a few glasses. Your loft apartment was small and unimpressive, but you had exposed brick walls, lived in the Village, and were living the life you’d always dreamed.

        You were an artist, a teacher, and married to a wonderful man who didn’t understand either profession, but had an affinity with science. You could hear his indistinct voice try to filter through the noise, telling you about how inaccurate the Spinosaurus was, as if any of the other dinosaurs were accurate.

        “Yeah, but this one’s different,” he'd argue, “it absolutely couldn’t take down a T-Rex.”

        Your lips pushed against the glass, the memory fading from your sight as you returned. The pit in your stomach grew into pain as his voice became nondescript as he spoke, his voice fading away with each memory. You drank the rest of your whiskey and tapped your fingers against the bar, a motion you hadn’t done in decades but found you like a lost pet finding its owner.

        You didn’t bother counting how many drinks you had, since you had the bartender, who you knew to be as Ben, keeping track. You did, however, recognize the time slipping away and the bar slowly emptying out.

        “I’m not gonna need someone to drag you out, right?” Ben asked as both a joke and as a serious question, but you reassured him you can get on by yourself.

        Outside, you felt as though you walked through honey mist. The humidity tonight didn’t feel unusual, but it was uncomfortable meandering your way back home. Your clothes stuck against your skin and your tight jeans dragged and pulled at your skin as you walked. You looked up at the semi-clear skies and realized the moon was beaming tonight. Seeing this made you feel comforted, content even.

        Bathing in its light, you felt as though it helped carry you home, pulling you up the stairs and to your door. Once inside, you felt shielded from what lurked outside, and it felt as though it was less about the infected and more about people now. Despite what you’ve done, a stranger allowed you to sit in his bar, drink his liquor, and enjoy the company of the population without interrogation, all without Tommy’s presence. And despite Joel, you felt lighter on your feet.

        You shed your clothes and curled into bed, tucking your head under the blanket and for once, you felt okay.

Chapter Text

The sound of gentle rain tapping against your window woke you.

        Your heavy eyelids lifted and the room was drenched in a rich but cold blue-gray hue. It was just before sunrise, but the clouds would hide the sun for a better portion of the day.

        You felt abnormally chipper, your body lifting you from your mattress and out of the room. Booted, you pattered to the bathroom to wash up and get the day started, still ignoring the mirror tucked into the corner. Then, you found your way into the kitchen, grabbing the water from the fridge. The cold water shocked your stomach awake as you felt a migraine coming. The water only made you nauseous as a hangover was settling in, and you had a decision to make – go shovel shit in the rain or stay home and try to get high from the rancid joint Tommy had been kind enough to let you keep.

        Your bag also hadn’t been emptied since you’d came, so today might be a great day to hide away and get your bearings. Your cold feet took you back to your room for the bag, which now seemed to weigh heavier than it ever did. You were impressed that the folks in Jackson were nice enough to put everything back in after rummaging, including the boombox.

        Trudging back to the kitchen, the hefty bag slammed against the counter of the half-wall and you pulled out the radio, the boombox, your CDs, books, and keychains. Briefly, the thought of showing Tommy that you’d kept the memories of your time together crossed your mind, but you decided against it; he was married after all, and this might give him (but more so his wife) a bad taste.

        The CD’s cases were now cracked, but with each one you opened, you checked to see if each disc was preserved and in tact, and once each one was accounted for, finding a home for this boombox was a task for later today. You sorted through the books; some were waterlogged from the rain days ago, slightly moldy, but were still readable. Your fingers traced the cover of the book you’d read to the guy on the radio, a sense of dread filling your chest as you’ve come to conclude that he might not know you were here, since he hadn’t come to find you. He still might be pinging the radio each night, receiving nothing but silence.

        You just wanted to read to him again.

        Pushing the stack of books away, craving a drink to keep the hangover away, you couldn’t reason why Joel wouldn’t tell you anything about him. It was stupid because he wasn’t even interested in you, so he’d lose nothing, but he wanted to be petty, so you had to match his spirit.

        The keychains were scratched to shit and some of the state names were barely legible; you weren’t sure what to do with them now that Tommy was back in your life, and shoving them in a drawer would make you feel guilty. Should you give them to him? Throw them in a river and pretend it never happened?

        Your fingers crossed over the painted edges, your fingernail scratching a few letters off. Colorado, Arizona, California, New Mexico. Places you’d never have seen if it had not been for the outbreak, which was a bleak reminder of what you had before the cordyceps: not much. A strange thing to be grateful for you wagered.

        Ears pricked, you felt a sudden presence behind you. Your eyes met the front door, but nothing was there. Your head slowly craned over your shoulder and suddenly, two figures made themselves known as they snuck up the stairs at the back of the house, whispering among themselves.

        You couldn’t see their faces through the thick curtains, but you’d bet they were young judging by their voices and their clumsy demeanor. They giggled as one of them tripped walking up the steps. Slowly, you crouched and made your way towards the door, trying to remain hidden. Just as the figure peeked through the window, your hand slapped at the glass and the person on the other side jumped back and almost fell, cursing loudly.

        You swung the door opened and were met with two teenage girls, “the fuck you doing?”

        Both of them looked at each other before the brown haired one spoke, “you fuckin’ scared me, why’d you do that?”

        “I asked you a question,” your brashness not going unheard.

        They looked at each other awkwardly, “you’re the one who killed Alex, right?”

        Christ.

        You said nothing.

        “Well,” the one with black hair spoke, “we heard you were a witch; you had weird stuff in your bag –“

        “Super long, spindly fingers.“

        “And ugly.“

        “But you’re not,” the brown haired girl threw in, “you’re just disappointingly normal.”

        “So you were poking around my house just to see if I was ugly?”

        She sighed, “well when you put it like that…”

        “Well,” you tried concealing your embarrassment at the idea the kids were calling you a crone, “sorry to disappoint.”

        “It’s fine, figured everyone was full of shit anyway.”

        The three of you stood in silence for a moment before she spoke again, “I’m Ellie, by the way.”

        Her introduction took you by surprise, “huh?”

        “Figured it’s probably important to introduce ourselves, since we’re on your porch.”

        “Oh,” you scoffed before revealing your name.

        “Dina,” the other one responded.

        “So you guys know what I’ve done.” You weren’t sure if you were asking or stating, or what you were trying to get from the conversation; it felt strange just sending them from your presence, considering they had been better behaved than some of the other residents.

        “Everybody knows,” Ellie stated matter of factly, “before you even got here, actually.”

        “Right,” you nodded, leaning against the door, feeling the humidity stick on the painted surface.

        “Joel told me what really happened, though,” she continued, and suddenly you felt intrigue.

        “Oh yeah,” you spoke as coolly as you could, disguising your interest, “what did he have to say about it?”

        She shrugged, “not much.”

        You looked down at her, humming with acceptance that Joel really is no different when he’s with her, “and it doesn’t bother you?”

        “He told us not to worry about it,” Dina chimed in, “said it wasn’t our business.”

        “Yeah, he’s right,” you retorted, a bit meaner than you anticipated.

        As silence clouded over, you found both were trying to peek behind you. Moving to the side, you offered, “wanna come in?”

        They looked at each other wide eyed, Ellie ultimately asking, “can you show us that pink thing,” referencing your boombox.

        You allowed them to sneak past you and scrutinize the novel object. You watched as they took the liberty to push random buttons, open the CD slot, and spin it around, offering nothing more than excited smiles and laughter.

        “Do you know what that is?”

        “It plays music,” Ellie beamed, “I had a Walkman, but this is so much cooler.”

        “What music do you have?”

        “Geez,” scratching the back of your head, “probably nothing you guys ever heard.”

        “Try me,” Ellie responded proudly.

        “Abba?”

        She made a face, signaling ignorance.

        “Bonnie Tyler?”

        “Nope.”

        “Johnny Cash?”

        “Oh,” she burst out, “I know him! Joel plays him on his guitar!”

        Nodding, “yeah, he seems the type.” The remark was more for yourself than them, but you continued, “wanna listen?”

        “Abso-fucking-lutely! The old people at the Bison always play their old shit; do you know Willie Nelson?”

        A laugh burst from your chest, “yes, I know him, but I got better. I think you might like Bonnie Tyler, she was a riot.”

        They watched eagerly as you set everything up, sliding the CDs over so they can see them. Dina popped one out, “how does it make the sound?”

        “Ah,” you contemplated for a moment, “lasers I think.”

        In unison, “cool.”

        For a brief moment, you were just as excited as they were. It’d been lost on you that there is an entire population that had no idea what you were up to before the cordyceps. It seemed so long ago, but so recent at the same time, and of course laser beams making music would be the coolest fucking thing to these kids right now. Pride swelled inside your gut as you put the CD in and closed the lid.

        The piano began and you surveyed their faces, trying to decipher if they were enjoying it. As the song continued, you decided to throw in, “cool tattoo.”

        Ellie looked down at her arm, her clearly unfinished work attempting to conceal a large, gastly burn, "you think so?"

        "Oh yeah," you leaned against the wall, "my husband used to be covered in them, head to toe. I opted for less."

        "His whole body was covered in tattoos?" Her question came across as disbelief, but you assured her, and she looked towards Dina, who was just as shocked.

        Dina turned to you, "do you have any?"

        "Uh," unsure if you wanted to reveal a shitty stick and poke your friend from high school gave you during math class, you scratched your head, "I do, but not nearly as cool."

        The song changed, and you three sat, listening to the music play. You wanted to ask about Joel's guitar playing, not because you cared, but because you were curious, but you were far too stubborn, "so do you guys play any instruments?"

        "Ellie plays the guitar," Dina nudged Ellie proudly.

        Ellie was less than confident, "I can't play the guitar yet, but Joel's been teaching me."

        Cute.

        "What about you?"

        "Oh, uh, yeah, the piano."

        “Seriously?” Dina probed intently, a smirk crossing her face.

        “Yeah, but I haven’t played in ages. Probably forgot.”

        “Dude, there’s a piano at the Bison, you should totally play it!”

        Your face had gone flush with horror at the suggestion, “no, I think I’m okay.”

        Ellie pleaded, “you have to get John Peters -“

        “You know, the farmer,” Dina interjected.

        “Get his ass off the piano. He’s always playing Sinatra or whatever.”

        “Hey, Frank Sinatra isn’t bad.”

        “He is when you hear him every single night.”

        As the songs played, you continued chatting about Jackson, the people in it, and the overall experience. While insightful, you took everything they told you with a grain of salt; they looked to be about seventeen, so they could only know what the adults would tell them, or what the other kids their age did. Still, you could appreciate their honesty, their gossip, and their personal perspectives on the community.

        About halfway through the disc, a knock on the front door severed the communication. You limped towards the door and found a suspicious Tommy standing outside, wet from the light rain. He tipped his cowboy hat up, “missed you at the stables.”

        “Oh, that’s an everyday task, isn’t it,” you simpered, knowing that he couldn’t punish you; not in the way you’d both want, anyway.

        “Oh no,” he playfully drew out, “you can’t weasel your way outta work.“

        “But Tommy,” you trailed, hoping he’d give in and leave you be, but he was firm.

        “Can’t have you be treated differently, now, what kinda man would I be?”

        “A cool one?”

        He scoffed, “no, ma’am, you gotta –“ he looked behind you and caught the two teens in the kitchen. They both dropped to the floor behind the half-wall and he turned his attention back to you, “you harboring deserters now?”

        “What?”

        He stepped inside and paced himself towards the kitchen, “those two’re supposed to be in school.”

        As he slowly marched, the kitchen door opened and closed without sight of who did it, leaving the house to be rid of defiant teenagers.

        Crossing your arms, you plead your case, “I didn’t know they had somewhere to be. They conveniently left that part out when I asked about what they were doing here.”

        Luckily, Tommy’s soft spot never hardened, so he could find this entertaining enough, “you’re a good target for the ungovernable.”

        “Not sure how to take that, actually.”

        He met you halfway through the living-room, donning a more solemn tone, “how you holdin’ up?”

        Sighing, you concluded you could be honest with him at least, “as fine as I could, I guess. Shoveling horse shit was, uh, unexpected, but not the worst.”

        He nodded, “and Joel?”

        “Why is that something you’re concerned about?”

        “What kinda question is that? He’s my brother ‘n you’re my friend; I wanna make sure there’s no bad blood between you two.”

        “We’re fine.” You didn’t mean to sound curt, but despite his reasoning, you found it hard to believe it was any of his business.

        “Alright.”

        Bonnie Tyler continued to play softly in the background, reminding you of a time the man in front of you slow danced with you on the pier in California. It was her who managed to subconsciously pull you both in together, as if you were both singing the same song in your heads, silently swaying, listening to the crashing waves.

        He seemed to have remembered it too, tilting his head towards the boombox, “your girl.”

        “Yeah.”

        “Y’know, Joel –”

        “No,” you stopped him, “I don’t wanna talk about it. And I really,” you spoke austerely, “really need you to stop being a mediator between us. Whatever Joel has to say to me, he should come to me and say it.”

        Tommy seemed to have taken in what you said, rubbing his chin in thought. He nodded in agreement, “you’re right; I just… I just wanna make sure y’all are okay.”

        You could appreciate that he wanted everyone to be on good terms, but Joel refusing to speak directly to you was cowardice and extremely unlike him, and that was something you couldn’t respect. You strode past Tommy swiftly, pausing the music. You pulled out a bar stool from under the counter and seated yourself, watching him as he followed suit, only leaning his elbow against the counter between you and the other stool.

        He stared at you somewhat longingly, but you weren’t sure what he longed for, but it seemed to have pulled a smile on his face, “do you know how crazy it is seein’ you again.”

        Rolling your eyes was all you could do. You’d heard this conversation a handful of times before the outbreak – distant exes “happening” to run into you on a night out, in a bar or lounge, talking about dreams, regrets and reminiscence. Funny how relationships hadn’t really changed much since then.

        “I’m serious,” he doubled down, “I never woulda’ thought you’d settle down.”

        “Don’t get your hopes up; six weeks will fly by faster than you’d think.”

        “You ain’t leaving,” he laughed, “you woulda’ already left, or at least that’s what the old you woulda’ done.”

        “The old me,” you imitated, treading carefully, “what else would the old me have done?”

        “Well,” his eyes dropped to his fingers, which prodded at each other nervously, “you woulda’ shot my brother clean between the eyes.”

        “Oh? Why would I do that?”

        “‘Cause he can be, uh, difficult, when you first meet him.”

        “What makes you think he was difficult with me?”

        “C’mon,” he tapped your shoulder, “I know Joel.”

        “Yeah,” you matched his posture, elbow on counter, “and how did he describe our week together?”

        “Didn’t describe it as anything. Said everything was fine.”

        “And you believe him?”

        “About as much as I believe he wasn’t bein’ difficult.”

        Heat rose from your center to your chest; you were unsure if you wanted to know whether he knew, so you remained silent.

        “Look, I dunno what really happened,” he admitted, “but what I do know is that he probably said somethin’ stupid. Somethin’ he’s good at is sayin’ shit he don’ mean.”

        You tried to hold back a laugh, “not sure if he didn’t mean it, but he sure as hell knows what not to say.”

        Your eyes met, but Tommy looked at you with sincerity this time, as if wanting to tell you everything, thinking it’d make a difference. He knew he couldn’t, and it wouldn’t, so the last thing he told you was to keep an open mind and keep making friends, “you’ll be surprised how open people can be in Jackson.”

        “Guess this means I gotta round up a bunch of asshole teenagers and be their messiah.”

        Tommy and you laughed as he departed, reminding you that you still had stable duty.

*

The stables were humid, so letting the horses out must’ve felt like rescue.

        Except they were already outside by the time you’d gotten there. You chalked it up to Tommy noticing the absent field and taking it upon himself to let them out.

        Quietly, you worked, and every now and then, a straggler would pass by and say hi, introduce themselves, and let you in on what their job was. It felt strange, having these strangers willingly come to you for no reason other than to meet you, get your name, and wish you luck, health, and peace. It almost felt safe.

        More teenagers passed by, and you’d hoped school ended. They mostly either stared at you from the door frame, or scattered when you found them as they were trying to sneak in. Ellie, Dina, and their other friends swung by, and you were able to enjoy a bit more of their company.

        They reminded you of your students – loud, rambling, and often teasing each other, but you could tell they were inseparable. They let you in on some Jackson gossip – who’s dating who, who’s upset by it, and what they were going to do about it. It was mundane but exciting, and decades ago you would’ve rolled your eyes at the pointless jabber, but so far this was the only time you had something other than surviving or working to talk about, so you welcomed it. And it allowed you to go a bit deeper into Jackson without having to put yourself out there. They also filled you in on patrols, other jobs, and how to get them.

        You found most jobs were first come first serve unless it was a specialty. Either way, you had to speak with Joel about it. You noted this.

        They also described another stable at the other end; those were the main patrol horses. Ellie handed you a walkie-talkie, and when you questioned her, she responded, “everyone I like has one, and I kinda like that lady’s music, so I wanna be able to listen to it whenever I want.

        “Like a real radio.”

        “Oh my god yes,” she beamed, “exactly like a real radio!”

        “Also,” Dina chimed in, “we heard the rain’s gonna be crazy tonight, so if your house sails away, let us know and Joel can drag it back.”

        “Us,” you raised your brows at the teens.

        “It’s not like that,” Ellie responded in a tone slightly lower than her usual one, “we’re having a sleepover because we’re just friends.”

        “Noted.”

        Soon, they were gone and you were left by yourself. The soft rain hadn’t let up a moment, but the horses didn’t seem to mind as they ran around, stomping in puddles and whinnying about. After the day’s tasks were done, you stood in the doorway to watch them roam the open space. You studied their personalities in motion. You noticed Old Beardy was still as stubborn as Tommy described him to be.

        He was seen on his own, grazing, watching the younger ones play in the rain. You did catch him play for a bit, stomping in puddles and running around, but he was mostly in his own space, surveying the area. You wondered if he was one of the patrol horses, leading the others tall and steady and brave. His thick black coat sleek in the night, probably carrying Tommy to the nearby areas to clear out any wandering clickers or people. He’d probably seen a lot in his heyday and was probably tired and beaten, thankful for the retirement.

        You weren’t sure when it was time to bring them in; they looked like they were enjoying themselves out in the rain and you almost felt like you were missing out on something.

        You turned inside to check for some sort of blanket or cloth to cover yourself from the rain, checking the walls, the bins, the tool closet, and even behind the large stable doors, but nothing.

        Just as you were moving back towards the other door, you caught Joel pacing towards the stable. You pretended you didn’t see him and continued, trying to out pace him into the horse yard to bring them back in.

        The cool rain spared no time drenching your shirt as you hurriedly took Japan’s and Shimmer’s reigns, leading their defiance through the stable doors.

        Joel was waiting inside, leaning against an empty stable door, arms crossed and eyes towards the ground. You didn’t miss a step putting the horses back into the respective stables, petting and praising them for being good to you. It wasn’t until you locked the stables when Joel spoke up, “I got the last one.”

        “I don’t need your help.”

        “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, he won’t –“

        “I don’t need you, Joel.”

        He raised his hands and watched as you walked back outside to grab Old Beardy, and just like he predicted, that old bastard wasn’t going back in without a fight.

        You knew next to nothing about horse rearing, but you knew they could kick your head clean off your shoulders if you weren’t careful, so instead of raising your voice, you tried to gently coax cooperation to no avail. You could feel Joel’s watchful eyes on you, watching you embarrass yourself in the rain trying to get the old man back inside.

        With every attempt at his reigns, he’d whip his head away and turn his back to you, fixing himself to kick at any given moment. You tried to keep in front of the horse but he was getting quicker at turning.

        Suddenly, a loud whistle screamed behind you, making both you and the old animal jump. Joel walked up to the scene and held his hand out to the horse, who welcomed him warmly. His strong hands brushed over the pitch black coat and you swore you caught a glimpse of a smirk forming on Joel’s lips.

        He looked over his shoulder to face you, but said nothing as he turned on his heels and brought the horse back into the stables. Sheepishly, you strolled behind him, watching his long legs seemingly capture yards with each step.

        You closed the door as he put the bastard horse into his section, giving him extra love before turning his attention to you. His big arms crossed over his chest as he resumed his position against the stable door, watching you clear up any supplies you’d used.

        His gaze was weighty but unreadable, and you felt scrutinized as you worked under his eyes. Sweat started to bead at the back of your neck as he remained silent and still, concealing any bit of emotion or reaction to anything you were doing; silently judging every inch you moved.

        Finally, you stood in front of him, “what?”

        His harsh eyes stared for a moment before softening into a sense of understanding, “‘s about yesterday.”

        “Oh,” you went soft as his hoarse voice spoke. You couldn’t understand why, but his comforting brown eyes seemed to bury you in an uncomfortable warmth.

        “I, uh,” his hand reached for his neck, a sign you’ve taken to know that he was meaning what he was saying, “I didn’t mean what I said.“

        “Did Tommy send you,” the question blurted from your mouth forcefully, taking you both by surprise.

        “Wh – no, Tommy didn’t send me. I was just,” he exhaled in frustration, “thinkin’ about everything that happened between us.” His eyes stumbled up your body, reaching your own; they showed something between despondence and shame, and maybe a little bit of embarrassment. He somehow shrunk before you, “the thing that I said, I didn’t mean for it to, uh…” he trailed off, before asking you what you thought he meant by it.

        The question caught you off guard, so you gawked at him like a deer in headlights. Your hands started to shake, the fear of vulnerability erupting suddenly and violently, and now you found yourself having to admit it to him how you felt about yourself. It was pathetic, you were pathetic. Shaking your head, you fixed yourself to answer but tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, which prompted Joel to speak for you.

        “I didn’t mean for it to come across like that.”

        You wiped your face with the palm of your hand, vision blurring as your throat felt as though it were closing up. You focused on looking at the entrance rather than him, but in your peripheral you could see him curl up at your sight.

        “I’m sorry.”

        Your head whipped back to face him, eyes burning but not from the tears but from anger. You asked more hypothetically than literally, “you want me to forgive you?”

        His only response was a vague gesture, so you persisted, “will that make you sleep better at night? ‘Cause I haven’t missed a minute of sleep, and I got no reason to make you feel better about yourself.”

        “It’s not about makin’ myself feel better it’s –“

        “Oh, so you’re gonna sit there and tell me you care about me, care about whether I’m in your life?”

        “I care about makin’ sure everyone can coexist –“

        “I’m leaving in six weeks, Joel, what part of that don’t you understand?”

        He stood up, his body seemingly towering over you now as he regained control over the conversation, “I don’t care if you’re leavin’ tonight, you got a duty to this place as much as everyone else.” He stepped closer towards you, but you didn’t shift, “you gotta be a part of the community, whether you want to or not.”

        “So I have to accept your apology, then? For the sake of cohabitation?“

        “I didn’t want you to stay,” he snapped, “but Tommy wanted you to. If I had the choice I’d open the door for you and set you off, but for Tommy’s sake, I gotta put up with you. I don’t care if you forgive me.“

        “Then why apologize?” Your voice cracked as you sized yourself up to him, tears running down your warm, reddened cheeks, “why do you keep bringing it up?”

        His frustration sank below his face, shifting the way he presented to you. His rigid state eased up, arms falling to his sides and eyes looking everywhere else other than at you. You could see him struggling with himself as his eyes closed to speak with you, “look, I have no idea how to talk to you without putting my foot in my mouth, and I want to be on good terms with you ‘cause I want to.”

        Beyond your sniffling and clearing vision, you saw Joel as pathetic as you and it made you feel somewhat consoled, so you found entertaining him was something that might be worth it, “fine. What do you have planned?”

        He looked almost embarrassed smiling softly at your concession, “wanna get a drink?”

        You burst into a fit of giggles, wiping away the remainder of your bitterness and nodding. He watched you, grinning wide as he led you out of the stables and towards the Tipsy Bison.

        Side by side, you walked in a tense but comfortable silence, focusing more on taking in the feeling of the gentle drizzle dropping onto your skin. The night was cooler and the humidity dropped substantially, the soft wind piercing through your damp clothes. You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to keep in some body heat, and in the corner of your eye, you could see Joel preparing himself to say something, but argued with himself about it. Without looking at you, “want my jacket?”

        You shook your head, “we’re almost there, anyway. Keep it.”

        He nodded and kept on.

        At the Bison, he opened the door for you and you slipped past him inside. You felt a bit more confident walking in the bar, taking up just a bit more space than yesterday. Just as you reached the bar, fingers wrapped around your wrist gently, “take the booth in the back, ‘s private.”

        Right, this was strictly a gesture for understanding, for getting on the same page as one another, and not a casual night out.

        “Okay, get me something good.”

        “I’ll get you what I get you.”

        If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve missed the coyness in his assertion. Turning on your heel, you surveyed the bar. It wasn’t as busy as it usually was, the rain keeping people home, so you were able to find a corner in the darkest part.

        You slipped into the booth, huffing as you settled into the creaky wood. Your eyes wandered the bar, taking note of everyone and everything. You’d found the piano at the other end, scattered tables and chairs and a handful of bodies drinking and eating.

        You watched Joel chat with the bartender, laughing, leaning over the bar. Your eyes trailed up the curve of his back, veering to his arm as he reached out for the glasses. He nodded to Ben and started making his way to you.

        His eyes caught yours and you looked away instantaneously, forcing yourself to look at the tabletop, cheeks warming up due to the fireplace a few feet away and no other reason.

        The glasses thunked on the polished wood, slightly more than half full, which was unusual for a liquor. He pushed himself into the booth you sat in, his weight forcing you against the wall before settling at the edge. Opting to ignore the offense, you took the glass and smelled the liquor, making Joel scoff, speaking with sarcasm, “tell me what it is.”

        It really only smelled like liquor, indistinguishable from anything else, but the way it coated the glass told you it was bourbon. Not wanting to be humbled, you raised your brow, “it smells sweet; bourbon.”

        Your assessment was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to have an effect on him; he shook his head and looked almost impressed.

        Taking a sip, you found that the bourbon had a hint of vanilla and the aftertaste was far sweeter than the initial bite, “‘s good. Different.”

        “Y’know,” he leaned over the table on his elbow, “people usually inhale the bourbon with their mouth.”

        “I do things differently, I guess.”

        Discordant, he nodded anyway, that smile from earlier threatening to appear.

        “Any reason you gotta sit on top of me?”

        He looked down at you, “I’m not on top of you.”

        “You kinda are,” you sipped, “damn near crushed my body.”

        He shook his head, “I think you’re being dramatic.”

        You nudged his body and he scooted over a bit, finally breaking out into a fit. You smiled as you watched his body roll with his laughter, lips pressed against his glass, jacket tight against his defined shoulder.

        He noticed your stare before you could move from his form, his eyes looking you up, matching the heat rising in your face. You swallowed and looked at the table, evading his scrutiny, “so about… everything.”

        “Right,” he cleared his throat, “everythin’.”

        You sat together in silence; he was coming up with some sort of introduction or explanation or something sweet to start off with, but clearly he was struggling to find the right way to start.

        “We can start with what you said.“

        “I didn’ mean it the way that you think,” he blurted out, “n’ I didn’ know you took it that way.”

        “How else would I take it?”

        He rubbed his ear, groaning at the humiliation of his admittance, “I dunno, I didn’ really think about it when I said it.”

        You watched him squirm at the interrogation and the pride that had escaped crept back into your chest. Silently, you watched as he rolled his eyes, trying to continue. He finished his drink and you followed, eyes focused on the way his neck moved as he swallowed; “I dunno what I meant”, was said under a hush, as though he couldn’t even believe what he’d said.

        He looked up and scanned the bar, his leg bouncing off the side of the bench. His fingers tapped his empty glass, and with a look towards the bar ordered a second round.

        Patiently, you waited for him to continue, or for the bottle you’d caught being walked towards you, whichever came first. You certainly were far too sober to deal with the problem at hand, so when the bottle hit the table, you pushed your glass against his, the clink being audible enough for him to find it amusing.

        You watched him pour the bourbon out almost to the brim; classless but necessary. He gently sent the glass back into your palm, finally allowing himself to look at you. You challenged him, drinking together without breaking contact. The glasses tapped the tabletop and he retreated, blinking away from you, “I didn’ mean what you think I meant.“

        “So you don’t think I’m revolting on the eyes?”

        “Christ,” he scoffed, “course not.” He inhaled deeply before drinking about halfway through his glass, “I meant, or I thought you would… get attached.”

        You watched him drink the rest and pour himself another full glass. He topped off yours, but you swallowed as much as your stomach could handle the burn.

        “The reason I didn’, y’know, do more, was because I didn’ want you thinkin’ it meant somethin’. Nothin’ about how you looked. Matter fact,” he threw his bourbon back before pouring another, nearing the end of the bottle, “you’re, uh…”

        His voice faded so softly that you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You could see his mouth mumble something, but the words were spoken on top of each other, so his lips hardly moved.

        With his reaction, he knew you weren’t going to let it go unheard, so he leaned in close, as if to hide his confession from the all spying patrons of the bar, who sat half a dozen feet away from you, “you’re, uh, easy on the eyes.”

        Brows raised, you waited for him to continue. His disclosure came as a surprise to you, but you felt there was more to what he was saying.

        “Fuck,” was said just audible enough for you to laugh.

        He graced you with the rest of the bourbon, which was likely a curse more than not considering its unwritten proof, but he called for another one, to the detriment of Ben, who had to walk himself back to the table he was just at not even ten minutes earlier. Again, you both waited for the bottle to hit the table before continuing, and he made sure he had his fill before he followed up.

        “I wouldn’ make a move on you if I didn’ find you at least a bit attractive.”

        “Make a move? Joel, you ate my cum.”

        He winced, “jesus.”

        “Oh,” you punched his shoulder playfully, “don’t be a prude now we’re back in Jackson. I remember what you sound like outside these walls.”

        “Well these people weren't outside these walls.”

        “So you’re a preacher here?”

        “No.”

        “Then you're good!” You raised your glass at him and he returned a vexed but amused look, clinking he glass against yours.

        You finished your round and palmed the bottle; his hand wrapped around yours, “I think you had enough.”

        You forced the bottle into your chest, and watched as his amused looked shifted into something strange. He watched as you poured your glass, hand swaying above the glass. Your face hurt from the constant smile, but your heavy eyes struggled to stay open as the bourbon hit you a bit harder than anticipated. Still, you finished your glass about halfway before asking, “so you find me attractive?”

        “Oh god,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “we really gonna go this route?”

        “Well, you brought it up.”

        He eyed you for a moment before finishing his drink and pouring another. His gaze softened as he downed more, scratching his face before speaking; “if you gotta know, if my opinion on you matters in any way, I find you quite… beautiful.”

        You burst into laughter at the thought. He didn’t find anything funny with what he said, so he watched as you lost breath. You turned to him, “fuck off.”

        “For what?”

        Your laughter ceased as he stared at you in complete bewilderment, “Joel, I am many things, and beautiful ain’t one of them.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “I mean,” you rubbed your face, fighting the drowsiness, “I’m mean, vulgar, which we covered just now, I’m old, and wrinkly and just… unpleasant. Come on.”

        He looked at you with a disappointed look in his face, as if he didn’t experience everything you’d described to him; as if you were lying about it. His steady expression started to make you feel inexplicably insecure; “you really believe all that?”

        Sheepishly, you finished your drink, holding off the next round to play catch up; “I’m old, Joel, and bitter.“

        “‘S not how Tommy described you.”

        “Well, Tommy left damn near ten years ago; a lot had changed.”

        “He doesn’t think so.”

        “He doesn’t know me.”

        “I don’ think you’re old, or bitter.”

        “You don’t know me.”

        “I dunno,” he pushed the glass to his lips, “reckon I’m quite familiar with you already.”

        He tried to hide behind his coy utterance with his glass, the rich amber liquid sitting at his lips but not passing through. His eyes flickered to the side to note your expression, which somehow validated his response.

        You caught your smile in the reflection of the glass, wiping it off at the sight. Your hand reached behind your neck and pulled at the short hairs, looking away from him.

        Behind you, he cleared his throat, “you wan’ another round?”

        “I, uh,” your eyes turned around the room, your blurry vision trying to nail something other than his confusing countenance, “I don’t know.”

        “You want me to take you home?”

        The fatigue clouded your head, but you were coherent enough to want to smoke, so you nodded.

        He stood up, reaching his hand out for you but you declined, still wanting to be spiteful, but you stumbled out of the booth. He watched you straighten up and lead him out the door, walking a few paces ahead of him.

        The drizzle came down a bit harder now, its patter reminding you of sleepless nights and noise machines posted outside your bedroom door. The cold water tickled your exposed skin and cooled off the heat from your face.

        The cigarettes were wet when you pulled them out, the wrapper soggy, but you remained hopeful nonetheless. Huddling under the overhang of the Bison, your lips took hold as you reached for your matches. After a failed strike, you staggered backwards and leaned against the wall, tears forming in your eyes.

        You couldn’t understand why you were on the verge of crying over a failed light, or perhaps it was the strange feeling that began to flow just beneath the skin, but taking in a deep breath, you tried again, and failed. Frustrated, you threw the spent match and pulled another one. Before striking, you felt Joel’s hand over yours.

        Your sad eyes looked up at him, your breathing shallow and anxious. He looked down on you like you were a wounded animal, small and helpless, as he pulled out a lighter. With a satisfying click, a flame grew between you, and with it the revelation that he didn’t see you as a wounded animal to be helped, nor a crone to bicker endlessly with, but something else entirely.

        Your reflection in his deep, blackened eyes flickered wildly as you leaned towards the light. You could hear the sizzle of the paper and you pulled, the smoke reaching the depths of your lungs as you stared at yourself through him. Oddly, your face was different now than it was before; you’d become soft and unassuming, a former self settled, looking back at you from the pits of his eyes. The reflection had so much life in her face.

        Suddenly, your image disappeared and you were left with nothing but Joel’s features, seemingly watching your renascence unfold before him. The sound of the rain stopped and the chill dissipated, leaving you nothing but the rush of your own blood behind your ears and a numb existence. You felt nothing.

        He existed within the same realm as you it seemed, as he didn’t look away for a second. In fact, during your period of death and rebirth, he was only inches away from you, his breath running down your chin as you watched him.

        It wasn’t until he spoke you returned to earth, “you okay?”

        The rain grew louder and the air colder as you were brought back to life, the cigarette needing a good ashing as it had burned almost halfway through. Doing your due diligence, the ash fell below and you pulled another breath, breathing the smoke downwards, “I’m okay.”

        The rain poured beside you, the dirt paths slowly turning to mud. You glanced back at him, “did you want a cigarette? Forgot to ask.”

        With a half smile, he declined, “maybe you’ll spot me some other time.”

        “Wanna share?”

        He thought about it for a moment before giving in. You passed it from your fingers into his and looked back towards the community. You watched as lanterns gently swayed, taking their light with them. People ran across the path under other buildings with overhangs, or ran home with their jacket over their heads. If you were slightly more distracted, you’d miss Joel hacking behind you.

        You turned over your shoulder, “you okay?”

        Completely abashed, he nodded, “‘s just been a minute.”

        Grinning, you crossed your arms, “they’re strong, I know. Make ‘em myself.”

        He handed it back to you, signaling for you to finish it, “yeah, feels that way.” He pointed to your walkie talkie, something you had forgotten was attached to you and was probably damaged now from the rain, “who gave that to you?”

        You looked at the device, barely registering its existence, “Ellie swung by and gave it to me today. Am I not allowed to have one?”

        He shrugged, “it’s fine, just, strange she’d give you one. She don’ give just anyone one of those, considering she stole ‘em from the patrol outpost.”

        “I think she took a liking to me.”

        He nodded, looking around before asking, “know how to use it?”

        “Uh, no actually, she didn’t get to that.”

        “Can I?”

        He motioned towards your hip and you gave him the clear. Apprehensively, his hand reached for your belt, fingers grazing against your skin as he pulled it off carefully. Your stomach felt ill.

        He showed you how to turn it on and change the channels, “my channel is 67, Tommy’s 73, Ellie’s is 19. Each patrol group has their own channels, so if you flip through ‘em you’ll get a signal. Everything in between is static.”

        You nodded, sure you were going to forget this come tomorrow, but this brought something up for you; “is this what Arthur used?”

        “Arthur?”

        “The guy on the radio. Not my guy, but the guy before him. Tommy said he died.”

        “Right,” he took a deep breath, suddenly tense at the conversation. “What’re you askin’?”

        “If my radio guy used this to talk to me.”

        He scratched his head, “still on this?”

        “Joel.”

        “Alright,” he conceded, “I, uh, probably.”

        And like that, the conversation ended. Taking the nearly done cigarette, you took in one last time before dropping it. Your boot crunched against the dirt as you put it out, “ready to take me home?”

        “Only if you’ll have me.”

        Without turning to him, you embraced the rain by marching forward. He caught up with you and faced forward, seemingly unaffected by the weather as well.

        You enjoyed listening to the bustle of Jackson as people scattered to avoid the rain. A few children ran past you as you walked, pausing to avoid colliding with them. Though not a word was spoken, you and Joel shared a moment where you both smiled knowingly, reminiscing on your own experiences as rambunctious children.

        Turning down the quiet avenues, you found your way through your barren yard. The stairs were a project as you were still not quite sober, so Joel’s hand held your lower back, guiding you up patiently.

        At your door is where you both stood facing each other, avoiding each other’s eyes. The rain fell harder, the sound slowly becoming deafening and threatening a migraine.

        You scratched the back of your neck, “so, uh, how do I get rid of you?”

        Joel laughed and for once he might’ve looked at you endearingly, “I’ll leave you to it.” He nodded before turning on his heel.

        “Joel,” your mouth spoke faster than you could think, which resulted in staring at him. Your mouth ran dry as you tried to come up with something; “see you ‘round?”

        “See you ‘round.”

*

He held you tight against his chest.

        You didn’t struggle but you could feel your anxiety spike as his arms rendered you stuck and completely helpless. Your arms were glued against his body, and even when you bothered to try, you barely budged an inch from him.

        “Joel.”

        Your voice cracked at your quiet plea, still struggling to remove yourself from his arms. He said nothing as he held you, staring blankly forward as he walked to some unknown location. As he continued squeezing your body, you tried pushing him off, but your arms could barely stretch as they were forced into his broad chest, and you began to panic.

        You kicked your legs, “Joel!”

        But he didn’t respond, nor move his line of sight from the path behind you. He was taking you far away from the stables, but he didn’t say where. He only grabbed you from the front and started to walk. Tears fell from your face as you thought about all the ways he was going to hurt you.

        The night concealed you both as he carried you to the forest outside Jackson’s walls. Once good and far, he threw you against the dirt, his blank face unchanged. You crawled backwards, trying to keep distance between you, but he grabbed your leg and dragged you back, positioning himself between your knees, grabbing your wrists as you tried to fight him off.

        He forced your wrists above your head, exposing your entire body to him. You were completely vulnerable, unable to kick him off, and his weight pinned you against the wet soil. It rained heavily, and you felt yourself sink deep into the mud, the raindrops falling into your eyes, forcing you to close your eyes.

        Joel continued quietly, and you felt him shift above you, seemingly grabbing something from above your head. You forced your eyes open and saw he carried a brick in his hand. Your scream stopped in your throat as you watched him lift it far above your head, and with a crack;

        You shot from your bed at the crash of thunder.

        You felt the house vibrate, and you grabbed at the sheets, unsure and afraid of what was happening. Rolling off the bed, your knees hit the floor and you stayed low, hiding yourself from the views of the windows as you crawled around the house. You didn't care where you were going, but you knew you had to get out of your bedroom.

        Your breathing escalated as the rain crashed against the windows, threatening to break the glass. Lightning flashed through your window every few moments, and half were followed by loud booms of thunder, each finding their way into your bloodstream. The wind howled, pitching loudly in your ears. Your hand touched the worn rug of the dining room and you almost jumped out of your skin.

        Everything seemed to get louder as you moved through the house, the wind and thunder in tandem, making you feel as though you were going insane. Outside, you watched as shadows shot past each window, surrounding you faster than you could anticipate.

        Enclosed by figures, deafened by thunder and wind, and blinded by lightning, you used your hands to feel for a safe corner – any corner – of the house so you could at least have some sort of advantage when they broke in. You found yourself in the furthest corner of your dining room, against the same wall as the front door. Unsystematically, the flashes lit up your space, revealing the shadows closing in against your insecure windows. Then, like a prayer answered, your walkie talkie beeped, seemingly pulling you out of your episode.

        You crawled towards the red light flashing on your dining table and grabbed it, turning it on, and on the other side you heard Ellie’s voice – “are you up?”

        Gripping the walkie talking like your life depended on it, you sighed in relief, but you were still struggling, “Ellie?”

        “Did you hear that loud ass thunder? Probably woke half of Jackson up.”

        “Ellie –“

        “Are you okay? You sound –“

        “Is,” you trembled as you spoke, completely aware that you would regret this tomorrow, “is Joel there?”

        “No, he went with uncle Tommy to check on Shimmer. Do you need help? Is everything okay?”

        You swallowed, closing your eyes, “I’m fine, I just – “

        The red light disappeared as you spoke, and you felt even more alone than you were just a moment before. “Ellie?”

        You turned off the walkie and started to cry. Your chest carried a sharp pain and your stomach turned to stone as you sobbed in the middle of your living room. Another crash of thunder startled you, and you decided you needed to be somewhere quiet. You took the walkie and crawled back to the bedroom, pushing the closet door open and collapsing inside. Your good leg closed the door, not all the way but just enough to filter out the wind and rain. The lightning still flickered through the slats of your closet door, but you felt more comfortable being hidden.

        You focused more on not having a heart attack than breathing, trying to drown out the noise of the angry storm outside. You thought about poor Shimmer and Princess, both probably scared out of their minds. Hell, Old Beardy was probably just as afraid, except they had little comfort. The walls of that stable were thin, and they were probably standing in wet chips as the rain poured down.

        With a deep breath, you closed your eyes and dropped your head against the wall, trying to continue to distract yourself. Your fingernails dug into your palms as you tried to remove yourself from Jackson. Storms were never a problem for you, but for some reason, this one was mad. As you wiped your tears with your raw palms, you heard a noise coming from outside the closet. Immediately, you clutched your chest, trying to keep your heart behind your skin as it ran with fear. Repeatedly trying to convince yourself it was thunder, or a branch ripped from its tree, your breath became erratic as you felt them coming closer to you. You started to feel lightheaded, but the fear of falling unconscious kept you awake.

        The sound grew louder until it paused inside your bedroom. Your hand flew to your mouth to conceal your uncontrolled breathing and the room fell silent. The sound of the wind, rain, and thunder ceased as your ears scanned the room, trying to find the source of the unnatural sound that breached your home.

        Boots.

        Very heavy boots creaked against the wood at an achingly slow pace, as if trying to hear where you were hiding. You couldn’t see through the slats, but the boots past the closet door before pausing. You swore your heart stopped as the boots slowly pulled the closet door open. A voice calling your name followed, but instead of being violent or commanding, it was soft, gentle, safe.

        He crouched, inching the door wider, calling your name once again, “it’s just me.”

        You refused to move or speak, his face remained hidden in the darkness and you couldn’t just give in like this.

        The figure peeked in, and you were met with familiar big, brown eyes.

        It was Joel.

        The breath you let out carried a sound, a croak. You covered your face with your palms as you tried to regain consciousness, your breaths audible and shaky. He stayed still, watching patiently as you collected yourself. Finally, once your breathing stabilized, you began to cry.

        With this, he dropped to his knees and crawled inside the closet with you, “it’s okay, I got you.”

        With a final sniffle, you looked up at him.

        He was completely drenched, his jacket sopping wet and dripping on the wood. His hair lied completely flat against his head, his curls nonexistent, and droplets falling down his face.

        You took a deep breath, hugging your knees, “Why are you here?”

        “’Cause you needed me.”

        “Joel,” came out as nothing more than a whisper.

        His palm reached for your knee, his thumb rubbing circles sympathetically, “c’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

        Exhausted, you nodded and he pulled you to your feet with careful consideration of your injury. You fell into his chest, ignoring the rain seeping into your thin pajamas, and wrapped your arms around him. He seemed apprehensive at first, but he allowed you to fix your face into his chest. His hands held your arms, “you’re gonna get wet, ‘n get a cold. C’mon,” he pulled you from his body and your head tilted back, looking up at him with wide, but tired eyes.

        He swallowed nervously as he stared back. He used the back of his hand to slowly push your hair back, and his fingertips grazed the soft skin of your neck. Your hand covered his, wrapping him around the side of your neck. You gazed back at him, eyes heavy and heart racing, but for an entirely different reason. He tipped his head forward, and his lips met your forehead, “’s okay, baby”.

        The familiar prickle of his beard turned your head to the side, silently declining his advances, and he nodded, pulling away from you. You crossed your arms, feeling the chill of the stormy night creep in from the thin window panes, and he tilted his head towards your bed, “come on.”

        You didn’t move, which only prompted him to stand in front of you, seemingly watching you figure out what you wanted.

        Pulling yourself from your trance, you looked down at the floor, “Joel?”

        “Yeah?”

        Flickering between the floor and him, your eyes struggled to meet his until the final word fell from your lips, “stay.”

        He looked at you in silence, and you began to feel your body warm up with an all-too-familiar discomfort, but you stared forward at him, matching his energy. For a moment, you thought about rescinding the offer and just kicking him out, but he offered you a hushed “okay”.

        And just like that, you wrapped yourself in your blankets as he was changing in your room, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back, stretching as a dry shirt that may have been a size too small wrapped around his body. He took his time hanging his wet clothes in the bathroom, mumbling about them not being dry enough come morning.

        Carefully, he dipped into your bed, inching next to you until your body was engulfed in his. His strong arm pulled you close before settling on your waist, his nose nuzzling into your hair for a moment before he pulled away. His deep breath wisped down the back of your neck and you settled in his arms, wiggling your body even closer to his.

        The rain didn’t seem to come down like it did before, and the winds seemed to have changed direction because they quieted, too. The flashes through your windows died and there were no cracks of thunder near Jackson. The storm seemed to have passed overhead, and all that was left in your room was the sound of Joel’s breathing.

        You could finally sleep.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed faster than you had anticipated.

        You finally mucked up the energy to clean your place for the first time since moving in, and your new ‘bestie’ Shea watched and talked as you worked.

        Most of your still stuff remained in your backpack, as you were prepared to leave at any given moment, but something in your head was trying to convince you to stay. It might’ve been Ellie and Dina, who’ve both taken a strong liking to you.

        They passed by your place every day they could, or swung by the stables whenever the chance presented itself. They were a bit exhausting, but you could appreciate their curiosity and enthusiasm to learn about you. They were more interested in what life was like before the outbreak than anything, although the topic of cigarette making came up. Joel wasn’t a fan of you droning about how wonderful life was before; he said it’d make them feel bad, but you found that was only partly true.

        There were some things they felt they missed out on – concerts, ice skating, museums, Central Park – but most of what you said allowed them to not really miss much. Poverty, a corrupt government, taxes, and even toxic academia were things you were very honest about, and they seemed to understand the disdain with everything ‘from before’.

        But it could’ve been your growing social circle. Like Ellie and Dina, others popped by the stables to say hi, introduce themselves, or to let you know about future events – there’s a disco happening later tonight, thanks to the recent patrol who ventured into a nearby city and brought home a bunch of records for the jukebox. You weren’t too sure about the disco, but your new friend Shea insisted on your presence.

        You’d met her jabbing the keys of the piano one night; she was quite drunk and sick of the country music so she took it upon herself to sing and play the piano, neither of which she did well. Ben admitted that he liked giving her just a bit too much because she was a fun drunk to have around. She didn’t bother anyone, nor try to fight anyone, she was just more friendly and outgoing after a few too many. Maria held her shoulders and tried leading her outside, but she escaped her grip and stumbled towards you, landing on your back.

        Your drink spilled and she giggled, “sorry, but are you gonna finish that?”

        Her sweet southern drawl was as stereotypical as it could get, and her breath reeked heavily of gin. She laughed wildly and used you as a brace as she slipped your glass out of your hand and drank whatever was in it, ignoring your declination. Maria forced herself between you and apologized on her behalf, “she’s goin’ home.”

        “But Mariaaa,” she drew out her name in a whine, “I’m makin’ friends, you told me to –“

        “Shea, come on, leave her alone.”

        “Wait,” she looked back at you wide eyed, “what’s your name, beautiful?”

        As fate would have it, you would enjoy her company that night, enough to offer to walk her home. It was Maria’s day off from motherhood, so you wanted her to actually enjoy it.

        And speaking of Maria, she was an entirely other entity for you to have met.

        Tommy was insistent that you two should meet, ignoring your concerns about being "not an ex but sort of". He assured Maria wasn’t the jealous type, as she had to fight off almost every woman in Jackson, even after they’d gotten married, and still kept her cool around the offending parties.

        “Oh, so you’re really all that,” you mocked.

        “I don’ think so,” he laughed, “but I guess I’m probably the only man they’d ever met within the past twenty years who showered regularly. Sets me apart, I think.”

        Meeting Maria was just as nerve wracking as you’d anticipated, but not in the way you thought.

        She was cooler than you, a much better conversationalist than you, and while she could be ‘one of the boys’ she still remained a powerful feminine force. You learned she was a lawyer, lost her family very early into the outbreak, and helped her father build Jackson from the ground up. You found yourself slightly intimidated by her; she could probably see through stone if she really wanted to.

        You prayed she couldn’t see the way you looked at Tommy.

        You met their son, Benjamin, who was just over a year old and as sweet as honey. You declined holding him, but praised his cuteness. You’d asked Maria how the pregnancy went, and for the first time she tensed up, only offering “it was hard, but we managed.” You decided that was the end of that.

        What really worried you about your growing desire to stay was Joel.

        Though you’ve decided to turn a new leaf, while completely ignoring the night of the storm, Joel still hadn’t told you about the man on the radio. He’d always had an excuse or downright ignored you. Sometimes he’d question you on why he was so important to you, and his avoidance was starting to annoy you, but Shea told you it was probably because the guy died, or is a shitty person, and that’s why Joel was hesitant, but you weren’t buying it.

        But other than that, you’ve grown to like him.

        He’d become part of your routine. He’d meet you at the stables in the morning, show you how to get Old Beardy to listen;

        “Assert your dominance.”

        “I don’t have any.”

        “He don’ need to know that,”

        and leave a tumbler of coffee on the ledge of Shimmer’s door before fucking off to do whatever it was he did. Then, he’d appear next to you at the Bison or at your front door looking for it.

        He’d ask you how your day was, how your ankle was doing, and fill you in on something important, like movie nights. He also always seemed to find broken objects in need of repair every time he’d stand on your porch. Dim lantern light? He’d return within minutes with a new bulb. Front door squeaking? He’d come back before the night ended to oil it. Creaking or rotting wood? By tomorrow he’d have a new plank of wood painted and ready to replace the offending piece. Sometimes, you thought he managed to secretly destroy things on your porch just so he’d have something to fix.

        Sometimes he’d ask about Ellie. You weren’t sure why considering they seemed close and lived together, but you’d tell him Ellie was a teenager, so distance was only normal. Ironically, he didn’t seem to believe you. Regardless, he’d tell you good night, and leave.

        Shea, on the other hand, would appear unprovoked and unsystematically, like a ghost whose only goal was to see how many heart attacks she could give you in any given day.

        After taking her home that night you met, she’d found you out and about Jackson, dragging you to meet her tiny friend group, her ‘coworkers’ at the boutique, and even gave you a tour of her little homestead. She’d been living in Jackson for about three years, so she indulged in community gossip, who to avoid, who to befriend, and overall who’s who.

        Shea also let you in on the secret to getting booze in the house – be nice to Ben and do him an odd favor. You were thankful the “odd favor” wasn’t a blowjob, just a shoulder massage with no happy endings. She said he’d only give you a bottle to take home if you did it well enough, and he gave you three, so you weren’t sure if that meant you were really good or terrible enough to never want one from you again.

        Regardless, you hid them away behind boxes of dried goods, away from Tommy’s occasional wandering eye when he’d raid your kitchen. Shea said people in Jackson weren’t allowed more than two bottles of liquor, four if there were multiple people, and Tommy was adamant on weening you dry, or at least, dry enough.

        Speaking of, she gawked over Tommy and Joel, just like every other woman in Jackson apparently, and told you that you were lucky to befriend both on a personal level.

        “Everyone’s friends with everybody, but not everyone’s been in everybody’s houses,” she shimmied her shoulders, as to punctuate your ‘blessing’. “Joel’s a hard guy to crack, and Tommy’s too, uh, formal.”

        You rolled your eyes as you mopped your kitchen floor, “they’re really not as interesting as you guys think.”

        “I dunno,” she giggled, a blush growing at the fullest parts of her cheeks, “I heard Tommy was a military man. He shoots like one.”

        You scoffed, “didn’t anyone tell you he hated it?”

        “He was still in the army, and he’s got dog-tags too. Maria’s so lucky.”

        “Yeah, she’s a winner.”

        Your candor only made her laugh harder. She was probably the only person you’d ever met who actually enjoyed your sardonic nature. She’d even likened your attitude to Joel’s, citing both of you are "as dry as bone, lord help us all".

        “You don’ find Tommy at least a little cute? Like, at all?”

        Hand on hip, you looked at her. Her fingers were playing with her rich golden hair, the smile never budging an inch, “he’s fine, I guess. Just nothing special. Much less Joel.”

        “Y’know, I think the girls like Joel because he’s all rough ‘n tough. A real man. Some girls wanna rile him up, but not me.”

        “No?” You tried to sound interested, but your tone fell flat.

        “No,” she stood up, walking towards the fireplace, “I like my boys all soft. ‘S more fun when they’re kinda smitten by you.”

        The mop sloshed in the sink as you rinsed the muck from it. You used dish soap to rinse the threads, hardly thinking about anything Shea was saying. Sometimes you thought that the only reason Shea liked you was because of your proximity to the brothers.

        Huffing, you opened the back door to let the mop dry over the railing, and upon re-entering, you found Shea was toying with the wooden cat idly. Smiling, she carefully replaced it, “not sure Joel’s out here lookin’ for a lady, though.”

        “What makes you say that?”

        “Ugh, are you kiddin’,” she giggled, “he’s more business-y than Tommy. He don’t find anything or anyone funny, let alone talk about more than the weather.”

        “Believe me,” you opened a chocolate bar, offering her a piece, “he’s not at all interesting.”

        “Ellie says otherwise.”

        You shrugged, “guess we gotta be sixteen again to know him better.”

        She giggled while chewing, “yeah, it’s crazy all the kids adore him. ‘S like they know he’s a good person. Like they know they’re safe with him.”

        “What’s that mean?”

        Her eyes widened, shocked that you, a resident of three weeks, didn’t know everything about everyone. She stepped back, pursing her lips. Her demeanor shifted into something disconcerted. “Y’know, you’re always gonna have a bad apple in every bunch.”

        “You telling me there’s pedophiles here?”

        “What? No, good lord! Not that I know of, but there’s always a guy who holds you a bit rough.”

        You watched her confession on her face. She wasn’t fully prepared to let you in, and you didn’t pry. Your support was shared through an understanding silence.

        She perked up after a moment, “but enough of all that, what do you think?”

        “About what?”

        “About Joel! What do you think?”

        You shook your head, “I still have no idea – “

        “You think he likes you?”

        The memory of him slammed into the front part of your brain like a truck. You never really stopped thinking about him eating you out, twice, and the memory often came when you lied in bed at night after a few drinks. Every night when he stood in your doorway your stomach would ache, begging you to invite him inside.

        You knew better, but the strained groans he made for you when you took his entire dick in your mouth were holy. His whispered pleas would send your hand down the front of your panties, and you would pretend it was his. Your voice would crack as you edged closer, softly repeating his name as if he could hear you. The vision of him was enough to have you grip the sheets as your fingers plunged deep inside of you.

        “Doubt it,” you responded candidly, “I think he just puts up with me.”

        “Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, shoving your shoulder, “he got no time or energy to entertain anyone, so you might be on his radar.” Her coy smile invited a deep bodied laugh from you.

        But it did get you thinking; he really didn’t speak with anyone other than you, Tommy, and Maria. He was cordial with everyone, but like Shea said, no one was invited to Joel’s house, and no one invited him, and you managed to find him at your home what felt like every night.

        “I don’t know,” you dismissed her and yourself, “quite frankly I don’t think I’m looking for a man, anyway.”

        “Ooo, but what about a fuck buddy?”

        Your face flushed with heat. She took notice and she laughed, “what, you don’ think he can sustain a friends with benefits thing?”

        “I,” you scoffed, awkwardly laughing, “I don't know what to say about that.”

        “Well,” she leaned closer, “it might be more likely than you think.”

        Admittedly, this piqued your curiosity. You had no real intention on casually sleeping with him, despite everything that already happened, but maybe in the meantime, it might not be a bad idea. Granted, you had already given him the okay, and the conversation about trust came and went, so if you really were interested…

        “Yeah,” you sighed, feigning uninterested, “he’s the town slut?”

        She burst into laughter and motioned for you to meet her at the couch, which you obliged. She held your hands as she led you into the cushion, “I’d hate to gossip –“

        “It’s all you do,” you reminded her, and she laughed in agreement.

        “You’re right, I love gossiping, but this one might be a bit too much.”

        Squaring your brows, you stared at her mute, waiting for her to continue.

        “Well,” she took a deep breath, “I heard through the grapevine that Tommy’s tryna’ set you up with Joel.”

        Completely dismayed, you scoffed, “what?”

        “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but Mabel at the boutique said she heard it from Laura at the hair salon that Shantel, you know, she does laundry, she said that Maria, Tommy’s wife, not the one in the cafeteria, told her that Tommy was trying to get you and Joel together.”

        You tried following closely with every name and profession, but you swore she only did that to confuse you, “why would Maria think that?”

        “No,” she squeezed your hands, “Tommy told Maria that’s what he’s doing, and Maria told Shantel, then she told -“

        “Okay, got it. I don’t think so though.”

        “Why not?”

        “Because Tommy wouldn’t do that. I know him very well,” you took your hands from hers, “he’s got better things to do.”

        “Does he though?” Her question rang through, and like a fly to sugar, you bit the bait.

        “What’re you talking about?”

        “Oh geez,” she sighed, sinking deeper into the couch, “there’s so much context. I’ll tell you the entire story later, but Tommy’s got nothin’ goin’ on at home.”

        “He has a kid, Shea, that’s a lot.”

        “I mean in his relationship,” her eyes widened, “I heard that the pregnancy was so bad they don't do nothin' anymore. Heard she don’t even wanna have sex, so when it’s her baby duty time, he’s got nothin’ else to think about other than havin’ his brother get laid. Y’know, live through him or whatever.”

        A full body laugh erupted from your stomach, “jesus, Shea, are you hearing yourself?”

        “Look, I didn’t say everything I hear is true, ‘s just rumor-ville.”

        “Look,” you patted her knees endearingly, “you have to go to the boutique and work. Please.”

        She laughed for a moment before standing up, “fine, but don’ be surprised if Tommy manages to get you and Joel together by the end of the night.”

        “Wait –“

        “You’re goin’ to the disco tonight with me, I need a date! We can go twinnin’, I already got us something sewn up – “

        “I really don't wanna go.”

        “But I sewed you a whole outfit.”

        “I know, but –“

        “I heard they have Abba. At least go just to listen to Abba.”

        “Fine,” you groaned, “but only for an hour.”

        And with that, a high pitched squeal, and she was gone, leaving you to finish wiping down your counters.

        As much fun as Shea was, her unyielding nature was a bit of a hit or miss. You liked that she dragged you to meet her girls at the boutique, it got you out of the house and apparently clothes for the disco, but dragging you to the disco?

        You were still getting comfortable with your new temporary life, and she was insistent on you staying, just like Tommy. You could appreciate Joel's indifference; it made you want to spend more time with him. But as your eyes scanned the living room, and your eyes caught the cat on the mantle, you wanted to at least know who the man on the radio was before you left. If the disco was going to be as big as Shea led on, chances are he'd probably be there.

        Sitting down, you removed your boot for your daily inspection. Your ankle looked fine, still a bit tender, but looked much better. The pain of walking on it subsided a bit, but working in the stables with this injury was questionable. You toyed with the idea of requesting something a bit less intense, but you didn’t want Tommy to think you were intending in staying.

        Doctor Singh told you not to walk on your foot until the six weeks was over, but the itch of wanting to just stop being injured was overwhelming. It was mostly the way people looked at you, like they should feel bad for you, but they don’t because you killed one of their own.

        You wrapped the boot back on and waddled towards your front door, noticing someone was coming up your stairs at the same time.

        You opened the door and found a Joel caught off guard. He held the tumbler and an inquisitive expression, stopping half way to the top looking up at you.

        “Well, good morning,” came out more lively than you anticipated, but you hoped the questioning undertone reached him.

        “Mornin’.” He stared at you for a moment before continuing, “I, uh, didn’ see you in the stables, wasn’ sure if you were doin’ okay.”

        “Yeah,” you sighed, taking a step down, “I was cleaning, then Shea kinda appeared, and, well you know Shea.”

        He laughed as he turned, shoulder brushing against yours as you both started for the stables, “yeah, I know Shea.”

        “You know she’s dragging me to the disco thing tonight.”

        “Should be fun.”

        You scoffed, “yeah, right. I expect to sit at the bar the whole night.”

        “If Shea’s takin’ you, I’d reckon she’d have you on the dance floor all night.”

        Laughing, you rolled your eyes and nudged him, “whatever. You going?”

        He shrugged, rubbing his neck, “I dunno, not keen on goin’.”

        “Oh, if I’m going then you have to.”

        “Why?”

        “So we can be miserable together,” you elbowed him before grabbing the stable doors. He took the door from your hand and held it open as you walked in, him following.

        You greeted the horses one by one, reaching your hand out, gently patting them. The tumbler clunked on the ledge of an empty stable door as he stepped behind you, barely a foot from your back. He always seemed to position himself close to you, but not uncomfortably so, as if he just wanted to be in your space. He gently cooed at the animal, his hoarse voice rumbling through your veins.

        You turned on your heel to face him, standing at the opposite end of Beardy’s door. You watched as he crept closer to his horse, eyeing the way his broken watch face caught the sun that peeked through the barn window. The time never changed on that watch, and the pink bracelet tucked underneath never budged, and as his arm swung to rest against his hip, your eyes met his.

        “You got this guy?”

        Joel huffed, nodding as he reached for the latch, “sure.”

        The door gently swayed towards you and your hand caught it. Old Beardy snorted and stomped as Joel reached for his reigns, clearly in charge of the otherwise unmanageable horse. His hand held the side of his face, thumb petting the fur at the highest point of his cheek. A proud smile grew on Joel’s face as the horse followed him out of the stable, calm and compliant. You watched him knee the barn door open and pull the animal out, careful not to pat his rear as he let him loose. Joel watched the horse trot into the expansive yard for a moment, the early sun casting his shadow.

        He turned to you, arms crossed, “you gonna let the others out or you just gonna stare at me?”

        You snapped out of your trance and jumped to Shimmer’s door. This time, he watched you take both horses out of the stable.

        Upon returning inside, you were met with coffee, “still should be warm.”

        “Thanks,” you took it, trying to ignore the way your fingers brushed his, another thing he did quite often. And each time it happened, his face reddened.

        Silently, you put the tumbler to your lips and sipped, attempting not to focus on the way he watched you. Swallowing the coffee, you asked, “so you’re gonna come tonight?”

        “Do you want me to come tonight?”

        “Well,” you squeezed your arm, embarrassment flushing your skin, “when you ask like that –“

        “Like what?”

        “Like you’re, insinuating something.”

        Rubbing his neck again, his stone faced facade fell short and he awkwardly exhaled from his mouth, “I wasn’ tryin’ to insinuate anythin’, just –“

        You watched him struggle to finish his train of thought, finding it was very easy to get him bashful nowadays, and it made you think about what Shea was talking about. She does have him all wrong.

        Frustrated, he cracked, “do you want me there or not?”

        He didn’t find you too amusing laughing at his sudden lash, but you couldn’t help yourself; “Joel, do whatever you want to do. As a matter of fact,” you took another sip of coffee, “you can point out the radio guy for me at the Bison.”

        His hands tensed as they balled into fists and released. He looked away from you as he tried to find something to do with them, ultimately shoving them into his pockets, “I dunno –“

        “Tommy told me you knew,” you cut him off, still keeping the playful energy, “figured he’d probably be there tonight. Everyone will be, even you.”

        “I know.“

        “So just point him out to me. I don’t know why you just won’t tell me who he is.”

        “It’s… complicated.”

        You grabbed the pitchfork and shimmied past him into Japan’s stable, starting to clear some of the waste, “you’re the only one making it complicated. I just need a name, or a face.”

        “What’re you gonna do if you find him?”

        Tossing some chips into the wheelbarrow, you focused on cleaning, “what’s it to you?”

        When he didn’t respond, you looked at him after your next scoop, “I’m gonna fuck him, Joel. Is that what you wanna hear?”

        He rolled his eyes, tensing his body. Now, he looked down on you, chest wide as his thumbs found themselves beneath his belt. You could tell he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t.

        Avoiding another conflict, you bit your tongue, holding back exactly what you wanted to say. A million questions crossed your lips, but you decided to ask none, favoring keeping the peace over anything. You scoffed, turning your back to him as you continued to clean the stable. You stabbed into the chips, channeling your frustration into the horse shit than Joel, which seemed to have had an effect on him.

        “You really wanna know who this guy is?”

        “Yes.”

        “Fine,” he cleared his throat as he crossed his arms. He stared into you bitterly, “tonight, I’ll go to the, thing, and I’ll show him to you.”

        “Fucking finally,” you chastised without bothering to see his reaction.

        You continued shoveling wordlessly, listening to the sound of the metal scraping the wood as he stood behind you doing the same. You weren’t sure if you should say anything else, being that you both were still on good terms, but his silent presence was starting to light a fire within you. Your chest started to tense as you became increasingly aware of his unusually quiet response, heart starting to shake.

        As you turned to dump the chips, you looked up to him, taking in him. He didn’t lean against the wall as he usually did, but instead stood, arms still crossed over his chest. His forearms were tense, holding himself tighter as you continued to stare. His neck rolled as he swallowed nervously, his face unchanged from his frustration.

        Holding the pitchfork in hand, your hand tightened as you leaned against the handle, waiting for something to happen. He was beginning to overtake you, sensing a change in tone that he would soon verbalize.

        “I can’t guarantee you’re gonna like the guy,” he spoke softly, as if warning you like a father would a daughter. How patronizing.

        “Well, I’ll worry about it enough for the both of us.”

        He nodded, and without saying anything else, he walked from the barn. He’d come back eventually to drag the old fuck back into his stable, and maybe you both would be in better moods.

        Despite how wonderful Shea or Tommy thought you were, you weren’t completely blind to your shortcomings. And unfortunately, Joel was the same way, the perfect antagonist. Moody, curt, and derisive, you were perfect for each other.

        Neither of you could fully relax around the other, always expecting disappointment or a snide remark, and while you hated that about yourself, you couldn’t be confident that Joel hated it. You had already gotten off on the wrong foot, and, sure, you both apologized and forgave the other, but it always loomed over you. The cabin, the truck, the out of practice hands and whispered names.

        You knew he could be a good fuck, but he couldn’t be a good lover.

        Quite frankly, as you continued shoveling, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Joel did pose an interesting question: what would you do with this guy once you met him? You’d been here for three weeks, he had to have known you were here; why didn’t he come find you? Maybe Joel’s avoidance and asking was his way of telling you he wasn’t worth the hype.

        Or maybe Shea was right, maybe Joel wanted you instead, and the guy was too afraid of him to try to come between you two.

        A knock on the door removed you from your analysis and behind you stood Laura, a rare sight for you considering she was always in her salon and you barely knew her – “hey, what’s up?”

        Laura was in her forties and the grays in her jet black hair were stringy and sparse, highlighting her sunken eyes and hollowed face. Her icy blue eyes were a shocking contrast to her hair, and her freckles speckled her pale face. Her skin was smooth, but her stress showed through lines around her eyes and lips. She always wore a deep maroon lipstick with smudged brown eyeliner, a concept so wild you were speechless when you’d seen it. Her voice croaked, a sign the cigarettes were rotting her away from the inside.

        Despite her harsh look, she was one of the sweetest people you’d ever met, and she was from Jersey, a neighbor, “hey, sweetheart. Shea told me you were coming to the disco tonight.”

        “Geez,” you groaned, “it hadn't even been an hour since we split.”

        She laughed, “yeah, she’s just excited. She also told me you got a CD player; could really use that in the salon, y’know.”

        “Oh, uh,” you tried figuring out how to decline her suggestion, but she continued.

        “Swing by the salon with it before the disco, I’ll get you dolled up. Bring Whitney.”

        “Okay,” was all you could muster because she had left the door frame before you could decline. Looking back at the wheelbarrow, you scratched your face, knowing that now you had to integrate more than you were.

*

Without incident, Joel brought Old Beardy back and left you as he usually did.

        The traction between you two was the furthest thing from your mind anyway. The anxiety grew as you thought about sitting around people and having them touch your hair and chat casually about the most unimportant things imaginable. The idea that these people somehow live in the same universe as you and discussed what they were wearing to a disco and were doing their hair and makeup was so far fetched.

        What would you even talk about?

        Nonetheless, you forced yourself to pack your CDs in a crocheted bag, a welcome gift from Shea once she sobered up, and pulled your boombox from your backpack, inspecting it one last time before hauling it down to the town square.

        You went to Shea’s boutique first to get her, and after she showed your outfit, you both hauled ass to the salon, where there were two empty chairs – “ladies!”

        Laura stood up from behind the front desk and led you to the empty seats, “reserved these just for you two. We’re busy this afternoon.”

        “Looks like everyone’s wanting to get all dolled up,” Shea droned as she settled into her chair, “pretty unusual actually.”

        “Ah, I bet everyone’s just wanting to see the new girl.”

        Your face grimaced at the thought, but Laura laughed along with Shea. Still embarrassed, you didn’t say much.

        “Oh, she got the CD player!”

        Laura took the bag from you and set the boom box on the counter; there was no way you could hide now.

        Laura started to play Whitney Houston, and seemingly everyone in the salon cheered as her music filled the room. The music changed the vibe in the salon, and you were to thank.

        She danced and laughed as she walked towards you, feeling the beat fully. She held your hair, parting it, “you don’t know how much I’ve missed this.”

        You tried to shrink into your chair shyly, still unable to say anything worth saying.

        She exhaled deeply, her body still taking in what she had once lost, and maybe even reliving a simpler time. She tipped your chair back and removed the headrest, allowing your head to rest freely as she took a table and bucket to set it underneath. It was an interesting setup, certainly creative, and you wondered who built this thing. She started to rinse your hair, combing her fingers through and studying thoughtfully, “what did you want, sweetheart?”

        “Oh, uh, I dunno.”

        She laughed softly, “it’s a bit overwhelming, I know, but let’s get past it already and get you all cute for tonight.”

        You shrugged, and allowed her to trim your dead ends, brush through the entire length of your hair, and wash it with a sickly sweet-smelling shampoo. As she massaged your head, you could feel yourself melt into her touch. Her fingers were magic and worked your scalp in a way you had never felt. You might actually have slept if it weren’t for the conjoined singing of the patrons in the salon.

        As she continued to work and chat about nothing, strangers tapped your knee to thank you for the good music, and sheepishly, you’d nod.

        Laura turned you towards a mirror, showing off her work. Seeing your hair fluffed and done made you more uncomfortable than you thought. Not even a month ago you were rinsing grease from your hair with lake or ocean water that you’d gotten maybe a week before, not even bothering to cut or dry, let alone do it. You were overwhelmed with the idea of relaxing, it still not feeling real for you.

        You shook your head, unsure of what to say, but Laura took your silence as praise, giving you a wink, “you look gorgeous, baby. Really.”

        Shea’s excited squeal was probably heard on the opposite end of Jackson. She grabbed your hand, convinced you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen – “there ain’t no way you won’t get asked for a dance.”

        “I don’t want to get asked for a dance”, you retorted, “that’s… a lot.”

        “Nonsense,” she squeezed tighter, “we are gonna dance together, whether you want to or not.” Practically dragging you from the chair, “come on, we gotta get you dressed and painted.”

        “Painted?”

        “What, you thought we weren’t gonna get our makeup done?”

        “I, uh, didn’t know that was still a thing.”

        “Honey,” she tilted her head towards you, “it’ll always be a thing.” She giggled at your borderline horrified reaction at the insinuation, “look, it’s all natural if that helps. Beeswax or somethin’. It’s good.”

        “So, like lipstick?”

        “And eyeliner, and mascara. It’s crazy how creative people could be when given the time.”

        You hummed, and you both paced quickly down the street into the more residential areas of Jackson. You found that Jackson attempted to keep residential separate from “commercial”, but there were just too many people and not enough space, a recurring theme you felt wasn't discussed, or even noticed.

        You found yourself on someone’s porch, Shea doing all of the talking with the woman who lived there. She was quite young, and apparently hosted “makeup parties”, which seemed to be an exclusive event, too exclusive to not discuss it at all in any detail in front of you. While only slightly embarrassed, Shea still reassured you that she was just a bitch to everyone,

        “She invited me over a few times for the makeup parties, but one day she just stopped. It’s so rude.”

        “Jesus, Shea, why do you still talk to her?”

        “Figured you were my ticket back in,” she laughed, “I liked the makeup parties.”

        “Why did she stop inviting you?”

        She shrugged, “not really sure, but someone told me it had to do with my friendliness towards Maria.” She sighed, “guess people really don’t like authority.”

        She decided it was best to do your makeup at her place, and you obliged. You let her drag you all over Jackson to meet random people with whom she seemingly only had a cordial relationship with. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy this at least a little bit. At the same time, however, you felt bad for Shea - you really might be the only person she really gets to talk to.

        Set up on her bedroom floor like teenagers, she dragged the eyeliner stick across your eyelid, gently pulling at the line to smudge it. It was waxy and the pigment was only a step above abysmal, but it didn’t look as bad as you thought it would. Instead of a haggard old lady, you found yourself looking a bit like your younger self, just aged. The red lipstick, however, seemingly made you hot.

        The swatch of red always suited you, and looking at how well the pigment took hold of your lips was surreal; it reminded you of your first date with your husband. You couldn't remember how you met, or any specific details of the first date, but you remembered he made you feel seen, and he thought red was absolutely your color.

        “You look so incredible,” Shea cooed, “not that you didn’t look incredible before. Just, more incredible now.”

        You nodded. Arguably you felt even better, but only until she showed you exactly what you were going to be wearing.

        A flannel shirt with bell bottom jeans, innocent enough, but she offered to tie the front to expose your stomach.

        “Shea – “

        “What? It’s sexy showing off your belly button!”

        “That’s not what I’m trying to get at. I’m not twenty-three, I’m – “

        “Don’t you dare say old.”

        “I am,” you laughed, “I’m old. I don’t look as good as I did back then, I’m all,” you vaguely gestured, hoping she didn’t ask for clarification.

        “Stop it! If only you knew what the guys were sayin’ about you.”

        “What?”

        “Oh,” she flipped her hair, “you thought you weren’t bein’ gawked at? That nobody was lookin’? Honey, you got more ass than a farm in Texas and enough breast to change the topography of Wyoming, you got everybody starin’.”

        You looked at her, too stunned to speak, before you both burst into laughter. You laughed until your stomach hurt and tears ran down your face. As you met each other again, her face fell, “your eyeliner!”

        Your eyeliner tracked down your cheeks, and she laughed as she tried rubbing away the pigment. You both giggled some more, until you had to take a moment to catch your breath. You both sat silently, exchanging endearing looks before she tapped your knee, “ready to go?”

*

The Bison was packed and busy.

        You and Shea could barely move past the crowd, her hand gripped tight around your wrist. She figured you should start drinking to loosen the body, and that was one of the only things she offered that you fully supported. Ben hooked you both up with sweet cocktails, a rare delicacy in Jackson, and you shoved towards the dance floor.

        The jukebox played Donna Summers, Gloria Gaynor, Bee Gees, and of course Abba, and to each, you and Shea drank and danced and laughed the night away. With the more you drank, the more comfortable you felt being surrounded by so many people, forgetting they were even there, and Shea was the perfect date. Hell, you even tied up your flannel, but told Shea it was because it was hot. You didn't even realize the scars you desperately tried to hide were now almost completely visible.

        And so far, nothing had crossed your mind – not Joel, not the radio guy, not even Tommy, and you felt a weight lift from your shoulders as you and Shea danced together. Intermittently, she would turn your focus on a random man, “he’s nice, sweet, but doesn’t know what to do with his hands.”

        “And how would you know that?”

        Shea stared at you for a moment before you both burst out laughing. She shrugged her shoulders, “I just wanna have fun while I’m still here. Turns out, the end of the world could happen at any moment.”

        “God, don’t remind me.”

        Once the songs started to slow, and Shea found herself accepting a dance from a gentleman, you leaned towards her and let her know you were going for a smoke outside.

        “You better not run away,” she pointed her finger at you, “I know where you live.”

        “I’ll come back, I just need a break.”

        And with a playful smack on your shoulder, you split from her, leaving the Tipsy Bison along with a few other tired patrons.

        Finding your place in the side alley, you lit your cigarette and leaned against the wall, taking in the cool summer night.

        It was still very unreal that you were attending a disco with a dozen other people, listening to music and dancing, wearing bell bottoms and a form fitting flannel with your hair done. You smiled to yourself as you inhaled the spicy tobacco, tasting its growing staleness with every pull.

        The music thrummed through the wooden walls of the bar, and you could feel the vibrations under your skin. You gently swayed to Olivia Newton-John, her voice pouring through the cracks of the windows and doors. You closed your eyes to feel her sound deeper, and instantly, you were light as a feather being taken away by the summer wind.

        “Mind if I interrupt?”

        The intrusive voice was none other than Joel, who awkwardly stood at the entrance of the alley, as if he had never spoken with you before.

        “Sure.”

        He walked past you and leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed against his chest. You offered your cigarette and he took it, taking a short pull before flicking it awkwardly. The cigarette didn’t need to be ashed, but you figured he’d been drinking a bit and didn't know what to do with his hands.

        He passed the cigarette to you, “having fun?”

        “God,” you rolled your eyes, “loads.”

        “You bein’ sarcastic?”

        You exhaled, watching the smoke billow upwards, and admitted, “no. I’m actually having a great time.”

        He took the cigarette from you, “sure looks it.”

        Your head snapped to face him, “you been watching me?”

        His palm met the back of his neck and you laughed, but he insisted, “I wasn’ watchin’ you, I just see you now. You look good – like you’re havin’ a good time, I mean.” He scratched his eyebrow and handed you back the cigarette, his eyes flickering between you and the wall of the Bison.

        You chuckled at his slip, not unaware of the effect you had on him when you both had been drinking, “so what about you? You been dancing or mingling?”

        Joel huffed, “nah, it’s, uh, not my thing. That’s more Tommy.”

        “Yeah,” you scoffed, “I don’t think that guy sat down for a minute since he walked in. I’m sure Maria’s ready to call it a night.”

        “Yeah, I reckon he’s gonna be out all night. That’s Tommy, though.”

        You nodded, handing the cigarette back to him, remembering how Tommy would stay up all night with you, talking and laughing. You liked knowing that he was still probably doing it, now with Maria instead. It didn’t seem to bother you as much anymore, but you weren’t sure where Joel was going with this. He seemed upset that that was how he found out about you and his brother, and neither of you were mature enough to bring it up.

        “About Tommy –“

        “Look,” he cut you off, “it doesn’ bother me. It’s fine.”

        “I know,” you sighed, “I just wanted to make sure. Not that this was any of your business anyway, but you still seemed upset.”

        “I wasn’ upset about that,” he shook his head before meeting your eyes, “it ain’t my business, ‘n I’m fine.”

        “Cool.” You took the cigarette to your lips, finding that it was just about done, “it’s almost done.”

        “Does this mean I gotta take you home?”

        You could tell he meant it, but his tone came across as a joke, “not yet. Shea let me know the night has yet to end.”

        “Christ.”

        “Yeah, and I’m not nearly drunk enough to be walked home.”

        “So you wan’ me to wait for you to get good ‘n drunk before goin’ home?”

        “I mean,” you flicked the butt, “if you wanna take me home at least. You don’t have to, but you still have to tell me about the guy on the radio.”

        “Right,” he nodded, eyes pulling away from you, “do you want me to tell you now or…” he trailed off.

        “Nah, I wanna focus on hanging out with Shea, and plus, I really don’t need her to know who I’ve been talking about, just in case.”

        “Just in case?”

        “Yeah, you know, in case she doesn’t approve.”

        He snickered, entertaining the idea, “and what would make her not approve?”

        “Actually,” you shrugged, “considering she’s shown me a few of the guys she’s dated, I could say not much.”

        You both laughed, and the question came out without you even thinking about it, “did you and her ever hookup?”

        The way he looked at you was a mix of shock and confusion, and you could only retreat as he stared silently, “sorry, ignore that I asked.”

        “What’s it to you?” His question was given with a smirk.

        “Oh,” you laughed, nudging his shoulder, “that’s what we’re gonna do?”

        “Why do you wanna know? Jealous?”

        You rolled your eyes, “hardly; you guys just have this weird, unspoken understanding.”

        He stood up, fingers hooked onto his belt loops, “if it matters, which it doesn’, no, we didn’.”

        You shook your head, “just see me in two hours.”

        “Two hours,” he repeated, “good ‘n drunk.”

        “Good ‘n drunk.”

        And good and drunk you became as the night went on, but Shea was itching to get home a bit earlier. Her change in attitude was unexpected, but your leg hurt and you were starting to feel tired, so you didn’t mind the surprise departure.

        Tommy offered to walk you home, but you insisted he go home first. He agreed with your sentiment, but joked about never feeling this carefree, so he and Maria were going to enjoy it for as long as possible, or until someone really needed to be taken home, whichever came first. 

        With a final shot, you bid Tommy a good night and trudged towards the door. He walked on your right, almost starting to beg to take you home, but you declined, hinting that you already had someone to take you home and he was probably waiting outside already. 

        Slowly you crept out of the Bison, praying you weren’t completely disoriented. You looked around for Joel, the crisp night air starting to fire your nerves. 

        Like a shadow, Joel appeared next to you, “you look like you’re ready to go.”

        “Were you just waiting outside for me to come out?”

        He shoved his hands in his pockets, raising his shoulders, “I just followed you out.”

        You laughed, unintentionally falling into the side of his body as you tried to shove him playfully. He started to laugh as he caught you, “come on, we really gotta get you home.”

        You wrapped your arm around his to keep yourself up and, like a rock, he supported your body and led you down the darkened streets of Jackson, snorting a laugh when you would trip over yourself, “maybe shoulda’ got you earlier.”

        “Shea wouldn’t allow it,” you rocked as you spoke, gripping tighter around his arm, “I was held hostage.”

        “Right,” he rolled sardonically, “held hostage, in a bar.”

        Your head butted his shoulder, “whatever. Thank you, though.”

        “For what?”

        You rolled your eyes, “for taking my drunk ass home; I’m sure you got better things to do than to babysit me.”

        He grunted, “hardly.”

        “What, a man of your age and social class and you don’t have something planned every night? I’m shocked.”

        He tilted his head, and tightening his lips, he spoke quietly, “you’re not the only one who’s havin’ a hard time adjustin’.”

        You stared at him, taking in his confession. Nodding was all you could do, and the walk home fell quiet as you both allowed it to settle in the air. Every few steps, Joel would contract his fingers gently into your arm, as if making sure you were still there. He kept his face forward, but your eyes would wander from ahead, to the houses inching by, to him and back. 

        You weren’t sure what you felt as you walked; maybe it was anxiety, knowing that once you arrived home, you would say good night and repeat the day, like a mundane, post-apocalyptic version of Groundhog Day. The feeling creeping was from you wanting to say more than you were willing, to tell him you might be ready for the trust exercise, to fully give yourself to him, but lie and say it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for the man you were going to ask about at your front door. 

        You started to feel nauseous at the thought, squeezing his arm tighter as you past the fence entering your yard. He leaned close, “you okay?”

        Nodding, “yeah, just tired, I think.”

        He nodded, carefully pulling you up the stairs and to your front door. You both stood quietly, a familiar ritual signaling the end of the night, except tonight presented a different tone. His hand that held your arm was gentle, his voice low and his smile soft. For a moment you considered taking him in your arms, burying your face into his chest as you did before, and you could see that he considered letting you. 

        Leaning against his strength, you looked up at him with tired eyes, “y’know, I still have your mug thing.”

        He chuckled, looking down at his feet, “you offerin’ me to come in?”

        Trying to remain neutral, “if you want, ‘cause I gotta wash it.”

        “Too drunk to walk home on your own, but not drunk enough to do the dishes?”

        “Who said I was too drunk to walk on my own?”

        You watched as his neck started to go red and his palms grew hotter as they struggled to keep a softer grip. He looked out into the neighborhood, probably scoping for wandering eyes, before he nodded, “alright.”

        You managed to pull yourself from him and opened your door, being sure not to trip over the rug with your bulky boot. He snuck inside, his hand now holding his watch, twisting it back and forth nervously as you closed the door behind him. 

        Your stomach turned as you waded towards the kitchen, feeling his eyes follow your every step. Your skin felt sensitive against your clothes and suddenly you were hyper-aware of how the fabric moved across your body; the jeans felt tighter around your thighs as you leaned over the sink, taking his tumbler and running water over it. With your back turned, you could hear his heavy boots slowly move towards the kitchen, thumping with each step. 

        Your hands raced around the cup, trying to get it as clean as you could in the short period of time where you both were apart. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was attempting to fix himself behind you, closer than he would allow, and closer than you could bear. 

        His hand leaned against the counter, and its sudden appearance made the mug slip from your clumsy, drunken hands, “shit.”

        As his body tilted over the counter, his other hand reached for your shoulder, sending a shock down your body as he made contact, “relax, take your time.”

        You awkwardly laughed as you rinsed the remained of the soap from the metal, turning the faucet off and grabbing a rag to dry it, avoiding making eye contact with him as you moved. 

        Swiftly, you turned on your heel and held the mug out, “I got it.”

        He nodded, taking the mug from you and setting it on the counter, “you didn’ have to do all that.”

        “What, wash it? Of course I did.”

        His only response was to look at you. His dark brown eyes engulfed you as they stared, telling you everything he was too afraid to say. His gaze was soft and only half drunk, flickering between your eyes and lips, waiting for something to latch on to. 

        Taking a deep breath, you looked away, “so, uh, the guy.”

        “Right,” he huffed, “the guy.”

        You waited for him to continue, but the anxiety thrashed inside your gut, forcing its way into your chest. The silence was deafening, and he seemed insistent on avoiding the answer. 

        “Joel?”

        His hands balled into fists, his fingers rubbing against each other as his eyes met every inch of your kitchen. His brows twitched as his mouth did, and he still said nothing. Your chest flooded with everything – anger, grief, betrayal – and you refused to believe what you were seeing. You refused to believe what he was insinuating.

        “Joel.”

        But you found the answer in his sinking eyes, and for once you felt nothing. Somehow, the anger, the frustration, the rage, seemed to have washed away with the sound of you calling his name. It was almost as if God himself lifted your spirit from your body, leaving everything behind. And for once, you were comfortable with it as you said nothing. You watched Joel unravel before you, completely unsure of himself, and just to entertain the idea of a conversation, “okay.”

        “Okay?”

        “Okay,” you repeated, adding a slight nod to emphasize your point. 

        His mouth opened, attempting to speak, but he was completely taken aback by your response; he just stared back at you skeptically as the silence fell. He shifted on his feet, “that’s all you gotta say?”

        “What do you want me to say, Joel?”

        “Fuckin’ anything.”

        “Fine,” holding back the returning anger, “take your mug and get out.”

        He shook his head, stuttering, “wh-what? No, I’m not gonna just –“

        “Why not,” your voice raised a pitch, just enough to frustrate you both. 

        “I wanna know what you’re feeling.”

        “You don’t care what I feel,” you bit, “if you did you’d tell me the first time I asked.”

        “There wasn’t a right time to.“

        “What do you mean there wasn’t a right time? I asked you every chance I got.“

        “I couldn’t –“

        “And you deliberately refused to give me an answer!”

        “We butted heads the moment we met and if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t have come to Jackson.”

        “Damn right I wouldn’t have.”

        “We needed you here.”

        “Bullshit,” you pulled a cigarette from your shirt and put it between your lips, turning your back to him. Your hand shook as you struck your match against the striker strip, taking a few strikes before tossing the broken match and pulling another. As you struck again, you continued, “such a fucking waste of time.”

        “Look –“

        You swung around, pulling the cigarette from your lips and pointing it at him, “y’know, I could forgive you for lying to me about the reason you brought me here, but don’t sit here and give me some bullshit sob story about why you couldn’t tell me that it was you.” You replaced the cigarette, “don’t patronize me.”

        You struck your match a final time and it caught. The sound of the burning paper filled the quiet that pierced through your head. Upon your first inhale, you opened the back door to let the smoke outside and were greeted by the chilly air. 

        “I’m not tryin’ to patronize you,” his voice cracked. 

        You looked back at him, and watched as tears streamed down his face. “I just,” he took a deep breath, his knuckles gently tapping the counter top, “I’m having a real hard time trying to tell you what I’m going through; I wanna tell you the truth.”

        “So tell me the truth.”

        His eyes quivered as he took his breath carefully. He swallowed hard, his eyes taking in every twitch and subtle movement in your face. He spoke softly, a hint above a whisper, and his voice trembled, “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

        Blowing smoke out of the doorway, “but I am, Joel.”

        “You didn’t recognize my voice,” he responded insistently, “but I recognized yours, and it scared me. You were better than I ever imagined you in every way, and I knew I couldn’t be anything you were thinking about.” He reached for his neck, his face contorting as he continued, “figured if I got you to forget about it… it was stupid, but,” he scoffed, almost laughed about it, “like I said, I wouldn’t know what to do with you if I saw you.”

        You took in everything he was saying, and you thought about the time spent with him thus far. With his confession, everything made sense – why he was so lenient with you, why he was so gentle, so apologetic and insistent on being with you. 

        But you couldn’t let this slide, no matter how wide his sad eyes looked at you, “Joel – “

        “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I just,” he swallowed the rest of his sentence, trying to find the next one as you watched his performance. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that I can’t leave here without you telling me what you’re feeling so I can figure out what to do with myself.”

        You offered a shrug, which seemed to have gotten under his skin even more.

        “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, pushing through the pain of not knowing how you were taking this, “From the moment I wake up, all the way to the moment I’m going to sleep, I only ever think about you. I think about the way you laugh, the way you talk, the way your voice gets all low when you’ve been drinking. I think about the way you say my name, I,” he takes a deep breath, his eyes unmoving from yours, “I think about the night before I brought you here. I think about the sounds you made, the way you said my name, how you held me.”

        He inhaled sharply, swallowing his breath as he cautiously took a step towards you. Your cigarette burned to the filter as you stared, tossing it into the sink as his form inched closer. You didn’t budge.

        His proclamation seeped into the tenderest part of your chest. The seeds he had planted – the gentle kisses, the stolen looks, the routine coffee and soft expressions, even the things that didn't need to be fixed, but he fixed them anyway, though buried, started to reappear like tulips in the spring. The devotion that he couldn’t speak on presented itself behind the gloss of his eyes, behind the pain of spilling his guts to an audience he thought to be indifferent, but as your hands tensed and shamelessly reached for his chest, an obviously feeble attempt to keep him away, his body relaxed under your palms as he now stood closer than he ever did.

        You felt his heart beat fast through his shirt and his breath grew shakier as his fingers so gently took your waist, the pressure increasing as he pulled you into his body. Your hands ran up his chest and past his shoulders, your arms draping over them as you pulled closer, jaw ticking with apprehension as you struggled to determine if this was a good idea. He knew exactly what you wanted to hear and this was just a ruse to get you to fuck him, but the sorrow in his eyes told you he wasn’t particularly interested in going through all of this just for sex.

        He was earnest and maybe that might allow you to forgive him. You gently whispered his name, “Joel,” and he sank completely into you, his face falling into something meek as his desperation forced his lips onto yours.

        You devoured him with a hunger that you believed to be dead and buried, along with the feeling that rose and bloomed in your skull. Feeling lightheaded, you grabbed the back of his neck, fingers pulling at his short curls, lips pulling only for a second as you turned your head to kiss him back. His mouth trembled as you slowly pulled away, his whiskey laced breath coursing over your mouth as he tried to catch up with it. Your hands held both sides of his neck, feeling his pulse as your thumbs traced his adam’s apple. The tremor in your jaw wavered your voice as you spoke so timidly you almost didn’t recognize the demand, “take me to bed.”

        His hands didn’t spare a second grabbing at the fullest part of your ass, lifting your hips into his and pulling you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist tightly, and with a smirk, you exhaled, “so strong.”

        He kissed you again, laughing against your lips, “just for you, baby.”

        Pulling his bottom lip with your teeth, you fell back into his grip and pushed kisses against his temple, his cheek, and lips as he carried you to your bedroom, kicking the bedroom door shut with his foot. With a groan, he gently laid you onto your mattress, hovering over you as he kissed you a final time before pushing his forehead against yours, “you trust me?”

        Nodding was all you could do, and with that his lips followed his tongue as he trailed kisses down your neck and against your clavicle, his rough hands slipping under your shirt and over your stomach. The uneasy feeling returned as his fingers touched the raised scars of your assault, but he didn’t change pace, seemingly overlooking or disregarding the mountains that seemed to shrink into hills. His hands wrapped around your rib cage, thumbs just under the band of your bra, the feeling growing exponentially. He kissed your chest and stomach just below the knot, slowly coming down to his knees. His hands dragged from your sternum and out from under the flannel, fingers clenching the fabric, and before he could untie it and pull it apart, your hands met his – “wait.”

        He didn’t speak, looking up at you, eyes wide and patient. You sat up, taking his cheeks into your palms, “can I ask you to do something for me?”

        He nodded fervently, and you continued, “can you get undressed first?”

        His hand covered yours, “I can do that.”

        You watched him stand up, and albeit a bit self-conscious, he unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the side, followed by his plain t-shirt. He undressed meticulously, looking at you for guidance or a reaction that would warn him otherwise, but you felt comfortable and slightly guilty.

        His broad chest looked good enough to grab, and as the feeling came back to your core, you watched in anticipation as his belt buckle clicked, feeling your tongue lick across your lip. He gave you a final questioning look, and with your permission, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, revealing his hard cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. He hesitated with them, but after an affirming look, those dropped, too, and he was completely naked, standing in front of you.

        You felt your chest rise and fall ungraciously as you studied his entire body, taking in every scar, bullet wound, cut and stab. Raised welts spanned across his skin, and something in your heart told you that each one had to be met with your lips. As your eyes met his, you saw he was holding the back of his neck, his other hand tempted to cover his lower half. Once you felt you had enough time to take in every inch of him, you commanded him to lie in the bed, and he did as he was told.

        You pulled your boot, pants, and panties off before crawling over his body, legs straddling his hips. Your hands leaned into his pecs, fingers spread as you settled. Feeling his abs tense from under your wet heat, your fingertips traced a few of his scars, trying to ignore the fact that while you were still half dressed, his hands held your hips softly.

        You swallowed hard, attempting to find how to explain your thought process. Maybe it’d be easier if you told him everything, tell him that you hadn’t had anything or anyone see you like this, consensually at least, since Tommy, and this was a breakthrough, but you didn’t want pity or tears, you just wanted to be wanted.

        You took a deep breath, but he stopped you, “you don’ gotta explain it; I’m gonna do what you want me to do, no questions.”

        Your chest swelled at his sentiment, and you sighed with relief, shaking your head in agreement. This would be a conversation for later.

        But for now, your hands raised, and slowly, each one of your buttons came undone, pausing about halfway through once the cool air wrapped around your bare chest. He caught your hesitation, and reminded you that you didn’t have to do this, but you did. This was arguably the most important part for you, shedding the skin you’ve overgrown, revealing the softest part of you.

        He watched from under you as your pulled your shirt from your shoulders and gently dropped it to the floor, finally exposing yourself completely.

        Joel swallowed hard, drinking your image with his eyes as he looked completely enchanted by you. He shot up form the bed and met your line of vision, his breath heavy and uncontrolled. You held onto his shoulders as his lips pressed against yours, desperate and pining for more. His hands shook as they trailed up your body, reaching for the clasps of your bra to swiftly unhook it, and as it fell between you two, you could feel your heart race to the verge of exploding inside your chest.

        “Baby,” he shook his head, “you’re gonna kill me dead.”

        Hot-faced and laughing, you fell into him. He held your hips as you lifted yourself above him, positioning him at your entrance. “Just give it to me,” came out as a single, hollow breath.

        “Take it.”

Chapter Text

This was a mistake.

        The moment your back hit the mattress you knew. You had watched as his cum rope against his chest; you saw tears pricked at the corner of his eyes but you still fucked him anyway. You felt the way he held you so desperately, the way he said your name, the way he looked when he was completely inside you for the first time, and you still fucked him.

        And if that wasn’t enough, he told you everything. Clear as day in layman’s terms, his communication skills became textbook as your hips rolled, as you swallowed every inch of him like your life depended on it. Him calling you "baby" with his cracked, tired voice alone could get you to cum, but you wanted him to give you more.

        “Baby,” he panted, sweat running down the side of his face, fingers dug deep into your hips. His eyes flicked between watching you take him and your face, “baby, look how you're takin' take me, just -“

        The way he said it signaled to you that he meant more than just his dick, and despite your best interests, you bowed to him, crowding his face with yours, licking the sweat and bruises from his neck. He still mumbled incoherently, his fingers trembling as his body started to tense. He grew sloppy and mumbled louder, and you finally heard what he was trying to say;

        “Just take me.”

        His arm draped over you as you stared at the wall, feeling his chest gently rise and fall against your back, his breath tickling the back of your neck. Eyes trailing the lines in the wood, you wondered how the fuck you were gonna get out of this one. On the flip side, though, it was probably the best sleep you've ever had since the outbreak.

        You were the first to wake, slipping his arm off from your waist despite his groan and tightening hold. “I gotta get the horses,” you whispered, and he groaned even louder at that. After a playful smack at his forearm, he released you and you went through your routine. Sleepily, you limped to the bathroom, scratching the back of your head, until you stubbed your toe against the corner of the mirror, which still sat on the floor of your bathroom. “Goddammit.”

        You brushed your teeth, then your hair, intermittently peeking around the corner to see if he was still asleep. Your stomach turned at the thought of having to kick him out of your house today, distancing yourself from him because this was too damn close. Didn’t he have people to care about where he went? Where the fuck was Ellie, and why didn't she go looking for him last night? Why did he think it was a good idea to spend the night, knowing that people notice everything in this god-forsaken town?

        The uncomfortable feeling in your stomach turned to anger as you thought he had no regard for you, your ‘job’, or how you look here. You didn’t give a shit about any of these people, but you still had a few weeks left, and if everyone were to find out you and Joel, who determined your innocence in a case in which you murdered a child, had been sleeping together...

        It wasn’t fair, and Joel was an asshole for putting you in this position.

        As the coffee brewed, you thought about Tommy. You missed what you two were like, and how immature and idealistic he was; he was fun, a welcome distraction from your miserable life, and you thought about how highly he spoke of his brother. Loyal, cunning, strong-willed and bull-headed, Tommy spoke of him like he was his own force of nature, and he wasn’t shy about calling himself his baby-brother, because that’s what Joel called him, even at his grown-ass age. It was sweet, but you wished you could see Joel as Tommy did.

        You stood at the counter to pour yourself a cup of coffee, but a flashing memory put you at pause; the cabin just a few weeks ago.

        You saw Joel on his knees, licking you up slowly as you sat wide legged on the couch. He gripped your thighs, keeping them spread as he devoured you, his voice rumbling against you.

        As your fingers lazily rolled through his curls, “how long have you been thinkin’ about this?”

        Pushing his lips against your cunt, “from the moment I heard you speak.”

        Hands grabbed at your waist and you were forced from your thought, glass shattering as you jumped forward to escape the hold – “fuck!”

        Joel stepped away from you, hands at his sides, apologizing, as he watched you burn your fingertips as you tried to pick up the shards. He came from beside you and you elbowed him to create distance, “it’s fine, I got it.”

        “I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to –“

        “I know,” you sighed, throwing the glass in a large bowl. You took a rag and ran it under the faucet and started to wipe the coffee into the sink. The room fell silent as he switched between watching you with concerned eyes and looking at the floor, holding his watch. The pressure you felt inside your chest felt like it was going to explode, and the ringing in your ear became louder than your own thoughts.

        Throwing the rag inside the sink, you turned to him, but refused to look him in the eye, “I’m gonna make this quick – this is strictly sex. Nothing else.”

        He tried to cut in, but you continued, “I know what we said last night, but you’re smarter than that.”

        You couldn’t see him clearly, but out of your peripheral, you saw he swallowed hard before barely giving you a nod, “right.”

        That was all that was said, even as he stormed out. Part of you felt guilty that you spoke to him the way you did, and it may have severed the opportunity for future opportunities, but another part of you felt as though a weight was lifted from your shoulders.

        Still, the stable was empty by the time you’d gotten there, and Joel’s absence in your routine felt lonelier than you’d thought.

        You weren’t really intending on him being completely removed, but in that typical Joel fashion, he decided that instead of casually hooking up like adults, he would just disappear. This only cultivated a pain you felt long ago, one that you thought had died.

        You weren’t sure if you should’ve let Shea in on what was going on, considering she had asked about last night’s adventure. You told her that nothing happened, and his absence from the stable was him being moody, and she only seemed to partially believe that. You didn’t feel as guilty keeping this from her as you thought you would, chalking it up to this being an unnecessary conversation, but you were glad she didn’t pester you further about it.

        You did, however, think about keeping busy with your new found free time by trying to grow whatever weed you could from the supplies Tommy gave you. He offered to build you a greenhouse, but you declined, stating that would imply that you’d stay. You figured you could turn your dining room into a makeshift nursery instead. You knew you needed more time for the plants to become mature, but you were riding on the bet you could at least get a few joints out of this before you left.

        “Knock knock,” a familiar young voice echoed through the stable doors.

        Ellie and Dina walked inside, strapped to the teeth with holsters. It was clear they just picked whatever they thought looked cool, disregarding how bulky and inefficient it was.

        “Cool getup,” you put the pitchfork against the wall, “going somewhere?”

        “We’re gonna start riding practice,” Ellie stated proudly, and Dina continued, “we’re going on a run with Joel today, decided to see you first.”

        “I’m not sure Joel is gonna like you guys being late.”

        “We’re not gonna be late,” Dina assured, “but there is gonna be a movie night tonight at the Bison. It’d be super cool if you came.”

        “I dunno –“

        “Please! It’s gonna be some cat movie from like a hundred years ago, I thought you liked cats.”

        “I do,” you huffed as you shoveled, “but I don't think I'm really in the mood.”

        “Joel will be there,” Dina blurted, evidently on a different page than Ellie, seeing as she elbowed her; “what, I thought she liked Joel? You like Joel, right?”

        You stood as straight as your pitchfork, feeling a wave of flush rush down your face, “I don’t like him, I just… tolerate him.” You decided you shouldn’t indulge tall-talk with the girls, so you left out the part where you were on weird terms with him.

        “Well, I think he likes you.” Dina didn’t say anything as she looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to give her something; you didn’t budge, but you did ask what they were playing.

        “Not sure what it’s called,” Ellie admitted, “but it's all painterly, and old.”

        Painterly and old, with cats. For a moment, you considered apologizing to him, seeing as you were still stuck here for about four more weeks, and the sex was damn good, but that would require you to accept fault, and you weren't sure if you were willing to do that. But odds are, you'd probably end up at the Bison after work anyway. You sighed, “fine, but I’m only going because you asked me to, not because Joel is there.”

        “Okay,” Dina giggled.

        “I’m serious.”

        After the girls left, he still swung by to get Old Beardy back into his stable, but gave you nothing more than a cordial conversation about the weather.

        This was going to be a long night.

*

“So, why is that a bad thing?”

        Shea came thumping at your door eagerly after she caught that you were going to the movie night. After your pleasantries and quick life updates, you decided to ask her opinion on the situation you were in, as you were going to spend more than five minutes in a building with him, and you expected to be forced to be cordial with him.

        Naturally, you skipped the part where you rode Joel till the break of dawn, whispering sweet nothings against his neck, but you did fill her in on the fact Joel was the radio guy.

        “Shea, he lied to me. I asked him a million different times, and he lied every single time. He’s a liar.”

        “I don’ think I’d go that far.”

        “Shea.”

        “He strikes me as a, uh, shy kinda guy. Maybe you got him nervous, maybe even a lil self-conscious.”

        You rolled your eyes, but you could see Shea was lost in thought for a moment. You sipped your wine and watched as the cogs in her brain worked;

        “So, you liked the radio guy, right?”

        “Yes.”

        “And the radio guy liked you?”

        “What are you getting at?”

        She raised her brows and continued, “and Joel is the radio guy?”

        “Yeah.”

        “And Joel likes you?”

        You shrugged, “I don't know if I'd go that far.”

        Shea laughed, “Dina told me she told you he did, so yes.”

        “Did you employ Dina to get gossip on people?”

        “Honey, I don’ need to, I get it all on my own. Dina’s her own force ‘a nature.”

        You shook your head, and she went on, “and you like Joel?”

        “No.”

        “Bullshit,” she retorted, “you liked the radio guy!”

        “The radio guy was different.”

        “It was Joel! The whole time!”

        “Yeah, but –“

        “That was Joel in his truest, god honest form, hon. He had nothin’ to hide because he was already hidin’. For god’s sake, he fell in love with your voice, how much more could you want from him?”

        She had a point, but you argued, “but he lied about it the whole time.”

        “Because now he had a reason to hide – he probably was thinkin’ "there’s no way in hell this chick’s gonna like me". Happens all the time with shy guys.”

        “He, uh, might’ve told me something like that when we were talking.”

        “Ugh! So why are you confused about all this? Joel’s ready to go, why aren’t you?”

        For once she rendered you dumbstruck. Thinking back on that night, it was stupid; you were stupid, angry, frustrated and drunk, but there was something there that made you decide to fuck him, and it was more than alcohol.

        “I dunno. I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.”

        “Then don’t be in one. Just, y’know, pencil his penis in during the week, keep it casual.”

        “I don’t think he wants that.”

        She stood up, hands on hips, “closed mouths don’ get fed. The worst he could say is "I’m waiting on marriage".”

        For the first time in a long time, your full-bodied laugh matched hers, filling the dead living room. You rinsed your wine glasses and she took you to the Tipsy Bison, arm in arm.

        The bar was set up for the movie night; chairs in the center facing the giant white fabric while the guy from the wall prepared the projector. He gave you a nod, and you returned one.

        There was popcorn being popped, cotton candy being spun, and seemingly everyone in Jackson was inside. Shea let you know the chairs in the center are for the kids, and the ones on the sides were for the elderly. Fortunately, you weren’t considered elderly just yet, but this meant you either had to sit at the bar or stand.

        You scanned the room, looking for Joel so you could avoid him when Dina interrupted your surveil with an important matter – “did you see Jesse?”

        “Oh, uh,” you looked around, “not yet. Did he say he was gonna meet you here?”

        “Sort of,” she rubbed her forearm, “he said he might swing by.”

        “You lookin’ for Jesse,” Shea cut in, “I heard Tommy’s gonna make him a patrol leader, so he’s probably givin’ him the talk now. Probably would come in late, ‘cause I know Tommy likes movie nights more than anyone and wouldn’t miss it.”

        Dina’s face relaxed, and she nodded, but before she split, she asked, “is Joel also gonna be with Tommy?”

        Your eyes pierced hers and you found a smirk creeping on her face as Shea answered, “probably. I also heard Joel’s been meanin’ to get off patrols.”

        Her face changed, “what? Why?”

        “Aside from being an old fart, I heard arthritis is kickin’ in, shootin’s getting’ harder. But I dunno anything, and you didn’ hear it from me.”

        Dina nodded, and left. Shea turned to you, “you find him sexy, yet?”

        You shoved her and headed towards the bar. Ben greeted you happily and let you know the bar now had mixers, “we don’t have much, but we have grenadine, if Dirty Shirleys are your thing. But I can make y’all Cosmos, cranberry Margaritas, and strawberry Daiquiris.”

        “No pina coladas?”

        “Not yet, honey,” his voice apologetic, “but Tommy did tell me to not kill the entire supply tonight, so two mixers only, no exceptions.”

        “Other cocktails are good, though, right?”

        “Yes, ma’am. Enjoy the sweet stuff while you can.”

        Shea looked at you, eyes beaming, “wanna get margs?”

        You couldn’t help smiling back at her excitement, “sure. And Ben, if you can, have another one ready for us.”

        He chuckled as he prepped your drinks, “fine, but after your second, should I prep something else to keep the flow?”

        You and Shea’s eyes caught each other’s at the same time. Both of you agreed on Long Islands, making Ben moan as he pushed two Margaritas towards you, “ladies, we’re just watching the Aristocats.”

        After taking a sip, you nodded, “it’s my favorite movie.”

        Turning to face the room, you and Shea sipped silently for a minute, taking in the bustle. You had a bit before the movie actually started, so you decided to grab a bar table before more adults came in. With your back facing the bar, you faced the front door. You and Shea talked and laughed; you would point someone out and she was able to tell you their entire story – where they were before the outbreak, where they’ve been, and when they got to Jackson. Her details on their jobs in Jackson were a bit fuzzy, but she put a name to every single person that walked into the bar.

        It didn’t take long before Ben was giving you your second Margarita, and Maria made her way to your table – “glad to see you’re finally out and about, not just drinking by yourself at the bar.”

        “Well, I didn’t know Ben had Margaritas, and the kids sort of dragged me here.”

        You felt relief wash over you as she laughed, “honestly, I don’t blame you. Manhattans were my go-to on girl’s nights.”

        “Maria,” Shea exclaimed, “our next round are Long Islands, get one!”

        “I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I got baby duty tonight and –“

        “One drink won’t kill you,” Shea insisted, “let’s have a girl’s night, even if it’s short. I’m sure Tommy won’t mind giving you a bit of time to let loose a bit.”

        She thought about it, looking back at the bar, then your table, “y’know what? I won’t drink tonight, but let’s do a rain check; catch me when it’s not my night.”

        Shea was able to accept this, and Maria did a round around the bar, checking in on everyone, before leaving. Almost like fate, or a spiritual connection, Tommy came in through the door just as Maria had left, finding you before anyone else.

        His warm smile still affected you.

        “Look who finally decided to show up.”

        “Listen, Tommy,” you started, “I’m having a good night so far, don’t fuck it up for me.”

        He laughed, hand gripping your shoulder, “’cmon, now, you’re not gonna shut me out, are you?”

        “It’s a girl’s night, Tommy,” Shea quipped, more energetically than with Maria, “you’re not one of us.”

        “Ah, shit, must’ve missed the memo.” He looked at you, tipping his head towards Shea, “be careful with this one. Her last girl’s night landed her in front of the committee.”

        “I said I was sorry,” she responded in a low, defeated tone.

        “I’ll keep my eye on her, don’t worry.’

        He nodded, “glad to see you out again; I gotta talk business with you tomorrow, so try not to have too much fun tonight.”

        You raised your glass, and he walked towards the bar.

        Looking back at your red-faced friend, a palpable smile across your face, “jesus, what did you do?”

        She groaned, “it was forever ago, and it wasn’t that serious, he just likes being a jerk about it.”

        Both of you continued to laugh and talk, and whisper when the movie started. One of the beams was blocking your view, so you tried craning your neck off to the side to watch, prompting Shea to ask if you wanted to switch – “I’m only here for the drinks, honestly,” she whispered.

        Shrugging, you and her switched seats. You had a perfect view of the screen. Intermittently, you looked at the crowd of kids to see if they were enjoying themselves. You could tell which was Dina as she kept looking back at the door, then around the room, still looking for Jesse. Before you could even question her absence, Ellie snuck in quietly, giving you a wave before making her way to Dina. Not too long after, Joel crept in, carrying exhaustion on his shoulders.

        Your skin ignited as he gave you a nod before moving past your view and finding himself next to Tommy at the bar. Your eyes lingered a bit, watching as he patted his brother’s back and collapsed on to the bar stool. Your eyes shot towards Shea, who only stared back at you, smirking behind her glass. Grabbing your drink, you threw it back and tried to continue to watch the movie.

        Shea tapped your arm and motioned you to go talk with Joel, and you were met with a frown when you doubled down on your refusal, “it’s girl’s night,” you whispered harshly.

        “Don’ mean you gotta be cockblocked.”

        You slapped her arm and turned your attention back to the movie, hearing her snicker.

        In spite of that, you still glanced over to him as he busied himself with Tommy, and when he left, Ben, paying no mind to anyone or anything else. You watched as no one made it a point to sit with him, no one gave him more than a tip of their hat and a forced smile, no one came to him to talk about Ellie or Dina or how they’re always up to no good when they’re together. It was then you found that Joel was just as lonely as you were.

        This didn’t excuse anything he’d done or said, and maybe it was the gin, or maybe Shea was right about him being helplessly shy, but you started to feel inclined to talk with him.

        Fuck.

        After the second Long Island went down, you dragged yourself to the bar, much to Shea’s excitement, and set your empty glass on the bar top, standing on Joel’s left. He tensed up so much you could see it almost hurt, “Joel.”

        He spoke your name just as candidly.

        “You, uh, didn’t bring me coffee.”

        “Figured you didn’t want it.”

        Glancing back at Shea, who gave you a thumbs up, you leaned closer to him, “wanna go out and smoke?”

        His energy shifted so marginally that if you blinked, you would’ve missed it. He nodded, and silently walked you out of the bar and into the alley you stood not too long ago.

        There, you stood after lighting your cigarette, arms crossed, taking in the warm weather. You took a deep pull before handing it back to him, who seemed less interested in the cigarette than he led on. He stood next to you, leaning against the wall you leaned on, head bowed. He passed the cigarette back and you watched the paper burn at the end. You could hear the paper sizzle as it died, the ember glow reminding you of your first shared smoke.

        “So, uh,” he cleared his throat, “about the coffee.”

        You didn’t even try suppressing a laugh, which made him red in the face, “right, the coffee.” You took a deep breath finding not only what to say, but what you even wanted; “I, um, I guess I should clarify that we’re not actually talking about coffee –“

        “I know.”

        “Okay,” you huffed, “just… anyway.” You rubbed your forehead, staring inside the Bison through the barely cracked window, the singing cats barely audible, “to be frank, I liked the coffee, and I didn’t articulate well what I meant this morning.”

        He shook his head as he understood. His jaw tensed as he he struggled to look up at you as you wrestled with yourself.

        “Joel,” you stood and faced him, “I wanted it from you, and I’m glad it was you and you were…”

        You trailed off and he managed to push through his embarrassment to look at you, eyes narrowed, looking for the feedback he didn’t know he needed. You took a drag and sighed, “jesus, Joel, you were fine.”

        “That’s it?”

        “Well, we only – Joel, listen. The sex was great, and I want more of it, I just,” your hands vaguely gestures, “don’t want anything else that comes with it. We just met for god’s sake, and –“ You took another drag before handing the cigarette to him, rubbing your forearm, “I don’t know what I want. I just know what I don’t.”

        He inhaled sharply, putting the butt of the cigarette against his lips before parting them, thinking about what you said. As he stood there, you ran back through everything you said, making sure it was what you meant. Surely there could be no misunderstanding.

        He finally looked at you, eyes intense as he asked, “you think we could just, forget what we said to each other?”

        “I mean, I’m willing to try if it means I could get some fucking sleep.”

        A grin appeared on Joel’s face, “you slept good last night?”

        Groaning, you snatched the cigarette from his fingers as he laughed, his eyes watching your mouth wrap around it. You shook your head as you blew the smoke from your lips, passing it back to him. Just as it reached his lips, a low southern drawl called to both your attention;

        “What the hell is all this?”

        Joel straightened his posture, “Tommy –“

        He leaned forward, a wide smile plastered on his face, “Joel Miller, is that a goddamn cigarette in your hand?”

        Your eyes flickered between the brothers, unsure of what the hell all of this was, “am I missing something?”

        Tommy cut off his brother’s warning, “I ain’t seen a cigarette in his hand since I joined the military,” he laughed, shaking his head before turning his attention to you, “maybe I do gotta keep an eye on you; you’re becomin' a terrible influence.”

        As he walked from the alley, laughing and shaking his head, you turned to Joel in awe as his face turned away bashfully, “smoking to impress me? You must think I’m simple.”

        He shook his head, “wasn’ to impress you.”

        His confession made you shrink into yourself, attempting to hide the growing flush under your cheeks. The familiar, tense silence weighed heavier than usual, your options feeling limited as you both stood in front of each other, avoiding eye contact, but nevertheless, he cleared his throat and offered, “should probably take you home now.”

        You were aiming for cool when you shrugged, but were unsure if it landed, “only if you want to.” The cigarette was flicked further into the alley as you shifted, “think Tommy only came back to get Shea home, so,” you trailed off.

        He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and motioning for you to go ahead of him, “c’mon.”

        Once again, you found yourself walking down the same lively Jackson street as you did before, allowing the running children to zip past you as you did. The night was quieter than usual, and you weren’t unaware of his arm brushing against yours every couple of steps, followed by a shy smile, but that was a new development you both seemed to want to indulge in.

        You also didn’t mind his hand ghosting over the curve of your lower back, leading you up the steps of your porch and to the door. The glow of the solar lanterns that hung at the archway of the stairs barely illuminated his features, but you could see his soft eyes look up at you, searching for something, while you stared back questioningly. The gust of wind that pushed through you had your arms crossed, and you took this change as a sign, “so, uh, I’m home.”

        He scoffed, “right.”

        You couldn’t help but to laugh a bit as he stayed standing in front of you, “were you expecting me to invite you in for coffee?”

        He raised his shoulders, a dumb smirk across his lips, “figured I’d push my luck.”

        Pushing his chest gently with your fingertips, “you’re an unlucky bastard tonight.”

        He laughed as he nodded, “not that unlucky. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

        “You’ll see me tomorrow.”

        “Good night.”

        “Good night, Joel.”

        You were growing to enjoy the comforts that Jackson had to offer. You didn’t have to risk your life to eat, sleep, or for things to kill time, and you had gotten used to being greeted with the huffs of large horses, warm coffee, and a shy giant who instead of kissing you would graze his fingers against your hip, as if it were more intimate than the former.

        Still, both of you agreed to never bring up what transpired last night, but it felt like it was unnecessary, considering you felt you said enough. Neither of you decided to tell anyone about it; the secrecy remained igniting the flame between you as you coursed through Jackson as friends.

        Although things were good between you and Joel, there was an odd feeling deep in your stomach; it wasn’t anxiety, but parallel. You chalked it up to being apprehensive, but you noticed the tiny, innocuous sense of doom flared whenever you and Joel got together, regardless of flirty quips, gentle grazes, or intense eye contact. It was as if he were a magnet, pulling the buried deep agitation that was present when you knew something bad was going to happen, only for you to suffer through.

*

You were met with Tommy’s presence the moment you woke up.

        He stood outside your door, bright and early, with far too much energy. You let him in, still in your pajamas, but sat him in your living room as you got dressed,

        “Be useful and make coffee.”

        He laughed and wandered into the kitchen, and soon enough the aroma reached your bedroom and you could almost swim in it.

        Tommy still made you feel butterflies in your stomach, probably more so now than before due to his aged appearance. He was bulkier than you remember, his legs seemed longer, and his face seemed to carry more spots and freckles. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his attitude and that pointed, boyish smile he had, the first thing you noticed about him when you had first met. You wondered if how you felt about him would change, or affect the way you and Joel got on.

        You decided to push that to the furthest part of your brain as you entered the living room with too-sweet coffee made for you. The bastard still didn’t know how to make coffee.

        He leaned against the counter as he handed you the mug, watching you try to hide your reaction to the sugar-bomb, “sugar’s not scarce in Jackson?”

        He laughed, “listen, we’re all good at somethin’.”

        Smiling, “sure”. You took another sip and tried to ignore the memory of your conversation with Joel, “so you came to me to remind me you should stay out of the kitchen?”

        He shook his head as his gaze met the floor, still grinning, “the fuckin’ same.”

        Before you could ask what he meant, he continued, “if the stable gig ain’t your thing anymore, I got somethin’ else for you.”

        You took a moment to consider your options; if you take his new proposition, you would invite the ‘retire out’ conversation and you didn’t want to get his hopes up, but on the other hand, this new job could get you off your achy foot, “what were you thinking?”

        “Well,” he straightened, “Maria told me the kids are always getting’ into trouble because they got nothin’ better to do. Apparently, an endless supply of books ain’t enough.”

        “Babysitting?”

        “More like activity planner,” he took a step towards you, “we found soapstone and clay –“

        “Tommy,” you rolled your eyes and set your mug down, but he continued.

        “And Ellie’s been getting’ into art and there isn’t anyone else with your expertise. None good enough for her, anyway; she’s getting’ real good at it.”

        “Does everyone here like to guilt-trip everyone else to get them to do something here?”

        He nodded, inhaling deeply as he thought about how he was going to continue, “look, I know you feel out’a practice, but –“

        “It’s more than that, Tommy. I don’t want those girls to think I’m here to stay.”

        “They’re already pretty attached to you.”

        “I know,” you swallowed, the guilt choking you from the inside, “I fucked up, but I think they’re mature enough to handle the conversation I’m gonna have with them.”

        “What conversation?”

        “Jesus, Tommy,” you ran your hands over your face, “I’m not staying, and that’s it. There’s no convincing me.”

        “What’s out there that you’re waitin’ on getting’ back to? Hidin’ away in some shop, shootin’ and robbin’ other groups for supplies?”

        Your voice started to rise, “this place is dangerous, Tommy. It gives a false sense of security –“

        “That’s why we prepare, we send patrols, we teach the kids how to shoot.”

        “That’s what they did at the QZ’s.”

        “The QZ’s were different.”

        “How so,” you felt your stomach turn as this would be the first real argument you would have with him, “they were infinitely more prepared, had every supply imaginable, and had riot gear for fuck’s sake. And it would only take two or three assholes to infiltrate FEDRA’s offices and everything would fall apart. This is no different.”

        “How could you say that? You seen how we run things, it’s community run.”

        “There’s three people on the committee and they’re all related.”

        “Joel was elected, and he can only serve once.”

        “Were you elected?”

        His face turned downwards at the implication. You had never seen him make the face he looked at you with, and a part of you was getting worried you might’ve overstepped, “I built this goddamn place with my bare hands. Maria and I don’t gotta be elected because this place wouldn’t be the way it is without us.”

        Despite your body telling you to shut up, you continued, “don’t inflate yourself, Tommy. This place existed before you, and it probably would’ve without you. You’re not as important as you think.”

        He nodded, his brows furrowed and his expression harsh. Closing your eyes, you sighed and sat on the kitchen chair, the first time you had since moving in. You didn’t even mean what you said, but it was a bad habit, one that existed long before the cordyseps. You always felt you had to one up someone, to tear them down, find their weakness and use it against them. Tommy was the second most important person in Jackson, right behind Maria, but still, you wanted to make sure it hurt; it’s what you did best.

        You held your head in your hands as you listened to his silence; he shifted on his feet, taking a deep breath, “I wish you could see what I see.”

        You didn’t respond, and he left, dragging things into your living room from the porch before he’d closed the door. You couldn’t even feel the shame settling in before Shea was at your front door – “knock knock!”

        “Shea,” you groaned as she welcomed herself in.

        “Well lookie here!”

        Standing up from your chair, you peeked over the half wall and found Tommy had brought over painting supplies – paints, canvases, brushes, even tarp.

        You felt like throwing up.

        She examined each item, gawking at the emerald green paint, “look at this fuckin’ color. Tommy left all this for you?”

        “How’d you know?”

        “Saw him leaving; he looked like he wasn’t in a great mood, which was weird because he was in a crazy good mood this mornin’, probably got laid or somethin’. He smiled at me anyway. Was that your doin’?”

        Your legs took you into the living room despite not really wanting to. The sight made you even sadder than you anticipated, “sort of.”

        She hummed, putting the paint tube down and grabbing an extremely large brush, “not followin’ orders?”

        You scoffed, “something like that. He wants me to teach the kids art or something, but I don’t want them to get attached.”

        “Oh honey,” she held your shoulder, “we already are.”

        “Ugh!”

        Giggling, but otherwise offering a sympathetic look, she took your arm and sat you on the couch, “why don’t you wanna stay? What’s keepin’ you out of Jackson?”

        You took a deep breath, not wanting to reiterate your earlier argument, you paraphrased. She nodded intently as she listened, waiting for you to finish your thought before speaking, “but what if that doesn’t happen?”

        “What?”

        She shrugged, “what if this place is the end all be all? What if this place survives that?”

        “It won’t.”

        “But,” she put both her hands on your shoulders, gently swaying you to drive her point, “but what if it doesn’t? What if this place survives, the one-in-a-million chance kinda thing? Wouldn’t you wanna stick around and find out?”

        “Not really.”

        “How about this,” she shifted in her seat, “if this place fails, wouldn’t you wanna be here to rub it in Tommy’s face?”

        You laughed and she squeezed your hand, “I’ve been here for what seems like ages, and I haven’t met anyone I could call a friend, other than you.”

        “You have the ladies at the hair salon and the boutique.”

        “Sure,” she rolled her eyes, “but they don’t invite me to go anywhere, or invite me into their home; it’s all, y’know, cordial, I guess.”

        “Shea,” her name was caught in a sigh, your heart aching at the revelation. You weren’t sure what to do – she didn’t look like she needed comforting, but at the same time it felt strange not to at least offer her a hug.

        She hugged you tighter, inhaling before speaking, “honey, when was the last time you washed your hair?”

        You pulled away, “what? This morning, does it smell bad?”

        As you pulled some to your nose, she shook her head, “this morning?”

        Folding your hands in your lap, “maybe two days ago.”

        “Yeah,” she giggled, “you work in a barn, you have to do it, like, every day.”

        “Is this why you don’t get invited anywhere,” your hand squeezing her knee.

        She burst into laughter, “maybe, but having hard conversations make me uncomfortable, so I have to get the attention away from me somehow.”

        You nodded, and she pointed to the painting supplies, “you gonna paint after work?”

        “Uh, I dunno, actually, probably not.”

        “Why not? Tommy went through the trouble of finding this stuff for you, you might as well.” Before you could respond, she spoke again, “and don’t tell me you’re gonna leave; I know that, but what’s the harm in actually enjoying your time here before you go?”

        “Shea, if I enjoy being here, then I won’t want to leave.”

        “And what’s the problem with that? Even if Jackson fails and we all die, wouldn’t it have been worth it to actually enjoy life, even if it was for a little while?”

        You looked at her and she smiled, knowing she had been better at convincing you than Tommy. Like Joel, Tommy had no idea how to speak to you. Both were always so concerned with their own thoughts and beliefs, spewing facts like it mattered to you, and maybe that was the barrier between you and them – they weren’t focused on what you were feeling, just what made sense, and you were slowly coming to this realization about yourself, too.

        You were getting attached, and it worried you.

        She didn’t say anything more. She patted your shoulder, as if to tell you she knew what you were going through, and turned to face the door, “we gotta go to work.”

*

The coffee was hotter than usual.

        Despite him being needed elsewhere, Joel took his time getting the horses out of the stable. You sipped at it, burning your lip each time, but watched as his careful hands fumble with the rusted hinges.

        “I never did ask; how were the horses during the storm? You seemed adamant about those hinges.”

        “Ah,” he took a deep breath, vaguely pointing at the stable door, “the horses were fine. Spooked, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

        “Never got them replaced?”

        “No. There’s just, it’s, uh, resource management, for now, at least.”

        You nodded, watching the sweat roll down his neck. The weather was warm, but inside the stables, it was at least ten degrees hotter. The poorly ventilated barn was one of many structures you’ve found to be hotter than usual, businesses getting damn near no insulation to ensure the homes had enough. But even then, your home was hotter than you could stand sometimes, and open windows offered little relief. You’d made it a habit to open the windows of the stables, but made it another chore for Joel, as you kept forgetting to close them. He never did bring it up, though.

        You grabbed your pitchfork and started working, “low on hinges​?”

        “We’re savin’ them; we got a lot of buildings goin’ up and we’re running a bit behind on supplies.”

        You threw chips into the wheelbarrow, Joel leaning against the wall, “whatcha building?”

        “Oh, just, businesses ‘n such. Houses.”

        “Makes sense,” you huffed, “patrol’s aren’t goin’ out?”

        “Well, patrols are, uh, complicated. Me, Tommy, and a handful of others are the only ones experienced with the patrol routes. It’s tricky getting’ the younger ones trained because we just don’t have enough strong riders or shooters anymore, so me and Tommy are managing the bulk of training. Tommy’s training Jesse, and he’s a fast learner and a great shot, but he’s still, uh –“

        “Young.”

        “Right,” he nodded, “and a bit trigger happy. So most of our patrols are practice runs, just scopin’ the area, pointin’ things out, not really resource gatherin’, but those are different kinda' patrols. Maria wants us to focus on the preventive patrols over the resource ones, ‘n it makes sense if you don' think about it.”

        You listened to him as you worked, taking in everything he was saying. The concept of patrols were still relatively foreign to you, but you’d caught glimpses of patrols either leaving or coming back, but never really got a chance to watch one go out, “hmm.”

        “Y’know, if, uh,” he shifted, crossing his arms across his chest, bowing his head. He looked everywhere except at you as he spoke, “if you wanna try goin’ on a patrol, I could probably…” he paused, finally meeting your confused gaze. You continued to stare silently, smile growing as you watching him get flustered at his own suggestion, “could probably work somethin’ out, if you want to.”

        “But Joel,” you dragged his name, “who will replace my expertise in this stable?”

        “Expertise,” he mimicked, “I’ll find someone else to shovel shit. Just let me know.”

        You nodded, throwing the final chips into Beardy’s stable, listening to his footsteps grow quieter as he’d left for work. You thought about his offer, and genuinely considered it. Granted, you may never be able to work a patrol, nor even physically be able to, it might be fun to see the surrounding area; practice shooting again, maybe sneak around, find some supplies, like you used to do.

        A familiar voice echoed behind you, her sudden outburst having little effect on you now, “boo!”

        You turned and found Ellie and Dina leaning against the open door of the barn, peering in to catch a glimpse of the horses playing outside, “did we scare you?”

        “Not particularly,” you started to shovel Shimmer’s stable, “what’s up?”

        “Tommy said he gave you some painting supplies,” Ellie strolled inside, sitting on the supply box, “said you’ll teach me a few things.”

        Closing your eyes, you tried to remain neutral as you responded, “oh yeah? When did he say that?”

        “Three days ago,” she quipped happily, unaware of the venom in your question, “forgot to ask you about it.”

        You took a deep breath, your excess energy flowing out of you in your next statement, “oh. Well, I dunno –“

        “Please,” she begged, “Tommy said you were really good, and there’s no one else here who’s a great artist.”

        “Tommy called me great?”

        “Sure did,” Dina chimed in, “I think he was actually bragging about you on your behalf.”

        You stood up and faced them; their round eyes staring back at you with that youthful curiosity they both seemed to carry most days. Thinking about what Shea said, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the girls enjoy your time in Jackson, even if it was temporary, “fine.”

        They both cheered, Ellie standing on her feet again, “so we’ll be by tonight, maybe around eight?”

        “Wait, I can’t do –“

        “Perfect, see you at eight!”

        And as quickly as they came, they had disappeared, again disregarding your protests. Luckily, the work seemed just about done anyway, aside from dumping new chips into Japan’s stable. You hurried off into Jackson, where you found Joel’s office and decided to pay him a visit while he worked, to return the courtesy.

        This was the first time you had gone into Joel’s office since the first attempt at repairing your relationship. Inside, it was just as hot as inside the stable, but the windows were catching the direction of the wind, so it wasn’t too unbearable inside. You weren’t really sure what you were going to do once you’d gotten inside, but you figured his job was low-stakes and not brain-intensive, so bothering him a bit wouldn’t hurt.

        You pushed your ear against his closed door, making sure you weren’t intruding on any important business. You heard Joel talking to a younger man, much younger, about patrols and specifically Ellie.

        Joel was warning this guy about Ellie’s ‘strong’ nature, and he was really adamant about this guy making sure Ellie stays in line and follows orders, and the guy seemed more than capable, as he told Joel “Ellie isn’t the issue, it’s Ellie and Dina.”

        “I know, but Ellie’s very confident in herself, so much so she thinks she could go on her own, and she’ll try, which is why I need you to stick to her like glue.”

        “Understood.”

        There was a pause before Joel asked this guy about his ‘intentions’ with Dina, a cue for you to barge in, “knock knock.”

        The guy looked towards you with relief, and Joel looked with shock, and you continued, “hope I’m not interrupting anything super important.”

        Joel sighed, and dismissed the guy, who you’ve found to be the infamous Jesse, and he scurried out of the office, closing the door behind him.

        Joel stood up, “what’re you doin’ here?”

        “I dunno,” you sat on his desk, looking at the building plans scattered around, “finished work, got bored, realized I don’t ever bother you at work.” You looked up at him in the way that you do, making him rub the back of his neck, “what do you even do?”

        “I, uh, do a lot. Those papers you’re sittin’ on are blueprints and maps of Jackson. Tommy’ll swing by to discuss patrol groups.”

        You turned your eyes from him to the blueprints, one in particular catching your eye, “is this a loft?”

        He pulled the paper from under you and folded it awkwardly, “uh, sort of. It’s just a mock up, barely an idea.”

        “Lofts are cool,” you sifted through other blueprints, “I lived in a loft, in the Village, before the outbreak.”

        “Yeah, I remember you tellin’ me that.”

        “Really? Whe- oh, right,” the realization being communicated in a low tone.

        “Yeah.”

        You continued scanning over the documents on his desk, and he still stood in front of his chair, watching your hands move. You pointed to a map, “tell me about this.”

        “Uh, sure,” he fixed his pants before sitting down in his chair. Your back faced him as he pointed around the paper, his hand moving carefully. You didn’t hear a single thing he’d said. His low voice rumbled through your stomach, reaching into the deepest parts of you. You decided to spin yourself on his desk to face him, a motion that turned his face red as he tried to continue. He staggered over his words as you watched his mouth move, only a dull, but growing sensation between your legs as he showed you whatever the fuck it was.

        Your hand reached for his cheek; it was burning up and carried a film of sweat as he turned his eyes towards you. He looked up at you pleadingly, as if asking you to tell him what he should do or say. Looking down you could see his hard cock pushing through his jeans. You smiled at the sight, “how long do we have until Tommy gets here?”

        His heart-rate spiked under your fingertips, and he got onto his feet, hands holding your hips, “we don’ have a lot of time, maybe an hour.”

        “Hmm,” your fingers stroked his cheek before running through his hair, “I was just thinking, someone ‘oughta reward you for your hard work.”

        You split your knees apart, and he spared no time fitting himself between them, watching your legs close around him. “Well, seeing as how perfectly I fit right here,” he looked up at you, “it’s gotta be you.”

        You laughed as you pulled him into a kiss, his lips smiling against yours. His fingers gently trailed up and down your spine, and using his shoulders as leverage, you arched your back into his chest, allowing him to plant kisses down your neck. At your shoulder, his breath trickled down your shirt as he spoke, “what’re you doin’ tonight?”

        Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, “apparently I’m teaching the girls to paint.”

        His head swung upwards, meeting you with a questioning look, “Ellie and Dina?”

        “You got other girls you’re worried about?”

        He rolled his eyes, “I’m just… shocked, is all.”

        “That I can paint?”

        “That you agreed to it. Ellie was tellin’ me earlier but,” he looked at you with flicking eyes, “if you want I can try to –“

        “It’s fine,” you exhaled, “I’ll, uh, let her enjoy my company while I’m here. Might as well.”

        He nodded thoughtfully, his palms pressing into your hips. The room fell silent for a moment, before he picked up, “so what time would y’all finish by?”

        You laughed and got to your feet, beginning to make your way out, “not sure, guess you’ll have to come by and get your mug.”

        Joel’s grin was wider than you’d ever seen, “guess I will.”

        Making your way to the door, you could feel his eyes watching you, taking in every inch of your body as you moved. He called to you just as the door opened, “thank you, by the way.”

        Confused, you asked, “what for?”

        “For takin’ care of Ellie.”

Chapter Text

You would be lying if you disagreed with her when she said you had a pep in your step.

        Shea decided to take you to the Bison after work, and it was at the bar where you told her you were teaching Ellie and Dina to paint. She was beaming with excitement, probably more than they were about it. She told you this could be an ‘in’ with Joel – “ain’t it so nice he’s treatin’ her like his own? Makes him so… fatherly,” she swooned.

        “Jesus, Shea,” you sipped, “you make it sound like fatherhood is your kink.”

        “Well, my daddy wasn’t around, so you could say I got those kinda issues,” she threw back the rest of her whiskey, “but you don’t find that the least bit attractive?”

        “I thought we already went over this.”

        “We did, but you never told me if you asked.”

        You could go about this one of two ways – you could tell Shea everything, and hone in on your intentions after the girls leave, and have her burst your eardrums, or keep her in the dark to prevent all of Jackson from knowing what perverts you were. Keeping this from her didn’t hurt as much as you’d thought, but you did know that when the day came and she found out, she’d have a fit.

        “How about,” you finished your drink, “instead of in public, with everyone around, we don’t talk about that.”

        “You think you’d be the first girl to talk about Joel that way?”

        “I don’t want to be another girl that talks about him like that.”

        “Fair enough,” she tapped the bar top, “go on home, you got a class to teach.”

        “Shea,” your lips moved before you could think, “if, and I mean if, something were to change between me and, you know who –“

        “I’d go batshit crazy.”

        “Okay,” you smiled and she laughed, “guess I’ll see you whenever you decide to show up.”

        You bid Shea good-bye, and left the Bison.

        Walking down main street, you enjoyed the cooled night, albeit being a bit too windy. You snuggled deeper behind your coat, trying to shield your face from the wind when you caught a familiar laugh coming from the right.

        Turning your head, you found Tommy laughing with another resident, both holding duffle bags. You grew uncomfortable at the sight; the guilt from this morning’s outburst never really subsided, and seeing him in person, unbothered, like he usually is made you feel worse. It made you wonder just how unbothered he could be...

        You stared at him, hoping he would feel your eyes on him and notice you. You hoped he would find you, read your mind, and forgive you. He noticed you, but his boyish smirk turned into the stiff 'I’m smiling at you because I have to', complete with a nod.

        Fuck.

        He was just another person you had to make sure you were on good terms with, not because it would benefit you in any way, but because you felt like you owed him. Despite the circumstances of your arrival, he, like other residents, welcomed you into his home, into his community, and while it was hardly only his decision, he vouched for you. You are teaching art to some rambunctious teenagers because he allowed you to, because he continues to allow you to.

        You attempted to return a friendly nod before continuing on.

        You hoped the girls weren’t already at your home; you had to clean, get everything set up, and lay down the tarps to cover the floor and furniture. You didn’t even know what you were going to teach them. Were they into portrait painting, or were they more interested in landscapes? Considering their age, you figured they’d want to do something cool, but now begs the question – how good were they already? Knowing this would allow you to plan according to their skill level, and being Ellie had a lot of experience, it made you a bit intimidated.

        As you tried to recall your lesson plans from almost three decades ago, you pushed through your front door and got to work. You didn’t have easels, so you set everything up on the floor, setting two canvases next to each other for the girls and one in front for yourself. The paint tubes were set in between, and you grabbed extra mugs and plates from the kitchen to use. You prepared the paintbrushes by running the soft bristles under water and flicking them dry in your tub, wrapping a small cloth around them to soak up any excess moisture.

        As you turned, you found the mirror still on the floor, leaning against the wall. Not wanting to have to explain why it was there, you decided to hang it up on the nail, straightening it out. You only glanced at yourself before changing into clothes you didn’t mind ruining and put your hair up.

        Back in the living room, you found the set up made you feel something new. You couldn’t really pinpoint exactly what that feeling might have been, but it felt better; you felt better. This was comfortable, predictable, and well within your wheelhouse. Maybe a bit out of practice, but the odds of Ellie or Dina noticing this was slim. Rubbing your hands at your sides, you were caught by surprise there was a knock at your door so soon.

        Even more surprising, it was Joel, holding a covered plate in his hand, “brought these for the girls, Seth made ‘em. Figured you’d need them.”

        Your body swayed onto the door frame, arm reaching to take the plate. You lifted the cover and saw cookies, still warm, “am I allowed to have one?”

        He scoffed, “I mean, sure, if you wan’, I just,” he took a deep breath, “I dunno.”

        You laughed at his inexplicably bashful nature, “did you wanna come in, get your tervis?”

        “Nah, I need a reason to come back.”

        “Is seeing me not a good enough reason?”

        “You won’t let me say that.”

        You tightened your grip around the plate at the implication, the lump you swallowed dragging down your throat like molasses, “fair enough.”

        He looked at you with timid eyes, the space you created for him being uncharted and slippery. He couldn’t say the wrong thing, but even he knew he was always going to say the wrong thing – it was in his nature - but he needed to be relieved of the tension your brought him earlier; “I, uh, wouldn’ mind if the offer still stood.”

        “Yeah,” you agreed just shy of whispering, “yeah, you can come in.”

        He gently pushed past you and watched as you made your way to the kitchen, his eyes not leaving your body for a moment. You looked over the half wall, “one of these days you’ll have to find a camera and take a picture.”

        He huffed and looked away, turning his attention to the diy studio on the floor, “looks pretty professional.”

        “Well, I gotta make do with what I have. Easels would’ve made life easier, but, y’know, beggars can’t be choosers.”

        “Easels,” he repeated, “those are the, things, that hold the canvas, right?”

        “Yeah. Before the outbreak I actually built my own; it was huge. Kept all the paint marks and drips and everything else on it. I liked the messy look.”

        “You built it yourself,” the question came out almost as if he didn’t really believe you.

        “Well,” you bit into a cookie, “the pieces were already cut, I just had to assemble them.”

        He nodded, “how’s the cookie?”

        “Fucking amazing,” crumbs fell from your mouth as you spoke, “what would it take for Seth to make me a batch?”

        “Well, he’s got grandkids, they might wanna do art or somethin’.”

        “Right,” you nodded, much more focused on the cookies than the conversation. You also didn’t notice just how quickly he appeared beside you, his rough fingertips grazing over your hip, pulling you out of your cookie-induced trance.

        Looking up through your lashes, you swallowed the last bit of cookie, watching his soft eyes fixate on your lips. His brow twitched when your tongue poked from between them to grab the remaining crumbs, “you gonna kiss me or just stare at me?”

        Taking that as consent, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the side of your mouth, his facial hair tickling the soft skin, before kissing your jaw. His large hand pushed your chin up and his lips trailed down your jaw towards your ear, nipping your earlobe before kissing right below it. His weight pinned you against the countertop as he continued down your neck, sucking gently with each kiss.

        Your fingers wrapped around the curls at the base of his head, tugging with every nip to your skin. He grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up to wrap around his waist, pushing himself further against you as his statement fell from his lips in a whisper, “we don’t have a lot of time.”

        You laughed, but matched his tone, “I know, and they won’t knock.”

        He kissed your lips and you felt it run through your body like electricity. You kissed back with a bit more force and ran your hands over his chest, pulling at his shirt, your hips rolling against his. He pulled away with a gasp, and with his forehead against yours, huffed, “don’t start.”

        You pulled him in for another kiss, before he pulled completely away from you. The absence of his weight made you miss him, but you fixed your shirt anyway and he cleared his throat, “the girls will, uh –“

        “Yeah,” you interrupted, “they’ll be here soon, I think.”

        “Right,” he nodded, still standing in front of you. “So, uh, what time do you think you’re gonna be done?”

        “I dunno, hopefully not too late. Maybe an hour or so, eleven the latest.”

        “Okay.”

        You both stood in your kitchen, nodding silently at each other.

        “Uh,” you rubbed your arm, “I forgot how I got rid of you the last time.”

        Joel laughed, “I’ll see you later?”

        “Hopefully, if I’m not in bed by the time you find out they left.”

        He spoke as he opened the back door, “I’ll just join you, then.”

        “You better not,” you called out, but not too loudly, and Joel just waved you off.

        Just as your backdoor closed, there were knocks on the front, before two teenagers let themselves in, “hey-yo!”

        “Girls,” you sighed happily, ready to forget your date tonight, “how ready are you guys to fuck shit up?”

        With beaming faces and total elation, they sat down at their chosen canvases while you took the cookies to the floor, “Joel swung by and dropped these off; said Seth made ‘em.”

        They grabbed a few and stuffed their mouths, humming and laughing. You watched as they pushed each other and giggled, calling each other names and rolling their eyes. You couldn’t wait for them to finally get together.

        But once you looked down, the intimidation returned, dull, but present, by the project at hand. You hadn’t taught anyone anything in decades, much less paint, and now you were supposed to do both to two girls who were slightly obsessed with you, “should I put on my music?”

        “Yes!” Ellie’s face lit up as she watched you set up your boombox, “I really liked that chick you had us listen to.”

        “Which one?”

        “All of ‘em, I guess.”

        “Well,” you popped open Joan Jett, “I think you’d really get a kick outta this one.”

        As the music played, you taught what you remembered the most – color theory. The only time you’d gotten up was to change disks as each ended, but you felt confident in teaching them the ‘boring’ part. It would at least buy you time to practice a bit before attempting to teach them anything specific.

        “So, when can we start actually painting,” Dina asked as she blended her colors.

        “When you guys know enough about color theory.”

        “And how long is this gonna take?”

        You sat back, legs crossed with your boot off and to the side. You caught their eye rolls, “as long as you take. You have to know how the colors interact, that way you wouldn’t be confused as to why your painting looks like shit.”

        “Wow,” Ellie nodded, “so knowing that red and yellow make orange instead of, y’know, using orange paint, would somehow make us… better?”

        “Far better than you think,” you held back on your excitement as you continued, “imagine using orange paint made specifically for your painting, and not this weird, neon orange thing.”

        “Can’t we just add paint to the orange to make it the orange we need?”

        “Sure, but you might never get that perfect shade of orange.”

        They both shared a look and you defended, “color theory has more to do than that. I can paint an entire painting using the primaries and white only. I want you guys to be able to do the same.”

        “Wow,” Dina nodded, smiling wide, “you really are a kick-ass art teacher.”

        “Please,” you scoffed, “I’m just passionate.”

        After the second disk change, Ellie excused herself and ran off to the bathroom, leaving you and Dina behind. As you sat back down, she asked without looking up from her painting, “so, uh, Joel brought the cookies over, huh?”

        Resuming your own practice, you confirmed, “said you guys would like it, and that he sort of owes me for teaching you guys.”

        She looked up and sat back, criss-crossing her legs and leaning against her elbows, “Joel is great, isn’t he?”

        You took a breath and matched her gaze, confused at her suggestion, “uh, sure. Everyone in Jackson seems to think so.”

        “But not you?”

        “I mean,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “he’s an asshole, but he brought cookies, so I guess that makes him great?”

        She agreed softly, and the room grew tense as you questioned her motives, “why are you asking me this?”

        “Just, uh,” she shook her head, probably to find a good answer, “curious. Would you like to know if Joel likes you?”

        A laugh escaped your chest, “honey, I don’t care if Joel likes me or not. And did you wait until Ellie left to ask?”

        “Yeah,” he huffed, “she hates when I bring it up.”

        “Bring what up?”

        “You and Joel,” she waved her hands, “she says you both are too old to, y’know, fall in love. Makes her feel weird thinking about it, I guess.”

        “Dina,” you cautioned her, noticing her change in posture as you spoke, “I respect you, but I’m not gonna entertain this conversation. I will say this –“you pointed your finger at her to get your point across, as if the firm tone wasn’t enough, “don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you.”

        She sighed, “but if you guys like each other –“

        “Dina.”

        “Fine.” She watched as Ellie returned and took her seat again; “What’d I miss.”

        “Still painting circles,” Dina droned, “rainbow circles.”

        You and Dina shared a knowing glance before resuming. Ellie’s eyes flicked between you to, wanting to question the sudden change in tone, but opted to return her attention to her rainbow circles, “so, when the circles are done, are you gonna teach us something fun?”

        Defeated, you bowed your head. You scanned the mess you’ve made – paint was all over the tarp, your arms, and you could feel paint dying on your face. You noted that the girls were also just as messy, with paint staining their clothes, “y’know what? Let’s end it here, and next time…” you paused, not wanting to make a promise you couldn’t keep. You didn’t know when, or if, there was going to be a next time, “we’ll see.”

        The girls huffed and lifted their canvases, admiring each other’s works. They pointed and laughed, and painted each other with left over paint as you took in their relationship at face value. They were attached at the hip, and they reminded you of your own relationship with your friend.

        As great as Jackson was, you were finding yourself re-experiencing your grief. Watching everyone go on as if nothing had happened, as if they haven’t lost people was slowly making you feel claustrophobic within yourself. The air was thickening each morning, and each night felt odd, as if you were forgetting something.

        “Hey!”

        Ripped from your thoughts, you saw them staring back at you, “sorry, did you, uh…”

        Ellie spoke first, “I asked if we could take some paint tubes home.”

        “Are you okay,” Dina questioned.

        “Uh,” you ran your messy hands through your hair, “yeah, just tired, I think. But, yeah, take the paint, I’m sure Tommy has more.”

        “Sweet,” Ellie stood up as she grabbed as many tubes as she could, “we could probably return these if you want, if you wanna teach –“

        “Nope,” you cut her off, standing with your thumbs hooked under the band of your jeans, “take ‘em. Not gonna be teaching anyone else in the meantime.”

        “You’re not gonna paint?”

        You shook your head, “how about this, when I need paint, I’ll come find you.”

        The girls looked at each other and shrugged, “okay.”

        You bid them goodnight, and watched as they giggled down the street, nudging each other as they slowly crept into the darkened part of Jackson. As you closed the door, you wondered when Joel was going to arrive, if ever. It didn’t seem like they were keen on getting home tonight, and you wouldn’t dare find him to tell him you were ready, so you switched the disk and cleaned.

        Pacing around the house, you managed to get your living room back to where it was. You peeked out of your front and back doors, just to check if he was coming, and he was still nowhere to be seen. Figuring you had some time to spare, you decided to take a shower before he arrived.

        Digging through your slowly filling drawers, you found a silky bathrobe shoved underneath all of the folded laundry. You’d never seen this before, but putting it up to your nose, it smelled fresh, as it had recently been laundered. It was strange, but you decided to wear it anyway, stripping yourself completely before wrapping it tight against your body. It was soft and light, and it flowed as you walked towards the bathroom.

        Turning the faucet on, you sat on the ledge of the bathtub, pushing your hand under the running water to test it’s warmth. You took a glance at your boot and, for the briefest moment, wondered if it would be worth painting.

        You decided to use a liquid soap to create bubbles, something you did well before the outbreak. Having limited hot water meant you had to bide time, and instead of sitting in wet paint chips, you decided to wash the paint off first in the sink as the tub filled. You looked into the mirror to wash the paint from your face, and you stared at your reflection. You looked different.

        Your eyes weren’t so sunken into your face, and your features seemed to have softened. The lines were still very much present, but they settled into your skin distinctively, as if they also had changed. The sunspots seemed to have darkened, but it looked better, and your hair felt healthier.

        The sudden appearance of a familiar voice made you jump. You peered out of the bathroom and stayed silent, trying to hone in on the voice that rung through the house. The voice called for you again.

        Joel.

        You let out a deep breath before yelling back, “bathroom!” Turning on your heel, you shut off the water and looked at the wonderfully bubbly bath, slightly embarrassed that Joel was going to witness your mountain of bubbles.

        He knocked against the wall before pushing the door open, pushing his face in, “you in yet?”

        “No, you pervert,” you slapped him arm playfully and he bowed his head to laugh, “but I guess you came in at the right time.”

        “At least I don’ have to crawl into your bed.”

        “Shame,” you rolled your eyes, “now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a bath.”

        “Yeah,” he drawled out, “some bath. Let me get that,” he held your shoulders and turned your body, making you face the wall. He pulled your hair from your neck and pulled in behind, his rough fingertips grazing against the curve of your neck. You felt his presence close in, his body heat warming your back as you pitifully fell into his chest. Both of you laughed as he nuzzled your shoulder, pulling his nose up your neck and to your hair, inhaling as he did. “Smell so good,” he whispered against your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your skin.

        His hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you in tighter, yours holding his, “doubt it.”

        He carefully pulled the cincture, letting it fall to the floor as he kissed your ear. His facial hair pricked at your skin and instinctively, you tilted your shoulder up. He kissed the fabric before replacing his lips with his fingers, “do you like when I undress you all slow?”

        You gave him a slight nod, and he smiled against your skin as his fingers pulled the robe from your shoulders. The silk fabric slipped form your body swiftly, your back feeling the softness of his shirt as his hands roamed your body.

        You eased into his touch, pulling his hair as he kissed down your neck. His hands paused at the base of your stomach, his request being softer than a whisper, “I wanna touch you.”

        You smiled, “you didn’t even ask me how my day was.”

        “Mmm,” he hummed, “how was your day?”

        “Pretty good. Can’t complain.”

        “Let me make it better?”

        You gracefully slipped from his arms and turned to face him, hands cupping his shoulders. Still, you pressed yourself against him as you spoke, “by letting me get into my warm bath, sure.”

        He smiled before leaning forward to kiss you, but you turned your face and let his lips press against your cheek. He planted another before pulling away from you, “go ‘head.”

        He held your arm as you stepped into the tub, “not gonna join me?”

        He took the footstool and fell onto it, sitting adjacent to you, “I’ll just watch.”

        “Oh no,” you grabbed a loofah and scrubbed the bar of soap against it, creating suds, “I’m gonna put you to work.” You handed it to him and he shook his head.

        Dragging the stool closer to the tub, he started at your shoulders, gently pushing it into your skin. After he moved the loofah down your spine, you took your hair and wrapped it up to keep it dry. Taking the opportunity, his hands wrapped under your reaching arms, both to wash your chest and to attempt a risky grab. You laughed softly as he took your breast in his hand, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “talk to me.”

        You smacked his hand palming your breast to rinse the soap from your chest, “about what, the kids?”

        “About anything, just wanna hear you.”

        Trying to hide the flush in your skin, you started, “well, you were a pretty big part of my morning, so were the girls.”

        “I remember our meeting,” he kissed your shoulder, “I think we should have more.”

        “Jesus,” you giggled, “we should if you’re gonna keep poking Jesse like that.”

        “What do you mean?”

        You turned to face him, splitting the huge pile of bubbles that separated you, “asking Jesse his intentions are with Dina?”

        His face went red and he reached for his neck, “you heard that?”

        “I saved him from that,” you corrected, “they’re young, Joel, I don’t think they’re thinking about anything other than sex.”

        “I just wanna make sure he’s, y’know, bein’,” he took a moment to find the right word, “kind to her.”

        You leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the tub with your palms holding your head up to meet his eyes, “they’re gonna be fine, Joel. Maybe Tommy doesn’t give you enough work, seeing you’re fussing about their relationship.”

        He leaned on his elbows, lowering his body, his face barely an inch from yours, “oh, Tommy gives me plenty work.” His eyes watched your smile creep up, “you give me plenty work.”

        “Oh please,” you leaned back, “you only come to the stables to see me, not the horses.”

        “I multitask.”

        “Whatever.”

        Absentmindedly, you played with the bubbles as he watched, feeling his gaze wrap around your neck. Not wanting to see the look he was giving you – because you knew exactly what it was – you tried to focus on the way the bubbles flowed over the side of the tub. The water was much cooler than it was when you got in, but your skin felt like it was on fire. His stare was steady, his breath was balanced, and the only sound either of you heard were your own heartbeats.

        The knot in your stomach grew tighter as neither of you said anything, the bubbles crackling in the thickened air between you two. You looked up.

        His eyes were soft and tired, but anchored on you. They flashed between your eyes and lips, avoiding your naked body but this seemed easy for him to do. His mouth was sealed shut, weary of his inclination to say the wrong thing, but his eyes said enough.

        “Don’t look at me like that,” you spoke softly.

        “Like what,” his voice cracked at the question.

        “I’m not staying,” was your angle, lest you acknowledge the reason he stared at you the way he did.

        “I know,” he said, with a faint hint of disbelief.

        “So don’t look at me like I am.”

        His eyes fell as he nodded. The bubbles continued to crackle, louder than before, as if to fill a deficit in the air. He cleared his throat, “you, uh, almost done here?”

        “Yeah,” you lifted a tower of bubbles in your palm, inhaling the sweet smell, “just need a few more minutes I think.”

        He nodded and watched as you played with it, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You smiled at the memory you shared, “you know, I used to make bubble tits, back when I didn't have any, and before that I used to eat them.”

        He huffed a soft laugh, the lines in his face deepening around his eyes, “you were the weird kid, huh?”

        “Something like that,” you blew the bubbles at him, and he didn’t seem to mind the assault, “think I was more lonely than weird, though.”

        With a thoughtful gaze, he stared a moment before speaking, “thought you liked being alone.”

        “Yeah, now, not as a kid,” you picked up more bubbles and put them on your head, “think that’s why me and my husband got along so well.”

        “When did he die?”

        “Nosy,” you spoke softly, unsure the emotion behind your response, “he made it about a year before he died.” You swallowed before putting bubbles on your face, lengthening your beard as you carelessly spilled, “I don’t think I’ve ever been,” you took a deep breath, sitting still as you watched the bubbles in front of you dissipate, the clear bathwater slowly revealing your body as you spoke, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone in my life after he died.”

        You finally matched Joel’s gaze as he stared at you intently, hanging on to every word that fell from your lips. He looked with sympathy, and that started to make your blood boil, “I don’t need you to feel bad for me.”

        “I don’t feel bad for you,” he caught the end of your directive, as if he had been wanting to say that well before you finished.

        You nodded, “I look like an idiot, don’t I, with my,” you motioned towards your beard, a feeble attempt to change the topic. His hand took the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss you weren’t expecting. You leaned into it, kissing him back as he pulled away, only to return again, growing deeper into you. You held the sides of his neck as you hummed against him, pulling away to the image of a very stern-faced Joel with bubbles on his face, “now you look like an idiot.”

        Laughing, he kissed you once more before standing up, “c’mon, I’m tired of sitting here.”

        You stood up and were met with a towel being wrapped tightly around you as he helped you step out of the tub, pulling you into his chest for a moment before pulling you away from him, “you’re not gonna get dressed, are you?”

        You smacked his chest, “haven’t decided yet.”

        He groaned as he drained your tub and you slipped the robe back on, tying the knot loosely around your waist. You let your hair loose from the wrap and walked to the bedroom, closing the door half way as you crawled into your bed. On your back, you stretched your arms and legs wide, closing your eyes to listen to Joel as he re-set your bathroom.

        You tried to envision his movements, tried to see what he was doing, tracking every sound and turning it into a visual movement behind your eyelids. You felt heat pool into your stomach as his boots thudded heavily against the wood as he stepped carefully into your bedroom, unsure if he was supposed to enter.

        As your breath quickened, you listened to him speak, “did you want to sleep?”

        Nodding your head ‘no’, your palms gripped the mattress above your head.

        You were completely vulnerable.

        Your heart paced in your chest as you felt the bed dip under his weight, then his body heat against your skin as he crawled halfway up your body. Your robe split open, revealing your entire body to the man above you, unknowing his reaction, but feeling his gaze against your skin. Your head spun as you could feel him lean closer to your exposed skin, unsure if he could see the wetness of your cunt. The anticipation of him touching you made you feel so lightheaded, you thought you’d pass out the moment his lips touched your inner thighs.

        Instead, you jumped up and yelped. He stared at you like a deer in headlights, and as you released your legs from your chest, you calmed your breathing. Shimmying onto your back, you reached your arms up once again, but he stopped you, “what do you want me to do?”

        This time, you leaned on your elbows as you looked towards him. Biting your lip, you thought about whether you were ready to be that vulnerable with him. It was one thing to just close your eyes and keep your arms above your head, but to have him use his belt to tie your hands together as he wrapped the robe tie around your eyes?

        It was paralyzing and invigorating, a wildly acute emotional combination.

        After the tie was tightened around your eyes, you had given up all agency to him, despite him telling you that you were in control. For the first time since the outbreak, the first time in twenty-odd years, you wanted no control over yourself. For the first time, you relaxed into the mattress, allowing someone else to make a decision for you, and you were free of your duties, free of survival, free of life. Your existence was not yours to care for anymore, but Joel’s. His assured “I got you,” softly whispered against your thighs was enough confirmation for you to let go.

        His soft tongue lapping at your wet pussy, meticulous and purposeful, was enough to grab the mattress as tight as you could as your legs pulled him into your body without wanting to push him away. For the first time, you allowed yourself to indulge in his face and nose, indulge in the feeling of his tongue licking inside you as you rolled your hips, your legs cramping as you forcibly shoved his face deeper into you as you came, his name pouring loudly from your mouth.

        His quiet request – “kiss it” – was enough to wrap your mouth around him, your tongue swirling around his length as he lowered his aching cock into your mouth, his knees pinning the mattress on either side of your face. He held back his true nature like he did before, opting to have you take the lead but fuck his dick felt like it belonged in your mouth. Hearing you hum around him as his hollow breaths huffed your name, thick and slow made him twitch. His cooed “that’s it, baby,” went straight to your cunt, now throbbing with frustration as he took his time with you.

        “Take your time baby, we got all night.”

        “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart.”

        “Feel so good.”

        “Fuck.”

        He pulled from your lips quickly, his hand shakily holding on to the headboard as he took a moment to catch his breath, “goddammit.”

        Licking your plush lips, you waited as he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing his tip against you as he spread your wetness around, moaning at the sight. With one hand planted at the side of your head, he slowly pushed himself into you, his fingers curling against the mattress as he stopped himself from just ramming into you.

        Once his hips pushed against yours, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in with every thrust. “Give it to me, baby,” fell from your lips as easily as your body accepted him the first night you fucked. And just like that night, he quickened his pace, collapsing on top of you as his hips crashed into yours, his breaths just short of full-body moans.

        You desperately wanted to hold him, to grab at his hair and pull as hard as you could, but his face fit perfectly in the crook of your neck, wrapped by your arm that stayed steady above your head. His lips tugged at your skin as his whispers followed, rotating between begging for you to come on him, to demanding you to.

        You, on the other hand, could barely comprehend what he was even saying. Your body was registering so fucking much it made your head hurt. Overstimulated and fucked dumb, you were only able to give him alternating hip angles, his name being called from broken breaths, and strained “more.”

        When you did finally come, it was intense and tearful; you felt your stomach tense as your walls tightened around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He groaned painfully at the sensation, his release following soon after.

        Still blinded and bound, you waited for him to catch his breath, which took longer than usual tonight. Unlike any other night, he peppered you with more kisses, more praises. His breath was heavy and gravelly as he asked, “you okay?”

        A lazy nod was enough to have him plant a firm kiss at the corner of your lips before pushing himself up and off of you. You lied there motionless, still blindfolded and heaving as he cleaned himself up, then you. The warm rag pulled gently across your thighs before he rolled his fingers into your flesh, soothing the ache of a pulled muscle. You wanted to ask him how he knew, but you decided you were far too tired to care.

        Gently, he pulled the belt from your eyes and pulled your arms down to remove the bind. Your eyes remained closed, not wanting to see the soft look you knew he was giving you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your lips. Without any control, you turned your face to kiss his palm, an action you knew would have consequences. Still, you burrowed into his palm as he sighed,

        “I have to go now,” was soft-spoken and slightly disingenuous.

        After another kiss, “stay.” Your hand trailed up his arm, taking in every curve of every muscle, before opening your eyes to look up at him. Just as you thought – he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

        “Baby, that’s a bad idea –“

        “We’re full of bad ideas,” you hand snaked around the back of his neck and pulled him back into the bed, “nothin’ but bad ideas.”

        You felt his resistance, but your words proved more powerful as he inched back into your bed, “I can’t.”

        “I know.”

        He kissed your cheek, “I shouldn’t.”

        “I know,” you turned your back to him, pulling his arm around your waist.

        He sighed as he settled behind you, pulling you closer into his chest. He pushed his nose against your hair, inhaling before admitting, “you know I can’t ever say no to you?”

        “I do.”

Chapter Text

Joel was gone before the crack of dawn.

        You didn’t beg him to stay. He said he was going to see you in a few hours, coffee in hand, as if nothing happened. A muffled groan into your pillow was enough of a response for him to kiss your head and leave through your kitchen door.

        When it was your turn to rise and get the day started, you stared at your ceiling. Another mistake on your part; what the hell were you thinking, letting that man sleep in your bed? And letting him kiss you goodbye before leaving? Even going as far as liking the feeling of his smile against your head? You were way in over your head with this.

        The kiss occupied your mind as you got ready for the day. In the shower, your hands lingered in your hair as you washed, staring at the water run into the drain as you considered your next move. Maybe it was time to discuss ground rules when you inevitably see him later today.

        Rule one: don’t love me

        Rule two: don’t love him

        When the water ran cold, you wrung your hair and continued to think about the conversation.

        Look, lets stay away from the lovey-dovey shit. No kisses, lingering looks, or intense eye contact, except during coitus, obviously.

        Scratch that.

        No lingering eye contact. No sleep-overs, or inviting the other for platonic visits.

        As you got dressed, you continued to think about how else you could avoid the awkward inevitable “I don’t love you” talk. Because you didn’t love him. Your acceptance of his affection was strictly because you liked sleeping with him, and the art lesson was strictly for Ellie and Dina.

        A knock at the door pulled you from your rumination, and to your surprise, it was Tommy, “morning.”

        He gave you a nod, “you’re workin’ with me today, let’s go.”

        “Wait,” you shoved your good foot into your sneaker, “what about the horses?”

        “They’ll be fine,” he turned to walk, “hurry up.”

        “Jesus,” you huffed, almost falling forward as you left your house. You trailed behind him, your injured foot feeling better, but opting to keep it in the boot for the time being, though you were more confident about it’s progress.

        Catching up to him, you walked side by side in silence. You weren’t sure if this was punishment, or related to your argument from the other day, but Tommy carried himself as he usually did – with pride. Pride in himself that wasn’t stemming from the belief he was better than others, but pride in himself as a person. He was content with who he was, comfortable in his decisions, and confident in how he carried himself. He didn’t care for the politics of identity, that, admittedly, he was above. He didn’t bother himself with anything that he couldn't be bothered with, which was why this sudden team-up was concerning, as everything he did was always calculated.

        You watched his legs stride wide, him tackling the earth on lighter feet than his brother, a stark contrast, you noted. You would think this guy has never had a bad day before. His hair was shoulder length, but held up with a hair tie, his curly hair being the only unruly thing about him. His remained as it did a decade ago – the darkest shade of black without a single gray strand in sight. His facial hair even kept its original shade.

        Every person you had passed by bid him a good morning, while giving you a nod only to acknowledge your existence. It was getting annoying, so you decided to speak, “so what made you decide to work with me today?”

        He looked in your direction and shook his head, “everyone’s got an ulterior motive for you, huh?”

        Not wanting to get into it, “who’s watching the horses?”

        He opened the door to a small shack. Inside, you were mesmerised by the amount of fishing gear compared to real estate. Fishing rods practically held the roof up, as they lined the walls, and reels were scattered on shelving. Baits and lures were packed away in clear boxes, seemingly organized by size. The woman behind the counter welcomed Tommy and you with a toothless grin, “always a pleasure to see you ‘round Thomas.”

        “I dunno how many times I gotta tell you, my name’s not Thomas,” he laughed.

        “Tommy feels so informal.”

        “That’s my name,” he exchanged a glance with you, then continued, “we’re goin’ to the lake.”

        There’s a lake?

        “Oh,” she cooed, “it’s a bit late for trout now.”

        “We’re gonna push our luck today,” he mused.

        She hummed and started grabbing some supplies, “nightcrawlers or powerbait?”

        He turned to you, a smile appearing before turning back to the woman, “nightcrawlers, lots of ‘em. Bullet weights.”

        “Goin’ on the boat,” she dropped a metal box on the counter.

        “We’ll try –“

        “A boat,” you intercepted, “why a boat?”

        “What, can’t swim?”

        “I can,” you crossed your arms, “just –“

        “Honey, you’ll be fine,” the old woman affirmed, “Thomas always takes good care of his partners.”

        You hoped she didn’t notice your blood heat up at the statement as you stepped away from the counter. He continued conversing with the woman as you looked around, poking at the lures. After a brief exchange of knowing glances, he parted with the woman and motioned for you to leave. You followed him like a lost puppy, and once outside, you continued to pester him.

        “I’m gonna take you fishin’, I think we need that right about now.”

        “We need it?”

        “Yup,” he huffed as you both made your way to the stables on the opposite end, “and I figured I could get you off your leg today.”

        “It doesn’t even hurt that much,” you rolled your eyes, “honestly, I just wear the boot because I want to.”

        He hummed, “just like when you wore my tags because you wanted to.”

        A memory long forgotten flashed through your vision, “I completely forgot about that.”

        “I have a feelin’ you forgot a lot of things between us.”

        “What makes you say that?”

        “Well, for starters, I think you think we left off on a bad note.”

        “You left me, remember?”

        “You told me to go.”

        “Tommy,” you scoffed, “you wanted to go, to ‘thrive’ or something, how could I stop you?”

        He looked at you with a puzzling glance, “you didn’t want to come with me.”

        “You never asked.”

        He stopped walking. You turned to him as he looked completely bewildered, “I begged you to come with me.”

        “No, you didn’t.”

        He let out a laugh and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and you felt you needed to finish this off, “I wouldn’t have gone with you anyway, so I guess this conversation is moot.”

        “That’s not the point of the conversation.”

        “Tommy,” you took a deep breath, “let’s just get this job over with, okay?”

        He sighed and started walking again.

        The stable for the working horses was a bit smaller than the one you worked in and all but two stalls housed a horse. Tommy said they had lost two of them the same week Alex had died, “so Shimmer and Japan are up next to take their places, but they’re the last two horses.”

        “So if they were to die…”

        “We’d have to find another good stallion. I think Old Beardy reached retirement in that aspect.”

        “Tragic.”

        He laughed as he opened the stable door, “somewhat, but what’s worse is we didn’t plan on him having two girls.”

        You watched as he pulled a horse from it’s home, “what’s wrong with that?”

        “All of our other male horses are castrated. Beardy had been makin’ male horses every pregnancy, we thought his last one would be similar, but we got two girls instead.”

        You crossed your arms and hoped you didn’t sound too judgemental in your tone, “you didn’t plan for the possibility of having two female horses being born?”

        He looked at you with embarrassment, “really screwed us over, that guy.”

        “How soon is Shimmer and Japan’s employment?”

        “They got time,” he saddled the horse, “maybe in a year or so we can start saddle training Japan, do some basic stuff. Shimmer’s pretty much set, she just has little outside training.”

        “Like patrols?”

        “Yup,” he took the reigns and motioned for the conversation to continue outside, “she’s already comfortable with a saddle, and has been ridden before, but Ellie’ll tell you she ain’t ready to be on patrols.”

        “Why’s that?”

        “She don’ like bein’ told what to do.”

        “Ah” you nodded, taking in the horse information you didn’t know you were interested in. Horses were such a small portion of your pre-cordyceps life, but now they seemed more compelling now; not shocking for someone who worked with horses everyday now, you supposed. “Guess she and Ellie have a lot in common.”

        He huffed at the comment and guided you on the other side of the horse, “since your leg is injured, you’ll have to climb up using the opposite leg.”

        “You don’t have, like, a crate or something I can use? It’ll be easier –“

        “Get your ass on this horse, quit whinin’,” he jabbed playfully.

        He grabbed the reins and handed them to you in a thick bundle, “you’re gonna stand in the stirrup ‘n swing your boot over the horse.”

        “Sounds easy enough.”

        “Let’s just hope you’re still flexible.”

        Snapping your head to face him in shock at the comment, you saw the regret in his face, clear as day. He took a step back from you and cleared his throat, “go on.”

        Opting to let the suggestive comment slide, you stared at the horse for a moment.

        This was more beast than horse. He stood tall, was tan in color, and you could see his strong muscles ripple under his skin as he shifted. He let out strong huffs and his eyes pierced and showed he was just as smart as you were. Old Beardy was one to be nervous about, but this guy was probably on par with him. You sighed.

        Leaning against the body of what seemed to be the world’s tallest horse, you slowly put your good foot into the stirrup. The pressure of putting all of your weight on your injury was quickly growing worse and you decided to pull your foot back, “I dunno if I can do this.”

        “C’mon, I know you can do it, you just gotta do it fast.”

        Taking a deep breath, you raced against the clock in your own head and stepped into the stirrup a second time, and immediately lifted yourself from the ground. Holding in a breath, you tried to swing your leg over, but it couldn’t clear the tall cantle, and before you could get back to earth, you felt a strong hand grip at your boot and thigh and pull you over.

        Seated in the saddle, wiggling to get comfortable, you found Tommy on the opposite end of where you stood, looking up at you, “you good?”

        “Yeah,” you fixed yourself, “just really fucking high right now.”

        He laughed, “I got you the best horse; he’s tall, fast, listens to you. He does tend to wander a bit when he’s not tied up, but you just have to call his name and he’ll stop trying to escape.”

        “Oh, what’s his name?”

        “Noodle.”

        Tommy was laughing before you even looked at him, “Noodle?”

        “Yeah, that’s what the kids wanted to name him. I think he likes it; he answers to it.”

        “Noodle,” you exhaled, “you’re gonna treat me better than the old bastard?”

        The horse snorted and you started to settle. You scanned everyone as they prepared for you to leave the city. You watched Tommy mount his own horse, an animal just as tall as yours, but Tommy’s legs made the horse shrink in size. He pulled the horse closer to you, “this gal right here is Athena.”

        “Oh, so you get Athena and I get Noodle,” you droned, “typical.”

        He rolled his eyes, “Athena is still new to goin’ out. What better way to sort her out than to test drive her down to the lake?”

        “Whatever,” you laughed. He smiled wide at you, almost lingering before both of your horses marched outside the city walls. The heavy door rolled back into place with a loud clang, and everything fell silent.

        A few steps forward, it finally dawned on you that you were actually outside.

        And it was deadly quiet, as if there wasn't a city-state directly behind you. Tightening your grip on the reigns, you took a deep breath as your heart began to beat faster, “Tommy?”

        “Hmm?” As always, he was still very unbothered.

        “What if we run into a Clicker? Into a group, or a straggler, or a –“

        “Geez,” he waved his hand, “you softened up since the last time I saw you.”

        “We’re outside and we have nothing, Tommy.”

        “The patrol went out ‘n down this route about an hour ago, and they saw nothing.”

        Noodle paced to meet Athena’s side, “anything could happen, though, and since when did you get so careless?”

        He looked at you, his hand reaching for something in the saddlebag, “the lake is only about a three hour trek.” He pulled out a pistol and handed it to you, “plus, you just reminded me - I forgot to give you a gun.”

        You took it and checked the clip before stashing it in your injury boot. Pushing on, you looked around; nothing but trees and sparse clearings. The birds sang loud and the horses seemed to have been enjoying the nice weather, whinnying at each other every now and then, speaking in a language you grew to learn.

        You watched his hips rock, his cowboy hat obnoxiously tilted but firm on his head as his horse trotted gently down the narrow. His posture tall and sturdy, his stupid hat concealing his hair. He looked your way and you turned your head, clearing your throat before asking, “is it really efficient to go fishing with only the two of us?”

        “You think this got somethin’ to do with the fish?”

        “Well, why else are we fishing, if not to get fish?”

        He looked ahead, letting out a deep breath, “I don’ think we really had any time to catch up, jus’ you ‘n me.”

        “Oh,” your palms started to heat around the leather reins, “didn’t think we had to.”

        He scratched the hair on his chin, eyes narrowing at the beaten path, “I think it’d do us some good, air out everythin’ we need to.”

        “Like what?” You didn’t mean to come off as vindictive or spiteful, but it was hard to see Tommy’s angle. It didn’t matter if you were on bad terms, not in any way that would change anything. You weighed the idea of not really caring, and found that, while it wouldn’t be ideal, you could live with it.

        He shook his head, “the lake is about a three hour trek, let’s just focus on gettin’ there first, okay?”

        “Sure.”

        Focusing on the sounds around you, your eyes scanned the environment with every subtle movement. Squirrels, chipmunks, and rabbits scurried across the woodland while birds sang from the treetops. Lush greenery blanketed the forest floor, offering shade for the small creatures that you towered over.

        The forest air carried a sickly sweet floral scent, topped off with the smell of the dirt it rooted in. It hadn’t rained in a while, so hooves thudded powerfully on the dry earth. You looked up at the sky and saw it was a solid blue with the occasional splotch of grayish white. Though a bit chilly this morning, it was far too nice to wear a jacket, or flannel in your case.

        Slipping out one arm, you held the reins in the other, and switched, until the woolen fabric bunched at the base of your spine. You pulled it forward and laid it across the front of you, patting it into place.

        “Nice day, huh,” his eyes flashed across your torso so fast you almost questioned whether you had seen him do it at all.

        “Yeah. We had a bunch of nice days recently.”

        “Weather’s gettin’ better, the rain’s gettin’ more manageable.”

        “Did you guys fix the hinges on the stable doors?”

        He laughed a bit, “I sent the girls to do ‘em. Figured they should get a ‘lil experience in everythin’.”

        “Makes sense.”

        “How about you? You up to, uh, expandin’ your resume?”

        “Tommy,” you warned.

        “I know, I know, you’re leavin’ Jackson.” There was a pause before he continued, “can I ask you somethin’?”

        You sighed; you had three hours to kill, and you supposed this was your punishment for the week you and Joel had, “shoot.”

        He fixed his hat, “what was your plan with the guy on the radio?”

        “What?”

        “You were askin’ about the guy on the radio, but you had no intention on stayin’.”

        You scoffed, partially at his inquiry, and partially at his audacity, “what’s it to you?”

        He looked towards you and said nothing, that stupid grin growing across his face.

        You rolled your eyes as you spoke, “a girl can’t have fun anymore?”

        “Nah,” his southern drawl thick in his voice, his smile wide now, “it wasn’ that.”

        “Can I ask you a question?” He nodded and you asked, “did you know it was Joel on the radio?”

        “Oh, so now you want me to get involved?”

        “This isn’t getting involved, Tommy, it’s being a decent human being, and you owe me this for being an asshole to me when I first got here.”

        “Y'know, I remember gettin’ punched that day.”

        “Tommy,” your head tilted, your eyes looking up at him through your lashes.

        He looked back, his smile twitching, and he shrugged, “not at first.”

        You watched him as he processed, his eyes staring down the road for a moment before going to you. You stared back, hoping he and Joel were similar in dominating conversations, but he seemed less interested in a power dynamic, and your stare fell off.

        “When did you find out?”

        He shrugged, “does it matter?”

        “It might.”

        “It might,” he repeated. He stared off and pointed ahead, “there’s a highway right here, we’re gonna walk along it, couple dozen feet into the forest, so we’re gonna pull a left a bit.”

        You acknowledged his direction, and restated your question.

        “Since it might matter to you,” he emphasized, “I didn’ know ‘til he told me, maybe a day or so after you came.”

        “Was it before or after I asked?”

        “After.”

        You nodded, taking in everything he was saying. He had no reason to lie; “did he tell you the first time you asked?”

        His full bodied laugh echoed through the trees and you couldn’t help but to laugh with him. Of course Joel wouldn’t be too keen on admitting it, it was Joel.

        Once the laughter subsided, you both took a deep breath, a huff leaving your stomachs. He swallowed hard, lost in thought as you continued. His mouth opened to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out, not until you pulled them out of him - “So what was your plan?”

        You scratched your neck, unsure of how to answer that. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t even think about it. You were so hell-bent on finding the radio guy that you didn’t actually take the time to figure out what you were going to do. Hell, you even entertained the idea of sleeping with both him and Joel, but considering it was Joel all along, what was your plan?

        If your plan was to only fuck this guy, how long was that going to last? Was your stay in Jackson completely determined on the outcome of you and the man on the radio? Or were you stupid enough to think there could be more?

        Could there be more, now knowing it was Joel all along?

        You offered a shrug, “I was just gonna figure it out as I went.”

        “Hmm,” his voice rumbled in his throat. He took a few moments before asking, “are you upset it’s Joel?”

        “Are you?” The response slipped out before you could even think about it, and you weren’t even sure what you meant by it.

        But, in that Tommy fashion, he smiled and shook his head, “no, but I’m glad it’s you, though.”

        You shifted in the saddle, unsure of how to take his confession, “what makes you say that?”

        “Well,” he straightened his posture, “for one, I think you’re a great woman, ‘specially for a guy like him.”

        “Oh, yeah? Tell me more,” you quipped half sarcastically, but he continued.

        “I didn’ take you for the one who needs to hear a man’s opinion on you.”

        A huff was all you gave him before he continued, “I’m not tryin’ to get involved any more than I already am, but –“

        “But nothing,” you cut in, treading carefully at the conversation, “whatever me and Joel are up to has nothing to do with you.”

        “Oh, but it might,” he argued, “everything my brother does has somethin’ to with me.” He looked at you, “everything you do got somethin’ to do with me.”

        “How?”

        “‘Cause both of you are important to me. ‘Cause everythin’ y’all do I gotta answer to. ‘Cause I gotta defend you, take care of you.” He rubbed the back of his tanning neck, “‘n ‘cause y’all gotta take care of me.”

        You could appreciate the sentiment, and the logic, but you still weren’t convinced, “we make our own decisions, Tommy, you got nothing to answer to.”

        “I am responsible for you both because,” his body tensed as he inhaled, his hands now squeezing his reins. His mouth hung open, but he concluded, “never mind.”

        “What, come on, tell me!”

        “Nah,” he sighed, “I don’t think it’s necessary anyway.”

        “Seemed necessary enough for you to bring it up.”

        “I shouldn’t have.”

        “Tommy.”

        “How about this,” his hand raised, “we can have all these conversations at the lake. Let’s have a casual discussion, low stakes –“

        “Unimportant,” you iterated.

        “Right,” he flashed a smile at you, “exactly what I was thinkin’.”

        A flush ran under your cheeks, his charisma still as infectious as the day you met, “fine. Nice weather we’ve been having.”

        He laughed, and an unimportant, mostly unimaginative discussion led you down the trail. The topics ranged from work, to life, to reminiscing on old habits and memories once buried deep within the pit of your chest. Some of the things he remembered had your eyes burn from the nostalgia, and slight anger that you forgot about them. You both were so young, still so full of passion and determination; there was a fondness you shared with each other that was far greater than any feeling you could recall with anyone else.

        “Do you remember,” he tried speaking through his laughter, his face reddening, “we used to kill our flashlight batteries –“

        “To make shadow puppets!” The image of two grown adults lying on their backs, spending countless batteries each week to make shadows on the ceiling with their hands flooded your body with warmth. It was a stupid nightly ritual that happened by accident, but it was your favorite part of your day.

        “And, man, Marlene would rip me a new one almost every week,” he giggled.

        “She must’ve hated you. What ever happened to her, anyway?”

        His smile wiped from his face faster than you could see, and his demeanor tensed, “she, uh, died. She was shot.”

        “Fuck,” you awkwardly glanced around the clearing environment, which now carried far few trees and began to smell of lake water, “sorry.”

        “The lake’s just ahead, right into the clearing.”

        You nodded, and the conversation fell short. Unsure of whether it was rude to ask who shot her, you tiptoed around it, “so what happened? With the Fireflies?”

        “As far as I know, dead.”

        “All of them?”

        “Every last one of ‘em.”

        “How’d that happen?”

        He sniffed hard as he shrugged, “no idea.”

        “And Marlene?”

        He shook his head, “not a clue.”

        “Fuck,” you sighed, trying to remember if you and her ever shared any fond memories.

        You didn’t.

        And just as you were going to ask a related matter, the trees cleared, the grass was lush and directly ahead, a wide lake with an extensive mountainous backdrop.

        With small patches of snow, the blueish giants towered over the even bluer lake. The sky being a brighter shade, the entire area was calm. Not a single movement in the scan, not a single man made structure to be seen, other than a strange mound near the lake’s edge.

        It was breezier in the clearing, and the mosquitoes were sparse, but they buzzed past your head as you continued on. You studied the wildflowers, a stark contrast of vivid colors against the solid green grass, which, though short, it’s smell lingered in with the scent of the water. Taking in a deep breath, you finally found yourself in a scene of a postcard, and it was better than you could ever have imagined.

        Tommy interrupted your soothing, pointing towards the strange, gray mound, “there’s the boat. Next to it is where we tie the horses.”

        “We tie the horses to some stick in the ground?”

        He leaned close, covering his mouth with his hand, and whispered, “they don’ know the difference,” and winked.

        Laughing, you led your horse to the stick and Tommy dismounted first, “swing your good leg –“

        “I know how to get off a horse.”

        He held his hand out to help you down, and stubborn as always, you disregarded him and swung your injured leg over the back of the horse and you fell directly on your boot, making your knee give out in pain, “fuck!”

        “Christ,” he sighed as he helped you get up, “you’re supposed to swing your good leg over the front, so both of your legs are on one side, then come down.”

        Shakily, you stood up, but fell backwards into his solid chest. His strong hands held your arms as he helped stabilize you on your feet, and you pulled away from him, pulling your shirt down.

        He shyly bowed his head before grabbing your reins and tying Noodle to the wooden cross stabbed into the soft earth. He then tied Athena, and led you to the overturned boat.

        He crouched in front of it, his thighs tight against his jeans, and he lifted the edge to flip the boat over, revealing the oars underneath. His intricately carved cowboy boots grew muddier as he then pushed the boat into the water, tossing the oars inside. He held it right at the edge, “grab the stuff and get on.”

        You looked at the boat, that couldn’t have been thicker than three inches and made of what looked like aluminum, “I’m not getting on that thing.”

        He rolled his eyes and groaned, “it’s a boat. It’s built to float, that’s what it’ll do, and I know you can swim!”

        “Tommy, that thing is as about as safe as a cardboard box in the rain, there’s no way –“

        “Please don’ make me force you on.”

        “Force me,” you crossed your arms, “how are you gonna force me?”

        Silently, he pulled the boat back onto land and went to Athena, grabbing the gear and throwing it into the boat. He pushed the boat back into the water and paced towards you – “Tommy, don’t!”

        “You’re leavin’ me with not much of a choice,” he followed you, “and ain’t like you can run.”

        “Tommy,” was the last thing you said before you tried to sprint away, but like he predicted, you got nowhere before his arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you from the ground, “let me go!”

        “This is for your own good.”

        You wriggled in his arms, but he was stronger than you, and he carried you with ease towards the boat. You both laughed until you heard his boot clink against the metal and you began to panic, “Tommy!”

        He stepped back and put you on the ground, but still held you against his chest, his breath running down your neck, “then get in the boat.”

        Hands gripping his forearms, you turned your face towards him, but he pulled his face away and immediately let you go, “please, just get in.”

        You turned and he was inches away from you, his brown eyes surveying your expression, his eyebrows lifted and his manner was soft. Looking towards the boat, you sighed, “fine.”

        Carefully, you put your good foot inside first, then crouched to allow your boot in without slipping against the metal. You sat on the bench towards the front and watched as he pushed the boat a bit further before jumping in, his long jeans catching some water. He sat facing you, and took the oars and began to row.

        You gripped the sides of the boat until the blood stopped flowing into your fingers, which was something he noticed, “take a breath.”

        Following his instruction, you took a few deep breaths, closing your eyes to focus on just that as your body swayed gently against the ripples. Opening your eyes, you caught Tommy’s eyes as he stared at you. He didn’t look away when you saw him, so you decided to look into the lake.

        “Easy, now?” His deep voice held a playful tone.

        “This is so fucking stupid,” you laughed, and he laughed with you. You didn’t want to admit to him, but you did feel much better after a few yards in.

        The water was surprisingly cool to the touch, and your fingers left thin ripples through, disturbing the tiny waves left by the boat. Looking around, you were surrounded by what seemed like miles of water, and millions of miles of mountains and trees, and there wasn’t a single sound you could hear other than the oars pulling through. If the fishing gig was always this calm and relaxing, you might as well switch careers.

        Tommy pulled the oars back into the boat and began prepping the fishing rods. You watched as his hands worked, screwing the rods together, attaching the reels, and stringing them up, having you hold the end of the invisible fishing line as he grabbed the other stuff.

        You’d gone fishing once in your life, and that was with your uncle, who died when you were very young. At the time, you didn’t understand why it was so important to him, but you went anyways. It was much more fun than you thought it’d be, and the whole family was with him on his boat. It was at least eight times bigger than this one, and didn't need oars or physical labor to push it through the water. You found it strange that everyone seemed to be on the brink of tears the entire trip, but that was such a minute detail for you to not understand until weeks later, when he died of an insanely rare cancer you’ve never heard of, and you never went fishing again.

        “This,” Tommy interrupted, holding a small metal ball, “is a split shot. Adds weight so the bait can sink. And this,” he pulled out a container full of dirt, “is the bait.”

        “Right,” you nodded.

        He stared at you, sensing your disinterest, but continued anyway, “nightcrawlers are best for trout. Sons of bitches to get, but they’re the best.”

        “Wait, what’s a nightcrawler?”

        He smirked and put the container down, “let me hook the lines and I’ll show you.”

        And with precision, he tied hooks to the end of the lines, filling you in on the fact they were 'barbless', as if that was something you knew to be concerned with, and pulled out a considerable length of line before attaching the split shots. Then, he reeled the line up to the metal ball, and took the container again, passing it to you, “open it.”

        “It’s a bug, isn’t it,” you asked without even reaching for it.

        He stared at you, “you afraid of a lil bug?”

        “Yes,” you insisted, “I am actually.”

        “Well,” he popped the lid off and shook the dirt a bit, “it’s not a bug, or at least I don’ think it is.”

        His fingers sunk into the dirt and you watched in horror as he pulled out the biggest fucking worm you’ve ever seen in your life, “get that thing the fuck away from me.”

        “It’s a worm, it ain’t gonna bite.”

        “No, but it’s gross and slimy and –“

        He threw it at you and you almost dove into the water screaming. He laughed as you lifted your legs up to avoid an attack from below and he bent over to grab it, “you’re bein’ a big baby.”

        “Tommy, I am not touching that.”

        “I seen you drag dead bodies, both human and infected, and –“

        “That’s different!”

        “You pulled an arm clean off a body because it decayed so much and you didn’ even bat an eye.”

        “Yeah,” you huffed, “because I had to. I have the choice of touching the worm.”

        “You really don’,” he nodded as he grabbed his hook, “if it makes you feel any better, the trout’s gonna take care of it for you.”

        Your stomach turned as you watched him pierced the wiggling beast with the hook. It continued to move as he prepped your hook, “come on, now.”

        “I’m not doing that.”

        “If you don’t, this would’ve all been for nothin’.”

        “I don’t mind watching you fish.”

        “That ain’t the point of this trip. Hell, if I wanted an audience I woulda’ took my wife.”

        “You should have because I’m not touching it.”

        He sighed, still holding the other worm, “just hook up one. Only one, ‘n I promise I’ll hook the rest of ‘em.”

        “Tommy,” you groaned, not wanting to be swayed by the power of his persuasion.

        “Just one.”

        You thought about it for a moment, ready to decline again, but there was a genuineness in his face you couldn’t stand to disappoint, “fine.”

        He beamed as he held the worm out to you, but you interjected, “I’m gonna go at it my own pace.”

        “The longer you take the worse it gets, trust me.”

        Unfortunately, you had to trust him, so you grabbed your hook, then stared at the worm for a moment, “does it hurt it?”

        “What?”

        “Does this, y’know, hurt –“

        “Hurt the worm?”

        “Yeah.”

        “Shit, I dunno,” he scratched his head, “just don’ think about it.”

        “Ugh.” You held out your hand and he dropped it into your palm. Just as you thought, it was slimy, cold, and dirty. Everything about this thing was hell on earth, and you started to wonder about its existence. Surely, it’s too stupid to have pain receptors.

        Groaning, you pinched the body and Tommy pointed, “here’s a good place to poke it. You don’ want it too close to either end, or it’ll just rip in half.”

        You wanted to throw up, but doing as you were told, you lined the poor creature’s body up with the sharp end and forced the hook through its body. You felt its skin give way, and easily, you positioned it correctly, and Tommy nodded with approval, “see? Ain’t that bad.”

        “Whatever.”

        “Now,” he carefully lifted his rod up, holding the line near the hook, “when you cast, don’t swing across; you’re gonna hook me in the face and I’m gonna be very upset.”

        You laughed a bit and listened to him as he continued, “over your shoulder, ‘n make sure the hook’s far from your own body, too.”

        You inhaled, set yourself up, and when he gave you the nod, you threw the worm far from the boat, it plopping audibly in the lake. Confident in the distance of your cast, you shimmied your shoudlers at him and he laughed, “not bad for a first cast.” He proceeded to cast his line on the opposite side of the boat, and his worm flew so far you didn’t even hear it land, “whatever.”

        “Now, I don’ think I gotta tell you how to reel ‘em in, right?”

        “No, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes, “I know how to do that.”

        “Beautiful, and now we wait.”

        You listened to the sounds of the lake for a moment before speaking, “so, why are we really here?”

        He sat up and fixed his legs, getting comfortable as this was going to be a long excursion and an even longer conversation, “do you wanna know why I wanna keep you in Jackson?”

        “Unresolved sexual tension?”

        He stared at you blankly and you apologized. He continued, “it’s been a long time since Maria’s been happy.”

        You swallowed, debating whether this was going to be his monologue or a directed discussion between you two, you opted to sit there and listen for once.

        “And I know it’s not you specifically that’s making her happy, but she changed these past few weeks, and the only difference was you.”

        You nodded quietly, your handle on the fishing rod tightening.

        “And, I dunno if it’s because the kids are doin’ better, or Joel’s doin’ better, or just, specific people in Jackson’s doin’ better, but,” he took a deep breath, “everyone’s doin’ better.”

        “Well, I read somewhere that people tend to be depressed in the winter, in apocalypses, and during their midlife crises.”

        “Y’know, the other day she came to me and for the first time in almost two years she was happy, I mean really happy, and it was because she was invited to something that wasn’t work related.”

        You recalled the passive, but genuine, invitation to the girl’s night, but you argued its significance, “it’s not that big a deal.”

        “To her it was,” he shifted, “and she just seemed just… happier, after that night. Like she had somethin’ to look forward to.”

        “Your wife’s lack of hobbies –“

        “It ain’t about the hobbies, it’s about her. People are intimidated by her, they’re nice to her, fine, but that’s about it. She always busies herself with work and Benjamin because she got nothin’ else to look forward to, then at least. Now,” his hand gestured towards you, “she got you, ‘n you’re not intimidated by her. You don’t see her as her job, and you’re one of the few.”

        You took in what he was saying, and you could imagine the loneliness she probably felt; imagine building a settlement, and everyone living in there is too afraid to be genuine to you because you have a job to do.

        “And speakin’ of few,” he continued, “this is the first time I ever seen Shea do anything other than drink, and let me tell you, that girl can drink.” He laughed, his fingers rubbing the aluminum rod, “she’s getting’ more involved with the community, which was something I knew she could do, she just didn’t.”

        “Too busy drinking,” you chimed.

        “Too busy drinkin’,” he agreed. He took a pause, and you knew why. Joel was a sensitive topic for you, and you knew Tommy was going to have some sweet, heartfelt bullshit about him, it’s his brother after all. “Joel –“

        “Let me guess, he’s all of a sudden happy too?”

        He snorted, “not really. Matter of fact, I don’ think he ever could be, not truly, anyway. But he is more comfortable, and I didn’ notice just how involved with his work he was ‘til I found he met you.”

        You looked at him, brows narrowed in confusion.

        “He’s, uh,” he hesitated a bit, unsure of how to proceed, “more creative, in his projects, I guess. He doesn’t hide himself in his house all day, he draws up his blueprints in the office instead of his dining room table. He’s more, intentional, if that makes sense.”

        “And that has something to do with me?”

        “It might.”

        “Look,” you started, thinking about what you wanted to convey, “I’m glad you think everyone is living their best lives because of my presence, but I can't imagine any of that has anything to do with me.”

        “I don’ think that’s true, and –“

        “Tommy –“

        “And I’ll tell you why I think that.” He sat up, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “Shea likes to talk nonsense about ninety percent of the time, and you put up with it because you know it’d make her happy. You hosted an impromptu art class for Dina and Ellie, because you knew it’d make them happy. You let Joel handle the horses –“

        “Because Old Beardy wants to eat me.”

        “You still let him help, which is something that makes him happy. You challenge my wife’s authority, and treat her like an equal, which is something that makes her happy. You get up at the ass crack of dawn to shovel horse shit because you know it’ll make me happy. I don’ believe in coincidences, and I don’ believe you are the selfish, rude, unmanageable person you think you are. Hell,” he scoffed and pointed outwards, “you’re on a boat in the middle of the lake because I asked you to.”

        He had a point, but you couldn't give in that easily, “so what?”

        “So,” he tugged at his fishing line, “you have a place in Jackson. You belong here, you deserve to be here.”

        Just as you thought about it, you felt a hard pull at your line and you jumped at the sudden movement. You grabbed the rod with both hands and began to reel it in, Tommy cheering you on as you used all your strength to pull the poor thing closer to the tiny boat. The greenish skin breached the surface and your heart began to race with excitement.

        “C’mon,” Tommy reached one hand for the boat edge and the other on your rod, “keep reelin’.” He helped you pull the fish closer to the vessel and he halted your excitement, “I’m gonna keep him in the water, take out the hook; watch the rod.”

        You watched as he leaned over the side and reached for the thrashing animal. He grabbed him by the mouth and used his free hand to carefully remove the hook, then pulled him out of the water and over the boat, “look at this guy!”

        Carefully balancing the rod on your knees, you looked at the poor thing with more sadness than excitement, but you attempted to be as excited as Tommy was, “that’s, uh, yeah, big guy.”

        “Hardly,” he quipped as he gently put him back into the lake, “he’s pretty small, but it’s your first, so we can celebrate it, still.”

        You tipped your head back, “I forgot you're such an asshole,” and he laughed as he prepped your next hook.

        “Your next one’ll be somethin’ to show off,” he smiled proudly as he positioned the line before your cast, “you did good, though.”

        Heat rushed under your skin, and after your second cast was successful (by your standard at least), you returned to thinking about what Tommy was saying, and he allowed you to, opting for remaining silent.

        You argued that Tommy’s idea of what you were doing was completely wrong and out of character for you. You “let” Joel take care of the horses because you can’t on your own, and you challenge Maria’s authority because she is just another person, and you couldn’t really get rid of Shea, but you didn’t want to anyway, she was fun company. And the “art class” for the kids was probably the only thing you did that was entirely for them, but not because you cared, but because…

        Well, you did care about them.

        An inexplicable feeling flooded your body as you thought about that – you cared about them. You cared about them in the same was Joel, Tommy, or even Maria did, but that didn’t change the fact that you still murdered one of their own and faced no consequences. There was no justice, you faced no punishment, and that probably pissed a lot of people off.

        But, at the same time, everyone knows, but they still did your hair, your makeup, they serve you drinks and talk to you, and feed you. They swing by the stables just to say good morning, and most importantly: they leave you be.

        “I don’t know, Tommy.”

        He nodded solemnly, accepting your hesitation. He waited a moment before asking, “what would it take for you to realize your importance in the community?”

        “That’s the thing, there isn’t really anything anyone could do or say.” You sighed, holding the rod tighter in your palms, “I guess I just don’t feel like I do.”

        “’Cause you killed a kid?”

        You were offended at his blunt recollection, but before you could comment, he asked, “did Joel ever tell you what we did? Before I left for the Fireflies?”

        “No, but I remember you telling me it was less than ideal.”

        He rolled his eyes at the oversimplification, “we used to really hurt people. I used to hurt people. I’d lie to 'em, steal from 'em, I’d,” he looked out into the water, letting out the memory through a breath, taking his hat off to run his fingers through his sweaty hair, “I did a lot of shit I ain’t proud of, shit that keeps me up at night. Same as Joel, same as everybody else in Jackson.”

        “I see your point, but –“

        “And you are not the only person to kill a kid,” he put his hat back on and leaned forward, as if to physically instill that knowledge into you.

        “So,” your tone sarcastic, “you want me to believe that Joel killed a kid?”

        He stared at you.

        Blood running cold, you mumbled, “and you…”

        He bowed his head and said nothing.

        You looked over the expanse of the lake, allowing the cold to rush through your veins as you attempted to process Tommy’s, and by proxy Joel’s, confession. You thought about Shea’s comment on Joel being safe for the kids to turn to, about Tommy and Maria’s desire to give the kids something to do so they stayed out of trouble, and Ellie’s insistence on joining the patrols and Joel’s complete declination of her desires.

        “Your life doesn’t have to be about survival,” he added, “not anymore.”

*

Surprisingly, you didn’t catch Joel at all when you returned.

        After Noodle and Athena were put away, and the gear was returned, you prepared yourself to meet up with him later in the evening, to tell him all about your failed fishing trip with his brother, and to listen to him tell you “yeah that sounds like Tommy”. You expected to drink the night away with him, not with Tommy, but apparently, it was Maria’s night with the kid and Tommy was not going to waste a free night.

        Though it wasn’t planned, you accepted the change with grace and went to The Bison anyway. Opting for a lighter conversation, you managed to get Ben and Seth, who you’ve found to be the man who made the cookies, to join. They laughed as you let them know the lake was probably desolate due to the inactivity, but Tommy disagreed,

        “Nah, the fish were just scared of you.”

        “Right,” you sipped, “afraid of an injured woman riding a horse named Noodle.”

        Ben’s laughter rang louder than the jukebox, “you tellin’ me the name Noodle don’t ring fear through your heart?”

        “If he didn’t live up to his name, maybe. Who names these horses anyway?”

        “Why,” Seth chimed in, “you got a problem with Noodle?”

        “So it was you?”

        He chuckled as he drank his beer, “my grandkids did.”

        You hummed in acknowledgement, “I see, and Athena?”

        “Shea named that one,” Tommy nudged your arm, “she wouldn’t let anyone else name her.”

        “I didn’t know Shea went on patrols.”

        “She don’t,” Ben laughed, rag deep inside a beer glass, “but she was there when she was born.”

        Finishing your drink, “good enough reason to get to name her then.”

        It wasn’t too long until Seth had his final drink, and the night at The Bison started to wind down. With no sign of Joel to rescue you, you allowed Tommy to walk you home.

        And it wasn’t that you hated the idea of him walking you home, it was the inevitable continuity of the earlier conversation you were worried about. You found it hard to believe that tonight of all nights, neither Joel or Shea were at The Bison. As a matter of fact, you had seen neither of them at all since your return, so you could only guess that there was a planned intervention, one last ditch effort to keep you in Jackson. Still, you allowed him to walk you home, side by side, stealing glances and making insignificant comments.

        You almost didn’t invite him inside, but it was the way his voice lowered, rumbling under your skin. One could mistake it for a flirty quip, but you knew that was just how he talked.

        “I know you got somethin’ good to drink in there.”

        “Isn’t your wife gonna get mad at you for drinking in another woman’s house?”

        That smirk was as familiar as the hair on your head; that smirk almost always meant trouble. And his statement even more so: “you let me worry about my wife.”

        “Famous last words,” was all you said as you led him inside.

        You both moved towards the kitchen without discussion, as if you read each other’s minds. Behind the boxed and canned food was a small bottle of bourbon, distilled locally in Jackson, and what you considered an illegal good. You pulled out two glasses and poured.

        “Why do you keep your liquor hidden in the cabinet?”

        “To hide it from you.”

        Confused, he laughed, “why?”

        “I dunno,” you sheepishly slid the glass over, “didn’t want you to think I’m an alcoholic or something.”

        “When the hell did you care about what I think?”

        You sat on the counter and he stayed put, a safe but close enough distance from you to be cognizant of how much you’ve been drinking, “since Joel told me Jackson doesn’t like pill popping alcoholics.”

        His brows pinched as he thought about your statement for a moment, “that don’ sound much like my brother, but wanna know a secret?” He drank about half his glass before settling it down on the counter, “everyone in Jackson is an alcoholic.”

        The confession sat in the still air between you two. Grim, but funny enough to laugh about it. He laughed over his shoulder as he grabbed the bottle from beside you, giving you a pat on your thigh with the bottom before topping his drink off. You stared at him as you did before, drunk and with a sense of endearment, and you were half expecting to do something you really wouldn’t be proud of.

        You had to give it to him, though, he aged beautifully, and the summer sun only brought out his freckles more. His smile remained the same, and the way it made you feel was the same. His broad shoulders were stronger than they were before, but they still moved so effortlessly as he turned to pour you some more. You watched as his large hand wrapped around the bottle almost completely as it did a decade ago, but now it carried scars and calluses, and his veins protruded under thinner skin. His confident eyes looked up at you from under his long lashes, the lines around them deep set now as he smiled, but his expression stayed the same.

        He still looked at you like you were the most important person in the world to him.

        He licked his lips as he opened his mouth to say something, but he hesitated, and against your best judgement, you leaned towards him, “drink.”

        Doing as he was told, he huffed a laugh as he took some bourbon in his mouth, holding it before swallowing. He laughed and shook his head, “you haven’ changed a bit.”

        You blinked hard. You tapped your glass before drinking, and you set it down beside his, almost too careful not to touch his hand, “you must be thinking about your other ex.”

        His smile grew wider, “is that what we are? Exes?”

        “What would you call us?”

        He turned his back towards the counter, leaning against it as he positioned himself next to you with his arms crossed, “I dunno, bein’ exes implies there was some sort of ‘together’, ‘n you never gave me the opportunity to see what your love looked like.”

        You stared at your own reflection in the brown gold, your face distorted within the ripples as your hands warmed the glass around it. You took in everything he was saying, and it broke your heart. You knew exactly what he felt, and he showed it every chance he got. You knew what he wanted, and you took everything from him anyway. You didn’t deserve Jackson, and you certainly didn’t deserve Tommy’s forgiveness, but still, instead of owning up to it, “and I’m supposed to believe that you loved me?”

        “You can believe what you wanna believe, but I did love you, and I still do,” he gazed up at you, “jus’ differently now.”

        “Right.” You turned away and finished what was left in your glass, declining another round, opting to call it for the night, but the question was still left unanswered – “why am I so important to you?”

        “What kinda question is that?”

        “Well,” you slid off the counter and took the glasses to the sink, running them under water as to avoid having to look at him, “I think this goes beyond just ‘playing nice’ in Jackson, even past being nice to Joel.” You poured soap onto a sponge, intensely watching as the glasses grew sudsy, “there’s an angle you’re getting at, I just don’t know what.”

        “So everything I do has a purpose now?”

        “Tommy,” you laughed, “your entire life is defined by purpose.”

        He snorted as he opened your cabinet, pushed aside the canned goods to hide your bottle, “fair enough.” Letting the cabinet door slam, he rubbed his face with both his hands and groaned, “you know how I said that I didn’t know why you were meant to be in my life?”

        You bit your lip, still forcing yourself not to look.

        “Well, I think I know now, and because of this,” he stepped beside you, close enough to where you could see his softened expression in your peripheral, “I gotta make sure I don’ fuck it up this time.”

        Rinsing the glasses, you dropped your hands against the sink and rolled your head back, “so what exactly does that mean?”

        He patted your shoulder and chuckled, “I think you know damn well what that means.”

        “So I’m meant to be shoveling shit for the rest of my life?”

        “If that’s how you wanna see it,” his palm ghosted over your hip as he passed behind you and reached for the door. Over your shoulder, you watched as he opened it, peeked out, and stepped back in halfway, a smirk plastered on his face, “y’know, I think Joel’s still up.”

        “Tell him to get to bed; Old Beardy’s ain’t gonna let himself out.”

Chapter Text

A week went by, and you had a lot to think about.

        The days had blended into each other; you were met with the same people, same tasks, and same conversations. Sometimes, you woke up early enough to watch the patrols leave in the morning, waving to Ellie and Dina as they assuredly stressed out every adult within the mile. Doctor Singh would ask how your leg was, and you would always ask if it was time to take the boot off, and she would always say no. You grew less intimidated by Maria and started to see her as a somewhat on equal footing, often inviting her to your's and Shea's table when it was her free night, but the looming fact she was head honcho always made you weary of what you would indulge in with her. Tommy was similar, but for different reasons.

        He was still insistent on keeping you in Jackson, to retire out and be an art teacher again, but you still weren’t convinced. He went as far as “stumblin’ on” a manual to make a kiln when training the next group of future patrol members. “I mean,” he huffed, his breath fogging the glass of his draining whiskey, “you might as well try it, at least, right?”

        No.

        No was always the answer you gave him, but it went deeper than not wanting to get too comfortable. It had been decades since you threw clay, you weren’t even sure if you could anymore, and teasing yourself like this, while still itching to leave was just torture.

        Shea was still in disbelief that you were going to leave, and she still made plans for you both months in advance just to show how much she didn’t believe you were going to leave. Apparently, you were going to go to the fourth of July cookout, and then go to the lake on Labor Day weekend, and then celebrate New Years at the Bison. After the success of the disco, she was promoted to head event planner, a recognition that, not only you felt she deserved, but she felt was her life’s work. She loved the boutique, but desired to be “CEO of celebrations.”

        You could respect the idea, but she was on the verge of sending Jackson into a resource recession with the amount of events she wanted to see, and you would sometimes watch Tommy gently remove her from his office as her mouth ran a million words a minute.

        “I just think, for morale’s sake, we should have a lil’ somethin’ every weekend,” she would argue with you in the bar, a rare instance where Ben would cut her off earlier than usual. You would nod, and ask about logistics, and she would remind you that they sent patrols all the time, “we could make it work!”

        Ellie and Dina were still constants in your everyday life, except now they would indulge in “girl talk”. They felt comfortable enough to bring up certain issues – dating, annoying older figures bossing them around, and general teenage nonsense that, despite an apocalypse, still persevered. It was endearing to you, and their trust in you softened you up a bit. You would never admit this to Tommy, or even Shea, but you found you slept better at night.

        But Tommy’s voice didn’t fall on deaf ears, but you wished they hadn’t fallen on such a stubborn pair. His acknowledging Joel that night wasn’t a passive comment, he was telling you to go see him, but you didn’t. Instead, you only had talked about the fishing trip when you had found Joel the next morning. Joel laughed about the lack of fish, and had joined you in your confusion about the whole ordeal, but he admitted you weren’t the first one he’d done this to.

        Joel himself had been a designated fishing buddy, except he described himself as being extremely skeptical due to the timing, as he knew when trout would be active. Dina, Jesse, and even Seth and Ben went on these trips, and said the same damn thing – not a single fish was caught. Joel was confused as to why Tommy subjected certain people to his unorthodox torture method, but chalked it up to Tommy just being Tommy.

        Shea, on the other hand, expressed envy. “Imagine me, ‘n him, together on a boat in the middle of the lake,” she’d cooed.

        “That’s probably why he never invited you.”

        She assumed it was some fraternity thing, like an initiation ritual of some kind. She stated he had only brought those closest to him on these trips, and those people were usually in his social circle. You and Dina were the only ones to tell her what the trip was like, but you and Dina had very different experiences.

        Dina had said Tommy took her on the trip to discuss rules, life, and how to integrate into Jackson, and only barely spoke about life before she arrived. She told you it felt more like a welcome conversation than an intervention, and she didn’t think much of it, considering the other half of the conversation was him asking her how he could make the transition easier. She briefly mentioned that Tommy joked about Jesse reminding him of himself when he was that age. She said he didn’t clarify, but she took it as a good thing, since Tommy was a good guy.

        Maria didn’t have much time to divulge, but she did say it was less of a fishing trip for her and more of a date, citing they really only talked about starting a family on that trip, nothing about Jackson or how it’s run. She did promise to tell you more on a designated girl’s night, which came sooner than you planned.

        Initially, you three had planned to get drunk and dance at The Bison, throw axes in the barn, and then go home, but Shea said she had made friends with the most recent passerby’s and they taught her how to make makeup, so she begged to sit on the floor with wine and paint each other’s faces, but you and Maria both agreed that wasn’t going to happen.

        “But I have a crazy thing to show y’all! I promise it’ll be worth it!”

        “Just bring it to the bar,” you offered as you walked as a trio towards the stable, an extremely rare occurrence that was slowly becoming routine.

        “Oh no,” she covered her cheeks with her hands, a huge smile wide across her face, “I can’t! Please let’s just have a girl’s night in, I’m the only person in Jackson that has what I have!”

        Curiosity got the best of you, and you exchanged a look with Maria, who sighed, “fine. How about we still go to the bar, we still get drunk there and dance, and instead of axe throwing we can go home?”

        “Oh, but I love axe throwin’,” she whined.

        “Bison, then home for a makeover, and whatever it is you gotta show us,” she spoke firmly, “deal?”

        “Ugh, fine! But Maria,” she nudged her, “make sure there’s more axe throwin’ soon; I refuse to not throw an axe this summer.”

        “That’s not my department, but we’ll see,” she smiled.

        As you reached the stables, you found Joel leading Old Beardy into the grazing area, and both women split from you at record speed, leaving you with a single “don’t be late”, over their shoulders.

        He turned on his heel after letting the horse go, awkwardly holding his palm, “’s been a minute.”

        “It’s been four days,” you corrected as you took the tervis from the stable door, “and I’ve been busy.”

        “I see that,” he nodded, “’s nice seein’ you out ‘n about, makin’ friends.”

        “I could say the same for you.” You smiled as you drank, looking over the mug. Your late night coffee dates became less of a routine as you busied yourself with Shea and Maria, finding yourself in either Tommy’s or Shea’s home for the night. It felt like a natural progression, but in Joel’s face you could see his slight disappointment in not having access to you as much as he did before. Conversely, he had been hanging out with some of the other Jackson residents, but of course, he wasn’t intending on sleeping with them.

        He took a deep breath before waving his hand towards the back part of the stable, “by the way, I, uh, noticed somethin’ back there, you might wanna take a look at.”

        You set the mug down, “what’s back there?”

        “It’s uh,” he stumbled over himself as he tried to describe it, “I dunno, just go look.”

        “Is it gross?”

        “No, it’s… just go.”

        Cautiously, you tread towards the back of the stable, unsure of what you were even looking for. Joel followed behind, watching you intently with his arms across his chest. Peeking over the corner, you didn’t see anything, but he motioned for you to go further, “it’s the last stall.”

        Stepping closer, you leaned forward to look over the stall door, “I don’t see anything.”

        “It’s inside –“

        “Are you trying to scare me?”

        “Wh- no, just open the door and look.”

        Your hand pulled the warped wooden door and it creaked open from being closed for so long, the hinges barely holding on. Inside the stall was nothing but a folded fabric on the floor, “what is this?”

        His forearm pushed you completely inside the stall and you braced against the dividing wall – “Joel!”

        He came in behind you and pushed your chest against the wooden panel, hands grabbing your waist as his breath ghosted the back of your neck, “I missed you so much.”

        “It’s been four days,” you laughed as his hands roamed your body.

        He pulled your hips into his and you felt his hard cock through his jeans, his voice vibrating against your skin as he whispered, “I didn’ get to taste you last time.”

        Your hand reached for his head and you giggled his name, his lips grazing against your neck as he kissed you softly. “Someone’s gonna come in and catch us,” you warned as you rocked your hips against him, but his hands were insistent on undoing your belt.

        He spun your body around to face him, immediately kissing your lips, “I made sure everyone was scheduled to be as far away from here as possible.”

        Laughing even harder, you watched his scrambling hands yank your jeans down enough to expose what he’d been thinking about for the past four days. You looked over your shoulder to make sure no one was nearby and jumped when he bit your shoulder. You smacked his head, “ow!”

        “I wan’ you to focus on me,” he dropped to his knees, “please.”

        Running your fingers through his hair, he collapsed against you, his forehead pushing against your stomach as he sighed, “fuck.”

        He took a moment before lifting your shirt just above your bellybutton to kiss you. He kissed right below that spot, and lower until he kissed the band of your panties. Tightening your grip in his hair, he closed his eyes and groaned.

        Whispering his name seemed to pull him out of his trance. He looked up at you with pleading eyes, wide and desperate; it was hard to think of the consequences of getting caught, “fuck it.”

        He pulled your panties down and his breath hitched at the sight. His hands reached for his belt as he kissed above your slit, taking himself out of his pants and you could see just how desperate he was for you. The tip of his cock was red and slick with his precome, and he looked relieved at the release of pressure.

        He kissed your thigh before dragging his tongue up your pussy, slowly, as if to taste every drop of you, “oh fuck,” came out hollow as you tilted your head back, both hands pulling at his hair.

        “Hello?”

        Both his hands pulled the backs of your knees forward and you fell straight down, your boot pinching your skin. He motioned for you to remain quiet, and you both listened for the voice;

        “Anybody in here?”

        It was Jesse, and you heard as his boots thudded carefully around the stable, followed by another voice, “I told you, she sometimes leaves to see Joel in his office.”

        Dina.

        “Well, Joel’s not in his office.”

        “Maybe they went somewhere else, I dunno,” she giggled, “but neither of them are here.”

        “I don’t know,” he questioned, “I’m not trying to be on Joel’s bad side, he already doesn’t trust me.”

        You watched as Joel’s face turned to rage as they started to kiss, but you motioned for him to stay low. You slowly peeked your head over and saw they were almost already half naked. Sitting back down, you pulled your pants up and forced Joel to stay low.

        You stood up, “hey!”

        They both jumped in fear, covering their chests with their arms. Dina grabbed her shirt, “jesus christ! How long have you been there​?”

        “Uh,” you scratched your head, “the whole time?”

        “What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

        Fuck. “Sleeping.”

        “Sleeping?”

        “Look,” you tried to act casual as Joel pulled his pants up, but he was moving far too much, so you pushed your boot into his chest and pinned him down, “I’m not building a rocket ship here, I’m shoveling shit, which is, like, a twenty minute ordeal. I tell Joel it takes longer due to my injury, I take a nap, and the work still gets done.” They both stared at you, “I don’t want him to make me work more.”

        “Right,” Jesse looked over at Dina, who stared between him and you, “and how long are you staying here?”

        “Get out.”

        He and Dina got dressed quickly, and Dina asked, “you’re not gonna tell Joel about this, right?”

        “As long as you don’t tell him I sleep here.”

        She whispered a thank you and they both ran out of the stables. You looked down on Joel, who stared up at you, hands wrapped around your boot. He was hard again, but you laughed and helped him up, dusting off the dirt from his chest, and he snapped back to reality – “I’m gonna kill that kid.”

        “Who, Jesse? Why?”

        “He’s tryin’ to screw her in the stables, after I told him he gotta respect her, treat her like a lady.”

        “We’re in the stables.”

        He looked around for a moment, “this is different.”

        “Because I’m not a lady or because you don’t respect me?”

        He stammered as you laughed, “look, we’re grown, okay, this ain’t new to us.”

        “And you think this is new to them?”

        He stared at you, mouth open, and you left him in the stable laughing. He followed you, “do you know somethin’ about those two?”

        “Somethin’ that apparently you, the only person in Jackson, by the way, don’t know?” You grabbed the pitchfork and started your work as he was still trying to wrap his head around the entire ordeal, “didn’t you have your kid at like, sixteen or something?”

        “Yeah, but I didn’t take her to a barn.”

        “Am I the only girl you ever took to a barn? Should I be offended?”

        “I didn’t take you here,” he paused, trying to stop himself from digging a hole, “we ended up here.”

        “Right,” you drew out, “so what is it about Jesse that you don’t like?”

        He fixed himself, “he’s a bad influence, ‘n I think he’s leadin’ her on, makin’ her do things, promisin’ her things he won’ do.”

        “Right. What year are you from?”

        “I’m serious.”

        “Joel,” you threw chips into the wheelbarrow.

        “I know Dina, she’s a very nice girl, she’s not that type.”

        You looked at him and you saw he truly believed Dina wasn’t some horny young adult who actively chose what to do with herself, “I don’t think she’s gonna make the same mistake you ‘n your wife did.”

        His face contorted and you actually thought about what you said, “I didn’t mean –“

        “She wasn’t a mistake.”

        “I know that.” You looked ahead, inching your eyes towards him slowly to find what he looked like. Thankfully, he didn’t look angry. Instead, he looked worried.

        “It’s just,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I see so much of Tommy in him, ‘n it scares me because my brother sees it too.”

        “Tommy was some sort of casanova back in his day?”

        Joel widened his eyes sighed, “that’s puttin’ it lightly.”

        “I hope the irony isn’t lost on you.”

        “Believe me, it ain’t,” he spoke curtly, “but I can’ imagine there wasn’ half a dozen tiny Tommys runnin’ ‘round at some point.”

        Giggling at the thought, you continued shoveling in a comfortable silence, thinking about the time you were Dina’s age running around with guys who absolutely were no good for you, but Jesse didn’t really give you any reason not to trust he was treating her right. It was only Joel’s anxieties and Tommy’s “karma” returning to kick him in the ass.

        “How’s Ellie doing?”

        The random question came to you as a surprise, as it was brought up from nowhere, “fine, I guess. I hear she’s with that new girl –“

        “Kat.”

        “Right,” you nodded, unsure of what he really wanted from you.

        He toyed with his beaded bracelet, “you worked with kids, right?”

        “Yeah.”

        He bit his lip and looked down at the floor, contemplating on asking you something about her that was clearly bothering him.

        “Is she okay?”

        “I, uh,” his eyes were red and his lips twitched as he stared outside, “I don’ know.”

        You held your arm out, pointing to a once aforementioned wooden chest, which was conveniently placed nearby for you both to sit. Shoulder to shoulder, you watched as his hands rubbed his knees, trying to be open about what was bothering him;
“She wants nothin’ to do with me anymore. I mean, she says hello, ‘n sometimes she’ll visit me from her garage, we’ll have dinner, watch a movie, but that’s about it. She don’ talk to me like she used to. Maria tells me it’s normal but it don’ feel normal, y’know?”

        Oh god.

        This was way above your paygrade, so far from what you were experienced with. You weren’t a therapist, but you supposed that it was too late to stop him, so you listened to him pour out his heart and soul entirely to you as you stared forward, trying to figure out what to say.

        “But I don’ understand it; we’re somehow growin’ apart and I can’t seem to do anything to stop it. She wants her space, fine, I give it to her, but I’m worried she’ll just...”

        He looked at you and you nodded.

        “It’ll just get worse. I mean,” he rubbed his neck, “I’m glad she’s got friends, she’s not killin’ people, she don’ gotta worry about anything. She’s safe, ‘n that’s all that matters to me, really, but,” he trailed off.

        There was a thick silence in the air, both of you stared forward as you relished in it, allowed it to wrap tight around your bodies. It was suffocating, but his voice cracking at his admission felt like sinking in tar, “I feel like I’m losin’ her.”

        Rubbing your hands together, you thought about what was the best response to someone who was losing what seemed to be his daughter figure. Considering he had already lost a daughter before, you had to take a delicate approach, “how old is Ellie?”

        “Seventeen.”

        “Seventeen,” you sighed, “such a great age. You can be on the edge of it, you’re the dancing queen, you could drink some very good beer bought with a fake I.D.”

        He stared at you.

        “Right, uh,” you tapped your hands against your legs, “Ellie seems to be just like every single seventeen year old ever; she wants to be independent and she finds you embarrassing. But every teenager thinks that of their,” your hands made vague motions, “whatever you are.”

        “So how do I fix it?”

        You shrugged, “there really isn’t anything to fix, just, keep giving her space, while letting her know you’re still there for her, and it’ll just, resolve on its own, I guess.”

        “You guess?”

        “I’m an art teacher, not a therapist. I didn’t even have kids, I’m just assuming.”

        “Right,” he nodded. His hand hesitated, but it ended up on your knee, gently squeezing as you continued to sit in silence. Your hand covered his and you leaned against him, dropping your head against his shoulder, and his head fell onto yours. This was a weirdly comforting act for you.

        Taking a deep breath, you pat his hand and made your way back on your feet, “this was fun, but I got shit to shovel and you got,” you shooed him away, “whatever it is you got to do.”

        “Yeah, yeah,” he groaned as he stood up, “are we, uh, makin’ coffee tonight?”

        You laughed loud enough for passersby to peek into the stable, his insistence on sticking to the bit was endearing, “not sure, I have a girl’s night tonight.”

        “Lord help us all.”

        “I promised Tommy I’ll handle Shea, but y’know,” you turned to smile over your shoulder, “I haven’t gotten into any trouble yet, so we’ll see.”

        He hummed as he left the stables, leaving you to the heat, the shit, and the uneasy feeling he always seemed to leave you with.

*

The Tipsy Bison was booming with music and laughter, both vibrating under your skin as you sat at the bar with Shea and Maria.

        You didn’t have a moment to yourself when you came through those walls; Shea ran up to you, filled you in on her day and your plans for the evening, excited that the rain-check was finally cashed. This was the first night you were going to spend with Maria without Tommy.

        Admittedly, you were a bit nervous, considering you were connected through Tommy and Shea, but after the first round, the tension seemed to filter out as she graced you with good conversation. Just as you predicted, she was even more so intellectual and witty, but she also was much more funnier, laid back, and cooler than you imagined. Tommy’s perfect match.

        “Honestly, I was a bit apprehensive about a girl’s night, considering how the last one ended,” Maria revealed through a fit of giggles, the doing of her second Manhattan.

        “Maria,” Shea whined, “you guys can’t keep holding this over my head forever!”

        “What happened at the last girl’s night,” you questioned cautiously.

        “It wasn’t even that bad.”

        “It started off by her dislocating Ben’s shoulder during an arm wrestling match –“

        “It was an accident, but I won.”

        “She had Dina steal –“

        Just as she spoke, Joel interjected with an apology, “just came in to grab a drink.”

        “Between us,” you asked, hoping your suggestion was lost on them, but not him.

        “Well,” he looked back at Maria, who stared back at him eyes narrowed, “sorry ‘bout that, it’s just Ben can’t see me down the bar.”

        “Right,” you nodded, sipping your drink. After he ordered his, you let him know he was interrupting a very special girl’s night.

        “Shit, I didn’ know it started so soon. I better get up on out of here, then.” His eyes lingered, making up for the time he spent today not seeing you, but you brushed him off.

        “Mmm,” Shea almost spilled her drink as she sipped, “this is my song! Come dance with me!” She pulled Maria out of her stool, and just as you were excusing yourself, she insisted you stay at the bar, “watch the drinks, make sure Joel don’t do nothin’ to them.”

        You both protested, but found yourselves alone with each other. He dropped into Maria’s stool and awkwardly looked around the bar, “Ben’s, uh, takin’ his time.”

        “Yeah,” you threw back the rest of your drink, “it’s a busy night.”

        “Right.” He tapped his fingers against the bar, “so, uh, having fun yet?”

        “Too soon to determine,” you smiled, waving for Ben to get you another round, “but I’m hopeful.”

        “Hopeful,” he asked almost shocked, “you not enjoyin’ yourself?”

        “It’s not that,” you sipped, “just been thinking a lot I guess.”

        “About what?” You could tell in his voice he was treading carefully, mostly unsure of your reaction to his interest, and arguably, you were reluctant to fill him in entirely.

        You watched Shea and Maria dance, “it was really Tommy's fishing trip. It got me thinking.”

        “Hmm,” his voice barely audible over the music, “I guess it’s his way of dealin’ with stuff, so I know you got an earful.”

        “You think he dealt with me?”

        “I know he did,” he laughed a bit, still waiting on his drink, “probably tried to convince you to stay.”

        Leaning against your fist on the bar, walking on a fine line between flirting and confessing, “you never tried to convince me to stay, why’s that?”

        He straightened his posture, his soft brown eyes looking everywhere but at you. His hand reached for his other and tenderly rubbed his scarring palm, “guess I didn’ think about it.”

        Noticing the red line on his palm, you reached for it and he reluctantly gave in. Your finger trailed down the scar, which was still angry and painfully noticeable, but seemed it was healing nicely. You didn’t know if this would affect his shooting or his work, but you examined the injury and offered a genuine apology while avoiding eye contact, “this looks gnarly.”

        “Yeah,” he huffed a laugh, “you got me real good, but nothin’ I can’t handle.”

        Laughing, you finally looked up and caught his eyes; they were deep, soft, and attentive, scanning every inch of your face as his reddened. You blinked away, releasing his hand, “guess I don’t blame you for not wanting me to stick around.”

        “Who said I didn’?”

        His drink thudded against the bartop, as did yours, and you offered a cheers before sipping. He placed his mug down and scratched his beard, “so, uh, what time are y’all gonna finish up?”

        You looked towards Shea, who was growing a bit more unmanageable as she continued to dance, “it’s up to her at this point.”

        “Christ,” he laughed, “well, good luck, I guess.” He disappeared into the crowd as coincidentally, Shea and Maria reappeared at the bar, sweaty and tired, and the night continued as you expected.

        There was no grand theft cow, injuries, or hospital visits during the night, and Dina wasn’t an accomplice to any grown woman’s inability to handle her alcohol. You instead danced, drank some more, and danced even more. Joel stayed at The Bison for the night, but instead of alone at the bar, he sat at a table with another older gentleman, who was probably slightly older than him. They talked and laughed, and his eyes would occasionally catch yours as you paced between the bar and the dance floor. As if the exchanged looks alone were foreplay, you felt butterflies in your stomach as you moved around the bar, feeling his sights on you the entire night.

        The conversation was light – Shea shared some info on other people, Maria talked about her hobbies, and you found that not only was she a fiction writer, she was extremely accurate with an axe.

        You found yourselves throwing them at the barn, martinis in hands, on your way to Shea’s home. She begged to throw “just one”, and you fell into friendly competition. Maria warned you not to ask how she got so good at throwing, but she indulge in Tommy’s reaction;

        “He was impressed, until I told him this translated into knife throwing,” she laughed, “we had only been dating for a few weeks, and he was under the impression I never threw a knife at someone.”

        “Did you,” your eyes were wide with intrigue.

        “Of course I have,” she giggled over her glass, “my father told him it happened to the last guy I was with, and you could see the blood drain from his face.”

        You threw your head back and laughed even harder, picking up the weighted weapon with a wobbly arm. Shea had disappeared to flirt with someone, so you and Maria continued throwing. Lifting the heavy object over your shoulder, you tried to steady yourself in front of the target, which seemed miles away, when firm hands held your back and shoulder.

        Expecting to see him, you were startled at the lack of recognition of the attractive face that had hands rooted onto your body. He looked at you warily, looking for some reaction at his presence in your space, “looked like you needed help.”

        The liquor certainly didn’t help your judgement, but he seemed nice enough to entertain, “I don’t need help, I’m just drunk.”

        He laughed and you felt elation swell in your stomach. He was confident, tall, and so domineering; you leaned a bit into his grasp, forgetting why you were here in the first place. He reached over for the axe, “may I?”

        You glanced at Maria, who only offered a shrug, “uh, sure. You’re gonna make me throw better?”

        “I’m gonna make sure you don’t kill anybody,” he smiled. He moved behind and to the opposite side of you, standing between you and Maria, still holding the handle of the axe; “here’s what we’re gonna do.”

        You allowed him to position your arm and torso to ensure you didn’t hurt yourself when you threw it, and he taught you how to aim, his voice seemingly inching closer to your neck as he directed. Ending up on the other side of you once again, he commanded you to throw, and you still missed the target. The metal thudded against the wooden floor, and he shrugged, “guess you might benefit stickin’ around to practice.”

        Throwing a look towards Maria, “we were actually just leaving, but maybe some other time.”

        “Nah, come on,” he reached out and took your arm, “stay for a few more rounds.”

        Slipping your arm out of his grip, which threatened to tighten as you did so, you politely declined, and Maria stepped in, “there’ll be more of these, so –“

        “I wasn’t asking you.”

        “Okay,” you sighed, feeling your heart thump against your chest as you tried to diffuse the tension, “it’s a girl’s night, and I’d rather continue the night that way, so,” you trailed off for a moment, “but it was a great first lesson.”

        Shea came up from behind with four bottles of wine dangling between her fingers, “c’mon, guys, I got the wine!”

        The guy shook his head and ended up storming off, and you let go of your breath, “jesus christ, that guy was tense.”

        Shea looked over her shoulder and her face soured, “yeah, let’s just get out of here.”

        As you walked towards Shea’s home, you asked, “who the hell was that guy?”

        “That’s Bryant; he’s been here a while,” Maria offered.

        “Is he always like that?”

        “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but he’s harmless. Annoying, but harmless.”

        “Ugh,” Shea interjected, “let’s not give that guy any more attention!”

        “Agreed,” you sighed.

        Shea lived on the opposite end of Jackson, so far from you that you have never even been to this part. It was bustling and busy, and near more night time events that it almost made sense she lived in this area.