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Joel was of course expecting a bit of a transition period when they got back to Jackson; it’s been a whole year since they were in anything like civilization, after all, aside from that one night in Jackson months ago. It doesn’t bother him when Ellie spends their first two days in bed, mostly because he does the same thing. He doesn’t mind her sticking to him like a shadow, or not really interacting with anyone but him outside the house.
It’s been a long year, and he knows that what happened - or rather didn’t happen- with the fireflies’ cure weighs heavily on her, even if she seems to have bought his story.
But two weeks in and Ellie is still sleeping like the dead for twelve, fourteen hours a night. It’s the funniest thing; she’s not having nightmares anymore. Or if she does, he’s not hearing them. (He stays up several nights, his own door open, just to check and make sure it’s not his bum ear that’s keeping him from waking when she needs him, but he never hears a peep.)
The only indication she’s having any trouble sleeping is that every night in the early hours of the morning, he wakes up to her pushing his blankets aside to climb into his bed, sticking her cold cold feet in between his calves. He’s asked her once or twice if she wants to go to sleep in his bed since that’s where she always ends up, but she just shakes her head, closes the door of her room, quiet as a mouse.
She’s been quiet for months now, not the same kid ever since winter, but he's worries she's backsliding. She stays in bed until he coaxes her out for breakfast, follows him like a little lost lamb to whatever duties he’s assigned for the afternoon, eats her dinner slower than he swears he’s ever seen her eat. (Although he watches carefully enough to know that she does clean her plate, eventually.) She seems to enjoy the town movie nights, but he’s never seen her talk to any of the other kids, always just staring at the screen with that same eerily calm look on her face.
Their nights at home are spent cuddling, for lack of a better term. He rests his arm over her shoulders, she takes one of his hands and fiddles with his fingers, and she seems content to stay that way for hours. Sometimes he reads aloud, sometimes he picks around on the old guitar Tommy found for him, sometimes he tries to tempt her with the joke book. But often they only sit in comfortable silence.
(Maybe she’s not backsliding. Maybe now that they’re safe she’s just not trying to be okay for him anymore.)
It’s Maria, of all people, who offers him reassurances. “A lot of the newcomers have a rough time at first. Most of them are like you, traveled a long distance from a QZ, have seen better days. It just takes time. It’s why we don’t assign full duties for the first month.”
And Joel’s glad for that. They haven’t discussed school yet; he can’t really imagine being away from her all day at this point.
She just needs more time, he thinks. Nobody knows how hard she’s had it. She’s just a baby. Just let her be my baby for a little bit longer.
Joel gently pushes Ellie into the bathroom to shower at least every couple of days. He thinks she’s actually been doing something in there based on how she smells better after, but he doesn’t think she’s been touching her hair. When she comes out of the bathroom it’s always still in a ponytail, frizzy and wet in patches like some of it’s getting hit by the spray and some of it’s not.
He can nag her into showering, that’s fine, he was a smelly teenager once too, but Joel doesn’t think he can handle reminding her that she has to wash her hair. It hurts too much, to acknowledge she’s so lost in her head that she can’t even be bothered with it. Besides, maybe this is something he can do for her.
“How ‘bout I wash your hair for you,” Joel says one night after dinner, brushing back an errant curl from her face. “We can do it in the kitchen sink, used to do that for Sarah when she was little.” He can’t remember why he was washing her hair in the kitchen sink rather than the bathtub like common sense would dictate, but it’s a strong memory for him; the sunshine beaming through the kitchen window, Sarah kicking her beanpole legs and singing something or other while he begged her to stay still for just five seconds. It’s a nice one to come back to sometimes.
Ellie gives a little shrug, as much assent as she gives for anything these days, so he thinks maybe this isn’t the worst idea in the world so far. He goes to the bathroom to grab a towel and the weird shampoo bar Maria brought them; apparently there’s some lady in the settlement making them, with all natural botanicals and shit. No twenty-year-old shampoo for Jackson, no sir-ee. He hesitates for a second and then grabs the bar that’s supposed to be conditioner as well, which he’s never actually used, and pretty sure Ellie hasn’t either.
When he gets back, she’s right where he left her. He boosts her up onto the kitchen counter next to the sink and helps her lay back with her head in the basin, his hand on the back of her neck guiding her down. He gently pulls the hair tie out of her hair, takes a minute to get the temperature of the water just right before he guides the spray over her head. Lets it get good and soaked before he starts in with the weird shampoo bar.
“You know, back in the day, they’d wash your hair for you when you went to get your hair cut,” he says as he works through her strands.
“Hmm,” is all she says. Her eyes are closed, and maybe he’s not imagining things when he thinks she looks a little more at peace than usual.
“Yeah,” he says, not expecting to get much more conversation out of her than that. “It was kinda weird, a stranger washing your hair. Felt nice though.” He tries to massage her scalp with his fingers, like he remembers them doing. The little wrinkles in her forehead are disappearing.
He washes her hair a second time, for good measure, cups a hand around her eyes to protect them from the suds as he rinses. Just performing that simple gesture makes him want to tear up; he remembers doing the same for Sarah, giving her baths as a toddler.
He wonders who did this for Ellie when she was little, if anybody did at all. If there was anybody who cared enough to keep the soap out of her eyes.
When he’s done, he wrings out her hair a little bit in the sink and wraps the towel around it. She lets him help her up off the counter just as placidly as she does anything these days, but hey, at least she’s got clean hair now.
He guides her over to the couch, is thinking about having her sit in the floor while he combs out her hair, but decides he’s far too old to be hunching over and instead just has her sit on the edge of the couch between his legs.
For a while it’s just the gentle schhhick of the comb running through her hair and the crackle of the fire in the grate. He can’t think of anything much else to say, but she doesn’t seem to mind. That’s okay, kid, he thinks. We’ve got our whole lives. You don’t have to talk now. You can just be. I’m not going anywhere. When it’s all combed out, he runs his fingers through it a couple times, brushing it away from her face. The conditioner has made her hair all soft. He again finds himself overwhelmed at how much tenderness he can feel for one scrawny teenage girl. “Go grab me some of your hair ties, baby.”
It’s been a long time since he braided hair, and he learns pretty quickly that braiding Ellie’s hair is a lot different than braiding Sarah’s coils was, needs a lot less tension to keep the hair in place. He nearly jerks her head back with the first plait he makes. “Shit, sorry,” he says. “‘Been a while. Try to keep your head still for me.”
He grins at the little Ow he hears, exaggerated for his benefit, but then eventually gets the hang of it. When he’s done, she’s got two more-or-less neat braids on either side of her head.
She turns in his lap, throwing her legs over one of his and settling her head in the crook of his neck. “What’s next? Manicure?”
He snorts, disordinately pleased that a little bit of her sass has come back. “Nope. You just got the full Joel Miller spa package.”
She fidgets, getting comfortable, situating his arms around her the way she wants them. “I like the braids.”
He rests his cheek on her hair. It smells nice now. He can’t place the scent, something flowery. “I can do ‘em again tomorrow if you want.”
They fall asleep like that, and even though his back makes him pay for it all the next day, he doesn’t regret it.