Archive of Our Own

“Dad?”

The word, though it’s a frail croak in an otherwise quiet house, is enough to wake Joel Miller out of a dead sleep. His eyes shoot open, and he doesn’t even have time to adjust to the darkness when he hears that small voice again.

“Daddy!”

The frantic nature of this second call is like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. His legs are moving before his brain can catch up with the decision to do so.

Bare feet planted on the floor, he races into the hall toward her bedroom. He curses himself fleetingly for not being able to move faster.

Throwing open the bedroom door, he finds his baby girl curled up in bed, her prone form trembling and her forehead drenched in sweat. She’s wrapped around herself miserably, looking so small and fragile that it makes his heart break just a little bit.

“Sarah? Baby what is it?” Joel rushes forward, kneeling beside the bed to brush springy curls out of her face.

Her eyes open, big brown inquisitive eyes that look at him like suddenly all of her problems are solved. There are tear tracks on her cheeks, and she sniffles weakly before speaking.

“I’m sick,” she weeps, “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, baby girl.” Moving on instinct, Joel’s hand presses against her forehead. Much to his displeasure, the skin is flushed and hot. His eyebrows furrow.

“Alright sweetheart. Hold on just a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Daddy don’t leave!” Sarah pleads. Frail little fingers fan out to grab at his wrist.

“I’m coming right back honey.” He takes her hand and kisses each of her knuckles before swiftly rising to his feet. “I’ve got to get a thermometer, and a few other things for you. I’ll be right back I promise.”

He really means it. Back in those days, Joel always kept his promises.

“Okay,” Sarah nods, putting on her best brave face, “just hurry. I need you Daddy.”

Ugh. Is there any sentence more dire and motivating than that one?

“Right back.” Joel says. And he’s on his feet in an instant.

It’s once he exits Sarah’s bedroom, that his eyes open again, and he realizes where he is. He isn’t in his warm, stuffy old house in Austin. He’s in a cold winter in Wyoming, waking up with toes that feel a bit too icy for comfort.

He looks around the unfamiliar room, blinking rapidly. He’s in Jackson, in the bedroom he had taken when they got back from the Firefly hospital.

Shit. How is it possible that a room he hasn’t slept in for over 20 years feels homier than the one he’s been sleeping in every night for the past five months?

You’ll get there, he tries to tell himself, you haven’t had a home in two decades. Shit takes time, don’t it?

He glances at his bedroom door, always cracked in case a very different little girl might need to seek him out in the night.

Besides, he thinks, it ain’t the house that makes it a home.

Noting how cold his own feet are, and feeling unsettled from his dream, he decides to check on said little girl. These days, his hearing is shot to hell (pun intended. He should tell her that one) and he might not be able to rush to her aid if she calls as softly as Sarah once did.

This time when he gets out of bed, it’s much slower on joints that are twenty years older. His back protests the movement, and he winces as he shoves himself off the firm mattress. He still isn’t used to sleeping in such luxury.

The walk down the hall tonight is unhurried, leisurely as he wraps his arms around himself to evade the cold chill in the air, wondering if he should fire up the old noisy heater downstairs.

Finally, he reaches his destination. This bedroom door is cracked just the same, he suspects for similar reasons to his own.

Moving with a quietness that’s almost like muscle memory, an ability to slink through a house without waking your sleeping kid (and a skill he thinks has helped him evade enemies when he needs to be stealthy) he enters the room.

Her room is much more decorated than his. On the wall are tacked up notebook drawings she’d done in the weeks after they’d arrived here. There’s an old, wrinkled poster they found at a music store just outside of town belonging to a band she likes. Her 15th birthday is coming up, and Joel hasn’t yet revealed that he got (well found) her an old Walkman to listen to music on. In the corner of the room is the guitar he’s teaching her to play on, propped up with gentle care like always.

She may be a rough girl, but at her core, she’s always careful with the things she loves.

He’s just about to consider his worries assuaged and leave her in peace, when he notices the expression on her sleeping face.

Her eyebrows are furrowed slightly, her mouth slack, her breathing thick and labored. In the pale moonlight, he can see a small sheen of sweat across her forehead. She twitches restlessly.

“Ellie?” Joel whispers, taking a hesitant few steps closer to the bed.

His voice is feather-light, yet her eyes flutter open at the sound. Blinking into awareness, she looks up to meet his gaze, suddenly alert.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie sits up swiftly, only to wince and press her hand against her forehead. “Oh. Joel. I’m cold.”

He doesn’t miss the way her body trembles and the fine hair on her arms stands at attention. Her voice is a raspy croak, tinted with discomfort and soreness.

“I’ll get the heater goin’,” he promises. “Are you feeling alright?”

She averts her eyes, and he knows the answer to his question. This little girl doesn’t call for him at the slightest bit of discomfort. This girl has grown up bathed in pain, misery and strife. She doesn’t recognize when her own health or safety might be in jeopardy, moreover, she isn’t as afraid of that concept as she should be. Too many close calls have left her to disregard simple things like a sore throat or a headache as mere inconveniences, not signs of distress.

“You look a little clammy,” he says. “I think we oughtta check your temperature.”

“Hold on, there’s a joke there somewhere,” she muses. “Clams, ocean…ugh. Can’t get there yet. Come back to me on it.”

He ignores her rambling and steps forward to press the back of his hand against her forehead, hoping to find a reassuring temperature. Instead, he pulls his hand back with shock and concern.

“What the hell, kid? You’re burnin’ up.”

“Well sor-ree my built-in thermometer didn’t sound the alarm while I slept. Oh wait, that’s stupid and I don’t have one.” She scowls at him and he’s relieved she’s at least feeling well enough to give him attitude.

“I’m gonna get a cold rag,” Joel replies, ignoring her sass.

He wishes things were like they were before, where an exact number for her temperature was just a quick tongue depressor away.

“No!” Ellie insists, having the decency to look a little remorseful for her attitude. “I’m so cold already.”

“That’d be the fever, little girl.” He moves for the door.

He’s stopped by a small voice asking, “Joel?”

He can’t help but remember when a voice so similar, in the exact same cadence, was asking, dad?

“Yes, Ellie?” He tilts his head over his shoulder to look at her.

“I…” she hesitates unsurely, “is a fever like…something that can kill you?”

Oh. And he so often forgets she’s never lived a normal life. Probably never known a routine illness that knocks you on your ass for a few days til you down some cold medicine and get back to runnin’. In Ellie’s world, sick, infected, these words mean death.

“No darlin,” he hopes his voice comes out as assuring as he wants. “Just means we gotta keep you cool til it all passes. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Ellie keeps her eyes glued to his face, nodding reluctantly.

She doesn’t speak, but he swears he can almost hear the “I need you daddy” in the silence.

At least that's how it feels. It puts a bit more hustle in his step as he walks back into the hallway, trying to keep his composure so she doesn’t worry too much.

The first thing he does is turn the heater on low, just enough to take the frosty edge off his digits and hopefully not too much that it exacerbates her fever.

Then, he fills a canteen with cold water, grabs a small metal bowl from under the sink, and a sleeve of plain crackers from the pantry. Finally, he soaks a short kitchen towel in the ice-cold water that drips from their faucet.

Stepping into Ellie’s room with his arms full of supplies, he’s unnerved to see her bed empty. He’s confused for a half-second, until he notices the bathroom light on behind the closed door.

Moving is a blur. He throws the stuff on her bed and lurches for the bathroom, his hand on the knob when he’s stopped by her frail voice.

“Don’t come in here!” Ellie warns weakly. “It’s barf city. So gross. Vomit-a-palooza. Puke-“ she’s interrupted by a gag and then a violent-sounding stream of retching.

He decides not to heed her warning, instead opening the door and stepping inside to find the girl hunched over the toilet. Her back is trembling, shaking with gags and heaving breaths. Her hair is plastered to her sweat-soaked face. She looks so small, and weak. She’s already too thin from living the way she’s had to.

The sight of her losing more nutrients is so concerning he wishes he still had the option to speed-dial a pediatrician’s office and panic-ramble to the receptionist until he’s transferred.

Dropping to his knees beside her, Joel gathers up her choppy hair in one hand. He notices the rubber band she always keeps around her wrist, and he gently slides it off so he can wrangle her locks into a sloppy bun. Then, his palm flattens across her back and he rubs small circles, trying to calm the shaking emanating from her small body.

“You’re alright,” the words are out of his mouth before he even decides what to say; small and meaningless nothings that slip out like second nature. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. It’ll be over soon.”

“Your-knees,” she gasps between retches.

And she’s still worried about his old ass. He needs to get her a self-help book on how to put your own needs first or something.

“Don’t you worry about that, darlin’,” he assures her gently.

“But you’re so old,” she manages.

“Kid, will you just shut up?” Joel shakes his head, disbelieving at her ability to be such a snot even when she’s been taken down by illness.

“I’ll never shut up.” Ellie mutters.

God help him, he hopes she never does.

“Hey, you know what I heard from a girl at school?” Ellie asks tiredly.

“What’s that?”

“That sometimes when you puke it means you’re pregnant. Happened to her mom.”

“Well…sometimes I guess but it only happens to adults. You don’t need to be worried about that.”

“Please. I know perfectly well how it happens.” She snorts. “Let’s hope this isn’t that, huh?”

Joel feels the blood drain from his face. “Ellie-”

“Oh will you relax, old man? I’m just kidding! Now who’s clammy?” She laughs, but it’s a raspy parody of her normal giggle. At least she feels well enough to give him a conniption.

“That ain’t funny.”

“You should’ve known better than to fall for it.”

“Yeah, I should’a.”

“Hey Joel, it says gullible on the ceiling.”

“Enough. Are you finished?” He gestures obligatorily to the disgusting contents of the toilet bowl.

“Uh…” Ellie nods reluctantly. “I’m gonna hangout here. In case it happens again. Go back to bed.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Come on.” He wraps his hand around her skinny bicep to aid her to her feet.

“Joel,” she whines, “no. I’m gonna puke again, I just know it.”

“Probably, but let’s do it over in the bedroom.”

“Ew what is wrong with you?”

“Jesus Christ. I got you a bucket. Now come on and get in bed like a sick kid’s supposed to.”

Ellie narrows her eyes and scrunches up her nose, unmoving defiantly from her spot at the toilet.

With a heaving sigh, Joel reaches over her and flushes the nastiness down the drain. Then, he scoops her up in his arms, and rises to his feet.

“No no no!” She wails. “I’m gonna barf on you!”

“You better not.”

“Joel! Put me d-oof!” He drops her on the bed slightly harder than he intends to, cutting off her complaints.

With a groan, she rolls on her side, curling in on herself until she’s practically in the fetal position.

For a beat, he’s stopped in his tracks. Looking down at this sick little girl, he could be looking at his Sarah.

His chest aches. How can two kids be so goddamn different, but somehow still feel the same in his heart?

“Ellie,” Joel nudges her shoulder, “lay back. Let’s get this rag on your forehead.”

“I can’t,” she breathes, any trace of teasing seems to leech out of her voice with each word. “M’too cold. Too tired.”

“I know kiddo,” he murmurs, “but this will help.”

Ellie groans again, but obliges, rolling so she’s on her back looking at the ceiling. She’s nothing even close to obedient most of the time, but he thinks she can always tell when his orders are for a reason.

Joel places the rag across her forehead, trying not to wince in sympathy when she cringes away from the sudden cold and lets out a small noise of displeasure.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, gently pressing the rag into her clammy flesh. “Just trust me.”

“I do,” she whispers. Her eyes are closed and she’s got her arms wrapped around her torso like she’s holding her insides together.

Joel feels that familiar tug in his gut. The yearning, instinctive desire to stay close by her and tend to every need she has. Stepping away from this bed would go against everything in him. Every fiber of his being wants, no needs, to be right here in case his little girl needs him.

Thing is… this little girl ain’t Sarah. He didn’t help bring her into the world, or raise her up from a screaming little tot. He doesn’t know if he has the right to… do this. This… dad thing.

It certainly feels that way. Everyone in Jackson basically assumes they’re father and daughter. Tommy even refers to her as his niece when he introduces her, and Ellie never corrects him.

He feeds her all her meals, he squints in confusion at algebra homework with her, he’s teaching her to play guitar, and all about the world. What he knows of it, at least. She asks him questions about every little thing she doesn’t understand, and even teaches him a thing or two.

Sometimes during bad nights, when the memories overwhelm her and she doesn’t know what to do with all the feelings erupting in her chest, she creeps into his room and they talk for a few hours until she falls asleep against his side. He always moves her back to her bed, and they don’t mention it the next morning.

He’s risked his life for her, and she for him. He’s killed for her.

Sure as shit sounds like a father and daughter, don’t it?

But… they aren’t. Ellie isn’t his, no matter how much it feels that way. He doesn’t know if she wants him treating her like he would his own daughter, even if it sometimes comes out against his will.

Part of him wishes he could just ask her.

Hey kid, are you cool if we just drop the pretenses and you let me spoil you and treat you the way I desperately need to? The way you deserve? How’s that sound? Just let me be your dad. I promise, I know how to do it. And I know all the things not to do now. Know ‘em better than anyone.

Yeah. Not exactly a topic that’s broachable if he wants her to ever speak to him again.

So, even though it kills him a little, he gently pats her arm and says, “I’m just down the hall if you need me, alright kid? Just holler. I’m here.”

“You’re a deaf old man,” she snarls, though there’s no real malice behind the words.

She has a point, he supposes.

Before he can reply, Ellie says, “sorry. I’m fine Joel. Go to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up.” She pauses. “Hey how’d I wake you up anyway? Wasn’t even tossing my cookies until you came in.”

“Now I know I ain’t exactly pretty, but my face never made someone toss their cookies before.” He quips.

“Joel.” For once, her expression is somber.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck.

I had a dream, a memory of my other daughter when she was sick and I just felt like I needed to come see you.

No, that won’t do.

“Just had a feeling, that’s all.” He shrugs.

“You had a feeling.” She repeats blankly.

“Uh-huh. You know I’m a genius, right?”

“Right. That’s why you asked me the other day how to spell copious.” Ellie reminds him lightly.

“Too many vowels,” he scoffs.

“Yup. You’re a genius.”

“Alright, you need to get some rest. G’night Ellie.”

She offers him a small salute. He resists the urge to smile. Little dork.

His feet have just crossed the threshold into the hall when he hears it again. The telltale sound of a gag, followed by heinous retching noises.

He doesn’t even know how he gets from the door back to the bedside, just that the next second, he’s there. His hand is on her back, smoothing circles up and down between her shoulder blades. His other braces around the back of the bucket so she doesn’t drop it.

“Hey, you’re alright,” he murmurs, “you’re okay sweetheart.”

“Joel,” she whines, and it’s enough to make a grown man cry, really.

“I know, I know darlin’. Shh it’s okay,” he brings his hand up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, the action a muscle memory he didn’t realize he had until his fingers complete the movement.

Time passes in a weird, hazy state until he’s sure she’s done vomiting and he carefully pulls the bucket out of her trembling arms. She looks up at him, pallor face sweat-soaked. Those big brown eyes are ringed with dark circles, and her lips are cracked and dry. Poor thing.

“Right back,” he promises in a hurried voice, before he heads to the bathroom to rinse out her sick.

Joel remembers worrying before Sarah was born about his capability to handle the bodily fluids. The pee, poop, puke. The gross shit. Everyone told him “oh it’s different when they’re yours.” He didn’t believe it until she was here, and he found out it was true. When your kid is unwell, the only thing you can feel is worry. There’s no room for anything else.

He’s not sure what he expected, but when he rinses the chunky green slop down the sink, all he can think about is if she’s going to be okay. He doesn’t even bat an eye when he has to squish some of it down the shitty old drain with his fingers. Though, he’d like to not do it again.

By the time he’s back in the bedroom, Ellie has pulled herself into a sitting position against her headboard, knees tucked up in her arms. The rag has fallen off her face, and she looks ready to keel over.

“Hey, little one, you need to lie down.” He cautions.

“My head hurts,” she moans, “and I feel like I’m gonna throw up again. I hate that. Puking is the worst. My throat is burning.”

“I hear ya,” he concedes. He sets the bucket down beside her on the bed and passes her the canteen of water. “Take a few small sips. Small. Slow.”

“How long is this gonna last?” She asks, with genuine misery in her voice.

His heart clenches. “Just a few days at most.”

“Nooo,” she whines, “aren't there some drugs I can take?”

Joel hesitates. “Not much kiddo. I can swing over to Tommy’s and see if they have any-“

“No!” Ellie’s reply is instantaneous, and he feels her small fingers grasp his wrist. The weak, frail grasp only serves to worry him further. It’s like being touched by a butterfly. “Please don’t leave, don’t leave.”

“Alright, alright hey. M’not going anywhere kid.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” Ellie admits, and Joel thinks he might see a hint of shame in her expression.

His stomach twists up in a knot. He hates that the world she’s grown up in has left her to believe that needing someone is a sign of weakness; something to be ashamed of. She’s just a fucking little girl for crying out loud.

“That’s quite alright darlin’,” Joel murmurs. “Scootch.”

Ellie looks up at him, a hint of surprise on her face. “But I’m gross. You don’t want to be near me.”

“I don’t mind kid, you’ve been way grosser.”

“Hm,” she nods, “that’s true. Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”

“Not one bit.”

A small smile tugs at her dry lips, and she scooches over so he can climb into bed beside her. Her bed is smaller than his, a double compared to his queen sized, but he doesn’t want to move her more than she needs to. Her sheets are soaked with sweat, which is sort of gross, but he barely even notices it.

She lays back next to him, and he drapes the cold washcloth over her forehead again. Heat emanates off her body. He tries not to let it panic him too much.

There’s a sustained quiet where he thinks she’s fallen asleep. There’s no noise beside her labored breathing and his occasional readjusting on the bed. His eyelids feel heavy, but he doubts he could fall asleep now that he knows she’s unwell.

Ellie breaks the silence with a soft, “Joel?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t sleep. I feel so shitty.”

“I’m sorry baby girl. What can I do?”

“Can we just talk for a while? Like we do when I have a nightmare?”

“‘Course.”

“Can I ask you questions?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Will you tell me about your wife? You said you were married for a super short time. But you never mention her.”

Joel hesitates. He’d just started being comfortable opening up about Sarah to Ellie, and even still those retellings are stilted and reluctant.

“I know you were married young.” Ellie recounts. “You had Sarah when you were…like 22, right?”

“Mhm.”

“And… she wasn’t in Sarah’s life.” Ellie fills in. “I just don’t know why.”

Joel exhales heavily. “This ain’t exactly pleasant bedtime talk, kid.”

“Oh.” Understanding creeps into her voice. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Thanks.”

“So…Sarah wasn’t the first person you lost?”

“No. She wasn’t.”

“That’s so unfair.” Ellie shakes her head. “I…I’m really sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault, Ellie. It was a long time ago.”

“Time heals all wounds?” She guesses.

It wasn’t time that did it, he thinks as he looks over at her pale face, bathed in glimmering moonlight.

“You talk too much,” he says.

“You don’t talk enough,” she argues.

“That’s cause you take up all the air.”

“Har-har.” Ellie rolls her eyes.

“You really oughtta sleep.” Joel reminds her. “You can’t get better if you don’t rest.”

“Alright alright you old grouch.” She scooches in a bit closer, and he tries not to worry about how hot her skin feels against his side. He pulls the rag off her forehead and touches it again, frowning.

“Let me resoak this.” He moves to stand.

“Wait, wait,” Ellie’s voice is suddenly desperate. She grasps at his arm, eyes wide and panicked at his suggestion of departure.

“Hey, kiddo I’m coming right back I promise.”

It’s so odd to be needed like this again, but also something about it just feels right in his bones. He brushes a damp lock of hair behind her ear with his fingers, and she shudders.

“Hurry,” she orders, and he needs no further encouragement.

Joel returns from the bathroom a few minutes later, brows furrowing as he notices she’s finally lying down still.

Instinctively, he reaches down to press his palm gently on her back, which confirms she’s breathing. He places the cold rag on her face, unable to help the small smile as he looks down at her sleeping frame.

Another little girl who needs him. He climbs back into bed, and tries to get some shut-eye.

He doesn’t anticipate a restful sleep, not with a sick kid to tend to.

The sun has just barely begun to peak out from behind the mountains when his ears wake him. The familiar sound of barfing.

Joel is up like a shot, turning to see Ellie beside him in bed, hunched over the bucket and vomiting. Her entire body trembles, she’s drenched with sweat, and by the sounds of it her throat is agitated by the constant retching.

“Oh, baby girl.” He goes back to the rhythmic circles between her shoulder blades, concern furrowing his brow at the heat of her body beneath her clothes. She’s really burning up. It’s the sort of temperature that would have him rushing Sarah to the ER on a night like this.

Ellie doesn’t reply, too engulfed in her awful retching to be chatty. She makes this awful noise, this aborted sound that’s half-whimper half-groan. Her body is trembling, heat emanating off her like a furnace from the fever.

“Ellie,” he murmurs, “you with me darlin’?”

“Dad?” Her voice is a weep. One of her shaking hands reaches over toward him.

Joel feels like he’s been struck in the chest with a golf club. The air shoots out of his lungs like a popping balloon, and he struggles to regain some breath.

Did she just-

“Dad?” Ellie whimpers, her hand still reaching for his. Tears stream down her face.

Frantically, Joel grasps her hand, forcing the words out, “I-I’m here sweetheart. I’m here.”

“I feel really sick.” Ellie moans. “I feel really sick.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, forcing his incoherent thoughts into a small bundle and shoving them into the back of his brain. He can overthink how this makes him feel later; right now, his daughter needs him.

“Baby, you’ve got quite a fever. I’m gonna take you over to Maria and Tommy’s. Hang on.” He moves to stand up.

“No, no!” Ellie screeches, dropping the bucket haphazardly and scrambling toward him like she’s in a trance. Her weak fingers catch his wrist, and she tugs on him. “Please don’t leave me!”

“Hey, hey baby I’m not going anywhere.” He rushes back to her side, ignoring the puddle of spilled sick. Problem for later. “Just getting my shoes, honey. I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry.” She pleads, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her red eyes. The fever seems to have taken every ounce of Ellie resistance out of her.

In record time he’s got his boots on and thrown his jacket around her body, pulling her up into his arms. Tommy lives just three houses down.

They brave the cold, brisk air and the crunch of snow under his feet as the sunlight begins to crest over the mountaintops in the distance, illuminating their frantic pursuit.

“Tommy!” He bangs on the door twice, still trying to hold on to the trembling girl in his arms. “Tommy, damnit! Open up!”

A moment later, Maria appears in the doorway. She’s scowling, until her gaze casts down and she sees Ellie in his arms.

“Come in,” she steps aside, allowing Joel to rush inside.

He moves to set her down on the couch, but she clings to his neck and cries, and he can’t bring himself to release her.

“You can radio the doctor, right? Call her!” Joel orders a confused Maria.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Call the damn doctor!”

“Joel, what’s going on?” Tommy enters the doorway, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Ellie. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with Ellie?”

“She’s got a fever, been throwing up. Something ain’t right, Tommy it’s not like when Sarah was sick. Something is really wrong.”

He hears Maria rush into the other room to radio the only doctor in Jackson. Tommy closes the distance between them and brushes a lock of damp hair from Ellie’s face worriedly. Her hazy eyes crack open, brightening slightly when she sees him.

“Uncle Tommy?” She breathes.

“Hey dumplin’,” he offers her his trademark “I’m freaking the fuck out but don’t wanna scare you” smile. “Feelin’ a little under the weather?”

Her hands reach for him, and Tommy takes one, eyes going wide as he turns to Joel, clearly noticing her temperature.

“Yeah.” Joel says gruffly. “I ain’t barging in for no reason.”

“What’s wrong?” Ellie’s frail voice pipes up. She’s looking at them both with concern on her face, but her eyes aren’t quite there, as if she’s seeing something different than the reality in front of her.

“Oh nothing’s wrong kiddo,” Tommy assures her, and Joel finds even his own shoulders relaxing slightly at his brother’s soothing words. “Everything is gonna be just fine.”

“Am I going to die?” She asks, and both brothers are unable to help the wince that passes through them almost simultaneously. Joel knows if it weren’t for the high fever wreaking havoc on her reasoning, she wouldn’t have asked the question so bluntly. But somehow her fever brain made her say the perfect words to make these two men feel more afraid than they’d both thought possible.

“Of course not baby,” Joel tells her, trying like Hell to keep his voice steady. “You’ve just got the flu. Maria is getting the doctor and you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“I thought I was immune,” she argues, her eyes fluttering despite her desperate attempts to keep them open.

“Not to everything.”

Though, god he wishes that weren’t true. Wishes he could just wrap her up in a plastic bubble and stand guard with a rifle to make sure nothing dangerous got near.

Eventually, Tommy corrals him into sitting on the couch, Ellie still curled up in his lap. She nestles her face into the crook of his neck, and he holds her as tightly as possible without damaging her.

He tries not to think of another night where he felt -knew- his little girl was dying. Where he held her in his arms just the same way, desperately keeping her close, clinging to her limp body, kissing her bloodied forehead.

Is this something slower, but just as insidious? Maybe her appendix is rupturing, does Jackson have the resources for a surgery like that? He doesn’t know, but he does know that the thought of anything happening to this kid makes his entire body feel like it’s wrapped in barbed wire.

The scar on his head throbs. The inquisition of what he might do if he loses Ellie, weighs heavily on his shoulders.

He likes to think he’s better now, things are different. But the truth is, they’re only better because of one thing.

Her.

It feels like an eternity before the doctor finally arrives, loaded up with a little black bag and a thermometer. She moves toward the couch with a wrinkled forehead, kneeling in front of them while Tommy and Maria watch from the corner.

“Tell me what’s going on.” The doctor, a stern-looking woman named Pat, insists.

“Found her in bed at around 11:30, looking pretty clammy. Not too long after that she started throwing up. On and off all night. Said her head was hurting too. Fever’s the thing that’s got me worried.” Joel is hardly aware of the words spilling out of his mouth, just trying to get her the vital information in the hopes that she can fix this.

“Has she been drinking?” Pat asks.

“I drink all the time,” Ellie puts in weakly, her fever-laced words sounding like a confession,“Joel lets me drink beer.”

Three pairs of eyes look at him in alarm, and he sighs gruffly. “She had a half-expired root beer last month when we were able to get the old system working at the bar. I’ve been trying to get water in her, but it comes right back up.”

“When did she last eat?”

“About 6:30, dinner. We had steak and eggs, she eats that all the time.”

Pat nods thoughtfully. “Alright. Could just be run of the mill flu. Some of the kids at school have come down with it.”

Joel fills in the unsaid remaining word in her sentence, “…or?”

The woman looks at him seriously. “It could be any number of things. Let’s check her temperature. What is her name again?”

“Ellie.” Joel says the name through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Ellie?” Pat reaches over to touch Ellie’s arm, the girl flinches.

“Dad?” She grasps at Joel’s face with trembling fingers, as if trying to reassure herself a familiar presence is still here.

“I’m here baby,” he soothes gently, “the doctor is here too. She’s gonna take your temperature. She’s here to help.”

Ellie stares up at him with wide eyes, soaking in each word like a well-written gospel.

“It’s okay darlin’,' ' Joel murmurs, “it’s gonna be just fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He tries not to linger on the fact that he may not have a choice. He can’t bear the thought of losing another daughter, especially to something as ridiculous as the flu.

Go figure. They’ve taken down hordes of infected, rebels, raiders, and disgusting monsters dressed as preachers, and they’re going down from the fucking flu?

No. Not happening. It can’t.

Ellie allows the doctor to take her temperature, which causes Pat’s frown to deepen.

“What?” Joel demands roughly.

He notices Tommy take a half-step forward, like he wants to do something but isn’t sure what. It’s the same abandoned movement he’d taken toward Sarah upon realizing she was gone. The thought only makes Joel more anxious.

“103.2,” says Pat unhappily.

The blood drains from Joel’s face, leaving his head feeling like it’s going to float off his body. He doesn’t know much about medicine, but he knows for sure a fever that fuckin’ high is not a good thing. It’s a life-threatening thing.

“I have some medication for extreme cases like this.” Pat’s tone sounds like she’s trying to be reassuring, but Joel can only pick up on one thing.

Ellie is an extreme case?

“I don’t see any signs of infection or appendicitis,” Pat continues, “looks like the flu to me. We’ll get her fever down and monitor her, make sure she’s hydrated and I think she’ll be fine after a day or two.”

“You think?” Joel doesn’t mean for his voice to come out quite as harshly as it does, but by the way Pat instinctively leans back, he can tell he’s menaced her.

“Alright,” Maria steps in, always the mediator, looking at Pat, “how can I help?”

The women get to work preparing Ellie’s medicine while Tommy joins Joel on the couch, his fingers nervously kneading the thread of his sweatpants. Outside, sunlight streams through the billowy curtains of the living room windows.

Ellie’s face is buried in Joel’s chest, though the way her hands clench around his neck, he can tell she’s awake. He cradles her there, palm cupping her head as his thumb gently strokes rhythmic motions along her hair.

“Joel?” Tommy asks quietly.

“Hm?”

“Did she-“ he pauses, looking down at the feverish girl before he turns back to his brother, “did she call you dad?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, all he can do is nod.

“Wow,” Tommy manages a small smile, “finally.”

“What?”

“We figured it was only a matter of time.”

Joel sighs. “I… it’s just the fever. She’s confused.”

His little brother chuckles once, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Joel. I think, maybe for the first time ever, she ain’t confused at all.”

As if to punctuate Tommy’s point, Ellie reaches up again and grasps Joel’s collar. Her knuckles are white and shaky, and she doesn’t speak, but her grip is firm.

“M’dad takes care of me,” she mumbles, obviously half-coherent, “comes back. Always comes back.”

“I know he does dumplin’,” Tommy agrees warmly. “I think you take care of him too.”

Christ. His brother truly has no idea how right he is.

It takes an agonizing twelve hours, but eventually, Ellie’s fever breaks for good.

She sleeps it out most of the time, only waking occasionally from her fitful rest to vomit or cry out for Joel -dad, she says-.

He stays by her side, holed up in Tommy and Maria’s spare room. It’s not as nice as the comfort of their own shared home, but Maria has direct comms with the doctor should she need to return. Besides, it really doesn’t matter what four walls surround them.

Joel feels at home with this little girl in his arms.

It’s just around dinner time when Ellie’s eyes flutter open again. She looks more alert this time, her gaze coherent and aware. Her pale skin has a touch more color, flushed pinkness to her freckled cheeks. Her skin isn’t so hot, just slightly warmer than normal.

She reaches out instinctively, and Joel grabs her wandering hand. Their eyes meet, her apparently taking stock of their surroundings and realizing they aren’t in her bed.

“Are we at Uncle Tommy’s?” She asks, looking bewildered.

This gives Joel the confirmation he needs. She doesn’t remember last night, any of her fever-stricken words, surely doesn’t remember calling him dad and probably didn’t mean to.

Maybe he should pull back.

“Yes,” he releases her hand, which makes her frown, “we had to get the doctor over to get you some meds for the fever. Had us a little worried there for a minute.”

Understatement of the century, he thinks.

“Oh,” Ellie grimaces, “yikes. Sorry for all the fuss.”

“No,” Joel’s unable to help the reflexive movement of his hand to tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “It isn’t your fault Ellie, don’t apologize.”

“Well it doesn’t take much for you to go all doomsday,” Ellie notes, “hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

Only potentially the second-worst night of my life, he thinks.

“Nothing to write home about,” he says.

She nods, wrinkling up her nose. “My breath is heinous, isn’t it?”

He almost laughs, relief bursting through him as he realizes his Ellie is back. Her silly sense of humor, with a small bite of self deprecation that makes his heart ache a little. Still, it’s nice to hear his girl sound like herself again.

“I hadn’t even noticed,” he assures her, and it’s true. How could he possibly be thinking of something like that when he wasn’t sure if she’d even recover?

“Pfft whatever.” She rolls on her side, moving for the edge of the bed to stand.

Joel doesn’t remember getting up, but the next instant he’s standing beside the bed, his arms thrown forward as if prepared to catch her. She looks up at him with surprise, and their bewildered gazes meet.

“Slow down,” is all he can muster.

“Now why don’t you always move that fast?” She demands.

“Because I’m an old man. You need to move more slow.”

“Ah, c’mon, a little flu can’t take down the girl who's immune to cordyceps.” Ellie waves a hand dismissively and moves past him toward the bathroom.

You don’t know, he thinks as he watches her walk away, you didn’t see it. You don’t remember it.

“Am I going to die?” Her words from last night reverberate through his skull like a baton swinging wildly.

He doesn’t mean to wait outside the bathroom like a hawk, but when she emerges after far too long, she looks at him like he’s got two heads.

“Christ!” She exclaims, clearly startled to see him there. “Jesus, Joel. Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s creepy to wait outside the bathroom for a lady?”

“You were taking a while, I was about to knock.”

“Can’t a girl get a little privacy to wash barf out of her mouth?” Ellie mutters dryly.

Joel feels like his head is going to explode. He’s so confused and overwhelmed. He’d spent the past eighteen hours worrying she was in grave danger, and now she’s walking around like nothing happened.

She called him dad. She reached for him, pleaded for him to stay close, held his hand and burrowed into his shirt. He cradled her like a baby, not wanting to let go until he absolutely had to.

They were each other’s sanctuary through what was objectively a terrifying night. And it wasn’t the first time either, not by a long shot.

He has to say something. He feels like he’s going to erupt if he doesn’t get this shit sorted out.

“Ellie,” he finds himself speaking before he can wrangle the words back into his brain, “I need to tell you something.”

She pauses from her spot beside the bed, glancing over at him. “What?”

“Last night, when you were mighty sick…you…you…”

Come on you old fool. Just fuckin spit it out.

“You called me dad.”

He doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen slightly, her lips drawing tight. Her body goes stiff, hands freezing their movement. For a moment, she looks almost panicked.

“Um…” Ellie scrambles, “I-I’m sorry. I… don’t remember… I mean, I wasn’t trying to- I know you’re not-“

“Ellie,” he cuts her off, braving a hesitant step closer.

“Yeah?”

“I um…just wanted you to know, if you didn’t mean it, no harm done. But if you did… well, you know that’s okay, right?”

Her eyes soften a bit, brows pulling up like she hadn’t expected him to say that. He notes the slight tremble in her lower lip.

She looks at him like he’s just revealed some sort of grand secret, some key to a deeper understanding of the universe. Like he’s given her the spaceship she’s always wanted, and now she’s free to fly it wherever she pleases, unencumbered by a loneliness she’s grown so accustomed to.

“It’s just… I’ve never had one before.” Ellie says bashfully, averting her eyes like she’s embarrassed. “And um… I guess sometimes it just feels like you-“ she halts, as if unsure if she should continue.

“I get it,” he swoops in, taking another step closer. “It feels like that for me, too.”

Ellie swallows noisily, wringing her hands. “It does?”

“Of course it does, darlin’. You…” the words feel stuck in his throat. Damnit. Why can’t he just fucking say what he’s thinking?

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Ellie asks before he can try again.

“That’s a loaded question.” He mutters.

“Joel…”

“I was afraid.” He replies simply. And it’s true.

She nods once. “Me too. I… I didn’t know if you felt the same way and… and I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to… replace anyone.” Her eyes flick up to the ceiling like they sometimes do when she talks about people they’ve lost, even though she says she doesn’t believe in Heaven.

Her next words are ones he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

“I didn’t want Sarah to… think I was taking her dad away from her.”

Fuck. As if Ellie could ever possibly understand what those simple words do to him. As if he could ever make her grasp that by saying those exact words, she’s only reinforcing everything he’s been feeling since the first time he laid eyes on her.

This girl was meant to be here, with him. His purpose, his only reason for existing, is to protect her.

He can almost hear Sarah’s voice in his head:

Daddy, go give the girl a hug for crying out loud!

His legs move before his brain can approve the action.

Wordlessly, he pulls Ellie against his chest and wraps his arms tightly around her. To his relief, she hugs back, her frail arms lock around his waist and she presses her face into his torso.

She’s so small. So fragile. So tough and strong, but in her heart, so goddamn fucking kind that it makes his head spin. She’s the type of person to grow up and change the world, he just knows it.

“Ellie,” he manages to get the words out through a pathetic attempt not to cry, “you know that I…that I… love you, right kid?”

She doesn’t remove her face from his shirt, but she sniffles out a wet-sounding laugh. “Well, you don’t exactly say it. But I know it. You make me breakfast, you teach me things, you hold me when I’m scared. You yell at me when I get detention. You never let anything hurt me. It feels like that’s what love is.”

Joel’s eyes squeeze shut, the weight of her words washing over him like a soothing balm.

“Besides, I love you too, so it isn’t weird or anything.”

God. If anything ever happens to this girl he-

No, he tells his brain, stop thinking like that. Just fucking enjoy this moment.

So he does. He holds her just a little bit tighter, and promises himself he’s going to tell her that he loves her in every way he can, every chance he gets.