Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jackson's town square sits at Ellie's boot tips, an organic tapestry knitted together by a hardy society of survivors. As the bright rays of morning finger their way across the rugged Wyoming landscape, they paint the community in hues of warm gold, breathing the kind of life into the settlement that only a new day can.

Life courses through Jackson's veins with a vivacity that harkens back to pre-outbreak times (what she's learned of them through Joel's nostalgic stories, at least), yet Ellie finds herself standing as a kind of solitary island in this bustling stream, her eyes skimming across the tableau playing out before her. She pulls at the edges of her jacket sleeves, a familiar armor against the invasive chill.

The joyous clamor of children ripples through the square, their laughter a sunburst against the stubborn mid-spring frost. Each peal of youthful joy lands like a well-aimed arrow in Ellie's heart, a sharp contrast to the utilitarian confines of the Quarantine Zone she grew up in. It's not a craving for their sheltered innocence that sinks into her, but their undiluted and oblivious joy, a potent reminder of the harsh divide between the only world she's known before Jackson, and theirs.

The soft breeze delivers the scent of freshly baked bread that waltzes with the dew-kissed earthy scent of the morning, an intoxicating medley. Ellie allows herself a moment, eyes closed, to bask in the heady scent.

"Morning looks good on ya, squirt." Tommy's voice cuts through her moment of respite, and she turns, meeting the crinkles around his eyes that house his smile.

"Yeah, well... I'm just catching some sun," Ellie responds, mildly annoyed but happy to see him nonetheless.

"Maria's been lookin' for ya," he continues. "Wants your say on decoratin' the nursery walls. Joel mentioned your soft spot for giraffes, but I'm leanin' towards lions n' tigers n' bears, oh my!"

Tommy's chuckle at his own humor grates on Ellie's nerves. His words often carry the weight of past pop culture references, reminders of a bygone era that she never knew. It can be pretty fucking frustrating at times when the old timers weave their stories in threads she can't follow.

"I tell ya though," Tommy carries on, brushing off her apparent bemusement, "I know my missus. She'll back ya on this one just to ruffle my feathers. Got that whole 'Girl Power' sentiment goin' strong. We need our little man to go on n' get born already, give me some backup against you women."

"'You women,' huh?" Ellie retorts. It's not so much Tommy's remark that gets her goat, but the way he says it—as if he were a poor, lone soldier stuck on a battlefield filled with fearsome ladies and their lethal estrogen bombs.

He winks at her, his eyes filled with warmth. "Just ribbin' ya. I don't stand a chance against the two o' you gals, but I know I got a good thing goin', and I ain't complainin'. Maria's probably in the greenhouse by this time, if you don't mind droppin' in."

With a nod, Ellie heads off, feeling his gaze follow. As she wanders towards the greenhouse, her mind drifts to Tommy's wife. Strong and steadfast Maria, who had worked hard with the other founding members to build this haven in the midst of hell. She's become an extension of the patchwork family Ellie's found in Joel and Tommy.

The thought of Joel triggers a pang, a longing that's become an undercurrent to her existence. His rough-edged voice that conceals a world of affection, his anecdotes of the world that was, his stoic yet comforting presence—she misses him already, despite only a brief separation this morning.

Reaching the greenhouse, she hesitates a moment, her gaze lingering over the worn wooden panels and aged glass panes. It's a symbol, she thinks: one of persistence, of life pushing up through the rubble. Opening the door, she's greeted by a rush of moist air and the rich scent of earth and growing things. Rows of vibrant green leaves stretch out, and her gaze finds Maria, hunched over a planter, her fingers deftly moving through the verdant foliage.

"Morning," Ellie greets, a twinge of hesitation in her voice. She isn't nearly as close to Maria as she is with Joel or even Tommy, but there's an unspoken understanding between them, a silent bond forged by shared experiences.

Maria's response is immediate and welcoming, a smile blossoming despite the fatigue shadowing her eyes. "Ellie! Glad you're here. Got some ideas to show you."

She spreads out some drawings on a table nearby, sketches of a nursery filled with the wild imagination of a child's dreams. Ellie can't help but smile at the innocence of it all—the idea that life, even in its rawest and most vulnerable forms, continues to thrive amidst the outside world's decay.

They fall into easy conversation; Maria's enthusiasm is infectious, and soon Ellie finds herself chuckling at the spirited depiction of the 'lions, tigers, and bears' mural that Tommy's rooting for. It's a moment of normalcy that allows Ellie to be a teenager and a friend, rather than the battle-hardened survivor role she'd slipped into over the months winding her way across the country with Joel.

She doesn't know how long she spends there, but as she exits the greenhouse, the town is bathed in morning's rich, honeyed glow. People nod kindly or voice their hellos, the scars and stories etched on their faces a reminder of the world they're continually striving to rebuild. A world that she, too, is now a part of. Ellie wonders if she's worthy of it—of this sheltered life, and this second chance. Under her jacket, her fingers trace the raised scar of her bite marks, brushing against a reality that's never quite lost its sting. A question lingers, wrapping her in its folds: how does one who's been branded by an existence of ceaseless struggle truly find her place in this extraordinary dance of ordinary life?

Through the hum and bustle of the town, a familiar drawl winds its way to her, like a lasso of understanding tethered to a shared past. She halts, her gaze finding its way to the figure leaning against a nearby building.

Joel, cradling his coffee mug, raises it in salute. "Thought I'd find you here," he calls, Texan accent thick on his tongue, a sonic heirloom that's become ever more pronounced now that he and Tommy have been rekindling their roots. His words twine around her like an old familiar melody, a comforting refrain she hadn't realized she'd been yearning for so much during his brief absence this morning.

"Guess you think you got me all figured out, huh?" Ellie responds. A grin spreads across Joel's face, a sunrise of joy etching into his weathered features, deepening the smile lines at the corners of his eyes.

He speaks softly as she approaches, his voice embodying a gentle wind rustling through prairie grass. "Look, darlin', I ain't claimin' to be no prophet, but I'm tellin' ya... bein' a townie looks good on you."

Ellie holds his gaze, her eyes flickering with a mosaic of emotions. After a moment of silence pregnant with unspoken words, she nods. "Whatever you say, old man. I'm headin' back home. Coming?"

With every dozen or so steps, Ellie can't shake off a stolen glance at Joel as he ambles behind in her wake. His steadfast presence hums a melody of belonging—a sense of kinship that transcends the fortified walls of Jackson and finds its roots deep within her heart.

But a flicker of unease persists, like a stubborn ember refusing to die out: her concealed truth—the reality of her immunity, a constant reminder of her otherness. As she navigates her way through the thriving world of Jackson, she feels comfort as well as a foreignness in its rhythmic patterns of mundane life. It's a dance she's still learning, stumbling through the steps as best she can with each new day that dawns.

Arriving at home, she pushes open the door, the morning light bathing the interior and illuminating the age-hardened floorboards. The sight stirs something within her: a glimmer of hope, perhaps, or the budding notion of acceptance.

In this new world, built on the ashes of the old, she's learning to find her own rhythm in this concert of life, and fully embrace the intricate quilt of her identity. As Joel joins her, their shared silence enveloping them like a comforting shawl, she finds solace in this makeshift family comprised of Joel, Tommy, and Maria. Maybe that's all it needs to be, she muses—people who recognize the stories etched in our scars, and see the strength that lies beneath.

"Enjoy your walk?" Joel's question fills their home as they cross into its warmth, his voice carrying an inherent rough charm. His eyes—usually the embodiment of steadfast resolve—reveal a hint of concern. He's her steadfast guardian, always casting a protective glance her way even when she's out of sight. Ellie usually finds solace in his vigilance, although she rarely openly admits it. She's always brushing it off, sometimes feigning annoyance at his ever-watchful eye. But truth be told, she finds immense comfort in Joel's care. He's got a way of making her feel like she's got a place in the world, like there's someplace, and someone, she can always call home.

She deflects his question in her nonchalant way. "Just another fuckin' sunny spring day," she shrugs as she moves past him, seeking the heart of their house. But Joel doesn't miss the subtle unrest in her eyes.

"Darlin'" he calls gently, "you know you can talk to me about anything, right? M'always here for ya."

A dry swallow catches in her throat, her eyes fixating on the dusty floorboards. "I know. It's all good," she murmurs, a far cry from her usual brash response.

He nods. "Well, Maria's got a bit of a bee in her bonnet 'bout this nursery thing. Giraffes, lions—hell, it ain't like the baby's gonna know the difference. But ya just gotta play along, 'specially with the big day approachin'. You could lend her a hand, keep her distracted with your sass. Don't mean to say you're obligated to jump in, though. I know baby stuff might not be your thing."

Ellie meets his gaze with an attempt at a smile. "Nah, I'm cool. Screw Tommy and his cat fetish. If Maria wants giraffes, she's gonna get some motherfuckin' giraffes!"

Joel's lips twitch upward in an affectionate smile. "That's my girl."

Maybe this is a slice of normal she can get used to, Ellie thinks as she strides towards the kitchen. Maybe these fragments of routine, of family, aren't a betrayal of the girl that FEDRA and people like Marlene and David forced her to be... But rather, a stepping stone to the girl she could now allow herself to become.

Their midday meal eaten and dishes washed, Ellie makes her way across the road, a mix of trepidation and curiosity tugging at her insides. Her knuckles rap lightly against the worn wooden door, and Tommy greets her with a door swung wide and a face crinkling into a grin. His husky Texan voice envelops her in an easy welcome. "Well, there y'are! C'mon in."

Ellie steps into the heart of the Miller home, the thick, tantalizing aroma of something baking wafting around her, the scent intertwining with an invisible thread of anticipation, tying every corner of the room together. Maria, every inch the picture of radiant motherhood, offers a soft smile that chases away the remnants of springtime chill.

"Should've gotten around to planning the nursery before I ballooned up the size of a damn house," Maria quips, hands instinctively cradling her bump, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mirth and exasperation. "It's all Tommy's fault. That's my story, and I'm damn well sticking to it."

Tommy throws his hands up in an act of playful surrender. "Don't go pinnin' this one on me, darlin'! You're the one fussin' over animals like we're handpickin' passengers for Noah's ark. Doesn't make a lick of difference whatcha pick. Little Thomas Jr's gonna love it!"

Maria groans, playfully rolling her eyes at her husband. "We're not having the 'Thomas Jr' debate again. Our kid's gonna have his own name, got it?"

Amidst the ribbing and laughter, Ellie finds herself a little adrift, missing the comforting presence of Joel anchoring her. "So, uh..." She scratches the back of her neck, avoiding their eyes. "What're you gonna call him then?"

The couple flashes synchronized smiles, the simple joy of impending parenthood etched onto their faces. "We've been thinking of Isaac," Maria responds, "after Joel and Tommy's grandfather."

Ellie chews on her lip, attempting to cover up her surprise and a twinge of something resembling envy. "Isaac Miller, huh?" A smirk tugs at her lips. "Way better than Tommy Jr, that's for fuckin' sure."

Maria bursts out laughing, while Tommy groans in mock exasperation.

"Atta girl," Maria says, smiling. "This two-against-one thing has its charm. You're sure gonna be useful around here."

Tommy leans back on his heels, squaring his shoulders in a sign of playful defeat. "Alright, I'm officially outnumbered. Gonna head over to Joel's, give him the lowdown on this double-crossin' nonsense. Y'all have fun planning your menagerie. Give us a shout if you need help wranglin' the critters. Don't expect either of us to have a lick of artistic talent, but we can offer some real helpful critique of yours, I'm sure!"

Maria rolls her eyes fondly, swatting her husband playfully on the behind as he retreats, laughter echoing down the hall. She shifts her gaze to Ellie as the front door closes, a weary but genuine smile softening her face. She places a hand on her swollen belly, exhaustion creeping into her eyes.

"To be honest, the thought of taking on a project right now feels like climbing a mountain. I'm pretty close to my due date, as best we can figure, and Dr. Reynolds wants me to take it easy." Her eyes flicker to the kitchen and back, brows raised in a proposition. "How about some tea and a slice of cake instead?"

Ellie fidgets awkwardly, unused to the rhythm of Maria and Tommy's domestic world. Yet there's something alluring about it all, a sense of warmth and familiarity that tugs at her heart. It's a glimpse of a life she wasn't afforded growing up, an ordinary existence she finds appealing. She battles down the wistful thought, not wanting to let herself imagine something she can't have, unable—for the moment—to recognize that what Maria offers is exactly what she's been afforded, right here in Jackson.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she manages to reply. "Sounds good."

Following Maria to the kitchen, Ellie's swept away by the fleeting thought of a different existence. One where the name 'Isaac' is more than just a tribute to a lost generation, but a tangible link to a hopeful future. A life where 'Ellie' stands for more than just a survivor, where it embodies the promise of family, companionship, and love.

There's something special about this place, she thinks. Jackson's townsfolk have learned to thrive in moments of simplicity and quiet love. Like tea and cake shared in the warmth of a home on a chilly afternoon; like the playful banter of two soon-to-be parents; like the memory of an old man's name carrying on in a new life.

In the kitchen, the air grows warmer as Maria heats the kettle. Steam rises, curling its tendrils in the afternoon light, filling the room with a homely coziness. Ellie takes a seat at the table, fiddling with the worn edge of a placemat. Maria moves in comforting routines, a woman at home in her own world, a world Ellie's just beginning to grasp the edges of.

Maria brings over two mugs of tea and two generous slices of cake, her face illuminated by the quiet joy of a simple life. Ellie hesitates before reaching out for her own mug, her fingers brushing against Maria's. The small touch is electric, sending a jolt of comfort and reassurance coursing through her veins.

"Cake's a bit crumbly," Maria says with an apologetic smile. "Baking's a luxury around these parts, still getting the hang of substituting ingredients. In my former life, it was more about prosecuting bad guys, less about perfecting pastry."

Ellie takes a bite, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "Holy shit. It's good!" It's a small lie, but one borne out of affection rather than deception. The plain cake is a bit dry, but the sentiment behind it, the quiet show of care and warmth, is what really matters.

Their conversation morphs with the day, an organic evolution from discussions of Maria's impending motherhood to recollections of the older woman's life before the confines of Jackson. Ellie observes Maria, drinking in her tales, her laughter, the vibrant glow in her eyes. Maria's resilience, and her ability to forge something beautiful from the ravages of their world, strikes a chord deep within her.

But as their second cups of tea grow cold and their small talk begins to wane, Ellie finds herself absently scratching at her scar once more. Memories of Marlene's revelations, of the cruel irony of the immunity resulting from her own mother's fatal bite, resurface with a vengeance. The gnawing question that has always haunted her cries out: was she still infected, after all?

What if Maria and Tommy's baby was particularly susceptible in ways that weren't clear or known to anyone? Would the couple, who were still grieving the loss of a beloved son and niece from the old world, be willing to risk their newborn's safety? What if Ellie's mere presence could somehow infect this new life they were bringing into the world? The thoughts bring deep pangs of guilt, fear, and anxiety.

As the shadows of late afternoon begin to drape themselves over the settlement, Ellie departs for home, her mind a tempest of considerations, leaving her restless and yearning for a break from the ceaseless worry.

When she arrives back at the house, Joel and Tommy are hunched over the kitchen table, nursing cups of what she presumes to be the inky bitterness of black coffee. Joel's gaze flicks up at her entrance, his face breaking into a warm, welcoming smile.

"Hey, kiddo!" he greets her. "You n' Maria all finished with your menagerie?"

Ellie kicks her toe against the floor sheepishly. "Uh, not exactly. Kinda got sidetracked by cake." She turns her gaze toward Tommy, a smirk playing on her lips. "Your wife sure can fuckin' bake, man. How the hell'd you manage to land her? You got a charming personality hidden under that 'stache or something?"

The air fills with a chorus of sputters as Joel struggles to swallow his coffee, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Tommy reclines in his seat, running a hand through his hair in mock exasperation. "Goddammit, girl. Hasn't the old man here taught you to respect your elders?"

"Me, teach her manners?" Joel grins, dabbing coffee from his shirt. "Hell, wish I could take credit for her sharp tongue and bitin' wit, but our Ellie, she's her own brand of wildfire. Her jokes, though... they're the shittiest, take it from me."

Ellie's eyebrows shoot up in indignation. "Fuck you dude, my jokes are the best!" She fixes Tommy with an expectant gaze. "What do you call a nursery that's gonna be covered with the bitchingest creatures in the whole animal kingdom?"

She waits a beat as the two men look at her in wary anticipation.

"Giraffe-ic Park!" The words tumble out in a burst of glee, echoing through the room to the soundtrack of the men's unified groans and her unrestrained giggles.

Shaking his head, Tommy rises, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and bidding them both goodnight. As the front door closes behind him, Ellie takes the empty seat beside Joel, their shared silence weaving an unspoken understanding that's become their language. Even without words, Joel's like a seasoned tracker, picking up on the distant storm brewing in her thoughts. Patient as the setting sun, he waits, turning his attention to busying himself with preparations for the evening's meal.

Later, as dinner unfolds and the comforting rhythm of conversation thrums, Ellie still can't shake her lingering anxiety. She stares at the grainy wooden tabletop, her fingers trailing over the aged surface that's comforting in its ruggedness. But her thoughts keep circling back to the worries she's been grappling with all afternoon. A question forms in her mind—a question about her immunity, and about the potential risks she poses.

She's still wrestling with it when Joel gently interrupts her spiraling thoughts. "Ellie," his voice carries the warmth of a crackling fireplace. "Somethin's chewin' at ya. C'mon. Talk to me."

She glances up at him, hesitating as her fingers idly trace the rim of her chipped mug. Her voice is fragile when she finally breaks the silence.

"Joel, do you think..." she falters, then gathers herself. "Could I... Is there any way I could be dangerous to the baby? Because of my... condition?"

Joel freezes, his mug midway to his lips. He's silent for a long moment, gazing at Ellie with a mixture of surprise and empathy.

Finally, he sets the mug down, his eyes never leaving hers. "Darlin', you got a strength in you that's kept you goin' in a world that's tried to beat ya down at every damn turn. That fire inside ya, it ain't a curse."

Ellie bites her lip, a flicker of doubt clouding her eyes. "But Joel..."

He lifts his hand, halting her words. "Your immunity," he emphasizes, "ain't a burden or a threat. It shows you're a survivor. And that ain't somethin' you oughta be ashamed of, or worried about."

The tight knot of anxiety within her loosens just a bit, replaced by a cautious sense of relief. Joel's always been a man of action, of practicality; wrestling with words isn't necessarily his forte. But for Ellie, he would cross the goddamn universe.

"Ellie," he says, his voice gruff, yet tender. "Look at me, kiddo. You're not dangerous, alright?"

Ellie's gaze wavers, darting between his eyes and the worn table surface. His heart twinges, recognizing the familiar dance of guilt and fear that she's ensnared in.

"I know your heart's in the right place, worryin' about the baby," he continues. "You care 'bout that little one already, you wanna protect it. And that's real admirable."

A small chuckle escapes his lips, his fingers instinctively reaching out to brush against her hand. "Hell, remember how many times you saved my sorry ass?"

A smile flits across Ellie's face, her gaze flickering to meet his again, a silent promise communicated in the shared memory.

"But El," Joel's voice drops, serious in tone. "You're not a threat, and ya can't infect anyone else. You believe that, right?"

She seems to shrink in on herself, fears still gnawing at her. "But what if..." she starts, her voice barely above a whisper.

His voice cuts through her mounting concern. "No, baby girl. No what-ifs. You've been livin' here in Jackson for a while, n' by my side a long time before. If you were contagious, wouldn't we all be infected by now?"

Ellie looks at him, the raw honesty of his words chipping away at her fears. She seems lost, tossed amidst towering waves, but Joel is her lighthouse, gently guiding her back to the safety of the shore.

He moves his hand, covering hers. "You're family, n' we all trust you. But more important, ya need to trust yourself."

Her eyes are glistening, thoughts fluttering like fallen leaves. It's a lot to take in, but Joel's reassurance gives Ellie something to cling onto. It isn't a guarantee, but it's a start—a small, hopeful flame kindling, and crowding out the dark.

Later that night, as she lies in bed, Ellie mulls over Joel's words again and again. Her mind churns with thoughts of Maria, the baby, and her immunity, all swirling into an indistinguishable mass.

But amidst the chaos, one thought surfaces, clear and bright—that perhaps her fears have been shadows after all, larger in the dark than they are in the light.