Archive of Our Own

The Wyoming cold is a relentless phantom, doggedly hunting the seasons, its icy breath persistently nipping at the heels of each month with an unspoken threat that seems to whisper: You can run, but you can't hide. I'm always here lurking, just a step behind.

On an early autumn day cloaked in this unforgiving chill, Joel and Ellie find solace at their worn kitchen table, each cradling a mug that breathes a gentle waft of warmth into their hands—black coffee for Joel, and hot cocoa for Ellie.

In the center of the table, a lone matchbox sits like a desolate island, its once bountiful supply whittled down over the last few chilly nights, echoing the relentless ebb of Wyoming's warmth. Ellie picks it up, studying it, her frown casting a shadow of worry over her face.

"We're nearly out of matches," she murmurs, her fingers tracing the weary cardboard, eyes flickering with unease.

Joel's gaze lifts from the dark swirl of his coffee, eyes dancing with a playful glint. "Well, don't that beat all, Captain Obvious," he teases, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Still can't fathom how you managed to lose our flint n' steel. Remind me why you were totin' it around in your jacket pocket in the first place?"

The memory stings, triggering a flush that races across Ellie's cheeks, the careless blunder still biting at her pride even a week later. "Not like I fucking lost it on purpose!" The words tumble out, defensive and heated. She squirms under his steady gaze, eyes darting away. "I just... look, you know how most of the kids at school are a bunch of weak-ass, sheltered townies who've lived in Jackson so long, they don't even remember basic skills?"

She meets his eyes then, a flicker of passion burning in her gaze. "I thought I'd show 'em something simple about surviving outside the walls, in case they ever have to. Thought I'd make myself... I dunno... useful, I guess."

Joel studies her face and sees the distress brewing there like gathering storm clouds. He reaches across the table, his calloused hand engulfing her smaller one, giving it a warm squeeze of reassurance. "Your heart was in the right place, kiddo. Just take better care of our gear next time, alright?" His tone is patient but firm, like sun-warmed granite. "The town'll help us out with a new fire startin' kit, but until then, I reckon we'll be sparkin' flames the old-fashioned way."

Ellie scoffs, a flick of her wrist sending the matchbox skittering across the table. "You can't be serious, dude. Tommy's gotta have some matches we can... uh... borrow."

"Borrow, huh?" Joel's drawl is thick with amusement. "How're you plannin' on returnin' 'em after they're all burnt up?"

Her gaze narrows, guard flying up in an instant. "You knew what I meant!" she snaps, though there's no real heat behind it.

His rumbling chuckle echoes warmly in the chilly room, like a ripple of thunder that teases an unseen horizon. "Yeah, I s'pose." He takes a slow sip of coffee before continuing. "But speakin' of Tommy, the two of us could show ya how to make a flame from scratch. Old school, Boy Scouts style."

A spark of curiosity ignites in Ellie's eyes, a tiny ember in the growing darkness. "No shit, really?"

"Sure thing, kiddo." A promise, a challenge, an adventure—all woven into three simple words.

Days later, the trio is gathered in the intimate embrace of Tommy's backyard. Their laughter and lighthearted jests create an infectious symphony, stirring warmth through the autumnal afternoon, and imprinting their presence onto the leaf-cloaked world.

The sun begins its descent, its illumination stretching out shadows like elongated phantoms engaged in a languorous dance. Amidst this natural theater, Ellie grapples with the unfamiliar weight of a bow drill, her hands slick with determination and unyielding stubbornness. Her concentrated efforts churn up memories in Joel's mind, flashbacks of a time when it was his daughter Sarah, not Ellie, in the throes of childhood—every stumble a stepping stone leading towards eventual victory.

Ellie's brows are furrowed in concentration, the sweat beading on her forehead sparkling in the waning light, cascading down her face like tiny pearls of resolve. The drill in her hands wavers, its rhythm unsteady, mirroring the conflict between her mounting frustration and stubborn resolve.

Exhausted after nearly an hour of laboring, she gives the drill a final, furious twist. A tiny spark, much like the feisty girl herself, flickers into existence, plummeting onto the carefully prepared nest of tinder below. Ellie's voice splinters the calm, her words a cascade of surprise, elation, and the signature profanities that echo off the surrounding trees.

"Holy shit!" she exclaims, her voice punctuated by giddiness. "Get your asses over here, quick! I fucking did it!"

Joel and Tommy hurriedly make their way over, footfalls crunching against the autumn-kissed ground. Reaching Ellie, who's cautiously guarding the glowing embers in a nest of dry grass, Joel crouches down beside her, inspecting the delicate bundle.

"No fuckin' way, squirt," Tommy exclaims, a chuckle lacing his words. His gaze drops to the nascent sparks, glowing with stubborn defiance. "Alright, easy now."

"That's my girl." Joel's gruff voice rings with pride. He motions to Tommy. "Grab some o' them smaller twigs n' dry leaves."

The younger man gathers an armful of twigs no thicker than a pencil, along with a handful of curled, russet leaves. He arranges them in a teepee shape close by.

Joel nods. "You got this, kiddo. Remember what I told you 'bout feeding it?"

Ellie's eyes are bright with determination as she nods. She carefully picks up a stick, its end feathered into fine shavings. With shaking hands, she inches it closer to the tiny spark, a dance as precise and careful as a surgeon's hands over an open heart.

Suddenly, like a starved predator, the spark latches onto the wood. A smoke signal rises in a serpentine fashion, eliciting a gasp from the young girl. "It's working!"

Joel gently lifts the nest with the precious embers and places it in the center of the teepee. The three of them hold their breath, watching intently as tendrils of smoke begin rising from the twigs.

After a heartbeat that feels stretched into infinity, a flame springs to life, eager tongues lapping at the dry tinder, greedily swallowing the crisp leaves.

"Keep blowin' on it, real gentle-like," Joel coaches, and Ellie, mirroring his instruction, breathes soft whispers onto the fledgling fire. It continues spreading, the twigs starting to crackle.

With the rhythm of an old hand, Joel introduces slightly larger sticks to the teepee, building it up. The fire strengthens, releasing waves of heat and scattering sparks into the darkening sky.

Ellie whoops loudly, her fist pumping the air. "I made fire, dude! Fuckin' cavewoman of the year!"

Tommy's laughter rings out, a proud thump landing on her shoulder. "Nice work kiddo, knew ya had it in ya."

Joel's heart swells with an unmistakably paternal pride that had burned stubbornly in his chest like a tiny spark, refusing to die out. In the dancing flames, he can almost see another young girl's smile gazing back at him across the years.

The crackling fire bathes their faces in a warm, dancing glow as dusk settles over Jackson. Ellie sits with her legs crossed, turning a single match over in her hands. She holds it out to Joel, a playful challenge glimmering in her eyes.

He accepts it with a nod, and drags the head across the weather-beaten matchbox with a decisive scrape, igniting a nimble flame that leaps eagerly into the cooling night air. As he hands it back, the flickering firelight paints a smile across Ellie's face. "Thanks, Joel," she murmurs, her gaze tethered to the hypnotic flame.

"For what, kiddo?" he asks, his gravelly drawl turning the words over slowly, like stones in a riverbed.

A shrug dances on her shoulders, her dismissal as fleeting as the last gasp of the dying match in her hand. "For showing me I don't need any of this fancy old world shit to survive."

She tosses the match into the flames, and they all follow its brief, fiery dance until it's swallowed by the more formidable blaze she'd laboriously coaxed to life herself.

Joel shrugs, his eyes mirroring the fire's glow. "Well now, they sure do come in handy sometimes. So does flint n' steel." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produces a fire-starting kit, carefully wrapped in a parcel of bound leather.

Surprise skates across Ellie's face, her eyes going wide with surprise. "You had that on you this whole time? Asshole!" She gives his shoulder a playful shove.

Tommy slaps his knee and lets out a hearty chuckle, the sound seeming to echo across the settlement's hush. Joel gives the young girl a roguish wink, his weathered features softening into an easy smile.

"Sure did. But you won't be needin' none o' that fancy shit from the old world no more. Said it yourself," he teases.

With a playful growl, Ellie lunges for the kit, muttering a litany of curses under her breath. Her fingers close around the buttery soft leather, its mellow surface glowing amber-honey in the firelight. As she turns it over in her hands, she notices delicate letters embossed into the hide.

"Ellie Williams," she reads aloud. Her gaze flits up to Joel's, a constellation of questions twinkling in her expressive eyes.

"It's yours, darlin'," he declares softly. "Tommy helped rustle up the materials, n' I made the leather holder. One of the townsfolk taught me how to pretty it up with your name. Thought it made for a nice touch."

Ellie swallows thickly as tears well up, blurring her vision. She blinks them away fiercely, overcome by the depth of thought and care that has gone into this unexpected, deeply personal gift. "Thank you," she breathes out, her voice barely a whisper, tremulous with emotion. Reverently, she turns the kit in her hands, her calloused fingers moving gently, as if she's cradling something irreplaceable and infinitely precious.

"You're welcome, squirt," Tommy chimes in. His eyes crinkle into a good-natured squint. "Now you can return that box o' matches you pinched from our pantry. Don't think I don't know."

A deep blush blooms on the young girl's cheeks at having been caught red-handed in her petty thievery. She ducks her head in embarrassment. Sooooo busted.

Joel's chest quakes with a deep, hearty chuckle. "S'alright, Tommy, we could use the backup for when she loses this set."

Still nursing her blush, Ellie clutches the leather pouch to her chest. The ember of embarrassment is steadily replaced with a flame of earnest gratitude. "I won't lose it, Joel... I promise," she says solemnly. "This means..." Her voice catches and she looks away, overcome with emotion. This means the fucking world to me, old man.

Perceptive as ever, Joel opens his arms in a silent invitation. Ellie presses herself to his chest, tucking her head beneath his bearded chin. "Thank you," she whispers into his shirt, clutching him tightly. Gentle fingers come up to cradle her head as he drops a feather-light kiss into her hair.

"Ain't no match that can hold a candle to your smile," he rumbles softly against her ear.

Pulling back, she hastily wipes her tear-streaked cheeks. "Did you just try to make a joke?" she asks with an embarrassed half-smile.

He lets out a low chuckle. "S'pose I did. Ain't no Will Livingston, king o' the puns, now am I?"

Eager to lighten the mood, Ellie turns to Tommy with a cheeky grin. "Hey, did you hear about the firefighter who retired early? Yeah, he just got really burned out."

A collective groan from the two men punctuates the night air. Bolstered, she continues on eagerly. "What did the candle say to the smokin' hot flame? 'Damn girl, you really light me up!'"

Joel wearily drags a hand down his face and looks skyward with a pained grimace. "Think we've had more'n enough of that nonsense," he grumbles good-naturedly as he stands, joints creaking in protest. "Let's say our goodnights."

Tommy gives them a farewell nod, his smile easy and genuine. With a booted foot, he scatters dirt across the glowing embers and ashes, smothering what remains of their fire. As the darkness swoops in to claim the vacant space, he bids them both goodnight and heads towards his homestead.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Joel asks, rolling his shoulders to loosen muscles grown taut in the chill night air.

"Just one more?" Ellie pleads, the innocent roundness of her eyes melting Joel's resistance. "Please?"

Shaking his head, Joel indulges her with a wave of his hand, a silent surrender to her relentless enthusiasm. He crosses his arms across his broad chest and fixes her with an expectant look.

Her gaze rivets on his as she teases out the suspense. "Why were the two survivors able to build such a great fire together?"

Joel's expression softens. "'Fraid I don't know, darlin'. Why's that?"

"Because..." she starts, biting her lip. She ducks her head shyly and reaches out to take his weathered hand in her own. "They found out they were the perfect match."

A warmth blossoms within Joel's chest, a heat that eclipses the waning embers of their extinguished fire. With a tender pull, he draws Ellie into his chest once more. "That they were, baby girl. That they were."