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Tommy stands alone on his front porch beneath a star-studded sky. He lifts his gaze to the mountains, familiar sentinels standing stark and argent against the indigo night, and hums low in the back of his throat, tuneless, mournful, hoping it will soothe the vicious ache in his chest.
It doesn’t.
From the porch, he can see the door of the workshop he’s just left down on Main Street swing open, a swath of incandescence spilling out across the snow. His brother stands silhouetted against the light for a long moment, and it’s too dark for Tommy to really make out the direction of his attention, but he still feels the shadow of his Joel’s appraisal pass over him, heavy in its import.
You’re still strong. You said it yourself, you’ll come back.
The figure turns away from the house and begins tracing a path towards the opposite end of town.
Tommy’s still trying to catch his breath when the latch turns behind him and the door creaks on its hinges, tentative. He resists the urge to whirl on her, like a kid caught with his hands full of something he was told to keep out of.
Ain’t far off.
“S’ cold out here,” he warns her as she steps out in slippers and a thin fleece. “I’ll be in.”
“You alright?” she asks, heedless, drawing near to him and pressing a shoulder to his.
He’s made a mistake. He feels some instinct thrashing, rearing back from the path ahead, asking to turn towards home. Woulda been nice to hear from it earlier.
And he did. That’s the misery of it. He did, and still--
He wishes that he was alone in this, and chastises himself for the thought an instant later. He wishes he hadn’t been stupid enough to forget he wasn’t. What was he planning, exactly? To walk out the next morning without an explanation?
He wasn’t— hadn’t— still isn’t. Fool.
It’s late to be having this conversation. She’s tired; he’s tired, can’t get his thoughts lined up, can’t work out this ache— He realizes he’s got a track playing in his head, the one he’d thought he’d managed to shake for good: the low static of a radio, cut by Sarah’s agonal gasps— eventually giving way to the cry of the wind over the desert, the patter of blood from Rico’s neck as it paints the inner wall of the humvee—
Tommy draws a breath so sharp it stings.
“Joel asked me to take Ellie. To Colorado.”
Maria stills, waiting.
“I told him I would.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t answer, but she shifts to put a little distance between them, and that hurts about as much as he deserves. He feels suddenly fever-sick, chilled and miserable.
“Just like that, then?” she says bitterly, and he can feel the weight of her gaze on him, searching, seething.
“I’m sorry, Mari.”
“I’m sure,” she answers, sharp-edged, but there’s a catch in her voice.
“Easy,” he attempts to soothe, leaves the bannister and turns towards her, reaching desperately for the tattered remnants of his composure. “Darlin’, I—“
“Don’t.” She backs away at his advance, shaking her head, and the silver light dances in the veil of tears already gathered.
“Ten days.” He holds out his hands to her, a plea for grace he does not deserve. “That’s all it’s gonna be. We’ll be careful.”
“I will not be made a widow, Tommy.” She glances away now, jaw set firmly, and when she closes her eyes, the starlight rolls down the curve of her cheek, coalescing brightly before it falls.
“You know it ain’t like that, darlin’—”
“I don’t know anything,” Maria retorts, “and neither do you.”
Tommy knows that’s the baby talking, and she has every right, but he still feels the strike and flare of irritation, tempers it with a slow breath.
“We’ve never lost people that way,” he reminds her. “Been quiet for years.”
“We haven’t had eyes out there since May.”
He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the curls at the nape of his neck until he feels heat prickle across his scalp.
It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.
Joel’s calling in a debt long-due, ain’t he? He’d made it clear enough what Ellie means to him. Losing another child, even one that ain’t his own— it’ll kill him.
Tommy isn’t sure that Joel’s ever really forgiven him for what happened that night. He’s willing to recognize he puts some of that on himself, maybe more than his brother does, but—
He’d seen them in the distance, that soldier standing in the wash of the humvee’s headlights, Joel and Sarah lit up by that high-beam, and he’d felt a modicum of relief. Right before that bullet tore straight through her.
That was on him; he’d been too slow, too stupid, too trusting— and he hasn’t made the same mistake twice. But that don’t change the fact that Joel placed blame everywhere he could, and words he probably don’t remember saying still echo in Tommy’s head.
There’s no making up for what’s done. But if this could set things a little more right between them—
“Who are you taking with you?” Maria asks quietly.
He reaches for an answer, comes up well short. “I— uh— I figure we’ll be alright, Joel says she’s smart—”
Maria glances up at him sharply now, and he doesn’t miss the hint of bewilderment in her appraisal. “No, Tommy. Not alone.”
He draws a breath, his hackles rising, and he can’t even really say why. “Alright,” he raises his hands in pointed surrender. “Alright. I’ll ask Adam in the morning.”
The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s got something more to say, but she doesn’t, just drops her gaze away from him again, a hand coming to rest on her belly.
“He could come early, you know.”
“Not this early.” They’ve got nine weeks left yet.
“Yeah? Got that in writing?” She scoffs humorlessly.
“Maria—” Tommy stops himself short, turns back and braces on the bannister, grip tightening around the worn wood. He hangs his head and breathes, suppressing a groan. “Out and back and we’ll keep it clean. Ten days. I promise you.”
“Listen, cowboy—” He hears the tension in her voice and knows they’re right on the edge of tipping this thing over into real ugly.
“No.” Tommy takes his chances with an upheld hand. Any other night, he would be able to hear her out, but he’s in no mood on this one. “I gotta do this. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
She blinks at him, stunned, then turns on her heel and goes back into the house without another word.
Well, can’t say he didn’t earn that.
Tommy leans heavy on the railing as a fine tremor of adrenaline rolls down his spine, and his stomach churns miserably. Panic nips at his heels, and he can’t place it, can’t get away from it either.
It ain’t about the trip. He’s managed far worse, and if Joel says the kid’s got a good head on her shoulders, he believes it. He doesn’t feel the need to rope Adam into this, but he will, if it makes Maria feel better.
He isn’t sorry to have Joel here in town, either. There was a time when he woulda been, and maybe that’s what this is - maybe he’s tied up in knots over water under the bridge. He’d like to think he’s done his forgiving and moved on with his life, but maybe that ain’t the case. Maybe he’s still afraid of what he’s gonna get caught up in for his brother’s sake.
Deep down, Joel ain’t the type to be looking for trouble. If he settles down here, has what he needs, has people to look after, he’ll be alright. But Tommy ain’t volunteering himself for that role. No, those days are over. He’s got a council seat and a family and he’s got things pretty well figured out, he’d like to think. He’s not about to start taking orders again from a brother he loves but can’t trust.
Something about that rings so true it aches.
You can’t tell anyone, not even Maria.
Tommy bristles all over again at the echo of Joel’s words, and realizes he kept the revelation of Ellie’s immunity from his wife without even really deciding to.
Well, if those days are over, he better start acting like it. He turns back towards the house and goes to find her.
She’s waiting at the kitchen table over a cup of tea, and she’s made a second; the sight of it makes him feel a little sick with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, laying a hand on her shoulder as he comes around to sit beside her. “I shouldn’ta shut you down like that.”
“Tommy—” She’s been crying some more, and the waver in her voice lands like a blow he didn’t see coming. When did he get to be such an asshole?
“What did he say to you?” Maria asks, searching, expression taut with confusion and dismay.
Tommy swallows hard, knowing they’re one step away from territory and history he does not care to elucidate. She knows the broad strokes, but he hasn’t exactly painted Joel in a sympathetic light these past few years, and nothing he says now is gonna land right.
“He’s— afraid he’s gonna get her hurt.” Tommy glances up to meet her gaze, holds it for a long moment, hoping to imbue more meaning than what he speaks aloud.
Maria shakes her head minutely, jaw tightening. “Why you?” she presses. “Why does this need to happen now?”
“She’s immune.” The words seem to take the air from his lungs.
“What?” Maria's voice falters, straining.
He forces himself to hold her gaze steady. “Joel saw her get bit a few months ago. She didn’t turn. She wants to go the Fireflies. They told her they could make a vaccine.”
She stares at him for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Can they?” she asks finally.
Tommy shrugs. “If anyone can. They got those research labs, at the University. Guess that’s where they want her.”
“Did you talk to Ellie about this?” Maria asks, and there’s a note of worry in her voice that Tommy doesn’t quite know how to place.
“No,” he admits. “Just heard it from Joel.”
Maria glances out the front windows, pensive.
“He wouldn’t force her into this,” Tommy says, and it comes out a little more defensive than he’d like, but Joel’s not the type to coerce a fifteen-year-old girl; he’s confident of that.
“I don’t like this, Tommy.” The lines at the corners of her eyes deepen into a wince. “He has no right to ask this of you. And she’s young, and you’re going to have to leave her there.”
That’s a thought he hadn’t really worked out to its conclusion, and it doesn’t sit well with him either, when he comes to it. The Fireflies had shown little restraint, to put it lightly, and it was most of the reason he’d cut loose from them. She is young, and she’ll be alone, and that ain’t a great place to start. He wonders if Joel’s thought that one through.
“I’ll track down some old friends,” he decides. “Make sure they keep an eye out for her.” Roman, Cassie, Ferguson— they’re good folks, trying to be, and some of ‘em gotta still be around.
Her lips thin, but she gives no reply.
“They should talk to Liza about this,” she says after a minute of thinking, with a note of resignation in her voice. “Get an idea of what she’s in for, how long it’s gonna take.”
“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “Joel don’t want folks knowing.”
She rakes in a breath, tilts her head back in exasperation.
“One of us needs to get smart about this,” she says. “I don’t care if it’s you, me, or him, but none of us have thought this through as far as it needs to be.”
She’s got a point, but Tommy doesn’t have the patience to sit with it. “I’ll take her and I’ll talk to them, see what’s going on,” he assures her. “If they need to keep her there— I’ll come back, have a word with Joel. I think he’ll go if she asks for him.”
“She’s asking for him now.” Maria raises an eyebrow.
“I know, I just—“ Tommy shakes his head, wishing this conversation was over and done so he could go ahead and get this over with. He doesn’t want to leave her, not really, but— “He needs a breather. They been on the road a long time.”
“Tommy, you are trying too hard to save him from himself.”
There’s no real heat in her voice, but it still stings, and only reinforces an opinion she’s already made abundantly clear. And she’s not the one who patched Joel up after he put a gun to his head. “I owe him,” Tommy says flatly.
“You do not,” Maria counters, but her expression softens just a little as she holds his gaze. “But I know I’m not gonna convince you of that.”
He scrubs a hand over his face and down the back of his neck, feeling the ache of exhaustion and stress caught up in his muscles. “He’s my brother, Maria.”
“He is,” she acknowledges, appraising him for a long moment, and finally releasing a sigh from somewhere deep in her chest. “Alright. You take Adam. You be careful. And you come back. If you don’t like the way things look out there, bring her back with you.”
Tommy shakes his head wistfully. “Don’t think there’ll be much chance of that once they see her,” he says. “But I’ll do what I can, and we’ll be careful, see if we can’t get wind of something before we show up on their doorstep.”
Maria nods, lips pursed in resignation. An agreement having been reached, Tommy feels a sudden slackening of conviction, like a dog that’s just managed to wrest an object away from his companion only to find the prize wholly unsatisfying.
Yet it’s his to carry now, and carry it he will.
The air hangs still and heavy between them, and Tommy knows he should be the first to break it. But his mouth is full of regret and his throat aches with some nameless emotion, so he only takes his mug between his cupped hand and studies the grain of the tabletop for a long moment.
When he looks up to meet Maria’s gaze, she’s watching him with an expression just shy of inscrutable, and he doesn’t like what he finds there. He braces himself for another pointed comment, but she doesn’t speak, and after a moment, the fire in her eyes gives way to something Tommy can only interpret as sorrow.
He’s still searching for the words when she pushes back from the table.
“You done with that?” she asks, reaching for his mug, and he nods. He doesn’t have the stomach for it anyway. She sets both of them in the sink, and as she heads for the bedroom, she stops and lingers behind his chair long enough to press a fleeting kiss to the top of his head. It’s more tender than he deserves, but his thoughts are scattered and loud with grief, and by the time he extricates himself from them enough to reach for her in response, she’s gone.
He sits alone in the empty room, listening to the metronome of the clock over the hearth as it ticks past two in the morning, the hum of the refrigerator cycling. After a long moment, he rouses himself stiffly, nursing little pains that protest the wear of the day, and follows her to bed.