Archive of Our Own

Tracy’s first impression of Joel Miller is wariness. When giving them the tour, Tommy had mentioned that his brother was two doors down from them, but a little overwhelmed by Jackson as a concept in the moment, she hadn’t paid much more mind to it than to make a mental note of Tommy and Maria’s home in relation to it. 

It had taken four days before she’d even seen the man, who apparently had been off for a few days on a camping trip with his teenager. She hadn’t gotten more details than that, and at the time, she hadn’t really cared. She and her own daughters were safe. She wasn’t in a headspace for anything else. 

And then she actually got a look at the man. 

Well, she’d first gotten a look at his daughter, Ellie, who had practically bounced up their porch to say hi. She’d been relieved by it, a girl about the same age as her twins clearly friendly and not suspicious. Cordyceps has changed a lot, but she knows how mean teenagers can get, and she’d been so glad to see Liz and Livi drop into easy conversation about something to do with a book they’d been working their way through that she’d just taken a moment to enjoy it, this first little promise of a safe life where her daughters could do something as normal as make a new friend. 

A look at Joel, though, had made her a little wary. 

It wasn’t even that the man himself did anything. He hadn’t even stepped onto the porch until he’d caught her eye and said hello, and even then, he’d been every inch the gentleman, not encroaching on her space and even sitting down so he wouldn’t tower over her. Still, she’s a woman with two daughters. Wariness about men is just basic survival instincts. He’s similar in build to Tommy, but something about Tommy’s open gregariousness makes him feel approachable and non-threatening even just standing still. 

Everything about Joel, however, just seemed to read “large man who now lives very close.” 

“Y’all settling in alright?” He’d asked, all politeness, and she’d let herself relax enough to let her back touch the chair. They were in full view of the street, after all. Even if he had had bad designs on her and her kids, there were witnesses and hopefully allies close at hand. 

“I think so,” she’d said. “Still feels strange, though, a whole little town in the middle of bumfuck Wyoming.” 

He’d laughed, and almost despite herself, she’d eased a bit. She hadn’t discounted him as a threat, but the ease of it had said he’s a man who laughs often, and something about that had felt comforting. 

“Tell me about it,” he’d said. “First time she brought a report card home,” this is said with a nod of his head to his daughter, currently deeply engrossed in whatever topics teenage girls find important enough to whisper about, “I had to sit in a room alone for about an hour. Seems impossible, something so normal.” 

“If I have to take them dress shopping for a prom,” she’d said, smiling, “I might actually think I’m stroking out.” 

Towards the end of that conversation, she’d started to believe that Joel Miller was not a threat to her or her girls. 

When his daughter interrupted them with a “sorry” to her and asked for a hair elastic that he pulled out of his pocket at once to replace hers when it snapped, she’d been reassured completely. 

No man so deft and gentle at French braiding his daughter’s hair while not interrupting their conversation at all could pose a threat she couldn’t handle. 

*

She doesn’t actually realize that Ellie’s adopted until she’s two weeks into knowing the Millers. She has eyes, so she had noted that Ellie didn’t really seem to take after Joel, but biology is a funny thing. Both of her girls look just like their father, after all, to an almost absurd degree. She’s heard Ellie speak some Spanish now and then with Joel and Tommy, and if her accent seems stilted and her vocabulary a little limited, it’s easy enough to write it off as a kid who just hasn’t had a lot of practice, even growing up in a bilingual household. It’s not like she’s fluent, after all, her own knowledge limited to college courses taken years ago. It’s not until she realizes that she’s only ever heard Ellie call him by his first name that it dawns on her that Joel might not be her biological father. 

One advantage of kids is using them for dirty work, so she tasks Livi–by far the sneakier of her daughters–to do some subtle digging for the sake of her own curiosity, and Livi reports back that Ellie said Joel took her in a while ago. Her daughter didn’t have a more specific timeline than “a while ago,” but she gets the sense that that was more down to Ellie being vague than Livi not asking the right way. Her daughter is usually fairly reliable for gossip. 

Even without a timeline, though, she can only figure that Joel must have taken Ellie in when she was small. The girl is clearly comfortable with him, more comfortable, really, than she is with anyone else, and there’s an ease to which she gives and receives physical affection that says she’s very used to soft touches from Joel. Not calling him dad is a bit strange, she supposes, but it’s a strange world. It’s possible Ellie’s the child of a dead friend, and using his name is out of respect to her birth father. 

It’s also not as if she needs the word itself to make it clear exactly what Joel is to her. 

She doesn’t know if she’s actually ever seen a more attentive father, even Before. It’s almost funny, watching how attuned Joel is to Ellie, even in crowds. She doesn’t know if he realizes he does it or not, but he frequently looks away from conversations to check on his kid, just a brief glance to confirm she’s alright and then back, and he always guesses the right place to look on his first try. He also never seems to mind when she interrupts. She’s polite about it, to her credit, and to his as a parent, appearing at his elbow and then waiting until there’s a pause to jump in, but no matter what, Joel never shows the slightest hint of impatience. 

It’s a little humbling, frankly, watching someone who seems to be a goddamn natural at parenting, and she’s almost tempted to ask for tips. She loves her daughters, and she’s always thought their closeness something special, but Joel and Ellie seem to operate on a different level entirely. They don’t always even speak. There’s one night when Joel perks up like a sighthound, and she follows his gaze to find him looking right at Ellie, standing in a corner as part of a circle. There’s nothing about her that she can read as off, but all it takes is one look from her to have Joel on his feet with an absent “‘scuse me,” and then he’s off, moving through the crowd to her side. She tucks herself under his arm at once, and to her surprise, she sees tension she didn’t know was there drop from her. Joel leads her back, and Ellie perches on the arm of his chair, arm on his shoulder and legs tossed over his, rescue sought and delivered, all without a word exchanged. 

She makes a mental note to schedule some more mom and daughter date days. 

*

Livi and Liz end up becoming fast friends with Ellie, which means she sees her and Joel more often than she might otherwise. 

She thinks it’s a joke at first when she finds out that Joel’s a patroller, too. She’s a veteran, so it was a simple thing for her to be assigned to the work as well, but the idea of gentle, loving Joel with a gun in hand, fighting and killing, is almost laughably absurd. He’s no weakling, and she imagines he would be a sight to see if Ellie were in danger, but he seems unbelievably ill-suited to the work. It can’t be something he enjoys to any degree, and she pities him, almost, that it seems like her first (incorrect) impression of him was shared by others enough to get him assigned to something he isn’t good at just because he looks intimidating. 

She doesn’t know how anyone could look at the man who spends hours on the porch with his daughter patiently teaching her guitar and think “yes, he’s good in a fight.” She doesn’t know how anyone could look at the man who regularly scoops up his fussy nephew and soothes him with an experienced parent’s deftness and think “yes, he’ll absolutely kill without hesitation.” She doesn’t know how anyone could look at the man who lets his teenager manhandle him to steal his food right off his plate because it makes her laugh and think “yes, he’s ruthless enough to take out a threat.” 

She doesn’t know how anyone could look at Joel Miller and think he’d be a good patroller, and day by day, she worries about it more and more. 

*

She gives Joel a look when Ellie very proudly tells Liz and Livi, “Yeah, he was a contractor. They were super important. Everybody loved contractors,” with clear pride in her dad, but she decides not to correct the kids. She supposes a small advantage to the world ending might as well be letting someone’s kid think they’re cooler than they were. 

“Everybody loved contractors, huh?” She still asks later when the girls are playing a game with a frisbee that looks like it’s riding the line of being a contact sport. 

Joel grins, unapologetic. 

“Well now,” he drawls, “been about 20 years since then. It’s possible my memory might be a little rusty on the particulars.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“You’re so full of shit,” she says, but she still reaches to accept a refill on her drink. Additional advantage to Jackson, apparently: they turn out some damn fine whiskey. 

“Hey,” he says with mock-defensiveness. “Don’t blame me because you didn’t think of it. You could have had your girls spreading misinformation by now, too.” 

She laughs. 

“Well,” she says with a lift of her glass in a toast, “I might have to give it a shot. ‘Mom used to ride around in a van with lights and a loud siren on top largely saving people from their own stupid decisions’ kind of loses its punch when they’re older than five, especially when they don’t even know what an ambulance is.”

“We can’t all be contractors,” he says sympathetically, grinning when she flings a pinecone at his head. 

*

Jackson whiskey, it turns out, is both delicious and dangerous. 

“Can I ask something that might be rude?” She asks after her third refill. Joel’s manners extend to keeping a lady’s glass full, apparently, and she might need to tell him to knock off the chivalry before she gets knocked on her ass. 

“You’ve met my kid,” he says. “I’m used to rude.” 

“Well, I guess that’s true,” she says. “She’s a good kid, though.” 

Joel looks to Ellie then, and his expression is so soft and affectionate that she nearly feels the need to look away. Jesus, how the fuck has someone so loving survived this long? It boggles belief. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, “she is.” He seems to shake himself away from parental pride. “So, your rude question?” 

“Right,” she says, taking another sip of her tumbler. “I was just won-” 

“Down!” She and Joel call at the same moment when she reacts to him sitting upright in one sudden motion and looks to find that Ellie and Liz are trying to get themselves up to the roof of the next house over using Livi for a boost. “Elizabeth” she calls as Joel calls “Ellie” in the same tone. 

The teenagers give each other a long-suffering look, but they obey, dropping back down and nearly squishing Livi when she doesn’t move fast enough out of the way. She gives Joel a look he returns, even as he rises to his feet to investigate why frisbee has turned into parkour. She follows, and her first step lets her know that she’s definitely reached her limit for whiskey for the moment when the world wobbles a little. When she catches up, the kids are already making an impassioned defense to Joel, who is listening with his arms across his chest. 

“-can totally make it, Joel,” Ellie says. 

“Yeah, I was going up to make sure she didn’t fall,” Liz puts in. 

“And if you fell, too?” She asks her daughter dryly, and Liz shrugs. 

“That’s what Livi was on the ground for.” 

The look Livi gives her sister says she wasn’t totally clear on her responsibilities on this point, but if there’s one thing her daughters know, it’s presenting a united front. 

With adult intervention, the teenagers are dissuaded from using each other to climb up on the roof, but Ellie is sent to retrieve a ladder from Joel’s workshop. With neither of the grown-ups entirely sober, Ellie also ends up being the one to dart up to retrieve their frisbee, and she doesn’t miss how tightly Joel holds the ladder in place, or how he reaches out to press a hand to her back to steady her the moment she’s in reach. 

Or how clearly relieved he is when she has both feet on the ground once more, frisbee held aloft like a war trophy. 

*

“Your rude question?” Joel asks after they’re settled again and have sent the teenagers further afield to hopefully avoid more roofs for their frisbee game that now seems to involve tackling for some reason. 

“Right,” she says, kicking her shoes off and sitting cross-legged. She refuses a refill when he offers it. “You don’t have to answer this, and it’s just me being nosy: what’s the story with how you ended up with Ellie? I gather she’s adopted?” 

There’s a brief moment of surprise on Joel’s face that she can’t read. 

“I, uh, yeah,” he says, busying himself for a moment with his glass, swirling the whiskey around needlessly. “I guess you could say that.” 

She frowns. 

“Is she…she isn’t yours? Is she?” At his sharp look, she rushes to explain. “God, sorry, that came out wrong. She’s not a blood relation, is what I meant to ask. I was just guessing because she calls you Joel and not dad. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I mean!” Jesus Christ, she should have kept her nosiness to herself. “I mean everyone has their own dynamic, and I’m certainly not trying to shame you for-” 

He huffs a laugh at her fluster, and she subsides, cheeks flaming. 

“It’s fine,” he says easily, and she breathes an internal sigh of relief. God bless Miller men and their apparent biological good humor. “No, I didn’t make her. There just wasn’t any sort of formal adoption. I haven’t thought about it, really, but I guess the closest thing would be adoption.” 

She’s burning with more questions, but she’s already stuck her foot in her mouth. Luckily, Joel seems to take pity on her. 

“She’s not related. I didn’t meet her until a bit over a year ago-” 

She sits up straight at this, sure she’s misheard, and he lifts his brows in question. 

“Only a year?” She asks. Surely not. 

Thankfully, Joel seems more amused than insulted. 

“It was a hell of a year,” he says with a wry humor she doesn't have enough context to understand. “It’s, well, I won’t get into the details, but she was in an orphanage. Her mother died when she was born. I didn’t meet her until later, and from there, well,” he shrugs. “She’s a smart ass, but she’s mine now.” There’s a satisfaction to the words that says he doesn’t mind this state of affairs at all. 

“You’re a good dad,” she says, and he looks to her with almost comical surprise. She smiles slightly. “Seriously. I mean, Jesus, one year in and that kid looks at you like you hung the moon.” 

“I am a contractor. Hanging things up is our specialty,” he says, deadpan, and it startles a laugh out of her. For all the dryness, though, she can tell he’s pleased. 

*

Ellie and her girls are out cold on the couch by the time they make it back inside, Joel bolstering her a bit now that the whiskey has really hit. 

“Jesus,” she says, apologetic but still laughing, “I swear to God, I used to hold my liquor better than this.” 

“Kids,” he says, saving her from clipping herself on the counter, “they’ll wreck ya.” 

“They’ll do that,” she agrees, but when they see their kids sleeping in a pile on the couch, she knows she’s not the only one who feels so fucking full of love and gratitude that it almost feels like it’ll explode out of her. How impossible, that they have a life that lets things happen like teenagers falling asleep during a Disney movie on the couch. It still feels like a dream, this place. 

“Wanna risk waking the beasts?” She asks, when she’s gotten her breath back. “Ellie’s welcome to stay if she wants.” 

“Thank you, but no,” Joel says. “She doesn’t like staying over places unless she’s planned on it.” 

She nods and watches while he makes his way to the couch and carefully disentangles his teenager from both of hers. A little less steady, she joins, pulling Livi’s arm from around Ellie and lifting Liz’s leg to free Ellie’s foot. Joel gives her an amused look at the teenaged pretzeling that she returns. Ellie stirs and makes a wordless, inquiring noise as Joel tucks her head against his shoulder. 

“Sh, baby,” he says, voice achingly affectionate as he slips an arm under her knees and lifts her easily, with a deftness that speaks to regular repetition of this exact maneuver. “Just me. Go back to sleep.” 

Ellie, with easy, immediate trust, goes boneless again at once. 

*

It’s after another patroller is hurt on their rounds that she finally feels like she has to say something to someone. She doesn't know how anyone has met Joel Miller and thought he would be a good candidate for something that requires any degree of ruthlessness, but if she lets Ellie be orphaned again because she didn’t say something, she’ll never be able to live with herself. 

She doesn’t know why Maria looks so amused when she goes to her with her concerns. The woman had been a natural choice for this talk. She had been one of the deciding votes for taking them in, after all, and her place on the council means that she has the power to make some changes. She’s a little hesitant that Maria might have some bias because it’s her brother-in-law, but surely that would just make her even more unlikely to put him in danger. It’s possible he’s only on patrol because his brother pulled some strings. A little nepotism here and there is to be expected, but she’d rather no one have to pay with their life for it, and perhaps there just needs to be a little push to find Joel a job he might suit better, maybe in the nursery or stables or something where being gentle would be a benefit and not a detriment. 

When she says, “Have you thought about if Joel might not be suited to the violence of patrol?” though, Maria just stares at her for a moment before she laughs so hard she doubles over. “What?” She demands, confused and a little insulted. She likes Joel, and she’d rather he didn’t get himself or others killed because he does something like hesitate in a fight. “I know he does contracting work. I’m sure there’s plenty to do with that around town.” Most adults end up doing multiple jobs, but she doesn’t see why Joel couldn’t just focus on contracting. 

“Trust me,” Maria says, getting herself together, “I can swear there probably isn’t anyone in Jackson better suited to patrol than Joel.” 

“I don’t believe that,” she disagrees at once, a little frustrated. Yesterday she watched Joel be used as a climbing structure for the Turners’ toddler with an infinite amount of patience. She doesn’t see how the fuck the man who made a toddler shriek with joy by pretending to nibble her fingers and who just winced through getting a block to the head in silence could ever remotely be mistaken as a good candidate for a violent job. The man wore a fucking tiara when it was put on his head, for Christ’s sake. A man bullied into compliance by a 2 year old isn’t a man who should be forced to fight. It’s not right. 

And in a place like Jackson, it’s not necessary. 

That’s her real sticking point, after all. Beyond safety for others and for Joel, Jackson is a place someone doesn’t have to be violent. It’s why not everyone has to go on patrol. This town is a place where gentle people get to be gentle, where they don’t have to set aside their own natures in order to survive. 

It’s not right that Joel is still being forced to. 

“Has Joel told you about his past?” Maria asks with a tone she can’t read. 

No, not really, is the answer. Most people don’t talk about their pasts, so this isn’t unusual. She’s gathered from the memory board and the picture on the mantel in their house that he lost a daughter named Sarah, and she knows he was a contractor, but the details between that life and this one are a little fuzzy. She doesn’t know what he’s had to do to survive, just like she’ll never tell anyone what she’s had to do. It’s a matter of respect and good manners, not asking what it took for someone to still be alive 20 years after the end of the world. 

Besides, it doesn’t matter. 

They’re in Jackson now, and a man as gentle as Joel Miller should get to enjoy that, too. 

*

It doesn’t matter how many arguments she brings up. Maria still refuses to take Joel off of the patrol rotation. 

She simmers about it all through the rest of the day, irritated and confused. 

She’s still in a mood when Joel and Ellie come over later, the teenager bearing a video game and her dad bearing a bottle of dandelion wine from Mrs. Tuvello three doors down. She laughs when he makes a face at the first sip, feeling her edgy energy from all day fading a bit. 

“What’s that face for?” She teases. “Isn’t dandelion wine supposed to be a southern thing?” 

“Not my kind of southern,” he says, handing Ellie his glass when she asks so she can try a sip. 

They both laugh when she fully gags. 

“That’s fucking gross,” Ellie says, still pulling a face. She turns to her then, expression turning mischievous. “Can Liz and Livi try some?” At a nod, she calls into the house. “Guys! Come try this! It’s so good!” 

Joel kicks her leg lightly for the lie, but she just grins and hands his drink back. She doesn’t warn her kids as she hands her glass over, and Livi admirably keeps her face straight until her sister has had a sip. Liz, though, has no one left to trick and spits her mouthful out at once. 

“Gross,” all three say at once, and she snorts. 

“And that’s why you should never drink,” Joel says sagely. “It’s all gross. Remember this when you get older and your friends say it’s cool.” 

For all his big talk, though, Joel refuses another glass as well, and she quite gratefully takes possession of the bottle. 

“Your loss,” she sing-songs. “More dandy wine for me.” 

*

When it comes time for her first overnight in one of the watch towers, she’s nervous about leaving Liz and Livi in the house. Her girls are capable, both able to use a gun and fight if they have to, but they’re also 15. Even tall as hers are, a 15 year old girl is a dangerous thing to be in a lot of ways, and the idea of her girls in the house by themselves makes her anxious. She doesn’t want to let anyone in her patrol group down, and she knows overnights at watchtowers are a monthly thing, but still. The nerves just don’t leave her. 

It’s not until she hears Livi and Liz talking about a sleepover with Ellie that she gets an idea. 

*

“Hey,” she calls to Joel the next morning. He pauses from where he’d been reaching for a discarded gardening glove–Ellie’s enthusiasm for landscaping is apparently not matched by an ability to keep up with her tools, she notes with amusement–and straightens. 

“Morning,” he says with an easy smile. 

“Morning,” she says, returning the smile. “Listen, I have a favor to ask.” 

“Shoot.” 

She has a moment of gratitude for the universe giving her this particular neighbor. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you mind if the twins stayed over with Ellie when I’m on overnight?” She hurries before he has a chance to answer one way or another. “And I can return the favor when you’re up! I know you have Tommy and Maria to watch her, but I’m sure Ellie wouldn’t mind a sleepover with some girls her age. The baby’s cute, but I imagine a infant’s feeding schedule tends to conflict with a teenager’s sleep schedule.” 

“You can say that again,” Joel says wryly. “She comes home and naps for at least an hour each time she stays over.” He’s thoughtful for a moment. “Would your girls mind? Ellie was nervous my first time out. Would they be alright with a stranger?” 

“Well,” she says, a little awkwardly. “We’re sort of in a town of strangers.” 

His responding grimace is apologetic. 

“And besides,” she says, “you’re not really a stranger. I think switching out an outlet that was spitting sparks at us gets you personal savior at the least.” 

He snorts. 

“I’ll settle for neighbor.” 

*

The girls do just fine overnight, as she’d thought they would, but she certainly was much less nervous on her shift knowing there was an adult right there if they needed him. She returns the next afternoon to collect her hooligans and finds them absent, though Joel hands over their bags. 

“We’re not supposed to know they’re trying to make a ramp right now,” he tells her. “From the skinned knee Ellie came back with at lunch, apparently they’re really getting some height on it.” 

She rolls her eyes fondly. 

“Did they at least take helmets?” 

“And wrist guards,” Joel says with a shrug. “Maybe the skinned knee will mean some knee pads, too, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.” 

“Better than what I was doing at their age, I guess. Thanks for letting them stay over, I appreciate it, really.” 

“Not a problem,” Joel says easily. “It’s good for Ellie to get time with some other kids. Means she has less time to make fun of me.” 

She laughs. 

“I dunno,” she says slyly. “You heard teenaged girls recently? They’re probably just making fun of us both as a group.” 

“As long as it keeps Ellie too busy to snoop around in my room, they can say whatever they want.” 

“Well,” she says, grinning, “suppose I can’t argue with that.” 

*

Her first reaction to Joel and a bloody Ellie at her door three weeks after her first overnight is to blink at them blankly. Given that it’s 2 in the morning, she doesn’t think this is entirely unfair. 

Then mom brain goes online, and she’s at once ushering them inside. 

“Sorry,” Joel says, guiding Ellie with a hand on her back while the other presses a towel tightly to her arm, the light pink already splotchy with dark red. “We wouldn’t have bothered you, but I’m pretty sure she’s gonna need stitches.” 

“Is the clinic not staffed right now?” She asks, a little concerned. They don’t have enough people for a full hospital system, but there’s usually always at least one nurse on duty ready to go for a doctor if needed.

The way Ellie flinches at the word “clinic” gives her a hint that there’s something she’s missing. 

Joel ushers Ellie into the kitchen, and she’s distantly grateful for the forethought. Blood will be far easier to get off of linoleum and not her couch, after all. Almost without needing to think, she goes into EMT mode, and it’s only Ellie jerking at the first touch to her neck to feel for a pulse that has her backing up. 

“Sorry, honey,” she says, the pet name coming out without thought, the same way it would for one of her girls. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. You mind if I feel your pulse? I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

Ellie’s pointed look down to her bloody arm says she clearly has an answer for that already, but she doesn’t flinch at another touch to her neck, so she takes it as a win. Joel is kneeling beside her, but an offer of a chair is refused as he guides Ellie’s head down to his shoulder. 

“Heart rate’s fast, but that’s not surprising,” she reports. “Mind if I take a look at the damage, Ellie?” 

After a moment, she nods, and she tries not to be unnerved by a silent Ellie when she usually chatters away a mile a minute. 

She grimaces when she gets a look at the girl’s arm. There’s glass in the cut, and Joel reads the question when she looks up to him. 

“Broke a vase and then tripped and fell into it,” he reports, fingers threaded through Ellie’s hair and rubbing gently at her scalp in what she imagines is a measure meant to soothe her. 

She winces in sympathy. 

“Give me a minute to get some shoes on, and I can run to the clin-” 

“No!” Ellie says, the first thing she’s said all night, and it’s clear that it’s only Joel holding her in place that keeps her from rising. 

“Sh,” he soothes, but she turns big, desperate eyes to him. 

“You promised,” she says, voice rough. 

“I know, baby,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, her temple. “No clinic, I swear.” 

She burns with questions about that, but with a teenager bleeding heavily all over her kitchen, she knows this isn’t a great time to ask. She stands and reaches for a towel to wipe her hands off. 

“Alright, well, Dr. Tracy’s Suture Express is open for business,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. Joel gives her a grateful look that she returns with a nod. “Gimme about ten minutes to dispatch a twin for some supplies, and we’ll get you all fixed up. Sound like a plan?” 

“No doctors,” Ellie says, obviously trying to make her voice sound firm. Pale and still clearly afraid, though, it comes out more like a plea. 

“No doctors,” she agrees, daring to touch the top of her head briefly. 

After a moment, Ellie nods her agreement. 

*

It takes middle naming both of her girls to stop them from barreling down the stairs and harrassing Ellie with well-intentioned questions, but finally she gets them out of the door with their friend unaccosted, both of them setting off at a sprint with a note of what she needs from the clinic. She doesn't know if they’ll be so keen on lending out their supplies, but she’s done a couple shifts there, so she’s hoping they’ll owe her a favor. 

If they decide they don’t, she supposes she’ll just be marching down and showing her tail until they realize they do. 

When she’s back in the kitchen, she finds that Joel’s taken Ellie’s chair, her sitting on his lap now, face tucked against his neck, his hand still tight on the towel that’s now almost completely red. He’s talking to her in a low voice that doesn’t carry to her, and he pauses now and then to kiss her head or press his cheek against her hair. It’s tender and sweet and so achingly gentle that she can almost feel it in her chest. Ellie’s a petite little thing, shorter and slimmer than both of her girls, and against Joel’s brawny size, she looks far younger than she is. 

It’s not hard to see how it’s easy for Joel to treat her so gently, even if it wasn’t already in his nature. 

*

Liz returns to her room with minimal grumbling when they’re back with a packet of supplies, but it takes a sharp “Olivia Rose” before her sister follows her, giving her a resentful look as she goes. She shakes her head, making a mental note to make it up to them later. Were she in Ellie’s shoes, especially given how edgy she seems about anything to do with medicine already, she certainly wouldn’t want to play sideshow attraction for her friends. When she’s sure her teenagers are safely tucked away, she returns to the third in her kitchen. 

“Alright, honey,” she says, grabbing a clean towel after she washes her hands and laying it out on the table, unrolling the pack of supplies on top of it. She’s relieved at the syringe and bottle of anesthetic. She doesn’t think either of them would particularly want Joel to have to hold his child down while she stitched her up. 

When she goes to wipe some alcohol across her skin, though, syringe in her other hand, Ellie flinches away, tucking herself as tight against Joel as she can get. There’s something wild in her eyes, a nearly-feral sort of fear, and she shuffles back at once. 

“Easy,” she says, trying to read what on earth the problem is. She knows there are people who hate shots, but this seems to go beyond that. “It’s just some anesthetic. See?” She holds it out for her to see the bottle. “Just some lidocaine. It’ll burn a little, and I’ll need a couple little jabs with something this big, but that’s all it is, and then I promise you’ll feel way better.” 

“Is it safe?” Ellie asks, looking up to Joel. She gives him a confused look, not understanding the question, and he ducks his head to kiss Ellie’s temple before he responds. 

“It’s safe,” he says to Ellie before he looks to her. “She has a lot of allergies. Medication is just…tricky for her.” 

Ah. 

It takes Joel checking the bottle himself before Ellie relaxes enough, but she doesn’t watch it happen, which she can’t blame her for. Joel guides her head to his shoulder with one hand while he braces her arm at the elbow with the other. 

“Alright, missy,” she says when she’s sure she’s given her enough that she won’t feel any pain for the rest of it. “All done with that part. Trust me, the rest’ll suck way less.” 

“Doubt it,” Ellie says, voice muffled by the way her face is pressed to Joel, but she doesn’t bother moving. 

After she’s made sure the area is numb, she grabs some tweezers and starts picking the glass out, and Ellie twitches at the first couple before she settles. The unease seems to be more about it feeling weird than hurting, but she still pauses to ask before she proceeds just to be sure. She hadn’t been expecting to play kitchen medic in the middle of the night, but if that’s how her night is going to go, she’d at least like to do a good job. Ellie flinches again at the first few stitches, but Joel is steady, and his hand is large enough to cup Ellie’s elbow and keep her arm still on the table. 

“You’re alright, baby,” he says, low enough that she knows it’s only really meant for Ellie to hear. Obligingly, she bends her head to her task and doesn’t comment. He keeps up a stream of soft reassurances, and he even asks once if she wants a break. She shakes her head, brave kid, but it’s clear that Joel is entirely dialed into what she needs, entirely ready to do whatever it takes for her to get exactly that. 

She works as fast as she dares, wanting to get it over with so Ellie can go about her night, but she’s careful in the task, her stitches neat and even. There’s some scarring on her arm that looks almost like a bite, but with the blood and lacerations, it’s hard to make out details. 

The way Ellie tenses when she gets to that section means she wouldn’t have asked even if she had been able to make a guess. 

“More fucking scars,” Ellie grumbles when she’s working at a section that looks distinctly like teethmarks. “My arm’s gonna look so fucking ugly.” 

“Nah,” Joel says at once. “It’ll look cool. Besides, girls love scars. I’m sure Cat’ll think they’re real impressive.” 

Even beneath the pallor, Ellie visibly flushes. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” she says with the speed of a teenager getting teased about a crush. “And even if I did like Cat, which I don’t,” she says with heat that makes Joel grin, “I doubt she’s gonna think me being clumsy is cool. Tripping with a vase. So fucking lame.” 

“He’s right, you know,” she dares to put in. Ellie looks a little surprised when she speaks, but she doesn’t look offended at her interjection. She focuses on tying off a suture before she looks up. “Chicks dig scars. I’ve got one on my hip that got me at least two girlfriends when I was in college.” 

She sees the immediate joy of someone meeting someone who’s like them in a way they didn’t expect, and she smiles with a little nod of her head. 

“I might keep that one on your leg to yourself, though,” Joel says, breaking the moment. “Now that one was embarrass-” 

Ellie glares daggers as she shoves her free hand over his mouth. 

“Shut the fuck up,” she hisses with all the venom a petite teenager still sitting on her dad can summon. 

Joel doesn’t look remotely apologetic, but he does hold his peace on the matter. 

*

“Thank you for helping us out,” Joel says the next day when he drops off a pair of fox pelts in a payment she tries and fails to refuse. 

“It’s not a problem,” she says, stroking her fingers over the soft fur. She doesn’t need payment for sewing up a kid, especially a kid who’s helped her own kids settle in, but they’ll certainly make some nice lining for something come winter. 

“Not to pull you into a secret, but would you mind, uh, not mentioning that whole visit last night to anyone?” He reads the question she hasn’t asked yet. “She has some stuff in her past that means she doesn’t do well with the clinic, and she gets embarrassed about it. She’d feel better if no one else found out about her going to your house instead.” 

She’s touched at his care in protecting Ellie from even gossip, but then again, she supposes she should have seen it coming. If there’s one thing she’s learned Joel’s great at, it’s loving with his whole heart. 

“I won’t say a word,” she promises. “Was she that twitchy about the cordyceps vaccine?” She asks, purely out of curiosity. It’s one of the first things that gets handled when someone moves here, she’s learned: anyone 14 and above gets inoculated against cordyceps, yet another thing that adds to the surreal nature of the town, this cure to the thing that ended the world. 

Joel’s face does something deeply interesting at that, but no matter how much she presses, she doesn’t get an answer beyond “yes” before he’s managed to make his escape. 

*

“Well,” she hears a familiar voice say as she’s getting ready for patrol a few days later, “fancy meeting you here.” 

She resists the urge to grimace. It’s not that she’s not happy to have Joel on her patrol team–he’ll be good company if nothing else–but she’s not looking forward to a whole day of worrying at close range about them ending up in danger. It’s been sheer dumb luck that’s kept them from being on the same rotation before, and she guesses her luck had to run out at some point. Still, she gets her game face on before she turns to face him. 

“Now what’s a nice man like you doing on a patrol like this?” She says, responding to his tone. There’s no point in letting him know she’s been dreading this after all. 

He smiles. 

“Dodging my teenager asking to get a tattoo,” he says dryly, hauling a saddlebag up on his horse and buckling it into place. 

“A tattoo?” She repeats. Ellie seems the type, so the idea isn’t wildly leftfield, but asking at 15 is a ballsiness she has to respect. 

“Oh yeah,” he says, swinging himself up into the saddle. “She’s got a whole sketch and everything. I’m pretty sure she’s been workshopping it with your two, so don’t be surprised if you also get some petitions to get inked.” 

“Jesus,” she says, mounting as well. “And here I thought I’d look forward to things being normal enough to have the same fights I used to have with my parents.” 

The look they exchange before they urge their horses into motion is amused, and she feels a flicker of hope that perhaps they’ll end up with an easy day after all. 

*

It almost fucking figures that their patrol would be the one to get ambushed by raiders after weeks of peace. Of course it would. Why the fuck wouldn’t it? How could they possibly be lucky enough to avoid it? 

She loses herself to the ebb and flow of the fight, reduced to immediate concerns only, but the moment she has a second to breathe, she looks around for a familiar figure, hoping desperately she’ll find him still on his feet. Please don’t let me have to bring Ellie a body home, she thinks to whatever the fuck might be listening. She has a moment of wordless, all-consuming horror when she sees a man raise a wicked-looking hunting knife to bring it down on Joel-

-only to watch in stunned surprise as Joel grabs the man by the wrist and breaks his arm as easily as he might snap a twig, snatching the knife away and burying it up through the man’s chin into his head, dropping the now-still body all in the same fluid motion. 

It’s dumb luck that lets her dodge a bullet when she feels like her jaw has hit the fucking ground. 

The violence makes her a little more alarmed at first, afraid that he’ll freeze now. Surely he was operating on adrenaline and fear. Surely it’ll hit him now that he just fucking stabbed a man through the skull. She silently begs him not to lose his shit yet. She’ll make excuses for him later, make sure no one bothers him. He’ll see it was all self-defense in the end, surely, but she’ll make sure he gets some quiet days with Ellie. She doesn’t care if she has to wrestle Maria for control of the patrol clipboard. Something like this will weigh heavily on someone as gentle as Joel, survival or otherwise. 

Then a man gets her on her back, and before she can even start to work at getting her wrist free of the grip he’s holding it in, Joel is there, ripping the man off of her like he weighs nothing and bashing his head against a wall until it’s cracked. 

“Jesus fuck,” she breathes, staring at him wide-eyed. 

Joel’s face is dark and angry and dangerous in a way that raises goosebumps across her skin. It looks like someone else is wearing Joel’s face like a mask, twisting his usually-smiling mouth into an angry line, darkening the eyes that look at Ellie like she’s his whole world into something hard and flinty, a predator’s gaze, hungry for violence and ready to deal it out. 

The hand he extends to lift her up, though, is gentle. 

“You okay?” He asks, and even his voice seems harder under the care. 

“I-” 

His face goes a little more concerned, and he tugs her around a corner, scanning her quickly. 

“Talk to me,” he says urgently, a bit more of the hardness dropping away. “They get you? What hurts?” 

“N-nothing,” she manages, shaking her head to try and dislodge her surprise. “S-sorry. He got the drop on me…” And you just fucking bashed his head in with hands that literally just yesterday held a dandelion for your nephew to try and fail to blow while he ended up just spitting all over you. 

Joel nods, once, a militantly precise gesture. 

“You alright to go back in?” He asks. 

She forces herself to refocus. She can have a meltdown about how the fuck her gentle giant of a neighbor went fucking kill mode at the drop of a hat later. 

Right now, they’ve got work to do. 

*

She learns in that fight that it wasn’t Joel she should have been worrying about in him going out in the field. 

Apparently her concern should have been for anyone unlucky enough to get in his way. 

She’s no shrinking violet when it comes to killing, but Joel does it with an ease that’s nearly supernatural. He’s a machine in a conflict, it turns out, ruthless and efficient. Someone gets a lucky hit in with a slash to his bicep, but it only takes Tommy hauling them off by the back of their jacket to let Joel recover enough to snap their neck and then bury their knife in one of their comrade’s chests in one easy, fluid motion. 

She doesn’t do her best work in that fight, but she thinks the way her goddamn mind is melting over the impossibility of Joel committing brutality with a predator’s ease should be a worthy excuse. 

By the end of it all, Jackson has lost one patroller and taken two severe injuries. 

Their would-be attackers lay in a pile of at least 30 dead bodies. 

She thinks, a little dizzily, that her “wouldn’t hurt a fly” neighbor is responsible for a good half of them. 

She hasn’t even begun to get herself together when Joel’s back at her side, face concerned, the last of the hardness gone. 

“You alright?” He asks, clearly worried. “You look like you’re about to pass out on me.” 

“I-” I’m trying to reconcile the man who just nearly ripped a man’s jaw off with the man who spent almost thirty minutes last week untangling our kids when Livi’s earring got caught in Ellie’s hair, she doesn’t know how to say. 

“Seriously,” he says, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder when she wobbles a bit, “might as well fess up now. Doubt your girls would like it, me returning their mama damaged.” 

That warm humor doesn’t belong in the voice of someone who just did what he did. He shouldn’t be capable of it. 

And yet, there’s no threat to him now. He’s back to the Joel she knows, friendly and warm. 

Maybe she hit her head after all. 

*

She should let it go. A person’s past is the past. There’s things in her history she wouldn’t want to talk about. Joel still isn’t a threat to her or her girls, she knows that even if she knows nothing else. They could just go back to the friendship they’ve already developed. She absolutely should not go interrogate him about what the fuck happened in that fight. 

*

She knocks on his door that evening the moment her twins have settled in their rooms for the night. 

He answers after only a moment, smiling, dragging a laughing Ellie behind him, her arms around his waist in what was clearly a playful fight for who got to answer the door. His smile fades a bit when he reads whatever’s on her face, and he rests a hand on Ellie’s head without looking in what seems like a thoughtless gesture of protective affection, tilting his head a bit in question. 

“I-Can we talk?” She asks. 

He frowns slightly, but he nods, obviously confused but willing to hear her out. 

“Anything wrong?” He asks, voice carefully neutral, but the way his hand moves from Ellie’s head to her back says he’s worried she’s brought bad news he should prepare his kid for. 

“Everything’s fine,” she says quickly. It’s not, but nothing she has in her head is a risk to his child. 

“Really? Cause you look pretty fucking scared,” Ellie observes doubtfully. 

“Ellie,” he says at once in reprimand. He never scolds her for swearing at him, she knows, but he does try to contain her when it comes to swearing at other people. His voice softens, though, when she looks up to him. “Go upstairs and shower,” he says, nudging at her gently. When she just holds on tighter he gives her a look. “Seriously, you reek. Go wash the smelly teen grossness off.” 

“You need to wash the smelly old man grossness off,” she shoots back, but the teasing has clearly made her a little easier. Ellie still gives her a dubious, slightly nervous look, and she summons her most reassuring smile. 

“It’s all fine, I promise,” she says, only lying a little. “I just need to talk to your dad about something.” 

The use of “dad” makes Ellie give him a quick little look, but it’s there and gone too fast for her to read it. For his part, Joel just smooths a hand over her hair and gently tugs her arm free with the barest fraction of the strength that she now knows can break bones like twigs. 

“Go on,” he encourages her with a careful push. “Go wait in my room. Maybe your feet’ll be warm enough to not feel like fucking icicles for once.” 

She pulls a face at him, but she’s clearly more amused than offended. 

“Don’t worry,” she says over her shoulder as she obeys, “I’ll keep ‘em nice and frosty just for you.” She blows a kiss and he rolls his eyes. 

“Lucky me,” he grumbles, but she can’t quite return the small smile he turns to her with, and it fades. “Everything alright with your girls?” He asks, stepping forward and shutting the door behind himself. He’s said before that Ellie’s a habitual eavesdropper, so she imagines this is meant to hopefully keep young ears away from whatever this talk is going to be. “You said Livi’s head was hurting earlier, didn’t you? Did it get worse? You want me to grab a doctor?” 

Jesus, she thinks, do you have a fucking evil twin? You can bash somebody’s face in and still remember that I mentioned my kid had a headache in passing at breakfast? Jekyll and Dr. Hyde couldn’t be more fucking confusing. 

“She’s fine,” she says instead of any of that. “Could we-could we sit?” She asks with a slightly awkward gesture to the porch chairs. 

He’s clearly more than slightly confused, but he gives her a gentlemanly gesture for her to sit first, and she does. 

“Did something-” 

“What the fuck did you used to do?” She asks, cutting him off. It’s rude, but she needs this mystery solved. 

He gives her the slightest hint of a confused smile. 

“I’m pretty sure we’ve established more than once that I was a contractor, America’s most beloved occupation.” 

She doesn’t rise to the bait. 

“A contractor wouldn’t know how to fight like you. I might not have built houses, but there’s no fucking way that was just a contractor out there with me today.” 

His smile fades entirely, and it’s like she can see him shutting down. It’s not the ice cold blankness of the fight today, but it’s not the neighbor she’s used to, either. 

“We’ve all done shit,” he says shortly. “Otherwise none of us would still be here.” 

“I’m not-I’m not judging,” she says, and she doesn’t think she is. It’s not like she fears Joel, per se. She just has no fucking way to reconcile the two different men she has in her head at present. “I just…” She huffs out a frustrated breath and sits back. “You’re the softest fucking girldad I’ve ever seen,” she says flatly, and in other circumstances, the surprised blink she gets from him at the words would make her laugh. “Seriously, Ellie’s a lucky girl. A blind person could see how much you love your kid. You’re always so-so soft with her.” 

Joel doesn’t respond, but he shifts in a way that says the compliment is making him feel a little awkward. 

“I mean, fuck, even with other kids. Babies love you, toddlers use you like furniture. You’re the goddamn Mr. Rogers of Jackson-” 

He huffs out a single, startled laugh at this, but she has no time for false modesty. She needs to work out the puzzle of this. 

“I’m serious. I was fucking worried about you being a patroller. I went to Maria and made myself look like an ass saying you were too soft for it.” 

“You told Maria that?” He asks, seeming genuinely amused amidst his confusion. “Those exact words? Bet she loved that.” 

“She about laughed me out of her house,” she says dryly. 

“Surprised she didn’t make you go get your head checked,” he says. “She and I don’t have the best history. Trust me, she probably thought you were making a joke.” 

“That would explain the laughter.” 

He snorts. 

“Seriously,” she says, sitting forward. “I don’t fucking get you. I was out here thinking you were gonna-gonna fucking faint or something if you had to punch someone. And then you pulled fucking Rambo mode out of nowhere. What’s the story there? I’ve gotta know, please.” She needs it to make sense, needs the numbers to work out. 

He takes a deep breath and sits back, just looking at her contemplatively for a long moment. 

“There’s no real story,” he finally says, looking tired in a way that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the late hour or the exercise he got in today causing a bloodbath. “After the outbreak, I did some real fucked up shit.” 

“So did everyone,” she points out. “I’m no angel.” 

“Well,” he says a little wryly, “I’d put money on my shit being worse than yours if money was still around.” 

She doesn’t have it in herself to be amused by the joke, and he seems to see that, sighing. 

“I’m not gonna lay out all my sins at your feet,” he says flatly. 

“I don’t expect you to,” she says. “I get it. Your past is your past. I’m just…I’m just trying to understand how the fuck you can be this gentle father who gets bullied by his daughter and then also turn around and be the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever seen in action.” 

“Are you scared of me now?” He asks, voice completely and utterly neutral. 

She thinks about it. She probably should be, just out of pure survival. A man who can manage this kind of switch-up could be a threat, and one she wouldn’t see coming. 

But this is also a man who’s gotten drunk at her house with her and done nothing more than wash the dishes before he left even when he could have tried to take advantage, the same man who carries his kid around like she’s the most precious thing in the world to him even when she’s being a little terror, the same man who ends up cutting up the Carters’ kid’s apple almost every day at lunch because she insists no one else does it right, the same man who sent Ellie over with some earrings he’d found while scavenging through an old minimall because he’d thought her girls might like them. 

Joel’s a threat, yes. 

But he’s not a threat to her or her family. 

“No,” she says, and she’s glad it comes out confident when he almost looks surprised to hear it. She manages the faintest smile. “Did you want me to be?” 

He shakes his head. 

“I would have understood if you were,” he says. “I…” He stops and looks away for a moment. “I’m not a good man, Tracy.” 

She snorts at that, unable to take the drama of it seriously, and he looks back to her, clearly not expecting that response. 

“Let’s not do the man angst thing, alright?” She asks, but he doesn’t respond to the humor. 

“I’m not trying to make you believe I’m someone I’m not,” he says seriously. “I did some truly fucked up things for a long, long time, and I didn’t care. I hurt people. I killed. Even when I didn’t need to. It kept me and the people relying on me alive, and I would do it all again.” 

She doesn’t think he realizes how he’s wrecking his own point here. 

“Did you enjoy it?” She asks plainly. “Did you seek people out to hurt them when you didn’t have to?” 

“If they crossed me, yes,” he says bluntly. “I popped a man’s kneecap off with a knife and beat another one to death with a pole once. They were both restrained. They had guns. I could have finished them off clean.” He sits up straight, like he’s getting ready for a blow. “I didn’t. I wanted them to hurt, and I made sure they did, and the only thing I felt was satisfied.” 

She studies him for a moment, head tilting slightly. 

“And what’d they do?” She asks. 

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he responds, it’s almost grudging. 

“They were a threat to Ellie.” 

She exhales an amused noise. 

“Seems like the fuckers had it coming, then.” 

He narrows his eyes just slightly, and she shrugs. 

“A man once asked me how much to have my girls for a night,” she says, with far more calm than she feels, even now. “I made him regret it.” 

“What’d you do to him?” He asks with something almost like professional interest, like they’re colleagues in the same business trading industry tricks. 

“Started with cutting off some inessentials and moved from there. He didn’t last long.” 

“Hm,” he says thoughtfully. “Castrate him?” 

“Naturally.” 

The look they exchange is one of understanding, one parent to another in a fucked up world where that means something very different than it did a couple decades ago. 

“You were protecting your kids,” he says when the moment is over. “I didn’t have a kid for 20 years. I did fucked up shit before I even knew Ellie existed. I’ve tried to be better for her. Doesn’t make me a good man, though.” 

She’d started this conversation because she wanted to know, but now she’s just getting a bit bored with this line of argument. She appreciates that Joel isn’t a man to insist that he’s never done anything wrong and has instead always been the victim of circumstances beyond his control, but they’ve passed admission of personal flaws and entered “I will not believe I’m not terrible” territory, and that’s just too stupid to let stand. 

“I still trust you around my kids,” she says, and the expression on his face says he very clearly understands that this is the highest trust she could possibly extend to someone. 

“I would never hurt a kid,” he says, and she could almost laugh at the contradiction of this man who says he’s damned beyond redemption while also immediately reassuring her that he’s not a threat to her family. 

“Well then, Joel Miller, I think you might not be as shitty as you think you are.” 

*

She still hasn’t convinced him that he’s not Satan’s agent on earth by the time she needs to call it for the night, but she thinks she at least understands him a little better. 

Her mistake, she realizes, had been viewing Joel’s gentleness as an innate characteristic instead of the luxury it clearly is, something he gets to enjoy in the safety of Jackson, the same as a hot shower or electricity. 

“Hey,” he calls when she’s almost off his porch. She turns, brows raised in a question, and it warms her, the slight smile on his face. “Won’t you be my neighbor?” He sings, slightly off-key. 

“Jesus,” she groans, despite the way she can’t stop her grin. “Your kid is right. You’re so fucking lame.” 

Still, she smiles all the way home. 

When she’s on her porch, she turns back to see that Joel’s still on his, and she can’t help but roll her eyes a bit at him making sure she made it back home when she’s two doors down. It’s only when she’s got her door open that he opens his own, and she thinks about teasing him by turning it into a stand-off to see if he’ll go back inside before her or not. In the end, though, she figures she’s put him through the ringer enough for one night. 

Besides, they’re neighbors. 

There’ll be plenty of time to fuck with him later.