Archive of Our Own

Ellie's scent is stale in the basement.

Joel can smell himself, disgusting and fever-sick, still lingering in the air like the ache lingering in every fucking atom of his body. There's the sharp scent of cold—a storm, maybe even a full-on blizzard—seeping through the window, but Ellie's scent, sweet woodsmoke and something subtler, something Joel's never quite been able to place, is hours old. Holding himself still, Joel listens, hard; he's alone in this house, he finally decides, rolling himself to his feet with a pained grunt.

Joel grabs his pack, his weapons still attached to it, and slings it over his shoulders, carefully testing his range of motion. Limited, but it'll be fine once he gets warmed up, Joel concludes. There's an itch under his skin, a wrongness; he knows that Ellie hasn't been by his side for every single moment since he fell off of the horse, but this feels different. Some instinct is insisting that she's in trouble, that she's not just out hunting.

Joel's made it twenty years past the end of the world by listening to his instincts; he'd be an idiot to stop now.

He creeps out of the house, finds the garage where Ellie had obviously been sheltering Callus, and slips outside. It's snowing hard enough to make the falling flakes sting against his exposed skin, but Joel can still see the impressions of hooves in the snow, see how they go straight through town—see how Callus' stride lengthens abruptly, the space between furrows growing longer, the impressions deeper.

Ellie'd ridden out of here hard.

Chased.

A growl rumbles out of Joel's chest, something more felt than heard, and has to throttle it back, take himself in hand. Now is not the time to lose himself to that blind alpha urge to protect. Ellie's an omega, and she's young, but she's smart. She's proven she's capable of handling herself. Joel won't rest until he finds her, won't feel right until she's in arm's-reach once again, and that's a worry for later, but right now he has to think.

There's a crack down the road; Joel ducks behind cover before he's conscious of the decision to move. He freezes, listening, and it's easy to hear the approaching people—bandits, most likely—talking.

"You sure the guy's here?"

"Gotta be; this is where that little bitch came from."

"Still dunno why David didn't just shoot her."

"Heard he wants to make her his new pet."

The bandits start laughing at that, and Joel sees red, feels heat spreading over every limb.

It's been a long time since he gave in to the aggression that defines most alphas; these two are practically volunteering to be his outlet.

Joel finds Ellie in a burning restaurant, the scent of smoke a horrid mockery of her own natural scent. She's crying, hacking away at a man Joel can only assume was David with a machete, and when Joel pulls her off of the body, she screams at him, tells him don't touch me—

Until Joel calls her baby girl, until his own scent hits her, and suddenly she's all but collapsing into his arms, burrowing into his chest and hiding her face as she sobs. The sound makes Joel's heart break, makes his hackles rise; if David weren't already dead, Joel would happily tear the bastard into tiny little pieces with his bare hands. As it is, Ellie takes priority.

He gets her out of the rundown resort town, gets them deeper into the forest until they stumble, miraculously, onto an old hunting cabin. Apparently, whoever owned it was kindred spirits with Bill, because not only is the place booby trapped, but there's a cellar that's crammed with nonperishable food and bottled water. Everything is covered in a layer of dust; whatever happened to the previous owner, no one's been here in a while.

Joel sets the cabin up, helps Ellie get to the bathroom and tub, warms water from a pump out back by the fire he builds so she can wash the blood and dirt and taint from her skin. He sees the way she looks at her own hands, the way her gaze keeps catching on her bite, even under the fabric of her clothes, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out the sort of shit David intended for his pet.

Joel leaves her alone for ten minutes, knocks on the door and hears her weeping, quiet and frustrated. When he opens the door, calling her name, she chokes on a sob, and Joel has to coax the soap and rag from her raw hands. Her forearms are red, her hands just as bad, and even her neck, the skin over her scent glands, has clearly been scrubbed with punishing strength. Ellie bites her lip bloody, shakes her head when Joel tries to encourage her to just let herself cry, but she does let Joel coax her into a new, clean set of clothes. He tries to leave, to give her privacy to change, but she insists he stay, that he just turn his back.

"I can't—I need to see you," she'd choked out, eyes red and scent bitter with distress, and Joel had been helpless to do anything but nod.

The cabin only has one bed, the mattress in surprisingly good shape. Joel hauls it off of the frame and into the main room of the cabin, between the couch and the fire. He spreads Ellie's sleeping bag on it, sets his own on the couch and heads for the bathroom.

He comes out to find Ellie's zipped their sleeping bags together and is lying on them on the mattress, looking at Joel with wide, determined eyes. There's fear lingering around the edges, but Joel… doesn't think it's fear of him, of an alpha.

(There'd been enough of that bastard's blood on the ground and on Ellie for Joel to scent that much, at least. His scent had been bitter, harsh and stinging, overpowering, the kind of stink that made people side-eye alphas and grumble about how they always had to dominate every space they were in. Joel hated it, hated him, and had worried that his own scent, sharp teak and bergamot, would be too much for Ellie, that she'd need to keep her distance.)

"I can sleep on the couch, Ellie," he says, quiet, trying to be understanding and not coddling. "Don't wanna crowd you."

Ellie's shaking her head before he finishes speaking. "I want you near me," she says, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze evenly. Her eyes are still red-rimmed, and it only makes the green in them stand out even more. "You almost died on me, Joel, and I got medicine from—from him, and then… I just need to know you're still alive." She hesitates, and Joel lets her think, watches the way she bites her lip, winces as she does when her teeth catch on a bruise. "I need to know I got out," she whispers, and Joel thinks if she wasn't utterly exhausted, if there was any more light than just the flickering fire, she wouldn't have said that.

He swallows, debating with himself—but he can't deny that having Ellie in arm's reach sounds real damn reassuring, and it's only one night.

"Okay," he says, gruff, unable to make the word soft, but Ellie relaxes nonetheless, gives Joel a look that borders on grateful even as she lies down, slips under the cover of the sleeping bag. She watches as Joel shucks his boots and belt, opting to keep the rest of his layers on despite the fire and the insulation of their sleeping bags. He hesitates, kneeling at the edge of the mattress with one hand on the sleeping bag, not quite touching Ellie's where her fingers are curled around the edge. He meets her gaze again, knows that there's an unspoken question in his eyes—

Ellie shifts her hand over, covering his own, and uses their joined hands to lift the sleeping bag in invitation.

Joel takes a slow, deep breath and eases onto the mattress, the sleeping bag rustling as he settles into place, still trying to be careful not to crowd Ellie. She waits until Joel's settled, and then she reaches across him to grab the zipper, tugging it up until they're tucked in. Then she keeps moving, squirming closer until Joel's arm is wrapped around her, her own lying over his stomach, her palm resting carefully over the stitches in his side, her skin separated from his by the layers of his shirts.

She's not entirely relaxed, not until Joel carefully deepens his breathing, Ellie subconsciously falling into the same pattern. Joel shifts minutely, tilting his head until his nose is just barely brushing the top of Ellie's head, her scent filling his senses. She smells like herself now, not like that horrible burning wreck, and it eases something deep in Joel's chest. He doesn't catch himself before he moves, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Ellie's head; he freezes, but Ellie just sighs and melts against him. Joel can feel her nose pressing into his chest, can feel the way her back rises and falls as she takes in his scent just as deeply as he's taking in hers.

With the dim glow of the firelight, the only sound the call of the wind whistling around the cabin and the logs crackling in the fireplace, this feels entirely too intimate. Unfortunately, Joel is just too damned tired—and too damned grateful— to give a shit right now.

He falls asleep with his nose pressed into Ellie's hair, holding her close as she clings to him, one leg thrown over his, her hand fisted in Joel's flannel.

The quiet of the night is broken by Ellie's voice, soft and flat: "He said he'd keep me 'til my heat, 'til I was begging to be kept in a whole different way."

It's been almost a month since Silver Lake, and Joel, who'd been poking at the fire, goes completely, utterly still. The more rational side of him is thinking that he can't possibly have heard Ellie right. The less rational, more instinctual side is demanding that he either sweep Ellie into his arms, hold her close and safe, or go back and find a way to resurrect David so Joel can rip his throat out.

With his teeth.

Very, very carefully, Joel sets the stick in his hand to the side, both hands flexing into fists against his thighs as he takes a slow, deep breath before he lifts his gaze from the fire, meets Ellie's across it. "That's awful, Ellie," he says quietly, taking in the haunted look on her face, the determined set of her jaw.

"Yeah. Said he liked the way omegas smelled, liked—liked how their scent changed after being mated. Liked knowing he made it change."

Joel only becomes aware of the fact that he's growling when Ellie's gaze flicks down to his chest, and then lower, to where he's fisted his jeans in one hand, the fabric straining in his grip. "Ellie—" Joel can't quite get the growl out of his voice, winces when Ellie's gaze meets his again.

Then she lifts her chin, gets to her feet, and comes around the fire, comes closer.

The closer she gets, the more clearly Joel can see her, the more he can smell her. She still smells of that sweet woodsmoke—like the hickory smoke from his grandfather's old smokehouse, way back when—and that other layer to her scent still nags at him, unidentifiable. It might just be Joel's imagination, but he thinks that sweetness is getting… stronger.

"My heat's in a week," Ellie says, her voice only wavering a little as she settles onto the log next to Joel, shifts until her knee is pressed against his thigh, just below his fist. Joel feels himself go rigid with shock—guess that wasn't all his imagination, after all—and knows he's staring at her with wide eyes.

He just… looks at her for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Ellie watches him the whole time, some sort of debate clear in her eyes. When Joel finally clears his throat, she tilts her head, a silent invitation. "We can find some shelter somewhere," he says, voice rough, catching in his throat. "Get you some privacy. Find a place with a door that locks, and I'll stay outside, keep you safe."

Ellie hums quietly, and Joel feels like a bug on a microscope beneath her gaze. "I appreciate it," she says after a moment. "But that's not the only way you could keep me safe." Joel goes still, heart leaping into his throat, keeping him from saying anything before Ellie continues: "I want you to bite me."

"Ellie."

"Mating bonds can be broken, and we can do that after we find the Fireflies," Ellie says, pushing on, stubborn as always. "You won't have to fuck me, but it'll change my scent, keep me safe from assholes like him."

"He's dead—"

"But he's not the only one out there!" Ellie cries, shifting forward, reaching for Joel, who can't make himself move, caught between his instincts and his head. Her hand comes to rest over his, and Joel feels his fist relaxing beneath her touch without his conscious input, feels her slipping her fingers between his. "He's not the only asshole who thinks like that, but you're the only one I trust with this, Joel. I'm not—not asking for forever. Just another way to keep me safe, help us reach the Fireflies in one piece."

Joel should yank his hand away from hers, should get up and put some goddamned distance between them. "And what do you think they'll say, we show up mated? Even if I don't—" He swallows, shoulders on. "Mating bond's only full after a shared heat and rut. But if you show up with my teeth-marks on your neck, they'll shoot me on sight."

Ellie's expression turns more stubborn. "We'll explain it; they'll understand," she insists.

"And what about this?" Joel asks, laying one hand over Ellie's forearm, over the long-scarred bite. "If I bite you, I'll get infected."

"No, you won't," Ellie says confidently enough to make Joel raise a brow. "The Fireflies tested me, my blood and saliva," she explains. "Back in Boston. I've got the fungus, but whatever makes me immune keeps it from making the spores or whatever it is that actually infects people."

Joel's brow furrows. "How the hell'd they figure that out?"

"Tested it on rats, I think," Ellie says, shrugging. "A lot of it was science stuff that went way over my head, but I'm not infectious. Just infected, technically."

"I—" Joel shakes his head, astonished and a little angry at himself to realize that he's seriously considering this. "Ellie, you're fourteen."

"I'll be fifteen two weeks after my heat," Ellie says, the set of her jaw stubborn. She meets Joel's gaze without flinching, and Joel feels his reluctance slipping, seeing how Ellie looks at him. She's asking for his protection, not just to get her to the Fireflies, but for her own peace of mind, and Joel…

Christ, he's already figured out he'll do anything for this girl, let her tend him when he's injured, let her climb into his sleeping bag every night and wrap her arms around him. He'll wrap his own around her and hold her close and safe as she tucks her nose into the scent gland at the base of Joel's throat, unable to sleep any other way. She claims his scent chases away the nightmares, that if he's here, close enough to drown out everything else, then she knows she's safe down in her bones. They haven't slept apart since Joel led her out of that resort town, since the three days they stayed at the hunting cabin, resting up before heading out on the last leg of their journey.

"That's not the winning argument you think it is," Joel says, but it's weak even to his own ears. Ellie clearly knows she's about to get what she wants, because she squeezes Joel's hand tighter in her own, sidles closer on the log until her thigh is pressed against his. She lifts their joined hands, turning them so that Joel's palm is laid over the place low on her neck where her scent is strongest, making him swallow hard.

"Doesn't have to be forever," she says—pleads—quietly. "And my heat's usually quick. Three days, maybe four, tops."

Joel grimaces; heat and rut come once a year, but they're always intense, usually lasting about a week. Generally speaking, the shorter the heat or rut, the more intense it is. Joel's rut usually hits in the spring, around May, and Tess' heat had hit about the same time. They'd synced up not from a mating bond, but from years of sharing heats and ruts, living and working in close proximity. For Joel, rut usually lasts around five days; Tess' heat had been a very normal seven days until it shortened about five years into their arrangement. It'd gotten more intense, too, and Joel had never heard the end of it, how it was his stupid, handsome Texan ass's fault.

If Ellie's heat is only three days long, that's… not unusual for a young omega; the younger the individual, the shorter the accompanying yearly 'difficulty,' and the less intense. Even with that allowance, though, three days is going to be rough on Ellie.

He's wavering, he knows it, and then Ellie adds, "I know it'll go faster—and easier—if you're with me, if you bite me."

Joel's resolve breaks, shatters like glass in his hands, and it feels like he's swallowing glass when he swears under his breath. "Alright," he says, fingers twitching against the skin of Ellie's neck as she goes still, staring at him with wide eyes like she hadn't thought he'd really agree.

"You'll do it?"

"I'll bite you," he says, lets his hand move lower until his fingertips brush over her scent gland, making her shiver, eyes slipping closed. "I'll put my mark on you, Ellie, but I am not fucking you. Just enough to make your heat easier, make your scent change. And after we're done in Salt Lake, we break the bond."

Ellie nods, eyes still closed. "Thank you, Joel," she breathes, shoulders slumping and relief clear in every line of her body.

Christ, thanks is the last thing Joel deserves for this—the first would be a bullet to the head—but.

Well, like Tess had said months ago, they were both shitty people. Maybe Joel can finally do something good with that.

Joel's never been a big believer in luck, but as the days roll on and Ellie's scent gets stronger and sweeter with her approaching heat, it seems like someone's looking out for them. She still sleeps in his sleeping bag, in his arms, every night, and she walks without complaint during the day. She doesn't joke or laugh the way she used to, she's far too quiet, but she drifts closer to Joel than before, brushes the back of her hand against his just for the contact as they walk, and seems to be coming out of her shell just a little bit.

That's a good step forward, Joel thinks, and then they find another hunting cabin the day before Ellie's heat is supposed to start. This one isn't as well-stocked as the other, but it's got a solar-powered generator that, miraculously, still works. The cabin is hooked up to a well, and one of the sinks even works enough that they have running water, so Joel won't have to go out and haul water into the house for every little thing.

Ellie whoops with joy when she discovers that the toilet works, too, though they're not lucky enough for the shower to work. Still, they agree that one sink and a toilet is going to be plenty. Ellie busies herself with setting things up just so in the cabin's single bedroom while Joel hunts; they've got rations, preserved snacks and things they can easily carry while sleeping rough, but fresh meat never goes amiss. God knows they're both going to need all the protein they can get for the next week. Ellie had told Joel more about her previous heats; she'd had one a year since she was eleven, apparently, and while they were always short, they wiped her out.

Joel doesn't manage to track down a deer, but he does find several rabbits and almost as many grouse. He field dresses them all before taking them back to the cabin, processing them as quickly as he can. Ellie comes out to watch him curiously, even helps out, but her mind's clearly already wandering.

They don't sleep in the bedroom that night; Ellie says it's not 'ready' yet, and Joel's following her lead on this, mostly to assuage that voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Tommy at his most sanctimonious. He swore he'd protect Ellie no matter what, and if this is what she needs to keep from disappearing entirely into her own mind—or God knows where else—then he's going to do it.

It might just be Joel's imagination, but he thinks Ellie pushes herself a little closer that night, presses her face a little more insistently into Joel's neck. He moves the hand he usually keeps on the small of her back, lifts it until he can cup the back of her neck and squeeze with a gentle, grounding pressure. It makes her groan, the sound low and throaty, and she goes utterly pliant against him, scent swelling. Joel swallows thickly, has to shift his hips and tilt them away from Ellie because his body knows what an impending heat smells like, knows what that usually means. Ellie's woodsmoke-and-something-floral-maybe scent is a far cry from Tess' gunpowder-and-citrus, as sharp as the woman herself had been, but the sweet scent of heat, honey-thick, is the same.

Thank fuck, Joel's rut is still a couple months away, so at least he doesn't have to worry about that right now; his self-control is already going to be sorely tested.

Ellie doesn't seem to notice Joel's misbehaving dick—or if she does, she doesn't care—because she just sighs, shifts so that her entire face is pressed against Joel's scent gland, and falls asleep in his arms.

God, this has to be the stupidest thing Joel's agreed to since he agreed to escort a fourteen year old omega across most of the ruined United States.

Ellie's heat hasn't started by the time they wake up, but she tells Joel it's close, probably going to really start in the next few hours. Joel takes the chance to check the snares he'd set closest to the house while she takes their sleeping bags and clothes back to the bedroom. There's a couple more rabbits, which Joel quickly takes care of, bringing them back to the cabin. The working generator means that, miraculously, the fridge is working as well, which is good enough to store the meat for this week.

Joel doesn't see Ellie when he enters the cabin, but he can hear her moving around in the bedroom, can smell how her scent permeates the whole cabin. He has to pause in the kitchen, brace himself against the counter and breathe through his mouth for several long moments, wrestling every instinct he has back under control. Ellie's not his daughter, he's not her father, but she's fourteen—being almost fifteen doesn't count right now—and he's fifty-two. She's terrified, traumatized, and their relationship is all kinds of fucked from spending months on the road with no one but each other for company, from sharing danger every goddamned day with no space and being solely responsible for each other's lives.

If it's all fucked anyway, what's a little more? a silky voice murmurs in the back of his mind, and Joel grits his teeth hard enough he's shocked they don't crack. He's gripping the wooden countertop tightly enough that the wood is creaking beneath his hands.

If it's fucked, then it's my responsibility to keep it from getting worse. I'm the goddamn adult here, he reminds himself—but the little voice isn't convinced.

"Joel?"

Joel's so lost in his own head that he doesn't realize Ellie's scent is getting closer until she's touching him, her hand resting over his, prying his fingers from the counter. "Ellie," he says, sucking in a sharp breath, and then freezing. Her scent's changed, deepened—

"My heat's started," Ellie says, shifting closer until she's pressed against Joel's arm, drawing his gaze. She's looking at him with wide eyes, her hand clinging to his—God, she's so small compared to him. It's been helpful more than once on the road, her being able to squeeze through cracks in walls and fences and open up passages for him. Now there's something deeper in Joel's chest that's pleased at the reminder of their size difference, of how neatly she fits against the curve of his body.

Joel wrestles back that something—it doesn't have any place here, when he's just trying to protect her. Whatever this thing between them is, it's not what he had with Tess or with Leeanne back before the outbreak, before the world flipped upside down.

No, it's not the same—it's more, and you know it, that goddamned voice tells him, drags that thought into the light before he manages to slam the door shut on it.

Ellie's still looking at him with wide eyes, waiting. Joel takes a deep breath, then another, letting her scent fill his lungs, and then he moves slowly, carefully, turning his hand over so he can rub his thumb over the back of Ellie's hand. She grips his hand tightly, and Joel moves his free hand to her upper arm, drawing her in for a hug, tucking her under his chin.

"We do this at your pace, baby girl," he murmurs, has to get this out before she's fully under the thrall of her instincts and he's busy fighting off the more lecherous ones he can feel lingering in the shadows, waiting to pounce. "And you ever want to stop, you say it. I won't be mad, or disappointed. I'll be proud, and I'll listen. If I don't listen, then you stab me with that pretty little knife of yours."

Ellie giggles, the sound muffled against his chest, and she nods. It's not enough though, doubt still threading through Joel's mind. He leans back, uses one hand to lift Ellie's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Tell me," he says—orders, begs, pleads. "Tell me you understand, Ellie."

Ellie draws in a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the motion, and she meets Joel's eyes squarely. "What I say, goes—at least for the next few days."

Joel chuckles, amused despite himself, and leans down to brush a kiss against her brow. "Atta girl," he murmurs. "Tell me what you want."

Ellie sways closer, her hand tightening around Joel's. "I want us to go back to my nest," she says quietly. "Maybe see if we can nap some, before it gets really bad."

Joel closes his eyes, prays for strength—and nods. "Lead the way."

Ellie's never shared a heat with anyone. FEDRA didn't allow 'minors'—anyone under the age of sixteen, in their eyes—to share heats or ruts with anyone else, even other minors. She'd used to hope that maybe Riley would be the first one she'd share a heat with; the alpha had been her best friend and first crush, and that kiss in the mall…

Well, obviously that didn't work out.

She's never really given guys more than a passing glance before, but ever since their fight at the ranch, ever since Joel's vicious admonishment that she wasn't his daughter, things have been different. She's noticed more about him than she did before; idle thoughts about his strength, the breadth of his shoulders, have turned into more specific thoughts. Thoughts about how easily Joel can pick her up and boost her onto a ledge or over a fence, about the careful way he touches her after a fight, checking her over for injuries, morph into thoughts of how careful he might be in a different context, what else his strength might be used for.

His scent's always been comfort, even before she really knew him, back when he was a stranger who'd just managed to get them out of a FEDRA ambush and through spore-infested subway tunnels. It had been incredibly distressing when his crisp scent—woody and herbal, something he'd called 'teak' and 'bergamot,' which Ellie vaguely recalls being a kind of tea—had turned sharp and sour with sickness, an infection that could have been as deadly as Cordyceps. Would have been, if not for…

Ellie wrenches her thoughts away from him, drawing in a deep breath of Joel's scent, back to normal now, wood and herb and alpha. It's nice, more than nice, and it's completely different from his scent. She hadn't been lying or exaggerating every night that Joel asked if she was sure she was comfortable this close to him; Joel's scent means she's safe, that nothing can touch her. She still has nightmares, but it's easier to wake from them when she's wrapped up in his arms.

She hadn't thought it through, really, when she'd asked Joel to bite her, to claim her. Ellie just knew that she couldn't be vulnerable, that she needed something real to reassure herself with even when Joel wasn't around. She needed to not give that excuse to anyone. She'd worried, briefly, that Joel would say 'no,' would insist they find some other way to reassure her rattled instincts.

But he'd said yes, and now here they were, her leading him down the short hall to the bedroom by the hand, his steps quiet behind her as she pushes open the door. She'd taken their dirty clothes—the least-bloodstained ones—and their sleeping bags as well as every bit of padding she could find in the cabin and made a serviceable nest. It's not the greatest nest ever built, but she's reasonably confident it'll hold her and Joel without falling apart, given Joel's insistence that he's not going to fuck her.

She won't lie and say she's not a little disappointed by that, but she knows better than to argue. Ellie knows she's already pushing her luck by getting Joel to agree to spend her heat in the same room as her even before he bites her, puts his mark on her throat.

Joel hesitates when Ellie climbs into the nest, brow creasing. "How—uh." He clears his throat, tries again, and Ellie can't help her smile at his uncertain tone. "How do you want me?"

Every way, Ellie wants to say, but she bites it back, gestures to his pants. "Maybe take those off? And your shirt." She's already in a tank top and her briefs, anything else feeling like too much, and she wants as much skin-to-skin contact as Joel will give her.

Joel nods, and apparently he's taking this change in their usual dynamic seriously, because he toes off his boots and strips off his socks, undoes his belt and steps out of his pants before unbuttoning his flannel without question. He glances from the shirt in his hand to the nest and then to Ellie, a question in his eyes. Need flares in Ellie's gut, and she snatches the flannel from Joel with greedy hands, quickly adding it to the head of the nest near the sorry excuses for pillows she'd dug out of the closet. When she turns back, Joel's still hesitating on the edge of her nest, and Ellie rises to her knees, kneeling on the edge. Like this, she's almost the same height as him, and she kind of likes the different vantage point.

She definitely likes the view of him shirtless, she decides—except for the ugly scar low on Joel's stomach, the last lingering physical reminder of Colorado. Ellie reaches out without thinking, her right hand settling on Joel's waist as she reaches with her left, brushing her fingers over the scar. Joel sucks in a breath at the touch, stomach tensing, and Ellie bites her lip.

"I'm glad you're alive. I don't—I don't know what I would've done if you'd died," she confesses, gaze caught on the scar tissue beneath her fingers, still red. It'll be a long time before it's as pale as the other scars she can see criss-crossing Joel's body.

Joel lets out a breath, taking a step closer to the nest, to her. His hands move, one covering hers over the scar, the other reaching up to cup her cheek. "I'm alright now," he murmurs, that Texan drawl he's never quite lost shining through in this quiet moment. "You saved me, Ellie."

Ellie tilts her head, turning so her nose is pressed against Joel's wrist and she can breathe in his scent more deeply. "You saved me, too," she says, glancing up at him. "Lots of times."

Joel's lips twitch. "Then how about we call it even?"

Ellie grins. "Even," she agrees, and twists her hand to catch Joel by the wrist, tugging. "Come on, get in."

"Alright, I'm coming."

It's awkward, Ellie shuffling backwards on her knees as Joel climbs into the nest, doing his best not to disturb her handiwork. From there, Ellie pushes and nudges until Joel's leaning back against the headboard and she can crawl into the space between his legs, turn around so her back is to his chest, and wrap his arms around her waist. She sighs with contentment, completely enveloped in his scent, and waits as Joel slowly relaxes.

She can feel his cock stirring against the small of her back, but her heat isn't quite bad enough yet to make it impossible to ignore. For now, Ellie's content with the way Joel tugs her back against him a little more comfortably, hooks his chin over her shoulder. "This good?" he murmurs, the rough drawl of his voice so close to her ear making Ellie shiver in the best kind of way.

"Perfect," she sighs, covering Joel's hands with her own and settling in for the suggested nap. Her heat is making her feel hot and a little restless, but she's not really in the throes of it yet, certainly not deep enough for a mating bite. There's something about the hormones of a heat or rut—and the hormones that sharing one with a partner triggers in both—that Ellie remembers from FEDRA's perfunctory biology lessons that makes a mating bite stick, makes it heal in that strange, silvery tissue. Whatever they are, those hormones don't actually kick in until the peak of heat, so Joel's not going to bite her today. Maybe tomorrow, if her heat goes as quickly as she thinks it will, given the usual time it takes and the presence of an alpha she trusts as completely as she trusts Joel. That's supposed to make heat easier, or at least faster.

Ellie dozes for most of the rest of the day, drifting in and out of full consciousness and taking advantage of the opportunity to simply rest. That sort of thing has been sorely lacking for the past year; even when they were in the middle of nowhere, Ellie had never quite been able to let go of that lingering wariness, the instinct to watch Joel for any sign of something wrong. To be fair, that had saved their bacon more than a couple times, being able to read him so well—at least when it came to things as straightforward as danger. Emotions had still been hit-or-miss until the university, but ever since then, since he woke up and found her at Silver Lake, it seems like Joel's been making more of an effort to be more open. Ellie appreciates it more than she can say, this additional effort he's put out for her; she knows twenty years of habit are a hard thing to break.

Joel seems content to doze with her, his arms around Ellie, holding her close, as her heat slowly builds beneath her skin. When she squirms a few hours later, restless, he knows what she's looking for before she even asks, slipping his hands beneath her shirt and letting them rest against her stomach. The extra skin contact soothes the building heat, and Ellie settles with a contented sigh, wraps her hand around one of Joel's wrists and marvels at how her fingers don't even come close to touching, how one of his hands spans almost the entirety of her stomach. She's appreciated Joel's strength and size before, how it's helped him keep them alive on this journey of theirs, even when it was a pain in the ass when he was unconscious. The warmth in her core is something different now, a different kind of appreciation, and one Ellie does her best to ignore for the moment.

As the sky darkens outside, Joel slips from the nest to retrieve food and water, leaving Ellie to squirm impatiently, fidgeting restlessly until he's back in arm's reach. She barely waits for him to put the provisions on the nightstand before she's trying to haul him back into the nest, pushing him back against the headboard so she can climb into his lap, curled up against his chest. There's a noise in her own chest and throat, something she's only managed a few times before—a croon, rusty and hesitant, but then…

Joel purrs, a true alpha purr, deeper and more consistent than Riley had ever managed. Ellie feels like her spine has turned to liquid as she melts against Joel's chest, rubbing her cheek against him. He feeds her by hand, bits of jerky and dried fruit, then gives her water, and Ellie's croon grows stronger, more consistent. When she's full, she shifts around until she's straddling Joel, taking the food and water bottle from him so she can feed him. Ellie can't help her smile when Joel just settles his hands on her waist, thumbs slipping beneath her tank top and stroking over her skin as he takes the food and water from her hand.

They settle in for the night, Joel tucking the ragged blanket around them both, and Ellie drifts off to a dreamless sleep, feeling utterly contented.

She wakes feeling as though her skin is melting.

She's whining even before she's fully conscious, barely aware of Joel murmuring soothing words she can't quite piece together, his hands on her skin a wonderful point of contact but there's still too much otherness. Ellie reaches for the hem of her shirt, her fingers shaky, and makes a frustrated noise when the fabric gets caught around her armpits, whines wordlessly for her alpha's help—

Joel says something rough and low—a swear, some distant part of Ellie thinks, but he's not swearing at her, rather at himself—and then his hands are moving, skimming up her ribs to take the shirt from her hands, easing it over her head to drop somewhere not on her. She sighs when the cool spring mountain air drifting in from the cracked window hits her newly-bared skin. Ellie presses herself closer to Joel; she can feel how slick she is, her core practically dripping, soaking the fabric of her briefs. She can feel the way Joel's cock stirs against her stomach, egged on by whatever her scent is doing now. She can't help rocking against it, but when Joel's hands land on her waist again, an implacable grip accompanied by a low, warning growl rumbling out of his chest, she subsides with a huff.

She's not quite mindless, she remembers what Joel said, but she can't help wanting.

Once Joel seems satisfied that Ellie's not going to push, he rewards her with a long, sweeping stroke of his hand over her bare back, drawing a sigh from her. Ellie tucks her face into the crook of Joel's neck, right where his scent is strongest, and breathes deeply, greedily. She does her best to concentrate on how good Joel's hand feels with what he is giving her, and to ignore how she kind of really wants his hand on her front.

It works for a while; she's not sure how long, since time's kind of lost all meaning. The room is brighter than it was before, she knows, but her heat is building beneath her skin, a budding want that's rapidly becoming a need. She shifts, moves one hand from where she'd had it wrapped around Joel's waist and touches herself, cups one breast in her hand—

"Ellie," Joel groans, almost growls, and Ellie bites her lip.

"Can't help it," she says, voice hitching as she swipes her thumb over her nipple, breath catching in her chest. "'s heat, Joel."

Joel swears under his breath, his hands falling to her hips, and then he's moving her. Ellie loses her breath entirely at how effortless he makes it seem, feels her cunt clench on nothing, slick dripping as he turns her around until her back is to his chest again, his thighs bracketing her hips as his hands move, sliding over her thighs to cup her knees. Ellie arches her back, tilting her head in hopeful invitation that Joel takes, ducking his head to nose against her throat, his beard a wonderful soft rasp against her sensitive skin.

"I meant what I said," he warns, voice low. "'m not gonna fuck you, Ellie. Not gonna touch you more'n this."

"Joel—" Ellie whines, can't help it, and Joel squeezes her knees. He takes a deep breath; Ellie can feel his chest moving against her back with it, can feel how he seems to settle into the nest behind her. His touch softens, fingers stroking over the ticklish skin at the side of her knees.

"But you can touch yourself," he says. "Not that mean, baby girl. You do what you gotta, and I'll be right here. I've got you."

That's all the reassurance Ellie needs; the hand not at her breast slips beneath the elastic band of her briefs. She's so slick there's almost no friction when she touches herself, circles two fingers over her clit. With heat burning in her blood, it only takes a few shaky swipes before she's coming, arching back against Joel as she cries out, fingers spasming over herself before she's too sensitive, has to wrench her hand away.

"Good girl," Joel murmurs, lips brushing Ellie's ear, and she shivers, pressing back against him, doing her best to ignore the way he's hard against her back. He's helping her, she reminds herself, and she's grateful and she's not going to push, dammit.

Ellie licks her lips, eases her hand from her briefs. "Thirsty," she says, the post-orgasm clarity making her aware of the ache in her throat.

Joel hums, shifting behind her so he can grab a canteen. "Hungry?" he asks, holding the canteen to her lips, steadying Ellie's hand with his own as she drinks.

"Not right now," she decides after she's drank her fill, sinking back against Joel. He nods, hands shifting on her knees, and Ellie wipes her sticky hand on the fabric of—something, maybe one of their shirts— before reaching for him. She wraps his arms around her again, gets his hands on her stomach and folds her own arms over his, leaning back with a contented sigh. Joel's tense behind her, but Ellie waits him out, doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything except let her thumb sweep over the back of his hand.

She's rewarded for her patience with a long, drawn-out sigh, Joel relaxing behind her, hooking his chin over her shoulder. Ellie smiles at the feeling of his beard against her cheek, tilts her head so their temples are resting against each other.

"How long between…?"

"Not long," Ellie admits; she can still feel her heat like the embers of a banked fire, waiting to flare again at the least little provocation. "Gets shorter as it goes. Prob'ly peak tonight."

Joel hums, his thumb rubbing against her stomach in an absent gesture, the callouses of his skin catching on the smooth planes of hers. "You still want me to claim you?" he asks, voice low and serious.

Ellie doesn't hesitate before she nods. "Yes. And I—" She bites her lips, hesitates now, because she'd just kind of assumed this would happen, but… "I want to bite you, too."

Joel goes perfectly still, the way he does when he hears a clicker but can't see it yet. "Ellie—"

"I won't, if you say no." She swallows, tries to force her thoughts into some form of coherency. "I know just you biting me will make my scent change, but I—We're partners. Aren't we?"

Joel's close enough that Ellie can hear it when he swallows. "Yeah," he says, voice hoarse. "We are. But if you bite me, too, Ellie—that'll make things more… intense."

"I know," Ellie whispers. "I've read about it, even if FEDRA was cagey about mating bonds. I know it won't be a-a full bond, even if we've both got bites, without you knotting me or sharing your rut. But I want it, Joel. I want to know I've got your back the way you have mine."

Joel shifts, his head dropping until his forehead is pressed against her shoulder, and he swears under his breath—but he doesn't stop touching Ellie, keeps his arms wrapped around her. She can practically hear him debating with himself, and holds her breath, waiting.

Finally, he moves, lifting one arm and shifting so that he can lift her chin with a finger, make her meet his eyes. "Breaking the bond after we get to the Fireflies is gonna be rough enough with one bite," he says, expression serious. Ellie holds his gaze, keeps herself still. "You bite me, too, and it'll be worse."

"I understand," she says quietly, just as serious as him. "But I want this, Joel."

Joel searches her gaze intently, a crease in his brow—but when he doesn't find the hesitation he's looking for, when Ellie doesn't back down, doesn't look away, he sighs, head tilting forward until their foreheads are resting against each other. "You're gonna be the death of me, girl," he murmurs. "But alright. You tell me when."

Ellie smiles, reaches up to wrap her hand around Joel's wrist, thumb over his pulse. "I will," she promises. "Soon. Tonight, maybe; can feel it coming on more now." It feels like standing on the edge of the bridge back in Pittsburgh, caught between bandits baying for blood and the roaring river below. It's not as overwhelming as heat usually is, locked in a FEDRA heat room by herself. Being here in this little cabin, wrapped in Joel's arms and scent, makes it feel more bearable, more enjoyable. Makes her think about the way she'd heard some of the older omegas talk about heat with a partner, how fun it could be. She'd never really bought that, given her own miserable experience, but now… Well, now it seems more plausible, that heat could be something to enjoy with someone else.

Not that she's going to find that out yet, if Joel keeps his hands—mostly—to himself.

Ellie works herself through several more orgasms in Joel's arms before the sun goes down. The reprieve between each is shorter every time, and it's getting harder to actually get off, which Ellie knows means she's almost at the peak. Joel still keeps his hands to her legs and arms, no matter how much Ellie squirms or whines, tries to beg without words for more.

He does talk, though. Nothing explicit, just encouragement and praise, but it's enough for Ellie to work with—until it isn't, until she's spent several minutes writhing in Joel's arms, four fingers buried in herself and not enough, unable to come.

"Joel, please," she cries, arching into the hand Joel finally placed on her stomach; she wants it lower, knows that his fingers would fill her so much better—

"No, baby girl," Joel murmurs, moving his hand, and Ellie barely has time to sob in frustration before he's got both hands on her waist, lifting and turning her until she's straddling one of his thighs, his foot propped on the bed so he can tense underneath her. "Here, just—move, sweetheart."

Ellie's heat-addled brain doesn't comprehend what he's getting at right away, not until he uses the grip he has on her waist to tilt her hips. She'd thrown her briefs off after her third—or maybe fourth—orgasm, the fabric soaked in slick and sweat and sticking to her skin in an uncomfortable way, so when Joel urges her forward, helps her roll her hips, it's her bare cunt that drags against his thigh. Her breath catches, and it's not filling her, she's still achingly empty, but it is Joel, her protector, her alpha. He's got his hands on her hips, guiding her into a rhythm as she ruts against him, winding her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder as she moans.

Joel growls in response, the sound making Ellie shiver, and she can't stop herself before she's opening her mouth, tongue darting out to taste the skin over Joel's throat, where his scent is strongest. Joel swears, grip tightening on Ellie's hips, and she hopes it bruises, hopes she'll have more marks to carry out of this heat. She brings her teeth into play, scrapes them over the sensitive skin beneath her mouth. She's rewarded with another growl, this time pressed against her skin as Joel ducks his head, presses an open-mouthed kiss over her own scent gland.

"Now?" he asks, voice hoarse. Ellie barely hears it over the rushing in her head, her blood pounding in her veins, driving her forward towards the edge as she rocks her hips with increasing urgency, whines low in the back of her throat. "Ellie, baby girl, I need you to tell me—"

"Now," Ellie gasps, her heat swelling under her skin, her orgasm right there even without anything inside of her, and then there's teeth at her throat, skimming down before Joel bites. Ellie feels like a supernova just exploded in her brain, eliminating all thoughts that aren't mine and bite and claim as her blood roars. There's no elegance to her own bite, driven by pure instinct as she fits her teeth to Joel's neck, breaks skin and for once revels in the taste of blood, because it's his blood, he's hers and she's his.

Her neck aches beneath Joel's mouth as he carefully pulls back, and Ellie shivers and moans when she feels Joel's tongue against her skin, cleaning her. She can smell the change in her scent already, how it's gone deeper, more full-bodied as she eases her own teeth from Joel, mind empty of anything that isn't mate, isn't Joel, her alpha, hers, purr rumbling out of his chest in answer to her own soft croon. There's something nudging against the back of her mind, some… awareness, maybe, is the word. Ellie knows instinctually that it's Joel, knows he can feel her, too, like another limb that was always meant to be there.

Ellie tucks herself under Joel's chin, clings to her alpha, and revels in the feel of his hands on her skin, sweeping over her ribs and back until he cups the back of her neck in one large palm and squeezes, anchors her in her body. She's floating high on all the good endorphins, hormones, whatever the fuck the proper biology term is, and she intends to fucking well bask.

Ellie falls asleep still crooning, clinging to Joel, and Joel gives in to his instincts, just a little. He tugs her closer, until she's resting more heavily against his chest and he can duck his head, can press a kiss to the top of hers and let his thumb run over the already-healing outline of his teeth in the crook of her neck. He can feel her in the back of his mind, a dim awareness that's nowhere near the connection of a full mating bond, but with how much time they spend together…

Well, he heard all kinds of theories about mating bonds and how they worked—or didn't—back before the world went to hell. Guess he's finally going to find out whether the theories about how proximity affects preliminary bonds are accurate.

Part of him still can't believe he agreed to this, much less followed through—that part sounds like Tommy, and Joel is doing his best to ignore it for the moment. Another part he's ignoring is telling him that they might as well consummate the bond, make it real, make breaking the bond worth it—

Ellie makes a soft, worried sound, stirring in his arms, and Joel soothes her without thinking, settling her back against him without letting her wake fully. Once he's sure she's asleep, he swallows, and closes his eyes. He's going to need to be a lot more careful about his thoughts now, apparently; Ellie was already too damned good at reading him.

He doesn't regret this, though, he decides, grimacing at the slightly-tacky feel of her slick drying against his thigh, making his leg hairs stick to his skin. If it means he can keep her safe—if it means he can prove to her just how much he cares—then Joel can't regret this, even if it's going to make things so much more complicated when they finally reach Salt Lake City and Saint Mary's Hospital.

But that's a worry for later, and Joel sets it firmly aside in favor of looking after his omega, making sure she rests as comfortably as she can before the next wave of heat, and that he gets some rest, too.

He dozes for a couple of hours; it's the longest Ellie's gone without waking up in need since her second orgasm. It's not Ellie who wakes him—at least, not the way she had before, squirming and breathless with the next wave of her heat. This time, it's a building pressure in the back of his mind, the newly-formed link between them giving him a warning, rousing him—and every instinct he has.

He's hard, hard enough to hurt, and he can smell himself, the arousal coming off of him in waves. He tries to throttle it back but it's a losing battle; every part of him is insisting that the omega in his arms is his, and he needs to take care of her in every way. Ellie finally wakes with a soft little moan, shifting in Joel's arms, and he bites his lip, has to fight to keep his hands from wandering.

You've already had your teeth in her, that goddamn voice points out. How much worse are your fingers, really? You know you could help her so much better, make her feel so good—

"Joel," Ellie groans, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her hips restless. She whines when she brushes against Joel's still-clothed cock, and he has to bite back a similar noise. "Joel, please."

Joel wraps one hand around the back of her neck, lets the other fall to her hip, helping her to straddle his thigh again—they've already done this much, and it's not like he's really touching her, he tries to convince himself. It works for a little while, even; it lets Joel ignore the way his dick is throbbing in his boxers, the one article of clothing he'd refused to let Ellie get rid of, an extra shield to remind himself of what this wasn't.

But then Ellie's groaning, frustration making her movements jerky, and then she whines, a breathless "Alpha," falling from her lips, and Joel forgets himself. He ducks his head, presses his mouth to the side of Ellie's neck, over the still-tender mark, and the hand on Ellie's hip drifts in, over her stomach—

Just once, he finds himself thinking. Just while she's in the peak of heat, when it's so difficult to come by yourself.

Ellie makes an encouraging noise, widens her thighs and makes room for his hand as it slips lower, as he grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, fingers slicking through her soaked folds. "Yes," she breathes, rocking into him, her nails digging sharp crescents into the meat of his shoulder as her head falls to the side, giving him more room to get his mouth on her. "Yes, yes, Joel—Alpha—"

Joel's finger slips into her when she cants her hips just right, and Joel will never, ever forget the noise she makes. It'll haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, he knows, and right now, he's glad. Ellie croons, the sound shaky as she works herself on Joel's hand, and he's powerless to stop the answering purr rumbling out of his chest. He hasn't purred so much since Tess' last heat, but even that had been more instinct, less of this need to express fondness and care and to reassure his partner.

Ellie melts against him at the sound, noses against the tender skin where she'd put her mark on Joel. Joel nips at his mark on her, slips a second finger into Ellie when she twitches. She moans at the stretch, and Joel crooks his fingers, searching. He's rewarded with another moan, breathier this time, and Ellie's hips rocking, her teeth scraping over the mark and making Joel growl.

Ellie just presses closer, works her hips faster, breathless pleas falling from her lips, pleas for more, and Joel's already got two fingers in her, what's another one?

Ellie comes on three of Joel's fingers, her release soaking him to the wrist. She clings to him, bites over the still-tender skin on his throat, and for the first time since he was a goddamned teenager, Joel comes in his pants. His orgasm catches him by surprise, makes him groan and curl into Ellie, pulling her closer. She goes willingly, all but climbs him like a damned tree as he eases his fingers from her, winding her arms around him and crooning, nose bumping against his cheek.

Joel shifts, angles his head to avoid a kiss, because that—That's not a line he's going to cross, not while Ellie's still in the throes of heat. It's not a line he should ever cross, but if he's already slid this far down that slippery slope to hell…

Well, he always knew he'd end up there, Joel reminds himself, letting himself purr and tug Ellie closer, settle her more comfortably against him. It's not like that's news, and certainly not worth brooding over now when he still has an omega to look after.

They end up spending a week at the cabin; by the time Ellie's heat is done, they're both wrung dry, utterly exhausted, and need the time to recuperate before even thinking about pushing on to Salt Lake City. Joel takes on a more active role in Ellie's heat in the wake of biting her; she comes on his fingers more often than not, until she finally falls asleep and the last of heat fades from her scent. It's more than Joel had planned to do, but he managed to keep himself from forgetting every rule he told himself before Ellie's heat started, and Joel does his best to be content with that.

Even before they leave the cabin, Ellie is rarely more than an arm's length away, and Joel ignores just how much he likes the closeness, likes knowing where Ellie is at all times. It soothes the protective instincts that Joel's always had a hard time with, even before the world went to hell and his personal world was destroyed. It's probably not healthy to be so tuned-in to Ellie's whereabouts, for her to be so in tune with him as well, but.

They're wearing each other's marks, he's had his teeth and fingers in her, his hands on her and her hands on him. Oh, and there's the little issue of the thirty-plus years separating them in age. They've left 'healthy' way in the rearview mirror, and Joel's trying to focus on the positives, on how the fledgling bond between them is already making Ellie open up more, laughing easier and losing some of the tension that had constantly knotted her shoulders over the past month.

The awareness that comes with the preliminary bond only solidifies in the wake of Ellie's heat. Their marks heal over with the distinctive silvery scar tissue of mating bites, and Ellie's scent changes. It's deepened, not quite as sweet; the unidentifiable note is definitely floral now, but Joel's still not sure what it is, exactly. She smells like him, too—not just the vague hints that gather in a person's skin when they spend a lot of time together, but a true blending of scents. He can smell bergamot in her scent now, knows that his own has taken on a distinctly smoky tinge, and both of them keep brushing against each other just for another hit of the changed scent, the reminder that they're connected.

They leave the cabin the day after a storm blows through, making the walls shake around them, the drafty cabin letting in more of the early-spring chill and driving Ellie further into Joel's arms. She still sleeps with him, zips together their sleeping bags and presses herself against Joel, into the space she's carved out for herself. Most nights, she falls asleep with her hand either over the still-tender scar on Joel's abdomen or with her fingertips brushing the slightly-raised skin of her mark on his neck. Joel usually falls asleep with his own hand curled around the back of Ellie's neck, his thumb brushing his mark on her.

It's remarkably comforting, and the best sleep Joel thinks he's ever had.

They set off for Salt Lake City, and as the weather grows steadily warmer, as the world wakes up after a long, hard winter and the scenery surrounding them turns green with new growth, Joel feels the bond strengthening. He can tell where Ellie is now, can feel a pull deep in his gut towards her. He hasn't said anything, but figures Ellie feels something similar considering how easily they find each other when they split up to loot the various houses and stores they pass on the way to Saint Mary's. Joel doesn't like letting Ellie out of his sight, but Ellie needs the independence, needs the evidence that Joel trusts her to take care of herself and to contribute to their survival. She doesn't say that in so many words, but Joel can put the pieces together.

Joel is still woken more nights than not by Ellie's nightmares, but now he's waking before she does, her rising distress leaking across the bond and rousing him. He tries not to feel inordinately pleased at how easily she always settles beneath his touch, the way he can soothe her back into a deeper sleep without letting her wake fully. She does the same for him, he knows; he's always been a light sleeper, so when his own dark dreams start seeping across to Ellie, she learns not to try to get him back to sleep, but to wake him. She always does so with gentle touches, often to their mark or his shoulder, doesn't touch his face until he's opened his eyes and can see the touch coming.

He lets her wake him, even from nightmares of Sarah's death—or her survival, making it through that horrible night only to die later, infected, changing in front of him and begging him to put her down before she hurts someone. Sometimes she doesn't die; sometimes Joel keeps her alive, the way he'd kept himself and Tommy alive, and she leaves, can't stand to live with the monster wearing her father's face.

Ellie never flinches from him when he wakes too quickly, body moving before he's fully conscious, rolling them to pin her to the ground. The first time it happens, she's caught entirely off-guard, yelps in surprise, and it's that noise combined with the sharp swell of surprise-fear from the bond that makes Joel throw himself off of her like he's been burned, tangling himself in the sleeping bag before he can kick it off, can put some space between them and breathe.

He doesn't go back to sleep that night, sits up staring into the fire. Ellie—stubborn, brave, foolhardy girl that she is—falls asleep with her head on his thigh, rolled up in the sleeping bag. She'd put herself there, firmly refused Joel's suggestions that she might be more comfortable somewhere else, and Joel hadn't had the heart to move her. He didn't have the guts to touch her, either, even though his fingers practically itched to run through her hair, to soothe himself with the reminder that Ellie was here, that she was safe—that he was keeping her safe.

Ellie's ready for the next time Joel wakes up roughly. She rolls easily when Joel pins her, stretches up and sinks her teeth into the mark on Joel's neck, sending a shock of pain-recognition-want through him. It wakes Joel far more effectively than ice water to the face.

That night, he doesn't fall asleep for a different reason.

They find a balance somewhere on the road, the two of them figuring out where the lines are in their new—temporary, Joel reminds himself, even though it feels less and less so with every mile—normal. By the time they get to the city, Ellie seems like she's almost back to her old self; still a little quiet, prone to getting lost in her head, but Joel can coax her out more often than not, and when he can't, she lets him walk close enough for their arms to brush with every other step.

In the bus depot, Joel can feel Ellie's wonder at the sight of the giraffes as if it were his own, more than he should be able to feel for a bond that hasn't been fully consummated. As they watch the giraffes move across an abandoned, overgrown baseball field, he lays his hand over Ellie's, doesn't pull away when she flips their hands, tangles her fingers with his.

He has to ask, has to offer—tells her that they can leave, can head back for Jackson. She doesn't have to do this.

She's tempted; Joel can feel the longing as easily as he can read it in her gaze—and he can feel the determination that follows, sweeping aside the longing.

"It can't all be for nothing," she says, and Joel nods.

"Whatever happens, I'm not leaving without you," he promises, means it more than any mating vow.

He'd never accounted for Ellie leaving him, though.

Joel wakes handcuffed to a hospital bed railing, and feels like he's swimming in syrup; something's wrong, he can feel it as surely as he felt it before Silver Lake, waking up to Ellie's scent stale in the basement. Her scent is missing now, and her side of the bond is hazy, like he's trying to hear her from miles away. It makes Joel's skin crawl.

"I should shoot you."

Joel's head snaps to the side, gaze landing on the barrel of a pistol aimed right between his eyes. When he lifts his gaze, he sees Marlene on the other end of the gun, and he goes still, hands clenching into fists at the fury and judgment heavy in her gaze.

"I trusted you with her. Tommy told me I could trust you, and you mated her."

"It's a long story," Joel says, tries to keep the growl from his voice and doesn't quite succeed. "It's been a long road. It's not a full bond, and we always planned to break it when we got here."

Marlene scoffs. "That's such a load of horseshit—"

"It was her idea."

That brings Marlene up short, buys Joel time to give her a greatly-abbreviated version of events. Marlene's clearly not happy with him, but Joel doesn't care about that. He cares about the fact that he still can't feel Ellie, knows she isn't close and she isn't conscious.

Then Marlene tells him why.

She tells him to do the right thing, to let Ellie go—to let Ellie save humanity.

The thing is… Joel hasn't given a shit about humanity in a long, long time, and he's not sacrificing his—Ellie to a bunch of eggheads who don't even have a plan.

He plays along, lets Marlene uncuff him, lets her leave and the soldier escort him to a quiet hallway.

Once they're alone, Joel moves.

Ellie wakes slowly, has to practically claw her way back to consciousness through the molasses coating her brain. The first thing she registers is someone touching her, their hand curled around her wrist, fingers resting over her pulse. She doesn't have time to truly panic before Joel's scent—teak and bergamot and the new hint of smokiness it had picked up after her heat, like sitting beside a campfire on a fall night with a mug of tea in her hands—registers. Ellie relaxes, sinks back against the cushion beneath her with a tired groan, and feels Joel's fingers squeeze against her wrist.

"Easy, baby girl," he says, voice a low, familiar rumble that makes Ellie relax more, even though there's something strange about his side of the bond, like she's listening to him from the other side of a wall. "Don't move too quick."

Ellie frowns, blinking her eyes open, and her brow furrows when she realizes the gentle swaying isn't in her head, it's from the truck she's in.

Also… "What the fuck am I wearing?" she asks, voice hoarse, throat dry and scratchy. She uses the hand not held by Joel to lift the fabric from her chest. It's stiff and a little rough, and she thinks it doesn't actually have a back.

"'s a hospital gown," Joel says, and now his voice is tight, controlled; Ellie stiffens in response, because that tone means something is wrong.

"Why am I wearing a hospital gown? The last thing I remember—"

The tunnel, helping Joel fight through more infected until they found the rapids.

Crossing over the wreckage of a multitude of vehicles, until a bus shifted beneath their weight.

Joel falling into the bus.

Ellie running without thinking, feeling Joel's throttled-back panic and having to fight back her own, because her alpha was in danger.

They got the door open, but then the bus shifted again, and Ellie remembers being thrown off, hitting the water…

"You almost drowned," Joel grits out, his hold on her wrist tensing for just a second before he pulls away too quickly for Ellie to catch him.

She rolls her head against the seat, sees Joel's fingers flexing against the steering wheel. "But you got me out," she says, because of course he did.

Joel takes a shaky breath. "I did, but. You weren't breathing. The Fireflies found us."

Something dark heaves against the bond, against whatever wall Joel's managed to put up since Ellie's been unconscious. She wets her lips, hesitates. "But we're not with them."

"I—" Joel clears his throat. "No. It's… complicated."

Ellie could push, she knows. She probably should push. But whatever is on the other side of that wall, however the hell Joel managed to block her off from the bond in the first place, she needs all her brain cells working together to get him to talk to her.

Something went wrong—really wrong.

Ellie takes a breath, and sets it aside for the moment. She'll let him find them someplace for tonight, she decides. Then she'll ask. For now… "We got any water?"

Joel reaches for the passenger seat, holds a canteen out to her. "Small sips," he cautions, glancing over his shoulder to look at her. His gaze is dark, worried, and at least that is still something she can read. "They drugged you, had you under anesthesia. Don't want you making yourself sick."

Anesthesia.

Ellie knows what that means: surgery.

But the only sore spots on her are where she thinks she whacked her head off a rock after falling into the rapids, and a spot in the crook of her elbow that, when she looks at it, has a small scab. Whatever surgery she was going under for, it didn't happen.

Ellie doesn't like the picture building itself in her mind, but she takes the canteen, settles a little more comfortably into the seat, and lets them lapse into silence.

Joel finds an abandoned motel just as the sun's starting to set. The cracked sign claims the building was something called a Motel 6, and most of the rooms have broken windows or ceilings, are open to the elements, but there's one towards the middle of the building that's mostly intact, only missing a bit of glass from the front window. That's easy enough to board up, and the inside of the room is musty, covered in a layer of dust, but Ellie can see signs of life, of previous travelers who used the room to shelter for a night.

The bed frame creaks beneath her when Joel helps her sit down, and Ellie makes a face. "That doesn't sound good."

Joel kneels down, flicks on his flashlight and eyes the frame. "I think it'll hold," he decides after a moment. "Just rusty."

Ellie nods, takes his word for it. "You don't happen to have my pack, do you?"

"It's in the truck," he says, pushing himself to his feet and grimacing, one hand going to his shoulder. Ellie tracks the movement with sharp eyes, can barely feel the muted discomfort from across the bond. Whatever Joel did to try to block himself off from her, it's solid, and really fucking annoying. She can feel herself getting steadily more concerned and annoyed, and Joel has to be able to tell, even without the bond.

Something's going to give, and soon.

Joel comes back with her pack, and Ellie digs some actual clothes out of it, heading for the little bathroom. None of the plumbing actually works, because of course their luck had to run out eventually, but at least the door shuts. Ellie takes the chance to examine herself in the cracked, dirty mirror; she's covered in bruises, probably from getting thrown around in the rapids, and she knows there's a giant knot on the back of her head. There's bags under her eyes, a cut on her chin—again, probably from the rapids.

Her eyes catch on her mate-mark. Ellie doesn't realize she's lifted her hand until her fingers are tracing the silvered outline of Joel's teeth in her skin. There's a strange echo, like dropping a penny down a well, and Ellie can't help but shiver, pulling her hands away.

Ellie doesn't look in the mirror again as she gets dressed.

She emerges to find Joel's set up their tiny camping stove, the one that makes barely any smoke but lets them heat up their canned food to more palatable levels. He's got some sort of soup over the fire this time; it smells like beef stew, maybe. Ellie's stomach rumbles at the smell, and Joel offers her a tentative smile. "It'll be ready in a couple minutes," he says, watching as Ellie draws nearer, settling down across the fire from him. The smile dims, and that something rolls behind the block, distant thunder setting Ellie's teeth on edge.

Joel's hiding something from her, and even though she wants nothing more than to be near him, wants to sit with her thigh pressed against his the way she's grown accustomed to over the past month and a half, Ellie can't make herself move. They sit in stilted silence until the stew is ready, and Joel divides it between their bowls, handing her the bowl with slightly more in it. They eat in silence, too, nothing but the sound of their spoons against the bowls accompanying the meal.

Ellie manages to finish the whole bowl; she has no idea how long she's been unconscious, but it was long enough for her belly to become achingly empty. She has to make herself eat slowly, not make herself sick, and she keeps her focus on her food, doesn't look up at Joel until she's finished and is handing him the empty bowl.

Joel takes the bowl, sets it off to the side with his own, and busies himself putting away the camp stove. Ellie watches him, takes in the tense line of his shoulder, the careful way he moves; he's strained something, she decides. So whatever happened at the hospital while she was unconscious…

"You tired?" Joel asks, sitting down and leaning against the dresser, facing Ellie, who's leaning against one leg of the bed.

She shakes her head, watches Joel's throat work, his jaw clench, and decides it's now or never. "What went wrong?"

Joel goes perfectly, utterly still. "Ellie—"

"You're holding yourself like you did after that ambush in Nebraska," she says, watching Joel's face intently. "Like you pulled something fighting. There's something weird going on with the bond; I can't feel you the way I did yesterday. I woke up in a hospital gown, but not in a hospital, and you won't look at me, Joel. So what went wrong?"

She can see the way Joel's chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and the feeling on the other end of the bond is guilt, heavy and choking. His expression is blank, and Ellie has a sudden, horrible premonition—

"You lie to me, and I am gone, Joel," she says sharply just as he opens his mouth. "I mean it. I'll run far enough you'll never find me before I break the bond, and then you will never see me again." It'll kill her, but—knowing Joel would lie to her would kill her just as surely. How could she survive knowing she couldn't trust him?

Joel freezes, mouth shutting with an audible click, and then he clears his throat. His brow furrows, and he doesn't speak for another moment, presumably marshaling his thoughts. Finally, he sighs. "Marlene knew we'd mated," is what he starts with, and Ellie just raises a brow. Of course she would have—mate-marks are hard to miss, and the way their scents had changed would've been a dead giveaway as to who the marks belonged to. "I got you out of the rapids, but you weren't breathing. I was doing CPR when a Firefly patrol found us; they knocked me out. I woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed, with Marlene holding a gun in my face."

"A little extreme," Ellie allows, "but you explained it, right?"

Joel nods. "Best as I could, yeah. But it was hard to concentrate; I could feel you on the other end of the bond, but you were… foggy. Like you were still unconscious. I couldn't focus on anything else, and finally Marlene told me—She—" He stutters to a stop, clears his throat, and tries again. "She said you were being prepped for surgery."

Ellie's brow furrows. "Like, from nearly drowning? I've got a massive knot on the back of my head—"

"To get the fungus out of your brain."

Ellie blinks, thrown. "What?"

"I've got… recorders, and Marlene's journal," Joel says haltingly, gesturing towards his pack. "Picked 'em up mostly for Tommy, but. Should've figured you'd know something wasn't right." He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face in a familiar gesture, weariness and a way to brace himself all in one. "The Fireflies didn't really have a plan. They knew you couldn't infect people, that you were only technically infected, but that something kept the fungus from spreading, taking over the way it usually does. They did an x-ray while we were both out, and found that it is in your brain."

"We already knew that—that it wasn't working the way it usually does in me," Ellie says, watching Joel carefully. "We've known that since Boston."

"Right. Well." Joel takes a deep breath, and then he lifts his head, meets her eye. There's something pained in his gaze, but Ellie doesn't let herself react, just waits for Joel to continue. "They thought the key to the vaccine was the fungus—that it had mutated, was a new strain. Not you, exactly. They figured they could remove the fungus, use it to reverse engineer a vaccine."

That doesn't exactly sound right, but Ellie's not a scientist. There's a sinking feeling in her gut though, and this time the dread is all hers. "But it was—"

"In your brain, deep enough that…" Pain flashes across the bond, overwhelming Joel's block, and Ellie sucks in a sharp breath, has to blink back tears. Joel just grimaces; if Ellie hadn't felt it, she wouldn't have thought he was so affected. "It would've killed you."

Ellie's thoughts are racing, crashing into each other in a horrific clamor, but what makes it to her mouth first is, "You should have let them."

Joel growls. "Never."

"They could've saved—"

"They didn't have a fucking plan," Joel snarls. "They had theories, but they didn't even have a plan to keep themselves from getting infected while they were experimenting with whatever is inside you, just in case the key wasn't the fungus, if it was really you. Marlene told me to walk away, that you weren't my concern—told her soldier to march me out of there without even seeing you, and to shoot me if I tried anything."

"And did you?" Ellie snaps, shooting to her feet, hands fisted at her side as she glares down at Joel. "You had to have, if I'm here and not dead."

Joel laughs, but it's a hollow, ugly sound. "You have no idea what it was like," he says, voice low and pained, "being told that I had to sacrifice you for the 'greater good.' For a group of rebels who were being wiped out, who didn't have a way to distribute a vaccine even if they could make one, to kill you—my mate—for their fucking theories."

"It's not a full bond—" Ellie tries, but Joel scoffs.

"Doesn't fuckin' matter," he says bitterly. "Spending all this time in each other's pockets before and after your heat made it stronger, fucked with our heads, our instincts." Joel shakes his head, pushes himself to his feet and crosses his arms over his chest. Ellie can feel the wall he'd put up cracking, knows that the roiling emotions in her chest aren't just hers as Joel meets her gaze. "But even if we didn't have this—" He lifts one hand, tugs the collar of his flannel aside until Ellie can see the silvery scar of his mate-mark "—tangling us all together, we'd still be right fucking here."

Ellie grits her teeth, steps forward and pins Joel with a hard look. "And where is 'here'?" she demands hotly. "What did you do?"

Joel meets her eye, and the wall comes tumbling down; pain and guilt and determination and love sweep over Ellie like a goddamn avalanche, making her rock back on her heels, eyes wide, even before Joel says, "I got you out."

She has to swallow, clear her throat before she can speak, her voice hoarse. "They wouldn't just let you walk out with me."

Joel shakes his head. "No, they wouldn't."

Ellie knows Joel, knows what he's capable of—he's told her, Maria told her back at the dam, and she's gleaned a lot from traveling with him for the past year. She takes a breath, hates the way it shakes in her chest, and makes herself hold Joel's eye as she asks, "How many?"

Joel lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I didn't keep count. Whoever got between me and that operating room. The people in it who tried to stop me from taking you. Some people on the way out." There's guilt from his end of the bond—but no regret.

Ellie dreads the answer, but she has to know. "Marlene?"

The guilt gets stronger, but Joel doesn't look away. "She caught up to us in the parking garage. Tried to get me to give you back to her, to walk away."

Ellie can't breathe, knows what Joel's answer is going to be, because how can it be anything else, but she has to ask. "Joel. What did you do?"

He says it like it's the simplest, most obvious answer in the world: "I shot her."

A pained noise escapes Ellie, and she sways, taking a step back. "No."

"She gave the order," Joel says quietly. "She made it from Boston to Salt Lake City. She would've never stopped coming after you."

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Ellie cries, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. "Fuck, Joel, this whole mission was to make a cure, and if I had to die, you should've let me! If I hadn't asked you to bite me—"

"We'd still be right here," Joel rumbles, stepping forward, though he doesn't close the distance between them entirely. "Except I'd be lying to you, telling you something—anything—to get you to believe they'd given up on a cure, that I got you out of there without slaughtering them all. And that—that lie would be the only fuckin' thing about this whole shitshow that I'd regret."

Ellie scoffs, bares her teeth. "You wouldn't regret killing maybe the only people who were going to create a cure?" she demands, stepping forward into Joel's space like she belongs there.

At first, Joel doesn't move except to clench his hands into fists, to grit his teeth—and then he does move, steps forward and closer until there's barely space for one of Ellie's comics between them. When he speaks, it's a growl, backed by a depth of emotions that Ellie can't quite comprehend, anger and protectiveness and something she can only call possession—but it doesn't feel like Joel's possessing her, it feels like he's the one who belongs to her, like he believes that down to his soul. "I'd still have killed whoever got in my way," Joel says, quiet, serious, and deadly; when Ellie shivers, it should be out of fear, but it's really not. "And baby girl, if you'd been dead on that table by the time I got there… There still wouldn't have been a cure because I would've killed every motherfucker in that building. If I survived that, I'd have put a bullet in my own head afterwards, or maybe jumped off the goddamned roof."

Ellie's shaken by the conviction in his tone, by everything spilling across the bond, Joel not bothering to shield himself from her any longer. Still, she stands her ground, meets his gaze. "So you'll fuck over the whole world no matter what, is that it?" she challenges, needs to hear Joel say it out loud.

Joel laughs, but there's no humor in it; when he speaks, his voice is raw, open and aching like a goddamned wound. "I ain't given a shit about the world in twenty years, sweetheart. But somewhere in the past twelve months, you became my world. And I'll burn the rest of it down to ash if it means you're still alive, even if you hate my guts for doing so."

Ellie… Ellie doesn't know where to even begin understanding that. She's spent the past year thinking that she was the last great hope for humanity, that it was her destiny to save it, to be the cure. No matter how close she'd gotten to Joel, no matter how much she cared about him, before and after her heat, she'd never really thought that he'd reciprocate. She hadn't thought about after—hadn't even thought about what making a cure might mean, what sacrifices it might require.

The sheer devotion in Joel's words, in the bond Ellie can feel between them like a physical thing, staggers her. She knew she'd do anything to keep Joel as safe as she could, to keep him alive when he was sick and injured, and she'd known he would protect her with everything he had. She just… hadn't fully realized how much that would be.

The Fireflies are as good as dead; with the massacre Joel left behind at Saint Mary's, with the way Marlene had talked about how FEDRA was slowly whittling them down in the zones, there can't be enough left to mount any real sort of movement. Maybe Joel had a point, saying that the Fireflies would've never been able to distribute a cure, if they even made one.

"I want to see the journals," Ellie finally says. "And the recorders. I need to hear them say it."

Joel swallows, gaze shuttering as he nods, stepping back and turning towards his pack. He rummages through it for a moment, produces a handful of recorders and a journal, as well as some other loose papers that have been tucked into the journal's cover. "I'm going to go check the perimeter," he says gruffly, and Ellie can feel that wall coming up between them once again. She doesn't protest it, just nods and takes the items from Joel, watches him arm himself before he ducks out of the room, disappearing past the window.

Ellie takes a deep breath, sits down on the edge of the bed, and starts the first recorder.

Joel doesn't return to the room until well after dark, after Ellie's had time to listen to the recorders multiple times over, read Marlene's own words sentencing Ellie to death for a hope. Marlene ignored her own doubts, shoved them aside for the greater good—

And Joel saved her for his own selfish reasons.

Ellie thinks, maybe, she should hate him for that. For dooming humanity so easily, for the sake of one girl.

But there's part of her—and she can't even blame it on being an omega, on the bond between them—that's pleased, having proof that, for once, she's the most important person in someone's life. That someone would do anything to keep her safe, would choose her over the world. The fact that it's Joel, that it's the man who's become so important to Ellie that she doesn't have the words to describe it…

She hates the fact that Marlene is dead, the one living connection to her mother gone. But if Ellie had been in Joel's shoes, if Joel was the one threatened, would she have done any different?

Had she done any different, really? How many of David's men did she kill at the university, at the mall, at Silver Lake? It wasn't just to save Joel, it was to save both of them, but still. If it had been Joel who was immune, who was on that operating table, and she was being told to walk away, to leave him there to die, mate-mark or no…

A familiar knock pattern on the door pulls Ellie from her thoughts; she glances over her shoulder just as Joel opens the door. He's got a couple of blankets folded over one arm, and he unslings his pack, dropping it by the door. "Searched through some of the rooms," he says without looking at Ellie. "Not a whole lot there, but found some supplies, and these." He puts the blankets on the edge of the bed, moving to the old armchair in the corner, settling into it.

He'd probably sleep there, if I tell him to go fuck himself, Ellie muses. That block is back up, the wall that's keeping Ellie from getting a read on Joel's state of mind. But the thought of Joel sleeping in the armchair makes her uneasy, and it takes her a minute to pinpoint why. He probably wouldn't sleep very well, and definitely not comfortably; he'd be sore when he woke up, and probably cranky, and Ellie doesn't want him to be uncomfortable.

She's still pissed as all hell, but that doesn't mean she hates Joel. She thinks Joel was right: Even if they hadn't bonded, if he hadn't given in and put his teeth in her, let her put her mark on him in return, they still would've been right here.

Joel's cleaning his guns, gaze focused on his work, but the longer Ellie watches him, the clearer the tension becomes. His shoulders are tight, his movements not as graceful as they usually are, and as full dark falls, leaving them in a room lit only by a single lantern, Ellie sighs.

"You took my choice away, too," she says, watching as Joel freezes.

His shoulders rise and fall, a deep breath bracing him before he lifts his head, finally meets her gaze. He looks… tired, she decides. Worn-down. "But you're alive to make other choices," he says.

"Don't do that," Ellie says sharply. "Don't act like—like you did this for some selfless reason. You killed dozens of people today—and you ruined any chance at a cure or a vaccine."

Joel's quiet for a moment, searching her expression, but then he nods. "I did."

"I should hate you for that."

Even in the dim light, Ellie can see the way Joel's throat works as he swallows. "Maybe you should," he says, voice low, gaze intense as he holds Ellie's eyes, the wall across the bond cracking. "But if the Lord gave me another chance at this, Ellie—mate-marks or no—I'd do it all over again."

Ellie loses her breath, feels that avalanche from before looming again. Her mind races, arguing with herself about what to do next.

In the end, it's an easy choice.

"I'm still mad about how this turned out," she says slowly, gathering up the recorders and journal and papers, shifting them over to the nightstand. "But I'm not mad at only you—the Fireflies were the ones who decided to go right to surgery instead of waiting for us to wake up and talk to us. And I don't hate you."

Joel lets out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping as he leans back just a bit in the chair. "That's—I appreciate that," he says, voice rough.

"It's gonna take a while to come to grips with all… that," she says, gesturing to the pile of evidence. "But in the meantime—you'll kill your back, sleeping in that chair."

Joel shifts in place, gaze flicking from the nightstand to the bed, where Ellie's shifted over, leaving a space large enough for him on the bed, and finally up to meet her gaze again. "Ellie—"

"I've heard you're not supposed to go to bed angry with your partner, but I'll be honest, Joel, I am exhausted," Ellie says, stubbornly pushing on. "You have to be, too. We're not going to figure this out tonight, or even tomorrow, probably, and I—If you want to sleep somewhere else, that's… okay."

"I don't want to push you," Joel says hoarsely. "I didn't do this so you'd feel—obligated—"

"If I felt obligated, I'd just stab you," Ellie says flatly.

Joel huffs, a sound that could almost be a laugh; Ellie sees the way his lips twitch, feels fondness-amusement seep over the bond, her shoulders relaxing as her own mouth quirks. "If you're sure," Joel says, pushing himself to the edge of the chair, but not to his feet just yet.

"I'm sure," Ellie says firmly. "It's complicated now, yeah, but I want to figure this out, Joel. I don't want us to keep each other at arm's length while we do."

Joel studies her for a moment, but Ellie keeps her back and shoulders straight, meets his searching gaze head-on so he can read the truth in her gaze. The bond between them is still muted, less than Ellie's used to feeling, and she doesn't like that, but she can feel the slow-growing hope from Joel's side as he gets to his feet. He approaches the bed slowly, reaching for the blankets he'd placed at the foot of it earlier as Ellie kicks off her shoes, flipping them off of the bed.

She holds out a hand for the blankets, shakes them out while Joel gets his own boots off, and his belt as well, but he leaves his jeans and shirt on. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, and it feels like that first night after Silver Lake, Joel pausing on the edge of the mattress and reaching for the blanket, not quite touching Ellie and looking at her with a question he can't bring himself to voice.

Just like then, Ellie answers without words. She puts her hand over Joel's on the blanket, and uses their joined hands to lift the blanket in invitation.

Joel lets out a slow breath, tension seeping from his shoulders, and he slips into place on the bed, settling on his back. There's some space between them, but Ellie can feel the heat of his arm through her worn shirt as she shifts onto her side, tucking one hand under the thin pillow and propping it up a little more. She studies Joel for a moment as he gets comfortable, pulls the blanket up until it's over both of them. He reaches for the lantern, turning it off and plunging the room into near-total darkness.

Ellie can just barely make out the outline of Joel's face in the scant moonlight, and she falls asleep looking at him, mind still whirling with the revelations of the day.

Ellie wakes to the sight of Joel's face inches from hers, the two of them practically sharing a pillow.

He's rolled onto his side so that he's facing her, and they're lying in mirror images of each other: They've each got one hand tucked under the pillow, the other arm wrapped around themselves. Joel's close enough that Ellie can feel his arm brush hers with every breath he takes, and she takes the chance to study him before he wakes.

In sleep, he looks younger—or just less burdened, maybe. His face is still lined with age, but he doesn't frown, his brow isn't creased. Ellie's fingers clench in the fabric of her shirt to keep from reaching out, tracing the edge of his beard, the line of his nose. She wants to touch the scar that crosses the bridge of it, see if it feels like the scar that bisects her own eyebrow.

She also just wants to touch Joel. Ellie hasn't gone this long without touching him since before Silver Lake, and it feels wrong, like she's missing a limb.

There's also the question of the bond; in sleep, it's more like what Ellie's used to, slightly muted but still open. There's no deliberate closed-off feeling, the wall between them keeping Ellie at arm's length from Joel, keeping his emotions shrouded. That feels like she's back in Pittsburgh, or maybe even Lincoln, trying to figure out how to get the man she's supposed to trust her life with to fucking trust her.

"You're staring."

Joel speaks without opening his eyes, his voice a low murmur. Ellie still startles, then narrows her eyes at him, and gives in to the urge to stick her tongue out. "Shut up."

That earns her a snort and a gentle tilt to the corner of Joel's mouth as he cracks one eye open. "'s early; thought you'd still be asleep." His voice is rough, scratchy the way it always is first thing in the morning, and Ellie feels herself relaxing into the bed at the sound. The dip in the mattress tilts her towards Joel, but Ellie doesn't touch, not yet.

"Slept a lot yesterday," she says quietly, scowling when Joel's eye closes and he grimaces. "Stop that." The vehemence in her voice makes Joel open his eyes, look at her with a wordless question, and Ellie's scowl deepens. "Stop—beating yourself up, thinking I ought to hate you."

"You should," Joel says, barely loud enough for Ellie to hear; if they weren't this close, she wouldn't have heard it at all. "You said it yourself: I took your choice away from you, I knew how much the vaccine meant to you."

Ellie sighs. "Yeah, you did. But… Damn it, Joel, no one has ever—ever loved me enough to put me first. To say, 'To hell with the rest of the world, I choose Ellie Williams.' Do you get how much that means to me?"

They're close enough that Ellie can hear Joel's throat working as he swallows before speaking. "Got some idea." His gaze dips to where Ellie knows her mate-mark is visible beneath the collar of her shirt.

Ellie's breath is shaky, but she needs to try to get this out. "I'm gonna feel really complicated about this for a while," she warns. "Yeah, I felt like I was meant to be this—this big savior, the breakthrough in getting humanity back on its feet. You ruined any chance of that happening, but it was because you…" Ellie hesitates, wets her lips, and takes her courage in both hands. "You love me."

Joel's breath leaves him like he'd been punched in the solar plexus, his eyes gone wide as they lift, snapping up to meet hers. Ellie bites her lip, makes herself hold Joel's gaze, lets him see and feel everything she's feeling right now. After what feels like an eternity, he nods, just a slight movement. "I do," he says quietly. "I don't know when it happened, and it's not… like anything I've felt before."

"I've never felt anything like this, either," Ellie confesses, and finally lets herself reach out, moving until her fingertips are just brushing Joel's cheek. His eyes slip closed, and Ellie's touch grows heavier, more confident, at the feeling of relief and content that flows across the bond between them. "Didn't know I could feel like this. 'I love you' doesn't seem… big enough."

Joel shifts on the bed, reaches up to wrap his fingers around Ellie's wrist, his touch gentle, almost tentative. "I think it works just fine," he says hoarsely, meeting Ellie's gaze again, hazel eyes burning in the early morning light.

Ellie's lips tilt up, and she lets herself slide forward, close the distance between them until her chest is pressed against Joel's. "Good," she says softly. "I think we can figure the rest of it out eventually."

Hope rises across the bond, and Ellie's smile grows as she traces the edge of Joel's beard, gives in to that urge to touch the scar on his nose.

She was right, it does feel like her own scar. The gesture makes Joel's eyes crinkle, makes the corner of his mouth lift in a soft smile, and Ellie's heart flips over itself in her chest. Yeah, they'll figure this out.

They spend another night at the Motel 6. Ellie's still feeling a little weak from the near-drowning and the anesthesia, and Joel's feeling the effects of being fifty-two years old and creeping through a whole-ass hospital wiping out guys like he's fucking John McClane going up against Hans Gruber's men.

He's getting way too old for this shit.

Things are still awkward, more than a little strained between them, but Joel makes an effort to keep the bond open, to reach for Ellie with gentle hands when she seems to be disappearing into her head. She lets him, even returns the touches and initiates some of her own. It's nowhere close to where they were a week ago, when they spent most of their time at camp within arm's reach of each other. But it's better than yesterday, when Joel was trying to keep the storm in his chest from destroying her, too, and Ellie was suspicious and pushing.

Joel still hesitates before getting into bed that night, and this time Ellie takes him by the wrist, tugs him into bed with her. Tonight, they go to sleep without the space between them. Ellie presses herself against his side, her hand resting on his shoulder, Joel's hand in her hair, carefully running through the loose strands until she falls asleep. He follows soon after, sleep dreamless for once, and wakes with his arm around her, his nose tucked into her hair, her arm around his waist and her breath hot against his mate-mark. It makes something hungry stir low in Joel's gut, and he starts frantically trying to mentally count the days.

By the time they pack up and get back into the truck, Joel's got a sinking feeling. He's lost track of the days, but he thinks one of the last dates in Marlene's journal had been late in April, which means by now, it's almost May, if not the first day or two.

His rut's coming up fast.

Now that he's thinking about it, Joel can't believe he lost track of time so thoroughly. Judging by the agitation he can feel building under his skin, the urge to find some place to hole up and hide himself and Ellie away from the rest of the world, it's going to hit before they can reach Jackson, even with the truck. Before the end of the world, driving from Salt Lake City to Jackson should've taken around five hours; now, with the roads in such disrepair and the truck making a worrying sound any time Joel tries to push it over forty miles an hour, it's gonna take a lot longer.

He knows Ellie can tell that something's up; he can see her studying him from the passenger seat of the truck as they drive, Joel scanning the sides of the road, trying to find something, anything, that will serve as a decent place to ride this out. She doesn't say anything until that afternoon, when Joel pulls off of the highway and down a smaller road, following it out to a suburb.

"Something you want to tell me, Joel?"

Joel swallows, grimaces at the way his throat sticks and he has to clear it before he can speak. "Lost track of time," he says. "It's pretty much May."

"Yeah," Ellie says slowly, glancing from the changing scenery, the suburb giving way to farmland surrounded by forest. "That's how time works; it was April, now it's May."

Joel sighs. "My rut is in May," he grits out, focusing on the road and deliberately not looking at Ellie.

Surprise rises from the bond fast enough that Joel almost gets whiplash—and it's quickly followed by something hotter, something that makes the hunger already making itself known in his gut snarl in recognition. "Oh," Ellie says; the steering wheel creaks in Joel's grip with how much effort it takes for him to not look at Ellie.

"Yeah. So we need to find somewhere to hole up, because I'm going to be fucking useless for the next five or six days," he says grimly. A sign off the side of the road catches his eye; it's proclaiming a place called Sunders Orchard, just over the border from Utah into Wyoming. With any luck, there'll be some building on the property that's serviceable.

Ellie doesn't say anything for a long moment, but her silence is thoughtful; he can practically hear Ellie's internal debate. The swell of determination across the bond is barely enough warning for him to brace himself before: "Does having an omega help alphas in rut, like alphas help with heat?"

Joel's whole body twitches hard enough to jerk the steering wheel, making the truck swerve and Ellie swear in surprise. Joel makes a split-second decision, pulling off to the side of the road and throwing the truck into park before he turns to face Ellie, glowering just a little. "Just what are you getting at?" he demands, voice practically a growl—but Ellie doesn't seem cowed.

If the wide eyes and abrupt scent of want weren't enough of a giveaway, Joel can feel exactly what sort of effect that tone is having on Ellie.

She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin almost defiantly, and meets Joel's gaze head-on. "I'm saying you should let me help you."

That goddamn voice from Ellie's heat is back, chanting yes over and over, loud enough that Joel's having real trouble not listening to it. "Ellie," he grits out. "What happened to breaking the bond? I was there for your heat—if you're there for my rut, if I…" He shakes his head. No, he's not even going to think about that, about Ellie in his lap, or maybe tucked beneath him, pressing close and letting him—

Damn it.

Ellie crosses her arms over her chest, expression stubborn, and she doesn't look away from him. "That was the old plan," she says. "Plans change. What we've got, Joel… I don't want to give that up."

"You'll find it again," Joel says gruffly, presses his back to the door to keep himself from leaning in. He fumbles behind himself for the window, manages to hit the button to crack both the driver and passenger windows and let some fresh air in.

"Not like this," Ellie insists, and she leans forward, though she doesn't leave the passenger seat. Even with the windows cracked, her scent still fills the truck, mingles with Joel's, and every instinct he has is reveling in the mix, how well they fit together. "I don't want to find something else, Joel. I want you."

"You don't know what you're asking for—"

"Then tell me," Ellie demands. "Give me whatever information you think I need to make this choice. Don't make it for me."

Joel flinches and Ellie's expression twists at the reaction to her choice of words, but Joel knows it was intentional. She doesn't take it back, try to rephrase, just stares him down, and Joel, damn it all, feels his resolve start to crumble.

It's a distressingly familiar sensation around Ellie, and what's worse is that he can't bring himself to care.

"Rut's not just about sex," he grits out. "It's—need, to be close to someone, to protect them and show them how much you care about them. Sex is just the easiest way to show that, but rut isn't about breeding the way that heat is. It's about bonding."

"So even if you don't knot me…"

Joel squeezes his eyes shut, tries to block out the image that comes to mind. "Given how strong it is now… Sharing a rut will probably complete the bond," he says grimly. "And then even if we wanted to break it later, there'd always be something connecting us, no matter how much time passes or how far apart we are, or if we end up despising each other."

Ellie's quiet for a moment, and then Joel hears the leather of the seat creak; when she speaks again, her voice is closer. "What happens during your rut? How do you usually act?"

Joel searches his memory, tries to find the words to explain it. "Possessive," he finally says. "I'd barely let Tess out of my sight. Never let her do anything for herself, had to—to show her that I was a good match, even though I knew we weren't mated and never would be. That wasn't what we were."

"You already do that for me," Ellie points out. "You just massacred a hospital full of people for me, told me you'd burn the rest of the world down if it meant you could keep me alive."

His jaw clenches, but Joel doesn't open his eyes to glare at Ellie the way he kind of wants to. "I'm a lot more physical," he says. "More than before. Won't want to stop touching you, no matter what."

There's another creak, and then Ellie's voice is closer again. "Still not hearing a downside. That'd probably get annoying if you were like that all the time, but I like when you touch me."

Fuck, Joel does not need to hear that now, in that soft tone of voice, so close Joel imagines he can feel the words against his skin. "It's overwhelming, even for me," he says, and he still doesn't open his eyes, doesn't know what he'd see on Ellie's face—what he wants to see on her face. "I already want to touch you, have trouble concentrating when I can't see you're safe; add in the mess of hormones, and it's five days of constant overstimulation that still isn't enough."

Ellie doesn't say anything for long enough that Joel has just about decided to open his eyes—and then there's a touch, Ellie's hand cupping his jaw, and Joel's eyes fly open. Ellie's close enough that her face is all he can see, her eyes bright and a flush high on her cheeks. "Do you want me there?" she asks. Joel opens his mouth, and she cuts him off with a word. "Just—don't think about it, Joel, just answer. Yes or no?"

What kind of question is that, if Joel wants her there? "Yes."

Ellie hums. "You gonna leave me alone if I say 'no,' or 'stop,' even in the middle of it?"

The thought of not doing so, doing anything that Ellie doesn't want—or worse, anything to make her scared of him—makes Joel feel physically ill. "I'd never hurt you," he says, voice hoarse.

"Then I'll be there," Ellie says, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Want swamps Joel so quickly that it'd take him out at the knees if he was standing; he knows Ellie feels it too by the sharp intake of breath, the way her eyes widen. Her fingers twitch against Joel's jaw, and Joel can't stop himself from tilting his head into the touch, nose coming to rest against her wrist, taking in her scent with his own shaky breath—

Then a thought occurs to him, and he swallows hard. "Ellie—This is all a, uh. Moot point, whether or not you're there. Only thing that makes rut go by any easier is knotting, and I… can't."

Ellie's brow furrows, confusion drifting across the bond. "Like. You literally can't, or you won't?"

"The, er, gear works, but I can't—not without risking you…" His gaze drops to her stomach, and he feels the moment the penny drops, realization sparking along the bond and making Ellie stiffen.

"Oh," she breathes—and then she relaxes, huffing something that sounds like a laugh. "That's not really an issue, Joel."

Now it's Joel's brow furrowing, and he eyes Ellie for a moment. "You got some other medical complication you ain't told me about? Being immune makes you sterile?"

"No, but the FEDRA implant in my arm does." Ellie sits back—Joel has to stop himself from leaning forward, chasing her touch—and reaches for her sleeve, rolling it up until she can tilt her arm so Joel can see the little scar on her tricep.

Joel blinks. "But you had a heat," he says slowly; the only implants he knew of, at least before the outbreak, were birth control and heat suppressant all in one.

Ellie shrugs, letting her sleeve fall back down. "Guess it's easier to make an implant that keeps people sterile and deal with heats and ruts fucking up their schedules than it is to try to make something that'll stop them altogether. They give you one when you present, and it'll last three or four years. I got a new one right before I got bitten."

"Huh. Guess they kept that real hush-hush," Joel muses; something like that would've been damned lucrative to smuggle.

"I heard some of the medics saying something about not wanting to lose their limited supply," Ellie says, giving him a look that says she knows what he was thinking. "But I've got one, so." Joel feels her gaze like a physical thing as it drops, dragging over his chest and resting on his lap for a moment before she meets Joel's own gaze once again. "I could take your knot."

Joel makes a sound like the last time he got punched in the gut, can't even be annoyed at the amused look Ellie gives him. "Jesus, girl," he wheezes, all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick, egged on by the rut-heat starting to smolder in his veins.

"That's what'll help, right?" Ellie says, and there's a glint in her eyes. "We find somewhere safe—as safe as we can get it—I let you fuss over me like every alpha stereotype, treat me like your mate, and then we make it real." She reaches up, tugging the collar of Joel's shirt aside to brush her fingers over the mate-mark that's long since scarred.

Joel catches her by the wrist, ignoring the way her breath hitches to give her as serious a look as he can muster. "This isn't something to do lightly, Ellie," he says, voice rough as it scratches its way out of his throat. "If there's any doubt—"

Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't drop her gaze, meets his with all of the bold stubbornness that Joel recognizes from the very first day almost a year ago back in Boston, wondering why the hell Marlene was so damned invested in her. "No doubt," she says, the words quiet but sure. "I swear, Joel. I told you back at that ranch, I wouldn't be better off with anyone else. Even with everything that's happened since then, I wouldn't want to have gone through it with anyone but you."

The truth behind the sentiment echoes down across the bond, and Joel's eyes slip closed as he takes a deep breath, takes in their combined scents, something he doesn't know how he'll ever live without again—

And he stops fighting it.

Sunders Orchard is tucked into a small valley, ringed by what Joel thinks used to be national forest. The road that leads to the main farmhouse doesn't have more than one mailbox, and that is the first one Joel's seen in a while. The orchard is overgrown, brush winding between the trees in their rows, encroaching from the forest. There are a couple of sheds and a barn, but when Joel examines them, they're all abandoned, covered in dust and with surprisingly few rodents—explained when he gets the absolute hell scared out of him by a cat jumping out of a shadowy corner and yowling as it runs away. Where there's one cat, there's probably more, likely descended from the barn cats this place likely had before the outbreak.

Joel finds a body in one shed, toppled over on the floor next to a broken basket; when he examines it more closely, it looks like an old man. The hair that remains is practically white, and there's no marks on the body other than rodent teeth, so his heart probably just gave out while he was in the shed one day. Joel carefully shuts the door to that shed and winds some baling twine around it; his rut is close enough that he can't do anything for the man now, but after, he'll give him a proper burial.

There's a well pump for water, and when Joel pokes experimentally at the generator connected to what looks like a large propane storage tank, it splutters to life—and so do half the lights in the house. Ellie cheers from inside, and Joel smiles at the sound and excitement flowing across the bond.

The propane tank says it's mostly full, which if Joel remembers this system right, should be enough to keep some lights and maybe even a toilet—or, please God, maybe a shower—running for a few days, as long as they don't run it all day long.

He makes his way through the back door to the house just in time to hear Ellie calling from the back of the one-story farmhouse, "Oh fuck yes, there's hot water in the shower!"

"You take the first one," Joel calls back, grinning when Ellie whoops. "I'll check the rest of the place out."

"Better fuckin' hurry!" Ellie shouts. Joel just shakes his head fondly and quickly scopes out the rest of the house, which his instincts deem 'acceptable' as a place to ride out his first rut with his omega.

The previous owner must've died within the last year or so, because everything is still in surprisingly good shape, including the mattress in what's probably the master bedroom which has clearly been re-stuffed multiple times. Joel checks it for signs of vermin, but the cats have clearly been patrolling the house as well, because it's clean.

Ellie finds him in the bedroom, sorting through the blankets he'd found in the linen closet. Her hair is wet, and she's got a towel wrapped around her body, but no clothes; Joel's brain short-circuits at the sight, the memory of her heat, even when he'd tried not to stare. Ellie snickers at whatever expression is on his face, but there's a flush high on her cheeks, shy delight clear in her body language and the bond as she comes into the room and heads for her pack.

"Think there's still some hot water," she offers, and Joel shakes his head to clear it, kick himself into gear; he definitely wants a shower before his rut starts.

"Right, yeah," he says. "I'll—go get a shower. Er. I put our supplies in the kitchen; looks like the guy who lived here canned a lot of stuff, from what I saw in the pantry."

"I'll go check it out once I'm dressed," Ellie decides. "Hopefully it's still good."

Joel nods, and then Ellie reaches for the edge of her towel, and he skedaddles, the sound of her laughter following him out. Just because he's allowing them to spend his rut together, to finally consummate the bond, doesn't mean he's ready to outright ogle his fifteen-year-old mate.

Christ, even thinking that makes him feel kind of dirty, but then there's a gentle reproach from Ellie's side of the bond, tinged with impatience, and he takes a deep breath and shoves those thoughts aside. He chose her, and Ellie chose him. If this has a chance at making them happy for however long it lasts…

Well, maybe he can be alright with being selfish in this way, hoarding Ellie and her scent, her heats, her affection, her love, all to himself.

Joel lingers in the shower, basking in the spray of warm water even as he ignores his dick; it's about to get plenty of action and can wait. Ellie's still in the kitchen when he finally emerges, and he dresses quickly before joining her.

"Stove doesn't work," she says without turning around from where she's sorting cans and jars on one of the counters. "The lights are on, but I think some of the wiring to the actual heat-the-food parts is fucked, because none of them work, and neither does the oven. The toaster works, though."

"So we can have our beans on toast, then," Joel says dryly, coming closer and leaning one hip against the counter, watching Ellie's hands work. He smiles when she snorts.

"Sounds real appetizing," she drawls in a poor imitation of his own accent, and Joel rolls his eyes.

"Any of that any good?" he asks, moving closer until his chest brushes the back of Ellie's shoulder. She doesn't move away—leans into him, as a matter of fact, and Joel doesn't try to suppress the pleased rumble in his chest, not quite a purr, at the contact.

"Those look bad," she says, pointing to some jars on one end of the counter, "but the dates are really old, more than ten years. These look okay."

Joel hums approvingly, ducking his head to nose behind Ellie's ear, smiling when her breath goes shaky at the touch. "Good job," he murmurs, and grins when she shivers. He reaches out with one hand, slow and careful, sliding it over her hip. She makes a pleased noise, and leans a little more heavily into Joel's chest.

"You smell good," she sighs. "Not that the mildew wasn't working for me, but."

Joel snorts, pinching her hip just to make her yelp and slap at his hand. "Finish sorting those, I'll get dinner going," he says, lips quirked.

Ellie tosses him a lazy salute accompanied by a cheeky grin. "Yes, sir."

Joel growls, can't stop it, and her grin turns into a smirk, completely undeterred by the pointed look he gives her before turning away to start figuring out what the hell they've got to eat tonight.

Joel's rut is looming over them, but Joel ignores it as they eat—twenty-year-old Chef Boyardee heated up over their camp stove on the back porch of the farmhouse, some real gourmet shit—and clean up. Ellie leads the way to the living room and the couch, flopping down onto one end of it, waiting until Joel's sat down on the other end to throw her feet into his lap, thoughtfully avoiding kicking him in the groin.

Joel curls a hand around her bare ankle—she'd never put socks or shoes on after her shower, and the soles of her feet are dirty with the dust they hadn't bothered to sweep up. Joel's aren't any better, but they're still better than being out on the road, hiking across half the damned country. Ellie makes a pleased noise and tilts her foot towards him, humming when Joel brushes his fingers over the sensitive skin by her ankle, drawing them up over the top of her foot.

"That feels nice," she murmurs; when Joel glances at her, she's shifted so that she's leaning on one elbow against the back of the couch, head propped up on her fist as she watches him.

"Good," he says, voice just as low. They'd turned off the generator, so the only light right now is from the lantern on the coffee table in front of them. He hesitates, but when Ellie raises a brow, he sighs. "Rut's going to start soon," he says. "Can feel it."

She nods, and there's a little bit of trepidation shivering down the bond—but there's want there, too, and curiosity, stronger than the apprehension. "Let me guess: you're about to tell me I don't have to be here?"

"I could go sleep in the barn," Joel offers, has to, and he isn't surprised when Ellie rolls her eyes.

He is surprised when she draws her feet back, shifting onto her knees on the couch—and then swings one leg over his, settling down so she's sitting on his thighs, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Joel's hands fall to her hips, and Ellie's lips quirk. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you," she says, running one hand up his chest until it curls around Joel's neck. "Except to bed."

Joel takes a deep breath; the weight of Ellie in his lap, the heat of her so close, their scents mingling so thoroughly, are all very effectively speeding up the approach of his rut, but he needs to say this, needs to make sure Ellie understands. "I've been through rut enough times to keep myself in control. I know the bond is going to make things—"

"Hard?" Ellie suggests with a truly outrageous waggle of her eyebrows; if they were talking about anything else, Joel would laugh.

As it is, he pins her with a look. "Difficult. But I want you to be safe and comfortable more than I want to get off, and I need you to swear that you will tell me if anything gets to be too much, or hurts, or you just need a minute to breathe."

Ellie's expression softens, and there's a surge of love across the bond, strong enough to take Joel's breath away. "Another case of 'what I say, goes'?" she asks, leaning in closer. The hand still on Joel's chest shifts, running up and over his neck until her fingers are tangled in his hair.

Joel's eyes slip shut for a second, and he tilts forward, leans his forehead against Ellie's. "Yes," he says. "This ain't just about me, baby girl. Long as you're good, I'm good."

"Great," Ellie says—and then her weight shifts, the hand in Joel's hair tightens, there's a soft pressure against his lips, and Joel can feel her smile.

Joel groans into the kiss, his grip on Ellie's hips tightening as he leans into her, deepens the kiss until Ellie croons, pleased and needy. Joel purrs in answer, contentment and soothing reassurance, as he pushes them off of the couch, grinning when Ellie immediately locks her legs around Joel's waist, looping her arms around his shoulders as he holds her up.

"God, that's hot," she gasps, breaking the kiss. Her pupils are blown wide, and Joel smirks, angling them towards the hallway. He likes carrying Ellie like this, her clinging to him and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, her lips dragging against his mate-mark and making them both groan before Joel nudges the door to the bedroom open, kicking it shut once they're through.

He lays her out on the bed, reaching up to run his fingers through her loose hair, slightly wavy from her earlier shower and being left to air dry. "I ever tell you how pretty your hair is?" Joel asks softly, glancing down to meet Ellie's eye.

She's biting her lip, shaking her head, and Joel smiles, ducking down to kiss her again, carefully tug her lip from between her teeth and soothing the sting with his tongue. "Joel," she groans, fingers flexing in the collar of his shirt. "C'mon—"

Joel closes his eyes, straightening up to tug his shirt off. His blood is hot, pulse pounding, and as he reaches for the hem of Ellie's shirt, helps her get it off quickly so she can move up the bed, giving Joel room to stretch out over her, covering her body with his, he feels like he's stepped off a cliff into open air as his rut finally starts.

Ellie groans, either at the feeling of Joel's skin against hers, or maybe with the way his scent has gone slightly spicy with rut. Her hands find Joel's sides, palm skimming over the newest scar before she runs her hands over his chest. Joel hisses in a breath when she sweeps a thumb curiously over one nipple. "Sensitive," he admonishes, and she grins.

"Good to know," she says cheekily, laughing when Joel rolls his eyes. He lifts himself onto his elbows, letting his gaze roam over Ellie, taking in all of the details he'd made himself ignore the last time he'd seen her like this, during her heat—back when he was sure this, them, came with an expiration date. Ellie's flush spills over her chest, he's interested to note, but his gaze gets caught on her mate-mark. The silver scar stands out on her flushed skin, and Joel gives in to the urge to lean down and fit his teeth over it again, scraping them over the scar and relishing the shaky moan that falls from Ellie, the way her head tips back, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

Her hips roll beneath him, making her brush against his cock, and Joel pulls back with a slight hiss. Ellie's grinning when he looks up at her. "Let me guess: that's sensitive, too?"

"Brat," Joel growls, but Ellie just laughs, threading the fingers of one hand through Joel's hair and tugging until he gives in, kisses her deep enough to leave them both breathless when they finally part. "Wanna get my mouth on you, sweetheart," Joel says, voice low, before Ellie can say anything. "Make you come first."

Ellie's breath leaves her in a whoosh, and it takes her a moment to regain it. "Sounds good."

Joel smiles, ducking down for another deep kiss before he shifts, mouth dragging over the line of Ellie's jaw and then lower, over her neck and collarbone, nipping at the thin skin there just to make her whine. Joel shifts down on the bed, pausing for a moment to just look. Ellie's small, exactly the way he'd expect from someone who'd grown up in FEDRA military schools, constantly on the edge of being 'malnourished.' Her breasts are barely more than a handful, but they're sensitive. When Joel kisses down over the gentle swell of one, Ellie moans, the sound turning into a sharp, pleased cry when Joel fits his mouth over the darker skin of her nipple, tongue flicking over it.

He brings one hand up to toy with the other nipple, gently pinching and rolling it, making it harden between his fingers as Joel lavishes attention on the one in his mouth. Ellie is beautifully responsive, the bond and her body telling Joel exactly what to do, how she feels about everything he tries, just as much as the few actual words she manages to get out do.

When Joel moves his mouth from one side of Ellie's chest to the other, kissing his way across, he lets the hand that was playing with her slide down. His palm skims over her ribs, settling over her hip, and then he lets his fingers slip under the waistband of her pants.

Ellie groans. "If you're getting my pants off, get rid of yours, too," she pants. "Fair's fair."

Joel considers that for a moment—he is currently very happy where he is, how busy his mouth is, but he does want…

He scrapes his teeth over Ellie's nipple, catching and tugging until she whines, high and pained, arousal sparking across the bond despite the pain. Joel straightens, shuffling back down the bed so he can use both hands to tug Ellie's sleep pants and underwear off together, Ellie eagerly lifting her hips and legs to get them off faster. "Now you," she demands, lifting herself onto her elbows and looking at Joel impatiently. Her gaze tracks his hands as he reaches for the button on his jeans, flicking it open and pulling down the zipper. He wants to go slow, to tease, but that damned voice is back yet again, saying he can put on a show later, he's got his omega waiting in his bed, waiting for him, and that takes priority.

Joel listens to the voice and slides his pants and boxers off without ceremony. When he straightens, Ellie's eyes go wide, and Joel pauses, waiting at the edge of the bed as Ellie pushes herself upright. She reaches out, hesitating, and bites her lip. When she glances up at Joel through her lashes, he has to swallow at the look in her eyes. "I've felt it before, but… It's different, seeing."

"Don't have to do anything you don't want to," Joel says—or tries to, because he doesn't get past 'have' before Ellie's hand is on him, fingers curling around his cock. He makes a choked-off noise; Ellie grins, not looking away from her hand on Joel.

"Interesting reaction," she hums, and Joel rolls his eyes, has to fight to keep himself from thrusting into her loose grip. He does let himself reach out, running his fingers through her hair. She leans into the touch, and Joel smiles, scratches his nails lightly against her scalp just to get a pleased noise out of Ellie. "I've never..."

"Take your time," Joel advises her. "Can grip a little tighter, just don't squeeze too hard."

"I think I could figure that much out myself," Ellie says dryly, but her grip does get a little firmer, and when Joel hums, she gives him a slow stroke.

Joel doesn't try to hold back the groan that draws from deep in his chest, the hand not in Ellie's hair falling to her shoulder and kneading gently. "Feels good," he murmurs, quiet encouragement that Ellie takes and runs with. She repeats the motion, twisting her wrist a little bit once her hand reaches the head of Joel's cock, and he groans again, hips twitching with an aborted thrust. "Little tighter."

Ellie obliges, and when her hand comes to the base of his cock, around the tender skin of his knot, Joel can't help hissing. Ellie pauses, brow furrowed as she meets Joel's gaze again. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Joel assures her, taking the hand from her hair and covering her hand on his cock, wrapping their fingers around him. "My knot's just sensitive, is all."

Ellie's eyes widen, gaze dropping to their joined hands, and she watches curiously as Joel twists their hands, stroking himself. Her fingers linger over his knot, and Joel lets his hips move, not quite a thrust, more rocking into their hands. "I can feel it," Ellie says, sounding a little awed. "Holy shit, Joel."

Joel laughs, breathless. "We can work you up to it," he says. "I know it's... a lot."

Ellie's expression is curious, and maybe a little wary, as she asks, "Tess?"

It's not as painful to think of his late partner now, almost a year later--even if this really isn't the kind of circumstances under which Joel ever thought the topic would come up. "Took a while for her to get comfortable every year," he remembers. "Even if we... Any other time, usually didn't knot her. Takes a lot out of both partners."

"I can see why." Ellie lifts her other hand, bracing herself against Joel's hip. She looks the way she does when she's focused on scouting, taking her job of watching Joel's back seriously. "I think I can take it, though," she muses, hand moving slowly over Joel's cock, fingers lingering over the slight swell of his over-eager knot.

Joel covers her hand with his again, curling his fingers around her wrist so that he can lift her hand, brush a kiss over her knuckles. "I'll take care of you," he promises, voice low; Ellie's pupils blow wide as she meets his eye, and Joel reaches with his other hand, sliding over her neck to cup the back of her head, drawing her in for a soft kiss.

Ellie melts against him with a soft, barely-audible croon, and Joel purrs in answer, deepening the kiss until he can nudge Ellie back onto the bed, urging her to lie back against the pillows at the head of it. They lose time then, Joel doesn't know how much, to lingering kisses and touches, the burn of his rut fading into a smolder in the face of Ellie's scent turning sweet with arousal. It's not the honey-thick scent of heat, but it's still a promising sign, coupled with the needy noises she's soon making as Joel lets his hands wander again, skimming past her breasts to slide over her ribs and then lower, to her hips.

Joel follows the path of his hands with his mouth, culminating in dragging his teeth over the jut of Ellie's hips to make her shiver before he settles onto the bed. He nudges her thighs open, encouraging Ellie to drape her legs over his shoulders, and Ellie pushes herself to her elbows to look down at him, eyes wide and hungry. Joel presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, drags the rough skin of his palms over the outer side until he can tilt Ellie's hips, lean in until his mouth is just a scant inch away from the heat of her core, and look up Ellie's body, waiting for the go-ahead.

Ellie doesn't make him wait long.

She nods eagerly, chest heaving, and Joel closes that last bit of distance so he can drag his tongue over her already-soaked slit. Ellie moans, and Joel doesn't try to hide his smirk, tilting her hips to give himself a better angle. Tess had often joked that she'd stayed with Joel so long not just because of his skill with a gun, but his skill with his tongue, and Joel intends to share all of that skill with Ellie. This will be her first time, he knows, and he'll be damned if he doesn't make the inevitable discomfort—hopefully only new-stretched muscles, no pain—worth it.

Joel focuses on Ellie's clit first, seeking out that sensitive little pearl and lavishing attention on it with his lips and tongue until Ellie's legs over his shoulders have gone lax, her hips shifting against his face, her head back on the pillows and blankets fisted in her hands. Only then does Joel bring his fingers into play, and carefully. He starts with simple touches, not trying to push into her; without the help of heat, stretching Ellie to take a knot is going to take time, and Joel intends to make it as pleasurable as possible.

He waits until Ellie's canting her hips into the drag of his fingers through her folds and over her hole to press against her with one finger, a gentle test. When she just sighs and arches her back, whines a soft, breathless plea, Joel keeps going, pushing in further until he's sunk in to his knuckle. Ellie's cunt is tight around him, and Joel keeps his hand still, switches his focus entirely to his mouth on her clit until Ellie starts to shift restlessly on the bed, hips rolling and working herself on his finger. She slowly starts to loosen as Joel carefully fucks her with one finger; when he tests a second against her, she groans, but the sound is eager. Her hands fly down to grab at Joel's hair, anchoring herself, and Joel leans into the touch as he eases his second finger into her.

The bond feels alive between them, pulsing with want and need and love in equal measures until Ellie starts to get impatient, her heels digging into Joel's back, hips working restlessly. Joel introduces a third and then fourth finger in quick succession, Ellie moaning in wordless approval at the probably-too-quick stretch. She doesn't wince, doesn't flinch away, and Joel settles in more comfortably, bends his head to her clit with single-minded focus as he works her open, stretching her. He can feel Ellie's impending orgasm through the bond, can read it in the way the rolling of her hips turns jerky, the way she yanks at his hair and swears breathlessly above him.

When Joel purrs, crooking his fingers in just the right way as he flicks his tongue over Ellie's clit, she comes with a scream. Her orgasm crashes over her and Joel drives her onwards, doesn't let up with his mouth until she's crying, pushing at his head and whining until he removes his mouth from her. "Get up here," she gasps, voice hoarse, and Joel obliges, smirking; it only gets wider when she glares at him, and she bites at his lip before she kisses him, deep and hungry.

"Good?" he checks when she pulls back to collapse against the bed, chest heaving.

"So good, Joel, Christ," she sighs. "I thought your fingers felt amazing during heat, but that…"

Joel smiles, noses against the swell over her cheek until Ellie turns her head and lets him catch her in another kiss. "That's only the beginning, baby girl," he murmurs, a promise and a warning all in one. "Still want to stick around?"

"You couldn't get me out of this bed with a fucking crowbar," Ellie promises, winding her arms around Joel's shoulders. "How do you want me?"

Joel has to take a moment and breathe, force himself to think about what's going to be most comfortable for Ellie, before and after he knots her. "On your hands and knees," he decides. "Best angle for the first time."

"You're the boss," Ellie says, pushing at his shoulder until he moves, gives her space to turn over until she's on all fours beneath Joel, the curve of her ass pressing against his cock, and looking at him over her shoulder. "Like this?"

Fuck, like this, Ellie's every sinful thought Joel never let himself have come to life. "Perfect," he rasps, leaning down to kiss her again, one palm spread over her throat, possessive in a way he rarely lets himself indulge outside of rut. Ellie likes it if her croon is anything to go by, the way she rocks back against Joel and covers his hand with her own, dragging his palm to her mate-mark and making them both shiver.

Joel tugs his hand from under Ellie's as he straightens, kneeling on the mattress behind her. He runs his hands over her shoulders and down her back, marveling at the way he can feel both shoulder blades when he puts his hands over her spine and spreads his fingers, how when he wraps his hands around her hips and squeezes, he can almost feel his own fingertips meeting. Ellie leans into every touch, moaning and gasping as he alternates between soft and firm, almost bruising, until he palms her ass, uses his thumbs to spread her open.

Ellie obligingly cants her hips, shoulders dropping to the mattress, and Joel lets out a pleased rumble at the sight, getting an answering croon that turns shaky as he drags the knuckles of one hand over Ellie's slit. He slips his fingers inside just to feel her heat, the way she clenches against him, and gathers up some of her slick to spread over his cock, groaning at the lingering heat in the wetness. He carefully notches the head of his cock against her opening, and then pauses, squeezes Ellie's hip with his free hand. Between them, the bond is full of want, of curiosity, but there's a little bit of fear, too.

"I've got you, baby girl," Joel rumbles, letting go of his cock so he can lean down and blanket Ellie with his body, his chest pressed to her back as he kisses the nape of her neck, gets a shiver in response. "'s just me. Tell me to stop, and I will."

Ellie takes a deep breath, and then she turns her head, catches Joel's eye over her shoulder. "I trust you, alpha," she says, and there's truth ringing in her words and their bond, sharp enough that it makes Joel's breath catch in his chest.

He kisses her, has to taste that truth on her tongue, and when the kiss finally ends and he straightens, the fear is gone from the bond. Joel positions himself behind Ellie, and when he pushes forward, a slow roll of his hips just pressing himself against her entrance, Ellie takes a breath and pushes back.

Joel goes slow, takes his patience and every bit of self-control he can muster in his goddamned teeth and lets Ellie set the pace, lets her decide how fast to take him in. He doesn't get fully seated the first time, or the second, pulling back and pressing in again in a gentle rhythm, sinking a little deeper into Ellie every time. When his hips finally meet her ass, they both pause, breath trembling in their chests.

"Fuck," Ellie moans, her cheek pressed to the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets. "God, fuck, feels so fucking full, Joel."

Joel hunches forward until he can pepper kisses across her shoulders. "Doin' so good, darlin'," he murmurs, drawl thickening as rut-heat pounds in his veins. "Takin' me so well, tellin' me how you're feelin', doin' everything just right, Ellie, baby." He draws the tip of his nose against the sensitive skin behind Ellie's ear, growls softly when her shiver makes her cunt clench on his cock. He can feel his knot threatening to swell already, knows that he's not going to last long at all once they get going properly. He holds himself still through sheer force of will, waiting for the feeling of drowning to ebb from Ellie's side of the bond.

It does so slowly, and as Ellie adjusts to the stretch of his cock—fingers are never quite the same as an actual dick, Joel knows—she starts to move. Little movements at first; squirming, then rocking her hips, not quite enough to make Joel pull out of her, but to make his cock rub against her insides in all the right ways, if the pleased noise she makes is any indication. Joel stays still, all but vibrating with the effort, waiting until—

"Move, Joel."

And he does.

Joel rears back, widening his knees a little bit before he pulls back until only the head of his cock is still in Ellie, holds her in place by the hips when she tries to follow. She makes a frustrated little growl, and Joel answers with one of his own before shoving, thrusting forward and burying himself to the hilt in one go. Ellie makes a gorgeous punched-out noise, and Joel makes it his mission to hear that as many times as possible. Ellie obliges, her words and her body giving Joel all of the information and feedback he needs to drive her towards the edge again, make sure she's as close as he is before he finally reaches around.

Joel gets his fingers on Ellie's clit, lets the movement of him fucking into her drag her clit against his fingers. It doesn't take long before Ellie's wailing with her release, her cunt squeezing around Joel's cock, and he manages one, two, three more thrusts before his knot swells, locking them together on the third thrust. Joel snarls as he comes, back bowing until his mouth meets Ellie's neck, teeth scraping the edge of her mate-mark and making her whine, her hand flying back to tangle in Joel's hair and press him closer.

The feeling of the bond settling into place isn't as obvious as setting the bond during Ellie's heat was; instead of starbursts behind his eyes and the feeling of a lost limb restored, Joel gets an… expanding, the feeling that suddenly he doesn't just live in his own body, but in the one beneath him, and that Ellie shares his, too. He can feel every point of contact between them like it's echoed as he gathers Ellie into his arms, tilts them so they can collapse onto their sides. Ellie's crooning, pleasure radiating down the bond, and Joel wraps his arms around Ellie, ducks his head to breathe her scent in, and lets her pleasure mingle with his own.

One knotting isn't enough to end a heat or a rut; they're still stuck here for several more days. Then they'll have to continue on to Jackson, face the music there with Tommy—

But all of that is a worry for later, Joel firmly decides when Ellie's fingers stroke over the back of his hand, drawing him from his thoughts. For now, Joel has his omega, his world, in his arms, and he intends to fucking well enjoy it.