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inherstars · 2 days

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Rest | The Last of Us (3,407 words)

This takes place the first winter after Joel an Ellie return to Jackson. The two versions of Joel need to be written differently, and I had the TV version in mind when penning this one, but I actually think it works for both. Joel gets sick, and Ellie takes it upon herself to care for him.

His voice wavered with amusement. Maybe exasperation. Where Ellie was concerned, it was usually both.

“You have to--you can’t skip the rest.”

“The what?”

“The rest. Look--you see this thing here?” He reached out, tap-tapping a fingertip to the sheet music before her. Ellie frowned at it. “Yeah, that’s not just there to look pretty, it means something. All the notes mean something.”

She was getting aggravated. Joel estimated she had another five minutes left in her before she declared the lesson done for the day.

“Well what does that note mean?”

“It means rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

He draped both arms atop his guitar and put his forehead down on them. Christ, this fucking kid. Ellie’s head hung back, taking her turn with exasperation.

“Whaaaat?”

“Okay.” He sat up again, fixing the grip on his own guitar. “Look--no, don’t look at me, look at the notes and listen while I’m playing. I’m going to slow it down, but follow along.” He tapped the measure on the paper. “You ready?”

Her head bobbed in a single nod. “Ready.”

“Okay.” At a slightly-less-than-annotated pace he strummed through the chords, the coarse timbre of his voice moving calmly through the lyrics as he went. “...I keep a close watch on this heart of mine--rest--I keep my eyes wide open all the time--rest, rest--do you see?”

“Ohhh. There’s more than one.”

“Right. You need to learn them and watch out for them, at least until you start to pick up the natural rhythm of how the song flows. Usually after the first go-through it will stick in your head where you’re meant to pause, and for how long.”

She reached out, picking up the folded booklet and scanning ahead. She reread the notation, the rests, the lyrics.

“Holy shit, is this song about you or what?”

Joel took it from her with a sigh. “Wow, you made it three whole minutes longer than I thought you would.”

“What? No--wait, hey! Give it back!” He held it easily out of her reach, pivoting his arm away when she tried to stand and grab for it instead. “How am I supposed to practice without sheet music?”

“You’ve got like three books in your room, you can practice with those.” He closed the music, tossing it behind him on the bed. “Besides which, you need to work on your chord progressions some more. Focus on that for now.”

Ellie sulked at him with an exaggerated pout, by which he was moved not an inch. He bumped her with his elbow.

“Git.”

She stood, swinging her own guitar around by its strap, letting it rest at an angle across her back.

“Stupid Johnny Cash.” Her voice dropped a mocking octave. “Steady like a train, sharp like a razor.”

Joel shook his head, looking back and forth between his picking and his silent fingering on the frets.

“Should’ve never let you watch that movie.”

She made it to the doorway and turned in place as she backed out, batting her eyes at him.

“Love youuuuuu.”

“Git,” he said again, head bowing further, but the crooked curl of a smirk betrayed him.

Ellie was halfway down the hall to her own room before she heard the distinctive sound of Joel’s sneeze.

“Bless you,” she called out, and paused to listen for a response. Nothing.

Then, faintly, “M-hm.”

He was so weird.

In good faith Ellie practiced for awhile, grimacing through the slow but unavoidable pinch and pain of developing the stupid calluses Joel kept going on and on about. After a half hour she could no longer feel two of her fingers, so she supposed that was a good start.

All throughout, and in-between the occasional inept chord change, she heard bursts of his crackling cough from the other room. When she finally unslung the guitar and returned it to its case, she realized it had been a background noise for most of the day.

“Hey Joel--” she called out, standing, then startled as he appeared abruptly in the doorway. “Jesus!”

“Hey,” he interrupted, snagging in a rough sniffle. “Tommy’s on the horn, bunch of the hogs got out. I’m gonna run over and give him a hand, but I don’t know how long I’ll be. You OK fixing yourself dinner, if I’m not back in time?”

“Oh shit,” she said excitedly. “Can I come?”

“No.” Unflappable. “You got homework.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. Do your homework. Maybe clean this up while you’re at it,” as he backed a way he made a vague gesture around the perfectly… well, mostly acceptable state of her room. “Already looks like a sty.”

Ellie followed him only as far as her own threshold, frowning as he picked up his buckskin coat and shrugged into it.

“How do you know I have homework?”

“It’s like you forget I already did this with one smartass kid before you ever came around.” He barely got his arm into a sleeve before he had it pressed to his face, shoulders hunching with another shotgun sneeze. He sighed. Sniffled. Muttered a barely audible, “Shit.”

Ellie came forward a bit more, zeroed on him. “Hey, what’s with--”

“Homework.” He snagged a scarf and was already halfway out the door. “And eat something other than pickles for dinner.”

She stood frowning, even after the shudder of the shutting door had quieted, then turned reluctantly back to her room.

“Fuck you, pickles are awesome.”

*******

Ellie polished off homework in record time, and even managed a dinner of something that contained, but was not exclusively comprised of, pickles. She was a woman of her word, if nothing else. Halfway through packing both their lunches for the next day, the front door finally blew open with blustering drama, and Joel made his return.

Or something vaguely in the shape of Joel.

The overall size and dimensions were right, the buckskin coat was the same, though both it and his hair were heavily mantled in snow. He was nothing but mud and slush from the knees down, hands evidently so frozen that all he could do was stand there and paw ineffectively at his gloves, trying to get them off.

Ellie took in the exhausted, punch-drunk slump of his shoulders with sympathy and amusement. Good thing she didn’t join him after all.

“You look like you smell awesome.”

“Fucking hate hogs.”

“But you love bacon,” she countered.

“After tonight, I only like it for the sense of revenge.” After watching multiple unsuccessful attempts to remove his gloves, Ellie finally came to his assistance. She didn’t even want to touch them, gunked as they were with mud, ice, and probably pig shit, but it was either that or watch him stand there all night, swaying like a Mortal Kombat character. Just as she got the second one off he planted a bare hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her from him as he raised his other arm to his face.

“Ellie, stand clear--”

“Huh?”

He buckled into his elbow with another sneeze, this time lingering his arm in place afterwards, long after he should have simply relaxed and moved on. By the time it dropped away, he found Ellie ogling him with arch worry. He sighed, apologetic, and the hand still at her shoulder squeezed once before letting go. “Sorry.”

But she just stood there, still holding his gloves, having unexpectedly run dry of all sarcasm. She didn’t like this.

“Are you sick?”

“Nah, I’m…” Well, yeah. But also, no. “The weather’s just kicking the shit out of me. I’m fine. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re saying fine way too much for it to actually be fine.”

Joel had just enough strength for another sigh. He took the gloves from her, doing an awkward flamingo balance from one foot to the other to climb out of his boots. The feeling of ice-cold, mud-soaked denim on his bare skin made him grimace. “You finish your homework?”

No no no. She wasn’t being put off. Not like this. “Joel.”

He flicked a mild look to the kitchen. “That pickle jar looks a lot emptier than I remember.”

“Joel.”

“Hey.” He reached out, cupping the subtle angle of her jaw, framing her entire face in the warm, rough cushion of his palm. Calluses, burred knuckles, wind-chapped skin and a touch so gentle she could cry. “It’s fine. I’m just beat. Gonna leave all this shit outside, I’ll worry about it in the morning, then I’m gonna shower and hit the sack.” Her eyes were searching him still, burrowing into him the same as when he’d sworn that his story about the hospital in Salt Lake was true. That was the look of reckoning, and it chilled him worse than any winter storm. “Homework’s good? Got enough to eat?”

Her gaze softened and dropped, the same as when she’d chosen -- willingly or otherwise -- to believe his last lie.

“Yeah.”

His hand fell away, and he gave her a small, punctuating nod.

“Alright, good. You lock up for me?”

“Okay.”

Joel finally got free from both boots, his coat, depositing everything carelessly on the snowy mat outside. He squeezed her shoulder again as he soldiered tiredly to his room. “Night, kiddo. Love you.”

Only her eyes tracked him.

“Love you too.”

*******

She didn’t know why she thought sleeping would help. Useless idea. Total mistake.

Ellie even put it off for as long as she could, hoping that if she fucked around and wasted enough time doing other dumb, meaningless, time-consuming shit that eventually her brain or body would concede that, okay, sleep did sound pretty appealing.

Nope. No part of her was having it.

It didn’t help that, despite his best efforts, Joel couldn’t just lay there and suffer in silence. With clockwork regularity the silence and stillness broke with his wracking cough, the occasional bedframe squeak revealing the restrained force of it. By midnight he just gave up trying to sleep altogether.

Ellie lay awake, listening, and saw his dark silhouette lean into her room just enough to gently close her door, trying to preserve her own presumed sleep.

Five minutes later she fumbled a hoodie over her pajamas and padded out after him.

He spotted her just as he heaped limply onto the sofa, and immediately sighed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, El. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She yanked the hoodie’s zipper up with satisfaction. “I’ve been up the whole time.”

Joel loosened a slow breath, regarding her… then the empty living room… then back to her.

“On account of me?”

She didn’t want to lie, but also didn’t want to burden him with any additional guilt.

“One way or another. Kinda.”

He grunted, disappointed in himself, and his own once-again-stellar parenting. “...you oughta be in bed.”

She roughened her voice in an approximation of his own, mimicking a slightly surly swagger to the couch before flouncing down beside him. “So oughta you.”

Joel side-eyed her. She tucked her chin down, eyes upturned, lips pressed in a thin but irrepressible smile.

“...fuckin’ hard-headed, stubborn, pain-in-my ass--”

“Yeahyeahyeah, I’m a total superstar, I know.” Ellie reached for his arm, lifting it well over her head, then curled it around her shoulders. Joel let her manipulate him without complaint, only turning his head away and uncurling his fingers to shield her from a single, congested cough. When he turned back, she plastered her hand over his forehead like she’d been waiting for the chance.

“What is this,” he asked.

“This is what it feels like when somebody cares about you.” She met his eyes. “Dumbass.”

“Hm.”

Her palm was heavy and cool, the pressure of it on his brow oddly comforting. Judging by the way she frowned, and searched him, and nervously licked her teeth, she didn’t like what it told her. Joel sighed and reached up, taking her hand down in his own.

“Come on. Enough of this. You need to get back to bed. Get some actual sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll… I don’t know, try to lie down for a couple more hours before work.”

“Before work? Are you kidding me?” “Shit’s gotta get done, Ellie--”

“Yeah, by somebody else, Joel!”

“More hands makes--”

“Fuck that dirty-south, cowboy, Marlborough-martyr bullshit for two minutes, would you?”

He leaned way back, rolling the whites of his eyes at her. “Dirty south?” When she thumped her palm against his shoulder he feigned an injured, “Ow!”

Inwardly he struggled not to laugh. Holy Christ was she angry. Despite his perfect deadpan, there was still a tiny warble of amusement in his voice as he demanded, “What’s got into you?”

Oh, she’d been waiting for that. She’d knocked at the door and he’d opened it all the way.

“Rest,” she accused, emphatic. “You can’t skip the rest.”

Joel rubbed sorely where she’d thumped him, relaxing from his recoiled lean.

“Don’t know why you’re so mean to me. Probably too many pickles.”

Ellie stuttered with a sniggering laugh, shoving him with both hands. Gently, this time. “Asshole.”

“Hm.”

“I mean it.”

“Alright, you mean it. I’ll tell Tommy in the morning, I need a day.” He checked her with a look and leaned away again. “Maybe two.”

“Good.” She pushed up from the couch, hands jammed into her hoodie pockets as she marched off.

“Now where are you going?”

“To get you a blanket. And I don’t know… soup, or something. On account of you being so bad at looking after yourself.”

He watched her go, itching a knuckle under his nose. “Think you can manage tea?”

Ellie cheered immediately, already detouring for the kitchen. “Oh yeah, good idea.”

“Alright, then.” He let his head rest back, smirking faintly. “Hope I don’t regret this.”

*******

Ellie stared, fascinated, the TV battering them softly in blue and white light.

“None of this makes sense.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much the entire theme of the 1980s.” Joel set his tea aside and picked up the cardboard VHS sleeve beside him, garishly patterned with the box art from season one of Full House. “You had to be there.”

“I’m kinda glad I wasn’t.”

She’d managed to brew him a decent mug of tea, heavy-handed on the honey, just how he liked it. He’d been hesitant to waste a bowl of perfectly good soup on his already anemic appetite, but Ellie brooked no argument and brought it to him anyway. They’d decided what to watch by reaching blindly into the box of old VHS cassettes, and now she was nestled close against his ribs, head rested back on his shoulder, marveling at the grainy, laugh-tracked evidence of a world gone before she was ever conceived.

Every now and then Joel looked down at the crown of her head, grateful, always returning to the TV before the little fragments of thankfulness could become too much for him.

Despite the contentment, the cold remained a persistent thorn in his side. Every time Ellie felt his chest expand abruptly against her she sat forward slightly, giving him room to half-twist away with a cough or sneeze muffled to the inside of his far arm.

He’d let the breath back out of his lungs, bleary, and face the TV with a few blinks to clear his eyes. Ellie would retake her place, squirming to close the gaps between her back and his ribs.

“You OK?”

“I’m a’right, kiddo.”

“OK.”

Every time, deliberate, with a sincerity that tattooed her like ink, ever deeper and indelible, into his skin.

Every ache and pain and exerted muscle from the past few days was catching up with him now, his sinuses blocked miserably shut. After a particularly strenuous coughing fit he turned back around to find Ellie’s eyes more focused and ferreting and worried. He needed to work a little harder to put her back at ease.

“Here, look,” he croaked, redirecting her to the TV. “See this guy?”

“Mr. Goofy Fucking Hawaiian Shirts?”

“Yeah. He used to date Alanis Morisette.”

“No way!”

“Yeah.” He chuffed, head shaking. “Wild, right?”

“She’s so angry! I love her.”

“Yeah, well. She’s angry about a lot of stuff you hopefully won’t have to worry about for quite awhile.”

“I guess. She still wrote good songs.”

“That she did.”

“Hey, speaking of, what does it mean to go down on somebody?”

Joel paled, making a long, desperately uncomfortable noise in his throat. Ellie let him suffer for a good five seconds before donkeying with laughter.

“Relax,” she cackled, ear-to-ear grinning. “I’m fucking with you.”

He flattened a hand at his chest. “Jesus. How is this helping me feel better?”

“Oh my God. That was amazing. I almost wish I’d saved that one until I could actually see your face.”

“You know you can go back to your own room any time, right?.”

“And miss this? Hell no.”

Joel quieted, checking her again in the dimness, watching the play of light on her face, her lingering grin. He smiled faintly to himself before his eyes relaxed back to the TV.

“Yeah, it’s pretty alright.”

“Yeah it is.”

He didn’t remember drifting off, but at some point his mind disconnected from the brightly-colored spectacle glowing in the dark before him, the rising and falling tide of canned laughter. Eventually Ellie’s hand spread lightly open at his chest, jostling him just enough to stir him awake. His head picked up, eyes cracked open to see her cast in luminous blue. Her face, serious but calm. She curled the backs of her fingers to his forehead.

“You’re still really warm. How come we don’t have a thermometer?”

“Someone’s gotta have one.” He blinked groggily. “We’ll ask tomorrow. I’m sure I’m running a temperature… suppose it doesn’t matter how much.”

She started to peel the blanket from him, and he stopped her.

“Joel,” Ellie chastened. He stilled her hand with a touch.

“No, it’s alright.”

“You need to lie down.”

“I know, I will. I’m gonna sleep out here. I wake up coughing if I try to lay too flat.”

She wasn’t entirely pleased with this answer, but it was enough of a concession that she was willing to negotiate.

“Okay, I’ll help.”

He technically didn’t need the assistance, but clearly it was important to her to be a part of his recovery. She lifted and transferred his legs to the couch by the ankles, assembling exactly the right pillows behind him so he could recline without hurting his neck. His eyes followed her, lips softly smirking, as she pulled the blankets back over him and tucked them in at the edges. When there was nothing left for her to fuss at she stood back, hands jammed into her hoodie pockets.

“You want me to turn the TV off?”

Joel’s head lolled to observe the glowing blue square, a single white NO INPUT blinking in the top corner.

“No, leave it. It’s comforting.”

She looked at the screen. Looked at him.

“You’re super fucking weird.”

Joel’s hands lifted, rotated outward from the wrist, and dropped limply back to his chest. Look, what can you do?

“Get some sleep,” he urged.

“OK. But you’re not going to work tomorrow. We have like… I don’t know, forty more seasons of this stupid show to go through. Somehow. Hopefully that hideous baby gets cuter.”

“She really doesn’t. You know there was actually two of them playing the same kid?”

“What?” She broke into a helpless grin. “That’s… awful. Imagine giving birth to a horrible-looking gremlin baby, and you’re like, oh well, at least there’s just the one. And then: OH NO.”

Joel erupted with sniggering laughter, hiding his face against the inside of his arm as it devolved into another coughing fit.

“Fuck me,” he crackled. “Get out of here, please. Go to bed.”

“OK.” Ellie leaned in and bent over him, kissing his forehead. “Feel better.”

“Working on it.”

She started to turn, but Joel caught her wrist. Ellie looked back, expectant, but he just lay there a moment, holding her hand, his thumb caressing into the crease of her palm.

“Thank you.”

She softened, awkward, fingers curling around his thumb in a single, meaningful squeeze.

“Of course.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.” She held onto his hand until both their arms were extended, then let him go with an impish smile. “I ate like six pickles.”

“Jesus Christ, girl.”

She receded into the dark, giggling, leaving him in the backwash of blue light.

“Good night.”

#my writing #tlou #the last of us #last of us #joel miller

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