The line of her eyes slides away from him, rooting itself in the corner of the stable, as he snaps back at her. Her mouth goes all lopsided and then thin when he calls her that.
And then she bites back (and part of her thinks maybe that's what this was about. What she'd been gunning for all along: get him to go all hard nosed so she has a reason to want to punch him for it). So, yeah. She can be defensive too alright because-- "Jesus, do you even listen? I just told you." She's suddenly angry. Angry because she sounds more pitched than she wants to be and that just makes it worse and-- "I don't want to play baseball or tell Chris Dowd to stop trying to fucking hold my hand for the seventeenth time when I could actually be doing something that matters."
Because it's all bullshit and she knows that, but at least if she's running the perimeter then-- people die all the time. That's just how it goes and she's aware of that. But having friends makes it harder or different and makes her feel more useless than she already does. She'd rather be good for something even if it's just scoping out some fuckers trying to stir shit than be good for nothing with a great soccer game.
"How long d'you think this is gonna last, huh?" That sharpness in her tone carries over to him, drops his voice down low as he leans in over his forward-most foot. Talking about what matters-- about places like this that are damn near extinct by now-- pushes him well beyond the limits of his patience. And she knows that. "How much longer do you think am I gonna last, Ellie, because I tell you what I have not got another twenty years in me for this shit."
It's the selfish thing to say when he's been standing here in the dark with her, sweat on his forehead and breath short from old hurts (she isn't stupid and she isn't blind). But she say it anyway because she knows it'll sting. Because maybe it's true - even saying it she doesn't know for sure. But what else is there? It's just this, day in and day out and she used to be okay with that but now she doesn't know if she's ever going the be okay with it.
There's a tangle of scar tissue on her forearm that someone told her meant something, but just look how that turned out.
He's silent after that for a while. Brow furrowed, lips flat, chin still angled down so he can stare straight at her, inhaling and exhaling every breath through his nose because he's not entirely sure what'll come out of his mouth when he opens it.
"That ain't your call to make." Joel finally mouths out with his jaw still locked tight.
The long moment of silence should scare her, but it just makes her more aware of how angry she is: the low dull noise of it pounding in her chest and ears. It's quiet in the barn and she can hear how his breathing rattles, the shift of the horses.
"Yeah?" Which is deceptively soft and quiet, though there's a steel under it all that goes flat and straightforward with the next question: "Then who's is it - yours?"
"Don't." He shakes his head, holds a hand up to set distance between them. "Don't even start with me again, because this is the first goddamn time you've had a chance to do something on your own and you haven't even bothered to try, so do not tell me you're done with it now."
That was the whole point, wasn't it? Get her away from those bastards long enough to make her own choices, give her a real shot at life. Now she wants nothing to do with it - what kind of sense does that even begin to make?
No need to put any more distance between them. It already feels like they're on different fucking planets. "Bullshit!" She says it louder than she means to. She's not sorry - mostly not. "I just told you what I wanted, but you don't even care because it's not what you want. So don't tell me that you did this for me when you're all set to stop me the second I try to do something on my own."
Fuck she doesn't even know what this is about anymore, just that the words are coming out of her mouth and she wants to run but her feet are stuck to the goddamn floor and it doesn't matter even if she could because there's no where to go anyway.
That staggers him. Not entirely, not enough to shake him from anger, but enough to press Joel into stepping back-- pacing in a half circle with his knuckles wedged up under his nose. He dragged her back and forth across the map, fought till his fingers were bloody and was the only one that gave a damn enough to keep them from cutting her to pieces and he's the selfish one? Shit if that ain't the worst joke he's ever heard.
Joel scoffs, cracks something that vaguely resembles a grin; wrong right down to the last angle. "It's a tough deal, Ellie -that's the world we live in and there is no changing that whether you like it or not."
"You think I don't know that?" Because if there's one thing she knows it's the fucking reality of the situation, okay? But he's asking her to pretend that's not what is is - to pretend that it's okay when it's not. And that isn't fair. He sure as shit doesn't bother deluding himself ninety percent of the time, so why the hell should she?
"Jesus Joel, it's just some stupid class. It's not a big deal."
"Not now," his attention snaps back over towards her. Still and straight and sounding deceptively objective about the whole thing. "But when I can't be around to have your back anymore what then, huh?"
He needs this. He needs to know she'll be okay. It's not enough to trust she can survive out in the wild anymore.
"I have done damn near everything there is to do in this world, but you are not me - you are fifteen years old and I do not want to see you throw it away. Not like this."
God, she can't-- she presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and paces a short half circle. She can't fucking argue with this. Not when he's so dead set on cutting everything she tries to tell him down at the knees.
"Well you know what." Ellie rounds on him, dropping her hands. "I guess it's a good thing I don't need your permission then, huh?"
Exasperated, Joel angles his head in again, raises his hands where she moves to drop her own. "Why can't you just--" one short cut-off, one attempt to even out so they're not just butting heads. "It's a compromise, Ellie, I ain't asking the world here. Meet me halfway."
"No, you meet me halfway! We both agree that history is stupid and walking the perimeter is practically the same shit as p.e. It's not like I'm never gonna be around kids my age if I skip out on two stupid classes. I don't see what the big deal is."
Which isn't what this is about and she's pretty friggin' sure they both know that, but that doesn't mean she can't pretend otherwise. Because she may not be able to win anything else, but she can at least get this.
"It is not the same!" There's a difference between playing and fighting and he hasn't seen her so much as inch towards the latter since Utah. He hasn't got a clue why she's up in arms, but for him, after months spent walking to the sound of bad jokes and incessant bouts of eager, unintentionally invasive questions, it's all that matters.
"Nothing is, so stop pretending like it!" Ellie snaps back, voice cracking desperately. And her face is open, chest hitching with a drawn in breath that feels hollow when she finally releases it. Just give this to her. Please. Just this one thing.
It's quiet after the low, rasping sound of Ellie breathing out. His side's all knotted and his skin feels dry, dirty with salt. Stings enough for him to focus on that instead of the tangled mess of boxed up memories threatening to spill over because--
She's not ready to be right. Being right on this loads some kind of meaning into the rest of it, doesn't it? So it makes her rock back on her heels, her head swinging up. Ellie stills for a moment, deer in the headlights. But then the horse shifts behind her and bumps against her with his shoulder. The sharp line of her shoulders eases and her eyes drops to her feet.
"Okay." She nods, rocking gently on her feet. "Okay good."
He's already turned back towards the barn door, attention fixed on the floodlights outside instead of the conversation behind him. Glances down-- stupidly-- to check his time on a stopwatch he doesn't even have. Pulls back from the broken frame of the one he's had on for twenty years.
There's something about the shape of his back turned to her, dark against the light of the yard, that makes her suddenly anxious. She steadies herself off Bubble's shoulder and calls after him: "Joel?"
The horse is warm at her back, alive and shifting. She can feel the prickle of its coat, the coarse hair of Bubbles's mane tickling the back of her neck just over the collar of her sweatshirt, the front of which is plastered with a school logo she doesn't recognize and won't ever know. Ellie threads her fingers together in front of her and picks at her knuckles. It's mostly quiet but even now she can make out the hum of water churning nearby if she listens.
"Thanks," she says. In this instance, she's pretty sure she means it.
By appearances alone, it doesn't win her much. When he half-turns to stare back at her from over his shoulder his expression is still listless and worn thin. But then he jerks his head to the side, mutters in a quiet tone that matches her own: "C'mon."
It's a long walk back; no point in doing it alone.
She nods. With a shirt farewell pat to the horse's shoulder, Ellie pushes off and falls in half a step behind him. She tucks her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and keeps her head bowed as she goes, but follows him. Because where else would she go anyway?
It goes on for that like a while. Whether he wants to say anything or not, finding the right words are too hard when he's already spent about as much effort as he's got in him to give. A pack of bandits got shot down a few days ago, dropped a nice load of supplies-- even a few packets of pain medication. He'd turned down the offer of taking them (for a man his age he's as fit as a horse, figures someone else might need the things more) but Maria's a sharp one; she dropped them off anyway.
And the image of those packets settled down at the edge of the kitchen counter is stuck firmly in the forefront of his mind for the majority of their walk home.
"--He tries to hold your hand?" Joel asks abruptly, when they're crossing into the heart of the neighborhood closest to his house. Maybe pills aren't the only thing on his mind.
The streets are mostly empty, though occasionally she can make out the distant shape of figures on the edge of floodlights as they make their way from their homes to the wall or back - coming in or off rotation. There's something strangely insulated about the streets and the dark shapes of the trees hazy out there beyond the perimeter. It's never fully dark and she's not sure how she feels about it.
The question's not what she expects to break the silence between them and Ellie scoffs involuntarily. Beyond that it takes her a moment to scrape her words together: "Yeah. His palm's all sweaty. I don't know. He's not my type."
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And then she bites back (and part of her thinks maybe that's what this was about. What she'd been gunning for all along: get him to go all hard nosed so she has a reason to want to punch him for it). So, yeah. She can be defensive too alright because-- "Jesus, do you even listen? I just told you." She's suddenly angry. Angry because she sounds more pitched than she wants to be and that just makes it worse and-- "I don't want to play baseball or tell Chris Dowd to stop trying to fucking hold my hand for the seventeenth time when I could actually be doing something that matters."
Because it's all bullshit and she knows that, but at least if she's running the perimeter then-- people die all the time. That's just how it goes and she's aware of that. But having friends makes it harder or different and makes her feel more useless than she already does. She'd rather be good for something even if it's just scoping out some fuckers trying to stir shit than be good for nothing with a great soccer game.
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It's the selfish thing to say when he's been standing here in the dark with her, sweat on his forehead and breath short from old hurts (she isn't stupid and she isn't blind). But she say it anyway because she knows it'll sting. Because maybe it's true - even saying it she doesn't know for sure. But what else is there? It's just this, day in and day out and she used to be okay with that but now she doesn't know if she's ever going the be okay with it.
There's a tangle of scar tissue on her forearm that someone told her meant something, but just look how that turned out.
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"That ain't your call to make." Joel finally mouths out with his jaw still locked tight.
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"Yeah?" Which is deceptively soft and quiet, though there's a steel under it all that goes flat and straightforward with the next question: "Then who's is it - yours?"
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That was the whole point, wasn't it? Get her away from those bastards long enough to make her own choices, give her a real shot at life. Now she wants nothing to do with it - what kind of sense does that even begin to make?
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Fuck she doesn't even know what this is about anymore, just that the words are coming out of her mouth and she wants to run but her feet are stuck to the goddamn floor and it doesn't matter even if she could because there's no where to go anyway.
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Joel scoffs, cracks something that vaguely resembles a grin; wrong right down to the last angle. "It's a tough deal, Ellie -that's the world we live in and there is no changing that whether you like it or not."
So don't fucking pin this on him.
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"Jesus Joel, it's just some stupid class. It's not a big deal."
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He needs this. He needs to know she'll be okay. It's not enough to trust she can survive out in the wild anymore.
"I have done damn near everything there is to do in this world, but you are not me - you are fifteen years old and I do not want to see you throw it away. Not like this."
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"Well you know what." Ellie rounds on him, dropping her hands. "I guess it's a good thing I don't need your permission then, huh?"
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Exasperated, Joel angles his head in again, raises his hands where she moves to drop her own. "Why can't you just--" one short cut-off, one attempt to even out so they're not just butting heads. "It's a compromise, Ellie, I ain't asking the world here. Meet me halfway."
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Which isn't what this is about and she's pretty friggin' sure they both know that, but that doesn't mean she can't pretend otherwise. Because she may not be able to win anything else, but she can at least get this.
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Things weren't supposed to turn out like this.
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"Fine."
Because she's right. And he's tired.
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"Okay." She nods, rocking gently on her feet. "Okay good."
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"I'm headin' home."
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"Thanks," she says. In this instance, she's pretty sure she means it.
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It's a long walk back; no point in doing it alone.
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And the image of those packets settled down at the edge of the kitchen counter is stuck firmly in the forefront of his mind for the majority of their walk home.
"--He tries to hold your hand?" Joel asks abruptly, when they're crossing into the heart of the neighborhood closest to his house. Maybe pills aren't the only thing on his mind.
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The question's not what she expects to break the silence between them and Ellie scoffs involuntarily. Beyond that it takes her a moment to scrape her words together: "Yeah. His palm's all sweaty. I don't know. He's not my type."
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