Chapter Text
There’s a breeze rustling the sun warmed grass. It tickles Ellie’s fingertips and she wonders how it’s possible for anything to feel even remotely pleasant after everything she’s done; she recognizes the colors in the sunset- she knows they’re there as well as she knows the ink staining her skin and Dina’s favorite color and the way her heart had lit up every time JJ offered her one of his bright smiles or equally bright giggles. She recognizes it with a clarity that feels wrong somehow- there’s hollowness in recognition. She’s learned that in the months away from home. In the months without the two people she loves more than anything in the world. The fact that she can feel anything at all is a measure of progress but even that feels insignificant given the fact that she can feel their empty home looming over her- the hollow chasm in her chest where someone else’s heart might be, cracking and snapping and carving itself wider to make room for the bitterness rippling in the back of her throat.
Choking. She’s choking on her own blood, staring at the ceiling of the theater and contemplating her own death. She can remember staring at Dina as her vision faded around the edges— a creeping certainty that she’d ruined everything good in her life to make things make sense . To make Joel’s death mean something. To make her life feel meaningful again.
Ellie stands motionless in the rustling grass and chokes on something that might be a sob but it dies in her throat before she can allow it into the world; her side twinges in time with her fingers and her eyes flicker to them for a long moment, watching the grass brush against them and staring- blank, devoid, listless- all the words she can come up with pale in comparison to the feeling in her bones.
The feeling that she has almost nowhere to go. The feeling that her comfort has been carved away and she’ll have to revisit every painful memory in the farmhouse the moment she can stomach stepping back through its doors. Her teeth scrape roughly against one another as she grinds them and clenches her fists as they shake with the force of her wavering self-control. She takes the first step away from the farm and then another. And another. And another.
It comes easier once she starts, as most things do, and she reaches for the straps of her pack to shift the weight-- at least, she thinks, there’s one thing she has in the moment that’s familiar to her. The weight of her pack has become something of a security blanket-- a concept she’d never understood until one of the old timers explained it to her during one of her moodier mornings in town. Had Joel ever explained it to her? She can’t remember. She wants to. She wants to remember all of their little conversations-- wants to remember Joel and his earnest efforts to be there for her even when she wanted nothing more than to push him away-- a cold war she had no way of bringing to an end because she’d thought they had all the time in the world.
“Fuck,” Ellie mumbles. It settles in the air around her quietly, as though the forest and its silence are an answer all on their own and for the first time since Ellie’s entered the state of Wyoming as a whole she has a twinge of something in her chest that feels far sharper than the dull, hollow ache that has become as steadfast a presence in her life as anything else she’s ever had. She can taste it-- stinging iron on the back of her tongue-- blood in her mouth again; the new scar on her lip throbs although she knows, realistically, it doesn’t hurt anymore than her own inability to process anything at all.
“Keep walking, Ellie.” It’s almost a sigh as she pushes herself through the foliage, branches catching on her flannel and against her pack; scratching her arms and leaving stinging aches that come and go intermittently as though to remind her that she’s capable of feeling anything at all. It’s cruel, she thinks, how can I feel anything when they’re all gone? I couldn’t keep anything good. I fucked it all up.
Another voice chimes in-- one that feels almost like Joel’s in the way it both comforts and grates on her nerves in equal measure: You’ll find them. You’re allowed to be happy, kiddo.
Her eyes sting and for a moment she can almost picture Joel waiting for her back in Jackson-- a mug of steaming coffee in his hands and his eyes already halfway to rolling the moment her mouth opens to remind him that it still smells like shit no matter how earnestly he tries to convince her it doesn’t.
“God, fuck you, Joel,” His name tastes like ash in her mouth and it’s all she can do to choke it out. She’s not angry with him, but the grief is still sharp in her chest and there are days when it’s all she can feel. Her dreams are still full of him and they seem to delight in shifting -- some nights she’ll see his smile before it shifts to the remains of his face after his murder or his screams of pain will echo so loudly in her ears that no matter how high the volume on her walkman can go she can never get them out of her head. She’s not articulate or particularly well-educated and speaking to most people makes her want to pull her own teeth out with her bare hands but Joel is gone, and Dina is gone, and she’s still there and she’s alone . She knows her anger is misdirected and that it serves no purpose-- she’s known that since her hands were wrapped around Abby’s throat and she was watching another person’s life fade beneath her hands until it was all too much.
It’s a testament to something she can’t find the words for that she thinks of Joel more than she thinks of Abby since her return to Wyoming. Joel dominates her nightmares, her waking thoughts, her emotions-- he has more of a hold of her in death than he did in life but she thinks he might not mind that-- at least he’s kept her from killing herself in his name. She imagines he might have found some sort of pride in that; that even from the grave he’s managed to save her. She wonders, not for the first time, if this was what Joel had felt when he’d lost Sarah; if he’d seen all of the time they could have had together stretched out before him in an endless horizon that would overwhelm anyone it was allowed to. There are nights that Ellie inserts Joel into the life she’d had in the quiet year between Seattle and Santa Barbara. She imagines him holding JJ and coming to family dinners on the farm; imagines him getting to know Dina and understanding all of the things Ellie has grown to love about her so fiercely she could fill the universe with it; imagines a warmth that she hasn’t felt in months and one that some part of her is convinced she can never feel again.
Her conviction chases her all the way to the hill that overlooks Jackson and she stands there for a long while with the sun creeping lower and lower behind the first place she has ever really considered to be home . There’s a part of her that yearns to turn around and leave. To retreat and allow herself to be nothing more than a memory for all of the people in Jackson who have ever claimed to love her. It passes in an instant as the sound of Dina begging her to stay replays in her head like a record she can’t find a way to get to stop skipping. It crushes something in her chest and she takes a deep, rattling breath as her bones ache with it. She misses Shimmer— she can just see the gates of Jackson and there seems to be a patrol lingering at the entrance and she misses Shimmer with a sudden fierceness that leaves her breathless. It’s stupid, she thinks, she’s lost so much more than her horse but Shimmer had provided her with comfort— a constant companion— and one that can tolerate Dina’s dad jokes alongside her.
There’s a twitch at the edge of Ellie’s lips at the thought that might be a smile if she allows it to bloom but it dies against her mouth, her lips chapped and dry and broken. She exhales again as though to offer her grief to the Autumn air and keeps moving, almost mechanically. Her stomach lurches and she tries to remember the last time she’s eaten. Somewhere around Hoback, she thinks, but that had been two days ago. She’s never been the best at taking care of herself— all of her skills in that regard have deteriorated in her time alone, it seems, and now she finds it to be a wonder if she can force herself to stand up in the morning and want to be awake, let alone full of food or not dehydrated.
“Stop it,” She says softly to the answering silence, “I just need to get home. I’ll take care of it-- just stop it.”
There’s a part of her who doesn’t know who she’s talking to-- whether it’s the lingering echoes of Dina’s voice that she’s fought to cling to over the last few months, or the specter of Joel’s overbearing protectiveness and his deep adoration for her or whether she’s trying to reassure herself that she’s not allowing herself to waste away after all she’s done. It’s not true. She knows it isn’t. She wishes it was as simple as self-flagellation; it seems that it would be so much simpler to write off inadvertently starving herself as its own form of punishment but her thoughts are consumed by everyone but herself and it seems ridiculous to assume she has the presence of mind to punish herself for anything. It’s more complicated than that. It’s always more complicated for that.
God, she aches for simplicity. She’s not sure she even knows what that feels like anymore, but she can remember it-- she can feel it in the memories of the music store in Seattle with Dina, or the bonfire where she’d almost been brave enough to kiss her, or any one of their interactions that had reminded her for fleeting moments that she was just a kid and she was allowed to care about someone and be cared about for who she was in return.
Her thoughts settle for the rest of the trek to Jackson and by the time she pauses in the final stretch to stare at the tree stumps that mark the edge of their little slice of civilization she feels her stomach lurch again, a violent, crashing motion that has her doubling over and vomiting what little water she has to give back into the thick grass. Her heart is pounding so furiously in her chest she imagines her ribs cracking from the force in spite of the absence of pain in her body-- it’s the most adrenaline she’s felt since Santa Barbara and there’s a part of her that wants to cling to it even as it sets her hands to trembling and the Hamsa charm on the bracelet she can’t bear to take off glints in the light the fading sun casts over her before she squints into it and pushes herself forward on legs that feel like they could buckle at any moment.
She sees the glint of a rifle scope before she can acknowledge that she’s gotten close enough to the gate to actually speak to anyone at all, and a clear, familiar voice calls out her name. Her thoughts are so muddled as she stares at the gate opening that she doesn’t speak-- she can’t-- her tongue feels too large in her mouth and it seems more eager to suffocate her than allow her the grace of speech. She settles for a wave that feels about as inadequate as she does herself and when she’s allowed to step through the gates properly it’s all she can do to manage another wave to a few teenagers she knows are Dina’s friends. They’re her friends too, she reasons, but she’s been gone so long she doesn’t even feel like herself anymore. She might as well be a stranger to them, she imagines, and her imagination takes that idea and runs with it until one of them-- a floppy haired eighteen year old named Dylan whose obsession with comic books had made them fast friends in spite of their age differences, scrambles off of the ladder to the watchtower and gives her a fierce hug.
Her body stiffens at the first sign of human contact she’s had in the last several months and even the warmth of another human being against her seems foreign; she pats his shoulder with an awkward brush of her hand and her eyes are dull as she meets his gaze, “Hey, Dyl.” Her voice is rough and low and if Dylan finds any fault in that or in the fact that he can more than likely feel every bone in her body nudging him when he hugs her, he doesn’t allow any of that into the world. His eyes are wet with tears and that in and of itself startles Ellie into giving him another awkward pat before she steps away and her gaze shifts to her boots.
“It’s uh,” Dylan clears his throat and Ellie’s shifts from her boots to his, “It’s good to see you again, Ellie. I’m really glad you’re back.”
The attention makes her skin sting beneath his gaze and Dylan, who has always been sweet and careful in every relationship she’s ever seen him engage in, steps away to give her a moment to breathe and she’s cognizant of his warm voice rolling over the crowd and encouraging them to leave Ellie well enough alone. His hand is warm when it finds its way to her shoulder with a gentleness that makes her eyes sting all over again and a voice in the back of her head screams to remind her that she doesn’t deserve gentleness anymore.
“Come on,” He urges, “I’ll take you to see Maria. She’ll be happy you’re back.”
It takes them all of three minutes to reach Maria’s home. Ellie finds herself staring at the individual grains of wood in each step that leads up to the porch as her anxiety builds once more-- more screaming in the back of her head, a recollection of the disgust in Tommy’s voice the last time they’d spoken; it sends bile rocketing to the back of her throat and she wonders if Maria would be annoyed if she threw up all over her front porch. She’d give me a pass, she thinks, I haven’t been back long enough yet.
“You good, dude?” Dylan asks, careful. Considerate. He’s a good guy, Ellie muses. He reminds her of Jesse in ways that make the chasm in her chest deepen-- her emotions excavating the bounds of her body in an attempt to hollow her out until she’s nothing but brittle bones on display for all to see.
“I’m good,” Ellie replies, a hollow conviction in her words.
Dylan nods and gives her another pat on the shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it, then. You know where I live if you need anything. Come by any time, okay?”
She almost smiles. Dylan’s dimpled grin in return makes up for her shortcomings before he walks back towards the gate and her boots hit the porch steps with scuffs that sound like gunshots to her own ears. The door opens before she has a chance to knock and Maria lingers in the doorway with an expression Ellie finds to be entirely unreadable before she surges forward and wraps Ellie in a hug so strong that for a moment it eclipses the darkness Ellie can feel in her every breath. There’s a pinprick of warmth in her chest, an ember of love that might blossom if she’d only allow herself to nurture it as desperately as she wants to. Her hands raise uselessly for a moment before she returns the hug and her fingers dig into the fabric of Maria’s shirt as she presses her face into the older woman’s shoulder and breathes.
Tries to, at any rate. It sounds more like panicked wheezing to her ears but Maria is rubbing circles against her back even as her grip loosens and Ellie knows, instinctively, that Maria is giving her the space to move on her own terms. She tries to take in the warmth of the hug in the way she’d neglected to with Dylan but it seems just as difficult to soothe the coldness in her bones as it was only minutes ago. She won’t thaw overnight.
“Hey, Maria.” It’s too nonchalant for the reunion they’re having but words have never been Ellie’s strong suit, and she feels overwhelmed to the point of aggravation. Every concerned look she received on the walk to Maria’s that she hadn’t quite noticed in real time now seems eager to make itself known and the way Maria’s eyes narrow as she takes in Ellie’s thin frame and damaged hand only serves to make her skin itch under the scrutiny. “Can I come in?”
Maria blinks and the scrutiny vanishes in favor of a soft smile and a nod and Ellie’s grateful for the way her anxiety settles, if only for a moment. Her boots come off near the front door and she makes a mental note to knock off the mud before she goes to sleep for the night; if she goes to sleep. Her pack leaves her behind in the front room as Maria guides her to the kitchen and presses a glass of water into her hand without a word. Ellie sinks down into one of the kitchen chairs without taking a single sip-- she feels the sting of saltwater in wounds that have long since healed and when she closes her eyes she can see Abby’s face beneath the choppy waves and her stomach gives another violent, heaving lurch. If Maria notices her discomfort she doesn’t acknowledge it and Ellie isn’t sure whether to be relieved or grateful, but she takes a slow drink when Maria gives her a firm look and slides a plate full of brown bread and jam in front of Ellie that she knows she’s going to be expected to eat before she’s allowed to leave.
“You’re skin and bones,” Maria says. There’s nothing accusatory in her tone but Ellie’s eyes fixate on the bread in front of her and she feels herself curling into a ball, at least internally, before one of her legs seems to move of its own accord and she’s shifting to raise one knee up to her chest with her foot propped up on the seat of her chair and her chin resting on her knee.
“I know,” Ellie mumbles, picking at a piece of the bread with the fingers on her good hand. She doesn’t know what else to say-- doesn’t know how to articulate everything she wants to let out into the world. The apology she wants to offer to Maria feels as hollow as everything else in her life, and she doesn’t know how to apologize when she hears Tommy calling her a coward in the back of her mind every time Maria’s eyes meet hers. But God she knows she needs to try. She can’t remain silent for the rest of her life. She regrets and she aches but she knows people will want to make it better if they can.
Dylan.
Maria.
Dina.
Joel.
People have loved her fiercely in her life and they deserve the best she can give them even when her best self is a shell of dead skin and hollowed bones. She can give them something. She has to. She has to try, at least, and though it takes her minutes of silence to take a small bite of the bread in front of her and chew and another minute to swallow she looks up at Maria when she finishes to find a bemused smile on the other woman’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie manages, her voice hardly above a whisper.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Ellie,” Maria replies, an immediacy that speaks almost of practice, as though Maria’s spent the time Ellie’s been away worrying and imagining what she’d say if Ellie returned. “You’re home. You’re safe. Everything else can come later.”
It’s more leeway than she feels she deserves but Ellie nods through the tightening in her throat and the slow stinging developing at the backs of her eyes. They need to have a proper conversation or Ellie worries she’ll explode— she needs to explain herself to someone who will listen and let her fumble and not feel like her thoughts are worthless and her motivations unimportant. She’s used to having those conversations with Dina but even the thought of looking at Dina and finding the anger she would be right to feel in the other woman’s face is enough to make Ellie want to hide in a hole for the rest of her natural life.
She finishes a full slice and a half of the brown bread before it starts to go cold and a knock at the door steals her attention and the almost comfortable silence that had overtaken them in Maria’s kitchen. Maria slips out of her chair with a furrow between her brows and Ellie finds herself subconsciously mimicking the expression before her face slackens and she returns her attention to her food-- if she can do something right today then god damn it she’ll finish the food she’s been offered and call it a win for the day.
Footsteps returning to the kitchen catch her attention and she finds herself, for perhaps the first time since she walked through the gate, speaking without being prompted or feeling urgently compelled, “Who was at—” Her words die in the back of her throat in an instant the moment she glances up to find Dina standing in the doorway that leads to Maria’s kitchen-- healthy and beautiful and alive. Ellie’s breath is caught in her chest in a limbo that makes her head spin and she watches Dina’s eyes fill with tears with a sharp pang of regret hot in her stomach.
Ellie folds herself out of the chair and stands with all the grace of a fawn learning to walk, nearly tumbling to her knees as she takes one step towards Dina and pauses abruptly, uncertainty lingering in the space just beneath her skin and threatening to suffocate her. Her eyes are almost wild in their exploration of the woman she loves and it feels almost voyeuristic to be so focused on someone she half feels she can’t quite love openly as much as she wants to, but there’s comfort in the confirmation that Dina is, at least physically, okay. Her cheeks seem the slightest bit fuller, her hips rounded in a pleasant way that Ellie’s always found attractive but seems even more so in that moment if only because Dina feels like a statue of a goddess she isn’t allowed to touch. Unattainable where once she had had so much connection.
She watches as Dina reaches up to wipe under her eyes and gives Ellie a look that seems to shift rapidly between fury and relief before Dina takes several steps forward and pulls Ellie into her arms fiercely, “Oh, Ellie.”
Ellie can practically taste the memory of their first kiss in the way Dina sighs her name, and there’s a gate in her that seems poised to break at a moment's notice if she allows it to do just that; and she will, she reasons. She’ll crack herself open and turn herself inside out if it means she can fix all the broken pieces that have settled sharp and jagged in the form of the person she’s trying to be-- especially if those repairs bring Dina back to her. In the moment it’s enough for her to wrap her arms around Dina’s waist and press her nose into her hair to inhale the scent of wood-smoke and laundry soap and home .