𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐄

"The relief of giving in to destruction."

― Franz Kafka, 1910-1923

━ ❀ ◆ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 ◆ ❀ ━

    Ellie Williams tried to separate the ghosts in her closet―she tried to tuck them away into the darkest corner, tried to rip off the hangers that held the memories in place, tried to push them to the side so she could get to what she really needed, but what she could never do was fucking get rid of them. They stayed there, and when she had to open those creaky doors―just when she thought she could change―they reminded her that she was unfathomably bare. Empty. Alone. Haunted only by her ghosts. Always the same, down to the stitching of a skeleton's clothing. Tried, she supposed, was the operative word.

What made it easier was knowing the definitive. They were dead. Not coming back. Done-zo. She lost her mother before she knew what a mother was. Father tasted stale on her tongue until a few years ago. The first person she ever really loved...Ellie wouldn't let anyone else touch Riley after... No. Not her. What Ellie knew were friends, be what they may, and enemies. As far as she was concerned, life was that black-and-white. If they were shooting, they weren't her friends.

By fifteen, Ellie Williams realized that sometimes the hardest shots are the ones that don't come from bullets, but from friends. Because all of the times she had been wounded by a gunshot, she healed. She wrapped the bandage, and she found the fucker who shot her until they were dead. Hell, she survived the fucking virus infecting the ENTIRE planet. Ellie meant the bullets that weren't tangible. The bullets fired by friends. By family.

By fathers.

There was no fail-safe for when the only person you had left lied to you―when they stared you in the eyes and doused the littlest spark you had left. Ellie wanted to scream at Joel most days, but she never did. Because when the opportunity came, she sunk back. And all of that was something she couldn't tell anyone. Not a single damn person. Because she couldn't exactly go to Maria and Tommy about what happened, and that left her with her own stupid brain. Rotting. Away. All. Fucking. Day. Because the last few weeks in Jackson were too perfect. Ellie had only been nearly-killed once (ONCE!) during group patrols two days ago, and already, she was making friends.

None of it felt permanent. None of it felt right. Because Ellie didn't feel right.

And the only person she had any real connection with outside of Jackson didn't even know she existed. The only person Ellie felt might listen to what she had to say might be dead. Or, they might just be someone else trying to kill her. Might. Might. Might. Ellie rattled those five letters around in her brain enough times to make herself sick, less of a word and more of a pain now. Because Clio might be alive. Clio might be dead. Joel might have lied to her.

She might have mattered.

SEPTEMBER 20 2034

Clio ―

Ellie could tell you a good number of dumb things she'd done in her life. She was sure people who met her had more than enough to say if she ever lost count. This was up there. Waaaay up there. She knew that. 100%, she knew that. As she wrote today's date down, Joel's face appeared like a nightmare if he ever found out she was writing back. How Marlene would rip the entire journal up on sight―because Clio was stranger. Ellie didn't know their age, she didn't know if they happened to be a Firefly, or God forbid, happened to be one of David's men. But...did she care? Did it matter anymore?

She clacked down on her tongue as she stared at the paper. The desk-light cast an orange hue down on the rough-draft of her horrible decision, but the music playing in her ears made it easier to dull her rationale. Next to her journal were the letters she'd collected thus far from the stranger. From Clio. There were three total, now. The first two had been found before her and Joel arrived in Jackson. The third one was found four days ago, just over a month since the last one, at one of the furthest patrol posts from Jackson. The piece of paper got stuck to Dina's, another girl in town, shoe.

Where were you going, Clio?

Ellie thumbed the blue string mindlessly as she stared over the handwriting she'd familiarized herself with. Legible, but not outwardly feminine font screamed at her to read it again just like she had the first two, because this one was not memorized yet. Because this one was different.

This one was personal.

Who are you running from?

━ ❀ ◆ 07/13/2034 ◆ ❀ ━

I couldn't find any poetry from Bobby this time.

But I wrote one of my own. Shocker, I know. The poet-hater writes poetry. Well, Creep, I don't think I would call this poetry. More like...therapy? Just... if I suck, don't tell me. Just tell me I'm better than Bobby.

MY MOTHER'S EYES

She is a stranger to me.
Bits and pieces of broken history,
fashioned together under the moon, and the stars, and the sea.

She is lost to me.
Who do I see in those reflections,
when my eyes are no longer hers? I see him.

She is a stranger to me.
Fashioned together under the moon, and the stars, and the sea―
there is a world where you come back for me.

Do you see the stranger in me?

But now she—
now I—am free.

━ ❀ ◆ Clio. ◆ ❀ ━

Ellie didn't know Clio. She couldn't put a face to a name, but what she did know, was that whoever they were...Ellie really fucking wished she never picked up the first letter. Because a nasty, unidentifiable emotion clawed deep into her insides, slowly and painfully cracking every metaphorical rib she owned. Ellie cared, as fucking stupid as she was, about the pain that this person was writing about―going through. Because the multiple underlines, and the bold lettering, and the tear stains that faded the parchment's ink added to what the words didn't say.

Her, was what Ellie's mind pulled toward when she scanned the letter for the first time. The gender shouldn't have mattered as much as it did, but to even have the slightest hint toward who they―she―was made Ellie's heart wander with hope. She could only base her information on a poem, which she knew from her journals of bad-lyrics that writing can be about anything. Did that deter her in any way from wanting to write back? Nope.

The one thing she couldn't piece together was Clio's age. She said she grew up in a QZ. Obviously, young enough to be born post-outbreak, and to have a bad taste on her tongue because of the schooling (who wouldn't?). Putting her at...Ellie's eye twitched as she tried to do the math, deciding that somewhere around twenty was fair. Then, she had to consider the fact that Clio also didn't know who Bobby Frost was, and Joel made it seem like the dude was famous or something.

Minus...three or four years?

So maybe Ellie got her hopes up in thinking that the girl might just be her age. But that meant she was alone. Free, but alone. Two specific lines, in both of the original two letters, confirmed that. Everyone is gone. One traveler was about the only thing right from Bobby Frost. And another: I got stuck in this library for a few days. There was no plural. No mentioning of anyone being with her.

She looked over at her draft again, and sighed as she tried to write again.

SEPTEMBER 20 2034

Clio ― I don't know if you'll ever see this. You know. YOU. But I'm the total creep that has been picking up your trash. It's really bad for our environment to litter, you know? So maybe it's your time to pick up my trash...that was so bad.

This feels so fucking stupid. I only ever write in MY journal. I mean, who the fuck could be reading this? God knows I've picked up enough stuff that wasn't meant for me. Anyway. I drew what I think Bobby looks like. None of these poems have his picture. What a waste.

If you picked this up and it wasn't meant for you, at least put the shit back!!!

― Bobby Frost's #1 Fan

When Ellie clicked her pen, she resisted the urge to put her name and decided instead that the new pen-name would suffice as a hint to Clio. Because already, she could image the letter getting back to someone it shouldn't, and she couldn't even lie her way out of it when 'ELLIE' was stamped on the bottom like an admission of guilt. Nope. Bobby Frost's #1 Fan would have to do for―

"Jesus!" Ellie was pulled away from thoughts of Clio when a kick jostled her out of place. Pulling her headphones from her ears, she looked over her shoulder to see Joel. Joel. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Joel cleared his throat. "I tried knocking, but..."

She almost forgot how awkward things were. God. This was the fucking worst. Ellie closed her journal and stood up to give the man her full attention, but most of that attention dedicated itself to her sneakers instead. "Hey..."

"Hey."

Ellie wanted to chuck her journal at him for repeating the same statement, if only because now she had to continue to conversation. "What's up, Joel?"

The urge to throw herself back down in front of the letter and rewrite it for the third time grew with every second.

"Just checking in. Folks are...y'know, talking about how impressed they are with you and how well you're helping out..." Ellie watched the man as he paced back and forth the short expanse of her make-shift loft, put together after a few nights of blood, sweat, and lots of profanity. The lava-lamp had been one of her favorite finds so far.

"That's good."

"Yeah. Tommy and I went out riding the other day and he, uh... he told me a joke and I thought about you, it's, um..." Joel's brows furrowed in deep thought, coming up blank. "Oh, shoot...now I forgot it, uh... it was somethin' about a clock... how do you―"

"Joel..." Ellie resisted a wince when she saw the way his face dropped, both of them already knowing where she was headed next. The past few weeks were the same. "It's...uh, it's pretty late...and I gotta get up in a few hours―"

"―yeah. Yeah...I know. I know, and I'm gonna get out of your hair. I just―I wanna show you something...just gimme a second."

The older man disappeared out of her door, leaving it wide open for the breeze to touch her skin and cause goosebumps. Bringing attention to the bandage wrapped around her arm, she looked down at the chemical burn she proposed as the only solution to hide the ugly, bite mark. Ellie didn't have enough time to plan another excuse for kicking Joel out for the night because he appeared out of the corner of her eye again, this time holding something. No. Not just something.

A promise.

"What's this?"

Joel smiled as he approached her, glancing at the dark-wood instrument in his hands. "Some folks call this thing here a gee-tar."

"Funny."

So not funny.

Joel paused and considered his next words. Then, he took a seat across from her desk, only looking up from the guitar to ask her a question she never thought she'd hear. "Do you wanna hear somethin'?"

"Okay."

"Okay...promise me you won't laugh."

"I won't laugh," and at his doubtful expression, she raised her eyebrows with more emphasis. "I won't!"

"I'm trustin' you..."

While Ellie always loved music, playing an instrument never happened upon her dream-list. Sure, she thought it would be cool, but more-so as a past time when she was floating around in space. How cool would it be to play the guitar in SPACE? Joel loved music. Ellie learned to love it because of him, but never had he played for her. Never had he sung for her, despite her persistent attempts. To have the man willingly offer made Ellie's eyes burn the second his fingers touched the first string. Because it was a promise made between them when she thought he was a goner.

If I ever were to lose you
I'd surely lose myself
Everything I have found here
I've not found by myself
Try and sometimes you'll succeed
To make this man of me
All my stolen missing parts
I've no need for anymore
'Cause I believe
And I believe 'cause I can see
Our future days
Days of you and me.

Ellie would be dead without Joel. She knew that. In no way would she have survived as long as they had on her own. But Joel would be dead without Ellie, too, and neither of them expected when they were introduced that they would be where they are now. Together. Alive. With Joel fulfilling his first of many promises to her after reaching Jackson. Finally, he sang for her, and the ugliest of emotions scorched her throat. Much like every other time, the frustration bottled up about the man dispelled itself to love. Because once again, Joel did something to show her he loved her, too. Even if they never outwardly spoke those four words.

The strumming came to an end, and Joel cleared his throat, somewhat bashfully. "...there you go."

"Well..." she paused, unable to find anything promising to say over the lump growing in her throat. "That didn't suck."

"I'll take what I can get." Joel chuckled under his breath, and there was a brief pause when neither of them moved. Calloused fingertips graced over the body of the guitar. Then, Joel stood up, moving the instrument off his lap so that he could hand it in her direction. "She's yours."

Ellie's eyes widened when she realized he was serious. "No. No, no, no, no―I don't know the first thing about this."

"I promised that I'd teach you how to play."

Another promise.

"...you did."

"So? What do you say? Tomorrow night, first lesson?"

"Deal."

Ellie could feel the mushy, little painful thing inside of her chest ache when she watched Joel walk away from her. The weight burdening his shoulders when he walked in earlier disappeared, and knowing she was the cause of that burden only ripped into her heart more. Pausing, words processing against her tongue, she sat up as he opened the door to leave. "Did...did you remember the joke?"

Joel turned, and in his eyes were some form of recognition: she would try, too.

"Um...what's the down-side to eating a clock?" he softly asked, to which Ellie paused. She had a number of bad guesses, but instead she shrugged. He smiled because he knew what was coming next. "It's time-consuming."

Bad jokes, however, she loved.

Ellie blinked, then she bit down a smile. "That's so dumb."

"Yeah...g'night, kiddo."

Goodnight, Joel.

━ ❀ ◆𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 ◆ ❀ ━

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

Happy HBO TLOU day!