Chapter Text
You had a thousand questions. And even more demands.
What was in the missing log? What had changed in that week? Why won’t he tell you where you were? Who did he kill in your place? Why was your life only worth $500.000?
Why you? Why did he need you? What for?
But all of them failed you. Crowded behind your teeth instead of making it past your lips. Leaving you standing in the threshold of his bedroom. Half a foot over it.
“I—-” you faltered, eyes darting around the room. Him, the bed, the picture on his nightstand, the fire place, the window, the forest past it, the bedside lamp that cast a soft golden glow, him again, Titan’s bed, the flannel draped over the foot of the bed, the book on the nightstand, him again, the dark sheets, the flannel comforter…
“Can’t sleep?” Your eyes snapped back to him. He hadn’t moved, still sitting against the headboard, one leg on the floor, the other strangled in the sheets. Like he had been about to get up when you called his name. Ready to be by your side the moment you needed him.
Something inside of you twisted. Not because you were sickened by his reaction, his readiness to be there but because you did need him.
It’s why you had found your way here, instead of your bed.
Your jaw set, too proud to admit that, too proud to nod. To tell him that you still weren’t ready to be alone with your thoughts, with what you had read in the files.
Or what had happened after.
You could still feel his arms around you, still could—-
Behind you, heavy paws thudded over the wooden flooring and a moment later Titan pushed past you. Marching into the room he had occupied every night before he had moved in with you.
You focused on him, instead of Joel, who was still on the bed. In just a pair of navy blue pyjama pants. You hadn’t even managed to change. A pair of dark grey sweats, your favourite hoodie. Dark green like the forest outside in the cold winter sun. Joel had bought it.
Something he too, was aware of no doubt. That you somewhere along the way had started to wear the clothes he’d gotten for you more than your own. Your fingers clenched around the hoodie’s sleeves.
It didn’t help that he didn’t press, that he didn’t push, that he gave you room instead, waiting for you. Because somehow that was worse. You could deal with his attempts to instigate you to talk, to eat. You’d gotten excellent at ignoring them.
So yeah, this was worse.
Paying attention to Titan, who inspected his dog bed by the foot of Joel’s bed, was a welcome copout. Even more so when the pup pawed his bed curiously before turning back to you. As if to say, I used to sleep here! You’d seen his outline, past the ajar door that first night. When you had wanted to grab a knife. That had found its way back to the knife block.
When Titan wandered to Joel, it got harder to ignore him and his question that still lingered in the air between you. “Don’t even think ‘bout it.” The pup had boldly put a paw up on Joel’s bed. Testing the waters to see if he was allowed into it too. A displeased whine was Joel’s answer, followed by a huff before he trotted back to your side, “Told ya, y’re spoilin’ him.” More a joke than a real complaint.
You hadn’t moved an inch. Neither out of the room nor deeper into it. Rooted to the spot, but at least now you got to pet Titan now. Another perfect excuse not to answer Joel’s question or react in any other form or way.
“Alright,” you heard him get up, the mattress shifting. “Don’t gotta talk. ’s okay babygirl.” you stepped aside, to let him past. He was wearing a white henley now too.
You padded along after him. Not even thinking about it. Titan in tow, Pepper followed too, when Joel lit the fireplace. Curling up in her usual spot on the couch. You had settled on the couch too, not quite in your corner but close to it.
“Sarah loved these,” you watched him pull a puzzle from a dresser. “Haven’t done one since…” he trailed off, placing the box on the couch beside you to clear the table in front of it. “Tommy got it f’me couple o’years ago.”
“Your brother,” you blurted out.
“Ya did yer homework.” Joel looked something between amused and relieved. The latter probably, because you had finally said something.
Even if there was no need to talk.
“Stopped by when I moved in officially,” you had picked up the box, studying the image. A cabin set in snowy mountains under a starry night and northern lights. “Helped build bits of it w’his construction company. House warmin’ gift.”
“Construction company?” You asked, dumping the puzzle pieces on the cleared table.
“Was supposed t’be ours.” He helped you turning all the pieces around. “Started it together, Miller Construction, ‘fore I got hired t’solve problems.” Your mouth opened and closed, with a question that didn’t come forth. “No,” Joel answered still, “He ain’t know. Thinks I ditched him for a better contract and company. Somethin’ international.” He tilted his head “Mean, he ain’t wrong, is just not construction.”
You glanced over to him, seated on the couch beside you, Pepper a only small buffer between you. The desire to scoot further away didn’t come.
For once he wasn’t watching you. Focused on collecting the edge pieces. “Tommy was pissed, had all reason.” He filled the silence. “Tried makin’ mends. Offered him a him helpwhen t’company struggled. Ain’t want it.” Maybe he was trying to engage you into a conversation that had nothing to do with what you should be talking about. “Until I hired him, got him an his crew all the way up here. He wouldn’t take a loan…” a shrug, “Found’a way t’make him take my money.” How much payout did he get out of his other contracts? “Helped developin the property. Thermal pump, t’foundation too,”
You kept listening. Because it was easier to focus on him and the puzzle then the thoughts running rampant through your mind. “Felt good workin’ w’him again. Had missed it. More than I thought.”
“Does he visit often?” You asked eventually, sorting pieces into neat piles too. Less after edge piece and no edge piece and more after colour. Like the warm glow of the windows and the green and red of the northern lights, the trees, the mountain line, the night sky—-
His posture changed, minimal, but you still caught it. Except there was no tension. Because the relationship was a sore topic or Tommy’s potential arrival might pose a way out for you. No, Joel relaxed.
Because you had finally participated in the conversation.
“Nah.” A shake of his head, “Grew apart.” There went your chance of someone rescuing you. “Said I changed after Sarah passed. Had a point…” Would he even introduce you to anyone? Or lock you away during an impromptu visit from… god knows who? But where? You glanced toward the basement door. “Puzzle was his way of reminding me who I was b’fore I guess.” You suppressed a shudder, while Joel started piecing the first edge pieces together. “Call sometimes, anniversaries…” he trailed off, looking up. “You okay babygirl?”
“Hm?” You blinked, eyes still on the door you hadn’t braved yet. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just…” you quickly turned your attention to the puzzle again.
“Oh,” understanding dawned on his features, “Not gonna lock you up. Y’re no prisoner, ‘member?”
“Right,” you pursed your lips. That tale again, “Except I can’t leave.”
“You know why babygirl.” He was right, you did. You did know why you couldn’t just leave. Couldn’t just tell anyone, not even his brother who you were and what had happened.
Because the world and the people behind HVM that had hired him, needed to believe that you were dead.
What would you even tell his brother? Your name? And that you supposedly died during a robbery gone wrong in New York months ago? Would he believe you? And more importantly could you trust him?
Trust anyone you told?
“Sides,” he interrupted you from spiralling. “Ya must have noticed, ain’t get many visitors.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “Not even your brother,” You drew your lips into a thin line, watching him connect the first two corner pieces. “Why?”
“’s complicated, babygirl.” He kept talking, filling the quiet “Tried visitin’ once or twice, but Texas…” he shook his head, trailing off. “Ain’t feel like home anymore. Ain’t feel right goin’ back.” You understood him enough now to know there was something he wasn’t telling you. Something he was chewing over.
You didn’t press, just let the silence sit while you and started pieced together a glowing window while he kept adding to the edge and silence stretched between you.
“Invited me ta his weddin’,” Joel eventually continued. “Asked me t’be his best man.” Pain mixed with anger in his voice. “Ain’t…” he shook his head. “Couldn’t go.”
“Damn,” you pulled a face.
“I know, I know.” He agreed with a heavy sigh. “Goin’ ain’t feel right.” A shrug, another piece added to the edge.“Goin’ back…” he trailed off, torn somewhere between not wanting to answer and deciding what to answer. “Didn’t wanna visit memories o’a life,” he shook his head again, “That no longer felt like mine, like me.”
“Because it ended with Sarah,” you heard yourself say, the words out of your mouth before you could stop them.
Silence settled over the room again. For a moment the only sound filling the air was the fire crackling in the hearth and Titan’s quiet snoring.
“I’m—-”
“Right.” He interrupted you, looking up from the puzzle pieces he was still adding together. “Y’re right babygirl. That life ended when Sarah died.”
──────────
Your fingers moved before you could think it through. Before you realised what you were doing, your hand settling above his. For just a moment, a heartbeat. No longer than that, then your brain caught on.
Too late, because the damage was done.
You saw it in the way he looked at you, felt it in the way his fingers twitched to reach for yours when you pulled your hand away. “Thank you babygirl,” he breathed quietly, not trying to catch you. And all you could do was pointedly ignore him. Now piecing together the green and pink lights in the night sky. After you had finished the last cabin window.
If you waited for the desire to get up and run, to shudder, to want to was your hand—- it didn’t come. It was the warmth in his eyes you decided, not having glanced up from the pillow again. When he talked about her, about how he’d screwed over his relationship with his brother in the wake of her loss. The pain that came with it.
“What would you tell your brother anyway?” You asked eventually, in an effort to change the topic. To fill the air with anything other than what you had just done. “About who I am?”
“Donno,” he shrugged. “Would find an explanation.” That simple, huh?
“Sure you would…” you rolled your eyes.
“What?” He sounded oddly defensive. “Could be a friend staying over?”
“You don’t have any friends.” You deadpanned and Joel scoffed. Although a grin tucked on the corners of his lips.
“Fine. A tenant then. Joined AirBnB.” You threw him a look that said really? And he bristled. “Okay. Then…” he thought for a moment, “My dog sitter for Titan.”
“Riiiiight,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Live in, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he agreed and you snorted. “Look it’s not like he’ll visit tomorrow…” he sighed, having connected a third corner of the edge. “Don’t need t’stress ‘bout somethin’ that ain’t happenin’.”
“When was the last time you talked?”
“Christmas.” When you had still avoided him like the plague. “Sent gifts too. Do every year.”
“Like for Titan.” And for you and Pepper too.
“Mhm.” He breathed adding another piece to the edge. “A not Christmas gift.” You had liked yours. Used the gloves every time you went outside. The iPod too—- you’d went and updated the songs on it.
A thoughtful gift. Just like the fountain pen.
From a man that knew everything about you.
You had seen his logs. You knew how meticulously he had detailed your life, your habits. A thought that should have been unsettling. Would have been unsettling weeks ago. Was unsettling when you had first read it.
And now there was comfort in it, in the way he got up and headed to the kitchen. The edge not quite finished yet while you had kept on piecing together the northern lights and stars. You watched him.
Two mugs, a pot, milk, cocoa powder.
“Hot chocolate?” You asked, getting up to follow.
“Yeah,” he glanced over his shoulder, stirring the milk while it steadily warmed. “Or ya want somethin’ else?”
“No, hot chocolate sounds good,” you mused, feeling the hint of a smile settling onto your lips. So you glanced toward the window. It was pitch black outside, safe for the snow that kept dancing in the air just past the glass.
Another night you spent in his company instead of avoiding him, instead of sleeping. Another night he stayed up with you.
You didn’t want to feel grateful. You didn’t want to feel comfortable in his company—- You wanted to feel bitter. To be upset, to be repulsed. You had every fucking right to be. He had ripped out of your life, had forced you into his.
And yet every time you tried to be irritated, to be pissed off, to be repulsed… You kept waiting for the telltale twist in your gut you had grown so accustomed to. And yet it hadn’t come back. Not since he had pulled you off the kitchen floor.
Instead there was the memory of his arms around you, of his heartbeat under your ear. Of how he had sat there in the shower with you, breathing with you. Of how raw his voice had sounded when he had told you he needed you.
A thank you made it past your lips when he pressed the steaming mug into your hand. Because somewhere between shared meals and the files of your contract, the monster had gotten a face. With pained and desperate eyes. “Listen Joel, if you’re tired—-”
“‘m good.” He shook his head, interrupting you. He’d settled back down in front of the puzzle, “But if you want to sleep,” he nodded toward your corner, toward the blanket there “Can get ya a proper pillow?”
It stung that he didn’t offer you to go upstairs.
Another testament of how well he knew you.
“And let you finish the puzzle alone?” You sat down again too, deciding to ignore that yet another teasing joke had made it past your tongue. “Not an option.”
You had grown comfortable around him, in your attempt not to be alone. In your desire not to unpack the files and what you’d read in them. Or anything that had happened after.
And judging from the soft smile that made it onto his lips, Joel had noticed that too.
──────────
“Sarah made up stories ‘bout the puzzles,” Joel spoke up after a while. “Bout what happened in ‘em.”
“Yeah?” You asked, looking up at him. He seemed so human, every time he spoke about her. Like he hadn’t spent years compartmentalising the loss of his daughter and what it had turned him into. “What you think she’d tell about this one?”
You’d moved onto the lake, onto the reflections of the cabin and lights while Joel still fought with the last edge pieces.
“Hm,” he pondered, glancing out toward the window. “Think somethin’ like, that we’re in t’cabin, after a long day o’hiking. Doin a puzzle.” He shook his head, “Ain’t good at this, she was better.”
“I mean,” you studied the image on the box. “You got no lake that I know of and this isn’t a cabin, but I think you’re right?” Something in his gaze settled, when he looked at you. “Maybe, whoever is in the cabin doing a puzzle didn’t go hiking all day but… is just someone whose head is so full…” You found yourself spinning the story.
“That they can’t sleep?” Joel finished it for you, still watching you. “Yeah, I can see that.” He added another piece. “Might not have a lake but sure get the northern lights up here.” He mused and you made a mental note to google northern lights in Wyoming later. “If solar storms’re strong enough.”
“They alone in the cabin?” You asked.
“Hm?” Joel looked up again.
“The person in the cabin? The one who can’t sleep.”
“Don’t think they are,” he answered. “Got someone with ‘em who is there t’listen when they wanna talk. Someone who makes sure they ain’t alone w’their thoughts.”
This shouldn’t feel comforting. Because he was to blame for this. For all of it. Your overflowing mind included. He’d given you the files out of nowhere and then he had been there for the fallout.
Maybe this had been his plan all along… to wear you down.
Psychological warfare, Stockholm Syndrome and all that…
Despite yourself, your better knowledge, something warm unfurled in your chest. Because clinging to his company felt better than dealing with the cesspit your mind had turned into.
“Y’think they talk eventually?” He asks after a moment. “‘bout what’s on their mind?”
“Guess so,” you offer. “Else they’ll never sleep again.” Which, at the rate you were going, was a definite possibility.
“Can nap durin’ the day,” naturally, Joel already had already worked on solutions. “Be nocturnal for a while.” That easy apparently. “Sides, sometimes’s better t’be awake at night. No expectations to function. Ta be a member of society.”
“I’m no longer a member of society.” You countered, matter of fact. While placing the last edge piece right in front of him.
“Babygirl—-” Joel winced. Because clearly wasn’t what he had gone for. “I didn’t… I mean,” he tried.
“Think you’re right.” You decided to safe him “Sometimes it’s easier to exist after 10 PM and before 6 AM. And I think,” you placed another puzzle piece, steadily filling the lake in. “That whoever sits in the cabin,” because it was easier to talk about hypothetical figures than yourself. You still weren’t ready for that. “Might be doing just that.”
“Yeah,” Joel agreed, starting to work on the cabin, filling in the pieces between the windows. “Think so too.”
The silence came back, filled only by Pepper’s purring and Titan’s snoring. But there was no discomfort in it, just like there no longer was discomfort in his company.
A thought that still didn’t manage to scare you.
“Hypothetically,” you heard yourself ask eventually, “If the person in the cabin, the one that can’t sleep, asked why her life was only worth five-hundred-thousand dollar—-” because this one stung the most. Maybe because it was the easiest one to cling to, “Could her company explain why?”
“Yeah,” he was still on the cabin, “’s not their life that was priced.”
You blinked. “Not?”
“No babygirl,” he was watching you. “They put a price on t’risk ya posed.”
Oh. Oh—-
“Really?” You asked, feeling something settle in your mind, in your chest. Your lunges filling a little easier.
“Yeah. If they would’a caught ya w’more information…” he trailed off.
“The payout would have been higher.” You concluded and he nodded. “And it lowered because you gave me a chance to keep digging. To find something and publish.”
“Mhm,” another nod. “’s not always risk of information,” he’d mused onto the trees beside the cabin while you worked your way along the mountain line. Having abandoned the lake and the pieces you hadn’t managed to fit. “’s sometimes t’risk of, say…” he pondered, “T’wrong person in line ta inherit a position or be promoted.” The thought of hiring a hitman because you were passed over for a promotion seemed a bit drastic to you, but then your kill had been hired over an article that hadn’t been sure to ever be printed… “Got all my old contracts, I can show ya what I mean? How they calculate?”
“No,” you were quick to shoot the offer down. Having no interest reading any more files at this point. “No, thank you. I—-” you faltered. “I believe you.”
You didn’t know what shocked you more. The fact that you really did believe him, or that somewhere in the house physical proof of all the murders he had committed, of all the problems he had solved existed.
Maybe that you believed him. Because with how hellbent on security he was, you doubt a single file would ever leave this property.
“Told ya babygirl,” he offered, reaching out to cover your hand the same way you had his before. Giving it a small squeeze. “Ya life is priceless.”
──────────
The puzzle was nearly finished by the time your eyes started drooping. Your body finally tired enough to quiet your mind. “Let’s get you comfortable babygirl,” Joel eased you off the floor and to your feet and for a moment you thought he’d walk you upstairs, settle you into your bed. But before you could object you were settled on the couch. A pillow tucked under your head and the throw blanket covering you.
Outside, the night had started to give away to grey.
A new record. The past few days you’d fallen asleep before sunrise.
“We can finish the puzzle tonight.” You watched him open the door to let Titan back inside.
When had the pup gone outside?
“‘m not tired,” you objected while Joel dried off the dogs paws.
“Course you ain’t,” he hummed. “Can watch another movie?”
“Hm,” you offer, already fishing for the remote while he pressed a switch settled in the wall and you watched the trees and snow disappear behind blackout blinds. “Fancy.” You commented, while he headed for the couch too.
“Got them on all windows. UV protection, blackout…” he trailed off, taking the remote from you. You didn’t object, given you hadn’t gotten much farther than the welcome screen of the streaming service. “Security measures too. Could seal t’whole house if needed.”
“You don’t fuck around security, do you?” Your words slurred a little and disappeared into Pepper’s fur when she curled up against you.
“If ya knew what was out there, babygirl,” he switched a movie on. Kiki’s Delivery Service. “You wouldn’t either.”
“Hm,” the TV blurred in front of you. “Like problem solver who gets sent to solve the problem that you pose and…” you wrinkled your nose, “And finds the most creative solution at hand?”
That involved abducting you and faking your death.
“Worse than that,” he sighed, scratching behind Titan’s ears.
“’s a good thing then,” you murmured, eyes closing while Kiki took flight into her adventure.
“What is?” He asked, watching you instead of the movie. But you didn’t reply anymore, already fast asleep.
“Yeah,” he breathed eventually, “Got nothin’ t’worry ‘bout, babygirl.” His fingers brushed hair out of your face, careful not to wake you. “Gonna keep you safe with me.”
When you woke up again, the movie’s no longer playing. Pepper was no longer curled into you and neither Titan nor Joel were on the couch with you. But a throw blanket matching yours that had popped up days ago in his corner, covered you now too.
“Joel?” You sat up. The blinds were still drawn, just lifted enough to let cold winter light spill over the floor.
“Didn’t mean t’wake ya, babygirl.” Joel’s voice came warm from the kitchen. “Titan was very demandin’bout his late breakfast,” a beat. “Lunch?” He was stirring in a pan “Made a breakfast skillet… wasn’t sure if ya want breakfast or lunch?”
“What time is it?” You asked, untangling yourself from the blankets.
“Just past two,” he offered. “Slept okay?”
“Yeah,” the couch was surprisingly comfortable. “Did you sleep?”
“Until Titan woke me,” he glanced at the pup who stood guard beside kitchen island, ready to rescue anything that dropped off the counter. “Yeah.”
“Yeah he has stinky morning breath,” you yawned, having been woken a couple of times by the sweet stench of it.
“Forget his morning breath,” Joel grumbled. “Had a paw in ma face.” You snorted. Because objectively, that was worse. “Ya hungry?”
You settled on the kitchen island, just in time with him placing two plates. “Ya know,” he offered after sitting down beside you, “If ya wanna, I got sleepin pills?”
“No,” you shook your head. Even if they would grant you sleep, you would still be alone with your thoughts.
“Kay,” a nod, “Gonna be a lil nocturnal then f’some time.” He didn’t seem fazed about that at all, “Gotta adjust our mealtimes.”
Our. You didn’t mean to, but a smile made it onto your lips. Something soft and grateful. Something he shouldn’t deserve. “Joel?” You asked in an effort to get rid of it, “How many… files do you have?” Maybe if you knew how many he had killed, it would be easier again to dislike him. To be less comfortable in his presence.
You had already done the math. Six months max per contract meant at least forty-six in twenty-three years. But given how fast he’d been with yours, ready to close it after less than a month?
At that rate he could have—-
“Two-hundred-thirty-five.”
Your fork clattered against the plate, your stomach dropping.
235 contracts over 23 years meant roundabout 10 a year, which meant on average, Joel had killed someone every five to six weeks.
For a moment you struggled to fill your lunges with air.
“Not proud of it.” He looked at you like he was worried you would run. Like you would grab the knife again and disappear back into your room.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
There was no voice screaming at you to get away from him.
“Had nothin’ left to live for,” he kept talking, “No purpose. Lost it w’Sarah.” A beat, his expression turning into something desperate, into something almost apologetic.
Because he wanted you to understand.
“All those contracts they—-” he tried, searching for words.
“We’re just that. Contracts.” You concluded. He hadn’t seen the lives behind them.
“Yeah,” a nod. “I didn’t—- chose assholes like t’one who took Sarah at first.” The desperation hadn’t left, but there was hope now too. Maybe because you hadn’t run. “Till I got offered bigger gigs.”
“Till you started working for the real assholes.”
Another nod. “Babygirl—-”
“I need a–- a moment,” you finally slipped off the stool. “To–- to think.” He looked like something inside of him broke. “Thank you,” you managed, “For–- for telling me. For being honest.”
“Of course babygirl.” He was on his feet too, looking like he wanted to stop you. But he didn’t move toward you when you finally willed your legs to carry you to the stairs. “If ya wanna read them—-”
“No!” You interrupted him again, your voice sharp. “No, no more files right now.”
“Okay, yeah. Of course. No files,” he accepted immediately. “I—- if ya wanna talk babygirl,”
“I know Joel, I know.”
You barely had the door to your bedroom closed when you heard the sound of porcelain breaking forcefully.
──────────
The destain you waited for didn’t come. Neither did the fear or the desire to run or at the very least lock yourself away again. Not after your shower, not when the silence of your room threatened to consume you whole. You couldn’t quite grasp what you were feeling. You knew what you should feel but none of said emotions came forward. Not even adding to your notes about him changed that.
- had 235 contracts in 23 years → roughly 10 a year, a new one every 5-6 weeks
It wasn’t indifference either, or acceptance let alone understand—- no. It was simply a fact you accepted.
Because what choice did you have? When he had robbed you every single one that didn’t include him?
You should feel repulsed about that too.
Maybe if you figured out where you were, or found a place to escape to?
You googled northern lights in Wyoming. And the search engine spit out four popular locations. Antelope Flats near Jackson, Yellowstone National Park, the Big Horn Mountains and rural spots around some place called Casper.
Whatever rural meant.
And not that that meant that you were in or near either of those locations… Northern lights had shown up in light-polluted cities before. If the solar storm was strong enough.
Joel was asleep on the couch when you left your room again. Curled into himself, Pepper nestled into his chest. He hadn’t even changed… still was in his pyjama pants and the henley.
He’d fallen asleep waiting for you to come back downstairs.
Perhaps he hadn’t gone upstairs to change worried he’d miss you and a chance to talk to you… Something warm settled into your chest. You blamed it on Titan who greeted you excitedly.
He’d cleaned the kitchen, whatever porcelain he had broken, cleaned up too and from the looks of it he gotten lunch started as well. At least a pot was simmering on the stove. Some stew no doubt.
Probably because neither of your comfort foods, or his bribe foods could be pre-prepared and kept warm.
Maybe he’d made tomato soup and was ready to make grilled cheese at the first sighting of you he got? You didn’t peak into the pod, instead you picked up one of the throw blankets, and draped it over him.
Worry made him look smaller, softer.
“Do you want to go outside?” You asked Titan quietly, who whined in excitement. “Shhh,” you shushed him. Not wanting to wake Joel. Not wanting to talk to him. “We’ll go outside, but you have to be quiet, okay”
Whether he understood you or not, Titan didn’t make another noise and quietly let you dress him for the cold. One of Joel’s old sweatshirts, his coat, his booties—- you let him outside before getting your thermal pants and layering them over your leggings.
Technically you should head out to feed the deer today… and while you prepared the old backpack Joel always used, you had no key and you didn’t have access to his shotgun either.
So you busied yourself with the empty firewood basket by the door. Your nocturnal activities had emptied it a lot faster. Joel had taken the last of it inside the previous night. Refilling it with Titan’s assistance, gave you something to do. Because occupying yourself was better than silence, than thinking, then pondering over things you should feel and things you didn’t, over files and pictures you wanted to forget. So you reached for the snow shovel when the basket was full again, to re-shovel the walking paths.
“This looks a whole lot easier when Joel does it,” you huffed, out of breath after barely a path. Maybe you could fasten the shovel somehow on Titan, so he’d drag it after him? “Hm.”
“Babygirl?” You nearly jumped out of your skin. “Fuck, sorry—-” Joel stood behind you, arms raised when you’d swung around, shovel held like a bat, ready to strike. “I—- I didn’t mean, I—-”
“You can’t fucking sneak up on me like that!” You snapped, before all irritation left you in an instant. He’d just slipped into a pair of shoes. No coat, no hat. “Joel?”
“I thought ya had…” he trailed off, glancing past you and toward the forest. “I–- I don’t know what I thought.”
“Needed to occupy myself.” You explain, matter of fact.
“No, yes—- of course ya did.” A beat. “Ya got firewood,” he noted, a soft smile on his lips. Something like relief. “An shovelled t’walkways.”
“Tried to.” You crossed your arms. “Readied the backpack for the wildlife too. Since today we would have…” you trailed off. But now it was getting dark and he stood in front of you in a pair of boots and his fucking pyjama pants.
“Yes, yes. You’re right.” He glanced at the key in his hand. You hadn’t paid attention to it before.
“You really were about to run after me into the woods.” You concluded and that warm sensation you had felt in the living room came back.
Why did you feel touched that your captor would chase after you, if you managed to get away?
“Would have searched t’yard first. Barn too,” he nodded. “But ya.”
“Where would I go Joel?”
“Y’re smart.” Sure, you were. “As if ya haven’t thought ‘bout followin’ t’road.” Of course you had. Tucked just enough into the forest not to be visible when he followed you along it. “Titan loves ya. He wouldn’t drag ya back. He’d lead ya. ’s the way we take t’get the mail. What does he know where ya headed?”
“And how would I get out of the yard?” The wall was practically unscalable and even if you made it on it, you wouldn’t get Titan over it.
“Y’re smart.” Joel repeated, pressing the key into your gloved hand. “Ya’d find a way.”
“Joel?”
“Imma— imma change babygirl, an then we go an feed the deer, kay?” You stared at the key in your hand. “Kay,” you heard him repeat, before he turned around and headed back inside.
When I can trust that ya ain’t gonna run.
How far would you even get before he came back downstairs.
Far enough to disappear. Forest and nightfall swallowing you whole before he’d make it out the door again. You glanced at Titan, the pup beside you still. Tail wagging.
“C’mon,” you abandoned the shovel, heading for the barn.
This wasn’t a test. He also didn’t trust you not to run. No. You’d seen the panic in his eyes after he’d been honest about the contracts he’d run. The regret about being honest and not evading it like he had before.
He’d given you an option. A choice. Or the closest thing to the version of one, that could exist in the world he had built around you.
──────────
The key fit into the door past the barn. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest when you stepped through it. The flashlight you’d grabbed from the barn shaking in your hand. For a moment you didn’t move, until Titan dove past you into the next drift, pushing you through the door.
“Okay,” you breathed, eying the forest. “You gonna chase any wild animal away, right?” You asked the pup, moving out of the yard, the key disappearing into your coat pocket. “We don’t have Joel’s gun.”
A huff, when he dove from the next drift was your only answer.
“Alright, perfect.” You decided, venturing further out into the dark.
You heard him coming this time. Snow crunching under heavy boots. You heard the sigh of relief too, when he saw you fastening birdseed to the little roof over the feed trough you had already filled with fresh hay.
“Didn’t wanna wait f'me?” He asked, joining you. Now dressed weather appropriate. Shotgun slung over his shoulder and his own flashlight in hand.
“Made a choice,” you answered, handing him another birdseed ball. “Didn’t want to set this all up in complete darkness.”
“Made a good choice,” he offered quietly, almost thankful. And for a moment his fingers closed around yours when he took the birdseed from you. But he didn’t tug or pull you closer. He just stood there, watching you with so much warmth and relief in his eyes that for the first time the desire to run bubbled up on your chest.
So you tucked your hand free, almost losing your glove in the process.
“Babygirl,” he tried when you headed back for the yard, but you shook your head.
“No, please…” you didn’t even know what you were asking for, but he shut up immediately. The only sign of his presence the sound of his steps in the snow and the reassuring palm on the small of your back when you locked the door in the fence again.
You left the key in the lock, your mind finally making up its mind when you, like startled, dug past him and rushed for the mudroom door. Dropping the flashlight somewhere between him and the barn.
The shovel wasn’t where you had left it, he’d taken it back to the porch and beside the firewood basket where it had popped up with the first snowfall.
He hadn’t just given you a choice, he had given you time.
You clawed at your scarf, at your coat. Desperate to get it off in an effort to breathe easier. It didn’t help. Air didn’t fill your lunges, didn’t calm your racing heartbeat.
The blanket you’d covered him with laid neatly folded on the couch and your stomach lurched. No, no, not again. Not the kitchen floor—- By a sheer miracle you made it to the small bathroom whenyou heaved again.
“Shhh,” a palm soothing along your back, fingers pulling your hair out of your face. “’s okay babygirl.”
No, no. It wasn’t okay.
You could have run, should have run. Had 235 reasons to run. To be scared, to be repulsed, to hate him and yet your body relaxed under his touch.
Traitor.
You wanted to tell him to go away. To leave you alone. But all you managed was a quiet sniffle when he pulled you to your feet and flushed the contents of your stomach. Some small part of you desperately wanted to push him off you, to make a run for it. For your bathroom door you could lock if not past the fence—-
The rest and much bigger part of you curled into him when he lifted you into his arms. Fingers curling into the soft material of his pullover. Holding on instead of pushing away.
A wet cloth, a glass of water and his arms never letting go. Not when he carried you out of the bathroom, not when he settled on the couch with you. His heartbeat a steady drum under your ear.
It was easy to give in like that. To soak up the warmth and comfort he provided in the dim room. The fire in the hearth Titan had collapsed in front of the only light source.
And it was even harder to imagine that he had killed people for a living.
235 at least.
Before abducting you. Before saving you from a fate everyone else with your contract, would have delivered without a second thought. And Joel hadn’t even cashed the fucking cheque. No, he had spent a fortune on getting you out here instead.
To make sure you were safe. Protected, taken care of—-
──────────
You woke up still tucked into him. Your head under his chin, his hand soothing along your back and a throw blanket tucked over your bodies—- more than enough to sent you scrambling, tripping off the couch and away from him. But you stayed put, listening to his heartbeat still.
He was awake, you could tell by the fingers that traced along your back and over your arm. And when you looked up, he was watching you. No trace of the man you knew he was, you knew he could be in his eyes. Instead there was warmth and gratitude.
And a little bit of disbelief.
“You okay?” He asked softly, his breath warm against your skin. He hadn’t stopped the motion of his hand and you hadn’t tried to get away from him either.
“Hungry,” you offered and he smiled.
“T’s good,” he mused while you fought against the sensation that settled into your chest. “Made tomato soup earlier.” Just like you’d predicted. You knew him quite well at this point, didn’t you? “Can make grilled cheese if ya wanna?” He offered, “Or can use it as base for pasta sauce?” His fingers still traced idle patterns along your arm and over your shoulder to your back. “Pizza’s an option too?”
“Pizza,” you decided. Not quite trusting your body to manage anything complicated like cutlery our soup bowls and dipping just yet. When existing alone felt like too much hard work.
“Kay,” he nodded, “Pizza it is.” He shifted and before you could stop yourself your body followed his. “Ya wanna help?” Was all he offered you as a reaction while you questioned what the fuck was wrong with you.
“Yeah,” a nod.
Joel helped you to your feet again, a hand lingering on your back when he lead you to the kitchen. Fingers just shy from curling around your waist. “Can put on it whatever ya want,” he offered, pulling another dough-kit from the fridge. “Try the sauce—- soup. See if’s okay like that.”
“Okay,” you nodded again, getting a spoon from the drawer. Aware that he was watching you. “It’s good,” you breathed after a moment.
“You okay babygirl?” He asked, when you stared into the fridge instead of pulling what you wanted on the pizza out.
“Yeah,” you frowned. “Just a—- weird day.” You finally pulled various cheeses from the fridge “Gotta lot to process.” Between his 235 contracts and your decision not to run, not to at least try to, understandable.
Not to mention your files that still ran rampant in your mind.
But none of that was occupying your mind as much as how content you felt in his arms, how you leant into him when his hand settled against your back again.
Because you should know better. But it was hard to know better, when he provided warmth and a steadiness your body desperately craved.
“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than you want to. “No, I don’t, thank you.”
“‘m here if ya change your mind.”
“I know.”
Lunch, dinner… the pizza was a quiet affair. You were settled on the couch again, Titan keeping a close eye on the food while you sat beside Joel on the couch. This time not even Pepper as a buffer between you.
At least you had started on the puzzle again. Giving yourself something to do.
“Remind me,” he placed a piece, “Ta feed Titan ‘fore we sleep?” We. We. That should bother you. “Don’t want’a paw in my face t’morrow.”
“Sure,” you offer instead of feeling repulsed. Too busy fighting the question that had popped up in your mind and almost made it past your teeth.
Does we mean you’ll sleep curled into him again?
“Brought him home from an assignment,” he offered after a moment of silence drawing you back from seriously questioning what was wrong with you. “Skinny little little thing, not even three months old.” You glanced at the pup in question, who had quite the intense stare down with the remaining pieces of pizza. “Know,” Joel smiled, having followed your eyes. “Is hard t’imagine now. But he was a tiny lil thing. Beggin for scraps at a restaurant in some small village in Tuscany.” You wondered if he had pictures somewhere from that.
Surely the man that kept proof of 235 hits kept photographs of the pup he saved? “Owner kept chasin’ him an t’other dogs away. He was t’smallest of t’bunch.” He shook his head. “Think he was from an illegal breedin’ ring? Felt sorry f’him. Shared my grilled chicken,” a shrug “Wouldn’t leave mah side after.”
There it was again. The glimpse of Joel before all of this. Before Sarah, before problem solving, before he had decided to end lives 235 times.
The one who held you when your nervous system crashed.
“His furious bark when t’restaurant owner tried t’tell me off for feedin’ him. More an angry yap,” an amused smile tucked on his lips “Knew I had ta keep him.”
“You took him home?”
“Packed him right up,” a nod. “Got him checked an chipped officially,” Officially. So there were things he did the proper way. Like building the house, the property... “Picked out his bunny plush inna gift shop at t’airport.” No wonder it was his most prized possession. “An slept in m’arms the entire flight back.”
“Why’d you named him Titan?”
“Donno. Fit him,” a shrug, “Made himself all mighty an big, trying ta defend me. That scraggly lil thing he was.” He handed you the last puzzle piece.
“It does fit him,” you agree, placing it.
The door of the cabin.
──────────
“Babygirl?” He’d put on Kiki’s Delivery Service again after the puzzle. Because you had slept through it yesterday, he had said while pressing play. And after that he’d put on Arrietty, while your eyes had started to droop.
“Hm?” You breathed, barely managing to keep your eyes open.
“Why’d y’stay?”
“Coz,” you murmured, curling further under the throw. “You’reall I’ve.” Your tongue dragged, the words slurred together enough that you wouldn’t remember saying them come morning.
But Joel would. He had heard every syllable, had understood every word.
“Joel?” More a sigh than a question.
“Yeah, babygirl?” You could hear a quiet hitch in his breath.
“Don foget’a fe’ed Titan.”
A soft laugh, followed by a “I will,” was the last you heard before exhaustion won over your reeling mind. There was comfort now, in the living room, the couch, his proximity. The same kind the locked bathroom door had brought you month ago.
Unfortunately, feeding Titan to sleep longer wasn’t a bullet proof plan. The pup had an inner clock that didn’t adjust to your nocturnalism. At least you weren’t woken with a paw and just a wet snout pressed into your neck. Maybe spoiling Titan had its perks.
Joel was still asleep with Pepper on his chest. Maybe the reason why Titan had roused you instead of him.
Sighing dramatically, you got up and headed to the door with the pup. It was still grey out, the sun barely past the horizon. At best you’d slept two hours, three maybe, if you had to guess.
Not thinking much of it, you pressed the switch to lower the blinds until the living room disappeared in darkness again. Safe for a thin strip of cold light that spilled over the floor. Just enough to make sure you wouldn’t trip.
“Jesus,” you huffed when Titan impatiently pawed at the door. “Let me disarm the alarm, will you?” You asked, tucking Joel’s coat aside to do just that. Not wanting a repeat of the blaring alarm you’d triggered on accident once.
You knew now, that the alarm automatically set unless manually decided by him, at 10 PM. And then stayed armed unless disabled.
You faltered, fingers hovering over they keypad.
The key he’d given you yesterday hung from a hook just below it.He hadn’t hid it again. He had left it where you could take it, should you find a locked door you wanted open.
Including the doors in the fence.
Titan whined, reminding you of what you’d set out to do.
The alarm, right.
Your fingers shook when you punched in the code and opened the door for him. They still did when he came back inside and you dried off his paws. And when you finally managed to force your legs to move, away from the door, away from the key, your stomach twisted. Something between a threat and a warning.
Pepper audibly complained and when your head snapped into her direction, she sat in front of the couch and no longer on Joel’s chest. He’d turned. Laid now on his side. Effectively having knocked her off her perch.
And now he didn’t even wake to listen to her complaints…
You didn’t think. Not when your feet led you to him, not when you carefully climbed into the space in front of him. Under the blanket included. You just knew you could breathe again when his arm settled around you and your head pillowed against his chest.
In another life you would be disgusted with yourself. For seeking out the man who’d trapped you here, forced all this onto you instead of grabbing the keys and making a run for it. In this one your fingers curled into the soft material covering his chest.
Your lunges expand again. Filling with air that smelled like cedar, clean linen, faint woodsmoke and cold winter air. Something that should leave your skin crawling and not soothe your nervous system. You wanted to be mad at him. For the number he had done on you. On your mind and not relax further, when his palm settled on your back, drawing you in closer.
It dawned on you, when your eyes drooped again, lulled by the steady drum of his heart under your ear, that he had wanted exactly this all along. For you to realise that his arms felt saver than the world past the fence line.
What was worst—- you were far too content to care. To be upset, to be repulsed, to hate yourself for how willingly you had walked right into his trap.
He was awake when you woke again. You knew he was, because his fingers traced along your arm again, over your shoulder and down your back. You were still tucked into his chest, still curled into him.
Content when you shouldn’t be.
Joel was watching you, when you looked up. His expression unreadable. Something warm still nestled behind your ribs. Right where the dread and distain used to live.
“Mornin’,” he rumbled quietly.
“Titan woke me,” you blurted out.
Amusement tucked on his lips, while his movements never slowed. His fingers soothing along your arm, shoulder and down your back—- “Did he?”
You nodded, not even thinking to scramble, to get away from him. “Wanted out.” Something settled in his gaze and when his hand splayed over your back for a moment, pulling you in closer to him you knew that he knew you’d seen the key. That you’d chosen him over it and what it presented, again.
It was worse that he didn’t comment. That he didn’t react.
“Ya let down t’blinds.” The praise in his voice should have made your skin crawl.
“Yeah,” you found your voice again but not for much more than that. While his fingers still traced their idle lines.
“Ta get more sleep,” his voice stayed a quiet rumble under your ear. “Ya did good babygirl,” he breathed into your hair and you knew he was praising more than your choice to lower the blinds.
The warmth behind your ribs stayed.
──────────
Joel was the first to move.
Not because he wanted to, something told you that if he could, he would keep you right where you were, tucked into him. But because Titan had decided that he had waited long enough for breakfast. An impatient huff accompanying his walk over from the dog bed before he pressed his nose quite insistently into Joel’s face. Followed by his tongue for good measure.
“Urgh,” Joel groaned, using his free hand, the one that wasn’t drawing patterns along your back, to wipe the slobber off his face. “That hungry, huh?”
“At least no paw,” You had taken that as your clue to move too. Sitting up to get at least an inch of distance between his body and yours.
The kind that no longer had your head tucked under his chin.
“Up for breakfast too?” Joel asked, glancing at the watch on his wrist.
“Yeah,” breakfast did sound good. Because it included untangling yourself from the throw blanket, from Joel.
“How’s porridge sound?” He asked while you tried to will yourself to move, to scoot off the couch and away from him. “With granola and blueberries?”
“Good,” You felt cold when you finally did move. Not the kind that bites in your lunges and makes it impossible to breathe but the kind of cold that reminded you of something you suddenly lacked.
Like his arm around your waist.
There was no real substitute for it. Not the shower, not the clothes you layered on after, you still felt cold. The kind that had settled deep into your bones.
You wondered if he felt it too. Thought he did when he lingered close enough to touch while you stirred the porridge. But he didn’t reach out, no hand at the small of your back, no hand catching yours when you knocked over the milk.
“This is why I don’t cook,” you pulled a face, trying to wipe up the disaster before it could drip of the counter.
“Ya sure it’s that an not lacking t’patience for it?” Joel countered, a cloth in hand.
“That too,” you bristled, plucking the cloth from him.
“Think y’re better at it than ya give yaself credit for,” he stood close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of him.
And for a moment you didn’t feel all that cold.
“Gonna teach ya how,” it was your hand that found his arm when you leaned past him to toss the cloth into the sink. “Gonna have ya cook five-course meals in no time.”
“But I like our system,” the words were out of your mouth before you can stop them.
“Our system?” He echoed, stirring the porridge now.
“Mhm,” you pursed your lips, refusing to elaborate.
“I’ll keep cooking’, babygirl.” He mused, while you busied yourself with the bowls and cutlery, pointedly not looking at him. “If it means ya eat.”
Good.
Because you liked his cooking, now that you weren’t busy avoiding him. Too so because he kept indulging you, with nuggets and grilled cheese. “Did you learn to cook before or after the whole problem solution business?” You asked, settling at the kitchen island with your bowl.
Joel joined you. Close enough that you felt warm.
“‘fore. Had ta feed Sarah properly.”
“What about…” you trailed off, glancing up “Was it just the two of you?”
“Yeah,” a nod, “Just me an her. Her mother left when she was’a wee baby. Ain’t want ta be a mom.” So he did it all on his own, right until he lost her. “Had ta learn all of it. Ta care for’a lil human, ta cook an all that.”
“What was her favourite food?”
Joel went still beside you. Not dramatically so. Just enough for you to notice his spoon hovering above his bowl. His attention lost somewhere beyond the kitchen wall across the island.
“Chicken enchiladas,” he said eventually. That familiar warmth in his voice whenever he spoke about Sarah. “From this lil place couple blocks from our house. Could eat a whole plate by herself if I’d let her.”
“You didn’t?”
“Course not. Would’ve made herself sick.”
You smiled into your bowl. “How old was she?”
“Six, maybe seven, first time she had ‘em.” His mouth twitched beneath his beard. “Begged for ‘em every week after.” Something warm stirred behind your ribs again. “Couldn’t afford takin’ her often, so I made ‘em myself. Tried to.”
“Tried to?” You echoed.
“Yeah. Was ‘fore I was’a good cook.” He mused, “Enchiladas were terrible.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop yourself, “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” he pulled a face, mirth in his eyes. “Tortillas fell apart, burned t’sauce. Put in so much chilli she cried.”
You blinked somewhere between a snort and shock. “You made her cry?”
A solemn nod. “Still ate two.” That made you laugh properly. Joel looked at you then. Warmth settling into the lines around his eyes. “Said they were good,” he nodded, “While chuggin’ milk.” He shook his head, “Guess she was worried I wouldn’t try ta make ‘em again.”
“Didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” you concluded.
“Yeah,” his smile softened into something smaller, “Always was too good t’me.”
It was easy to picture him with her like this. Before the accident and 235 contracts. Before countless acres in the middle of nowhere, away from civilisation.
“You got better at them?”
“Took a while,” he nudged your bowl closer because you had stopped eating. Habit. Still making sure you ate. “Made ‘em every birthday.”
“Could you teach me?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Maybe because you wanted to stay there. In the nostalgia of it. Of who he was.
“Teach ya?” It was subtle, but you saw the hope he desperately tried to keep out of his eyes. A new emotion added to the list.
“To make them,” you shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the blueberries in your bowl. “You said you’d teach me how to cook?”
“Yeah,” his voice had gone rough. “I did.”
“So?” You tilted your head, leaving it at nonchalant. Or trying to.
“So—-” He cleared his throat, “Yeah. Yeah babygirl. I can teach ya.”
“Good,” you nodded. Still paying more attention to your porridge than him.
“How’s enchiladas for dinner sound?” He suggested, “Or–- or another day, tomorrow, t’weekend?” he added when you didn’t respond fast enough.
“No, no.” you interrupted him “Enchiladas for dinner sound good.”
“Alright,” Joel nodded, failing miserably to hide how pleased he was about it. “Enchiladas for dinner.” He took both empty bowls before you could reach for yours.
“I can carry a bowl,” you hopped off the bar stool, your brain still in casual conversation mode with your captor. Now having switched to banter apparently.
“Know ya can,” he ignored you, already at the sink to rinse the bowls out.
You followed him, learning against the counter while he loaded it. Technically, there was nothing left for you to do. No reason not to head upstairs, close your bedroom door and occupy yourself.
Something you had successfully avoided for the last couple of days. Why would you start now?
So you remained exactly where you were. Leaning against the counter, watching him load the dishwasher, wipe down the island and put the milk away with the quiet precision he did everything with.
Not a remainder from before but something shaped by 235 contracts.
Still not enough to make you run.
──────────
“Gotta check t’greenhouse,” he said eventually, placing the pot beside the sink after washing it. “See what we’ve got for tonight.”
“Okay,” you pushed yourself off the counter.
He glanced at you, “Okay?”
“We need ingredients, don’t we?” Matter of fact. You had frequented the greenhouse on occasion. With the colder weather less so. A bit to weed, a bit to pick up tomatoes, lettuce, green onions, various herbs and the like. Because of course his greenhouse produced vegetables in the winter too. Equipped with grow lights and benefitting from the geothermal pump just like the house did.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Suppose we do.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Ain’t lookin’ at ya any particular way, babygirl.” He absolutely was. Unable to hide just how much he enjoyed that you were no longer avoiding him.
“Sure.” You pursed your lips. “I’m getting dressed.”
Titan launched himself off his bed at that, tail thumbing against the couch to disturb Pepper. She lifted her head long enough to glare at all three of you before curling further into Joel’s blanket.
And she used to be an alley cat.
“Not you,” Joel told him.
Titan’s excitement remained undamaged.
“He can come,” you countered, scratching behind his ears.
“Greenhouse ain’t a dog park.” Joel shook his head.
“He’ll behave.”
Joel looked from Titan to you, “Ya really believe that?”
The pup sneezed, tail still wagging.
“Completely,” you nodded before heading on upstairs, Titan in tow.
“Ya spoilin’ him babygirl,” Joel called after you.
“And you turned my alley cat into a diva!” He had. Ever since you’d taken her inside with you on your first day and she had started curling up on the couch she had gotten an attitude.
That kept getting worse.
Although she deserved every bit of spoiling. And so did Titan, which was why you made a point of dressing him up too, before you head outside to join Joel.
The greenhouse was warmer than the house. Enough so that you tucked your gloves off and unzipped your coat. Behind you, Joel closed the door before Titan could follow.
“You said he could come.” The dog stared through the glass, betrayed.
“No. You said he could come. And he came.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Greenhouse ain’t Titan-proof.” He moved past you, shrugging out of his coat. “Last time he got in, he dug up half m’carrots.”
Titan huffed outside the glass. Snout pressed into it.
“He says you can’t proof that.” Back to fucking banter it was.
“Got security footage.”
“Circumstantial.” You shot back and Joel laughed under his breath.
The sound followed you between rows of winter greenery. Raised beds occupied most of the space, separated by narrow stone paths. Herbs grew beneath suspended lights, their scent rich in the damp warmth. Tomatoes climbed along stakes near the far wall.
“You know I’m the real threat in here,” you mused, fingers tracing over green leaves. “Can’t keep a plant alive no matter how hard I tried.”
“I kno babygirl,” he mused. Right. Right, of course he knew. “Can’t keep an eye on ya an Titan. Hence why only one’o ya gets in here.” You scoffed, watching another smile tuck on his lips when he handed you a bowl he’d brought. “Need tomatoes, couple peppers too.”
The thought of him tending to the garden was an odd one. Even though you’d seen him. Maybe because it didn’t quite fit with the image you had of someone working in problem solutions but then nothing of him really fit that bill.
His excessive security measures maybe.
And how methodical he was. Cameras, locked doors, gun safe—- The way his attention swept the fence line every time you stepped outside. Searching for threats only he was able to see…
“No, not that one.” You had reached out for the nearest tomato.
You blinked, hand stopped halfway around it. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Ain’t ripe.” Joel insisted, joining you.
“…it’s red?”
“Still ain’t ripe.”
You looked from the perfectly red tomato to Joel, “Are you gatekeeping vegetables now?”
“Just don’t want ya pickin’ one that tastes like water,” he reached for tomato, his chest brushing your shoulder. Barely enough to count as contact, but warmth immediately spread between your shoulder blades. “This one,” he twisted it free and placed it into your palm. You squeezed it experimentally. “Feel t’difference?”
“No.” You really didn’t.
“Course ya don’t.” He huffed, sounding more amused than anything else.
“No green thumb, remember?” You pointed out, “Besides, this kinda sounds like you’re making this up to feel important.”
“Hmm,” Joel breathed “Maybe I really shouldn’t let ya near m’plants.”
“Too late,” you placed the tomato into the bowl, “You invited me.”
“Yeah,” he said, something in his expression softening. “Suppose I did.”
Joel didn’t object any more tomatoes you picked up. Whether because you chose the right ones or because he’d made it up after all, you didn’t ponder about.
Maybe, because the warmth stayed.
“Gonna feed the chickens next an get some eggs.” He usually did so every morning while you had made a point to avoid the coop, peaking in from the outside aside.
“Okay,” you nodded, not quite making a move to follow him. Busying yourself with Titan instead.
“Ya don’t wanna come?”
“Chickens are evil,” you offered with a shrug.
“Chickens?” Joel looked at you confused “Evil?”
“You literally named one of them The Mean One, I think you know what I’m talking about.” You crossed your arms.
“Descriptions ain’t names.”
“Right, so they’re not named Red, Blondie, Bossy, Loudmouth, Trouble and… Dorothy?” You’d heard him addressing the chickens before.
“Descriptions.” He insisted.
“Last time I checked Dorothy wasn’t an adjective.”
“Looks like a Dorothy ta me.” Right, sure, of course. No longer just banter but arguing over chickens and their descriptions. “Why are chickens evil?”
“Huh,” you mused. “Something about me you don’t know.”
Joel went still. Only for a moment, but you caught. The slight shift in his expression. Surprise followed by something sharper—- interest, irritation. Enough to make you feel smug.
He had watched you for six months, read your medical records, memorised your routines and filled pages upon pages with observations of a life you hadn’t know he was a part of yet.
But he didn’t know why chickens were evil.
The knowledge felt strangely precious. Something that remained entirely yours. Because it wasn’t in any file, in anything he observed. Because you hadn’t chosen to give it to him yet.
Maybe you shouldn’t tell him.
“Reckon there’s plenty I ain’t know ‘bout ya.” He said when he finally caught himself.
You scoffed, “Somehow I doubt that.”
Joel’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue. “Ya gonna tell me?”
“Maybe,” you shrugged.
“Maybe?”
“You gonna let Titan into the greenhouse?” You tilted your head.
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head.
“Guess, you’ll never find out why chickens are evil then.” Joel huffed and for a beat there was something cold and displeased in his eyes. Long enough to know that it really bugged him.
A reminder of who he was and what he did for a living.
Until he looked downright sad. Like you’d just told him to fuck off and leave you alone. Which in a way you just had. An unfamiliar feeling settled behind your ribs.
The desire to tell him.
To ease his discomfort.
Your lips parted but before you could utter a single word whether about your reasoning connected to chickens being diabolical or something else you weren’t sure; Joel interrupted you.
“Ya wanna give the chickens a chance ta change ya mind?” No trace of irritation or displeasure left.
“You named one The Mean One,” you pulled a face.
“Description.”
“Whatever,” you crossed your arms, eying the chicken coop.
“She ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He promised.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ll be there.” Simple as that.
“Fine,” you sighed and he smiled again, “But you’re going in first.”
“Course,” he nodded.
“And if Dorothy comes near me—-”
“Thought it was The Mean One ya were worried ‘bout?”
“All chickens are suspects,” you insisted.
“Until proven otherwise,” Joel mused, voice calm, soothing almost. “C’mon,” he opened the gate and held it open for you.
You sighed, bracing yourself.
“Stay close.”
And you did.
──────────
The chickens, to their credit, left you mostly unharmed.
The Mean One had watched you with malicious intend while Joel had collected the eggs, but she hadn’t made a move. Dorothy had ignored you all together. More interested in pecking at the laces of Joel’s boots.
You still kept closing to him.
As instructed.
And if he still was irritated because you hadn’t told him why chickens were evil, he didn’t show it. Not when you half hid behind him from the feathered demons, expecting the worst. And not when you headed back inside with the collected eggs and veggies.
The early evening settled into something quiet after that.
Lunch around 5 PM consisted of leftovers and was followed by Joel occupying himself with a crossword while you picked up the book you’d abandoned days ago and claimed the armchair nearest his end of the couch.
The light was better there.
That was all.
And didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you weren’t at risk of falling asleep and missing his arms around you there. No blanket and space to stretch out and all that.
Neither of you spoke much. Not about the chickens and why they were evil. Or what else he might not know about you and whether or not that irritated him.
All you got was Titan’s quiet snoring and the occasional sigh from Joel when he had to erase a word from his puzzle.
It was no longer odd to linger near him, to stay close to him. Files or not — you tried not to think about them; going back to avoiding him felt… weird. Wrong even.
“Babygirl?”
“Hm?” you looked up from your book. So lost in your thoughts you hadn’t realized he had gotten up.
“That good huh?” he glanced at the book in your hand.
“Oh— yeah,” you offered as if you hadn’t read the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.
Joel smiled, maybe because the book was one from his shelves, “Just said I’ll put on a laundry, ya got anything?”
You didn’t mix your laundry with his. Towels aside. It was worse enough that your clothes smelled like his detergent. “Whites, or?” You heard yourself ask.
“Whatever ya have,” he said and you placed the book on the armrest.
“Let me check,” you offered instead of shooting him down.
It wasn’t like you didn’t try to tell him you were good— you did try, but you also carried your laundry basket down. Filling the washing machine alongside him.
It wasn’t until Joel added one of his flannels atop your hoodie that you realised what you were doing.
Mixing your clothes with his.
Shirts, jeans, socks—- all disappearing beneath one of his henleys.
Domestic in a way you didn’t want to analyse further. Untangling that, literally could wait until after dinner.
Because you followed him to the kitchen after the laundry room.
The ingredients you’d collected earlier already covered half the island. Tomatoes and peppers from the greenhouse, an onion, garlic, cheese, tortillas and enough jars of spices to make you regret agreeing to this.
“You said enchiladas, not a science experiment.”
Joel glanced at the ingredients. “Ain’t that complicated.”
“You say that because you know what all of this does,” you wrinkled your nose.
“So will you,” he mused, “When we’re done.”
Yeah, somehow you doubted that. “That sounds suspiciously optimistic.”
He smiled, reaching for the knife block. Your attention followed his hand automatically. Months ago you had sat with the largest one beside your plate, fingers tracing the handle while you forced yourself to eat.
Now Joel pulled out a smaller knife, offering it to you handle-first. So you could cook together.
“For t’onion.”
You accepted it. Nothing inside you recoiled. You were no longer waiting for it either. “What do I do with it?”
“Cut it.” You could hear the Duh!
“Insightful.” You deadpanned.
“Thought ya wanted me t’teach.”
“I do,” you nodded, “Teaching normally involves instructions.”
Joel moved to the other side of the island, another knife in hand. He halved the onion before demonstrating the first cuts on his half. Movements practiced and irritatingly effortless. “Ya wanna slice not completely through,” he told you, leaving about a half-inch at the end of the his half. “Keep y’fingers tucked,” he added, “Don’t wanna slice one off.”
“That would ruin dinner,” you mused. You had cut an onion before. Although not that way—- so the warning was a fair one.
“Would ruin a whole lotta more than dinner, babygirl.”
Naturally, muscle memory kicked in and you didn’t quite succeed, slicing the first piece completely through which promptly slipped off the cutting board and to the floor. Where Titan immediately investigated it.
“No,” Joel pointed the knife at him, “Ain’t for you.”
Titan looked personally wounded.
“Don’t point knives at him.” Joel listened, dropping the knife back to the cutting board.
“He ain’t like onions anyway.”
“Let him be the judge of that,” you crossed your arms, watching Titan licking the onion slice experimentally and promptly huff offended.
“Told ya,” Joel looked smug.
“Imma drop cheese later,” you promised the pup, picking up the offending piece of onion.
“Ya spoilin’ him.”
“He deserves it,” you ignore him, tossing the slice away before getting back to your onion, this time around managing to copy him.
“Good,” he nodded, “A now ya slice ‘em like this,” he turned the onion once and cut through the slices to cube them.
“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” you pursed your lips.
“’s how ya dice an onion.”
“I have diced onions before,” you rolled your eyes, mimicking his actions. Yours not quite turning out as neat as his.
“Yeah?” His eyes moved pointedly toward the uneven pieces scattered across your cutting board.
“They all taste the same.”
“Don’t cook t’same,” he countered.
“I don’t cook.”
A grin tucked on the corner of his lips, “My point.”
You huffed, trying hard not to match his smile while you chopped away at your onion.
“Well?” You asked, once you were done.
Joel examined them. “They’ll do.”
“Overwhelming praise,” you nodded your head.
“Knew ya had it in ya babygirl.” Warmth stirred behind your ribs again, while he reached for a garlic clove.
“What now?” You asked.
“Garlic.”
Really now?
“I gathered that.” You rolled your eyes. Ignoring that this was far too easy.
“Ya gotta peel it.”
You picked up a clove too, picking at the papery skin with your fingernail. It flaked, but didn’t really release the clove.
Joel watched.
You continued.
He kept watching. His clove still in hand.
“Is this entertaining for you?” You huffed, more irritated with the clove than him.
“Little bit,” he rumbled, finally placing his clove on the cutting board and placing the flat side of his knife over it. One firm press of his palm split the skin immediately.
You stared. “Could have told me that.”
“Mhm,” he mused “Could’ve.”
“You watched me struggle on purpose,” you accused.
“Ya were determined,” he was clearly still amused.
“You’re an asshole.” You huffed.
“Been called worse.”
“Yeah,” you copied him, pressing cautiously against the knife “I don’t doubt that.” Because you had hurled one or the other insult at him before.
“Ain’t gonna break,” he ignored you.
“I’m trying not to lose a finger.”
Joel stepped closer, his palm settling over yours. Large and warm, before applying enough pressure for the clove to crack beneath the blade. “There.”
His didn’t lift his hand immediately.
Neither did you.
“Gonna slice it now,” he breathed somewhere by your ear.
“Hm?”
“T’garlic. Thin slices.”
Oh. “Yeah, yeah.” You nodded, immediately feeling the absence when he pulled his hand away.
The sliced garlic eventually joined the onions in the pot.
Joel put you in charge of stirring while he measured spices. Chilli, cumin and something smoky you couldn’t identify joined the onions, sliced garlic and peppers before the tomatoes went in.
“Keep stirring,” he instructed.
“I am.” You rolled your eyes.
“Bottom’ll burn,” he mused.
“You’re stressing me out!” Matter of fact, because he was.
“Ain’t even doin’ anything.”
“You’re watching me,” you huffed, still stirring in the pot.
“Gotta make sure ya don’t burn it.” And he even was smug about it.
“I thought you said I was better at cooking than I gave myself credit for?” You eyed him.
“Starting ta reconsider.”
You scoffed, trying to jab him with the wooden spoon.
Joel caught your wrist before it reached him. The motion was instinctive. Fast enough to remind you what he was capable of.
You froze.
So did he.
“Sorry,” his grip loosened immediately. Enough for you to tuck your hand free. You didn’t. You just turned the spoon and smeared sauce across his cheek and beard.
Joel blinked.
“There.” You nodded, satisfied with your handiwork.
“That how it is?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Mhm,” a nod “This whatcha get.” He still held your wrist, his thumb brushing over your pulse.
“Is it?” He asked, eyebrow arched.
“Had to insist I could cook,” you nodded. “Told you I like our system.”
“Think I like this one too,” he rumbled, letting go of your wrist.
You turned back to the sauce, before he could see your smile.
──────────
The enchiladas looked better than they had any right to.
No evidence of your unevenly diced onion visible beneath the sauce and the rather excessive layer of cheese. Nor of the first tortilla you had split by overloading it or the second one Joel had quietly repaid when you refused to admit you’d done it again.
Even the kitchen had survived.
Mostly.
Joel had wiped the sauce from his face eventually too. Though not before you caught him smiling to himself when he caught his reflection in the kitchen window.
And Titan had cleaned any scraps of chicken and cheese you had conveniently knocked off the counter too. While Joel pretended not to see.
You really had gotten from avoiding his company to enjoying it.
A realisation you didn’t choose to entertain.
“Well?” Joel asked, seated beside you at the island. Because somewhere along the way you had abandoned the dining table too and taken to having most meals here.
More convenient. Closer proximity—-
Joel hadn’t touched his food yet. He still waited for you to start eating first.
You cut into one of the enchiladas, painfully aware of his attention on you. Because this wasn’t just dinner to him. This was a memory he had carried alone for over twenty years before letting you be a part of it.
The warmth came back.
Or maybe it hadn’t really left—-
You took a bite and Joel waited. And maybe you took your time chewing extra slowly.
Just to make him wait.
“Not crying.” You offered eventually.
His mouth twitched, “Improved then.”
You took another bite.
“Babygirl.”
“They’re good,” you nodded.
“Yeah?” He still hadn’t touched his enchiladas.
The uncertainty in his voice made you stop teasing, “Really good, Joel.”
Something in his shoulders loosened. His gaze finally dropped to his plate, but you still saw the relief in them. “Told ya, ya can cook.” Something warmer settled across his face.
“Had a good teacher I guess,” you mused, taking another bite.
“Guess so,” he agreed, finally taking a bite too.
The dryer announced itself halfway through kitchen cleanup after you had switched the laundry from the washing machine earlier.
A cheerful melody sounding from the laundry room, earning an irritated huff from Titan who waited hopefully for anymore scraps that might drop off the counter.
Joel glanced toward the doorway, “Can leave it till we’re done.”
“You sure,” you asked, wiping down the counter. “Won’t it wrinkle?”
“Didn’t know ya cared.” He hummed.
“I don’t,” you really didn’t. If anything you had pulled your clothes from the dryer whenever Joel wasn’t around less then two weeks ago. “But you fold your shirts like they’re being displayed in a store.”
Military precision.
Or the precision of someone in problem solution…
Pepper claimed the warm laundry the moment Joel carried the basket into the living room. Curling into it like the diva she was.
“She lives there now,” you informed him, glad about the excuse that kept you from getting started on folding your clothes.
Maybe you had suppressed the fact that your shirts were mixed with his.
“Need t’fold those.” He huffed.
“Gotta tell her that, not me.” You mused, scratching behind her ears just to watch her narrow her eyes when he reached into the basket. “Thought so.”
“Your cat’s a menace.”
“You spoiled her.” you countered, watching him tipping the basket carefully onto the couch. Making sure Pepper remained atop the clothes. “See, turned her into a diva.”
“’s only fair since ya an my dog conspire against me.” He picked up one of his flannels.
“I do what now?” You arched a brow, folding your thermal pants you had tossed into the laundry.
“Ya heard me,” he’d started a pile of his clothes. “Feedin’ him cheese an scraps an lettin’ him sleep on ya bed.”
You scoffed, “Okay, and?” Adding to your own pile.
“Ya conspirin’,” he insisted.
“To do what?” You arched an eyebrow, “That’s mine.”
Joel examined the hoodie in his hands, “Know.”
“Then why’d you wanted to add it to your pile?”
“Wasn’t paying attention.” Sure, Joel fucking Miller, who noticed everything, hadn’t paid attention?
Yeah right.
Carried away maybe…
You took it from him, adding it to your stack while he pointedly ignored you, busying himself with one of his henleys.
Sorting through the laundry with him was far less awkward than you thought. Not that you would make a habit out of it anytime soon.
“You know those are going to separate rooms, right?” You asked when he picked up both stacks of clothes. One on each arm.
“Know where ya room is, babygirl.”
“Just checking,” you settled on the couch beside Pepper — who had to be moved eventually, much to her dismay; deciding it wasn’t worth pulling your clothes from his hands.
They had already been in the laundry with his.
You felt the quiet he left behind immediately. Not uncomfortable, the fire still crackled in the hearth, Titan still quietly snorted on the rug and Pepper purred on the pillow Joel had settled her on.
So not uncomfortable, but loud. Because something had left the room with him.
You glanced toward the stairs.
He was only putting away laundry. He would come back downstairs… There was no reason to listen for his footsteps or feel something loosen inside of you when he finally crossed the landing overhead.
You picked up the remote, deciding to busy yourself with the TV. Something other than Joel to occupy yourself with.
“What’re we watchin’?” You startled.
“Nothing if you keep sneaking up on me.”
“Was walkin’ normally.” Another occupational hazard, you supposed. “Can start stompin’, if ya want.”
“No, Titan does enough of that,” the pup lifted his head at the sound of his name while Joel settled into his end of the couch.
“Alright,” he tucked the throw over him. Apparently all Pepper had been waiting for, because she immediately settled on his lap. “So?” He turned toward the TV. You’d already selected Up From Poppy Hill. “Another Ghibli movie?”
You nodded, your own throw blanket pulled over your legs now too. “Working ourselves through the list.”
There it was again.
Ours, us, we…
When had that started? Maybe somewhere between the key that still hung under the alarm panel and cooking together. Or between sleeping in his arms and doing laundry together—-
You didn’t dwell on that. Or him, really. Focusing on the movie instead.
So you didn’t notice the way he shifted beside you barely that the opening credits had rolled. And then again. And then once more, this time with a quiet groan.
“You okay?” You finally glanced over.
“Yeah,” he stretched, face tightening briefly. “Couch ain’t doin’ me any favours t’day.”
“Oh,” you frowned.
The couch was comfortable and this was the first time you had heard him complain about his back.
“Think t’was one night too many on t’couch.” You didn’t like how that sounded, how something unfamiliar settled behind your ribs.
You pursed your lips, the movie continuing.
“Think ’m gonna sleep in m’bed tonight, babygirl.” He shifted again when the end credits filled the screen.
You didn’t look at him, biting the inside of your lip.
Maybe this was payback. Because you hadn’t told him why chickens were evil? When you had cut him out on a details about your life.
“Ya gonna stay down here?” He asked, when you hadn’t responded, already on his feet.
His words shouldn’t have stung.
Shouldn’t have you questioning whether or not he was serious about this because he had been walking just fine all day or because there really was an ulterior motive.
And this was Joel.
There had to be an ulterior motive.
There always was.
“Babygirl?”
“Hm?” You looked at him. He’d already folded his blanket. “Oh,” you shrugged, looking back at the TV screen. The inside of your cheek between your teeth now.
“You gonna be okay?”
No. No not really. You had grown fucking used to his presence after keeping him up at night for days and falling asleep with him on the couch, you really wouldn’t be.
“Sure,” the word came out curt.
“Sure?” He echoed.
“Didn’t you want to go upstairs?” The question came out sharper than you wanted to.
“Right,” Joel nodded, grabbing his glass to take it back to the kitchen while something icy settled in your chest.
Not just cold, icy.
Yeah, he was still irritated. About the chickens, about the fact that you had dangled something he didn’t know right in front of him and then refused to explain. You’d set a boundary wrapped into a joke and now he drew one.
You hadn’t let you close and now he didn’t let you close.
“Night babygirl,” he offered already halfway to the stairs.
“Night.” Your voice wavered. Because his fucking play worked. “Joel—- wait.”
He turned immediately, a foot already on the bottom step. “Babygirl?”
You chewed your bottom lip for another moment, both irritated with yourself for falling for his act and him for pulling this one on you. “I don’t,” the very same words you had struggled with when you had stood in the threshold of his bedroom door.
Joel waited.
You hated that. Hated the concern that had appeared on his face too. Hated that the words you needed to say were painfully lodged in your throat.
“I don’t—” you tried again, something between anger and self-loathing in your voice. “Want to be alone.” You deflated almost instantly, curling into yourself.
“Don’t gotta be, babygirl.” He was in front of you when you looked up again.
“Right,” you weren’t sure how to take that. “But you don’t want to—- can’t stay on the couch.”
He glanced in the direction of his throw blanket. “Got a TV in m’room,” he offered carefully. “Fireplace too… Can put somethin’ on?” Heat climbed into your cheeks. “Don’t gotta be alone.”
You didn’t respond, the throw between your fingers more interesting.
“Think maybe that’s why ya came into m’room t’other night,” he continued, still careful. “Didn’t wanna be alone.”
You were still occupied with the throw blanket.
“’s okay, babygirl.” He offered, “Kno it’s been’a lot.” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him look toward the stairs. “Can bring Titan, an Pepper.” He continued. “Just t’watch somethin’?” He suggested. “Whatever ya want?”
“And if ya fall asleep?” Barely a whisper but Joel heard you just fine.
“Then ya fall asleep.” Easy as that apparently.
You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment longer. Joel waited you out. Fuck, he was good at this.
“I hate you.” You didn’t. Not really anymore.
“I know babygirl,” he held his hand out for you to take. “Ya can hate me upstairs too.”
You took his hand. Just a little begrudgingly.
“Just to watch something.”
──────────
His hand remained around yours when he led you upstairs.
Not gripping, not pulling you along. His fingers rested loosely between yours. Giving you every opportunity to let go. To think better of it.
You didn’t.
You watched Titan who had excitedly rushed for the stairs when he’d realised that was where you were going. Pepper wasn’t as keen, complaining from Joel’s arm all the way up the stairs.
“Could have left her downstairs,” you said.
“Said we can bring ‘er. Would’ve come eventually anyway.”
“And then complained because she was left behind,” you agreed.
Your feet dragged a little when you approached his bedroom. You had been inside it before. Crossed through the room after the files. Eyes fixed on the floor. Desperate to ignore him and anything that had to do with him.
Just to stand at his door days ago.
Not wanting to be alone.
And now you followed him inside.
You waited for something in your gut to twist. To tell you that this was wrong, to turn on your heels and walk out again.
Instead your hand twitched, tempted to catch his when he let go.
“Ya can get comfy,” he offered, “Gonna change an get t’fire started.”
“Oh—okay,” you nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Joel’s bed.
What a weird fucking thought.
Titan investigated his old bed before circling twice and collapsing into it with a satisfied groan. He wouldn’t be much help. Pepper needed no invitation to jump onto the bed either. Hopping into his bed like she’d done it countless times before.
Which she might have, always ajar door and all.
“Traitor,” you told her, when she curled up in the middle of the bed.
You didn’t settle into it just yet. Occupying yourself with the remote you picked up from the nightstand.
The TV illuminated the room when you switched it on. You scrolled without really seeing any of the options. Attention drifting repeatedly toward the closed bathroom door.
You were standing in Joel’s bedroom.
About to climb into Joel’s bed.
Just to watch something.
Nothing else. Just to watch something.
Right.
You selected the first familiar movie you found. The Cat King, before you placed the remote back where you got it from.
It took you a whole lot longer than you wanted to admit, but you managed to settle onto the edge of the bed eventually, before carefully lifting your legs beneath the comforter.
The sheets were cool and smelled faintly like him. Cedar, soap—- and something warmer you had no name for.
It was more than big enough to fit the two of you comfortably with enough space for Titan too, but then again you’d fit on the couch, in his arms.
Pepper immediately relocated against your hip, purring loudly.
The bathroom door opened. Joel had changed into his dark blue pyjama pants and a white henley.
At least not topless.
Like when you had stood in the threshold.
He glanced at you before his eyes settled on the TV.
“Making it through the list?” He commented.
“Mhm,” you nodded.
He didn’t prompt you again to get comfortable, busying himself with the hearth and the promised fire.
Giving you time. Himself maybe too—-
You watched the firelight move over his shoulder instead of the movie until he finally moved.
“Warm enough?” You nodded, while he pressed the switch to lower the blinds. “Need anythin’? Water?”
“No,” you shook your head again.
“Another pillow?”
“Joel.”
“Right,” he nodded.
The mattress dipped when he joined you. Strictly remaining on his side. Propped against the headboard with enough untouched space between you to fit Titan and a half.
Pepper occupied a small part of it for several minutes before abandoning both of you for the rug in front of the fire.
The movie played.
You followed none of it. Worrying your lip between your teeth again.
“Joel?” You asked eventually.
“Yeah, babygirl?” He shifted beside you.
“You’re right.” You gave.
“Hm?”
“Came to you because I didn’t want to be alone,” you admit. Not looking at him but the TV.
“’s okay,” his hand found yours across the comforter, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t gotta be alone anymore.” You didn’t pull your hand free. Kept it right where it was. “I got ya.”
The movie continued.
Joel’s hand remained over yours. Warm and solid against the comforter. His thumb moved once across your knuckles before stilling.
Anymore.
You didn’t need to be alone.
Not tonight, not any night after. Not at all if he had his way.
That thought should have frightened you. Maybe in another life that no longer felt like yours. In this one, you turned your hand beneath his, loosely threading your fingers through his.
Joel’s breath caught.
Barely a sound, quickly swallowed, but you felt it in the way his hand tightened around yours.
The untouched space between you still existed. A careful stretch of of cool sheets and flannel comforter. A space seemingly too big after you had willingly curled into him on the couch.
You shifted closer.
Only an inch, not even enough yet to touch anything other than his hand.
Joel didn’t move, didn’t respond in any way. His eyes remained pointedly fixed on the television. He was waiting.
Of course he was waiting. For you to decide, for you to close whatever distance you wanted. Wasn’t even looking at you, his eyes on the TV.
Another choice he gave you.
It pissed you off. Just a little bit.
You tugged on his hand.
“Hm?”Joel finally turned to you.
“You’re too far away,” you muttered. Trying not to see how something warm, almost disbelieving crossed his face.
“Am I?”
“You’re taking up half the bed while somehow lying on none of it.” A huffed complaint. Either of you on one side of the bed. And you were tired of denying yourself the comfort he so easily offered.
“Trying’ ta give ya room,” he explained.
“Didn’t ask for this much,” you wrinkled your nose.
“No,” he agreed quietly, “Guess ya didn’t.”
He lifted his arm.
An invitation.
You hesitated only long enough to feel ridiculous about hesitating. Then you moved into the space he offered, settling against his chest. It should be embarrassing how quickly your body relaxed into his.
Joel’s arm curbed around you carefully. Not locking you against him. Still leaving you the choice. “There?” He asked.
His heartbeat moved steadily beneath your ear. Something warm and solid and reassuring.
Warmth surrounded you. From the fire, the comforter and the body curved protectively around yours. And you knew he wouldn’t let go, not unless you asked him to.
The terrifying part was, that you didn’t want him to.
──────────
Joel.
He hadn’t followed the movie. He had tried—- but then it was impossible to focus on anything other than you.
You hadn’t run.
You hadn’t shut him out again.
You hadn’t even pocketed the key.
And now you were here. Tucked into his chest, eyes drooping.
He’d always known he just needed to be patient. That you would find your way right here. That you would understand, that he never had a choice. That he did the right thing, that all he wanted was to keep you safe.
Joel had been so certain that he had pushed too far. That being honest about how many contracts he had run had been one admission too many. The way you’d looked at him.
The very same look you had when you’d pressed yourself into the wall farthest from him.
Looking at him like he was a monster.
But you had chosen him over the world beyond the fence. Again and again.
To the point where you had followed him upstairs. Right into his bed, all because you hadn’t wanted to stay alone.
His back really had acted up. Maybe he had overplayed it, but sleeping cramped into the couch was comfortable for only so long… Even though he would sleep on gravel every fucking night for the rest of his life if it meant he was close to you. He’d figured you’d object to him going upstairs. Perhaps ask him to stay. And if you didn’t, worst case he spent a night alone in his bed.
But instead you’d looked hurt.
Inviting you into his bedroom definitely had pressed his luck, after the day he had had with you. And yet you had come. Had followed him into his bedroom, had climbed into his bed and from there right into his arms.
“Joel?” Your tongue dragged a little.
“Yeah, babygirl?” His fingers had started tracing along your arm again.
For a long moment there was no answer, but then, “Spent a summer on’a farm,” you murmured.
“Did you?” He asked, glancing down at you. Your eyes remained closed, cheek pressed against his chest.
“Had chickens.”
Oh. “Evil ones?” He asked, fingers tracing along your forehead, brushing a loose strand out of your face.
“Mhm, diabolical.” A yawn interrupted you, “Chased me.”
“They did?” You nodded again, “How old were ya?”
“Six or seven,” your fingers tightened weakly in his shirt. “Hid from ‘em.”
Yeah, he could see it. A miniature version of you fleeing across some farmyard, terrified because a horde of demonic chickens chased you. “’s no wonder ya distrust ‘em,” he breathed.
“Made me drop my ice cream,” you complained.
That definitely explained the severity of the grudge. “That sounds terrible babygirl,” he managed without laughing.
“T’re evil.”
He pulled you in a little closer. “Got nothin’ t’worry babygirl,” he breathed “Gonna make sure The Mean One won’t make ya drop ya ice cream.”
“Dorothy too?”
The question came muffled into his chest, half disappearing into the fabric stretched across it.
“Yeah,” he promised, something warm unfurling in his chest. “Dorothy too.”
He had files filled with every fucking detail about your life. Your medical records, education, coffee order and every route you used to get to work. He had it all. Down to the shampoo you bought and songs you played when you couldn’t sleep and what nights you crawled into bed without washing your face.
But he hadn’t known this.
Couldn’t have.
No camera around to capture a frightened little girl by a horde of chickens. There was a whole life he had no access to. One not filed in documents or immortalised in photographs.
And you had allowed him a glimpse. That he hadn’t deserved after being irritated over being denied at first.
“Babygirl?” His voice was a sleepy rumble.
“Hm?” Your eyes fluttered without really opening.
“Thank ya.” You pulled your face in confusion. “For tellin’ me,” his nose disappeared into sleep-mused hair. “For lettin’ me be part o’somethin’ that’s just yours.”
You sighed softly, “’s okay.”
Okay maybe, but not a given. After everything he had already taken.
“Promise I’ll be worthy o’ya.” He breathed, “Of ya life.” His lips pressed to your forehead. Soft, lingering.
You didn’t pull away, your breathing even, steady. You stayed right where you were. Tucked into him, fingers curled a little tighter in his henley.
He tucked the sheets and comforter a little tighter in around the both of you.
“Get some sleep, babygirl.” He breathed, your head tucked under his chin. “I got ya.”
And he wouldn’t ever let you go.