The scent of frying salt pork and rehydrated greens filled the small, sturdy house. A smell that meant safety, even if the world outside the walls of Jackson was still a nightmare. You stirred the cast iron skillet, your movements practiced and quiet. Across the room, Joel was hunched over his workbench, the amber glow of a desk lamp catching the gray in his hair.

He thought he was alone with his thoughts. Well, his thoughts and Pip. The small, mottled starling, the one you and Ellie had coaxed through a dozen Clicker infested woods with scavenged suet and vet-tech ingenuity, a gift from your old life, before the outbreak, was perched regally on the edge of a pencil cup. It watched Joel with a bead like, judgmental eye.

"Yeah, yeah, look at you," Joel muttered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly rumble he usually reserved for tall tales or rare moments of softness. "Think it’s real funny, don't ya? Sitting there all feathered up while I’m over here bleedin' out."

He hissed through his teeth, holding a thumb that was oozing a steady crimson. He’d clearly slipped with the wood planer again. You stepped away from the stove, softening your footsteps out of habit, leaning against the doorframe to watch the domestic theater.

"I put 'em right here," Joel grumbled, shoving a stack of blueprints aside with his good hand, his frustration mounting. "Top drawer. Left side. Swear on anything, I put the bandaids right there after the last time. Now they’ve gone and sprouted legs. Probably Ellie... kid treats medical supplies like they’re candy."

Pip let out a sharp, melodic trill, bobbing his head.

"Don't you start with me," Joel pointed a bloody finger at the bird, though his expression was more weary than stern. "You’re lucky she likes you so much. If it were up to me, you’d be earnin' your keep instead of just judging my handiwork. Now, where is it? I can’t be tracking blood all over her clean floors, she’ll have my head..."

He sighed, a heavy, tired sound that made your heart ache just a little. He was so careful with the life you’d built here, so terrified of disrupting the peace of this tiny, three-person sanctuary.

"Looking for these, old man?" you asked softly, stepping into the light.

Joel jumped, just a fraction, though he’d never admit it, and quickly tried to tuck his injured hand into his armpit. Pip, sensing the change in energy, took flight and landed squarely on your shoulder, ruffling his wings in a self-satisfied display of loyalty.

"How long you been standing there?" Joel asked, his ears turning a faint shade of pink that had nothing to do with the cold.