like the fists of a tyrant, your babies hands curl up as she starts to wail. again.

joel presses his fingers against his eyelids, and you groan, turning into your pillow.

she hasn't slept through the night... ever, you think. this baby isn't yours, biologically. on patrol, once, joel found her and brought her back to jackson, only about a year old at that point. it's been three months since then, and she still can't sleep properly.

you've tried everything. everything. and she just doesn't seem to stop.

“i'll go get her.” joel says, sliding out of bed, with his old bones cracking.

he never thought he'd be a dad again. well, he's a sort of dad to ellie, and now they've got all their shit about the fireflies sorted out, their relationship is less rocky. so he is a dad, really. he just never thought he'd be a dad to a baby ever again. but here is.

your daughter is truly the light of his life. every smile he gets out of her is a genuine reward, a pat on the back. but she cries a lot. and he can clearly see the impact it's having on you. you've been smiling less, only truly smiling when your little girl dares to stop bawling, or when you're asleep.

it's worrying him. a lot.

which is why he offers to soothe your daughter most nights. he's old - doesn't he know it - but he's not incapable. especially while you're in your slump.

“hey, babygirl.” he whispers to his daughter, picking her up out of her crib and placing her in his arms. “shhh, your daddy's here. you're okay, sweetheart.”

you can hear him from your bedroom, and your guilt feels impossibly heavier, twisting into frustration when she starts to quiet down. why can she quiet down for him and not you? what's wrong with you for her to not listen?

eventually, your baby nods back off to sleep, her hiccups turning into soft snores. when joel heads back tour bedroom, your back is turned to the door, to him, and your knees are curled up under the covers.

he slips back into bed, and turns to you. “baby. what's wrong with you?”