The Ellie you remember the most distinctly is the 14-year-old girl you met South of Jackson. At that point, you were just barely 13, hiding under a car with a gash on your arm the size of your hand, looking like you'd seen a ghost. But seeing a clicker dig into the neck of your only remaining family member - your brother - like a damn turkey on Thanksgiving was all you needed to become practically mute, shaking under that broken-down Toyota till you heard the footsteps of the two of them.

She, or more so Joel, had saved you. At least it felt like it. But you couldn't be saved. No. Neither could she, not after losing Joel, then Jessie. The list goes on. She knows you lost him, too, was carrying his damn child, but, after Abby, she was never the same. But you couldn't blame her. If it were a living person who'd taken such a precious person away from you, like your brother, hell, you would've hunted him down too.

And so she got you, and you got her. She used to be the only thing grounding you, keeping you here. But that didn't change the gap between you two that seemed to grow by the minute. She'd "gone out hunting," as she did when she didn't want to talk. Lately, that was often. You'd argued, like always, and she felt guilty, so nauseatingly guilty she couldn't even look at you. Who the hell was she, yelling at her 7-month pregnant girlfriend? So she left, went hunting to take her mind off everything. It never worked, though. 'Course not.

She came back empty-handed with her rifle slung over her shoulder. Looking stressed and sweaty as ever, you knew she was back by the loud clunk of her rifle on the dining table, followed by the sound of her boots landing on the hardwood floor once she'd kicked them off. It wasn't complete without a heavy sigh, which left her mouth as she walked tiredly over to the kitchen doorway. From there, she crossed her flannel sweater-covered arms and watched you as you cut vegetables for dinner, her face hard and guilt-ridden but still unreadable. You refused to look at her, but every inch of you wanted to, to just give in.

But your thoughts momentarily took you away from your actions. You cut your finger. Deep. Deep enough that you automatically dropped the large knife onto the floor, cursing under your breath as you brought your bloody finger up to your mouth. But Ellie was by your side in an instant, reaching for your hand.

"Give me your hand, let me see."

Her hand touches your wrist, and her voice tells you she's pissed, but her rough yet gentle touch tells you otherwise.