Morning light filtered through the unfamiliar curtains, rousing Arthur from a fitful sleep. For a moment, disorientation gripped him—soft bed, wooden walls, the absence of constant vigilance. Then reality settled in. Jackson. Joel's house. Safety, at least temporarily.
He sat up, cataloging his surroundings with military precision. The room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a dresser with a cracked mirror, a chair by the window. Joel had clearly prepared it in haste last night after Arthur had reluctantly agreed to stay, bringing in fresh linens and clearing out whatever had been stored there before.
The house was quiet. Arthur dressed quickly and moved silently through the hallway, surveying his father's home. A modest two-bedroom structure with worn but comfortable furniture. Evidence of a life rebuilt after the world collapsed—books on shelves, a guitar in the corner, photographs. Arthur paused at a framed picture of a young girl who could only be Sarah, Joel's first daughter. The one whose death had broken him, according to Tess.
On the kitchen counter lay a handwritten note:
*Had to check in with Tommy. Food in the fridge. Make yourself at home. -Joel*
Arthur folded the note and placed it in his pocket next to his mother's photograph. He wasn't hungry. Instead, curiosity drove him to explore the house further, seeking insights into the man who was his father.
The guitar showed signs of regular use. A carving project sat half-finished on a side table. In the living room, a shelf held a collection of music cassettes and CDs salvaged from who-knows-where. The domesticity of it all felt alien to Arthur, who had grown up in the clinical efficiency of Firefly barracks.
A knock at the door interrupted his exploration. Arthur tensed, hand automatically reaching for the knife at his belt.
"It's Ellie," came a voice from outside. "You decent?"
Arthur relaxed marginally. "Come in."
The door opened, and Ellie stepped inside, carrying a cloth-covered basket. She looked as though she hadn't slept well either, dark circles under her eyes contrasting with her determined expression.
"Brought you breakfast," she said, setting the basket on the kitchen counter. "Maria's orders. She thinks you look underfed."
Arthur eyed the basket suspiciously. "I don't need charity."
Ellie rolled her eyes. "It's not charity, it's community. Get used to it if you're staying." She uncovered the basket, revealing still-warm bread, some eggs, and what looked like jam. "Anyway, I'm supposed to show you around Jackson today."
"Babysitting duty," Arthur observed, but he moved toward the food, his stomach betraying him with a loud growl.
"Call it what you want. Joel's orders." Ellie watched as he began to eat, noting how he positioned himself with his back to the wall, eyes on the exits. "He's worried about you."
Arthur paused mid-bite. "He barely knows me."
"That's Joel for you," Ellie said, a complexity of emotions crossing her face. "Once he decides you're... his, that's it. No going back."
Arthur heard the slight hesitation in her voice, the unspoken history. "You two have a fight recently?" He wasn't asking out of concern—information gathering was second nature.
Ellie's expression closed off. "None of your business."
"Fair enough." Arthur continued eating while Ellie wandered the room, picking up items and setting them down, unable to be still. Her discomfort was palpable.
"You saved him," she said suddenly, back turned to Arthur. "But I still don't know why."
Arthur considered his answer carefully. "Neither do I, completely. I'd been watching for months, trying to understand what kind of man would destroy the chance for a cure." He saw Ellie's shoulders tense. "But then I saw how he was with you, with everyone here. It didn't match what the Fireflies told me."
Ellie turned to face him, eyes fierce. "So what, you decided he deserved mercy?"
"I decided I needed answers more than I needed revenge," Arthur replied evenly. "And yesterday, watching Abby about to..." He trailed off, the image of the golf club raised above Joel's head flashing in his mind. "It felt wrong."
Something passed between them—not understanding exactly, but recognition of shared trauma, shared connection to Joel.
"How is he?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.
"Stubborn. Doc says he needs to rest for at least a week, but he's already talking about patrol schedules." Ellie shook her head, exasperation tinged with fondness. "Tommy and Maria are keeping him busy with settlement business while he recovers."
Arthur nodded, finishing his breakfast. "This tour, then?"
Outside, Jackson pulsed with morning activity. People tending gardens, repairing structures, children heading to what appeared to be a schoolhouse. Arthur felt exposed, too visible after months of keeping to shadows. Conversations paused as they passed, curious glances following them.
"Word travels fast," he muttered.
"You're news," Ellie said simply. "Joel's secret son appearing out of nowhere to save his life? People are going to talk."
As they walked, Ellie pointed out the important locations—the armory, the stables, the watchtowers, the communal spaces. Arthur noted defensive positions, escape routes, vulnerabilities in the walls—old habits that would take time to break, if they ever did.
"And that's the clinic where Joel's recuperating," Ellie said, gesturing to the building they were approaching. "We should check on him."
Inside, they found Joel sitting up in bed, engaged in a heated discussion with Tommy about patrol schedules. Both men looked up as they entered.
"Arthur," Joel acknowledged, eyes examining his son as if confirming he was still there. "You sleep okay?"
"Fine," Arthur replied tersely, uncomfortable with the parental concern.
Tommy stood, clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder as he passed. "Glad you decided to stay, kid. We owe you." His accent—similar to Joel's but softer—wrapped around the words with genuine warmth.
As Tommy left, Joel gestured for them to sit. "Ellie showing you around?"
"Just finished the tour," Ellie said, perching on the edge of Joel's bed with casual familiarity. "He hasn't run screaming yet, so I guess that's something."
Joel smiled slightly, but his eyes remained serious. "What do you think of Jackson?" he asked Arthur.
Arthur considered the question. "It's... impressive. Sustainable. Better protected than most settlements I've seen."
"High praise coming from Firefly training," Joel remarked.
Arthur tensed at the mention. "Ex-Firefly."
An awkward silence descended. Ellie fidgeted with the bracelet on her wrist, clearly uncomfortable.
"I should go," she said abruptly. "Promised Dina I'd help with something." She stood, avoiding Joel's eyes. "I'll be back later to check on you."
As she reached the door, Joel called after her. "Ellie." She paused but didn't turn. "We still need to talk."
"Later," she said, and slipped out.
Arthur watched this exchange with curiosity. "What happened between you two?"
Joel sighed, running a hand over his face. "It's complicated."
"Most things are these days."
Joel studied Arthur for a moment, then made a decision. "She found out about Salt Lake City. The whole truth. That I took away her choice." He paused. "The night before Abby's group ambushed us, we had a fight. A bad one."
Arthur absorbed this information. "She didn't know? All this time?"
"I told her the Fireflies had stopped looking for a cure. That there were dozens of immune people." Joel's voice was heavy with regret. "I lied to protect her. To keep her."
"And now she knows you killed everyone who could have made a vaccine from her immunity," Arthur finished. The irony wasn't lost on him—he'd spent years hating Joel for this very action, and now Ellie was doing the same.
"I'm not sorry for saving her," Joel said firmly. "But I am sorry for lying. For taking away her choice. When I saw her face that night..." He trailed off, the memory clearly painful.
Arthur leaned forward. "She still came for you yesterday. When she thought you were in danger."
"Yeah," Joel admitted. "Seems she still cares, even if she hates me a little now."
The conversation shifted to practical matters—Arthur's plans, Joel's recovery, Jackson's needs. As they talked, Arthur found himself studying Joel's mannerisms, hearing echoes of his own gestures, the way they both assessed rooms upon entering, the similar cadence in certain phrases. Nature or nurture, there was something shared between them that went beyond circumstance.
Later that afternoon, Arthur wandered the settlement alone, processing the day's revelations. He found himself near the stables, drawn by the quiet presence of animals—easier to understand than people.
"Hey! New guy!"
Arthur turned to see Dina approaching, dark hair pulled back, expression openly curious.
"You look lost," she said.
"Just exploring," he replied, guard up.
Dina leaned against the stable door. "So you're really staying?"
"For now."
She studied him with unnerving directness. "You don't say much, do you?"
"Not unless there's something worth saying."
Dina laughed. "You're definitely not what I expected from Joel's son."
Arthur tensed. "What were you expecting?"
"I don't know. More brooding, maybe? More..." She gestured vaguely at her face. "Gruff dadness."
Despite himself, Arthur felt his lips twitch toward a smile. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, I didn't say I was disappointed," Dina replied with a playful smile. "Just surprised. Anyway, I should find Ellie. We're on fence repair today." Her expression softened slightly. "She might act tough, but she's been through a lot. Especially lately."
Arthur nodded, sensing there was more to her words than casual concern. "She and Joel seem... complicated."
"That's putting it mildly," Dina said. "But they care about each other. Sometimes that just makes the hurt worse when things go sideways."
With that cryptic comment, she departed, leaving Arthur pondering the dynamic between Joel and Ellie—and what it meant that Ellie had chosen to come help save Joel despite their fight.
As evening approached, Arthur returned to Joel's house, feeling the weight of others' expectations. The prodigal son, returned to a father he'd never known. The savior of Jackson's beloved leader. The ex-Firefly with unknown loyalties. So many roles to navigate, none of them comfortable.
He found Ellie on Joel's porch, tuning a guitar with frustration evident in every movement.
"You play?" he asked, sitting on the step below her.
She scowled at the instrument. "Joel's been teaching me. I'm not very good."
"Tess used to sing," Arthur said, the memory surfacing unexpectedly. "When I was very young. Before she left me with the Fireflies. Old songs she remembered from before."
Ellie looked up, surprised by the personal revelation. "Joel sings sometimes too. When he thinks no one's listening."
They sat in what might have been their first comfortable silence.
"I heard you and Dina are friends," Arthur ventured, testing the waters.
Ellie's hands stilled on the guitar. "Yeah. Best friends. Why?"
Something in her tone made Arthur curious. "Just making conversation."
Ellie returned to tuning, her movements more aggressive than necessary. "She kissed me. At the dance. The night before Joel's... before the attack."
Arthur's pulse quickened unexpectedly. "Oh?"
"It was stupid," Ellie muttered. "Everyone was watching. I got mad at her. Then mad at Joel when he tried to step in. Said some things I..." She trailed off.
"And now you feel guilty," Arthur observed. "Because you almost lost him without making it right."
Ellie's head snapped up, green eyes flashing. "You don't know anything about it."
"I know guilt," Arthur said quietly. "I know what it's like to replay your last words to someone over and over, wishing you could take them back."
Ellie's anger deflated. "He lied to me. For years."
"To protect you."
"That wasn't his call to make!" She set the guitar aside with more force than necessary. "I could have been the cure. My life could have meant something."
Arthur studied her, this fierce girl who carried the weight of humanity's salvation on her shoulders. "The Fireflies wouldn't have asked your permission, you know. You were unconscious when you arrived. They were prepping for surgery before Joel even knew what they planned."
Ellie stared at him. "How do you know that?"
"I've read the logs. Talked to survivors." Arthur met her gaze steadily. "They would have killed you whether you consented or not."
Ellie absorbed this, conflict evident on her face.
"It doesn't make what Joel did right," Arthur continued. "But it's not as black and white as you might think."
The front door opened before Ellie could respond, and Joel appeared, leaning heavily on a cane. "Doc said I could come home if I promised to rest," he explained at their surprised expressions.
Arthur rose instinctively, ready to offer assistance, but hesitated, unsure if the gesture would be welcome. Ellie had no such reservations, immediately moving to Joel's side.
"You stubborn old man," she muttered, but there was no real anger in her voice.
Joel smiled tiredly. "Turns out hospital beds aren't great for actual healing."
For a moment, they stood there—an unconventional family unit formed through blood, choice, and circumstance. Arthur felt like an intruder witnessing something private as Ellie helped Joel inside, their movements conveying a history he wasn't part of.
"You coming?" Joel called back to him.
Arthur hesitated, then followed them inside. As he watched Ellie fuss over Joel's comfort while pretending not to care, he recognized the magnitude of what Joel had sacrificed for her in Salt Lake City. The vaccine that might have saved humanity—traded for this one fierce, broken girl.
What would it be like, Arthur wondered, to be valued that much? To matter so much to someone that they would burn the world for you?
That night, as he lay in bed listening to the quiet sounds of the house settling, Arthur examined the unfamiliar emotions stirring within him. Curiosity about Ellie's dynamic with Dina. Yearning for the easy familiarity Ellie shared with Joel. Cautious hope that perhaps Jackson could offer more than just temporary shelter.
He touched the photograph of Tess, his most precious possession. "I found him, Mom," he whispered. "Now what?"
Outside, snow began to fall again, covering Jackson in a fresh blanket of white. Promise or warning, Arthur couldn't tell. Either way, tomorrow would come, bringing him one day further into this new life, one day further from the solitary existence he'd known.
And somewhere in the distance, he knew, Abby was still out there—wounded, diminished, but alive. A loose end in a world where those rarely stayed untied for long.