Chapter Text
The first time Joel Miller saved my life was an accident.
I thanked him by breaking his nose.
It was the tenth anniversary of Outbreak Day. When I woke up, I laid in bed, staring at the watermarks on the ceiling and listening to my neighbors fighting. Even with his yelling and her crying, I could still hear the steady drip of the bathroom faucet and I was hard pressed to decide which was worse. Above me, the ceiling fan chugged away valiantly, swaying almost violently with each rotation, and still doing almost nothing to alleviate the near stifling heat.
Today was the day I was going to die.
I was ready. More than ready, if I was honest with myself. I couldn’t say I’d spent the last decade living so much as surviving and I was exhausted even trying to do that. It took more and more effort and energy to go through the most basic, mundane activities—eating, drinking, brushing my teeth… breathing. God, the energy it took to force myself to breathe… there were days it took me an hour just to get out of bed because the energy I expended just forcing myself to breathe exhausted me too much to move. So I was ready.
The only thing left to do was actually die.
With the decision made, I got out of bed, going through the day to day minutia which was supposed to remind me that even though the world had essentially ended life still went on. As I brushed my teeth, I contemplated my options. Drugs and alcohol would probably be the easiest to procure, especially since my lack of appetite the last few months meant I had more than enough ration cards. But just because they were easy to find didn’t mean they’d be effective and while dying no longer scared me the thought of fucking it up and winding up in a FEDRA facility, unable to protect myself from the so-called medical professionals, definitely did.
I toyed with the idea of asking one of the regulars at the underground bar where I worked to do the task. I didn’t ask personal questions about any of the men who paid for the rotgut masquerading as whiskey with their ration cards and they didn’t offer any explanations for why they always had wads of the pseudo-currency to spend but it didn’t take a genius to figure out their bounty didn’t come from cleaning sewers or burning bodies. But again there was that fear of the job being botched.
That really only left one person—my boss.
He’d argue with me, lecture me, beg and plead, probably curse me up one side and down the other. But in the end, he’d do what I asked. And more importantly, he’d make sure it was done right. If I trusted anyone in the Boston QZ, it was Frankie.
With that last decision made, I finished getting dressed and left for work. I’d wait until the end of my shift to talk to Frankie. Hopefully it would be a low-key day with steady business and he’d be in a good mood when I asked him to help me kill myself.
For the first half of the day, it seemed as if my unspoken prayer would be answered. Outbreak Day tended to be a somber affair—too many people with too many bad memories. Even the Fireflies refrained from any actual activity, although there was always one idealistic idiot who felt the need to tag a wall with the terrorist group’s motto. The people who came in to drink kept to themselves, none of them pressing for conversation, all of them lost in their own dark thoughts.
So when Joel and Tess came in, I didn’t think anything of it. I knew them to nod at, although we’d never exchanged a single word and I doubted they knew my name. Whatever business they had with Frankie was either done after hours or back in his office and although I’d heard whispers about what that business was at the end of the day it didn’t concern me. Joel’s brother, Tommy, tagged along on occasion and while the other three handled business he’d sit in the bar, talking to anyone willing to carry on a conversation. He’d tried a few times with me before one of the afternoon regulars, name unknown, had finally told him to leave me the fuck alone and let me work in peace. Tommy had stammered out an apology before slinking outside to wait for his brother and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since, some three years later.
In the before, I would have found the whole situation amusing. Maybe teased the regular about being jealous of some other man getting attention from me. Maybe flirted with Tommy just because.
But this was the after.
Tess caught Frankie’s eye and nodded in the direction of his office. To my surprise, instead of following them, Joel parked himself at the bar, his back to the wall, his gaze sweeping from the entrance to the tiny hallway leading to Frankie’s office before shifting back to the entrance. Every few minutes he’d repeat the inspection, tapping his fingers to some internal beat. After fifteen minutes or so, he said, “Could I have a water, please?”
“Sure.” I’d never seen him drink anything else, although I knew he and Tess made the occasional trade with Frankie for alcohol. Maybe he was a private drinker. Or maybe he simply didn’t believe in drinking on the job. As curious as I might have been, it still wasn’t my concern. I set the glass in front of him and then for some reason said, “It’s on the house.”
He shifted his gaze, giving me the full weight of his stare, and I started to take a step back, catching myself at the last second and straightening my spine. Something crackled in the air between us, not electricity, not heat, but something which was the sum of the two and yet somehow more. After a moment, his lips twitched, just the faintest hint of movement, and he said, “Generous of you.”
Before I could respond, the door at the entrance slammed open and someone yelled, “FEDRA, incoming!”
The bar erupted into chaos, people scrambling to get their things and get the hell out. I grabbed the metal box which served as the bar’s currency drawer and tucked it under my arm, grabbing my sweater with my free hand and fighting against the flow of the crowd to reach Frankie’s office. Depending on who was leading the raid, he’d either have to pay a hefty fine/bribe or spend a few nights in detention but I’d be damned if I was going to leave ration cards out in the open for fucking FEDRA to line their pockets. I’d barely made it ten feet before Joel grabbed my elbow and asked, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m baking a cake, obviously.” I bit back a curse when someone easily twice my size trod on my foot but wasn’t able to refrain when someone’s elbow plowed into my right cheekbone. “Oh, fuck me!”
“Not the time.” He tightened his grip on my arm and began pulling me toward the side exit, letting out a curse of his own when I struggled to pull away. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Frankie.” My face was already beginning to throb and while I was sure I didn’t have a concussion I was definitely getting a headache from dealing with the older Miller. “Ration cards. Safe.”
“Fuck.” I suppose I should have been grateful he was able to piece my intentions together from those four words. Later, when my head wasn’t pounding, I’d try and remember to thank him. He glared down at me, working his jaw in obvious frustration, before shoving me in front of him, shielding me from the crowd as he guided us toward Frankie’s office. “Your boss needs to give you a raise.”
“Like any of us are getting paid in this fucking economy.” I wasn’t a small woman but the way Joel wrapped around me, blocking any errant blows, made me feel as delicate as a porcelain doll. “His office is—.”
“I know.” He pushed us through a knot of panicking teenagers and past the swinging door separating the bar from the back. The noise level mercifully dropped and I sighed in relief. “You know how to get in the safe?”
“One of them.” I waited for him to unwrap himself from around me, frowning when he simply continued moving us toward the office. “Uh, Miller?”
“Wait.” He shoved me into the office, spinning me around and backing me up until my legs hit the edge of the desk. “FEDRA’s in the bar.”
“Which would be why I’m trying to hide the damn ration cards.” I squeaked when he scooped me up and dropped me on the desk only to sputter unintelligibly when he stepped between my thighs, grabbing my knees and bringing them up to rest on his hips. “Wha—.”
“They are in the bar. They’re going to come through those doors any second.” He took the currency box, opening it and grabbing a handful of cards and flinging them around the room before taking a second handful and tossing them directly over our heads. I stared, dumbfounded, as the wrinkled scraps of paper floated down around us, while Joel yanked open the top drawers of the desk, throwing random pages around the room before shoving the box in one of them, burying it under layers of paper. Gathering the loose fabric of the back on my shirt in one fist, he pulled me forward until our bodies were flush against each other. He gripped my chin in his other hand, fanning his fingers over the side of my throat, his gaze guarded. “Don’t bite.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he brought his mouth down on mine.
For someone who’d just issued an admonishment to not bite, he kissed as if he was trying to devour me, all teeth and tongues and a desperation which didn’t feel entirely feigned. My mind blanked, completely and utterly, and for a moment I forgot the world had ended, society had ended, and I was actively doing my best to end my own life.
There was only the taste of him, dark and smoky, and the smell of him, salty and woodsy. I reached blindly for something, anything, to hold on to, to ground myself, finally grabbing his shoulders only to immediately slide my fingers into his hair, clutching the slightly damp curls at the nape of his neck. He tilted me back, following me, his mouth never leaving mine as he laid me down on the desk, crawling up and draping himself over me. When he flexed his fingers on my throat, I moaned, unable to help myself, only to gasp when he ground his hips against mine.
He broke the kiss, pulling back until our lips were barely touching, his breathing as ragged as mine. “Don’t. Don’t—.”
“Damn. Talk about a celebration.” There was something in the tone, a cross between a sneer and a leer, which not only broke through the sudden haze of lust but instantly made the entire scene feel dirty, sordid. I kept my eyes closed as Joel surged to his feet, pulling me with him and shoving me between him and the wall, once again shielding me. “Oh, look. This guy here thinks he’s a gentleman.”
“Something wrong, officers?” Joel sounded contrite, apologetic even, but his body was vibrating with tension. “We’re not breaking curfew, are we? I’ll admit we got a bit carried away, might have lost track of time, and—.”
“We’re looking for Franklin Stuart. Frankie.” This was a different voice, harsher, more professional, and somehow uglier for the lack of emotion. “Seen him?”
“No, sir.” There was a shuffling noise and then I felt Joel take my hand, squeezing it once. “Babe?”
“No.” I forced myself to open my eyes, shifting until I was just able to peek around him, making eye contact with one of the FEDRA officers before ducking behind Joel again. “No, sir.”
“This is his bar. His office.” Mr. Professional sounded suspicious and I focused on controlling my breathing, doing my best to ignore the sweat dripping down my back. “And neither of you know where Frankie is?”
“Honestly, sir, wasn’t really paying attention to where we were.” Joel’s voice deepened, taking on a faint twang. “Kinda had my mind on other things, if you catch my drift.”
“Right.” Mr. Professional tapped his fingers on his weapon. “Got carried away.”
The silence stretched out, growing thinner and tighter with each second, and I felt Joel’s spine stiffen vertebrae by vertebrae. I resisted the urge to squirm, to try and dig the flip knife out of my back pocket, although what it would do against semi-automatic weapons, I didn’t know. Finally, in the breath before I knew the tension would snap, Mr. Disgusting said, “He’s not here, man. You wanna arrest’em for screwing in public, go ahead, but I’m not gonna spend the afternoon doing paperwork for a couple of hornballs.”
“You’ve got ten minutes to clear the area.” Mr. Professional barked out the order, already heading for the door. “We see you again, you’re going to detention.”
Neither of us moved until their footsteps faded away and then Joel strode out of the room, pulling me with him. Exiting through the back door, he continued pulling me down one alley and then another, seemingly picking side streets at random, and even though I considered myself familiar with Boston QZ, it didn’t take too long for me to become hopelessly lost. After walking at least a mile, if not further, I yanked my hand from his, ignoring the fleeting disappointment at the loss of contact. He turned to me, the annoyance evident on his face.
And I punched him.
I didn’t even realize I planned to do it until the force of the blow was singing up my arm, my knuckles immediately protesting the violent act. Letting out a string of profanity, I cradled my now injured hand, vaguely aware Joel had bent forward, both of his hands cupped over his nose. He straightened, glaring at me over his hands. His words were muffled but still clear enough. “You broke my fucking nose.”
“Your face broke my fucking hand.” I gasped when he snatched my sweater, still somehow clutched in my hand, wading it up and pressing it to his bloody face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Are you?” He grabbed my empty, uninjured hand and once again began pulling me down the alley. “Goddamn it. Fucking broken nose.”
“I’m gonna break something else if you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re doing and where the fuck you’re taking me.”
“Someplace safe.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and he should have looked ridiculous with a pastel pink sweater, smeared liberally with blood, covering the lower half of his face, but if anything the absurdity of the makeshift bandage made his scowl that much more intense. “Where FEDRA won’t look for you and we can both get some first aid.”
I laughed. “Why would FEDRA be looking for me?”
“Because they’ll have rounded up a few people who couldn’t get out in time and one of them is going to talk. One of them always does.” Another glance over his shoulder, questioning, accessing. “And when they talk, they’ll talk about the bargirl, because you’re less scary than Frankie. And then FEDRA will come looking for you.”
“Fine, they’ll come looking for me.” I scoffed. “What’s the worst thing they can do? Kill me? Big deal.”
He stopped so abruptly I couldn’t help running into him, cursing when my nose smashed into his back. Taking a step back, I scowled up at him. “What? Are you trying to break my nose to even the score?”
“No.” He matched my scowl, although I was willing to admit to myself his was a great deal fiercer than mine. “No. Just… come on.”
For the next half hour or so, I stared at Joel’s back as he zigzagged us through narrow streets and back alleys, wondering how I’d wound up in this situation and why I wasn’t doing more to get out of it. Finally, we reached a five story apartment building which had clearly seen better days and he pulled me up the stairs and into what had no doubt once been a grand foyer. Glancing around, I said, “Let me guess—we’re going to the top floor and the elevator doesn’t work.”
“Even if it did, you’d have to be crazy or stupid to risk riding in an elevator that probably hasn’t been serviced since the start of the outbreak.” Another narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the internal assessment he was running. “Or you’d have to have a death wish.”
“Hmm.” I met his gaze, widening my eyes. “Well, lead the way. Onward and upward.”
When we finally gained the top floor, he dragged me halfway down the hall, giving a cursory knock on the door before pushing it open. Only then did he finally drop my hand, lowering the now ruined sweater at the same time. “See you didn’t have a problem getting out.”
“Frankie had me out the back door and a block away before the first agent was in the bar.” Tess strode across the room, cupping Joel’s face in her hands for a moment before pulling him into a swaying embrace, not sparing me so much as a glance. Drawing back, she studied him, her brows drawing together as she frowned. “What happened to your nose?”
“Took a hit from an elbow trying to get out.” The lie rolled so smoothly off his tongue I almost believed it myself even though my hand was still throbbing like a rotted tooth. “Bargirl was deadset on stashing Frankie’s bank, got her hand smashed in the office door, slipped on the stairs and nearly bashed her face in.” He didn’t shake off Tess’s hands so much as ease away from them and despite myself I tucked the little exchange away to be mulled over some later time. “Figured it’d be in our best interests to take care of Frankie’s employee.”
“Probably, yeah.” Now Tess did turn her attention to me, the hint of softness around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth shifting into a wary hardness. “He must pay you a lot to risk getting caught by FEDRA.”
“As I told Miller, like any of us are getting paid in this fucking economy.” We stared at each other for a long moment before I sighed, answering the unasked question. “FEDRA already has more than enough. Gets more than enough. I wasn’t letting those greedy fucks take anymore, especially from someone providing a community service.”
Tess barked out a laugh. “You call trading ration cards for alcohol which could double as industrial strength cleaner a community service?”
“I’d consider it in the same vein as getting pills from FEDRA factories.” Just because I didn’t concern myself with their business didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of the nature of it. “Some people need pills. Sone need cheap alcohol. We’re all coping in one way or another.”
Before Tess could answer, the door burst open behind me, Joel was already in the process of shoving both Tess and myself across the room before Tommy took more than two steps in the room. The younger Miller instantly drew up short, lifting both hands in surrender. “Probably should have knocked. Just heard about the raid, knew you had business this afternoon. Wanted to come and make sure you were okay.”
“We’re fine.” Joel bit out the words, gesturing to his face and then vaguely in my direction. “A little busted up but no permanent damage.”
Tommy’s gaze tracked to me, his mouth opening and closing in unconcealed shock for a moment before he managed to stammer out, “Right. The bargirl—Kay.” He cleared his throat. “Is that short for something, like a nickname or just… okay?”
“Yes.” Leaving it at that, I held up my injured hand. “I was promised first-aid?”
“Yeah.” Joel moved aside, nodding at his brother and then myself. “Tommy, you fix her up?”
And so on the night I’d planned on killing myself, I instead sat in Joel Miller’s apartment while his brother bandaged my hand and his partner watched me as if I was a stray dog in danger of turning rabid. And the next night, I answered a knock on my door to find the Miller brothers in my hall with empty frayed duffel bags in their hands and within two hours me and my meager belongings had taken up residence in the second bedroom of Tommy’s apartment, right next to Tess and Joel’s. And the night after that, I sat at the kitchen table with them as the three mapped out a smuggling run, Tommy explaining each step to me with limitless patience while Tess and Joel argued routes and targets and hazards.
And so Joel Miller saved my life by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And neither of us mentioned the broken nose or the conversation in the alley or the fact he watched me a little too closely, made it a point to make sure I was never alone for too long. I still wasn’t interested in living.
But Joel Miller seemed more than a little interested in making sure I didn’t die.