tushanshu_logs

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Characters: Joel, Sarah
Date: 17th April
Location: Sarah's treehouse
Situation: Joel finally finding the courage to find Sarah.
Warnings/Rating: A for ANGST ATTACK and M for MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF MANPAIN. (In other words, PG.)

Joel has been here four days. Four days of barely sleeping, barely eating, refusing to leave the suite, keeping a close, paranoid, almost suffocating watch over Ellie. Four days of obsessively stewing over Sarah, trying to come to terms with what Ellie told him, with what Tess has told him, with Tess being fucking alive, with the video he keeps watching on the console when he's certain no one else is around.

Four days. And on the afternoon of that fourth day, he decides: it's time to find Sarah.

He showers; a long, long hot shower, relishing in the wonderful liquid warmth of fresh water warming his aching muscles and bruised skin. Jesus Christ, how he's missed simple things like showering, something he took for granted every day of his life before the infection broke out. Just like he took a lot of things for granted. Like Sarah. He never realised just how much he took her for granted until that night she was taken away from him.

The shower, though, it helps clear his mind a little. The heat, the steam, the wonderful clean scent of fresh soap, being able to scrub his hair with shampoo and conditioner. For the first time in years, he feels clean, actually clean when he steps out, skin red, almost raw from the water's heat. He dries off and dresses: ratty cargo pants that have dirt stains rubbed into them and tear holes ripped into the fabric; a dark blue-grey t-shirt that's equally as tattered with age and wear; his old, worn boots. And with his stomach in squirming, writhing knots, his hands trembling slightly with nervous fear, he shoulders his backpack, pushes his pistol into his waistband and steps outside into the sunshine.

He keeps to the back alleys and the least crowded parts that he can find, glancing with paranoia over his shoulder every now and again, hand ready to grab out his pistol at any moment should he need to. It takes him a while to find his way to the Wood sector but he knows he's in it when he reaches it: the trees and foliage lining the streets and the treehouses built into the trees give it away.

He finds it eventually: WO-3A. The treehouse Sarah lives in. Joel stops outside and stares up at it, his throat tight, his chest even tighter and everything screaming in him to turn and leave as fast as his fucking legs can take him. What is he even going to say to her? What do you say to someone you've been grieving for for twenty years?

Just keep pushing forward, he tells himself. It's what has gotten him through the last twenty years. It's probably the only thing that's going to get him through this. And so, with a deep, shaky breath, he approaches the treehouse and begins to ascend the treehouse to the front door.

He stands there and stares at the door; and again, he almost baulks. Almost turns tail. Almost rushes back down into the street for the garden, ready to double over and empty the contents of his stomach on the grass. Shit, he's not ready for this. He is not fucking ready for this.

He closes his eyes and makes himself suck in another deep breath. Sarah. His daughter. His baby girl. He focuses on the memory of her face and that centres himself enough to find enough courage to lift his hand and knock on the door before he can lose his nerve.

He takes a step back and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, his heart hammering allegro in his chest.

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Sarah on the other hand hasn't been nearly so tormented. With all that's going on as of late, she's glad to have a quiet day to catch a break. People she'd befriended, however briefly, are gone and she'll probably never see them again. They're gone, just like her father a few weeks before. It still hurts, and while she pushes it down and away, keeping herself occupied otherwise and with a smile on her face, Sarah definitely isn't expecting to see Joel again any time soon.

The knock on the door stirs her from her place on the couch, the kid lying half upside down with her feet on the top of the chair. "Comin'!" she calls.

It's probably Ellie, or perhaps Jack. Someone coming to see what she's up to and to bug her to come join them on some adventure. Rolling to her feet, Sarah heads for the door, dragging her feet as she goes.

Then the door cracks open, and her eyes widen in surprise at the man on the other side of it. Her knuckles turn white as she grips the doorknob. In that moment a tidal wave of emotion crashes over her and near knocks the wind out of her. It takes Sarah a moment to find her voice, and when she speaks, it's small.

"D-daddy? Is that really you?"

Please be you, Daddy.

He hears footsteps approaching the door, quiet footsteps, and he takes another half-step backwards, wiping his palms on his pants again. Keep it together. Fucking keep it together. There's a part of him that's rushing with sudden desperate longing, like every nerve ending is on fire; and there's another part of him that's simply terrified, absolutely fucking terrified.

He stands stock still, his face blank, guarded, eyes locked on the door as he hears the doorknob rattling and turning.

And then--

His eyes see her the moment she opens the door, but it's like he's suddenly entered a long tunnel. Everything around him - every sound, every smell, every breeze pushing through the air - zones out of his periphery as he stares down at Sarah. His eyes see her - her face, her hair, her blue eyes, her small and slender body, everything that he remembers about her - but it's momentarily like a scrambled image, something his brain can't, won't, make sense of.

Unconsciously, he takes another step backwards, hands balling into nervous fists either side of him, the cracked glass on his watch glinting in the afternoon sunshine. And suddenly, his knees feel weak as emotions he can't even begin to put into words slam into his chest; his knees feel like they're about to buckle underneath him, and it takes all his strength and willpower not to let his legs cave.

For a moment, his throat closes up and his mouth goes dry and it's like his tongue is made of cotton wool. He swallows thickly.

"Hey, baby girl," he manages to say, his voice scratchy and hollow, sounding a million miles away to his own ears.

There's a lump in her throat and her eyes burn with tears threatening to spill. Sarah forces herself to swallow and refuses to let herself cry. If there's one thing she's learned this past few months it's that she needs to be strong. Strong for herself, and right now, strong for him.

His words are barely voiced before she charges forward, moving without even fully processing that she's doing so. Her arms move around his middle and she clings to him with all she's got.

"Don't go. Don't go away again, y'hear me?" Sarah pleads, eyes wet no matter how she fights to keep control.

It hits him like a delayed echo, the way she'd called him 'daddy' when she first opened the door. Something he never in a million years thought he'd ever hear again - his baby girl calling him 'daddy'. Not that he's got any time to think over it, register it, come to any terms with it, because suddenly she's throwing herself at him.

He's just stands stock still. Stunned. In shock. Staring at nothing in particular ahead of him as she slams into him with arms going tight around his waist. Slowly, his hands move to her shoulders, and she's solid, she's warm, real. His hands squeeze. The last time Sarah had held him was when he'd been holding her in his arms, running for his life, telling her to just look at him, don't look at me, baby, focus on him, don't look at the people burning alive or the cars crashing into each other or the screaming terror going on all around them. She'd clung onto him with all her life and--

"Oh, Christ," leaves his lips, barely audible, broken, and suddenly he's squeezing her shoulders tight before one arm is grabbing her around the shoulders, hand balling into her shirt against her back, and his other comes up to clutch her head desperately against his chest. Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ. She's real, she's real. She's alive. Oh, Christ.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, baby girl," comes his broken reply, "I'm not goin' anywhere. I promise. I promise."

Edited 2014-04-18 12:36 (UTC)

She clings to him with all she's got. He's older than the father she left back home and while that brings to mind a mess of questions and worries, this isn't the first time she's encountered her father at this age. It's him though, Sarah knows this. Even after all this time he's still the same. Different in so many ways but still so very the same. It's the little things that she finds familiarity in; his scent, his warmth, how he wraps her up in that hug.

At the promise she holds to him tighter and lets out a small whimper. Tears stream freely down her face. She'd thought she was doing just fine without him there, and maybe she was, but now that he's back and promising to stay the relief hits her hard. A lot of fears Sarah didn't even know she was keeping ebb away. More rise to surface and for the moment, she pushes them away. There's more important things happening in this moment.

"Where'd you go? How are you here again?" she manages to say, voice thick with emotion.

It doesn't even cross her mind that this isn't the same father she had here before, or that he won't remember being here.

Hearing Sarah starting to cry, hearing that small, childlike whimper she gives - shit, it breaks something inside him. His eyes start to prickle and burn and a soft breath escapes him, a soundless sob as he grips Sarah to him that bit tighter. He lowers his head, rests his chin against the top of her head, squeezes his eyes shut.

"Hey," he manages to say through the cloud of shock and grief as Sarah murmurs questions with a choked sadness that cut straight into his chest. He's letting his hold on her go so he can crouch down in front of her. "Hey, hey," he continues, attempting to sound soothing, though the waver in his voice belies how much he's really fucking struggling to hold it together.

"Lemme look at you," he says, a knee coming to rest on the ground while he takes her face in his hands. He peers up at Sarah's eyes, at her face, at her lips, at her hair, unable to believe that he's looking at her. Holding her. That she's standing right here in front of him.

"I don't know where I went, baby," he says. A tear drops from his right eye, rolls down his cheek, gets caught in his beard. "But I'm here, okay? I'm here. And I'm--" He pushes his hands over her hair, smoothes it back, takes hold of her face again. His eyes, brimming with tears, cut between both of hers, searching, trying to come to terms with the reality of her. The realness of her.

"Jesus," he murmurs, his voice hitching. "Jesus, I've missed you. I've missed you so damn much--"

His trying to sooth her takes her back. Back before life on the turtle, back before Malicant and back before the infection. She's grown up a lot this past few months but in that moment, Sarah almost feels like the kid who stayed up too late just to goof around with her dad and give him his birthday present.

She takes a deep breath and tries to regain some control of herself. This is hard on her, but it's got to be worse for him. If he doesn't remember being here before then this is the first he's seen her in years. Seeing him cry about tears her apart. For him, she'll be strong.

Sarah gives a small nod and tries for a smile. "I missed you too," she mumbles, hand moving to his cheek to wipe away his tears. "It's okay Daddy. Don't cry. We're all here and... We're all together now okay?"

The touch of her fingers on his cheek is real, he can't wrap his mind around that she's real, that's she's really here. He's had dreams of things like this, dreams of finding out Sarah hadn't died at all; dreams of finding out that he'd somehow abandoned her; nightmares of finding out that she was still alive when he buried her with Tommy. And in every one of those dreams, she'd stood before him not unlike the way she's standing before him now, and in his dreams it's like his world has simultaneously regained meaning again and like his life has been turned upside down even more.

But this… He wouldn't be able to put into words the indescribable emotions tearing through him, numb and yet heart-wrenching, not even if he wanted to. He grabs hold of her hand touching his face, turns his head towards it, squeezes his eyes shut as he presses a lingering, desperate kiss to her palm. He breathes in the scent of her skin, his fingers gripping her hand, and god, she's real, she's real. She smells exactly how he remembers his baby girl always smelled.

He nods an almost imperceptible nod in response to her question, still clutching her hand, still breathing in the scent of her skin with surreal heartache and disbelief, then lets her hand go to grab Sarah to him in another fierce hug. His arms go around her waist his time with the way he's crouched down before her; he grips her shirt at her back, presses his face into the front of her shirt, breathes in the smell of her, Christ, oh Christ, she's real, she's real.

A sob is muffled against her shirt. A hand comes up to clutch her head against his shoulder, and it's all Joel can do for a little while: just hold her and quietly sob tears of disbelief and despair and grief, and joy. A joy he's never known since the night she was taken away from him. Soon, he pulls back again, arms letting her go, both hands coming back up to seize her face, to make her look at him, and his eyes shine with tears and his lips tremble with the beginnings of a smile.

"How 'bout--" He swallows, his throat tight. "How 'bout we go inside?"

Edited 2014-04-21 06:36 (UTC)

It's breaking her down to see him this way. Her big strong father, the man who always knew what to say and what to do, always there to guide her and protect her. To him he failed to save her, but to Sarah he was always there. Sometimes situations just get away, far away and well out of anyone's control.

She hates to see him cry, more so because of her, and she'd like to think that there's happiness in those tears far stronger than the pain. She knows this is probably wrong, but a kid can dream. If there's one thing Sarah has gotten good at, it's finding a positive in every situation, no matter how bleak it may seem. They're together again and that's what she'll focus on.

This is a situation neither of them should be in. This hurt shouldn't exist. But it's here, and it's happening, and as Joel lets out a muffled sob against her front, Sarah's hand finds his hair, fingers threading through it. It's scruffier now than it was. Greyer. Her father is older and it's strange to be seeing him like this when she's still the same.

"Inside. Yeah, okay," Sarah mumbles and reaches to take his hand. She doesn't want to let him go. Hell, deep down she's terrified that he's going to disappear.

"This whole place here is all mine." When she glances up at her father, there's a smile on her face, still emotional but a little more true.

As Sarah takes his hand, he anchors hers tightly in his, and pushes himself back to his feet. His body feels heavy, his head even more so, like he's going to lurch off to the side or like he might pass out. It's too much. This is all too much. He squeezes her hand, takes in a deep and quietly shuddering breath, lifts his other hand to swipe and rub away the tears damp on his cheeks and from his reddened eyes. He's gotta-- He's gotta rein himself back in here. Stay focused here. For Sarah's sake. For his own sake.

He glances down at her and squeezes her hand again at that smile she's giving him. That beautiful little smile that he took for granted all too often before the world went to shit; that gorgeous little smile that he could only ever lay his eyes upon in his dreams.

"A treehouse, huh?" he remarks, his voice raw while he tries mustering a smile for her in return. But then, despite himself and despite the surreality of the situation, a frown presses his brows together. "You been livin' here all on your own?"

She's feeling more in that moment than she knows what to do with. For the most part it's all good, happiness and relief, a pinch of excitement that he's really there with her again. With that though, there's sadness, regret. Sarah's had a lot of time to think since she got here, and while she won't say it out loud, a large sum of it has been about what she could of done to stop what happened to her from happening. What if they'd turned a different way? What if her leg hadn't got injured in the crash?

It's a serious line of thought for one so young, and a dangerous one at that. For the moment, she smiles, the expression more and more true with each passing moment. He's here with her and that's all that matters. What ifs be damned.

She nods her head and shrugs a shoulder. "Yeah... Ellie and Tess stop by a whole lot though!"

The girl squeezes his hand again and shoots him a reassuring look. "I'm okay, Daddy. I've been doin' okay."

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4 million years late. sorry dude!