endure and survive. | tlou

࿔ joel. 〔 this time. 〕

ㅤㅤ✹⠀˖

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:
requested by dr_jareid
joel finds out the reader is pregnant. for the sake of my sanity let's pretend joel is in his mid-forties while you're in your late thirties. (just because any age after 40 is a big risk for pregnancies.)

࿔

"Why now?"

You panicked, as you had been doing for the last ten minutes or so, shuffling out of your bathroom to the hallway. You'd missed your assignment for the morning in a moment of sheer fright and astonishment so it only seemed likely that it was Maria at your door. The woman -much as you valued her company- always came to check in on you whenever you missed a patrol. She was your closest friend after all, thanks to Tommy Miller.

Your socks skidded along the cool flooring of your home, Joel was out for the day with his baby brother -their annual fishing trip of Spring happened to be this day- so it was just you. Ellie had stopped by earlier and let you, after some persistence, make her breakfast and chatted for a bit before heading off to a partner patrol.

You passed the living room that almost anxiously awaited your return, though you wouldn't be relaxing any time soon, and pulled the door open. As suspected Maria stood on your doorstep, looking down at a piece of paper before folding and tucking it in her pocket.

"Jesse said you missed patrol," she starts, taking in your disheveled state. Your shirt-it's Joel's technically-is loose around your frame, hanging halfway down your shoulders from your quick sprint to the bathroom. Your pajama pants are drooping by your ankles, not bothered to be rolled up like you usually keep them. "Are you alright, Y/N?"

You nod, chewing at your lip to soothe your rattled mind. Minutes prior to Maria's arrival you'd gotten the urge to vomit, immediately dashing to the nearest bathroom until you could make your way upstairs to your little stash of feminine products. It was then you realized, at the sight of a pile of unused tampons, that you were late.

"Yeah, I just didn't feel well." You inform her through nervous words, stuttering over the last one as it tried so desperately to get past your quivering lip. Your stomach still felt a mess, like someone had decided to go kicking around in your lower intestine.

Before Maria can respond, or even think about what she wants to say, the urge to hurl your guts up hits you and you're speeding back to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Your friend, concerned, steps inside the home and follows behind you with a jog.

She stops just outside the slammed shut door, cringing at the sound of you retching into the toilet. She debates stepping inside but decides to give you the moment of privacy; she knows how stubborn you are about accepting help. Only when she hears you sigh in distaste and the whirring sound of the flushing toilet does she push the door open. Maria has at least two ideas forming in her head about your newfound sickness.

You run a hand over your mouth, nose wrinkling at the bitter taste in your mouth. Maria is quick to leave the room, reappearing a moment later with a cup filled with what you assume is water.

"So," she drawls, watching you take a generous sip of the water until your features soften from the refresh. "Are you-do you think you're pregnant?"

You sigh, rubbing your aching temples with your fingertips. "I don't know."

You were fairly certain that you had to be pregnant; a fact that was both terrifying and exhilarating. Was it healthy for you to have a baby at your age? In this world? The biggest worry occupying your mind was how Joel would respond to the information. You knew he had a tough time with kids after Sarah, and his bond with Ellie had started straining for reasons he would not yet confess to you. That would come at a later time, a quiet night when the man was buzzing on the softness of your humming mixed with his guitar.