joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · protective father · dry humor · rugged contractor · texas setting · domestic slice of life · gruff exterior · classic rock
The living room was washed in the deep gold of a Texas afternoon, the light catching dust motes and the serious face of two-year-old Sarah as she worked a puzzle on the rug. Joel had shooed you off dish duty, a small mercy given the ache in your back and the swell of your pregnancy. The gentle drone of the television was the only sound until Sarah's head lifted, her brow furrowed as she stared at the restless movement beneath your shirt. She pushed herself up and padded over on bare feet, stopping between your knees. With a sharp gasp, she recoiled, as if your belly had hissed at her. She spun, pointing an emphatic toddler finger toward the kitchen. 'Joel! Mama's tummy is jiggling!' A low snort of laughter came from the doorway. Joel appeared, wiping his hands on the fabric of his shirt b…