February arrived with unforgiving brutality, bringing the harshest cold Jackson had experienced in years. The settlement hunkered down against temperatures that made exposed skin freeze within minutes, even the hardiest residents limiting outside activity to absolute necessities. Thick ice formed on window edges inside buildings despite constant fire maintenance, and water pipes froze despite being buried deep beneath the frost line.
It was in this relentless cold that Ellie's pregnancy took a sudden, difficult turn.
The morning sickness that had finally abated in her second trimester returned with vicious intensity, as if making up for lost time. Arthur woke to the now-familiar sound of retching from their small bathroom, the third morning in a row that Ellie had been violently ill before dawn even broke.
He found her kneeling on the cold floor, her body hunched miserably over the makeshift toilet. At twenty-two weeks pregnant, her belly had grown prominently rounded, making the position even more uncomfortable. Arthur knelt beside her without comment, one large hand gathering her hair away from her face while the other provided steadying support at her back.
When the episode finally passed, Ellie slumped against him, pale and trembling.
"This is bullshit," she muttered, voice raw from acid. "Doc said this part was supposed to be easier."
"Let's get you back to bed," Arthur replied, helping her to her feet with gentle, sure movements. "I'll bring some of the ginger tea."
"Won't stay down," Ellie protested weakly, though she didn't resist as he guided her back to their bed. The small room they shared in Joel's house had gradually transformed into their private sanctuary—practical accommodations adapted to accommodate both Arthur's imposing frame and Ellie's growing pregnancy needs.
Arthur tucked the blankets around her, adding an extra layer against the bitter cold. "Try to rest. I'll tell Joel you won't make breakfast."
Ellie's hand caught his wrist as he turned to leave. "Sorry," she said, the apology uncharacteristic from someone who rarely acknowledged vulnerability. "For being useless lately."
Something flashed in Arthur's eyes, a sudden anger that transformed his typically stoic expression. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face visibly tensing as he turned back to face her fully.
"Don't say that." The words came out sharper than he intended, an edge to his voice she rarely heard. "Ever."
Ellie blinked, startled by the intensity of his reaction.
Arthur took a deliberate breath, struggling to modulate his tone though the anger remained evident in his rigid posture. "You are not useless. You're growing our child while your body fights against you every step of the way. You're enduring something I can't even imagine." His large hand covered hers, grip firm but not painful. "That's the furthest thing from useless I can think of."
The fierce protectiveness in his response—not directed at her but at the self-doubt consuming her—caught Ellie off guard. This wasn't his usual measured reassurance but something rawer, more visceral.
"I just meant—" she began.
"I know what you meant," he interrupted, still working to control the anger that had flared so unexpectedly. "And that's exactly why it makes me..." He paused, searching for words adequate to explain the surge of emotion. "It makes me furious to hear you diminish yourself that way."
In the kitchen, Joel already had coffee brewing, his early-riser habits unchanged despite winter's extended darkness. He looked up at Arthur's entrance, reading the situation immediately.
"Bad morning?" he asked, voice pitched low despite the distance to Ellie's room.
Arthur nodded, accepting the coffee Joel offered. "Worse than yesterday. Can't keep anything down."
Concern flickered across Joel's weathered features. "Should get Doc to check her again. This ain't normal for six months along."
"Planning to stop by the clinic after the briefing," Arthur confirmed, the arrangement to coordinate their care for Ellie having developed organically over recent weeks. Joel would adjust patrol schedules to ensure one of them remained nearby while the other handled essential security duties—unspoken agreement requiring no elaborate discussion.
They spoke quietly about the day's priorities—the western wall reinforcement nearing completion, Tommy's new observation post design ready for implementation, the latest intelligence about WLF movements filtered through traders passing near their territory. Throughout, Arthur remained acutely aware of the closed door to the bedroom, listening for any sound indicating Ellie needed assistance.
"Go," Joel said finally, recognizing his divided attention. "I'll cover the briefing. Nothing you don't already know anyway."
Arthur nodded gratefully, their relationship having evolved to the point where such accommodations required no justification or explanation. "Thanks. I'll check in with Tommy afterward, coordinate the observation post placement."
Returning to the bedroom, he found Ellie curled on her side, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly despite her misery. The sight struck him with particular force—her instinctive protection of their child even while suffering herself.
"Didn't expect you back so soon," she murmured, eyes opening as he settled on the edge of the bed beside her.
"Joel's handling the briefing," Arthur explained, reaching to brush hair from her damp forehead. "How's the nausea?"
"Comes in waves," Ellie admitted. "Like the fucking ocean, but with more puke." Despite the crude description, her hand maintained its gentle position on her belly. "The baby's moving a lot. Probably wondering why the hell their accommodations suddenly got so shitty."
The attempt at humor despite her obvious discomfort was so quintessentially Ellie that Arthur felt something tighten in his chest. "May I?" he asked, hand hovering above her belly.
Ellie nodded, guiding his palm to a spot just below her navel. Beneath his touch, he felt the distinct movement of their child—stronger now than the flutters of early weeks, recognizable kicks and rolls that still amazed him each time he experienced them.
"Active," he observed, careful to keep his hand gentle against her sensitive stomach.
"Little ninja," Ellie agreed, something softening in her expression despite her physical misery. "Practices roundhouse kicks at three in the morning." Her face suddenly contorted as another wave of nausea hit. "Fuck. Not again."
Arthur helped her back to the bathroom, supporting her through another bout of dry heaving that left her even more depleted. When it finally passed, he lifted her in his arms despite her weak protest, carrying her back to bed with careful movements that belied his imposing size.
"I'm getting Doc Matthews," he stated, the decision no longer optional given her worsening condition. "This isn't normal."
To his surprise, Ellie didn't argue, a concerning indicator of just how awful she must be feeling. "Okay," she agreed quietly. "Maybe he has something stronger than that useless ginger crap."
Arthur pressed a kiss to her forehead, genuine concern now overriding his usual stoic demeanor. "I'll be quick."
Outside, February's brutality hit him with physical force—wind cutting through even his heaviest coat, snow creaking beneath his boots with the particular sound that came only with extreme cold. The settlement was eerily quiet, most residents remaining indoors except for essential duties, only patrol guards and wall construction teams braving the elements out of absolute necessity.
The clinic was mercifully warm when Arthur arrived, the building prioritized for consistent heating given its critical function. Doc Matthews looked up from organizing supplies, his experienced eyes reading urgency in Arthur's expression immediately.
"Ellie?" he asked simply.
Arthur nodded. "Vomiting's gotten worse. Can't keep anything down. Third day like this."
The doctor gathered his bag without wasted motion. "Temperature? Any pain beyond the nausea?"
"No fever that I can detect. She mentions her back hurting, but that's been ongoing since her center of gravity shifted." Arthur provided the information with practiced precision, his worry evident despite his controlled tone.
They walked back together, Doc's experienced feet finding sure footing despite treacherous ice. When they reached the house, Joel met them at the door, having returned from the security briefing.
"She's still in bed," he reported. "Tried to get her to drink some water, but it came right back up."
Doc Matthews nodded, moving toward the bedroom with familiar authority that brooked no argument. Joel and Arthur exchanged glances in the hallway, mutual concern requiring no verbalization.
The examination was brief but thorough, Doc's gruff efficiency tempered by genuine care beneath professional demeanor. Arthur and Joel waited just outside the partially open door, close enough to hear without intruding on Ellie's dignity.
"Hyperemesis gravidarum," Doc announced finally as he emerged. "Severe form of pregnancy sickness that sometimes appears even after the first trimester seems to pass without issue."
"Dangerous?" Joel asked, the question direct but underscored with evident worry.
"Can be if we don't manage it," Doc replied honestly. "Main concern is dehydration. Body needs fluids, especially during pregnancy. She's already showing moderate dehydration symptoms."
"Treatment?" Arthur inquired, mind immediately focused on practical solutions rather than worst-case scenarios.
"I've given her something stronger for the nausea—old world medication I've been saving for serious cases." Doc began gathering his things. "Should help her keep liquids down at least. Small sips, clear broths, nothing solid until the medication takes effect. If she can't keep fluids down by tonight, we'll need to try more aggressive approaches."
Arthur followed him to the door while Joel remained near Ellie's room. "Recovery timeline?" he asked quietly, wanting complete information away from Ellie's hearing.
Doc's expression grew more serious. "Varies. Could pass in days, might persist through delivery. Monitor her fluid intake obsessively. Without modern IVs, severe dehydration becomes life-threatening quickly, especially with a pregnancy taxing her resources."
The stark assessment struck Arthur with physical force, fear gripping him at the thought of losing her. "Understood," he managed, voice steady despite inner turmoil.
"One more thing," Doc added, hand on the doorknob. "Watch her mood. Prolonged physical misery combined with pregnancy hormones can trigger serious depression. The isolation from her usual activities won't help. Keep her engaged somehow, even if just mentally."
Arthur nodded, filing this information alongside the medical instructions—equal priority, not secondary concern. "Thank you."
After Doc departed, Arthur returned to find Joel already setting up a system of small cups with measured water portions, his practical approach to crisis manifesting in immediate useful action.
"Quarter cup every fifteen minutes," Joel explained without looking up. "Used to help Sarah through stomach flu this way. Small enough to stay down, consistent enough to maintain hydration."
The mention of his daughter—rare in any context—underscored the seriousness with which Joel viewed the situation. Arthur acknowledged this with a nod, accepting the first cup to take to Ellie.
He found her propped against pillows, looking marginally more alert after Doc's medication but still worryingly pale. "Heard the diagnosis," she said as he entered. "Fancy name for puking your guts out."
"Medication helping?" Arthur asked, offering the small cup of water.
"Too soon to tell." Ellie eyed the water skeptically. "Not sure that's staying down either."
"Small sips," Arthur encouraged, settling beside her. "Doc says it's critical you remain hydrated."
Ellie took the cup reluctantly, bringing it to her lips with evident trepidation. "If I throw up on you, it's not personal."
"Noted," Arthur replied, the hint of dry humor a deliberate attempt to maintain normalcy despite concern.
She managed two tiny sips before stopping, closing her eyes as if assessing her body's reaction. "So far, so good," she murmured after a moment. "But don't celebrate yet."
Arthur remained beside her, conversation kept deliberately light as she slowly finished the small amount of water. When Joel appeared with the next measured cup fifteen minutes later, the first had stayed down—small victory that nonetheless felt significant given recent setbacks.
The day progressed in this careful pattern—measured water portions, quiet company, medication administered at precise intervals. By evening, Ellie had managed to keep down clear broth as well as water, color gradually returning to her face as hydration improved.
"This is ridiculous," she complained as Arthur brought another cup of broth. "I should be helping finish the western wall, not lying here being useless."
"You're focusing on our most important defense project," Arthur countered, helping her sit up more comfortably.
Ellie snorted, though with less energy than her usual dismissals. "Pretty sure growing a kid doesn't count as a defense project."
"Sure it does," Arthur replied with unexpected lightness. "You're literally building the next generation of Jackson's defenders."
His attempt at humor—still somewhat awkward but genuine—drew a surprised look from Ellie that quickly softened into a small smile. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, though the words held affection beneath exasperation.
As night fell and Joel retired to his room, Arthur completed final security checks before returning to their shared space. Ellie had managed to stay hydrated throughout the day, the medication apparently controlling the worst of her nausea for now. Though improvement was evident, exhaustion had claimed her—emotional and physical toll of persistent illness leaving her drained despite minimal activity.
Arthur moved quietly, his large frame navigating the small room with practiced care as he prepared for sleep. February's bitter cold penetrated even the well-constructed walls, making additional layers necessary despite indoor shelter. He pulled extra blankets from the storage chest, adding them to the bed where Ellie already lay curled protectively around her pregnant belly.
"Cold," she murmured as he settled beside her, her body automatically seeking his warmth.
"Temperature's dropped again," Arthur confirmed, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her carefully against his chest. "Joel says it's the coldest February he can remember since settling in Jackson."
Ellie tucked her head beneath his chin, fitting against him with familiar comfort despite her rounded belly between them. Her fingers clutched weakly at his shirt, body still trembling slightly despite multiple layers and shared body heat.
"Wait," Arthur said, recognizing the insufficient warmth despite their closeness. He rose again, gathering the mattress from the small cot in the corner—emergency bed they kept for particularly harsh nights when additional insulation became necessary between cold floor and bedframe.
With efficient movements, he spread the extra mattress over them like a thick, insulating blanket, creating protective cocoon that trapped body heat more effectively than conventional coverings. The weight settled comfortingly around them as he drew Ellie back into his embrace, her shivering gradually subsiding as warmth built within their improvised shelter.
"Better?" he asked, large hands rubbing gentle circles against her back to generate additional warmth.
"Mmm," Ellie confirmed, burrowing closer with evident relief. "S'nice."
The simple comment—genuine appreciation without qualification or defensive reduction—indicated just how depleted she truly was. Normally Ellie maintained careful boundaries around displaying vulnerability, especially regarding physical comfort or needs. That she accepted this care without resistance spoke volumes about her exhaustion.
"Doc says the medication should help you recover some strength," Arthur said quietly, keeping his voice low in the darkness. "Especially if you can remain hydrated for the next twenty-four hours."
"Hope so," Ellie murmured against his chest. "Being this useless is worse than the puking."
"You're not useless," Arthur reminded her gently, no anger this time but firm conviction in his tone. "You're just temporarily focused on a different kind of fight."
"Still feels wrong," Ellie insisted, though without her usual fire. "Everyone else working themselves to exhaustion preparing for the WLF, and I'm stuck in bed like some invalid."
"Your terrain mapping already revolutionized our defensive positioning," Arthur reminded her. "Those implementations are saving lives every day. Your work continues even when you're not out there personally overseeing it."
The honest assessment seemed to reach her where mere comfort might have failed. Arthur felt her relax slightly against him, accepting the truth of his observations if not entirely satisfied with current limitations.
"The baby moved all day," she said after a comfortable silence, changing subject with characteristic directness. "Even when I was puking my guts out. Stubborn, like their dad."
"Like both parents," Arthur amended, feeling another distinct kick against his hand where it rested on her belly. "Though I think your influence is already the stronger one when it comes to stubbornness."
The gentle teasing drew slight laugh from Ellie, the sound warming him more effectively than any physical heat could have. These moments of genuine connection amid difficult circumstances had become increasingly precious as winter deepened and external threats loomed larger.
Under the heavy mattress covering, wrapped in shared warmth and momentary security, something settled between them—partnership transcending merely practical arrangement or physical attraction, commitment deeper than circumstance or convenience could explain.
"I'm scared sometimes," Ellie admitted quietly, the darkness and their cocoon-like shelter perhaps making vulnerability easier. "Not just about the baby or the WLF. About... after. About being responsible for someone else completely. For raising a person in this fucked-up world."
The confession struck Arthur with its fundamental honesty. Not performing expected maternal sentiment or projecting false confidence, but acknowledging genuine fear that mirrored his own unspoken concerns.
"I'm scared too," he admitted, the words coming more easily than he might have expected. "I keep thinking about what kind of father I'll be, with no real examples to follow. What I know is fighting and survival, not... raising a child."
Ellie shifted slightly, looking up at him despite the darkness obscuring clear vision. "You ever regret it? Staying in Jackson, being with me, the baby... all of it? Could've kept wandering, stayed unattached."
The question contained no self-pity or manipulation, simply genuine curiosity about his perspective given the dramatic life trajectory alteration he'd experienced since arriving in Jackson. Arthur considered this carefully.
"Not for a second," he said finally, certainty evident in his tone. "Before you, before Jackson, my life was just... existing. Moving from one fight to the next, one objective to another." His arms tightened fractionally around her. "Now I have something worth fighting for, not just against."
Ellie remained silent for several moments, absorbing his response. When she finally spoke, her voice held unusual softness. "I don't regret it either. Any of it. Even the puking." Her hand found his in the darkness. "We're going to figure this out. All of it. Together."
"Together," Arthur echoed, the word both acknowledgment and promise.
They fell silent as exhaustion reclaimed them both, Ellie's breathing gradually deepening into sleep against his chest. Arthur remained awake slightly longer, hyperaware of every subtle movement—the baby's occasional kicks against his hand, Ellie's slight adjustments seeking comfortable position despite her rounded belly, the barely perceptible tremors as her body continued recovering from dehydration and prolonged illness.
Outside, February's bitter cold maintained its grip on Jackson's fortified walls, temperatures dropping to levels that tested even the most robust construction. Yet within their small room, beneath the heavy mattress that trapped their shared warmth, different reality existed—protection created through connection rather than mere physical barriers, strength derived from mutual vulnerability rather than individual fortification, security established through relationship rather than isolation.
Three months had dwindled to single month remaining before mountain passes would clear enough for potential WLF assault. Preparation continued throughout Jackson despite winter's challenging conditions—walls strengthened, defensive positions established, patrol protocols optimized, resource caches strategically positioned. Yet alongside these tactical implementations ran parallel development—their child growing steadily despite Ellie's physical challenges, family bonds strengthening despite external threats, future possibilities emerging despite present difficulties.
Arthur's last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was simple but profound - they were building something that transcended mere survival, something worth protecting through whatever challenges approached with spring's inevitable arrival.
Days passed with agonizing slowness as Ellie battled the persistent pregnancy sickness. The medication helped control the worst symptoms, allowing her to maintain critical hydration, but weakness and fatigue remained constant companions. Doc Matthews visited daily, monitoring her condition with professional thoroughness that couldn't quite conceal genuine concern beneath gruff exterior.
"She's stable," he informed Arthur and Joel during one such visit, voice kept low in the hallway outside the bedroom. "Not improving as quickly as I'd hoped, but not deteriorating either. Main concern now is weight loss during critical developmental period."
"She's eating what she can," Joel said, voice rough with worry he rarely expressed directly. "Broth stays down, sometimes applesauce. Anything more substantial triggers the vomiting again."
Doc nodded, making notation in his worn leather journal where he tracked medical concerns throughout Jackson. "Keep trying small, bland portions. Priority remains steady nutrition rather than quantity. I'll bring more prenatal supplements tomorrow—last of my pre-outbreak supply, but she needs them more than anyone else right now."
After he departed, Joel and Arthur exchanged glances that communicated shared concern beyond verbal articulation. The unspoken worry—how Ellie's condition might affect the baby's development, how long her strength could sustain both herself and the growing child without recovery—remained too threatening to voice directly.
"I'll handle eastern wall inspection," Joel offered, practical assistance his preferred method of addressing emotional concerns. "Stay with her today, make sure she keeps taking fluids."
Arthur nodded gratefully, their coordination requiring no elaborate discussion or justification. "Tommy mentioned bringing the updated defensive plans by later. Said they can be reviewed here if needed."
Joel clasped his shoulder briefly—simple gesture conveying support more effectively than words could have—before heading out to handle community responsibilities they typically shared. The division of duties had evolved organically as Ellie's condition worsened, each adjusting schedules to ensure she was never alone while critical security preparations continued progressing.
Inside the bedroom, Arthur found Ellie awake but listless, propped against pillows with characteristic stubbornness despite evident exhaustion. The sight struck him anew—her typically vibrant presence diminished by persistent illness, fierce independence temporarily subdued by physical necessity.
"Doc says you're stable," he reported, settling beside her on the bed.
"Stable," Ellie repeated with weak sarcasm. "Great. Consistently shitty instead of getting worse."
Arthur's lips quirked slightly at her determination to maintain sardonic humor despite circumstances. "Improvement over the alternative."
"I guess." Her hand moved unconsciously to her rounded belly, protective despite her complaints. "Baby's still active at least. Doc says that's good sign despite everything else."
"Resilient," Arthur observed. "Like their mother."
Arthur could see the depression Doc had warned about taking hold - not just normal frustration, but something deeper and more dangerous. Her eyes had lost their usual spark, and the way she'd withdrawn into herself over the past few days scared him more than he wanted to admit.
"Hey," he said, his voice softening. "I brought you something." From his pocket, he pulled a small carved wooden figure—an intricate wolf with remarkable detail despite its size.
Ellie took it, her fingers running over the careful craftsmanship. "Wow. Joel made this?"
"Yeah." Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress dip slightly. "He's been working on it for weeks. It's part of a whole set he's making for the baby." His lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "He practically shoved it in my hands this morning. Said you needed it more than his 'half-finished collection.'"
The gift worked better than medicine - a real smile spread across Ellie's face as she examined the carving. "That old softie," she said, her voice warm with affection. "All gruff on the outside, total marshmallow underneath."
Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Don't let him hear you say that. He's got a reputation to maintain."
"God, could you imagine?" Ellie's smile widened. "Joel Miller, feared survivor, spending his nights carving tiny animals for his grandkid." She shook her head. "Who would've thought he'd be so into becoming a grandfather?"
Arthur's expression grew thoughtful as he watched her turn the wolf in her hands. "I think..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I think you and this baby give him something he thought he'd lost forever. A second chance at family, you know? Without all the ghosts of his past hanging over it."
Ellie looked up, surprise in her eyes. "You've really thought about this. About Joel and what all this means to him."
"Course I have." Arthur reached out, his large hand gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He's my father. You're carrying my child. And the three of us have... well, a complicated history, to put it mildly." His voice grew quieter. "The way he protected you in Salt Lake... I understand it better now. What it means to have someone you'd do anything for."
Ellie's expression softened. "That might be the most human thing I've ever heard you say."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to?"
"As opposed to 'the subject's protection parameters indicate necessary security protocols for optimal survival conditions,'" she teased, mimicking his more formal manner.
Arthur laughed, the sound filling the small room. "I'm getting better, aren't I?"
"You are," Ellie agreed, her hand finding his. "Though I kind of like both versions of you."
When Tommy arrived later with defensive plans spread across makeshift table beside the bed, Ellie's participation proved substantial despite her weakened condition. Her terrain knowledge and patrol experience provided insights that complemented Tommy's territorial familiarity and Arthur's tactical training, their collaborative assessment creating more comprehensive contingency planning than any individual approach might have achieved.
"Glad you're still sharp despite everything," Tommy commented as discussion concluded, genuine appreciation rather than mere encouragement in his tone. "These adjustments to the eastern approach fallback positions will save lives if things go sideways."
The simple acknowledgment—recognizing valuable contribution rather than merely accommodating illness—brought color to Ellie's pale cheeks that had nothing to do with fever or exertion. Arthur noted the visible strengthening effect genuine inclusion produced compared to well-intentioned but ultimately hollow reassurances about her importance.
After Tommy departed, Ellie managed to eat small portion of the stew Joel had prepared—bland but nutrient-dense combination developed through trial and error to identify what her rebellious stomach might tolerate. Though the amount remained concerning from nutritional perspective, the fact she kept it down represented improvement worth acknowledging.
"Small victory," Arthur observed as she set aside the half-empty bowl.
"I'll take what I can get at this point," Ellie replied with characteristic pragmatism. "Still better than yesterday."
The modest improvement—food retained, meaningful contribution accomplished, engagement maintained beyond mere passive existence—had visibly bolstered her despite continued physical weakness. Arthur recognized the critical importance of these small victories against the depression that threatened alongside physical illness, each positive step creating momentum against the darkness that lurked at the edges of prolonged suffering.
Night arrived with February's early darkness, Joel returning from wall inspection with additional security updates and fresh bread Maria had sent specifically for Ellie. The household settled into evening patterns that had evolved during her illness—quiet conversation in the bedroom rather than main living area, security reports delivered alongside medical updates, normalcy maintained through routine despite unusual circumstances.
When Joel retired to his room and Arthur completed final security checks before joining Ellie for the night, he found her examining the wooden wolf carving again, her expression thoughtful in the lamplight.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, sitting beside her on the bed.
Ellie glanced up. "Just thinking about names, actually."
"For the baby?" Arthur settled more comfortably, his weight making the mattress dip.
"Yeah." She turned the wolf in her hands. "Seems weird trying to name someone you haven't met yet."
"It does feel strange," Arthur agreed. "But I guess everyone needs a name eventually."
Ellie was quiet for a moment, then said, "If it's a boy, what do you think about Jack?"
"Jack," Arthur repeated, testing the name. "Any particular reason?"
"For Jackson," she explained. "This place that somehow became home to all of us, against all odds." She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Might be stupid."
"No, it's not." Arthur's voice was warm. "Jack is a good name. Strong, simple." He smiled. "I like it."
Encouraged, Ellie continued, "And if it's a girl... I was thinking maybe Elena."
"Elena," Arthur said softly. He looked at her with understanding in his eyes. "Because it's like Ellie?"
She nodded, a hint of color touching her pale cheeks. "Too self-centered?"
"Not at all." Arthur took her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Elena is beautiful. And having a connection to your name... I think that's perfect."
"Yeah?" Ellie searched his face.
"Yeah," he confirmed, squeezing her hand gently. "Jack or Elena. Names with meaning, with connections to who we are and where we found each other." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I couldn't think of anything better myself."
Ellie's expression softened, her free hand finding his cheek. "Look at you, getting all sentimental on me."
"Don't tell anyone," he murmured with a small smile. "I have a reputation to maintain."
When he finally trusted his voice again, Arthur helped Ellie settle for the night, arranging pillows to accommodate her growing belly and persistent discomfort. The medication had helped control the worst nausea, but weakness and occasional pain remained constant companions despite gradual improvement. As he extinguished the lamp and joined her beneath the layers of blankets, his arm wrapped around her naturally, pulling her close.
"Cold again?" he asked, feeling her shiver against him.
"Always," she murmured, pressing closer to his warmth.
Arthur reached for the extra mattress without comment, pulling it over them as he had each night since her illness worsened. The heavy weight settled around them like a protective cocoon, trapping their body heat and shutting out February's bitter chill.
"Better?" he asked, rubbing her back gently.
"Much," Ellie confirmed, relaxing against him as the warmth built between them. After a comfortable silence, she spoke again. "This probably isn't what you imagined when you came to Jackson looking for answers about your mother."
Arthur chuckled softly. "Definitely not. I had a very different plan in mind back then."
"Yeah? And how's this version working out for you?" she asked, half-joking.
"Better than I could have ever expected," he answered honestly. "Even with the puking and the WLF and everything else."
His hand found its way to her rounded belly, feeling the reassuring movement of their child beneath his palm. "I never thought I'd have this," he admitted, his voice hushed in the darkness. "A home. A family. Something worth fighting for beyond just surviving another day."
Ellie's hand covered his where it rested on her stomach. "We're going to get through this," she said with that stubborn determination he'd come to love. "All of it. The pregnancy, the WLF, whatever comes next. Together."
"Together," Arthur echoed, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I like the sound of that."
They fell silent as exhaustion claimed them both, Ellie's breathing gradually deepening into sleep against his chest. Arthur remained awake slightly longer, hyperaware of every subtle movement—the baby's occasional kicks against his hand, Ellie's slight adjustments seeking comfortable position despite her rounded belly, the barely perceptible tremors as her body continued recovering from dehydration and prolonged illness.
Arthur's last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was simple but profound - they were protecting more than just walls and buildings. They were fighting for a future where a child named Jack or Elena could grow up safe, where the bonds they'd formed against all odds could continue to flourish in a world determined to destroy such connections.