It's such a fucking -- return to form that it hurts, and Ellie feels a completely inappropriate laugh bubble up even through the sobs that still keep fighting their way out, soft hiccupping broken things.

Abby stopped her from punching her in the face. Not to stop her from punching her in the face, but because she was hurting her arm more.

Ellie leans her full weight on her right arm, her left wrist still cradled in Abby's grip, her shoulder and broken collarbone throbbing badly. A tear drips over the bridge of her nose, down into Abby's rumpled braid. The two of them re-learn how to breathe.

She wipes her face on the side of her good bicep, so she won't cough blood all over Abby's face, pulls a slower breath, and looks at her. Really looks at her, all bloodied up where she's scratched claw marks into her face. Bite marks, bruises, bloodstained knuckles and black eyes.

Ellie doesn't want to care. She really doesn't. But the heat presses in behind her eyes, the hurt, and she catches her breath.

Somewhere along the line, she'd started to trust Abby. Maybe even care about her a little, in a twisted, possessive way that she's still shying away from understanding. Ellie takes another shaky breath, lets it slowly out.

"There's bandages," she says softly, so softly. "In my bag."

There's boats, Abby had said on the shore, and Ellie finally understands why.