It's still not the same. Ellie resists the urge to reach for her again, but she does let her forearm lightly rest against Clarisse's on the railing, shutting her eyes.

"Not really," she says, and bites her lip. It's a good question, a change of subject, but she seems to just- be telling Clarisse about the times Joel was less than great.

"It was when me and Joel got to Pittsburgh. After they rammed the bus into our truck and made us crash- but before the bridge. We were still trying to get away from the hunters, and they were following us because Joel had killed a bunch of them. I kept bugging him about giving me a gun, so I could help, and he kept refusing to let me have one. I'd stuck a few of the hunters with my switchblade but not anywhere vital."

Ellie pauses, and again considers how much more she tells Clarisse, how easy it is.

"Joel and I got separated in this old hotel, when one of the cables in the elevator snapped. He ended up a few stories down, so I was waiting for him to make his way back up to me. I hid so the fuckers wouldn't find me, but I heard them find him."

Ellie hunches her shoulders up- her tone's neutral, almost normal, but. They both know what this story is about.

"This asshole started drowning Joel in this sinkhole in the floor. Where the rain had filled it up. And his gun was too far away. So I picked it up and shot the guy. Right in the fucking face."

And it was easy. Really easy.