Rain pounds on the roof of the car, loud against the silence inside. Mike sits in the driver's seat, his body still while his mind races. He's thought about this moment for so long, first planning on it and then simply holding onto the hope of it. But now it's here and happening so quickly that he's having trouble keeping up. One minute he was dodging a falling tree, the next he was calling her name. Her answer was haunting ("You can see me?") but he didn't have a chance to say anything else. Thunder boomed and he lead her to the car.
He isn't sure what to do. Should he bring her to the Byers'? Should he try to find the chief? He looks over to find Eleven staring at him. Her eyes are wide, and he wonders if she's just as confused as him.
"Hi," he softly says.
"Hi," she replies, and her voice sounds hoarse but older than it once was. That makes sense, he supposes, mentally smacking himself. Glancing down, he's reminded of her strange attire - an oversized coat and possibly nothing else. He winces when he looks at her bare feet. Should he have made her run in the woods without shoes? Should he have picked her up?
Rain drips from her hair and he knows he has to make a decision. He lets instinct take over, the same instinct he had seven years ago. He'll sneak her home.
He isn't surprised at how easy it is to slip up to his room, El in tow, without anyone noticing. His dad is snoring away in his chair and his mom and Holly are in the basement with flashlights, trying to make the best of the power outage from the storm. He hands El a towel and dry clothes, and politely waits outside the door while she changes. His hands shake.
When he reenters the room, she's standing by the closet, dressed in his sweats. It's deja vu and he feels like crying. He realizes that besides grabbing her wrist earlier to pull her to his car, he hasn't touched her. And he feels a sudden need to, to know that she's solid and real. Not a ghost. Not a dream.
Overwhelmed by the moment, his eyes roaming her face, her hair (her hair!), he takes the two steps forward and pulls her into a tight hug. She flinches, but then grabs back fiercely, curling her fingers into his shirt. He leans his head onto her shoulder, holding her close, whispering, "I missed you. I missed you so much." Wishing he were more eloquent, wishing he could express or even understand all the feelings he's had for the past seven years. She nods over and over and he can feel tears on his neck. Her skin is icy and there's a faint moldy smell in her hair, but he could stay here forever.
Minutes pass and eventually El yawns against his shoulder. Mike gently disengages and points to the beds.
"Here, you can sleep on top. I'll be right below you. And tomorrow, when my family is gone, you can take a shower and I'll look through Nancy's clothes for you."
El easily clambers up the ladder and soon she's enveloped in soft pillows and a heavy warm comforter. Mike stands by the head of the bed, leaning his chin on the rail. He can just make out a shine in her eyes in the dim light.
"Are you okay?"
She opens her mouth but closes it again, clearly rethinking what to say. Finally she whispers, "It's warm. I haven't…been warm."
Mike doesn't push for more information, although he wonders - has it been weeks since she was last warm? Months? Has she been cold this entire time? He swallows hard before climbing into his own bed.
"Good night, El."
"Good night, Mike."
He can't see her but he feels her presence, hears her breathing. He knows he should feel relieved but somehow he's more tense than ever. When her breaths become slow and heavy, he finally lets himself cry.