Twenty-One
She stormed through the Resistance, jaw set, eyes locked ahead. The flails were clutched in her white-knuckled fists and her machetes swung freely at her hips. Her jacket was half-zipped and parted at the top, tugging back in the wind and revealing the 'X' emblazoned into the soft of her neck and the puckered scars under her jaw from the Demogorgon's attack. Her hat had fallen off as she raced through the warehouse and now her hair flowed wildly behind her. With her head tilted forward as she powered through the streets and her eyes narrowed dangerously, she drew the attention of defectors milling nervously around and soldiers lining the sidewalks. Before long, the curious whispers erupted into cries and cheers.
Is that her?
Twelve!
She's here!
She's alive!
Like a riptide, tearing apart the Resistance's training schedule and concentration, Twelve cut through the crowds that formed. She was deaf to their cries, numb to their touches as she clung to the solitary thought that Holly was here and if she was here, she was in danger.
Dustin's office door had barely swung open when a blonde streak flew across the room. "Nancy!" her voice shrieked, before Holly wrapped herself around Twelve. Curling her arms protectively around her sister, Twelve pressed her face into Holly's shoulder and peered across the room at Joyce and Hopper. "Everyone said you were dead," Holly cried, shaking under Twelve's embrace.
Joyce's eyes, round and nervous, watched Twelve as she untangled herself from Holly. "I—I didn't know what to do," she said, pressing her fingers against her mouth. "Chris showed up and I didn't know if I should believe him, but…" She looked to Hopper for reassurance.
Twelve placed the flails on Dustin's desk. "Did you run into any problems on your way here?" Twelve asked.
"No, nothing," Joyce insisted. She was terrified. Twelve could see it in her eyes and the tremble in her fingers as she lit a cigarette.
From the doorway, Holly asked in a hollow voice, "Why did you want everyone to think you were dead?"
Twelve ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She pressed her palm against the handles of the flails and said, "I need to show you both how to use these."
"What are you talking about?" Hopper asked, stepping forward.
Twelve held up her hands. "This doesn't concern you, Hop," she said shortly.
"Like hell it doesn't!" he hollered, slamming his palm on the desk. Behind him, Joyce jumped and began puffing on her cigarette. "Whether you like it or not, I'm your senior officer and you do not have clearance to distribute weapons to civilians."
Twelve glared at him, grinding her teeth. Behind her, Holly's sweet voice asked, "What are they?"
"Let's talk," Twelve said to Hopper, pointing toward Dustin's makeshift sitting room.
Neither Joyce nor Holly made a sound as she and Hopper left. Outside of the office, Rebar stood guard, listening to the whole exchange.
In the side room, Twelve lowered her voice as she addressed Hopper. "Hop, I'm not trying to step on your toes here."
"Yeah?" he replied bitterly, crossing his arms. "Then how about explaining what you are doing."
"This information can't leave this room," Twelve said in a hushed tone. She gave Hopper a meaningful look. "Holly is O-negative."
Hopper unfolded his arms and swore softly.
"It's why I wanted her to think I was dead. It's why I asked Joyce to look after her. It's why I never wanted her to leave the colony in the first place."
Hopper rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "She's safer here than the colony," he reasoned. "The Resistance is full of soldiers and trained fighters."
"Yeah, until they all leave for the Vale."
Hopper seemed to be at a loss for words.
"She can't come to the Vale," Twelve said. "But she and Joyce can learn to defend themselves if the worst should happen." Hopper nodded, but Twelve wasn't finished. "And since you're now privy to this information," she continued, heatedly, "and the commander of the Resistance, you can assign a handful of soldiers to their security, right?"
Hopper leaned back and sighed wearily.
"Right?" Twelve urged.
"You know what's going on with the Authority," Hopper said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I do."
Hopper nodded. "I need to get back and chat with Kane and Dustin and the rest," he said, turning around. "In the meantime, how about you show Holly and Joyce how to use those flails?"
"I'm sorry," Twelve sighed as she sat on the mattress next to Holly.
Holly perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the chipping corner of countertop while twirling a thin lock of hair around her finger. One lantern glowed feebly from atop the milk crate in the middle of the room. Its dim glow cast peculiar, wobbly shadows against the walls and illuminated their reflections in the windows. Twelve avoided looking in the glass, though, having been shocked at the difference between her scarred, worn and cold reflection compared to the shocking beauty and clarity of her sister. Worst of all was the dingy setting that Holly took residence in without hesitation, her fearlessness handling weapons and crushing the Demogorgon targets. She was the last pure thing in Twelve's world and, thanks to Twelve, Holly was being corrupted.
"Why did you lie to me?" Holly asked, still staring at the counter.
"I didn't lie to you—"
"Maybe not directly, but you spread the rumor about your own death specifically for me," Holly said, turning abruptly. Tears welled in her eyes, but her expression was fierce. "Chris told me how he found you after they'd struck you out."
Twelve dropped her head in her hands. Of course. She'd forgotten that Chris knew everything. He was the one who spread the news of her death after she'd made him swear to tell Holly first. "I had no choice," she spoke through her fingers.
"Other than to lie to me? Do you have any idea what I went through?" The tears finally spilled over and Holly impatiently brushed them away. "My God, Nancy. You can't imagine."
Despite herself, Twelve smiled as a memory resurfaced.
"What are you grinning about?" Holly asked scathingly.
"You," Twelve replied. "You sound just like Mom. She used to say the same stuff when I stayed out too late with friends or when she thought my relationship was moving too fast with a boy I used to like."
Holly's expression softened. "Steve?"
Twelve lifted her head, surprised at Holly's response. "You remember him?"
"Not well," Holly answered, pressing her fingers into her chin thoughtfully.
"Yeah, that's the one," Twelve said with a rueful smile. "He was trouble. Charming as all get-out, but I made some poor choices trying to impress him."
Holly returned the smile. "What about Jonathan?" she asked.
Twelve's stomach dropped and she turned away quickly. "It's getting late," she said, standing and stretching. She yawned exaggeratedly and moved to blow out the lamp. Before she had a chance, there was a loud commotion outside of the door.
"Get out of my way!" a familiar voice cried. "No, I need in there, now!"
A moment before the door violently swung open, Twelve identified the voice as Joyce's and it was her livid face that appeared in the doorway. Behind her, a guard was looking confused and helpless.
"Joyce, what are you doing here?" Twelve asked. Though she had a feeling she knew the reason.
"Is it true?" Joyce asked, staring wildly at Twelve and shaking head to toe. Lucas appeared in the shadows behind her, drawn out of his apartment by the loud voices.
For a second, Twelve considered playing dumb, but after her conversation with Holly, she felt the deceit crumble inside her. She bowed her head and said, "Yes, it's true."
Joyce made a weak sound and slumped against the wall. Lucas stepped inside and shut the door. He gave Twelve a cautious look as he helped Joyce to the bed.
"What's true?" Holly asked, looking from Joyce to Twelve. "What's going on?"
Twelve shifted the lamp to the floor and sat down on the milk crate. Lucas, Joyce and Holly lined up on the edge of the mattress and listened to Twelve as she recounted her experience in the Vale. She was vague about her reaction to Jonathan, but the fact that there was an altercation couldn't be hidden. Joyce, however, didn't seem concerned. Her eyes lit up at the mention of her son, alive and well, and she clung to that to the end of the story.
"Did he say anything else?" she asked, the creases in her forehead burrowing deeper with each second. "Does he know I'm still alive?"
Twelve shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't say much." She heard low voices outside her door.
"We have to get him back," Joyce pleaded. "I can't do this again. I have to get him back."
Just then there was a knock on the door and Hopper's face peeked in. "Everything okay in here?" he asked, looking from Twelve to Joyce.
"We're fine," Twelve replied. The scene must have looked odd to him: Twelve sitting on an old milk crate in the middle of the room with three people perched on the bed staring at her.
"I- I should go," Joyce said, her voice quivering. Lucas helped her up and followed her out the door, casting another uneasy look at Twelve before shutting the door behind them.
Twelve stared at the floor for a minute after they'd left. Then, feeling truly tired and spent, she leaned over and blew out the lamp, plunging them into darkness. As she made her way to the bed, Twelve felt the agonizing crush of her role in all of this. She slid off her boots and climbed under the covers, feeling Holly already curled up on the other edge of the mattress.
Before she let herself drift off, Holly's voice, small and light, cut through the night. "What will happen to Jonathan?"