Reconciliation

Two good things ended up coming from that fight Hopper and I had. The first was that we got to weather a serious disagreement and prove to ourselves, and the many Hawkins citizens following our relationship, that we can make this work. The second was that the make up sex was unbelievably fantastic.

"Oh, fuck," Jim pants, rolling to the side.

"You can say that again," I smile at him, every nerve in my body still buzzing from the ecstasy he just gave to me. I curl up against his chest, entwining my fingers with his. "I missed you," I whisper after we both have the chance to catch our breath.

"I missed you too," he tells me, pulling my body closer against his. I run my fingers across his skin, savouring the feeling of him. I nestle closer, wrapping one of my legs around his. "Stay the night tonight?" he asks, his baritone resonating through me. His question catches me off guard - I didn't expect him to offer such intimacy so soon after a fight, but it is a very pleasant surprise.

"Alright. I'd like that," I answer, smiling up at him. I don't have work until the evening tomorrow, and I am in no way ready to leave him yet. He kisses the top of my head softly.

"I'm glad." His large hands scoop up my body, grabbing hold of my waist and ass, and pulling me on top of him. I gasp and giggle with surprise. "Maybe we could go another round?" I hum with pleasure at the thought, leaning down to kiss him fiercely.

"Yes, please," I say with my most sultry voice.

...

In the morning, we spend a whole half hour together snuggling after his alarm goes off.

"Don't you have to get to work?" I ask reluctantly.

"I do. But I don't want to leave yet," he says. "I'm sure the guys at the station would understand why I'm late. None of them would be on time either if they had you in their bed." His words make me laugh, and his fingers slipping between my legs and finding my clitoris make me moan and arch against him.

"Jim," I gasp, gripping his shoulders and his sheets as he deftly brings me to a shuddering climax. "God, I don't know how many times I can survive you doing that to me," I pant.

"I hope many, many times," he whispers in my ear. I laugh and playfully shove him.

"I hope so too," I say with a tender kiss. "Alright, enough distractions. You have to get to work." I roll out of bed and beckon him to the bathroom.

"Where are you going, babe?" His casual use of the term of endearment sends a thrill down my spine.

"I was gonna shower. Care to join me?" I toss over my shoulder. As I start up the water, I am rewarded with the sound of his blankets being thrown off. Though it takes longer for us to get out of the shower than it would had we showered alone, it was much more pleasurable to be together.

When I get home, my mom is already at work, so I don't have to risk getting the nth degree. I'm pretty sure she won't bother, but it's a possibility, and I would very much prefer to avoid having her interrogate me about my sex life.

She gets home just as I'm getting ready to head to work.

"Honey, can we talk?" There's an uncertainty and nervousness in her voice that immediately makes me tense, certain that she's about to lecture me about my sexuality.

"Alright," I say stiffly while coming out of the bathroom.

"I saw some mail that came for you this week - why didn't you tell me that you were applying to art school?"

"Oh." So a lecture, but not the one I was fearing. "I'm not even certain I'm going to apply yet. I just wanted to see what the application would involve. I didn't really want to," fight about it, "discuss it yet since I haven't made up my mind."

"I see." She's quiet for a few seconds. "I think you should apply."

"Really?" I ask after a few seconds of stunned silence.

"Yes. If that's what you want. But I don't want you to feel like you have to - like I'm trying to push you out of the house or like I don't want you here."

"Oh, Mom, I don't think that!" I grab her in a quick hug.

"Because I know I've nagged you to get out more, and I don't want you to think that's because I don't want you here. I just want what's best for you. And, if that's art school, then I'll be very proud of you." I have to blink back tears.

"Thank you, Mom."

"Of course, sweetie. Now, I don't want you to be late for work."

"Thanks." I give her a tight hug goodbye. This shift passes quickly as I spend most of it pondering my future. I have three major reservations about sending in an application. It used to be four, but it's down to three now that I have my mom's approval to pursue an art career.

So that leaves reservation one: cost. My dad will take care of tuition if I ask, but that involves asking, and I'm still upset with him about what he did to our family. Reservation two is my relationship with Hopper. As a feminist, I know I shouldn't let a budding relationship hold me back from pursuing my dreams, but Jim makes me happy, and he makes me more complete than I feel alone, even. I'm considering applying to two schools in Chicago and one in Indianapolis. Theoretically, we could do long distance, but considering Jim's communication issues even while we live in the same town, I don't see that going well. Who knows - maybe the possibility of this ending my relationship with Hopper is the impetus for my mom's change of heart regarding an art career. Reservation three is an internal obstacle. So long as I don't apply, I can assume that my art is good - that I would get in if I did apply. By applying, I put myself at the risk of rejection.

As it stands, I have sent for the applications to see if it is worthwhile to apply. If the applications ask for more art than I have to send or art of different mediums or styles, then the decision is made for me. But if I'm serious about this, I know I need to talk to Hopper about it. Things have been a little rocky lately though, and I don't want to do anything to upset the balance we have settled back into. Because I love where we're at. So, for now, I ruminate on my own.

But, I'm not alone with my debate for long. Testament to how well Hopper knows me, the next time we see each other, he immediately sniffs out something is off.

"Is everything alright?" He asks on the car ride over to his place.

"Yes," I answer automatically. "Why do you ask?"

"You're quieter than usual is all." I hum noncommittally. I had been trying to conceal my pensiveness to avoid discussing what it is I'm debating.

"Is everything alright with you?" I ask, trying to turn the question on him to distract him.

"I've never been better," he tells me, stealing a sideways glance at me. His beautiful deep blue eyes twinkle with amusement and happiness. It makes my heart melt. And it makes my pulse race. He doesn't make it five seconds through his door before I'm all over him, running my fingers through his hair, grinding my body against his, moaning his name while coming completely undone by his touch.

...

"Seriously, Tricia, what's up?" He asks after our rousing love making session. I make a whine. I'm reluctant to tell him - what if he discourages me, tells me I'm being silly, asks me to put my dreams on hold for us - and thus proving true all my doubts and fears? I take a deep breath.

"I'm thinking of applying to art school."

"Really?" he asks, sitting up, jolting me off him slightly. I prop myself up on my elbow, my body tensing at his reaction, preparing for rejection. "That's so great," he says.

"You think so?" I ask, mouth agape.

"Yeah," he answers with conviction. "Absolutely. You're an amazing artist." My heart flutters. "And this is what you want to do, right?" I nod a few times, too touched to speak. "Then you have to," he says simply. There's a hint of sadness buried in his voice - no doubt he is thinking about what that might mean for us. And it means everything that he is still encouraging me. I wrap my arms around him, pooling myself in his lap. He couldn't have reacted more perfectly.

"Thank you. That means everything. But...I'm nervous," I say while lying back down. He lies down too, and we face each other and entwine our hands.

"About what it would mean for us?"

"Yes. But also," I say so that he does not have to voice his thoughts immediately and has some time to take this in, "I am nervous about...what if I don't get in? What if I'm not good enough?"

"Then they'd be idiots, so they must have a bad school you wouldn't want to go to anyways," he jokes before growing more serious. "You're fantastic, Tricia. If you don't get in, you can always apply in another year. But you won't know unless you try." I nod, absorbing his words. "As for us, well. If I had to guess," he says with a growing grin, "you're applying to the Art Institute of Chicago, the Art and Graphics School, and the Indianapolis Artistic Works College." My eyes grow wide as he rattles off my schools of choice.

"How did you know that?" I ask, amazed and dumbfounded. He shrugs.

"Because I know you," he tells me with a tender kiss. "And because I'm a cop. I sometimes manage to not be a total deadbeat," he jokes. "Those are some of the best art schools nearby, and I figured you wouldn't want to go too far." There's a pause as I wait on tenterhooks for what he'll say next. "Those are weekend trips, easy weekend trips," he adds. My heart soars, thinking he might mean what I think he means.

"You'd do that?" He nods quickly, without hesitation.

"Absolutely." His voice is deep, serious, sensual.

"Oh, Jim," I say, throwing my arms around him and kissing him deeply. I end up staying over again. Once I'm home the next day, I finally work past my reservations and get started on my applications. Knowing that Jim is in my corner helps me push past my fears and focus on the possibilities of what may come.