Christine understood that they were on the clock, but she still wished it had taken longer to pack the car. She'd only just gotten Eleven back, and already everyone was filing into the driveway so they could split up again. Hopper would take El to the lab, while Jonathan and his mother took Will into the woods to Hopper's cabin. Christine was only mildly surprised to find that Nancy was going with them. Drama aside, she thought that was a good idea. If Will's life was on the line, it would help to have someone outside of the Byers family there, someone who might have a marginally more level head.

Once Will had been loaded into the car, along with the three or four space heaters they'd salvaged from the shed, everyone started to say their goodbyes, good lucks, and stay safes. Christine gave Steve and Nancy a wide berth as she descended the stairs, crossing the yard and heading for the Byers' car.

"Hey," said Jonathan, eyeing her uncertainly as she approached.

"Hey," Christine said lamely. "Um…you should be set with the heaters, but…I figure this won't help anyone here."

She held up the puffy, white coat, still wrinkled from being stuffed in the laundry basket where Joyce had stashed it. Jonathan let out a breath of laughter, but took it off her hands.

"Is this some kinda…roasted marshmallow joke?"

"God, no. I just know that I overheat whenever I wear it so—if Will won't put it on, feel free to burn it or something. I'm sure it's crazy flammable."

"Am I still gonna owe you twenty bucks?"

"No," Christine said, cracking a grin. "I think we can forget it at this point."

"Cool." Jonathan bobbed his head awkwardly and balled the coat up in his hands. "Um…thanks, Chrissy."

"Sure. Oh! And uh, here." She handed him a thin thermometer she'd scavenged from the bathroom cabinet. "I know you're trying to force Will's body temperature up, but if the human body gets to a hundred and five for a sustained period of time, it can cause permanent damage."

"Right." He sighed heavily, rolling the thermometer between his fingers. "So…even if we get this thing out of him, there's a chance we could kill him too."

"You won't," Christine said. "You, your mom…you wouldn't let that happen. I'm more worried you're gonna cook yourselves in the process, so just…keep an eye on her. And Nancy."

"Yeah, of course." Jonathan nodded and pressed his lips into a nervous line. It took him a second to continue, "Look, Chrissy—about this weekend—"

"It's none of my business." She held up her hands and took a step back from the car. "I'm just glad you guys are alive. Outside of that, Nancy's opinion is the only thing that matters, so—"

"It matters to me."

Christine blinked at him in surprise; Jonathan looked pretty surprised too. He grimaced, then shoved the coat and thermometer in the car before turning back to her.

"I had no idea that Nancy didn't tell you what we were doing. Honestly, I—I was afraid you guys were fighting again, only this time it was my fault, and—and I know going to a reporter was stupid, but I couldn't let her go off and try to fight the lab by herself. I wasn't trying to make things worse for you, or with Hopper, or—or anything between Nancy and Steve. I was honestly just trying to make sure she didn't get herself killed. So…I'm sorry."

Jonathan shuffled his feet, watching Christine nervously. She knew he was waiting for a response, but she was having trouble finding any kind of answer.

"Well…thanks," she managed awkwardly. "If she was gonna be stupid then…I'm glad she was stupid with supervision."

"Stupid? Me?" Nancy appeared at Christine's shoulder, her smile as carefree as it could have been in the situation. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure," said Christine with a grin. She pulled Nancy into a hug and squeezed her tight. "Just be careful, okay? If it gets too hot, a hundred—"

"Hundred and five degrees, I know. You're not the only one who aced Bio, Chris."

Christine smacked her on the back, making both of them laugh.

It was hard to pull herself away, but Christine knew she had to let go. She gave a bracing smile to Nancy and Jonathan, waved to Joyce in the backseat, and started back toward the house. She paused next to Hopper's truck, where he was lighting up a cigarette.

"Hey, are you—"

"Yes, I'm sure," he snapped at her. He took a long draw from the cig and sighed out the smoke. "I swear, kid, you ask me again—"

"Are you on channel ten?" Christine asked tersely. "On the radio?"

He closed his mouth and, grudgingly, nodded. "Yeah. Channel ten."

"Good. I'll have my supercomm, so if you run into trouble, let me know. Assuming your pride doesn't kill you first, or whatever."

She rolled her eyes and continued toward the house, only for Hopper to call her back.

"Christine."

He waited until she turned back to him, then tossed her a box from his backseat. Christine caught it with both hands, surprised by the loud rattle it made. She looked down to find another box of shotgun shells, the same ones she had in her backpack inside.

"Stay sharp," Hopper advised, and Christine nodded swiftly in return.

"Yeah. You too."

"El," he called over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go. It's time."

Christine looked back at the house, where Eleven and Mike were saying goodbye, holding hands and standing especially close to each other. Eleven sheepishly shuffled away from him and, as she approached the truck, Christine shot Hopper an exasperated look.

"Seriously?"

"What?" he asked testily.

Christine didn't dignify that with an answer. She walked to meet Eleven halfway and pulled her into one final hug.

"We've got the radios if you need us," Christine reminded her, pressing a quick kiss to her hair. "Otherwise…we'll see you when you get back."

"See you," El repeated, nodding into her shoulder.

When they stepped back, Christine mustered up a smile and tapped herself on the chest; Eleven mirrored her with teary eyes. They hovered for a moment, then stepped around each other, Eleven climbing into Hopper's truck while Christine joined the dejected party in front of the house. Most of the kids were standing on the stoop, but Mike was still frozen in the dirt where Eleven had left him; his face, normally so sullen and annoyed, was an open book as he watched the truck start up and pull around in the driveway, preparing to take Eleven away from him again.

Christine planted herself next to him. Together, they watched the cars pull out onto the street—first Jonathan, then Hopper—and the taillights shrink as they drove farther and farther away. Everyone waited, listening to the receding sound of the engines, until finally, everything was quiet.

"So," Max said quietly, after another moment of stillness, "what do we do now?"

"Now, we wait," said Lucas.

"Now, we wait," Dustin repeated glumly.

Steve was the first one to move. He sighed and opened the front door, quietly urging the kids back inside. Most of them went without a fight, but Lucas paused to look back at Mike.

"Come on, man."

Mike didn't move. His eyes were still fixed on the spot where the Chief's truck had disappeared. Christine had a feeling it would be a while before he pulled himself back to the present.

She nodded to Lucas, gesturing for him to go ahead. Reluctantly, Lucas trudged inside, and Steve closed the door behind them. Christine took a seat on the stoop, her legs kicked out in front of her in the gravel. She wouldn't approach Mike or try to force him out of his thoughts, but she would stay to keep an eye on him—in case there were more Demodogs, in case Eleven came back, in case Mike needed a shoulder to cry on.

It was a long time before he moved. Christine heard him sniffle, and he wiped his face before he turned around. He didn't acknowledge her with words, but he sank down onto the step beside her, his elbows propped on his knees. His breathing was still shaky, holding in any more tears, and he cleared his throat a few times as if he was preparing to speak; but he never did.

"Mike," Christine said gently. "She's gonna be okay."

Sad as he was, he rolled his eyes, and his annoyance kicked his voice back into gear. "You don't know that."

"I didn't know it last year either, but…she came home. I kept my radio on and you kept calling her and she heard you for all…three-hundred-fifty days, or whatever."

She smirked as Mike's cheeks flushed pink.

"Shut up," he grumbled. "Don't look at me like that."

"Uh, sir, you called and left her a message every day for a year, even though you had no idea if she was okay. I'm gonna look at you however the hell I want."

Mike shook his head and wiped his nose again, which Christine was pretty sure was an attempt to hide his smile. She nudged him with her knee and they lapsed into silence for a few more minutes.

"Hey, Chrissy?"

"Hm?"

"Just…thanks."

"For what?"

"I don't know." Mike shrugged as he stared at the ground. "This year…a lot of the time, it just…didn't feel real."

Christine frowned at him. "The Upside Down, or like…life?"

"Any of it. Will—we were talking on Halloween and he said he felt like—like he was caught between two slides on a View-Master. You know, like he was here, but he was also stuck in the Upside Down. And I felt like that too, whenever I thought about Eleven. I'd call her on the walkie, and every time I heard a flux in the static or wave in the signal, I—I really thought it was her. And now I know it could've been, but like, I thought I was going crazy. Then I'd talk to you and…I knew you were listening too, that you didn't give up. And that made me feel less crazy, so…thanks, I guess."

"Well…anytime."

She did her best to keep her bewildered smile to herself. She understood that emotions were running high, but between Eleven's return, Mike's gratitude, and Jonathan's apology, Christine was already overwhelmed…which didn't exactly bode well, considering everything they were still up against. She wasn't sure she could take any more surprises.

"Hey," Christine continued, elbowing Mike in the ribs. "Sorry that Hopper interrupted your moment."

Mike squinted at her in confusion. "What?"

"With Eleven. It kinda looked like she was gonna kiss you."

"Shut up," he blurted, his face turning pink again.

"I mean, it's probably for the best. You don't want Hopper watching your first kiss."

"It wasn't—whatever. Knock it off."

He crossed his arms tightly, slowly folding himself into a ball. Christine watched as he tried to hide his face under his bangs, and her face broke out into a smile.

"Mike…"

"Shut up, Chrissy!"

"Mike!" She gave a scandalized gasp. "Did you already kiss her?!"

"No! I—it's none of your business!"

"Oh my God!" Christine's jaw dropped. "When?! Mike, when did you kiss her?! Wait, don't tell me it was in the bathroom before. Was it in—"

"God, no!" he groaned, clapping his hands over his face. "We weren't in the bathroom! Gross!"

"Okay, thank God. But then—wait, does that mean you kissed her last year?! Michael!"

"It's none of your business! And don't call me Michael! God, Christine, you're so annoying!"

He jumped to his feet and stormed back into the house, leaving her giggling madly on the stoop. On second thought, that was one surprise she was happy to get.

When she'd finally collected herself, Christine followed him inside. Mike was nowhere to be found, probably shut up in the bathroom or Will's bedroom until he could stop blushing. To her surprise, the rest of the kids were in the living room, cleaning up the mess from the attack. Lucas and Max were tending to the broken window while Dustin squatted on the floor, scrubbing slime out of the carpet around the Demodog body. Christine raised an eyebrow and walked by without asking, but the scene in the kitchen only made her more confused.

"Steve?"

"Oh, hey." He looked up from the stove, where he was stirring the contents of a large pot. "Mike okay?"

"Um, yeah." Christine cautiously walked forward. "Are you…cooking?"

"Mac and cheese," Steve confirmed. "Yeah, Dustin started complaining and I realized that the three of us haven't eaten since breakfast. I figure no one else has either, so I raided the pantry."

"Okay…do you want me to take over?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. You can chill—oh, unless you wanna grab bowls and forks and shit. It took me forever to find a pot."

He scoffed, as if finding a pot in a stranger's kitchen was something he normally considered easy, then went back to stirring the food. Christine bit her lip and slowly backed away. The last few giggles she'd swallowed on the porch were threatening to come back up, and she really didn't want to look like an asshole by laughing at him. There was something so inexplicably comical about watching King Steve, the most popular boy at Hawkins High School, preparing Kraft macaroni and cheese for a slew of middle schoolers.

She kept that thought to herself and set out to search the cabinets. There was plenty of cutlery, but it looked like they were one bowl short. She went to grab a plate instead, but Steve waved off that problem without a second thought, assuring Christine that he could just eat out of the pot and save them an extra dish to wash. Unfortunately, that had almost pushed her over the edge, and she had to duck out of the room to laugh and collect the kids for dinner.

It was a battle to get everyone fed. Steve made sure that Max got the first helping, then let the boys duke it out for the rest. There was hardly anything left by the time Christine was up, which left Steve scraping grumpily at the cheese stuck to the walls of the pot.

"You know," Christine remarked as the two of them sat at the kitchen table. "This is pretty good."

"It's boxed mac and cheese," Steve snorted. "Not exactly rocket science."

"I know, but still. I guess I never pictured you…"

"Being able to feed myself?" he finished with a smirk.

Christine rolled her eyes. "Well, when you put it like that."

"It's fine. I know I'm a prissy rich kid, but I do know how to cook. Or at least…heat shit up now and then." He gave up on the cheese, dropping his spoon into the pot and slouching back in his chair. "You think they're gonna be okay?"

She followed his gaze to the living room, where the kids had retreated to eat. Dustin looked like he was already done, his attention back on the Demodog in the corner. Mike, on the other hand, hadn't touched his bowl, and was staring blankly out the window.

"They'll be fine," said Christine, "once they're all back together. Will and El will come back, and things will go back to normal."

"Right, normal," Steve repeated skeptically.

"Okay, normal as they can be for us. We'll ditch the Demodogs and it'll be back to trauma and hormones."

Steve wrinkled his nose in disgust, making Christine suppress another giggle. She pushed her half-finished bowl of mac and cheese across the table, only for Steve to push it back.

"No, I'm fine. Seriously, Chris—"

"Steve. Eat."

He shook his head, but dragged the bowl forward again so he could pick at the remaining pasta. Christine propped her chin in her hand, looking idly at the clock. She couldn't believe how late it had already gotten. Buying the buckets of beef at Big Buy felt like years ago, like she'd aged a decade in a day. How long would it be before El and Hopper made it to the lab, before the others made it to the cabin?

"Can I ask you a question?"

Christine looked at Steve in surprise. He was still looking down at his food, nudging the pieces around the bowl with his fork. His cautious tone alone was enough to make Christine suspicious, but the way he was avoiding her eyes made it worse.

"Like what?"

"Nothing bad," he assured her. "It's not—actually, there might not even like be an answer, you know? Not really, but like—I was just thinking today and uh—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to—"

Christine was almost certain at that point that—whatever it was—she wouldn't want to answer, but rather than letting him ramble on, she sighed, "Steve, what is it?"

"Right, um…do you remember if there…? Like, when do you think you first…? Uh—how long did you…?"

"How long…have I liked you?"

Steve's eyes flicked up to hers, then quickly retreated back to his bowl. "Yeah, uh…that."

Christine ducked her head too; at least it was a little easier to breathe when she couldn't see him.

"Why?"

"Yeah, I—I don't know," he said at once. "I was just kinda thinking and I…I realized that we…never talked about it."

If Christine hadn't been so mortified, she might have laughed. Of course they'd never talked about it. In fact, she was pretty sure this was the first time either of them had even said it. They both knew, and they both knew that they both knew, but out of sheer courtesy, they never touched it in conversation.

There had been plenty of talk about how he'd manipulated her. Steve had genuinely wanted to do better, which meant Christine calling him out whenever she felt like he was leaning too hard into old habits. Later, when they were more comfortable with each other, they'd bring it up just to give each other a hard time. Christine would frequently use Steve's own lines against him, telling him that he just "didn't know how to take a break" or that she couldn't hang out because she was just "sooo tired from basketball practice." If Steve was falling behind on schoolwork, he'd loudly complain about how his life was a lot easier when he could make Christine do all his work for him.

They'd turned it into their own inside joke, because laughing about it was easier than the truth. The closest they'd ever gotten was that first day Steve had climbed into her room to apologize to her.

"I used what I may or may not have known about…how you may or may not feel about me, just to get what I wanted."

Then, he'd given her an out. Now it seemed they were past that.

"Sorry," he mumbled after a few seconds of silence.

"It's fine," said Christine, even though it wasn't. "It's not like you didn't know."

She smiled bitterly at the table. Had she actually thought time was going to make things easier? She felt like she was right back in her bedroom—her leg in a cast, Steve sitting in front of her, bloody, bruised, and bashful. Only now they were eating dinner together, splitting a bowl of mac and cheese in the Byers' kitchen while the world was ending outside. Now she was his best friend.

Christine knew it was a bad idea. Then again, burying her feelings for the last year hadn't worked, and things were already pretty fucked up. How much worse could honesty be?

"I'm sorry," Steve said again, louder this time. "That was stupid. You don't have—"

"Sixth grade."

She looked up at him tentatively and had to stifle another laugh. It was almost worth humiliating herself just for that dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Wait, like—when you were in—so like when I was in seventh?" Christine nodded, and Steve's face contorted further; he almost looked concerned. "No, I—I was not remotely cool in seventh grade. I wasn't even a little bit popular."

"I know."

"But then…like…why?"

Christine bit her lip again. She had to think about that—not because she didn't know, but because somehow, it felt even more embarrassing. After a few seconds of deliberation, she reached across the table and snagged the bowl of pasta back, prying it from Steve's hands and ignoring his noise of complaint. She took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully as she thought over the best place to start.

"Do you know Sheena Rollins?"

"Sheena Rollins…?" Steve squinted at her. "Is that, uh…? Wait, is that the weird girl in marching band?"

"The weird girl in marching band," she confirmed, pointing her fork at him.

"Yeeeah! Yeah, she's in my grade—super quiet, only wears white…actually, now that you mention it, I don't think I've seen her this year…"

"Yup. Apparently she graduated early, moved to New York for a fashion program."

"Oh, damn. Hey, good for her, you know? Glad someone's college admissions are going well." He nodded, looking impressed, and stole the macaroni back. "Anyway, what about her?"

Christine sighed, toying with her fingers as she prepared herself.

"In sixth grade, Sheena had the locker across the hall from mine. It was my first year of middle school, I'd never had a locker before, and I could not for the life of me figure out how to get it open. I mean, I must've practiced with a dozen combination locks over the summer, but the one that was built into that locker was a certified piece of crap."

"If it makes you feel better, they're all crap," Steve said with a smirk. "Those things have been there since the fifties."

"Well, someone needs to fix them. I used to be petrified of showing up late to class, because either the teacher wouldn't believe me, or they would believe me and everyone would think I was dumb 'cause I couldn't work my stupid locker. Anyway, there was one day within the first month that I—I think I had a test next period, or something. I was just putting in my combination over and over again, pretty much on the verge of tears because I was so frustrated, and Sheena came over to help.

"She didn't actually say anything, just gestured for me to try again. So I put in my combination and—ha—she smacks the locker so hard that the door literally sprang open. God, and it was so loud, I swear everyone in the hall stopped to look at us."

"Okay…?" Steve was watching her mild amusement, clueless as to where the story was headed. "So you…made it to class?"

"Well, yeah, but before I could even thank Sheena, some obnoxious asshole ran by and knocked all of her stuff on the floor."

"Dick." Steve shook his head, but quickly looked up in concern. "Wait, it wasn't me, right?"

"No, it wasn't you," she assured him, rolling her eyes. "It was some guy who knew her from band. You would think…I don't know. You'd think there would be some unspoken rule like, 'Band kids protect band kids,' or something, but…everyone was really terrible to her."

He nodded in agreement and, for a moment, they sat reflecting. Christine pursed her lips as she stared down at the table, preparing herself to continue.

"She didn't even blink, you know? Just started picking everything up, dodging all the people that kept walking. I tried to help, but—I mean, I was so shy back then, I was more worried about getting trampled. I went to grab one folder and collided with like three different people. One of them nearly steamrolled me, tripped over his own feet, and then stopped to help me pick everything up."

Steve grimaced as she gave him a pointed look. "…Sorry."

"You apologized," Christine said with a shrug. "You grabbed a bunch of stuff for Sheena, asked if she was okay, asked if I was okay, and then you…patted me on the shoulder and ran to catch up with your friends."

"And…that's it?"

He was smirking again, but with narrowed eyes that made him seem a little worried about her. Christine did her best to keep her face from heating up.

"You stopped," she said quietly. "You didn't keep walking or tell me to watch where I was going. I know the bar wasn't high, but that was the first time I…"

She forced herself to stop talking. There were plenty of ways to end that sentence, and each one of them was more pathetic than the next. It was the first time she remembered meeting him. It was the first time she remembered liking him. It was the first time she remembered liking anyone like that, really. Steve had quite literally tripped over her on accident, and she'd spent the next five years daydreaming and pining over him like he was the only boy in town. The bar wasn't just low; it was subterranean.

Deciding that she needed something to do with herself, Christine abruptly got up from her chair to collect their dishes and dump them in the sink. She busied herself with the tap, trying to get the perfect temperature for the water, rinsing out the sponge before she started to wash the bowls. She tensed when Steve joined her at the counter, but he just grabbed a dish towel, ready to dry the dishes as she finished each one.

"I'm sorry about El," he offered, taking a dish off her hands. "I know you wanted to go with her."

"She'll be fine," said Christine; it was more to reassure herself than anything. "I'm sorry about Nancy. I mean, I get why she went with them, but still."

"Eh, it's not so bad," he said, tossing his head to the side. "I told her to go, so…"

"You did?" Christine paused to frown at him. "So you guys…talked?"

"Uh, no. Not really. I'm not sure when either of us will be ready to talk about it, but…it's not like I didn't know, you know?"

"…No…"

Steve cracked a bitter grin. "Well, I did. Honestly, I think I've known for a while now, and…it's probably why I was so desperate to hang onto her. I didn't want to admit that things had changed. I know she and Jonathan went through a bunch of shit last year, and—and I'm never gonna get that, so…I guess I just felt like a shitty boyfriend."

"No." This time Christine said it with conviction, looking at Steve with the same concern he'd shown her before. "Steve, you were never a shitty boyfriend. You did everything you could to understand Nancy, and when you couldn't, you always asked for help. Jonathan just…it's like you said. They went through some shit, and even I don't get that. That doesn't make me a bad friend, or you a shitty boyfriend. It just…is."

"It just is," he repeated dryly. "Well, the way it is kinda sucks."

"I agree wholeheartedly," she said, swallowing her own bitterness. "Life sucks, and there's not always a reason. Sometimes two people just…don't work out."

"Yeah. I guess we were just…with the wrong people…"

Christine's hands stilled under the faucet. She glanced at Steve out of the corner of her eye, terrified of being caught, but Steve was focused on the bowl in his hands. He ran his thumb over the edge, deep in thought but almost completely expressionless. Finally, he sighed, and Christine hurriedly returned to washing the pot she was holding.

"Anyway," Steve continued, "at least there Nancy can lend a hand. Not much she could do around here. You and I can handle babysitting a couple of kids."

That actually made her snort.

"Wow," Christine laughed, "you sound pretty confident for a guy who was terrified to be left alone with Dustin this morning."

"It actually wasn't that bad." Steve grinned as she passed him the clean pot. "He probably still hates me a little bit, but I think my car's in the clear from here on out. I feel like I actually made some progress with him. It even got a little mentor-y, you know?"

Christine flushed. "So I heard…"

The pot slipped from Steve's hands and hit the counter with a bang.

"What? So you heard what? If he repeated anything from that conversation, I'm gonna break his little arms off."

"Relax, asshole, I didn't say anything."

Steve and Christine whirled around to find Dustin standing at the kitchen table. He was watching them with a smirk, coolly munching on the remnants of Mike's mac and cheese from the stack of bowls he was carrying.

"How long have you been standing there?" Christine demanded.

"A while. You know, you're kind of a shitty rogue. I shouldn't be able to sneak up on you so easy."

She glowered at him, marching around the table to snatch the four bowls before he could finish eating. Dustin stuck his tongue out at her and turned his attention back to Steve.

"I need your help with the Demodog."

"What?" The pot, which Steve had just picked up, clattered to the floor. "Why? What happened? Is it alive?!"

"No, it's not alive. Do you think I'd be standing here chilling if there was a living monster in the other room? I need to put it in the fridge."

"…Why the fuck do you need to put it in the fridge?"

"Because it's a groundbreaking scientific discovery, Steve. We need to preserve it, and the longer it sits at room temperature, the more it decomposes."

"Dustin," Christine sighed, "you're not putting it in the fridge."

"Why not?!"

"Because it's Joyce's fridge, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want Demodog slime next to the mayo!"

"Oh, 'cause it's so much better to have the living room smell like dead Demodog for the rest of the year?!"

"Hey, knock it off!" Steve hollered, waving his hands. "Whatever, I'll help you with the body. Just shut up."

He waved Dustin out of the kitchen, shot Christine an exasperated look, and then trudged into the living room.

Christine snickered as she picked up the pot to wash it again. She could hear Steve and Dustin bickering in the next room, egged on by the other kids, who seemed to be enjoying the chaos. It was a few minutes before Christine realized that she was smiling fondly. She forced her lips into a straight line, taking a deep, disciplined breath as she stared into the sink.

She wasn't going to do this. Steve was her friend. She liked being his friend, but every time she got caught up in the moment, it was harder and harder to do. He'd asked her an innocent question and she'd given him an honest answer; that was it. Christine simply wasn't going to think about it anymore.