****Contains REALLY MILD sexual content. You have been warned . . .
El's conversation with Joyce gave her that extra confidence she needed to finally talk to Hopper. To look him in the eye and tell him everything because it was eating her up inside. And Joyce told her to let the world see who she really was. She was pregnant. She was going to have this baby, and she was going to be a mother. If people didn't like it, screw 'em.
It was harder than it looked.
She sat in the living room, wringing her hands, waiting for him. Her heart thrashed against her ribcage, unrelenting, and crawled into her throat when she heard the unmistakable sound of the Blazer's tires scraping against asphalt. After a small eternity, she heard Hop's car door slam and his footsteps crunching over dead leaves. He opened the door, stopping in the entryway to peel off his coat.
"Hey, El, did Joyce come by? She wanted to drop off some chairs . . ." He trailed off, seeing the look on her face.
"Ellie, what's wrong?"
She opened her mouth, attempting to speak, and no sound came out. She fought for air, eventually gathering her bearings enough to stutter out real words.
"I have . . . I've got something to tell you." She said.
"Okay." He said, slowly. He ventured into the living room, eyes searching her face, gauging her emotional state. There was a space between them, as vast and deep as an ocean. El could see it—the waves, drenching the shag rug in the center of the room, sweeping away the furniture.
She blinked, dizzy, knees threatening to give out as the tide threatened to pull her head under water. She dropped into a chair, straight-backed and trembling.
"Jesus, El." Hop said. "You okay?" He closed the gap between them, taking her hand. She ran a finger over his knuckles and swallowed hard.
"I'm . . . I, uh . . ." She trailed off, searching for the right words. But none were forthcoming, and it felt all wrong, but if she didn't do this now she didn't know if she'd ever do it, so she grit her teeth and told him.
Hop stared at her, dumbfounded.
"What?" He asked, quietly, dangerously. El went cold.
"I'm sorry." She said, feeling those cracks widening. She watched the terror mold his face like it was made of clay, watched several more lines appear around his eyes and mouth. He looked a thousand years old.
"Jesus." He breathed. He dropped her hand.
"I'm sorry." She sobbed. "I get it if you're mad and you can yell at me and I'm just so, so sorry." She ranted, burying her face in her hands.
Hopper got to his feet.
"Mad?" Hop said, and laughed. For a terrifying moment, everything was silent and still, so silent El could hear her heart beating in her head, and then Hop kicked the coffee table, making her jump. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Fuck." He breathed. "Fuck . . ."
He turned away from her, so she could do nothing but stare at his back and try to muffle her tears.
"How could you let this happen, El?" He said, words measured and quiet.
She shook her head.
"I don't know." She said. "I don't know, I don't know. I'm s-sorry . . ."
"This is irresponsible, and . . . just . . . fuck . . ." Hopper breathed. "This isn't happening."
El said nothing, cheeks burning. Still, he wouldn't look at her, and that was the worst part. The thing that told her she'd screwed up so, so badly, because he couldn't even bring himself to look his daughter in the eyes. She hated it. She hated this. And she didn't know what to do or how to say what she needed to say without shattering whatever they'd built, over the past five years. This new life he'd given her. She was messing it all up. That revelation was so dangerous and big and dark she couldn't dwell on it. Maybe now she knew what he was talking about, all those years ago, as they prepared to venture into the literal heart of darkness. About being cursed. About living your whole life trying to keep your head above water, only to drown.
The black hole.
It got her.
El stood, drawing herself up.
"Look at me!" She screamed. Across the room, the vase on the windowsill, full of wilting flowers, shattered. Glass sprayed in every direction, bouncing off the window, spilling across the floor. She clenched her fists, chests heaving. Blood stained her upper lip.
"I'm sorry." She said. "I'm s-sorry I'm stupid and careless and ir-irresponsible. I know I'm just a . . a dumb te-teenager, and I screwed up. You can y-yell at me and hate me as mu-much as you want, but I n-need you to know I'm sorry." She said. "For e-everything. For making your life hell. For being s-stupid, for thinking you could ev-ever love me the way y-you loved Sara, for everything." She choked.
Hop turned, meeting her eyes, and she knew she'd crossed some line. She could see it in his face. His eyes were so full of reproach and grief and pain it made her feel sick. She knew she'd never be able to take back the words that came spilling out of her mouth, and she immediately wished she hadn't said them. Even if she meant them.
"El . . ."
But this time, she was the one who couldn't bring herself to look at him. She'd hurt him. She was the monster. What a mess she'd made.
El did the only thing she knew how. She ran. She pushed past him, tears clouding her vision, and dashed up the stairs. She burst into her room and shut the door, climbing onto her bed and pushing her face into her pillow as the tears fell. After a few moments, she heard his door slam.
Once she'd cried herself out, she lay on her bed with her knees pulled to her chest, aching and tired. Eventually, she mustered up the courage to go down the stairs, knowing she'd broken something. Knowing she'd have to fix it.
She grabbed a dustpan and broom from the garage. In the kitchen, she set about sweeping up the shards of glass, on the floor. She dumped the shards in the trash can, then knelt on her hands and knees, searching for any stray fragments that had found their way into the farthest corners of the kitchen. She fished a large piece from under the refrigerator, and grimaced, inhaling as it clipped and cut her thumb. Blood began to run from the wound, trailing down her wrist. She rushed to the sink, cradling her hand. She ran it under the tap, looking away, queasy, as the water began to turn pink. She hear a sound, behind her, and turned. Hop stood in the doorway, eyes reddened and puffy, and El's stomach did a somersault. He'd been crying. He never cried.
"You alright?" He asked, hoarsely.
"Yeah, it's just a cut." She said, fighting to keep her voice steady. He crossed the room, taking her hand, inspecting the wound.
"It's pretty bad." He said, brows knitting with concern. "Hold on."
He disappeared, for a moment, and returned with a little first aid kit in his hand.
"Let's see . ." He extracted some alcohol swabs. He lifted her and sat her on the kitchen counter, as easily as he would if she was still a child. He set about cleaning the cut with painstaking care, and El swallowed, hard, fighting tears. The alcohol stung, and she winced. When he finished, he wrapped her thumb in gauze.
"There." He said, nodding. "Better?"
El nodded, face contorting as her walls crumbled. She began to cry.
"Oh, Ellie." He said, weakly. He enfolded her in his arms. She slumped against him, fisting a hand in the folds of his collar, trying to keep the tears at bay. He smelled like tobacco and rain and everything familiar. He
"El . . ." He repeated.
"When did you find out?" He asked, voice tight and thick. He was crying, too. That made it worse. That was a hundred times worse. She almost preferred the yelling, because at least that was charted territory. He'd get mad and she'd get mad and they wouldn't talk for a day or two and then he'd make her a Triple-Decker Eggo Extravaganza. It was how they worked things out. He never cried.
"Two weeks ago." She admitted, weakly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know." She said, unable to keep the hysteria out of her voice. "I didn't want you to worry. And I thought . . . I thought maybe you'd change your mind . . ." She said, feeling stupid.
"About what?"
She couldn't meet his gaze.
"About wanting me." El said, because that was the best way she could possibly express all the terror that had consumed her. "As a daughter."
"No." Hop said. "Never."
She mopped her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"It's Mike's, isn't it?" Hop asked, frowning. "Little shit . . ."
El laughed, hiccuping.
"Stop!" It's not his fault."
"Does he know?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
"He says he wants to be a part of it." She said. "We're going to do this together." And he asked her to marry him, which Hopper didn't need to know about. Not yet, anyway. El sighed, inwardly. It was surreal. It still felt like they were just kids playing house.
"What about his classes?"
El shook her head, at loss.
"I don't know." She looked at him. "I don't know what to do."
"You'll figure it out."
"What if I don't?" She said, voice trembling.
"You will." He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, patting her hand.
"No more secrets. You don't have to hide from me, alright?" Hopper sighed. "There are things I've never told you. Things I've known for a long time that I've never said aloud, and it's so stupid, because I should say them . . ."
He took a breath.
"All that stuff you said about Sara, and about me not loving you, that's all bullshit."
El looked away.
"El, listen to me," Hop began. "You could never replace Sara. She was my daughter, and I loved her. And then she died, and it felt like I didn't want to live in a world without her, anymore. It got bad. It got really bad. But then you came along, and you changed things. You'll never replace her, but you don't have to, alright? It's not a question of who I loved more, okay? That's not how it works." He paused, sighing. "I love you. You're my daughter. Nothing could ever change that."
"Even this?"
"Even this." Hopper smiled, sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
El shook her head, eyes brimming with tears.
"I'm sorry, too."
Hopper squeezed her hand.
"Things have a funny way of working out how you least expect. And I guess that day I found you out in the woods, everything just kind of . . . fell into place." He planted a kiss on her forehead.
"And what's all that crap about me not wanting you? You're my daughter. I'm your dad. It's my job to protect you. Did you think I was just gonna throw you out on the streets?"
El nodded, dumbly.
Hopper shook his head.
"Never." He said. "You gave me another shot at being a dad, and I'm not going to mess it up. You and me, we gotta stick together. Alright?"
El hugged him, and his arms encircled her shoulders, holding fast. He drew away, holding her at arm's length. He frowned.
"What?" She asked.
"This is a big responsibility, you know." He said. "Being a parent isn't easy."
"I know." She grimaced.
"I don't want you to think you have to throw your future away with both hands. If this isn't what you want, you've got options. This is your decision."
"I know."
She couldn't give it up. Joyce's voice echoed, in her head. She'd said she knew she and Jonathan belonged together, from the start. El gazed at her lap, not looking at him.
"I'm keeping it."
It was the only thing she was absolutely certain of, amidst all this chaos. Hop nodded.
"It's about time you saw a doctor. We want to make sure it's healthy." Hop said. "I'll make a phone call, if you want."
El looked at him, eyes welling with tears. He squeezed her hand. The weight lifted, then. She hugged him, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him.
"Thank you."
They set the appointment for later in the week. El called Mike, telling him about her conversations with Joyce and Hopper and the upcoming appointment. He told her he'd skip class that day to be there, and El's heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. Happiness and guilt threatened to tear her in half. She hated to make him miss his class, but she also wanted him there, so they could share this experience. When she voiced this to him, he'd insisted on being there, assuring her his decision had been made and there was nothing she could stay to keep him from coming with her to that doctor's appointment, so she let it rest.
She hung up, relieved to have put the issue to bed. Hopper knew. It wasn't some awful thing she kept hidden inside, any longer. He'd reacted better than she could've hoped, and though it hurt to see him get so upset, she was glad to have his support. In all honesty, she was going to need all the help she could get. And there were plenty of people she had yet to tell. Mike was waiting to tell his parents until he could do it in person, and they hadn't told any of the party. She imagined that conversation, feeling queasy. She knew they'd support her. Their friendship was more than friendship. It was something else, entirely. Something stronger. They had each other's back, no matter what.
After she got off the phone with Mike, she ran a bath, easing herself into the water. She sighed, closing her eyes. This week had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. She allowed herself to enjoy the comfort and warmth, pushing all the stresses and fears and dark thoughts into the corners of her mind. She massaged shampoo into her scalp and hummed along to the radio she'd set up on the bathroom counter. She lay on her back, submerging herself, so the music on the radio became washed-out and muffled. She traced a finger across her waistline, taking the time to pick through all the white noise in the void to find that little inkling of a consciousness. It was extremely faint. She didn't even know how it existed, exactly, considering her baby's brain wasn't developed. But it was there, and El marveled at it, at this undeniable, unbreakable connection that existed between her and her child. El projected as much love and comfort as she could over the bridge between them, trying to see into its thoughts and dreams. But everything was just shadows and shapes, blended colors and muffled sounds, like radio feedback. Nothing she could make any sense of. Eventually, she resurfaced. She finished her bath and climbed out, wrapping a towel around her body.
After she'd changed, she found Hop on the porch, downstairs, once she'd put on pajamas. She joined him, outside, shivering in the cold. He looked at her, smiling, and wrapped an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing at the sky. No words passed between them. They'd said all that needed to be said.
She'd just finished clearing away the remnants of their T.V. dinners from the coffee table, by the sofa, when someone rapped on the door. El tossed the plastic tray in the garbage and brushed her hands on her jeans, going to answer it. She turned the knob, opening the door. Mike stood on the porch, bag slung over his shoulder, hair properly mussed and falling over his forehead. He grinned, opened his mouth to say something to her, but he trailed off as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed her, lifting her off her feet.
"What're you doing here?" She asked, breathlessly.
"I took off a little early." He shrugged, sheepishly. "Thought I'd spend the night."
She kissed him, again.
"El, who's there?" Hopper called, inside the house, and Mike broke the kiss, paling.
"You've got a lotta nerve, coming here." She teased him.
"Is he pissed?"
"Kind of. But I made him promise not to kill you."
"That's reassuring." Mike deadpanned. She planted a kiss on his jawline, attempting to draw his attention. He smiled, tilting his chin to peck her on the lips, but she knew his thoughts lay elsewhere. His body felt like a wall, tense and unyielding. She rolled her eyes, tugging his hand.
"C'mon."
"He's gonna kill me." Mike said, hoarsely.
"No, he's not."
"He knows we had sex!"
El rolled her eyes, again.
"Mike, that's the least of our worries." She pulled him inside.
"El, who—" Hopper paused, in the entryway, eyeing Mike.
"Hey, Chief." Mike squeaked, flushing.
"You're dead, Wheeler."
"Dad." El warned, glaring at him. She planted herself firmly between them. "You promised."
Hopper shrugged.
"Mike's staying the night." She informed him, casualy. "If you need us, we'll be upstairs."
"El . . ." Hop warned. "Watch it. Remember the rules, and, oh what the hell . . ." He trailed off, grimacing, whispering something under his breath that sounded like the damage is already fucking done . . .
El rolled her eyes. She seized Mike's hand, and they went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He dumped his bag on her bed, and then he crossed the room in two easy strides and pushed his hands through her hair and he was kissing her, and she kissed him back. He pulled back, eyes searching her face.
"How're you feeling?"
"Fine. Better, now that it's out in the open." She said. She meant it. Keeping this secret locked inside had been hell.
He nodded, slowly.
"I wonder how my parents will take it." He said. "My mom will freak, and my dad . . ." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Screw them."
"Mike . . ." El began.
"This is all that matters." He said, resting his hands on her hips, stroking her waistline. "You and me and the baby. Nobody else."
He planted a kiss between her eyes.
"That's not true." She said. "We can't do this alone. If your parents don't want any part it in it, fine, but we're gonna need help."
"We'll figure it out." Mike said, because that was his answer for everything. And El thought there might be some bravery, a leap of faith, a kind of fuck you in the face of everything, somewhere in those words.
Do you wanna figure it out?
It's what he said when she told him she didn't know how to dance, the night of the Snow Ball. He'd taken her hands and led her onto the dance floor. And then they were dancing, and El knew he was nervous but he didn't let that stop him. He had that same look in his eyes the night he'd kissed her in the gymnasium as their lives fell apart and the sky crashed down around them. He had the same look in his eyes, now, as his fingers brushed over the place where their baby grew with a touch softer than moth's wings. It was that light, that spark, that let her know he'd be there, beside her, through the good and the bad. Through the monsters and the school dances and the sun and the shadows. It was the same look she fell in love with, years ago.
They watched a movie until El fell asleep with her head in Mike's lap. She stirred as he eased off the sofa and went to switch off the T.V. They climbed the stairs and lay in her bed, until Hop's shuffling footsteps ceased and his snores filled the cabin. In the darkness, El reached for him, pulling him to her chest, lips traveling over his neck and jawline. He pulled her shirt off, and she crawled on top of him, until she was straddling his lap, and they were so close they were breathing the same air, taking the time to measure out the spaces between their breaths and heartbeats.
The first time they'd crossed that line, venturing beyond the realm of kissing, she was just shy of sixteen.
In health class, while the rest of the class giggled and blushed and whispered innuendos under their breath, El sat straight-backed in her chair, watching the presentation with rapt attention. She was only just beginning to decipher the boys' complex interactions: their insinuations and jokes and things that sounded like one thing but meant another. She'd heard the word "sex" before, didn't understand why all the adults in her life danced around the concept, why it existed with so many strings attached. She watched her soaps, and she listened in health class, and the information she gathered led her to this conclusion: 1) sex was just a natural thing people did, usually when they loved each other 2) it was how you made babies, but that could be prevented 3) it felt good 4) she very much wanted to do it with Mike.
This conclusion didn't embarrass her. Not one bit. Not the way it embarrassed him, when she brought it up on a sleepy Saturday morning, as they sat on the sofa in Mike's living room, joined at the shoulder and hip, planning Mike's biggest D&D campaign in all of history.
"Mike, when are we going to have sex?" She asked. Unfortunately, he'd taken a sip of orange juice precisely the same time those words left her mouth, and the juice ended up spraying in every direction as he reeled, trying to process the question. His eyes bulged, and he coughed and spluttered. El thwacked him on the back, and he, with eyes streaming and cheeks stained bright red, recovered enough to respond.
"What?"
"Sex. When are we going to have sex?"
"You . . . you wanna have sex?"
"Yes." She said. Words were a big deal, with El. She didn't use them lightly, and she certainly didn't waste them. She was blunt. She said what she meant. She didn't beat around the bush, and she didn't sugarcoat anything. It was a blessing and a curse.
"Well, uh, we're, um . . ." Mike stuttered. "If you, if you really want to, I mean . . . I want to, too, but only if you do . . ."
"Mike." El said.
"And, I mean, if you want to then we'll figure it out, and I . . ."
"Mike." El said, again, lacing her fingers with his own, stopping his words with a kiss. Her lips nudged against his, tender and soft and so insistent . . . And Mike did one (1) smart thing, that day. He shut up and kissed her back. And she was suddenly, very aware of his body. The feel of his lips, against her own, his knee brushing against her thigh, his fingers splayed across her jaw.
He broke the kiss, thumb moving across her cheek, and she sat back, dizzy.
"I want to, El. And if you want to, we will." He said. "We'll figure it out, alright? We'll figure it out."
A month came and went, then another, before the topic cropped up, again. Sure, Dustin and Lucas made their jokes, and Mike rolled his eyes and flipped the bird at them and made a big show of leaning down and kissing El full on the mouth, just to prove his point. He let their teasing roll of his shoulders. He was older, now. And wiser. And he didn't give as many fucks. Because they'd grown up too fast, and you didn't go through the stuff they did that week in November, and the year after, without a scratch. Losing El had left Mike with permanent scars. And he was determined to make use of every, single, precious second he spent in her presence. So, he fessed up his feelings, and everyone rolled their eyes, and he and El had fallen into an easy relationship that felt just about as natural as breathing. It was too real, too big to fit into a label. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, they were just Mike and El. They were old souls, each one lost without the other, trying to fight their way out of all the monsters and school bullies and weird shit. Together. Mike never left her side if he could help it, and everyone at school pretty much accepted that Mike Wheeler and Jane Hopper were in love. They always had been, always would be. And that was that.
The topic didn't come up again for a long time. When it did, it was El who brought it up. They were in the basement, sprawled on the ragged, old sofa. The fort had been rebuilt; it was bigger, now, so it fit them. A larger, better version of their D&D table completed the ensemble of new additions. The basement became an escape, for them. A place of safety, of comfort. Often, various members of the party dropped in unannounced, looking for a quiet place to study, to de-stress, to find refuge from the week's break-ups and breakdowns, and the nightmares that suffocated them. It was a familiar place. A safe place, for all of them.
Today, it was raining, and the droplets fell outside in a slow, steady rhythm. Mike dozed, and El lay sandwiched between his body and the cushions, brushing his hair back from his forehead, listening to his heartbeat, thudding against her ear. She studied the spattering of freckles across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Everything was dark about him. Everything from his thick, dark eyebrows to his darker eyelashes to his coffee-colored irises to his jet-black hair. Everything.
Boys weren't supposed to be beautiful. But he was.
Thunder rumbled, overhead, and Mike's eyelids fluttered. He opened them. She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his, slowly working her way down the column of his neck. His whole body shuddered. He fisted his fingers in her hair, pressing kisses to her brow, her earlobe, her neck. There were suddenly too many layers of clothes between them, not enough oxygen in the room. He slipped a hand under her shirt, fingers stroking across her skin, raising goosebumps.
"Is this okay?" He asked. She nodded.
"Yes." She said, lips sealing to his mouth, tongue nudging between his teeth.
"Mike?" She asked, between his kisses.
"Mmmm?"
"Let's go to your room."
Mike's cheeks reddened. He knew what she was hinting at. But it was less of a shock, this time around. This time around, he was thinking along the same lines.
"Okay." And he grinned. She laughed. He laughed, too. They stood, and Mike took her hand, leading her up the stairs.
They lay Mike's bed, figuring things out. After, as they lay on the mattress, tangled in the sheets and in each other, sweaty and panting, with no clothes between them, Mike couldn't keep the world's stupidest grin from spreading across his face. When he looked at El, he found she wore a matching one. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and they fell silent, listening to each other's breaths slowing down, and the rain outside the window, and for the sound of a car door or footsteps on the walk or any sign of impending interruption. But the universe seemed to be giving them a break, for the moment. And so they let themselves enjoy it. The rain. The closeness. The empty house. And each other.
The first time Hop caught them making it out, they'd been sprawled on the living room couch, unworried and unhurried, and they'd gotten a bit carried away when she heard Hop's footsteps.
Hey!" Hopper yelled, shielding his eyes. "Hey, hey, hey, that's enough!"
They sprang apart, hearts racing. Mike's eyes fixated on the floor, an expression of terror and mortification stamped across his face. Blood crept up the his neck and splashed across his cheeks. El, on the other hand, met Hop's eyes with a defiant stare. Her eyes, ringed with black eyeliner, burned holes into him.
If she could actually read minds, she'd know Hopper was thinking any other circumstance, he would've been quite proud (and slightly concerned) to realize she'd turned out just like him: obstinate, loyal to a fault, and sick of everyone's bullshit.
"What's for dinner?" She asked.
"Uh . . . we're not going to address the elephant in the room?"
El looked over her shoulder, then back at him.
"I don't see an elephant."
"El."
"Dad." She returned, cocking a brow.
Hopper pressed his lips together.
"El, we talked about this. You kids are too young . . . you shouldn't . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head, running a palm over his chin. He blew out a breath, accepting defeat.
"This conversation isn't over."
Mike muttered a hasty goodbye to El, risked a peck on her cheek, and left, Hopper ordered a pizza. A heavy, tense silence hung over the table, and El couldn't ignore it. She picked at the food on her plate, uncharacteristically un-hungry. She glanced at Hop. He downed the last of his beer and pushed his chair back. He folded his arms, glowered at her.
He'd lectured her, and she'd just rolled her eyes. Little did he know, she and Mike had already ventured into that territory.
El waited for Hop to finish, bored. All of it was old news. He wanted to keep her safe, wanted to make sure they weren't getting in over their heads. And they weren't. They communicated. And they never, ever did something if either one wasn't comfortable with it. She wanted to tell Hop all this. Maybe it'd help him sleep better, at night. But, no. She didn't. He'd probably freak out. And this was between her and Mike.
"Friends don't lie." Mike told her. "But, sometimes it's okay to leave out some information. It's okay to keep things between us, you know? It's an exception to the rule. It's a special circumstance."
It was between them and no one else. Their secret. She liked the word. Liked the way it tasted. And she liked the way he felt whenever they did cross that line. She liked the way he filled her up and made her whole. Whether it was in his bed or in the basement or the backseat of her car.
They figured things out, like they always did. And it worked. They worked. Admittedly, more than a pair of sixteen-year-olds probably should, but, hey, they weren't ordinary sixteen-year-olds. They were Mike and El. They were invincible.
She thought about all this as they sank into that slow, steady rhythm, careful not to make a sound. And El hadn't appreciated skin as much as she appreciated it, now. All those contact points along her body that he set on fire. When it was over, he wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her head where it fit perfectly under his chin so her breath brushed across his neck. Not thinking about tomorrow. Not thinking about the baby or the storm clouds or the big, dark unknown. Losing herself in him and in her slowing pulse and the little bubble of safety and warmth and happiness that surrounded her whenever they were together.