During the night, El pulled Mike close and kissed him, overcome with need. He opened his eyes, sitting up in surprise, before giving in, honoring her voiceless request.
"You're insatiable." He muttered, against her lips.
"Shut up."
Then there were no clothes between them, and he laid her down and kissed her like she'd never been kissed. She'd fallen asleep wrapped in his embrace, feeling the tremors leave her body, and a certain fullness. Like electricity, like a breath of air.
It took her a long time to love her body.
She was nothing but an experiment. Her body was just a vehicle for her brain, the piece they needed. The piece they'd molded and excavated and manipulated. She'd accumulated scars, over the years. From the beatings, the needles, and the times she'd dug her fingernails so deep into her palms or the soft skin of her forearms in an attempt to anchor herself in some semblance of reality, as monsters and men battered at the walls around her mind. There were the bruises, trailing after rough, unyielding fingers. There was the sting of an open palm on her cheek, the countless accounts of physical abuse.
And then there were the scars you couldn't see. The scars left in her mind, in her memories. Those scars took longer to heal. A lot of memories from the lab remained fuzzy, distant, as if she was viewing someone else's life as an outsider. A lot of the pieces were warped or missing completely. She would later learn, from her therapist, or an excerpt in her high school psychology textbook, that this was a common side effect of trauma. A coping mechanism. She'd looked up the word in the dictionary.
To cope, to deal effectively with something difficult.
Once she'd put distance between herself and all the trauma, the pieces fell back into place. She began to understand the enormity of what they'd done to her, the things they'd stolen from her. The pieces of her they'd touched—mutilated and ruined. Lying there, in the darkness, she could still feel each one of those pains like a physical wound.
It took her a long time to love her body.
Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw the monster they made her. She saw the shell of a person, a scared little girl riddled with scars. Damaged goods. Less than human.
With time, it got better. The scared little girl became a strong, young woman. The sharp edges of her face grew softer, gained some color. She got taller, her hair grew out and began to curl. The wounds scabbed over and began to heal. The scars faded. The shadows that pooled in her eyes gave way to something clearer, brighter.
For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be loved. To feel safe. To have friends, a family. But every day was an uphill battle. There were times she sat in the bathtub and scrubbed her skin raw, trying to feel something because all that scar tissue had made her numb. There were times she broke down, screaming at things inside her head.
New scars joined the old ones. A skinned knee, after Max tried to teach her to ride a skateboard and she'd fallen on the asphalt. A sprained ankle. A black eye. Scars that painted over the long history of abuse with carefree, childish accidents.
She loved the things her body could do. She loved each curve and every scar. She loved the way it felt when Mike touched her. The spaces between heartbeats and the brush of fingertips trailing her spine awakened a whole spectrum of colors behind her eyelids. When she was with him, he made her feel beautiful. Each kiss made her feel new, remade. He taught her how to love her body. He taught her that her body was much more than a vehicle for a weapon. When they crossed the line that separated just kissing and something more, she discovered her body all over again. When she learned about her pregnancy, she marveled at its resilience.
It may have been riddled with scars, but it was still capable of love. It was still capable of feeling something other than pain. It was still capable of bringing new life into the world.
After they'd finished, and Mike's breathing evened, she stared at the ceiling, thinking of the thousands of scars etched in her skin. She was more than those scars. She was strong. She was beautiful. She was art.
Fiddling with the ring on her finger, she drifted off.
They woke up slowly, staying in bed, trying to fight the numbers on the clock as they climbed upward. Mike's roommate, Danny, hadn't returned, and El wasn't keen to run into him if he did show up, in the sober light of day. The bed was warm, however, and Mike's arms encircled her, making her feel safe, so she allowed for a few more moments of stillness before nature (and pregnancy) called her away from him, and she went to the bathroom to relieve herself. The baby was pushing on her bladder more and more these days, it seemed.
She returned, pulling one of Mike's hoodies over her head and slipping into a pair of jeans. He gazed at her, eyes begging her to stay, to come back to bed, but she just knelt by his side and kissed him.
"I have to go." She whispered, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
"No, you don't." He said, voice roughened with sleep. She turned, shouldering her overnight bag. Mike caught her wrist, finger pushing against her pulse.
"El."
"Mike."
She held his gaze, until Mike cast his eyes away and El knew she'd won the battle. He slid out of bed and began to dress, but not before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
A rush of frigid air met her as she opened the door and stepped out into the snow. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, ducking to avoid the bitter wind as it bit at her cheeks. Joyce's Pinto waited in the street, and she rushed over to the passenger side and opened the door, climbing in.
Joyce smiled.
"Hey, sweetie."
"Hey."
"How're you doing?"
"Good." She said.
"Excited for winter break?"
"Yes! Mike's coming home next Tuesday. I can't wait to see everyone."
"How's our little bun in the oven?" Joyce asked, patting her belly.
"The baby's doing good. I'm not as tired as I used to be." She smiled. "Everything's good."
"Good."
Joyce volunteered to take her shopping for maternity clothes. El accepted the offer, glad to spend some time with Joyce, the mother she never had. Plus, Dr. Simmons was right. Her clothes were snug, and her options were quite limited. In another month's time, she wouldn't be able to hide it any longer. El wondered if it was just her brain playing tricks or if she actually looked that big. Standing in the mirror, looking at herself from the side, her belly poked out in a definitive curve.
Hop noticed. He'd made some comment, but she'd shut him up with a glare. He meant well. She'd pass him in the hall or on her way out of the kitchen, and he'd rub the place where her baby grew, affectionately. Instances like this were enough to prompt a wave of tears. She asked the universe what she'd done to deserve him. Her dad, who'd found her in the snow and given her a home and safety—a new normal. Who'd risked his life for her. Who'd given her the kind of love she'd never known from Brenner. She couldn't begin to put into words how grateful she was. He was handling this better than she could've expected, and she counted her lucky stars.
She'd told him about her engagement, the day she came home from Indianapolis.
"I know." He said.
"What?" She asked, dumbfounded.
"Mike asked for my blessing, a few weeks ago." He said. "Seems a bit old fashioned, if you ask me."
"And?"
Hop shrugged.
"Who am I to disapprove? You kids are old enough to make your own decisions. Hell, you're having a kid together. I support it."
She threw his arms around his neck, choking back a sob of relief.
"Thank you." She'd told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "For everything."
They drove out to the shopping mall in Roane City, about a half-hour away. El took her time, picking out soft, stretchy shirts and sweaters. Joyce held up a cute, black top.
"Black is slimming." She said, holding it up for El's inspection. "You look good in black." Joyce winked. "It suits you."
El took it.
"Pretty." She said.
She took an armful of clothes to the dressing rooms, stamping down the twinge of panic that came whenever she found herself in small spaces. She tried on the first item, a horrible, checkered blouse.
"C'mon, I wanna see." Joyce called, and El unlocked the door, making a face.
"It looks like a tablecloth." She said. Joyce snorted, with laughter. Eventually, she settled on a variety of items she liked. She took it to the cashier, an older woman with dark hair and severe features. She threw El the kind of disapproving, pitying look with which people regard young mothers, and El felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She dropped her eyes to the floor, burning with shame.
When her stuff had been paid for, she and Joyce got lunch at a deli on the corner. Joyce tried to get her to talk, but she remained quiet and distant throughout the remainder of their outing. She couldn't get the cashier's face out of her head. She kept chewing over the memory, feeling nauseous. Joyce seemed to know something was bothering her. El avoided Joyce's soft, questioning eyes, and she didn't pry.
It wasn't until El told Mike about it later, that she began to feel better.
"Don't worry about it, El. There's nothing to be ashamed of. If people don't like it, then screw 'em. It's none of their business."
They talked long into the night, until they ran out of things to say and she fell asleep with the sound of his breathing, imbued with static, whispering in her ear.
Christmas preparations kept her busy. Between shifts at the station, El wrapped gifts and baked Christmas cookies. Hop got home, one night, shaking snow from his hood, to find El buried under scraps of wrapping paper, wrestling with a spool of ribbon.
He sat on the floor, next to her, and tugged the ribbon from her hands. They finished wrapping gifts, then stayed up late and watched holiday movies until she couldn't keep her eyes open and Hopper switched the T.V. off.
She dreamt, that night, of falling snow and frosty rooftops and hearths full of glowing embers. She woke to a full bladder and hands that found their way underneath the waistband of her pajama pants, resting over her bump, during the night.
She talked to it, sometimes. In the darkness, tracing patterns over the curve of her belly, she told the baby about its family—Mike and the party and Grandpa Hop. In the darkness, she'd half-whisper, half-sing renditions of "Kid Fears" under her breath.
Mike got home on Friday night. They decided to catch dinner and a movie, and then they went back to Mike's place and hung out in the basement. On Christmas Eve, the party got together to exchange gifts.
On top of a stack of comics and a new coat, she received an assortment of baby stuff, in preparation for her little one. Dustin gifted her a fuzzy, blue hoodie, which she adored, and Will gave her a pair of little sneakers that lit up, in the dark. She smiled, hugging them each in turn. Dustin knelt, so he was level with her stomach. She giggled.
"We can't wait for you to join the party officially, little guy." He said. "When do you find out if it's a boy or a girl?" He asked.
"January." She said.
"When's your due date?" Max asked.
"Early May."
Later, after the party left and Hop had retired to bed, El and Mike retreated to the recliner, by the fire. It was way too small to fit both of them, but they lay there, anyway, with their legs entwined and temples resting together, flipping through the pages of the day-by-day pregnancy guide they'd bought. By her calculations, it was roughly day one-hundred-fifteen of her pregnancy.
"Your baby can hold its head upright. Its facial features are becoming more defined, and many of its internal systems, such as the digestive and circulatory systems, are beginning to function." She read, aloud. "By the end of week sixteen, your baby will be roughly five inches long."
When her eyelids grew heavy, she closed the book and set it aside, and they fell asleep in that chair, waking only as gray, morning light filtered through the window.
On Christmas morning, El, Mike, and Hop opened the rest of their Christmas gifts. Mike bought her one of those at-home fetal dopplers Simmons told her about, and she fumbled with the box in a hurry to open it. She leaned back, lifting her shirt. Mike squeezed her hand as the sound of their baby's heartbeat floated out of the device. He took her face in her hands and kissed her.
"Incredible." He breathed, and she just nodded, overcome with emotion.
All of them, Joyce and Jonathan and Nancy and the Party, even Steve, gathered at the Byers' house for dinner. Jonathan snapped dozens of pictures. She'd examine, later, unable to keep the smile off her cheeks as she recalled memories of this Christmas. She ate until she thought she might explode, and then the party piled into Will's room and built a blanket fort so large it put the old one in Mike's basement to shame. She fell asleep sandwiched between Mike and Dustin, surrounded by a safety net of several familiar, warm bodies and the sound of their breathing.
All in all, it was a good Christmas, one of the happiest in her memory. She thought of her first Christmas. Her first real Christmas. She'd helped Hop cut down a Christmas tree, and they'd decorated it together. It became a tradition, after that, but that first tree held a place in her heart. They'd spent Christmas Eve at the Byers household, and on Christmas morning the entire party visited her in the cabin and gave her a Super Com of her own, so she could communicate without having to dip into the shadowy pools of her mind. She'd never had a proper Christmas. In the lab, the day came and went without a hint of tinsel or fairy lights. There were no trees, no presents, no cookies or Christmas carols. That Christmas had been nothing short of magical, for her. Full of firsts.
There had been others, of course. Mike's family invited her on a vacation into the mountains for her second Christmas. She remembers having in epic snowball fights and sledding down the big snow bank outside their cabin. She remembers sharing a room with Nancy, and, in the middle the of the night, sneaking down the hall to crawl into bed with Mike. She caught him by surprise; when he opened his big, dumb mouth to exclaim, she'd just clamped a hand over his lips to shut him up. She remembers falling asleep, nestled into his side, every nerve in her body hyper-aware and buzzing. In the morning, Mrs. Wheeler found them sharing a bed. She hadn't been happy.
When she was fifteen, somebody thought it was funny to hang a bough of mistletoe above the doorframe leading into the Wheeler's kitchen, and she and Mike somehow ended up under it, and he'd kissed her until both of them were breathless and blushing and Dustin was pretending to throw up.
Yes, it had been a good Christmas. One of the best.
New Year's came and went. Fireworks and midnight kisses and glasses of champagne (sparkling cider for El, because, well) ushered in a new decade. She cheered as the ball dropped in Times square on the T.V. and laughed as Dustin and Lucas broke their poppers and blew sound makers, making the neighbors' dog bark. Will hooked his elbow under her arm, and they danced around the kitchen until she couldn't breathe for laughter.
On a frigid Wednesday in mid-January, Mike drove to their next appointment. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, but the beat wandered astray from the song playing on the radio, and El knew his mind was elsewhere. She reached over, laying a hand on his knee. It stopped bouncing.
"What're you thinking about?"
"Hmm?" He asked, absently. She just shook her head, looking out the window.
"Never mind."
They lapsed into silence. El tore her eyes away from the frosted trees along the roadside and looked at him.
"Do you wanna know the sex?" She asked. "We can always ask to be surprised."
Mike shrugged.
"It's up to you."
El glanced out the window, again.
"I want to know." She said. It came out quieter than she'd intended. But it was true. She wanted to know. Badly.
Mike thought it was a girl; he was keen to remind her, on several occasions. El couldn't help thinking, though she had no scientific evidence, that it was a boy. Just instinct, she guessed. Whether her instinct could be trusted or not, she'd find out soon enough.
Mike smiled.
"Okay."
They waited in the lobby, and Mike knotted his fingers in the spaces between her own and brought them to his mouth, planting soft kisses to her knuckles. A nurse called her name, and Mike accompanied her as they completed the usual tests, just checking off the boxes. Weight, blood pressure, everything. Simmons greeted her in the exam room, and they ran through the usual question and answer routine, and then she instructed El to lay down in the big, cushy chair, by the monitor.
"Alright, here we go!" Simmons said, excitedly. She spread gel over El's bump, then pressed the wand against her skin, tapping commands into the computer. Mike squeezed El's hand. Her brows shot up.
Their baby looked like, well, a baby. El could see the distinct shape of its head, could see the bridge of its nose and its little fist, tucked under the chin. She smiled, battling a rush of euphoria, trying to reconcile the tiny thing they'd seen on the monitor, earlier in the pregnancy, with the image she was looking at, now.
"Would you like to know the sex?" Simmons asked, looking at her with a mysterious, knowing smile. El nodded.
Dr. Simmons smiled, pausing for effect.
"It's a girl."
El dreamt of the void. She floated endlessly through the black abyss, wandering through pools of murky water that lapped against her ankles. It went on forever. There was so much space, so much cold, empty, nothingness around her. A ripple disturbed the water, and El froze, straining her ears against the vacuum of silence. She wasn't alone. There were things lurking beyond this veil of black. Things with sharp teeth and cold, reptilian skin and breath that stank of death and decay. She began to run, crashing through the water, sending a spray of droplets in every direction. She wound up on her hands and knees, exhausted, sobbing and screaming at things inside her head.
El woke with a jolt, legs tangled in the sheets. She sat up, hugging her arms to her chest. She was drenched in sweat, though she felt cold. She stared into the darkness, drawing lungfuls of air, trying to slow her racing pulse. Blindly, she reached for the lamp on her bedside table and turned the switch. She swung her bare legs out of the sheets (she'd fallen asleep in nothing but her underwear and one of Mike's old hoodies) and sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, catching her breath.
This wasn't the first time she'd returned to the void in her dreams. It wouldn't be the last. The nightmares still plagued her, but they didn't leave her shaking and screaming, like they used to. She scarcely cried out. Instead, she gritted her teeth and drowned in the sheets, in visions of a place that was devoid of anything but blackness and silence. A cold place. A dark place. She woke with her jaws aching and her clothes sticking to her, drenched in sweat.
El got to her feet, went to the bathroom, and drank a few swallows of water straight from the tap. She straightened and turned off the faucet. She'd started back to her room when she felt something stirring, within her.
It was nothing more than a flutter, small and unmistakable. Butterfly wings. She gasped, lifting her sweatshirt and laying a hand over her belly. She held her breath, pressing her palm over the place she'd felt her baby move. Another flutter, stronger than the first. She laughed.
"Dad!" She yelled, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. She leaned against the frame. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Hey, little girl." She said, in a soft, hushed tone. "Whatcha doing in there?"
"Dad!" She called, again. Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Hopper appeared in the doorway, wearing boxer shorts.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"She's moving." She said.
"What?" Hop said, rubbing his eyes.
El rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand. She guided his palm to her lower, right side. Another flutter, distinct and undeniable.
"She's moving around." El grinned. "Feel it?"
"Yeah." He said, gazing at her. "Yeah, I feel it. Just barely, but I feel it." He laughed, shaking his head. "Jesus."
She beamed at him.
"I have to tell Mike!" She said, rushing across the hall, to her bedroom.
"Can't it wait 'till morning?" Hopper said, exasperated.
"No, I promised I'd call if anything baby-related happened."
"It's three o'clock in the morning, El."
She ignored him, dialing Mike's dorm. She fumbled with the receiver, fingers shaking.
"Hello?" Mike asked, voice roughened with sleep and confusion.
"Mike!" She blurted.
"El?" His voice sharpened, and she didn't miss the note of panic in it. "What is it? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine." She assured him. She paused, a beat, for effect. When she spoke, her voice is barely a whisper.
"I felt the baby move."
"What?" He yelped.
"Yeah, I just . . . I woke up and I felt this tiny little flutter. But it's her, Mike, I can feel her."
"That's incredible." He said, excitedly. "What's it like?"
"It's hard to explain." She said, massaging her stomach. "It's not like a big kick or anything, it's just a little twitch, really small . . ." She trailed off. "It's so weird."
"I wish I could've been there." He whined. "I'm supposed to be around to support you when stuff like this happens, El, I—"
"Mike." She interjected. "Don't worry. Hop's with me. He felt her, too. It'll happen a lot more, trust me."
"I know." He said. "I can be there in an hour?" He offered, half-joking.
"She settled down, I think." El said, rubbing her belly. She hadn't felt another movement since he'd picked up. "Really, Mike, don't waste the gas. We still have a long way to go, this won't be the last time she moves."
"How 'bout I visit this weekend, then? My professor cancelled our class on Friday."
"I have to work on Friday." She said.
"Good, I'll visit you at the station." He said, as if that settled it. "Maybe Flo will let me steal you for the afternoon, and we can grab a coffee or catch a movie, or something.
"Okay." She said. A beat. "I can't wait."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
He hung up, and El sat at the edge of the bed, both hands pressed on either side of her growing bump, chewing on her lip. Hop, who'd been standing in the doorway, crossed the room and sat on the bed, beside her. The springs creaked, under his weight. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her.
"Need anything, before I go back to bed?" He asked, gently.
"No, I'm fine." El said.
"If I'm lucky, I might squeeze in another hour or two's worth of sleep." He looked at the clock and huffed, exasperated. "I'm too old for these late-night escapades."
El giggled, albeit a bit guiltily.
"Her terms, not mine." El said. "Sorry I woke you."
"Nothin' to be sorry for." Hopper assured her. He scratched his chin, absently.
"Is she still moving?"
"Not anymore." El said.
"Don't let her keep you up. You should rest." He said.
"I won't." El promised. "She's calm, now."
Hop nodded. He ruffled her curls, pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Night, Ellie."
"Night, Dad."
El spent the remainder of the week counting the days to Friday. She got better at detecting the baby's movement, and El began to recognize a pattern. She liked to move during the night. Often, the tiny, fluttering movements were enough to wake El from her restless slumber, and she'd lay in the darkness with her hands pressed tight against her stomach, feeling the baby move and stretch its limbs, unable to keep from cracking a smile.
Her, El corrected herself. She'd been overjoyed to find out about their little girl, struck with a kind of wonder that she thought most mothers with daughters probably felt.
A little girl.
Just like her.
Mike was even more excited than she was, if that was even possible. He'd pulled her into a tight embrace, and she could feel his smile against her cheek.
"I was right." He said. "It must be some kind of Spidey-sense. Like, dad-intuition." He snapped his fingers. "Dadtuition."
"Is that a thing?"
"Yes?" Mike said. "Point is, I knew it all along."
"Oh, you're gonna play that game?" She asked, rolling her eyes. "Is this the part where you say I told you so?"
"Told you so." Mike deadpanned. El smirked, waving her hand.
"You had a fifty-fifty shot." She said. "It was a lucky guess."
When she told Hopper, he asked what Mike thought. She told him, and he just laughed.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the kid has him wrapped around her little finger the second she's born, if how he acts around you is any indication." He shook his head. "Hell, he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky." He chuckled.
El smiled. A secret smile. Mike was already enamored with their little girl. If the way he talked to the baby and kissed her bump and reminded her, constantly, to minimize stress and eat enough dairy, was any proof.
"I was smitten with Sara the moment I laid eyes on her, and it didn't take long for you to have me at your every beck and call."
El grinned. It was true. He was no match for her if she decided to pull the puppy-eyes trick, when she really wanted something. She knew he'd die for her, and she'd do the same.
She'd called their friends and told them the news. Nancy cheered, over the phone. Joyce had been ecstatic, pulling her into a hug.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm so happy for you!"
"God knows we've got enough testosterone around here." She remarked. "Of course, I raised two boys, so I've got next to no experience in this department." She poked El's side, affectionately. "I guess I can't credit myself with raising you, but I've always considered you my daughter." A lump gathered in El's throat, at her words. She hugged Joyce, tightly, touched beyond words.
The other day, the police department staff had thrown her a party of sorts. They'd surprised her with bunches of balloons and streamers. Pink, of course. Flo made cupcakes adorned with little roses made of icing, and Steve handed her a box, tied with ribbon, which she discovered contained an adorable, polka-dot onesie and a stuffed kangaroo.
"If you ever need a babysitter," Steve said, with a wink, "rumor has it I'm a pretty damn good one."
She hugged him, eyes brimming with tears.
On Friday, her workload wasn't bad. Flo brought her knitting to the station, and she spent her lunch break attempting to teach El simple patterns. It was a futile task, really. In the end, Flo sported the impeccable beginnings of a knitted hat, for the baby, while El wrestled with a gigantic tangle of yarn. She yanked at a knot, and it would unravel to reveal another, bigger knot. She grumbled, frustrated, and set down Flo's extra set of knitting needles.
"This is impossible." She groused, glaring at the lumpy thing, lying on the desk. It was supposed to be a scarf, but it didn't look like much of anything.
"Not impossible." Flo said, gently. "It just takes patience, sweetheart. You'll get the hang of it."
"Doubtful." El muttered, under her breath.
The station's front door swung open, letting in a gust of frigid, January wind, and in tromped Mike Wheeler. He pulled of his gloves, shaking the snow out of his hood. He caught sight of her, and his face broke into a grin.
"Hey." He said. He leaned against the desk, and El stood, standing on her tip-toes to peck her lips.
"The weather's pretty bad." He remarked. He caught her hands and pressed them to his cheeks.
"You're freezing." She said. She took his hand, raising it to her lips. She breathed on it, to warm it up, enfolding it in both of hers. He craned his neck, catching sight of the yarn and knitting needles, strewn across the desk. He cocked an eyebrow.
"I didn't know you could knit."
"I can't." El said, making a face. She shifted, blocking his view of the desk in an attempt to hide "scarf" she'd made, but Mike lunged for it. He turned it over in his hands, eyebrows disappearing under the shock of dark curls that fell over his forehead. El blushed, snatching it back.
"It's harder than it looks." She defended herself, shutting down the sarcastic comment she knew danced on his tongue. He opened his mouth, closed it again, eyes alight with amusement.
"It's . . . good?" He offered. She sighed, stuffing the tangle of yarn in the top drawer of her desk.
"Forget it."
"Hey, no, I'm serious. It's good, El. Really good." Mike said. She covered her face with her hands in mock-embarrassment. She didn't really care about the knitting, but she liked to see him squirm.
"Stop." She whined. "You're just saying that make me feel better."
Mike grabbed her wrists, lowering her hands from her face.
"Friends don't lie." He said, each word punctuated by a kiss. One on her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. "It's good."
"I suck." She sighed, in despair.
"No, you don't."
She looked at her feet, pretending to contemplate if she wanted to believe him.
"Okay." She said, giving in. Mike laughed.
"How was the drive?" She asked.
"A nightmare." Mike said. "It's a goddamn blizzard, out there. I don't have snow tires, so I had to drive really slow, to avoid hitting a bad patch of ice. The traffic was terrible."
"Jesus." She breathed, stomach turning as the image of Mike's car, upside-down and buried in a snow drift, flashed in her mind's eye. The scream of sirens, slick ice . . .
"Stay." She said, squeezing his hand. "Until the bad weather clears up, at least. Mike, if you get in a bad accident . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip.
Mike nodded, somber.
"I'll stay."
"Promise?" She demanded.
"I promise."
Flo, graciously, gave her the rest of the afternoon off. El hugged her, gushing her thanks. Her appreciation for Flo increased exponentially the more she got to know the woman. Flo's approach to most things in life was strictly no-bullshit, and she knew how to handle herself quite well in such a male-dominated environment. She wasn't an officer, but she sure as hell ran the show. She could always be counted on for a good story. When El was finally introduced to the world as Hopper's long-lost daughter, and she was allowed to go outside, she'd spent entire summers helping out around the station before they started handing her a paycheck, for it. And a lot of those hours were filled up in Flo's company, listening to her talk about her childhood, her grandchildren, or her dog, Nelson.
Flo's homemade baked goods were stellar. Hopper claimed Flo's cooking, alone, was the reason he couldn't shave off those extra ten pounds. On top of it all, she always seemed to know when something was bothering El, and she knew exactly how to fix it.
When El got in trouble at school for picking fights with mouth breathers like James or Vince or Alice Cleary (God, the mere mention of that name was enough to make El's blood boil), and she got detention and didn't want to tell Hopper, Flo seemed to know something was wrong. This was, of course, before Hopper enforced the words first, fists second, powers never rule. Flo pulled her aside and asked her, gently, what was wrong. Something in Flo's voice, in her face, in her kind eyes, hit home. El dissolved into tears, confessing everything like it was some awful secret.
When the nightmares were particularly bad, or November rolled around and the anniversary of all the awful things that had happened left everyone a bit on edge, Flo brought word puzzles she cut out of the newspapers to the station, and El would sit with her feet propped against the desk, chewing on the end of her pencil in concentration.
When El found out about her pregnancy, and she was figuring out how to ride the rollercoaster of jumbled emotions bubbling under the surface, she'd mixed up one of the file cabinets by mistake and broke down. Whether it was the hormones, the frustration, or her ongoing struggle with eloquence, or all three, she didn't know. And the sideways, pitying looks she got weren't helping. She mopped her face, trying to conceal the tears. Flo ushered her into the breakroom. She sat El down and made her a cup of tea, giving her a kind of sad, knowing look that made El wonder if Flo suspected anything. If she knew, she didn't say anything. El was grateful.
El grabbed her coat, bidding Flo goodbye. She slipped her fingers into Mike's hand.
"What d'ya say we just go back to your place?" He asked, as they approached the parking lot, face screwed up against the cold.
"Okay." She said. It was the best idea she'd heard all day. Her back ached, her feet were swollen, and the unpleasantness outside made her want to do nothing else but curl up on the couch under a pile of blankets and fall asleep. So, that's exactly what they did.
As she lay with her back against the cushions, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie, Mike propped himself on one elbow and brushed his fingers through her hair. Slowly, gently, he eased her shirt up, revealing the curve of her belly. He planted kisses over her waist and belly button, touching his lips to the stretch marks that crawled over her skin. El sighed, letting her eyelids flutter closed.
"Hey, little girl." He said. A kiss. "It's me. It's Dad. I'm excited to meet you. I can't wait to hold you and read you bedtime stories and take you to the park and go on all kinds of fun adventures." Another kiss.
"She's moving around a lot, lately." She told him. "Usually at night, though. The minute I fall asleep, she starts doing somersaults."
"Good excuse for me to spend the night." Mike remarked, quirking a smile. El looked at him, sticking out her bottom lip.
"What, your beloved's yearning arms aren't a good enough excuse?" El teased.
"Who said anything about yearning?" He retorted. He took her face in his hands, face softening. "Don't be coy." He said, thumb grazing her cheekbone. "You'll always be enough."
She punched his shoulder.
"That's the sappiest shit I've ever heard."
"It's the truth." Mike said.
He smiled as he kissed her. El kissed him back, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. Torrents of giggles erupted out of her mouth, interrupting the kiss. As Mike pulled away, exasperation and amusement written in his expression, the baby moved. El froze.
"She's moving." El hissed. She seized Mike's hand, pressing it against the place where she felt those flutters. A smile stretched across his face.
"I feel it." Mike said, in hushed tones, as if speaking above a certain decibel might frighten their little girl. El smiled, squeezing his hand. Mike traced circles over her skin with the pad of his thumb. She moved, again, responding to his attentions. El giggled.
"It feels weird." She admitted, wrinkling her nose to keep from laughing as she felt another, ticklish movement.
Mike blew out a breath, awestruck. He kept his hands on El's belly, and the baby continued to tumble around, stirring faint, flickering movements in her womb. El couldn't shake the feeling that the baby was, somehow, aware of her parents' presence. Aware of the love that surrounded her.
"Incredible." He whispered.
El nodded. They lapsed into silence, and the baby's movements calmed, somewhat. El felt a twitch, here and there. Nothing else. El closed her eyes. The wind battered against the sides of the house, making the walls creak. A fire popped and crackled in the hearth. Mike continued to press kisses along her body—her stomach, her knuckles, her neck. These sounds lulled her into a sort of stupor. She probed the mental link she shared with their baby—the bond that had only strengthened over time. Contentment. Her word of the day, week, whatever. From what she could gather from the stream of consciousness that ran parallel to her own, her little girl was content. Calm, tranquil, happy.
You and me both, she thought, with a sigh. Mike eased onto his side, so they shared a pillow, his nose almost brushing her cheek. She gazed at him, losing herself in the tides of those dark, deep irises, in the freckles that splashed across his cheeks; they formed constellations, if you looked close enough. She'd mapped each one, over the years.
"Let's just stay here forever." She said.
Mike smiled.
"Okay."
She nodded, surrendering to the heaviness weighing on her eyelids. She drifted off, into a content, dreamless slumber.
Bright, mid-morning sun filtered through the curtain. It burned the back of El's eyelids, and she rolled on her side with a grumble, pulling her blanket over her head to keep out the sunlight. She tried to escape back into the welcoming arms of sleep, but it was futile. Hop was banging around downstairs, doing God knew what. Her mind was already awake and buzzing. Mike was dead weight beside her, fast asleep with one arm slung over her chest. She wriggled out of bed and crept downstairs, in time to catch Hop as he headed to the station to cover for Cal, who'd called in sick.
"There's pancake mix in the fridge, if you're hungry." He said, kissing her forehead. "Behave."
"Bye."
He grabbed his keys and his hat and left. El listened as the Blazer's engine roared to life and she heard the scrape of tires pulling out of the driveway.
She and Mike spent the morning lazing around. They watched a couple episodes of the Brady Bunch, and Mike painted her toes, and then El suggested they go for a walk.
She bundled up under several coats and sweaters, wearing two pairs of socks on each foot and fur boots. The temperatures had dipped below freezing, overnight. Though the snowstorm had passed, the bitter air still stung El's cheeks. Snow drifts higher than her waist coated the ground, dusting the trees and rooftops. She slipped her gloved hand into Mike's, pulling her collar up to cover her mouth. They trudged through the snow in silence. The snow muffled every sound—the crunch of ice under foot, the gentle tinkling of icicles melting in the midday sun, and distant sound of a car engine. No one seemed to be stirring on this bitter, bright day in January.
When Mike spoke, his voice seemed too loud, too sharp, breaking the quiet.
"I'm thinking about dropping my Biology class."
"What?"
"It's my afternoon class on Mondays and Fridays. I was thinking, if I drop it, I can drive to back earlier on Fridays. That way, I'll beat the traffic, and we'll have more time together. I don't have a class on Monday mornings, so I won't have to leave on Sunday. I can stay another night, and—"
"You shouldn't drop a class." El interjected. She stopped in her tracks. Mike looked at her, eyebrows cocked in surprise.
"El, it's no big deal. I'll still have enough credits to graduate in time. Especially if I plan on taking summer classes." He reached for her hand. "Really, it's no big deal."
"It's a big deal." She said, quietly, turning away from him. Her chest felt like it was splintering, breaking apart. She couldn't look at him.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to drop classes. They'd agreed to make this work. He'd stay in school, and she'd stay in Hawkins, until other arrangements were made. And now he wanted to drop classes. What was next? Would he drop out of school, completely? Abandon everything, for her? Work some five-to-nine, soul-sucking job to pay off bills?
Of course he would. She was talking about the boy who'd jumped off a cliff to save his friend. Who'd thrown himself between her and the Demogorgon. Who'd risked his life to set fire to the Hub, if it meant buying her a few more seconds. Who was the strongest, bravest person she knew. Of course he would.
And where would that lead them? Would he resent her for it? Would they, God forbid, end up like Karen and Ted Wheeler, who never spoke? Who slept in separate beds and faked their marriage in front of everyone else? Who invited a silence so big and empty in that house at the end of the cul-de-sac, who let their children fall through the cracks between them?
She knew what went on in the Wheeler household. She knew they hadn't sat down for a family dinner in months, years. She knew his parents either ignored each other completely or argued incessantly—there was no in-between. Mike expressed his frustrations to her, on occasion, and the things that came out of his mouth were enough to make her want to wrap him in her arms and never let him go. At the same time, she wished she could seize Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler by the shoulders and scream at them until some sense made it past their thick skulls. Maybe marital issues could be fixed, but that required effort on both ends. And God knew "staying together for the kids" wasn't always the best option.
Would she and Mike end up like that? With a house at the end of the cul-de-sac, and a silence they couldn't break? Would they sleep in separate beds? Would their kids seize the first opportunity to escape to a friends' house, unable to stand the bickering? Would she smile a plastic smile that didn't reach her eyes and lock herself in the bathroom and finally let that smile slide off her face? Would she sit on the toilet and let the tears fall? Would she keep the tap running, so no one would hear her weep?
God, she hoped not. And all these thoughts flashed through her head in milliseconds, making her blood run cold, stirring up panic so real and immediate she found it hard to draw a breath.
"El," Mike began. "I want to do this. I want to be here when things happen. I promised I'd be here for you and I intend to keep that promise. I can't be in two places at once. I can't be present and supportive if I'm seventy miles away. It doesn't work." He fell silent, inspecting his shoes. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, distant. "I thought you'd like the idea. I thought you'd be happy that we'd get to spend more time together."
El looked at him, aghast.
"It's not like that, Mike. I didn't say that, I . .."
El bit her lip, turning away. She was trembling. She clenched her fists, trying to conceal the shaking in her hands. It wasn't that she didn't want to spend more time with him, she just didn't like thinking that the time he spent with her was time spent at a cost. At the cost of his future. At the cost of that perfect little vision of the future where everything worked out the way it was supposed to.
Everything she'd feared, everything she'd chewed over, at the very beginning, was staring her in the face. It was all falling apart, this illusion that they could actually make it work. That they could play house and pretend to be prepared to raise a child when they were still children, themselves. How foolish she'd been, how naïve . . .
"El, look at me."
She did.
"College, a career, all that's bullshit, anyway." He laid a hand on her bump. "This is all that matters." He reached up, running a thumb over her chapped, bottom lip. "Everything else pales in comparison."
"Your dreams are important, too." She said. "Your plans, your future. Mike . . ." She pleaded.
"I know. But you and the baby come first." He swallowed. "It's only going to get harder."
El laughed, but the sound was empty and cold.
"You're right." She said. Her voice didn't sound like her own. "It's only going to get harder. But that doesn't mean you have to put things on hold for me, Mike. I've got Hop and Joyce. I'm not alone." She shook her head, wrenching her hand from his grasp. "Don't do this for me. It's still your life. Don't throw it away. Don't . . ." She trailed off, frustrated, once again lacking the vocabulary to adequately express all those fears, all the hopes she had for him. She hated watching her rainbows-and-butterflies version of their future crumbling to dust.
It wasn't supposed to be this hard. They weren't supposed to be dealing with stuff like this. They were just kids . . .
"I'm not throwing it away." He retorted. "I'm finding a work-life balance." A stab at humor, one that fell flat. She sighed, pressing her fingers over her eyelids.
"That's bullshit."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes!" She screamed, shrilly. Her eyes filled with tears. She bit them back, furious with herself. "If it weren't for the baby . . ."
"Don't." Mike snapped. "Don't blame this on yourself, on the baby." He pressed a hand to her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This is my choice."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand." He said. "I know you think you're a burden. That you're this ball and chain I'm dragging, behind me." He shook his head. "That couldn't be farther from the truth."
"Mike," she began.
"I'm not finished." He said. He towered over her. His eyes demanded her attention, and his hands ensnared her—one spanning her jaw, one resting over the place where their baby grew. "This isn't your fault. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. This baby . . ." He trailed off, voice thick with unshed tears. "This baby is the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Mike . . ." El shook her head, reaching up to grab his hand, resting on her cheek. "We can make it work. We'll figure it out. There's gotta be a way to make it work." She sucked her bottom lip, mind racing. Searching for a solution, an answer . . .
"What if I move in with you?"