A/N: This chapter is NSFW and, as such, I've updated the rating of this story from T to M. I think it may be a bit too risque to continue being considered T.


Nancy

The pale face of the clock was just light enough for her to read in the near pitch black of her room – 3 a.m. Nancy rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and yawned. What had woken her? Then, almost in response, a faint tapping drummed against her window. She could see the outline of someone crouched on the roof, but had to cross the room before she recognized Jonathan.

"It's the middle of the night," she protested, opening the window nonetheless.

As he ducked his head in and met her gaze, Nancy felt her heart flutter and the heat rise in her cheeks. She quashed the memories of their kiss with a quick shake of her head and stared back at Jonathan expectantly. Despite herself, she felt flustered under his searching eyes.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, by way of explanation. He still hadn't entered her room, even though Nancy had given him enough space. He cast his eyes across the room, brow furrowed thoughtfully beneath disheveled hair that looked almost black in the shadows. Then he dropped his gaze and withdrew from the window. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I don't know what I was thinking."

As he turned, Nancy called out softly, "Jonathan." He turned back to her and she was reminded of her intrusion on him at the cemetery. "Come in. I could use someone to talk to." When he didn't move, she added, "Please."

Nancy didn't bother turning on the light. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing Jonathan as he awkwardly settled across from her. He was wearing a chalky grey ringer tee and jeans worn soft at the knees, so the denim was silent as he shifted his legs. Nancy hushed the voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was too comfortable with the situation.

"This is going to sound crazy," she whispered. "But I think we need to get into that government lab."

A dim halo of light from the streetlamps outlined Jonathan's silhouette. He was silent for a second. Or an eternity. Nancy couldn't tell the difference. She felt slow and clumsy at such a late hour. Or was it an early hour? Everything felt blurry and underexposed. She smiled to herself at the metaphor, given her present company. "You want to look for the gateway?" Jonathan finally asked.

Nancy nodded; then, realizing how dark it was, affirmed, "Yes. I know it's crazy." She thought she saw Jonathan shaking his head and continued, "Eleven confirmed it, Jonathan. That's the main gateway."

"That's how Mom and Hopper got in when they rescued Will," he added.

"Yes," Nancy continued, leaning forward. "We want to make sure this is over, right?" Her hand sought out his and she curled her fingers into his palm. "If the gateway is gone, then that's it. That's the proof. It's over." She said firmly. "But if it's not…"

Jonathan gave her fingers a soft squeeze and pulled her closer. "You're talking about breaking into a government building, Nancy." He cocked his head to the side and behind the darkness, she was sure he was mocking her.

She tugged her hand free and replied, "I know it sounds crazy."

"It's perfect," Jonathan cut in.

Silence fell again, but this time Nancy heard the distinct ticking of her bedside clock. The idea formed out of nowhere and it was crazy. It was. But they could do it. "Everyone looks at me like I'm losing my mind," she admitted. "You're the only one who doesn't think I'm insane."

Her hand was in his again and he whispered, "You're not insane."

She leaned forward, but it was Jonathan who kissed her this time. And he didn't pull away. At first his lips brushed hers, testing the waters, she thought, before he kissed deeper. Nancy untangled her hand from his and cupped the back of his neck, weaving her fingers through his hair and drawing him into her. He slid one hand into the small of her back and held her against him as they descended into the soft divot of her mattress.

Nancy wrapped her arm around Jonathan, drawing her fingers up the arch of his spine, encouraging him, and, in response, his kisses came faster and harder, an urgency in his movement. She opened her mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and drawing her tongue across the bites. His breathing came in shallow pants and a free hand had slipped beneath her pajama top, his fingers dancing curlicues against her skin, grazing her ribs to the bottom of her breast. The hair on her arms stood on end as a current raced up her spine.

Jonathan broke free, trailing kisses along her jaw, then tracing the slender curve of her neck. Nancy gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair.

Like an afterthought, she heard the persistent ticking of her bedside clock. Tick tick tick.

She shut her eyes and lifted her chin, giving Jonathan free roam of her neck. He fell to her collarbones, plucking at the tender skin with playful bites.

The ticking was distracting. It echoed like a hollow cry. It filled the room. But Jonathan didn't seem to notice. His hand cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple, sending little pulses of pleasure to her core.

It wasn't just ticking anymore. It was a knocking, deep and reverberating. "Jonathan," Nancy whispered, her eyes still closed. Taking her utterance as a moan of pleasure, Jonathan began unbuttoning her top. She felt a slow pressure as his hips pressed into hers. Despite the knocking, Nancy felt the thrill of desire.

Then a deafening crack shook the room and Nancy finally opened her eyes to see three feet of drywall ripped from her ceiling above them. Insulation hung from the hole like pink gossamer and driving itself through the support beams was the faceless monster.

She opened her mouth to scream, but it had wrapped its sinewy arms around Jonathan before she had a chance, and peeled him off of Nancy, vanishing back into the hole of her ceiling. The last thing she saw, clear as day, even in the blackness of her room, was the sheer terror in Jonathan's eyes as he disappeared, clutched in the monster's arms.

In the silent aftermath, Nancy found her voice and the panic of her own shriek woke her from a fitful sleep.

She bolted upright in bed, both hands clasped over her mouth, gasping and frantically searching her bedroom for a sign of the Demogorgon. The ceiling was whole. Her window was closed. No one was in the room except for her. Slowly she dropped her hands, her breathing gradually evening out. She ran her fingers down the front of her pajamas. Nothing unbuttoned.

A dream. A nightmare. A crazy person's nightmare.

Nancy stared into the darkness moodily. "Shit!" she finally muttered, dropping her head into her hands in defeat.

Outside, the streetlamp flickered.


A/N: Thank you for the faves, follows and feedback! This scene was inspired by the beginning of episode three - Nancy and Steve's romance spliced with Barb's doom.