February became March, winter became spring, and the last fractals of frost melted into beads of dew that clung to the blades of grass on the lawn surrounding their apartment. El was released from bedrest, finally. A nurse had stopped by the apartment to check on her, announcing she was finally allowed some reprieve.

"Take it slow." She'd warned. "Don't go run a marathon, or anything. Take a walk in the park, go shopping, get some fresh air, but nothing drastic."

That's exactly what El did. She went to the mall and perused the shops, ignoring the sideways glances and disapproving remarks and pitying looks she'd grown used to, by now. It felt good to be out and about. She bought a blouse she wouldn't even be able to fit into for another few months, but it was too cute to pass up. She went to the discounted shoe store in the mall and bought a pair of sneakers. The sales clerk at the shoe store smiled at her.

"Is this your first baby?" She asked.

El nodded.

"That's so exciting! My first is two, now. He's a little terror." She said, with a chuckle.

El smiled. The woman handed her a receipt and wished her luck.

El grinned.

"Thanks, you too."

El got a celebratory frozen yogurt and ate at a table in the center of the food court, people-watching and reveling in the freedom. Off of bedrest, she felt like her old self again. Well, almost her old self, if she could get around the fact that she was almost seven months pregnant. She'd begun to get uncomfortable. She'd hit the third trimester, which meant their grapefruit was more like a head of cauliflower, according to her book, and weighing in at a whopping two pounds.

A lot of the aches and pains and worries that she'd battled during the first trimester and went away during the second had returned in full force. Her back was killing her. She grew fatigued after only a couple hours of activity and slept often. The baby's kicks and movements continued, too, keeping El up hours into the night as she tumbled around. And El had to pee all the time.

On top of that, she was just plain uncomfortable. She'd upped an entire cup size, her feet swelled, and her belly was so big she could no longer see her toes. As the baby doubled its size, so did El (or so it seemed), and El wondered if the old wives' tale had any merit. Apparently, when you had a girl you tended to gain weight all over, and El was gaining weight all over. She'd put on almost twenty pounds since the beginning of her pregnancy. Standing in the mirror in only her underwear, she studied her face—which was fuller and puffier than it had ever been, pre-pregnancy. She examined the curve of her belly, the angry stretchmarks crawling over her skin and the dark line stretching across her navel. As uncomfortable as she was, she loved each one of these changes. She'd watched her body grow to accommodate their little girl over these last several months, and it never ceased to amaze her.

As she entered the third trimester, El experienced a case of pregnancy brain. Though Simmons had mentioned symptoms of absent-mindedness due to crazy hormone levels, nothing could've prepared El for the bouts of thick fog that clouded her thoughts, making her forgetful and scatter-brained. It was as frustrating as it was unsettling. She often forgot her keys or neglected to buy the usual staples—bread and eggs and milk—at the store. Mike often teased her about it, going as far as to give her a multitude of new nicknames, of which "Space Cadet" and "Clouds" seemed to be his favorites.

Simmons had transferred her to a new doctor in Indianapolis. He was a middle-aged, balding man who introduced himself as Dr. Jeremy Muller. She'd met him once, when they'd first moved in and she'd gone in for another routine checkup. She liked him. He had a good sense of humor, and kind eyes. He'd called her after news reached him about her labor scare. By then, she'd already returned home from the hospital. He'd filled her in on the benefits of bedrest and what she should be doing to stay healthy and relaxed and, if nothing else, pregnant, because their little girl wasn't ready to face the perils of the world outside the womb quite yet. He relayed all her nutritional and exercise needs over the phone and did his best to ease her concerns. She'd been more than grateful.

She made appointments for routine checkups with him every two weeks instead of four, per the usual protocol for expectant mothers in their third trimester and especially critical for El, whose labor scare had all of them on edge. She was no longer confined to bedrest, but she still moved carefully, still rested often, and still spent every moment terrified of the slightest sign of disturbance. She counted kicks religiously, and every twinge or funny feeling or something that smelled suspiciously like a contraction sent her spiraling into a panic. Days passed, then weeks, with a fair share of bumps in the road but no emergency trips to the hospital, thank God. By the time they made it into mid-March, and they crept closer to the capital-B, capital-D Big Day, El began to breathe easier.

Mike was ecstatic. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in voice, knew he could barely contain himself at the prospect of bringing their little girl home. El shared his excitement, of course, but she was also terrified more than anything else. She still felt way out of her element. She'd checked out books on postnatal development from the library. She returned to the apartment with her arms laden with a pile (the Indianapolis Public Library failing to share the Hawkins Library's five-at-a-time limit; needless to say, she took advantage) and retreated to the living room couch to read, stretched out in her best attempt to find a somewhat comfortable position, although in her planetary state she didn't quite recall the proper definition of comfortable. She'd make do.

She read about nursing, about sleeping patterns and health concerns, the whole works. While the books informed her, they also made her feel more and more out of control, utterly and completely overwhelmed, until the words blurred on the page and her stomach sank to her knees as the world slipped out of her fingers and spun out of orbit.

When she expressed her fears to Mike, he'd kissed her and assured her she had nothing to worry about. That she wasn't alone in this and she was more than prepared, even if she didn't know it, and all that crap he said to make her feel better. The worst part was, he believed all of it. She wasn't blessed with the same confidence. While he floated through his days on cloud nine, she drowned in anxiety. The kind that started as a knot in her chest and spread until she had trouble eating and sleeping, and the nights wore on, filled with dreams, each one stranger and more troubling than the last. If she was lucky enough to get a wink of sleep, she still woke several times a night to pee or roll onto her other side. She was huge, and her enormous, pregnant belly didn't allow for the comfiest sleeping positions in the world.

As her due date grew nearer, her nesting instinct kicked into overdrive. She obsessed over anything and everything that had to do with their little grapefruit's impending arrival. She insisted on packing her hospital bag way in advance, organized the baby's clothes by function and color, and made Mike take practice runs to the hospital and back, timing the drive at different times of day and mapping at least two alternate routes (just in case). As she progressed further and further into the third trimester, her hormones went haywire. Her emotions walked the line between irritability and hysteria. She broke down into tears at the slightest provocation, and her moods flickered between highs and lows like a light switch turned on and off—instantly and without warning. In the brief periods of time she wasn't fast asleep on the couch or worrying about what kind of car seat they could afford, she was just downright irritable. More than once, she'd snapped at Mike or made some snide comment and immediately regretted it. She felt like she was losing grasp on her emotions, like the baby had become some awful parasite, sucking all the life out of her and turning her into this grumpy monster that no one wanted to be around. Hell, she didn't even want to be around herself.

When she put herself in Mike's shoes, she had no idea how he'd managed to hold it together for this long. Her patience would've long run out, by now, but he remained as steadfast and helpful as ever, eager to cater to her every need. He was her voice of reason whenever her thoughts and anxieties spiraled out of control. He never lost his temper when she was being particularly ornery, and he took on all the extra chores that so easily exhausted her. His devotion was unflagging, and it didn't go unnoticed. She thanked whatever higher power that had led them to cross paths on that rainy, November night. When everything else seemed uncertain, when she felt like she was running in place, when she couldn't keep her head above water, he was there for her. He was this constant gravitational pull that kept her from spinning out of orbit, and she loved him more than she could articulate in words.

As they reached the end of March, school let out for spring break, which meant El had Mike all to herself for ten whole days. They spent the weekend shopping for last-minute supplies: diapers and bottles and a breast-pump and all the other things they still needed. She was due on May seventh, and the date loomed on the horizon, closer with each passing day. She wanted to prepare as much as possible.

They spent a couple days in Hawkins, departing on a warm, sunlit Monday morning. Mike opened the door for her, weekend bag slung over his shoulder, and she heaved herself into the passenger seat, wrestling to get the seatbelt around her huge, pregnant belly. During the drive, El rolled down the windows and let the breeze ruffle her hair, closing her eyes and inhaling the first breath of spring. She loved this time of year, filled with birdsong, when wildflowers dotted the fields between fences and farms and clouds drifted like mashed-potato kingdoms in the sky. A song by Queen came on the radio, ad Mike cranked it up, the corner of his mouth lifting. El caught his smile.

"She's a Killer Queen!" El sang along with Freddie Mercury, tapping the beat with her fingernails against the leather arm of her seat.

"Gunpowder, gelatin,"

"Dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind . . ."

They arrived in Hawkins mid-afternoon. Mike pulled up in front of her house, and she got out of the car and marched up the walk, leaving Mike to shuffle behind her, a bag slung over each shoulder.

She found Hop in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. She drummed her knuckle on the doorframe. Hop turned, face breaking into a wide grin when he saw her. She rushed (waddled) over to hug him. He planted a kiss on her forehead, then stooped to rub her belly, affectionately.

"You sure you aren't having twins?" He said, with a grin. Mike walked in, letting out a quip of nervous laughter.

"Careful, Hopper. She'll bite your head off."

El rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure you're keeping up with your diet?" She fired back, poking his belly. "I thought you were laying off the donuts."

Hop burst out laughing, encircling her in his arms for another, tight hug. El smiled, feeling his body quiver against her cheek as laughter rumbled in his chest.

"I guess I deserved that one." He said, ruffling her curls. She nodded, squirming out of his grasp.

"What're you kids up to?" He asked, leaning against the counter and raising his mug to his lips.

"Nothing much." El said, studying the chipping nail polish on one of her fingernails. "We went shopping for a few last-minute things. Mike's got the baby's room all ready to go . . ." El sighed, cradling her belly with two hands. "Now it's just a waiting game, I guess." She said, fondly.

"How many weeks?"

"Thirty-three." She said, heaving a sigh. "Seven to go."

Hop blew out a breath, shaking his head.

"Holy shit." He said. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it." El said, puffing out her cheeks. As uncomfortable as she was, as scary as it had been, she did enjoy being pregnant. She enjoyed sharing the journey with her little bean, enjoyed feeling every kick and movement. As she grew nearer to her due date, as much as she was terrified that she would mess up, that something would happen, she also became complacent in her new motherhood. The nasty looks and rude comments people (complete strangers!) threw her way, that she was too young to be having a baby, and didn't her parents ever teach her about sex, barely fazed her anymore. When she walked down the street, even though she knew when people looked at her all they could see was her puffy cheeks and her planet-sized baby bump (and don't even get her started on the stretchmarks), she felt beautiful. She was proud. Proud of how strong she was, how much she'd withstood, already, how much she'd learned and grown in the aftermath of each bump in this long and uncertain road. They'd gotten through it together, her and Mike and their baby. Her journey wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But she knew she had the resilience to deal with anything anyone could throw at her. Maybe it was the hormones. She couldn't help feeling there was a bit of grace in what she was doing. She didn't choose this, but after everything, she didn't regret a thing. She was a mother. Fuck anyone who made any kind of judgement on the matter.

"It just went by so fast." Hop said, shaking his head.

"I know." She said, looking at him. "It's crazy, isn't it?"

Hop nodded, sipping contemplatively from his mug.

"How's everyone at the station?"

"Everyone's fine. Cal's daughter is getting married next month. We're invited to the wedding."

"Oh!" El said, smiling. "That sounds fun."

"Powell says he misses playing poker with you. Says nobody else can bluff as good as you can, and he likes a challenge." Hop scratched his nose, absently. "Flo saves all her crosswords for you. You should pay a visit while you're here, everyone'll be happy to see you."

"Definitely." El agreed.

"And you should call Joyce, too. She'll be excited to hear from you."

"I will."

She excused herself to use the facilities, listening to Mike and Hopper's muffled conversation as she relieved herself of the late-afternoon, car-ride, pregnant pee. After, she went up to her room and dialed Melvald's General Store. A woman whose voice she did not recognize picked up on the second ring.

"Melvald's." She quipped. El heard the snap of gum between her teeth.

"I'm looking for Joyce Byers. Is she working today?"

"She just went on her lunch break. She'll be back in a half-hour. Can I take a message?"

"Just let her know I called." El said, and hung up, sitting back on the bed to peer around her old bedroom, with it's old Fleetwood Mac and The Runaways posters still taped to the walls and her Darth Vader and Obi Wan Kenobi action figures arranged on the dusty surface of her dresser.

She drummed a beat on the slope of her belly, feeling the responding poke of an elbow as her little girl shifted around.

"You remember our old bedroom, right?" She murmured. "Lots of history, here." She thought of the countless sleepovers. The half-eaten pizzas and crushed Dr. Pepper cans and prank calls. Max's skateboard propped against the wall and a bottle of electric blue nail-polish open between them as they gave each other manicures and complained about Mr. Grabowski, their overweight, pit-stained, tenth grade P.E. teacher. The scent of laundry detergent and autumn and maple syrup clinging to her nostrils as she lay on top of Mike, brushing his rain-dampened hair from his forehead and making constellations out of the freckles on his cheeks as she connected them with invisible lines drawn from her fingertip—they would stay like that for hours, just observing each other, each shift and glance and flutter of an eyelash a conversation in itself, sharing the same space and the same air. Their lips would meet and they'd kiss, slowly at first, exploring each other, and their hands would roam and they'd move in gentle, careful imitation of something they wouldn't dare engage in with Hop watching T.V. downstairs. Not until he went to bed and they were safe under the cover of darkness and his snoring. She thought of the nights when they sat on the sill with their legs slung out the open window, smoke curling gracefully from the tip of a cigarette that they passed back and forth between them, a song by some indie band they both loved thumping away on the stereo. El mourned, not for the first time, the loss of those nights that had so suddenly passed her by. The nights they could be children. Here, sitting in her childhood bedroom, she could almost reach out and touch the ghost of those nights.

On cue, Mike appeared in the doorway. He dropped their bags by the door and crossed the room, taking a seat on the bed, beside her. The thin, worn mattress creaked and gave under his weight, and he sank a few inches lower. He took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that asked a question—simple and plain as if he's spoken it aloud. You okay? Her returning squeeze gave him an answer. Yeah.

"Just a little nostalgic, that's all." She said, leaning her head on his shoulder. His arm looped around her, holding her close. He massaged her shoulder, cheek resting against her temple.

"Did you talk to Joyce?"

"No. I called Melvald's, but I couldn't get ahold of her. I think I'll just drive down and see her in person."

"Okay."

"Wanna come?"

Mike shook his head. "I think I'll stay. Apparently, the Blazer's engine is acting up. Chief wants me to help him fix it."

El sighed. She wanted to suggest he visit his parents, but thought better of it. They were skating on thin ice as far as Karen and Ted Wheeler were concerned. And though Mrs. Wheeler made an effort to extend an olive branch, Ted Wheeler still refused to talk to Mike or even look him in the eye. And though Mike tried to hide it, El knew his rocky relationship with his parents, his father, especially, was still a source of continuous anguish for him. Mike pretended he didn't care. That whether his parents approved of his decisions or not was beneath him. But El knew him well enough to know it was eating him up inside, and it was all her fault, and every time she thought about it she felt nauseous, like someone had taken her stomach and intestines and all her other internal organs and thrown them in a blender. So, she pushed the thought away, deciding she'd bring it up another time. Maybe she'd call Mrs. Wheeler and arrange a lunch date or something. It was her turn to extend an olive branch.

"That thing's a piece of junk. The A/C doesn't work and the radio cuts out and the passenger window won't roll down." She rolled her eyes. She drove the Blazer when she was first learning to drive, before she saved up enough to buy a car of her own (a little, red, four-seater thing from the late seventies that she simply adored). "He needs to get rid of it. But it's his baby, so of course he won't."

"It's only, what, nine years old? Ten?"

"It's a lemon." El said, with a sigh. She struggled to her feet. "Can I drive the Station Wagon?" Mike had inherited Mrs. Wheeler's Station Wagon, affectionately called the Draggin' Wagon or Dragon Wagon, depending on personal preference (Dustin called her Betsy). He had been the first to get his driver's license and inevitably become the chauffer to all the party's shenanigans and road trips and midnight rendezvous. The car was a key feature in some of El's greatest memories. God, the nostalgia. She thought about Mike's hand-me-down Station Wagon and all the times they'd driven through town with the windows rolled down and speakers blown, all the soggy french fries under the seats, evidence of their 3 a.m. trips to McDonald's they called "adventures," and all the times they'd driven to some secluded place, the junkyard or the woods or the quarry, and they'd climb in the backseat and do what stupid teenagers do, and car would bounce with their movement. In her mind's eye, she saw a car seat fastened in the back seat and one of those yellow stickers that read Baby On Board, and for some reason that made her sad.

Mike tossed her the keys. She kissed him goodbye and descended the stairs. She fired up the Station Wagon, feeling the familiarity of it awaken beneath her fingertips, and pulled out of the driveway. She drove with the windows rolled down. She was glad to be back in Hawkins. This place was still home, and she knew every turn in the road, every pothole and building. She drove by muscle-memory, letting her mind run away from her.

She pulled up in front of Melvald's just as Joyce got out of her car, cigarette dangling from her lips. They reunited in the parking lot, and Joyce's face broke into a broad grin. El hugged her.

"Hey, sweetie. My god, look at you, you look so beautiful!" Joyce exclaimed, grasping her hands.

"Thank you! I missed you so much." El said, smiling.

"I heard about your trip to the hospital. That must've been scary."

El nodded.

"They had you on bedrest?"

"Yes. Four weeks of bed rest." El said, with a frown. "Worst four weeks of my life."

Joyce laughed. "I bet."

"They gave me the green light to get up and moving, again. I'm being careful, still, but everything's looking good."

"Good. I'm glad." Joyce said, ruffling her curls. She glanced at the storefront of Melvald's with it's glowing Open sign and an assortment of stuffed animal bunnies and ducklings in observance of Easter Sunday, which was only a few weeks away.

"Let's see if they can't give me the rest of the day off, huh? I haven't seen you in forever! We need some girl time." Joyce gave her a wink, and El trailed behind her as she marched up the walk and pulled open the door, triggering the bell. They found Donald Melvald in the back, unboxing a shipment of Lysol cleaning products. After a quick conversation, he obligingly gave Joyce the rest of the day off—just enough time for them to get some ice cream and a mani-pedi if they had time to spare. Joyce was keen to spoil her, and god knew El needed something to take her mind off her worries.

As they left the ice cream parlor, waffle-cones in hand, El bumped into a girl she recognized from her high school class. She knew the tall, athletic, freckled girl as Avery Jenkins, her lab partner in Chemistry. They'd shared many whispered conversations in the back of Mrs. Sanders' class. They'd helped each other with homework and rendezvoused in the library for some afterschool study time on more than one occasion.

"Avery?" El asked. A flicker of recognition crossed the girl's face. Her eyes drifted downward, taking in El's baby bump, and her eyes widened, a gasp of surprise dying in her throat.

"J-Jane! Oh my gosh, h-how're are you?" She stammered, pursing her lips. She studied the floor.

"I'm good." El said, with a smile. "How're you?"

"Oh, I'm . . . I'm good." She said. Her eyes finally lifted to meet El's gaze.

"You're pregnant?" She blurted, rudely. El's cheeks pinked.

"Um, yeah. I am." She said. This time, it was El's turn to cast her gaze aside, suddenly finding it hard to look the girl in the eyes.

"Oh my god." She said. "I wouldn't expect you of all people . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip.

El laughed, nervously. Her heart crawled into her throat. "Um . . . what?"

"I mean, it's just, you have to be really stupid to get pregnant, I mean, was it an accident? 'Cause if I was, well . . . I just, I thought you were smarter than that."

Blood rushed to El's cheeks, and tears itched the back of her eyes, stinging and hot. She blinked them back, feeling silly and stupid for taking the bait. In Hawkins, where everyone knew everyone and the town's population capped at ten-thousand, she was bound to run into someone she knew, and they were bound to judge her for the little life she carried inside. Their judgements were beneath her, or, at least, they should've been. She could no more control what people thought than she could control the moon's phases or the passage of time. Why did it bother her so much? The only thing she could think was that it hurt more coming from someone she might've considered a friend. She opened her mouth, a venomous retort dancing on her tongue, but before she could say anything, Joyce rounded on the girl, shaking with fury. And though Joyce was five-three and barely tipped the scales at one-hundred pounds soaking wet, she was a force to be reckoned with.

"How dare you?" She screeched. "How dare you talk to her like that? Listen, you little bitch, you think you're better than everyone else? Why don't you pull that pointy nose out of your ass and stick it in someone else's business?

Avery's ears reddened. Her face pinched.

"Go fuck yourselves." She spat, turning on her heel. She marched out the door and whipped around the corner and out of sight. El stared after her, tears stinging her eyes. Joyce's face softened, though rage still smoldered in her damp eyes, shining with unshed tears. She pulled El into a hug.

"Don't listen to her. If anybody talks to you like that, you shove your middle finger in their faces. It's not their business." El nodded, unable to speak around the massive lump obscuring her windpipe. She swallowed hard, watching a drop of melting strawberry ice cream trickle down the side of her waffle cone and drip onto her thumb. Joyce wrapped her arm around El's shoulders and guided her outside. Finally, El mustered up enough breath to whisper a soft thank you as they continued down the street.

"Don't thank me, sweetheart. It's my job." Joyce gave her shoulders another squeeze. "Moms protect daughters."

El lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. After they'd finished their ice cream cones, they'd stopped to get their nails done, and then El had bid Joyce goodbye. Will was flying home from New York tomorrow, and El couldn't wait to see him.

"You and Mike and Hop are welcome to come over for dinner." Joyce said. "I'm planning on trying a new chicken casserole recipe."

El smiled. "Count us in."

Joyce had smiled, pressing a kiss to both El's cheeks.

El had driven home in silence, mood considerably dampened despite her excitement at the prospect of seeing Will again. Gloom and weariness hung over her—a thick fog she couldn't fight her way out of. Avery's look of shocked disgust, quickly papered over with a kind of false friendliness that smelled suspiciously like poisoned honey, kept surfacing in her mind. Avery had called her stupid, but El could only imagine the plethora of other words dancing on her tongue. Sharp, jagged words that hid behind her fake smile and pitying glance.

She hated it. Hated the way people looked at her, like she was less of a person, somehow, because she was pregnant. She'd been ostracized, pitied, and shamed. She was the girl that people stole glances at before casting their eyes aside. She was the girl that middle-aged women with faces pinched in disapproval whispered about, almost always loud enough for her to hear every single word they said. It's a shame she's rushing into things, and she's too young, and there's no father in sight and all the other little digs and casual remarks that made her feel like shit. She wanted to scream at them. But then she thought better of it. Why waste her breath? If anything, she pitied them. If they didn't have anything better to do than criticize her choice to have a baby, then they weren't worth a rat's ass, letting alone getting upset over.

El heaved a sigh, rolling onto her side. Her thoughts quieted and she dropped into a restless doze until Mike woke her with kisses lighter than moth's wings pressed to her eyelids, announcing dinner was ready.

She didn't tell Mike about Avery. In fact, she didn't speak about it again. She locked it in a dark closet within her mind and cast away the key.

The following day, she and Mike accompanied Joyce to pick up Will from the airport. He met them at the baggage claim and swept El into a tight hug, gushing over how good she looked, kneeling down to press a kiss above her belly button. El found herself struggling to reconcile the man standing before her with the Will Byers she used to know. She'd seen him at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas, but never had he looked so comfortable in his own skin. His eyes were clear and bright, his smile was genuine, and it lit up his entire face. A kind of energetic, carefree confidence hung about him, such a drastic change from the weary, frightened boy she used to know that she almost didn't recognize him—a far reach from the Will Byers that came back from the dead.

They'd had their fair share of monsters and bad memories. Though El and Will hadn't met before their showdown with the Mind Flayer, it felt like she'd known him her whole life. They became fast friends. They both used words sparingly. They both had survived close encounters with the Demogorgon and the Upside Down. El, of all people, knew what it was like to live with voices in her head and an uncanny link to that shadow world filled with darkness and monsters. She knew what it was like to be different, to spend your whole life treading water, trying to keep your head above the surface. Maybe that was why they just seemed to get each other. That was why she always knew she could talk to Will when something was bothering her, why he came to her for comfort when the nightmares were particularly bad. Maybe that was why she, though she refused to pick a best friend, felt inextricably linked to him. El was the first person Will had opened up to when he admitted he liked boys the way he was supposed to like girls. God, he'd cried, and they'd held each other, and she'd assured him, over and over, that he shouldn't be ashamed to love who he loved. She was closer to him than any other member of the party, Mike aside. He was like a brother to her. Their friendship was just different from her friendships with Dustin and Lucas and even Max. For better or worse, she didn't know. She only knew that when she needed a shoulder to lean on, when she needed to work through things or talk about stuff of the Demogorgon variety or devote an entire afternoon to art therapy, she went to Will without a second's hesitation. So, when he pulled her into yet another bone-crushing hug, she thought her heart might burst for all the joy she felt seeing him again. Even if it had only been a couple months since they'd parted ways.

They spent the drive catching up. Will was excelling in his art classes, a favorite amongst his professors. He asked El and Mike about their new apartment and she filled him in on the details.

"How's the baby?"

"She's good. I have to pee all the time, and I get dizzy when I stand up too fast, and she keeps me up half the night with all the kicking, but she's healthy and that's all that matters." El said, glowing with pride.

Will dropped his bags off at the Byers' house, then went with them back to Hopper's place. Joyce had been called into work to cover the night shift, so dinner had to be postponed to the following night. Hop was scheduled for the nighttime patrol, as well, which meant the three of them had the house to themselves. Mike ordered a pizza, and they spent the night sprawled across the sofa in the living room, watching movies and trading bits of conversation and laughter.

Will asked if he could feel the baby kick and El happily obliged, easing her shirt up and guiding Will's hand so his palm rested against her skin.

"C'mon, little girl." El crooned, softly. "Are you awake in there?"

After a moment, the baby began to stir, prodding and poking. Will's eyes widened, delighted.

"Woah."

El laughed.

"She likes you."

The baby's movements were visible to the naked eye, El's belly taking on an odd, lopsided shape as a foot pressed up against the skin. She dropped her shirt, rubbing her belly to calm the baby.

The credits rolled at the end of Ghostbusters, and Mike got up to pop another tape (Die Hard) into the VHS player. He went to the kitchen and retrieved a couple cans of Schlitz from fridge. He cracked them, handing one to Will. El sipped from a can of 7-Up, rolling her eyes as they consumed a second round of beers, a third, a fourth, fifth, growing louder and gigglier by the hour. When they retired to bed, it was well past midnight and El was stifling yawns behind her hand. Will slept on the couch, and she and Mike retreated to her bedroom.

He eased on top of her, pressing sloppy, fumbling kisses to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her brow, and down the column of her neck. She stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"You're drunk." She said.

"You're beautiful" was his reply. He grinned. She rolled her eyes, turning onto her side. He wrapped his arms around her, still planting quick, chaste pecks along her collar bone.

"I love you, El Hopper." He crooned, playfully, nuzzling her neck. She closed her eyes.

"I know."