[ She doesn't... quite get it. Not all the way, not really. Not the specifics. But the shape of that ache in broad strokes is not quite unfamiliar. And it comes so soon after what happened to Erik, too, and everything feels... heavy.
There are flowers in Eleven's hair. She likes bright and cheerful colours. Yellows and purples, especially. Laura... helped. Didn't give Eleven colours to like or things to care about, didn't dress her up and called her a person. Just gave her space to be, understanding the shape of Eleven's aches.
And Eleven... does not know how one comforts people. She knows that sometimes people yell or cry or hug. Sometimes people sit in silence and sometimes people sit with words. Words are difficult, though, like so many other things. What comes easily is this; lowering the front flap of the blanket fort to shield the two of them from the world. Food that Eleven's first real friend gave Eleven when she had to hide; food that Eleven now offers her second real friend while she has to hide in her own way.
No words, because words are... hard.
But a hand, sliding into Laura's. Like the way they clutched to one another months ago when Eleven arrived and they recognized the shape of each other.
This is nice; you're welcome for the waffles, and it's okay that your heart still aches. ]
( It does feel a little better when El closes the blanket fort up against the world. It feels like it confines things to just right here, right now — and all the bigger, worse things are stuck on the outside. There's a comfort in a space small enough to be claustrophobic in any other context, but here it just feels cozy.
A hand wrapping around hers also helps. Not very many people in her life have touched her with kindness and care, and even fewer have been the one to initiate it. Hand-holding is a thing she learned from two mannequins at a casino, and the first time she tried to implement it, Logan ripped his away. Even still, she has a particular fondness for the gesture, and she squeezes Eleven's hand back gratefully.
It's quiet for a minute.
Then: )
Erik... adopted me. When I got here. But he's not the father I came from.
( She won't say he's not my real father, because — he's her real father. The real one. The one that stepped up and chose her in ways Logan outright refused to. That means real more than biological ever would. But still- )
Logan... the man who- ( Her voice cracks. She stops. Starts again. ) I only met him for a few days back home. And he didn't want me. But he protected me, and he died for me anyway. And I thought maybe... while he was here, I could trick him into liking me.
( As she talks, the wetness wells in her eyes, shining, her voice strained and getting a little thick and pitchy under the mounting pressure of something she's holding back. )
But I don't think I did, and now he's gone.
( So that's why. Why she feels sad, and why she hasn't been very much fun for days. )
[ There are parts here that ring true for Eleven - not because she wants to compare, but but because the similarities help her parse how Laura might be feeling. Eleven doesn't know who her father is - but she understands, due to Hopper having files, that Papa is not her father. And Hopper is not her father, but... he was almost, a little bit, very nearly kind of her dad. He's not so different from Erik - he has lost his Sara where Erik lost his Nina, and he makes space for a girl who is a number from a lab. Makes her breakfast and reads her stories, teaches her and protects her, as best as he can.
Erik doesn't get angry the way Hopper does, or at least not as far as Eleven knows. But she also knows now, if not at the time, that Hopper gets angry because he is scared. She wonders if this Logan man is more like that. Maybe he seems not to like her, but really, he is just scared.
Not so long ago, Hopper called her a brat. Told her one phone call, he could put her back in the lab. And it hurt, it hurt so bad that her powers ended up snapping out of her, destroying parts of the cabin. It was cruel. And it hurt. But he was scared, not really angry.
Eleven pushes herself slightly onto her knees and moves closer. She's... not good at this, but she's seen people who are good at it. So her hand slips out of Laura's, but only to cradle her face with both hands. Like Joyce, Eleven gently wipes her thumbs over Laura's cheeks, wiping away any wetness that might have escaped, then tugs her hair back. Like Erik, she leans over and kisses Laura's forehead. Like Hopper, she gently pulls, tucking Laura against Eleven. Like Mike and Dustin and Lucas, she wraps her arms around Laura. She holds her close with all the few good examples of comfort and affection she knows. ]
Adults are difficult. I think. If he has died for you. He must have liked you. [ Like Hopper, she runs a hand over Laura's head, through her hair. ] Maybe he was scared. To like you. Liking someone. Is harder than protecting someone. Or dying. Adults are very scared of that.
[ Eleven has her cheek on top of Laura's head, curled around her as much as she can be. As if she could possibly shield her from everything, here in the safety of the Alamo. After a moment, softly: ]
( It's amazing how much of her sadness is replaced with wonderment when El cradles her face. This is such a rare gesture, such a poignant one, it steals her attention immediately. It makes her feel simultaneously vulnerable and cared for in a way that prompts another tear to streak down her cheek — but this time, not so much in a bad way.
El holds her face, and Laura looks, rapt and receptive and fully given over.
Her hair is brushed away. Her forehead kissed. The only thing close to this that she's ever felt before has been from Erik, and only over the last few months. It feels a little different coming from El, but no less important, and no less impactful.
And when, at last, arms are wound around her, she's been dismantled enough to immediately slump into them, wrapping her own arms around El's middle in turn.
She feels held, and that makes the words offered to her seem all the more plausible. Like they could be true.
Inevitably, the shoulder of Eleven's shirt is damp with quiet tears.
[ There's a quiet sound, and Eleven clutches Laura closer, her breath itching a little. It's a truth she doesn't quite know how to articulate yet; that she cannot tell what people think or feel about her unless she's told. She knows what it feels like to love someone - she felt it in Mama's memories. But she does not know, in turn, how to recognize when she is loved. How to feel loved. She needs to be told in order for her to know. Actions only do so much for her before she runs out of depth with which to interpret them.
So to be told, to hear it from Laura like this?
It unmoors her, just ever so slightly. And Eleven might be the one holding Laura, but she feels like she'd drift away into uncertainty if Laura wasn't holding her back.
It's possibly, too, that Laura's hair will have some wet strands, as Eleven sheds tears for the both of them.
It takes a while before she tentatively speaks again, makes an offer: ]
I can... try to look. For him. For where he went.
[ And even though she doesn't quite understands acts of love herself, in many ways the easy offer means just that: You are loved by me, too. ]
( Laura considers this offer for a while. There is no real hurry, no sense of urgency in her, and there's a cathartic kind of calm spreading through her now on the other side of crying. A sad but steady relief, a bittersweet kind of peace. She's content to sit like this, tangled with Eleven, for an indefinite amount of time — until the other girl finally decides to pull away, whenever that ends up being. A minute from now, an hour from now, later, it doesn't matter very much. She will stay. )
Thank you. But that's okay. I already know where he's going.
( He is going home to die. He was from before. The dying is his after. She doesn't need to be told how his story ends; she saw it herself. )
[ It's surprisingly comfortable. Soothing, even though Eleven isn't the one who needs soothing. But she can appreciate the contact all the same, the ability to enjoy some closeness. He hurts, sometimes, this feeling under her skin when she would like exactly this, but also can almost not stand having it. Like the first time she had food outside the lab, and nearly got sick from the fries she stuffed into her face, and the burger Benny gave her. Too much too fast can be... not great. But this? This is good, and she will hold on, if Laura wants to keep holding on. ]
Okay.
[ It's second nature to her - the want to see, to look. She was tempted to try with Charles, but she barely knew him. If Laura or Erik or Clint... she won't think of that.
After a moment: ]
I looked at my home. A while ago.
Edited (SORRY, I just noticed a nonsensical typo) 2025-08-09 14:09 (UTC)
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no subject
There are flowers in Eleven's hair. She likes bright and cheerful colours. Yellows and purples, especially. Laura... helped. Didn't give Eleven colours to like or things to care about, didn't dress her up and called her a person. Just gave her space to be, understanding the shape of Eleven's aches.
And Eleven... does not know how one comforts people. She knows that sometimes people yell or cry or hug. Sometimes people sit in silence and sometimes people sit with words. Words are difficult, though, like so many other things. What comes easily is this; lowering the front flap of the blanket fort to shield the two of them from the world. Food that Eleven's first real friend gave Eleven when she had to hide; food that Eleven now offers her second real friend while she has to hide in her own way.
No words, because words are... hard.
But a hand, sliding into Laura's. Like the way they clutched to one another months ago when Eleven arrived and they recognized the shape of each other.
This is nice; you're welcome for the waffles, and it's okay that your heart still aches. ]
no subject
A hand wrapping around hers also helps. Not very many people in her life have touched her with kindness and care, and even fewer have been the one to initiate it. Hand-holding is a thing she learned from two mannequins at a casino, and the first time she tried to implement it, Logan ripped his away. Even still, she has a particular fondness for the gesture, and she squeezes Eleven's hand back gratefully.
It's quiet for a minute.
Then: )
Erik... adopted me. When I got here. But he's not the father I came from.
( She won't say he's not my real father, because — he's her real father. The real one. The one that stepped up and chose her in ways Logan outright refused to. That means real more than biological ever would. But still- )
Logan... the man who- ( Her voice cracks. She stops. Starts again. ) I only met him for a few days back home. And he didn't want me. But he protected me, and he died for me anyway. And I thought maybe... while he was here, I could trick him into liking me.
( As she talks, the wetness wells in her eyes, shining, her voice strained and getting a little thick and pitchy under the mounting pressure of something she's holding back. )
But I don't think I did, and now he's gone.
( So that's why. Why she feels sad, and why she hasn't been very much fun for days. )
no subject
Erik doesn't get angry the way Hopper does, or at least not as far as Eleven knows. But she also knows now, if not at the time, that Hopper gets angry because he is scared. She wonders if this Logan man is more like that. Maybe he seems not to like her, but really, he is just scared.
Not so long ago, Hopper called her a brat. Told her one phone call, he could put her back in the lab. And it hurt, it hurt so bad that her powers ended up snapping out of her, destroying parts of the cabin. It was cruel. And it hurt. But he was scared, not really angry.
Eleven pushes herself slightly onto her knees and moves closer. She's... not good at this, but she's seen people who are good at it. So her hand slips out of Laura's, but only to cradle her face with both hands. Like Joyce, Eleven gently wipes her thumbs over Laura's cheeks, wiping away any wetness that might have escaped, then tugs her hair back. Like Erik, she leans over and kisses Laura's forehead. Like Hopper, she gently pulls, tucking Laura against Eleven. Like Mike and Dustin and Lucas, she wraps her arms around Laura. She holds her close with all the few good examples of comfort and affection she knows. ]
Adults are difficult. I think. If he has died for you. He must have liked you. [ Like Hopper, she runs a hand over Laura's head, through her hair. ] Maybe he was scared. To like you. Liking someone. Is harder than protecting someone. Or dying. Adults are very scared of that.
[ Eleven has her cheek on top of Laura's head, curled around her as much as she can be. As if she could possibly shield her from everything, here in the safety of the Alamo. After a moment, softly: ]
I think. You are liked. I think you are loved.
no subject
El holds her face, and Laura looks, rapt and receptive and fully given over.
Her hair is brushed away. Her forehead kissed. The only thing close to this that she's ever felt before has been from Erik, and only over the last few months. It feels a little different coming from El, but no less important, and no less impactful.
And when, at last, arms are wound around her, she's been dismantled enough to immediately slump into them, wrapping her own arms around El's middle in turn.
She feels held, and that makes the words offered to her seem all the more plausible. Like they could be true.
Inevitably, the shoulder of Eleven's shirt is damp with quiet tears.
After a moment or two of silence, she mumbles: )
( By me. )
no subject
So to be told, to hear it from Laura like this?
It unmoors her, just ever so slightly. And Eleven might be the one holding Laura, but she feels like she'd drift away into uncertainty if Laura wasn't holding her back.
It's possibly, too, that Laura's hair will have some wet strands, as Eleven sheds tears for the both of them.
It takes a while before she tentatively speaks again, makes an offer: ]
I can... try to look. For him. For where he went.
[ And even though she doesn't quite understands acts of love herself, in many ways the easy offer means just that: You are loved by me, too. ]
no subject
Thank you. But that's okay. I already know where he's going.
( He is going home to die. He was from before. The dying is his after. She doesn't need to be told how his story ends; she saw it herself. )
no subject
Okay.
[ It's second nature to her - the want to see, to look. She was tempted to try with Charles, but she barely knew him. If Laura or Erik or Clint... she won't think of that.
After a moment: ]
I looked at my home. A while ago.