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It’s almost silly how it can be the smallest of things.
A flickering and humming fluorescent light. Rhythmic beeping. The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol. Those things make sense; it’s easy to understand why those things would make her uncomfortable.
But sometimes it’s such odd and unrelated things, like a shiny red can of soda pop or a stray kitty or pretty little potted plants. Silly things.
She’s not quite certain what happens. Noticing such things just... makes her stop whatever she’s doing and remember. The world goes blurry and all she can do is stand and stare and remember, for who knows how long, until something or someone else comes along and wakes her back up. And even then something is still off, like she isn’t quite awake. Sometimes she discovers that she had been crying. Sometimes she wakes up in a completely different place. Sometimes her throat hurts like she had been screaming, and something has been thrown across the room or broken, which she assumes was her fault. She always feels sick to her stomach afterwards.
Hopper says it’s called Post-Traumatic Stress, and that Will has it, too. Joyce had taken him to many different doctors and therapists to try and help fix it, but nothing really seemed to work. Eleven really wants it to stop happening, but she does not want to go anywhere near a hospital, and Hopper says it’s pointless to try that anyway.
“You just make sure that anytime you start to feel bad, you’re either in a safe place or you’re with somebody,” he had instructed. Because there’s no other solution, really.
But that’s hard to keep track of, since it’s always such small, silly things…
Will was the first to notice how severe her flashbacks were (even now, so long after it’s been over...), and he suggested what a couple of monotone, uninterested therapists had told him: she could take the bad memories associated with those things and replace them with new, good memories. Everyone agreed that it was a great idea to try it, so now they organize meetings for what Lucas jokingly refers to as “weirdo rehab”. The party will set up the scenario in a safe, comfortable environment and support her while she faces it, gradually lightening the mood and joking around together until she feels okay enough to let go of whoever’s arm or hand or jacket she’s clinging to.
Dustin brought a six pack of Coca-Colas to a picnic in the woods behind Hopper’s cabin. It was a sunny, warm day, and she was just hanging out with her friends, eating lunch and enjoying a Coke, no beeping monitors or staring scientists, no threat of being sent back to her cold, dark room if she can’t impress them. Nevertheless, looking at the red cans started a faint, ghostly ache in the back of her skull, where it used to hurt when she first started exercising her telekinesis, and she had to reach for Mike’s arm. It didn’t take very long to recover from that one, though. The boys distracted her by pulling out a can of Pringles and showing her how to stick two chips in your mouth and make it look like a duck beak. Lucas and Will started having an intense conversation via unintelligible honking noises through their potato chip beaks, and soon everyone was joining in on the quacking debate. Dustin managed to stick his tongue in between his chips and the sound turned into a turkey gobble, which threw everyone into a fit of giggles. El was thoroughly entertained by this display. The unopened cans of soda just became objects in the background... until Max knocked hers over and Mike dared her to crack it open. She smirked, shook the can vigorously, and aimed it right at him; everyone shouted and scrambled away, but it was too late. There was a loud pop and a hiss and bubbly brown liquid rocketed out of the top of the can, exploding all over Mike’s jeans (he groaned in annoyance while Max laughed in mischievous glee) and lightly spraying everyone else with fizz. El yelped in surprise, not expecting the explosion, but the Bad fear had passed long ago. She discovered that she really liked Coca-Cola; it was cold and sweet and the bubbles made her mouth tingle, and she felt all happy and jumpy the rest of the afternoon. Dustin proudly declared Mission Coke-And-A-Smile a success.
It wasn’t always that easy. Sometimes they weren’t prepared. The first time that Will brought her to his backyard fort, he wasn’t expecting her to react like that. Castle Byers is pretty, she likes it; the makeshift structure is built out of spare plywood and branches and bedsheets, and the inside is filled with scratchy blankets to sit on and art supplies scattered across all corners amidst battery-powered lanterns and lamps, and scraps of paper with pretty drawings are pinned up all along the inside walls. It feels like a safe haven, where Will goes when he’s sad or stressed.
They both get an eerie shiver there, though. She can’t help thinking about the dark vision she had, the way the fort looked covered in cold, slimy goo and how the branches cast gnarled shadows on the ground. The way Will had been curled up on the damp blankets, shivering and weak... He must remember that, too, because he seemed ever so slightly hesitant. But he took a deep breath and ducked into the entrance anyway. He’s practiced this before. El soon found herself enjoying being hidden away in the woods with her friend; it reminded her of the blanket fort in Mike’s basement and Hopper’s cabin, like a mix between the two. The afternoon was going really well, until her eyes caught something yellow-brown and fuzzy tucked in the corner. She could feel her stomach start hurting, a telltale sign that she was remembering something bad, but she felt really drawn to the object, like she wanted to hold it, like holding it would make everything feel better... She asked Will what it was. He turned a bit red and shrugged it off as nothing, just an old toy of his, but he pulled it out from underneath the bunched up blanket anyway. El took one look at the stuffed lion and burst into tears.
It’s identical to the one Papa gave her.
She has so few nice memories from the lab. Most of them are tainted now, because she understands how twisted and wrong the circumstances were. Lion was the first gift that Papa ever gave her, the day she was first able to successfully levitate a paper airplane on command, the day the bad men first buzzed her hair short and attached wires to her scalp and stared and watched... Papa smiled that day. She was sad about her hair and scared of all the watching eyes, but Papa told her she was brave. Papa gave her Lion because she was brave and she did good.
Lion was the only friend she had for years, the only comfort she really ever received. The bad men were scary, at night the dark, cold lab was scary, her powers were scary sometimes. But she could hold Lion and remember to be brave. Looking at the plush animal in Will’s hands brought a massive wave of so many different emotions, and El’s mind ricocheted backwards into a dark place and all she could do was sob like a lost child.
Will panicked at her sudden and violent reaction; she’s never cried so loud and uncontrollably like that. He hurriedly offered to go get Hopper, or his mom, or Mike, anyone. She shook her head and hid her face in her hands, fighting to get ahold of herself. Such silly, small things...
But then Will held her gently by the shoulders and started talking softly. She barely registered the words he was saying, but it sounded so much like when Joyce would cradle her and soothe her with comforting murmurs. The static building inside her ears started to fade.
Finally, when she had stopped gasping and shuddering enough to speak, she told him that his stuffed animal looked just like hers. Though it’s tied to bad memories, she very much associates her Lion with comfort and safety... He immediately placed the yellow-brown plush into her lap, insisting without hesitation that if it would help her feel better, she should keep him.
El began crying again, for a different reason this time.
Curled up against Will’s narrow frame with his arms draped loosely around her, her cheek on his shoulder and the stuffed lion cradled close to her chest, El cried and thought about how she has the nicest, most wonderful friends in the world.
A few weeks have gone by, and they’ve run out of easy fears to conquer; warily, they’ve decided to tackle some more deeply rooted triggers. It’s a hazy, rainy Sunday when Mike arrives at the cabin, having escaped church service with his family by faking a cold. She’s delighted to see him, of course, but he can still tell that she’s on edge.
“It’s gonna be okay, you can do this!” Mike reassures her, “And I brought some candy for later, too, and a whole bag of marshmallows!”
The promise of sugary snacks does boost her motivation a bit. With a gulp and a deep breath, she allows Mike to lead her by both hands over to the tiny storage closet across from her bedroom. Her grip tightens on his palms. It’s dark and musty in this little corner, and the closet is even darker and mustier... but she takes a few deep, steadying breaths, and notices Mike breathing in time with her, too.
“Nothing bad’s gonna happen,” he whispers. El realizes that she had been inching closer to Mike, away from the waiting door; their hands are still tightly intertwined, lowered flush against their sides now that she’s hovering close to his chest. Mike’s gotten taller... if she leans forward just a bit more she could easily tuck her face into the crook of his neck... Safe and warm and gentle and supporting and…
“El, d’you hear me?” she registers his voice say faintly. “It’s alright. I’m gonna be right here the whole time, okay, I promise.”
She blinks up to meet his eyes and focuses back on the task at hand. Just back up a few steps into the small space and close the door for a minute or two; simple. It shouldn’t be this hard... El chews on her bottom lip and huffs in annoyance at herself. Fear has stunted her long enough, if she ever hopes to get on with her life and not have to cower in Mike’s or Hopper’s shadow, she’s got to bite back. Finding a little kick of motivation in that thought, she finally pulls away, stepping boldly into the cramped space between heavy winter coats and stacked boxes. She nods to Mike, and he carefully shuts the door.
She is instantly surrounded by suffocating darkness. To her dismay, the burst of courage doesn’t last. Her stomach drops and her heart starts pounding. The air seems to thin and the only sound is her breath quickening, bouncing off the walls and seeming far too loud, coming from all angles and drowning out everything else...
But then... a soft murmur...
“I’m right here, El.”
El reaches out with all her senses, trying to get a grasp on his presence. The walls blocking her in are just made of wood, she isn’t so far away... yet the barrier still feels like miles of maddeningly empty space; no matter where she is, she always feels the cold and silent chamber that she could never escape. Her sharp breaths are coming out in tiny squeaks and whimpers now. Her fingertips make contact with the door in front of her; in a dizzy panic, she latches onto the feeling of the surface pressing against her skin, and finally she senses it. A very specific, familiar point of energy, soaking through the dry fibers of the wood and reaching out to her. Mike... Mike is here. He’s on the other side, close against the door. She isn’t alone.
“I’m right here. It’s okay, I’m here. Shhhh, deep breaths, El, shhh...” he’s murmuring such soft, gentle things to her through the door... the quiet and steady thrum of his voice helps calm her mind, but her body still trembles and longs for physical reassurance, like a baby begging to be held.
I’m not a baby, El tells herself insistently. She has to conquer this. The sooner she gets over this, the sooner she’ll get out. Digging her fingernails into her palms and squeezing her eyes shut, she heeds Mike’s words and focuses on breathing. In, and out, like Hopper taught her. In, out. This is just a small, dark, closed room. This isn’t punishment. In, out. Mike is right outside the door, he can hear her, she isn’t in danger of being left alone and forgotten. In, out...
She opens her eyes to the same darkness and realizes she had been pressing her forehead against the door. There’s warmth there just beyond the wooden barrier; he must be leaning close to her, too. Still so distant... The tug on her heart is too strong, she needs to see him and touch him and know for certain he’s real.
“Okay,” she croaks softly, signaling for him to let her out now. Mike doesn’t hesitate. He yanks the closet open and rushes to catch her when she darts immediately into his arms. She lets out a wheezing sob of relief as her body crashes back into him, burying her face and hands into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, and she’s so overwhelmed by the sudden change of environment that her legs forget to work. Mike isn’t very strong, so he stumbles under her weight and his back hits the wall behind them, but he doesn’t care, his hold on her never falters. The pressure of his arms encircling her shoulders and his hand cradling the back of her head, the cozy, familiar scent that Mike always carries with him, the rhythmic thumps of his heartbeat that she can feel so vividly... tangible sensations she can cling to... it all does wonders to bring her back to earth.
Feeling completely nothing is by far the scariest thing she’s had to face.
When her heart has finally stopped racing erratically and she can feel her fingers again, Mike leads her back into the main living room and to the couch. He leaves for a moment, to her dismay, but quickly reappears with his arms full of blankets. He bends down to kiss her forehead briefly before depositing something in her lap... she blinks into focus and realizes it’s Will’s stuffed lion. She can feel a slight heat rise up into her cheeks, embarrassed that he knows about it, but she squeezes the scratchy yellow plush to her chest anyway. Mike makes sure she’s properly wrapped up and buried in as many blankets as he can find, then turns to her with that bright, keenly attentive face he always makes, “Is this better? Do you need anything else?”
El blinks slowly. “Marshmallows...”
He hops up again, “Right! Yeah! Yeah, I brought marshmallows— hold on, let me just—“
“Wait—!” she catches his wrist before he can dart away again, suddenly caught in a wave of vulnerability, “Mike... stay...”
Mike immediately sits back down on the couch next to her. He leans closer, eyes still searching and imploring, “Okay... okay, I’ll stay. We can save it for later, yeah? I’m staying right here.”
El nods, so he drapes an arm around her shoulders and draws her close, ducking under one of the blankets with her. Finally cradled against his side, her head tucked under his chin and surrounded in warm, soft fabric, she finds the impulsive, instinctual desire to be held and protected is slowly fading. As one buzzing anxiety dims, another surfaces: she must seem so childish and weak to him. It’s been a year or so, she’s gotten used to a somewhat normal life, she’s got a home and a family and friends like a normal girl, and yet she’s still so stunted. Hopper always tells her that it’s not her fault, that she isn’t stupid, she’s very smart and very strong and will catch up to everyone else her age soon enough. But here she is, trembling in her boyfriend’s arms hugging a stuffed animal because she had to go into the dark, scary closet... El bites her lip as embarrassment washes over her. Abruptly, she pulls away from Mike and sets the lion plush aside. “I’m sorry,” she says softly.
Mike turns to look at her, “Why?”
Her face scrunches up in frustration. The finality in her tone rings low, “I couldn’t beat it. I’m still scared. It’s stupid.”
Mike smiles, however, “No, it’s not! It’s fine! You did fine! It’s totally normal to still be scared of stuff, even really stupid stuff! And it’s different for you, too, ‘cause you actually have good reason to be afraid of those things.”
El looks up at him, but she’s still not quite comforted by this. She hates being different. Having “good reason” to be crippled by flashbacks and bouts of anxiety doesn’t make her feel any less ashamed of her helplessness in these situations. Mike still optimistically offers logical reasoning anyway. It feels nice that he’s being so supportive, but she doesn’t want him to have to be her crutch and her hiding place for the rest of their lives. That isn’t fair. And she’s not a baby. Unsure quite how to express this, El just shrugs and frowns at the floor.
Mike sighs, not sure what to say either. His mouth tightens like it does when he’s thinking, trying to find the right words. Finally he shrugs and offers, “I was afraid of the dark.”
“‘Was’,” El points out.
“Well yeah, but... I slept with a light on ‘til I was almost twelve. Honestly, I still get kinda freaked out if there isn’t light somewhere.” His cheeks are turning red and he’s fidgeting awkwardly. El decides he’s telling her the truth, and it’s embarrassing for him to admit, too. The skeptical look on her face softens a touch.
Seeing that he’s getting somewhere, he continues, “And it’s not weird to have fears about certain things, I swear! Everybody’s got something that makes them scared or nervous.”
“Does anything else make you scared or nervous?”
Mike stutters a bit, taken off guard by the direct, pointed look she's giving him. “Uhm... well, yeah, sure... I, uh, don’t like spiders, and um...” He trails off.
El notes the way his eyes float away off to the side. There’s a noticeable shift in the air around them; it’s no longer about her and her fears, it’s no longer a comforting hug. Now, suddenly there’s tension, and they’re dangling on the edge of a gap they’ve yet to bridge. El is quiet for a long moment, considering something. A sad shadow falls across her face, and in a wavering whisper she says, “Sometimes you pull away when I kiss you.”
Mike stutters again; he can feel his cheeks burning. “El, I... I told you already, that was one time, I just...”
“But it happened the second time, too.” Her eyes flicker up to lock with his, and he’s seen that look before; she knows he’s evading the subject. “You said you wanted me to kiss you, but we stopped so soon... Why does it make you nervous?” She shifts restlessly under the pile of blankets. “Kissing is nice... I like kissing you. But I want you to like it, too. What about it do you not like? How do I fix it?”
Mike’s chest aches a bit. She’s so convinced that it’s her who’s the problem... He reaches out to brush a strand of wispy hair away from her face. El melts at the gentle touch, momentarily closing her eyes and getting lost in the sensation. This is why, he thinks. All her life, every hand that touched her had been cold and uncaring, handling her like she’s just a thing, a weapon or a tool or a lifeless puppet. She’s barely had two years of life outside of the lab, and even less time being treated like a person with care and respect. She clings to affection like her life depends on it... and of course Mike wants to give that to her, she’s chosen him, he can’t let her down... but she’s still so... fragile. El is stronger than anyone he’s ever known. But all it takes is the wrong thing at the wrong time, too sharp a noise or too small a space or even something completely random and unexpected, and she can so easily snap. It’s killing him to watch her go through it over and over again. And if circumstances were to take a turn for the worst in a moment like that — with her guard down, every edge softened and her heart exposed, so vulnerable and trusting— he doesn’t dare imagine what kind of damage that could do. He could never forgive himself.
“I...” Mike’s throat is tight when he answers, “I don’t wanna mess it up.”
He groans inwardly at his own weak excuse. Why is it so hard to put it into words? Her brows furrow a bit like she doesn’t understand. But her eyes are still focused on his, imploring and wanting to listen.
Mike tugs the blanket closer around his shoulders and pushes himself to continue, “I mean... this... me and you... it’s really nice, y’know? I feel safe with you, and... you feel safe with me, too, so... I don’t ever want to do anything that would ruin that.”
“Why would kissing me ruin it?” It‘s a genuine question, but as soon as she asks it he feels incredibly stupid. Logically, that doesn’t make much sense at all, does it? Mike fidgets with the edge of his sleeve, mind furiously grappling at the air for the right way to verbalize it without sounding like a complete wimp.
“Well— I mean— it wouldn’t, but... I dunno, there’s just... I want to, but if I don’t stop myself, I... I don’t want to hurt you, El, and I don’t wanna rush you either, ‘cause I... well, I don’t know how much you know, and... if you even want to...“ His throat feels like it’s constricting tighter and tighter with embarrassment. “I— just— don’t want kissing you to turn into a bad trigger.”
Eleven almost laughs, because it seems such a silly thing to worry about... but she stops herself, because it would be hypocritical to laugh. He really, honestly is worried about this... And this might be the third time she’s had to reassure him about it. So instead, she wriggles her arm out from under her blankets to grab ahold of one of his restless hands. His fingers open up instinctively to intertwine with hers. He can’t help but crack a sheepish smile at the gesture. El smiles back. “Mike,” she says softly, “It won’t. The bad feeling goes away when I’m with you. I remember only happy things. Kissing you doesn’t make me scared.” She pulls their hands close to her face, resting her lips against the back of his palm for a moment. El catches a hint of a shy blush on his cheeks, but there’s still embarrassed uncertainty. There’s more to it that he isn’t saying.
“Mike,” she presses quietly, “When I kiss you... does it scare you?”
The question hangs in the air for far too long. Mike opens his mouth to speak but no words are coming out. Finally he sits up, pulling his hand away from hers. She follows, carefully studying his face and trying to read it... but he just looks puzzled more than anything. El reaches out to rest her hand on his back, lightly making circles in the space between his shoulders, the same motion that he often uses when comforting her.
Mike shakes his head, however. “No, it’s... it’s not that... I meant what I said, I’m not afraid of you. It’s not when... you do it. It’s just...” he trails away for a moment, and when he next speaks his voice wavers, “It’s always my fault, y’know?”
She pauses. There it is. Shifting around on her knees so she can face him again, she asks gently, “What do you mean?”
He gestures weakly, unable to swallow the lump in his throat. “Every time I get close to anyone, I just... mess up, and it pushes people away and then... then I’ve ruined it, and I’m all alone again...” Time and time again, mistakes over and over, doing something or saying something or doing nothing about anything and then suddenly they’re gone. Mike chokes back an unflattering sob. “I’m scared of losing you, and I’m scared of it being because of me. I don’t want it to happen again, I can’t... Don’t leave me again...”
A deep ache always roots itself in Eleven’s chest whenever Mike cries. There were some nights in which he would stay on the radio line for hours hoping for a reply, laying down silently with his supercom in hand. Every now and then he’d start talking quietly about whatever is on his mind, if only just to talk to her... Through the vast empty space between her mind and his, she would sometimes hear the hitch in his breath or catch a glimpse of tears as they rolled down his cheeks. She’s always overwhelmed by the pull on her heart to go to him and let him know she’s there... Right here, I’m right here... but if she reached out to touch his ghostly image the connection would instantly fizzle out and blow away like dust, and she’d only leave them both feeling emptier and lonelier than before. This time, however, it isn’t just a crackled echo of his nightly calls, pulling her mind to him but still so far away; this time, he’s here right in front of her and she can finally answer. She lifts her hands up to cup either side of his face. Her hold is steady and firm, though her thumb can’t help gently wiping away tears, too. “Mike, look at me.”
He only flinches slightly at her command. Reluctantly his eyes flicker back up to her, and suddenly her gaze is a blazing beam of energy, drawing all of his focus onto her and locking him on the spot as though he has no other choice but to listen. She isn’t using her powers or anything, but... there’s such a mesmerizing intensity in her stare that he’s rendered helpless. In a slow, carefully enunciated way, like she means everything she says and truly believes it, El whispers, “It’s not your fault.”
She pauses to let the words sink in. Mike is speechless. There’s a raw vulnerability that he’s caught in, like her eyes are burning through layers of false fronts right down to his soul. El blinks and instantly the fire in her gaze softens to a gentle glow. Her hands slide from either side of his face down to his shoulders, curling tenderly around his neck; no longer holding him in place but still holding him all the same. She continues in a quieter voice, “I’m sorry I was away for so long. But I came back.” Sincerity rings in her tone, “I will always come back.”
The tears that were gathering on Mike’s eyelashes drip onto his cheeks. He blinks hard and shakes his head at the floor. “You can’t promise that.” There’s too many dangers. Too many variables. Too many possibilities in this insane world they’re both stuck in that she may never make it out alive in the end. She may die tomorrow, or she may live long enough to grow up and realize that there’s something, someone, better for her somewhere else.
But she cups his jaw again and lifts his face back up and there’s that spark again, in her eyes, practically on fire with determination. “Yes I can.”
To make absolute certain he believes it, El pulls him towards her into a tight embrace. The way he clings right back is evidence enough, and she finally understands; Mike desperately wants to be loved and held close, nearly as much as she does, too. He just doesn’t know how, and he’s too afraid to ask... too afraid of getting his heart broken. El strokes a hand through his hair soothingly as he presses his face into her shoulder, stifling tears. Copying his comforting tactics once more, she murmurs quiet words to him like “It’s okay” and “I’m here”. Maybe it isn’t as unbalanced as she feared... he needs her just as much as she needs him. She isn’t so different from Mike, or anyone else, because at the end of the day they’re all scared of being alone.
“Love you,” El says, because now seems like a time when he really needs to hear it.
It feels like somebody has landed a sharp kick to Mike’s ribcage. His chest and stomach and throat ache, as though his insecurities and boiling subconscious thoughts had been physically ejected from his lungs, yet somehow each new breath is seamlessly filling in all the space they left behind. It must be because it was a year’s worth of buildup, so many suppressed emotions and silenced thoughts and constant pressure to “grow up, be a man, get over it”, and not one suitable outlet for any of it… Talking to El is so easy, so effortless. She understands in a way nobody else can quite match. Dealing with the stress of life and reality and growing up is surely much, much more doable if it’s with El… He supposes that’s why “I love you” seems so natural, the next logical thing to say to her, because there’s simply no doubt. He draws his arms tighter around her back and replies softly, “Love you, too.”
Time runs out much too quickly. He would stay there in her arms for days if he could, and she would not argue in the slightest… but once again, reality comes knocking in on the moment. Heavy footsteps approach from outside. Knuckles rap on the front door in the familiar pattern. Chief Hopper’s tired, gruff voice calls through the door, “Alright, Wheeler, party’s over! You better get your ass back home, your mother’s already losing her shit.”
Mike winces. That’s not gonna end well… Both sit up and let go of each other reluctantly, and with a defeated nod from Mike, Eleven unlocks the cabin door to let him in. Hopper looks exhausted and annoyed as usual, but he isn’t angry. In fact, he avoids looking over at the snuggling teenagers on his couch and bites back the urge to scold them for pulling a stunt like this. He knows that Mike sneaks over to visit her all the time, of course, and while one half of him would love to kick the little shit’s ass when he does, the other half can’t help feeling like he owes it to them both. It’s become strikingly clear that nothing can keep those two away from each other, and parental instincts aside, he can’t bring himself to separate them again.
Hopper can sense that he’s interrupted a moment, because neither kid says a word. Out of the corner of his eye he sees El getting close and handsy, murmuring something to him under her breath. Wheeler sniffs and nods and goes to gather his stuff. They’re cooperating this time, at least… Hopper refrains from commenting on how suspiciously cozy they’ve been getting lately, because if the silence and puffy redness in Mike’s eyes are any indication, this wasn’t just a case of horny teens being sneaky and jumping on the opportunity to have a little careless fun in an empty house. But then again, it never is.
Hopper drops his coat onto the little kitchen table, milling around and minding his own business. Hot embarrassment is rising in El’s cheeks, but at least he’s not being a bother about it. So before Mike can duck out the door, she jumps up onto her tiptoes and leaves a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth, one last little reassurance, a “thank you” and a “goodbye”. Mike blushes and cracks a smile, though, and she knows that he’ll be okay. He gives her hand one last squeeze, which makes her smile, as well; she’ll be okay, too.