Work Text:
December 31, 1999
Boston, Massachusetts
The party doesn’t arrive at the Harringtons’ until the Party arrives at the Harringtons’.
Dustin, as the most local and the most willing to invade Steve’s personal space without remorse, has been hanging around since noon. Not that Steve’s complaining. Nancy had to work a full day despite the New Year, and it was nice to have someone around to entertain the kids. Dustin insists he’s not a ‘kid person’, says he doesn’t like anyone whose brain isn’t fully developed– “You hang out with Steve all the time, though?” “Thanks, Mike” –but he’d sat there and read The Cat in the Hat to Jack no less than twenty times without complaint and with the funny voices, so Steve knows that’s bullshit.
Lucas, Max, and Will had all flown in on the 3:30 from Los Angeles, and Mike and El on the 5:10 from Indianapolis. Robin and Vickie had driven up from New York, beating Jonathan and his longtime girlfriend Kimmy, who’d come in by train, also from New York, by nearly an hour. Nancy blew in from the Boston Globe just shy of seven, apologizing sincerely for her lateness, only to be heckled by the peanut gallery.
And, bam, there it is, everyone Steve loves under one roof. Laughing and joking around like old times, like no time’s passed, even though it’s been nearly six months since they were all together last. He’s ridiculously sentimental about it, a fact which Nancy must pick up on, if her knowing smile is anything to go by.
By nine, Bella and Jack are in bed, and the group has migrated to the living room. Robin, Dustin, Will, and El are all squeezed onto a couch that was not made to hold four adults, Jonathan and Kimmy have shoved themselves into one of the armchairs, and Max had won the other from Mike in a brutal and highly unfair fight (she’d pulled his shirt over his head and pushed). The others have settled in chairs dragged in from the kitchen or are flopped on the ground in positions that are not kind to bodies nearing thirty (Steve would know).
When he enters the room bearing appetizers, Will is red-faced and in the middle of a story that ends with, “–so I guess I basically told him I’d move to San Francisco with him? So, yeah, I might need some help packing.” He directs this last bit to Max and Lucas.
“And, how many dates have you been on with this guy?” Dustin asks.
“Three? Three and a half?”
“Dude.”
Will shrugs and laughs at himself as the rest of the room dissolves into laughter. Steve didn’t hear the whole story, but he gets the gist, so he grins anyway. Nancy notices.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, Steve. You came out swinging with six kids in a Winnebago before we even got back together. You have no leg to stand on here.”
The laughter turns to shocked silence, and Steve feels ten pairs of eyes on him, before they all start talking at once.
“Six, Steven?”
“Good Lord.”
“Are you insane?”
“Who did you think would be having those kids, exactly?”
“Wasn’t Nancy, that’s for sure.”
Steve waves them off. “Ah-dah-dah-dah-dah, okay, I get it. But it was never about the number, shitbrains, it was about, you know, the general concept of a big happy family. I didn’t really have that growing up, and it always sounded nice. So get out of here with your judgy little faces.” He gives Nancy a pointed look. “And for the record, Nance, that means you knew what I was about and you still put a ring on it, so checkmate.”
Nancy blows him a kiss, and Mike gags.
“And you know what,” Steve continues. “I refuse to be shamed for knowing what I want out of life. Will, never apologize for the way you feel. Go after what you want, and if the people around you don’t like it, then they were never really right for you anyw–”
“Oh, God, make it stop,” Max groans.
“Seconded,” Mike says.
“Thirded.” Lucas, that traitor.
“I liked it, Steve,” El says from where she’s nearly disappearing into the couch cushions.
“That’s why you’re my favorite.” He settles himself on the floor at Nancy’s feet, and she runs her fingers through his hair. “So, how’s everyone feeling about Y2K?”
Nancy groans and digs her nails playfully into his skull. “Please, not this again.”
“What?” he says, tilting his face up to grin at her. “It’s not like I think anything’s actually going to happen. I just think it would be, you know, a nice change of pace.”
“Change of pace?” Robin asks. “From what exactly?”
“Oh, you know. I just think it would be fun if the end of the world came from a collapse of global technology, rather than the usual monsters and parallel universe junk. Been there, done that, you know.” He can almost hear the simultaneous eye roll from everyone gathered. It breathes life into him. “I’m just saying, if the apocalypse is nigh, we should be glad there’s no demo-beasts involved. I’m not beating them off with a baseball bat for you guys anymore.”
Dustin looks personally offended. “Why not?”
“What, you don’t love us anymore?”
“He has a couple bio kids and all of a sudden we’re chopped liver.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Steve assures them. “It’s just I’ve got this rotator cuff thing going on. So.”
From there the conversation devolves into who would hold up best in a fight against the Upside Down, now that they’re all thirteen years out of practice. Everyone clamors to make their case and El is tasked with judging because she’s obviously the clear winner, so it would be unfair to consider her at all. Steve leans his head back against Nancy’s knees and soaks in the sounds of the people he loves talking nonsense.
Eventually, as the clock ticks towards midnight, Steve gets up to open the champagne. When he reaches the kitchen, he finds Vickie and Kimmy, the two outsiders of this little group. He smiles apologetically, “Upside Down talk get to be too much?”
“A little,” Kimmy says. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s all real.”
Steve cocks his head. “You’ve never seen it?” Jonathan and Kimmy have been together at least a decade, after meeting at NYU. She plays bass in a punk band, and, in Steve’s completely unbiased opinion, is a much better match for Jonathan than Nancy ever was.
Kimmy shakes her head.
“Really? Jonathan’s never taken you to see Hawkins? Or, what’s left of it?”
“No. All the worst shit of his life went down in Hawkins. I think he’d rather just forget the place ever existed.”
Steve gets that, he supposes. Leave the place behind, but not the people. Never the people. His children’s middle names are Barbara and Edward for a reason.
It all feels a bit too serious for tonight.
“Well, they’ve moved on to a new topic in there. Dustin’s love life. Equally as complicated, but lower stakes.”
They laugh and head back to join the others. Steve grabs the champagne that’s been chilling, pops the cork, and is filling flutes when Max walks in and parks herself at the kitchen island.
“Evening, Red.” He holds out a flute for her. “Pregame?”
“Nah, I think I’m just gonna stick to the water.” He shrugs and goes to drink it himself before he freezes. Max has never been a big drinker, not since her mom’s struggles with alcohol and her one-time stepfather’s violent rages, but there’s something in her tone that sets off an alarm bell in Steve’s head. Max has been turning down drinks all night.
When he makes eye contact with her, the corners of Max’s mouth are pulling up. Steve’s mouth drops open. “Are you–”
“Keep your voice down. But, yeah.”
Steve breaks into a huge grin that Max meets with her own. He rushes around the island and crushes her in a hug.
Max has had it rough, and he saw her face earlier when he’d talked about the concept of a big happy family. She’d never admit it in a million years, but he thinks somewhere deep down inside Maxine Mayfield is someone who wants a Winnebago, too.
She squeezes him back tightly and after a moment says into his shoulder, “Are you crying?”
“No,” Steve says, crying.
“Alright, you big softie. But don’t tell the others yet, alright? Lucas wants to do it tomorrow. He has this whole thing planned. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you, I was just supposed to get a drink for myself.”
Steve pulls back. “I’ve got you covered.” He pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice, and fills a champagne flute for her.
She looks curiously at the bottle. “Why do you have this?”
“Bella likes the ‘electric grape juice’. She says the other kind isn’t as good.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Hell if I know. Kids are like that. You’ll see.” He feels teary again. “You’re gonna be a mom.”
“I know. And you’re gonna be a grandpa.” And there’s that shit-eating grin he knows so well.
He flicks her on the forehead and hugs her again. He wants to say something profound, something about the nature of life or some shit, but then Dustin’s yelling, “Guys, get in here, the ball’s dropping!”
Max helps him scramble to gather champagne flutes and pass them out to everyone. Everyone’s yelling “Five, four, three–” so loudly he’s momentarily afraid they’ll wake the kids, but really, what does it matter? All the more people to celebrate. He settles back into his spot and hands Nancy a flute of sparkling white grape juice over his shoulder just as the countdown hits zero. Everyone’s cheering, and toasting, and planting kisses on cheeks and lips. Nancy tilts his head back to look at her and kisses him softly, just before Robin swoops in and plants one on his cheek.
It’s a new year, a new millennium, but it’s the same people, and that’s all that really matters.