[ Touch has not been kind to Eleven very much, and there is a lot of touch she shies away from. More than that, though, there is a lot of touch she craves and does not know how to ask for.
Laura's hand pulls back, and Eleven's eyes follow, like a magnet on a string. She thinks of Mike reaching out. She thinks of Hopper, on his good days. She thinks of Joyce Byers.
Laura's hand curls between her knees, and Eleven's hand follows, like a magnet on a string. Tentative. Fingertips on fabric. Then curling, too, not around Laura's wrist, but into the fabric of her sleeve.
Only then does she look back at Laura's eyes. ]
Mute. Ant?
[ A face devoid of recognition on the word. It means nothing to her. But... ]
They stole me. Papa raised me at. Hawkins Lab. Indiana.
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Laura's hand pulls back, and Eleven's eyes follow, like a magnet on a string. She thinks of Mike reaching out. She thinks of Hopper, on his good days. She thinks of Joyce Byers.
Laura's hand curls between her knees, and Eleven's hand follows, like a magnet on a string. Tentative. Fingertips on fabric. Then curling, too, not around Laura's wrist, but into the fabric of her sleeve.
Only then does she look back at Laura's eyes. ]
Mute. Ant?
[ A face devoid of recognition on the word. It means nothing to her. But... ]
They stole me. Papa raised me at. Hawkins Lab. Indiana.