— CHAPTER 16 —
TWO HOURS

SATURDAY 3rd NOVEMBER,
1984

THOMAS watches Peggy unpack the E.P.T. pregnancy test out of its box, completely bewildered by the sight of it. This was nothing like he was expecting to see — test tubes, droppers and an intricate leaflet detailing instructions all empty themselves onto the table. She blinks at her brother for a moment, strangely composed about it all.

     "What?" she asks.

     "It's... like a damn chemistry kit," Thomas stammers.

     "Yeah, well, pregnancy tests have changed since the sixties... apparently."

He can definitely testify to that. For their first daughter, Thomas hadn't even known Martha had gone out to get tested, but when she fell pregnant with Cath he was more aware. Back then, the only way of knowing was to schedule a doctor's appointment, and then wait two agonising weeks for the results — but clearly those days were behind everyone. In truth, Thomas wasn't sure he felt entirely secure in the accuracy of the test with them doing it at home... along with everything else about this whole situation.

     The bombshell she dropped on him yesterday afternoon still hasn't quite sunken in yet. He recalls a few moments of stunned silence, blinking at her or waiting for her to tell him she was joking. He had finally managed something in the end:

     "... You what?" Thomas croaks out.

     "I said, think I might be pregnant."

     He coughs in surprise, then rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, I just– you– are you sure?"

     "Well, that's what this is for," Peggy sighed, holding up the plastic bag. The shape of the box protrudes from the plastic, unavoidable as the new elephant in the room now.

"How? Why?"

"You see, Thomas, when a man and a woman are attracted each other—"

"Peg, I'm serious," Thomas says, trying to stay calm and approachable, even if he felt like his head was going to explode. "It's just... if I'm the one helping you out here, I need to know what's going on. This could possibly add a whole other layer to our situation, and if it does, I– I just need to know."

His sister squirms on the spot, clearly reluctant to divulge the details, but knows she probably shouldn't hide things from him for any longer. Peggy drags out a long sigh and dives back into her life that she's tried to run from these past few weeks.

"Okay, so you know I was staying in a motel for a while after I left my boyfriend?" she asks, and doesn't wait for an answer. "Well, during that time, I met this guy in a bar one night. He was nice and actually listened to me, so... so we ended up talking... and, uh, a little more too... but I guess you know that already."

Peggy lets out a nervous chuckle, but Thomas is certainly far from laughter. She clears her throat and continues.

"... But yeah, that was it really. That must have been when it may-or-may-not have happened."

"Hold on, so– you're telling me you don't even know this guy's name?!"

"It was only meant to be a one night stand!"

"Peggy!"

So that is where they are left now. Thomas honestly doesn't know what to make of it all — neither does Peggy, quite evidently. He is trying his best to stay calm for her, to be a steadying presence, but his nerves also fray over her predicament. How could she not be more careful? As children they had always been total opposites, Peggy the younger wild card, while Thomas fulfilled the quiet and responsible oldest brother role... although it was not as if he had any other option. He was always cautious, whereas she just did things, and sometimes that freaked him out to say the least.

Remember, we don't know anything yet, he reminds himself as he has done the past twenty four hours. It could be a red herring for all we know.

As Peggy inspects the test tubes with anxious curiosity, Thomas picks up the instructions leaflet to distract himself. His eyes skim over the words and half-absorb them; then a statement at the bottom makes him do a double take:

"Two hours?!" Thomas exclaims in despair. "This thing takes two hours to get a result?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long..." Peggy murmurs nervously.

"Well, I guess it's better than two weeks."

Peggy takes the instructions from his hands and reads over them herself. She almost seems to double-check it to be sure — something Thomas has never seen her do with anything — and shoots a wary glance at him. Although she maintains a somewhat calm demeanour, the anxiety and anticipation radiates from her and is most certainly contagious. Peggy has been procrastinating taking the test since yesterday, waiting even longer until Daphne left the house to go to work (something Thomas wasn't sure would happen for a while; she had come home from school pale and withdrawn yesterday, but after a morning spent alone in her room, she had seemed eager to get to work at the Hawk Theatre).

He nods down to the gleaming test tubes, his state earnest. "You can't keep putting this off, Peg."

"I know," she whispers.

A beat passes. Then with a sharp breath, Peggy abruptly scoops up the test equipment and shuffles over to the bathroom, shutting herself in to do the test. Just before the door closes, Thomas gives her a thumbs up as if to say "Good luck" — not that she has much personal control over the result.

"Are you keeping an eye on the time?" asks Peggy.

"Yep, got my watch right here," Thomas calls back, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom and peering down at his watch.

A muffled clatter of plastic is heard from inside the bathroom, as Peggy tries setting up the test. He hears a whispered "Ah, shit" followed by a splash, but she dismisses it when he asks if she's alright in there. About a minute passes until he hears the tap running and the towel rack squeaking as Peggy dries her hands. When his sister re-emerges again, she gestures to the test tube kit standing by the sink.

"Alright, I'll go set the timer," Thomas says, remembering the time he saw on his watch and running to the kitchen. He finds the small timer he got as a wedding present from his aunt years ago, and sets it for the first hour. "When this goes off," he instructs to Peggy, "I'll set it again for the second hour, and then you can check the test. Sound good?"

Peggy nods, biting her nails as her eyes fixate on the timer.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Thomas coughs awkwardly. "So, uh... what now?"

     "I'm... gonna watch some TV," Peggy decides. She promptly switches the television set on, and collapses onto the couch with restlessness — she needs to be occupied by something, anything. And Thomas can't say he blames her either, for after he calls in late for work (Harold always has his back), he sits down next to her in the attempt to numb his mind for the next two hours. All they find is college football or Looney Tunes, and alternate between them for a while.

But admittedly, after a half hour of watching a sport he's disinterested in, and seeing the same cartoon cat-and-mouse chase, Thomas is being driven up the wall. Peggy clearly is too, for she keeps peeking inside the bathroom to check on the result.

"It won't show that early," he calls out to her from the couch.

"I know," she mutters, sinking back into the seat next to him.

     Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

     Another few minutes pass of more TV-watching (without really paying attention). At one point the signal dips, and Thomas gets up to whack the television a few times, before it wakes up to the signal again and he sits back down. Glancing down at his watch after a while, Thomas tries to create conversation. "First hour is almost up..." he sighs, "I'll tell you what, tonight's gonna be a late shift, especially on a Saturday."

     "You know, you don't have to stay here if you don't want to," Peggy suddenly snaps, as if she has lost her last straw. "You can go to work."

     "Look, it's fine, I called in late so I could wait with you. I've worked much later nights."

     "That's what I'm saying. You don't have to be here."

     "... Do you not want me here or something?"

     "It's just– I mean, what is this, helicopter parenting or something? You're acting like Mom!"

     Peggy springs up from the couch and starts frantically pacing in front of the television. Thomas's eyes watch her go back and forth like a pendulum, his features pinched with confusion. "I'm sorry, how exactly am I acting like Mom?" he asks incredulously.

     "All your questioning and little remarks about me!"

     "Peg, with all due respect, that's because you hardly tell me anything. Or any of us. What else am I supposed to do when you show up on my doorstep and possibly pregnant?"

     "We don't know that yet! Look, I'm sorry I might've got knocked up, and that I don't know who the father is," Peggy rambles, her voice raised and sharp, "but it's like you don't even trust me to be by myself since I got here."

     "For Christ's sake, I'm just trying to look after you!" Thomas retorts. He has no idea where this argument suddenly rose from — perhaps all the pent-up tension suffocating the house — but they are surely in the thick of it now, at each other's throats just like they used to be in the worst of their childhood days. "Maybe if you started caring more about yourself and the decisions you made, I wouldn't have to watch you like a damn hawk."

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

     "... Yeah, well, it's always nice to come home," Peggy squints, her voice dripping with sour sarcasm.

     "Oh, come on—"

     "I came to you 'cause I thought I wouldn't be judged. Like Mom always judges me, for not being as settled as you or as responsible as you, ever since I dropped out of college. But here it's like a damn pity party, like I'm the charity case you keep in your spare room which, by the way, is a whole other thing to unpack—"

     "Don't even go there," Thomas quickly cuts her off. A clear-cut line has been crossed. "You really wanna know what I think? I get why you left Hawkins, I do. I really do. But that doesn't mean you cut all of us off with it, and then after years of just dipping in and out of your family's lives, you just expect us to be completely on board with whatever you're doing now. Some of us have to stay behind, some of us have to pick up the pieces. So don't come here and start judging my life, when—"

     BRRRING!

     The shrill tone of the kitchen timer startles them both, slicing through the tension before things get too bitter. Thomas runs into the kitchen and switches the timer off, the nape of his neck still flushed with confrontation. "First hour's up," he says from the kitchen, his tone flat as he re-sets the timer for one more hour.

     "I'm going for a smoke," Peggy curtly replies.

     "Fine."

     She storms out onto the porch, Thomas flinching as she slams the front door behind her. He can see from the kitchen window that Peggy struggles to light a cigarette, her hands trembling around the lighter, before she finally achieves it and sharply exhales a puff of smoke. Thomas sinks back into his chair and sighs — he hates this. He has always been confrontation-averse in general, always preferring to avoid it when he could, but it also led to many of his grievances simmering slowly inside him. Already an instant regret trickles through him in a slow reflection of his thoughts, never liking when he spews things out like that — he has always been a think-before-you-speak type of person... perhaps too much sometimes.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

With an hour to go until the result, Thomas itches to find something to do. For a while he reads the paper, but the local news is far too mundane to occupy his mind (after Will Byers went missing and was mysteriously 'resurrected' again, all other stories seem empty). He already downs a cup of coffee he made earlier, and figures he shouldn't have another or he will be a paranoid wreck.

He is on his way past Cath's bedroom door, open just a crack, when he notices her bed isn't made — a rather unusual sight. A very good habit she had developed on her own (unlike her older sister) Cath always made sure her bed was neat and tidy in the mornings, regardless of whether she was in a rush or not. Thomas pushes the door open a little wider, figuring he should do it himself so she at least can come home to a tidier room after the sleepover. He carefully smooths out her quilt over the mattress and fluffs the pillows, propping her favourite stuffed animal atop them, just as she likes it...

That's when he notices it; the dark corner of a book, sticking out from under her pillow.

Heart fluttering with familiarity, Thomas debates whether he should remove it — it could be something secret of Cath's. But from what he has seen, he knows exactly what book it is, and exactly who it belonged to. Slowly, as if it might break in his touch, his fingers clasp around the edge and slip it out from underneath the pillow. Surely enough he finds the leather-bound book, still half-collected with dust like an old time capsule. Staring at the cover, he sits himself down carefully on the edge of Cath's bed.

     It is one of Martha's many artistic pursuits, although he knows this one was much more personal. Like a diary expressed through the visuals of scrapbooking. She had started it way back when she first moved to Hawkins, and kept at it rather consistently until new motherhood and her teaching job took her away from it. But on her last maternity leave, she was almost starting to get back into it, until...

     Thomas holds his breath as he opens the cover.

     For the first time in nearly thirteen years, he sees the inside page of the scrapbook. The small pre-typed inscription of 'This journal belongs to' followed by her handwriting, vivaciously cursive as it always had been along the dotted line, as she wrote her name 'Martha Olsen-Scott' (later amended with 'Delaney'). Even just seeing her handwriting takes Thomas back with a smile, remembering the wild loops it would take when she was called to the chalkboard in school.

     Then he turns the next page, and a black-and-white photograph slips out for not being glued down enough. His fingertips gingerly hold it by the frame and he smiles with nostalgia. Pictured is the Martha he remembers first meeting in Middle School, with the short blonde waves that curled by her dimples and the stars in her hazel eyes. Thomas swallows thickly at the memory of them racing each other to school or talking walks in the woods. First and foremost, before anything else, Martha was his best friend.

     Thomas starts flitting through the other pages, other memories warming him with a small lining of mourning. He sees photos of himself too, the first being him and Martha sat on a wall with their legs dangling over the edge — she wears a bright grin, while his head is more shyly bowed with a careful look. He also longs after the photos he finds of his in-laws, and her parents, who he grew to love as his own family. Evelyn, his mother-in-law, lost her battle with cancer just weeks after their wedding; but Walter Scott was more like a father to him, in-law or not. Having become a widower himself, the kind man was a keystone for Thomas in finding his feet after Martha died. Losing him a few years ago had been tough, to say the least.

A few pages later, between pressed flowers and newspaper clippings, he finds a real throwback — a strip from a photo booth of Thomas and Martha. It was in fact from their first date, which he remembers like yesterday, and most of the date had been filled with awkward giggles and shy smiles. Transitioning from friends to lovers was easier said than done. But then they found a photo booth, and at first had tried mocking poses... well, Thomas was actually trying to be photogenic, while Martha started pulling faces. By the third and fourth photos they were a laughing blur, faces lit up as they held each other in the closeness of the booth.

What it didn't show was the moment straight afterwards.

     Their laughter dying down, Thomas had mentioned something about how they should go and see how the photos turned out. He was just saying it when he felt a pair of hands cup his face, bringing his lips softly to Martha's. The butterflies from the first kiss swirl around in his stomach just remembering it — the dizzying feeling of young romance, that soon turned into a much deeper love that still haunts him.

     He turns a few extra pages and hits a dead end. The empty pages; a sentence unfinished. Goosebumps burst all over his skin.

     Usually, at a reminder like this, Thomas would find himself back in that hospital corridor staring at a white-washed wall — Martha gone just minutes before, leaving him cracked open and terrified for what lay ahead. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to do it all on his own?

     But this time, he gazes at the pillow and thinks of Cath.

     Everything suddenly makes sense — her persistent questions about her mother have definitely thrown him, but now it comes attached with even more guilt before. The image of the hidden book replays in his mind... as if Martha's life has been something they all have to hide. He never wanted that to happen. It was just the way he had coped for the past thirteen years; in fact, much longer than that...

     The house that Thomas Delaney grew up in was filled with careful tip-toeing and locked doors, and he knows it began when his father came back from the war. In hindsight, Thomas realises it was what they now call PTSD. It wasn't until he was on his deathbed that his father finally shared all that he witnessed — and therefore, it had been no wonder he acted the way he did — but until then, the older Delaney had suffered in silence. Thomas almost wished he had understood it all earlier, so his father hadn't been so alone. Everything in their family was solved by locking your grievances tightly behind closed doors and getting on with life. But then it had been Martha who threw open the doors to his heart and let the light in; similarly, when she died, he tried shutting them again. He thought it would be easier to box up all the difficult memories of her and lock them away, just like he had grown up doing. Thomas simply had to be strong for his girls and for the most part, he was.

     ... As long as he kept those doors shut.

     But sometimes, he misses looking back on it all. Overcoming the fear of the pain that comes with it is just easier said than done.

     His heart in his throat, Thomas soon senses someone standing in the doorway. Peggy lingers with her arms folded across her abdomen, wearing a hesitant look as she peers into the room.

     "Hi," she quietly says, gauging his reaction.

     Thomas manages a weak smile. "Hey," he replies.

     Peggy fiddled with the ends of her cardigan sleeve, almost bowing her head in shame. "So, I was thinking about the argument we had earlier, and... I don't know why we were arguing. Do you?"

     "I don't," he sighs. "It got blown out of proportion really fast. Look, I'm sorry about what I said—"

     "No, I'm sorry for what I said. It was insensitive, and... you know I didn't mean any of it, right?"

     "It's okay, you can mean some of it."

     "I'm just... stressed out. You know, about the test. And everything else of course."

     Thomas smiles and replies, "That makes two of us."

     "Can we just... forget that ever happened? Please?" she asks slowly. "I don't wanna fight."

     "Consider it water under the bridge," he says.

     The woman's face instantly floods with relief at the forgiveness. Having accepted the olive branch, Peggy nods down to the journal in Thomas's hands. "You're not reading her diary, are you?"

     "No, no..." he chuckles, looking back down at the book. His sister sits down carefully beside him. "It's Martha's. She loved doing this sort of stuff, you know, scrapbooking and painting and... anything artistic, really."

     "I know. I remember."

     "I don't know how Cath got hold of this, but... it explains a lot."

     "How so?" asks Peggy.

     "Lately she's been asking all these... questions. Things about Martha, like how she was or what she'd do if she was here today. She never used to be that curious. Or at least, she never seemed to be."

     "Okay, so why don't you talk about her?"

     Thomas swallows the lump in his throat, but can't shake the way his eyes well up.

     "... I don't know how," he finally answers.

     Peggy's features sink with sympathy. Carefully, as though she worries he might turn her away, she reaches over and places a hand on his knee. "Listen... I'm not an expert, and I don't mean to pry, but... I don't know how helpful it is to just shove everything about Martha into a closet and hope it'll go away. You can only really get through these things if you talk about them... not that I'm the poster-child of doing that though."

     "Or anyone else in our family for that matter."

     "Yeah," she laughs with him and continues. "I know it hurts to do it, but... you know, hurting can be good sometimes. The pain means that what you lost meant something to you. Tom, you don't have to hurt forever, and neither do the girls."

     Thomas nods slowly, soaking it all in. Apart from the initial shock of them having a real heart-to-heart, a rarity in their relationship, he finds her advice the right kind of blunt. "I just hate that I possibly made them feel bad about her," Thomas confesses. "I mean, Cath shouldn't have to feel clueless about her own mom. And Daphne... I mean, I owe her way more than I can give, she– she stepped up in a way she shouldn't have had to after Martha died, and... recently, the three of us hardly talk about anything anymore. Some father I'm being—"

     "Whoa, stop right there! You are not a bad father."

     "But—"

     "No! That's bullshit!" Peggy insists colourfully. Once she calms down, she stares off into the distance, a fond smile suddenly lighting up her face. "Remember when I got bullied in elementary school? You gave me a secret code, like a signal I could use if I needed your help. Then you'd let me hang out with your friends, and — even though you hated fights — you even stood up for me against those little kids who were making my life miserable. I mean, not aggressively or anything, you just... gave them a good dressing down. Quietly gave them a piece of your mind. It helped that you were pretty tall too."

     Thomas chuckles and tilts his head at her, wondering where this is going.

     "You've always been like that... bending over backwards to look after people," she goes on saying. "I saw how you stepped up after Martha died — yeah, you had a rough patch in the beginning, because who wouldn't? But you soon picked yourself up and dusted yourself off, and I saw it with my own eyes. I'll tell you something, I haven't come across many dads as attentive to their kids' lives as you are. I mean, I remember coming to see you one time, and you were stressing out trying to learn how to braid Daphne's hair. I said you didn't need to learn that, but you insisted because it was important to her. And that's what I'm saying... you always try, and that's the best most of us can ask for. Me as a mother, on the other hand..."

"Oh, come on, don't put yourself down like that," Thomas says, shuffling closer to her.

"It's true!" Peggy rambles anxiously, looking at him with wide eyes. "I'm... I'm really scared, Thomas. I mean, what kind of mother would I be? I'm a mess."

"You're not a mess, you're just going through some things, that's all," he assures her firmly. "If you are having a baby, then once you just get your footing and settle in somewhere, you'll have no problems. The kid's gonna be a wild card, sure, but they're going to be very loved."

"But I'm different, I'm... not as prepared as you were."

"You think I was prepared?" Thomas chuckles, shaking his head. "I was married and everything, sure, but no parent is ever prepared. When Daphne was first born, I was practically shitting myself. I mean, I was only twenty two, I had no idea what I was doing. It's not an easy job by any means, but... if comes to it, then I absolutely believe you can do it, Peg."

By now, his shoulder is gripping hers comfortingly, and Peggy is smiling back at him. And he finds it feels good to be this way — a little raw and vulnerable, for sure, but there is already a weight lifted from his shoulders. Such a small insight into his sister's mind already makes him feel as though he knows her better, and can be there for her better. Thomas finds himself flooded with a strong urge to do the same for his daughters; listen and talk everything out. Just like Bob had advised him the day before: "Just be open and honest with them."

"Hey, what's the time?" she soon asks quietly.

He glances down at his watch and replies, "We've got five minutes left."

"Oh, shit."

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Growing earnest, Thomas taps her shoulder. "Hey, Peg, look at me. Just want you to know, for the record... whatever happens after this moment, I will be here to support you the best I can. And if the test is positive, it's completely up to you what you decide to do with it — I'll have your back either way, and I know the girls would too... and Mom, even though you might not believe me."

Peggy laughs at the last part, but suddenly seems choked up at his sentiment. "Thanks. That's... really nice to hear."

Soon enough, the shrill BRRRING! tone alerts them from the kitchen, and Thomas goes to switch off the timer. Peggy follows him out looking like a deer in headlights. "Well... I'll see you in a minute."

"Yeah, see you," she nods gratefully, slowly shutting the bathroom door behind her.

Thomas waits outside the door for what feels like an eternity. He swears he doesn't breathe for about a minute, staying dead quiet to try and gauge her reaction from outside the bathroom door. When Peggy at last emerges, he stares expectantly at her with his hands at his side; his heart hammers in anticipation for her.

     "So... what's the verdict?" he asks quietly.

     Wringing her hands together, Peggy nods wordlessly. Her eyes gleam with unshed tears and a slightly fragile smile.

     "Alright," Thomas replies softly. "You okay?"

     "Yeah," she nods again quickly. Her voice isn't upset nor overjoyed — simply overwhelmed by it all.

     Thomas brings Peggy into a close embrace, rubbing her back soothingly. He can't remember the last time they hugged like this; or the last time he truly felt like a big brother again.

     "Can you not tell anyone just yet?" the muffled question comes. "Just... until I know what I'm doing."

     "Of course," he assures her. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

━━━━━━

A/N;

i have kind of a love/hate relationship with this chapter, because it was obviously really important for thomas and peggy, but getting into writing it was super difficult. so hopefully some of the scenes aren't too lacklustre or lacking in impact, as that was my worry about this chapter.

but hey, the big news — peggy is pregnant! (fun fact: apparently home pregnancy tests in the 80s really did take around two hours to get a result, and included lots of steps. there is a scene from a show called "GLOW" where alison brie's character takes this test, and i used that as a big inspiration/source for this chapter!)

also a little note: timeline-wise, the previous chapter ended with thomas calling joyce to check on cath, but that phone call takes place after this chapter if that makes sense? all i'll say is that very soon thomas is going to catch onto everything, so stay tuned for that... 👀

thank you for reading as always, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

— Imogen

[ Published: October 17th, 2022 ]