Jim Hopper

Hopper hates this shit.

He wasn't here for the last one, but he's heard about it plenty, not only leading up to it this year, but in the past, in connection to other crimes. It seems unsurprising to him that people who want to commit crime on a day when it's legal tend to do it again even when it isn't and it pisses him off that this happens at all.

They're going to the bunker. Hopper and Marcus know each other well enough that he extended the invite and Hopper isn't an idiot, he'd taken it and let Marcus know he would be bringing Joyce and the kids. That, it seems, had likely been Marcus's intention, as he knows there will be plenty of kids there.

What he hadn't intended was being late.

It's no one's fault and he feels a little better knowing Beverly and Will and El are all there already, but he's still stressed as he holsters his gun and heads down the hall.

"You ready to go?" he asks Joyce. She's grabbing a few more things for Will and the sun is setting and Hopper is just waiting for the indication this shitty night is about to begin.

At first, Hopper thinks he might be having a goddamn stroke.

He wakes up that morning with a headache, a pain behind his left eye that only intensifies as the day goes on. Around lunch, a cup of coffee in his hand, walking to his desk, this memory comes on, clear as day, of sitting around at Enzo's, waiting for Joyce to join him, only to have her stand him up. He stumbles a little, coffee sloshing out of his cup, and when one of the rookies ask if he's okay, Hopper hands him the coffee mug and makes for the door.

The elevator takes too goddamn long, so he goes for the stairs, slamming through the door as he remembers Eleven and Mike, laughing in her bedroom, laughing at him. Telling them to keep the door open three inches, yelling when he knows he shouldn't have. The mall. Smirnoff. The scientist's death, the blood on his hands, always on his hands.

Hopper hits the third floor landing and goes down to his knees as the headache flares, a bright pain in his eye. It's accompanied by an explosion, the weapon beneath the Starcourt Mall blowing up, Hopper jumping through the gate, thinking he'd end up in the Upside Down and be able to find his way home.

"Jim?" someone asks and Hopper jams the heel of his hand into his eye socket, then shakes his head as he gets to his feet and stumbles on.

By the ground floor, he's remembered all of Russia. The torture. The weight he'd lost, unable to consume enough calories a day to keep it from happening. All the work, the bribes, the smuggler, the damage to his feet. The headache is fading and he hopes, prays, he's not really having a stroke.

And then... Joyce. It feels so real, holding her, her mouth under his, all of it so warm and right, and Hopper's throat tightens as he heads out into the sunlight. The day is bright and he squints, attempting to lift his hand to cover his eyes, but the hand in question is suddenly heavy.

With a glance down, Hopper recalls swinging the sword he's holding suddenly. The way it cut through the demogorgon in that Russian prison. He hefts the sword, heavy, powerful, and it gleams in the bright sunshine as Hopper stares, wondering what the hell has just happened.

"Shit," he says with an exhale, then hurries to his car.

[On the street or at home at the town house, wherever you want him!]

The Jedi comes to talk to him first.

They have a good conversation until Hopper accuses the man of using Jedi mind tricks on him, to which Kenobi reacts with... well, mild offence is probably the strongest description Hopper can accurately use. Kenobi doesn't really get offended, it seems, and Hopper may have poked and prodded a little, just to see if he could get a rise. Having failed, they go back to the conversation at hand and Hopper agrees to most of what Kenobi asks of him.

No yelling, that he can do. His temper is still something he has to fight with, but it's a lot easier since he stopped drinking. No telling Klaus he's an idiot. They agree going out alone was dangerous, but they also agree Klaus isn't stupid, so Hopper readily agrees to that one, too. And finally, the one that's most difficult to Hopper, he's been asked to make sure Klaus understands any anger or disappointment comes from a place of concern.

Of course Hopper likes the kid. But having to tell him? That's a whole thing Hopper is shit at.

"Are we agreed?" Kenobi asks and Hopper rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, agreed."

Then he's alone in the precinct, waiting for Klaus to join him.

The last time Hopper had to do something like this, it'd been in New York. And it'd been a hell of a lot more expensive there, that's for sure, although the two storey townhouse he'd found them on Maple Street wasn't exactly cheap. He's a detective, though, he gets paid a decent salary and now he's got a mortgage, too.

And a place for the three of them to live.

With Eleven moving in, he'd given up his bedroom for her, but his back had ached within two days of sleeping on the couch and he'd pretty quickly come to the conclusion that they'd need a new place. Somewhere they could all have their own space, without tripping over each other or Ellie, who deserved a back yard to run around in on the days Hopper got caught up at work and couldn't always take her for a walk.

The townhouse is between Beacon and Hegal, the end unit of three, closer to Beacon. It has a gate on the side, a fenced in yard big enough for the dog and for Hopper to put out some lawn furniture, a few chairs, a little table. There's a tiny balcony off the window of what he figures will be Beverly's room, a ladder that leads down into the yard, but only once it's pushed down from above. No one can reach it from the ground and he kind of likes having the escape route, if there ever was a fire.

It needs some work. It isn't brand new, some of the baseboards are scuffed and need replacing, there are some cracks in the plaster in the kitchen. The floors are hardwood, which is nice, but they need to be refinished all through the second floor where the bedrooms are located.

Besides that, it's a nice place. Three bedrooms on the second floor, a bathroom off the master suite, which Hopper likes, because sharing a single bathroom with two teenage girls isn't something he's looking forward to. There's a fairly large bathroom between the two other rooms, one of which will be Beverly's and the other Eleven's. The main floor has a spare room, maybe an office, he hasn't decided yet, a sizeable kitchen and living room, as well a dining room Hopper figures they'll almost never use.

But there's space for all of them and as he stands on the front step with a box in his arms, the dog winding around his legs before disappearing into the townhouse to investigate, he feels pretty damn good about it.

It's been seventy-three days since the last time he had a drink and Hopper still isn't sure if these AA meetings are quite for him.

He wants them to be. He wants to be able to go to the meetings and share without feeling like a complete piece of shit and somehow just get over all the bad stuff that's happened, even though he knows that isn't how it all works. Nothing it that goddamn simple.

So he tries to ignore the uneasiness he feels and keeps going to the meetings without ever really saying anything. Just telling them his name, admitting he's an alcohol, that was enough. It had made him feel too goddamn vulnerable, like his skin was transparent and everyone could see all the messed up memories and thoughts going through his head.

That was two weeks ago and he hasn't said anything since, but he's started to recognize some of the faces. He nods at a familiar guy -- Dan, he thinks -- as he joins him at the coffee, pouring himself a steaming cup of something that will never rival Ahab's, but isn't half bad either. Especially at a time like this.

Having a few days off in a row is a rare thing for Hopper, rare enough that he isn't entirely sure what to do with himself when a four day stretch without work rolls around and he finds himself with nothing to fill his days. Beverly is preparing to go back to school, work doesn't need him, though he's told them to call if they do, and when his chief tells him to consider it a vacation, all Hopper can do is scowl and head off home where he drinks a beer and calls it an early night. He and Beverly watch a movie, he makes sure she's done everything she can for when school starts on Thursday, then he falls asleep in front of the television, the shadows of some old movie flickering over his features.

The first day isn't so bad. He takes the opportunity to do some things around the apartment he probably should have done a long time ago. The doorjamb in the bathroom has swollen, making the door hard to close, so he fixes that. Then he installs a sweep on the front door. With the colder months coming around again, he figures every little bit helps. He takes Ellie for a long walk in the park and even though she's a hell of a lot bigger now, around sixty pounds, just like the woman at the shelter had told him she would be, she still acts like a puppy and gets plenty of attention in the park.

He makes it all the way until seven in the evening before he opens a beer to have with dinner.

The next day is a little tougher. There isn't anything left for him to do in the apartment, so he tries to watch TV and finds himself bored within minutes. Briefly, he considers a beer, realizes it's still before noon, and makes himself get out of the apartment. He picks up groceries, even though he'd just gotten some a few days earlier, then stops by a bakery for some cupcakes, not for any particular reason, just for the hell of it. Another long walk with the dog takes him all the way to four in the afternoon before he has a beer and by dinner he's had another two.

The third day is the worst. That's the day he decides to go to the library. Not for any particular reason, mostly for something to do, and he's scanning book titles, trying to pick something he thinks Beverly might like, when he sees the familiar spine wedged between two larger volumes. It's a tight fit and he has to get his finger between the books in order to get it out. Anne of Green Gables. The same edition he used to read to Sara.

It doesn't strike him as something to be sad about and instead Hopper finds he's smiling very faintly as he flips the book over to read the back cover. There's a little tear down on the lower left corner, his thumb brushes up against it and his stomach does a sickening flip as some old memory surfaces. It's his thumb doing that very thing, only the book is new and the gesture causes the tear, and Sara's eyes fill with tears because she thinks he's ruined her favourite book. It had taken Diane explaining to their daughter that books with tears and folds only get better, because it means they're loved before she would stop crying.

Hopper's heart thunders in his chest and he feels as if his hands are moving on their own as he opens the front cover of the book. There, just inside, is a little name tag sticker with a drawing of Peter Rabbit. This book belongs to... Sara Hopper.

He nearly throws up right there in the library. For a few heart pounding moments he has to stand completely still and focus on breathing. Then he turns, the book clenched in his fist, and he makes for the door. Someone calls after him, presumably about the book, but he doesn't stop, doesn't hear what they say. He makes it half a block from the library before he has to turn down an alley where he finds a trash can in which to be sick. His stomach heaves, clenching tight over and over until long after he's thrown up everything in his stomach and all he can taste is burning bile.

Then he straightens, turns back to the road, and walks until he finds the nearest bar.

For two days now, he's been chain-smoking Beverly's cigarettes.

He hadn't meant to go through her stuff, but she hadn't woken up that first morning and after the paramedics had come to check her out, then told Hopper this shit was completely normal, he'd found himself digging through her bag on the hunt for her phone. At the time, he'd wanted to call her friends, he'd wanted them to know, but then he'd found her cigarettes instead and rather than being angry, he'd set to work methodically smoking them one by one.

A nurse had stopped by on the first evening to check Beverly's vitals, to make sure she wasn't dehydrated and she, too, had insisted everything was just fine. She'd given him a short lecture about smoking around Beverly and when he had tersely answered they were his daughter's cigarettes, the nurse had sniffed in annoyance and left abruptly.

The nurse who had come in the next morning had been nicer. Prettier, too. Hopper has plans to see her next weekend.

None of that is important right now, though. If Beverly doesn't wake up by next weekend, he sure as hell won't be going out on any dates. He'll be planted right here, same spot he's been for the past two days, smoking and drinking coffee and forgetting to eat. There's two days worth of stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes and every time he looks at Beverly lying there with an IV drip in her arm to keep her hydrated, he experiences the same gut clenching fear he had when Sara had finally slipped into unconsciousness.

This can't happen again. It can't happen again.

It's true Hopper has been drinking tonight, but he's not drunk. That's something he's been doing his best to keep from Beverly, getting drunk only when he's away from their apartment and only when someone else is going to be there with her, one of her friends or Steve, and he never takes any of the pills when he's going to have to look after her in any way. He's being responsible.

A responsible alcoholic, he's well aware of it, but responsible all the same.

So he's had a beer or two tonight, but nothing that's going to end with him face down on the couch, no matter how badly he might want to. Something's been going on with her anyway and that's the sort of shit he has to focus on right now instead of his own issues.

For as long as she's been living here, she's had nightmares. Hopper's aware of that and he figures, given the shit with her father, that makes sense. He's never known what to do with it, though. It's not like it happens every night as far as he knows, just some of the time, and it's not like she's the only person in the world who has nightmares now and then. Sometimes he dreams about Sara dying all over again, has nightmares about her teeth falling out along with her hair, but he doesn't talk about them and he figures Beverly doesn't want to either. If she did, she would.

But they seem worse lately. He's been waking up more often to find her already awake or he's heard her moving around in the middle of the night. He still doesn't know what to do about it, though, if there's something he should be saying to her, so he's going with the only thing he does know.

Offering her whatever the hell she wants.

"Hey," he says when she gets in from school. It's Friday, they've got the whole weekend ahead of them. "What d'you wanna do tonight? Anything."

Hopper hasn't done anything as shitty as looking up Laura's boyfriend in the police record system, even though he's been pretty damn tempted. She's told him some things, the kinds of thing that, as a father, have made him pretty goddamn furious and he can't help but feel protective of her now, even if he knows she'd roll her eyes at him if she knew. She needs someone looking out for her, though. Not because she can't, but because it seems to Hopper like she's never really had it before.

And that just doesn't sit well with him.

So maybe this Chuck's a good guy. Probably he is. But Hopper still wants to be sure about it and so he does a little digging and figures out where the guy lives and then just makes sure to station himself in the area for a little while on a Friday afternoon. Chances are he'll come by eventually and then Hopper can figure out the rest of his plan.

Not that it's a plan. He's just got a coffee he's nursing and he's pretending to do some window shopping when he sees the guy he knows has been with Laura at a couple of parties headed down the sidewalk. Just as he's about to walk behind Hopper, he takes a step back, as if trying to appraise something in the window of the store, then steps quickly forward again at the last second, avoiding a collision.

"Shit, sorry, man," he says, turning, then recognition dawns on his face, as if he's just seen the guy. "You're Laura's boyfriend, right? Uh... Chuck?"

Hopper knows damn well what his name is.

Count this as one more thing he hasn't done in a long damn time.

The last time Hopper bought a Christmas tree, it had barely fit up the stairs of their apartment building in New York and now there are so many damn options he's not actually sure where he and Beverly are going to start. They've got a vague plan. Get a Christmas tree. Get decorations. Set up the Christmas tree.

But that doesn't even scratch the surface. In a place like this, the options are nearly endless. They can go down to the end of the block where a guy is selling nice looking real trees out of a small lot, which is what Hopper is used to, but then those die and shed needles everywhere and he's going to be shit about remembering to put water in the little reservoir at the bottom. So he's thinking about a fake tree, just going to the mall with Beverly and getting one that comes in a box, the lights already attached and ready to go. But that doesn't smell real, no matter what kind of scents they might offer in a spray bottle he can buy for just an extra ten bucks.

"Hey, kid," he calls, tapping a pen against one of the fliers he got in their mailbox for the store at the mall selling fake trees. "Fake or real?"

The rest they can decide when they're actually face to face with the decorations, but that's a question they need to answer up front.