Jim Hopper (
something_incredible) wrote2018-01-28 03:26 pm
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Ten days. He's been in this city for ten days and no route he's tried to take out of here has gotten him anywhere.
Anyone who's been here longer than a week had told him as much, but he figures he can't be blamed for not just blindly accepting there's no going home and at least giving it a shot. Nothing he does gets him anywhere, though, nowhere but here. It's strange, but he can deal with strange, somehow strange has become familiar in the past year and a half. It's not the strange that bothers him. It's not even that his apartment building is haunted that bothers him. (He's seen her only once, but he'd seen her. Clear as day.)
It's being without the rest of them.
Having Steve here is a comfort. It's another bit of familiarity, but the face he really wants to see is Eleven's. Or Joyce. At this point, he'd even be happy to hear Dustin talking about dragons or letting Mike punch him a few more times for having kept Eleven away from him. Anything if it meant a bit of home. The only piece of home he has now is the blue hairband around his wrist and even that isn't the home he'd left in Hawkins.
It's the middle of Tuesday, almost February now, and he's out in the bright, clear sun. The apartment is too empty, he doesn't know what to do with it or with himself when he's inside, so he goes out and he walks. Too many times already he's stumbled back to the apartment drunk, but he still looks at the clock on his phone -- that's about the only thing he uses it for -- and tries to decide if it's too early for a drink. Just after one. Too early.
So instead of a bar, he heads for one of the streets lined with shops and small cafes. Maybe if he gets himself a coffee he can convince himself to stay sober for just a little while longer.
Turning toward one of the coffee shops he actually likes, one that feels comfortable and simple instead of something daunting where he has too many options for something as easy as coffee, he spots a familiar head of red hair. Lengthening his strides, he catches up to Bev in just a few moments and he asks, keeping his voice casual, "Aren't you supposed to be in school right about now?"
Anyone who's been here longer than a week had told him as much, but he figures he can't be blamed for not just blindly accepting there's no going home and at least giving it a shot. Nothing he does gets him anywhere, though, nowhere but here. It's strange, but he can deal with strange, somehow strange has become familiar in the past year and a half. It's not the strange that bothers him. It's not even that his apartment building is haunted that bothers him. (He's seen her only once, but he'd seen her. Clear as day.)
It's being without the rest of them.
Having Steve here is a comfort. It's another bit of familiarity, but the face he really wants to see is Eleven's. Or Joyce. At this point, he'd even be happy to hear Dustin talking about dragons or letting Mike punch him a few more times for having kept Eleven away from him. Anything if it meant a bit of home. The only piece of home he has now is the blue hairband around his wrist and even that isn't the home he'd left in Hawkins.
It's the middle of Tuesday, almost February now, and he's out in the bright, clear sun. The apartment is too empty, he doesn't know what to do with it or with himself when he's inside, so he goes out and he walks. Too many times already he's stumbled back to the apartment drunk, but he still looks at the clock on his phone -- that's about the only thing he uses it for -- and tries to decide if it's too early for a drink. Just after one. Too early.
So instead of a bar, he heads for one of the streets lined with shops and small cafes. Maybe if he gets himself a coffee he can convince himself to stay sober for just a little while longer.
Turning toward one of the coffee shops he actually likes, one that feels comfortable and simple instead of something daunting where he has too many options for something as easy as coffee, he spots a familiar head of red hair. Lengthening his strides, he catches up to Bev in just a few moments and he asks, keeping his voice casual, "Aren't you supposed to be in school right about now?"
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There's this one pervy gym teacher, though — she'd heard some of the other girls half-joking and half-warning early on, but with them being among the popular and therefore probably snobby crowd, she hadn't known whether or not to take them at their word. It hadn't taken long, though, to figure out that they weren't exaggerating at all. Last Tuesday, the day she has P.E., he'd stood too close by her side and patted the top of her head, fingers lingering too long against her hair; she'd been sick in the bathroom immediately after. So, this Tuesday, she's just decided to skip instead, not knowing what else to do.
It isn't as if she can tell anyone. Who would believe her?
Coming across one of the few adults she knows who doesn't work at the school or in the Home probably shouldn't be a surprise. Still, it takes a moment of serious effort for her not to look caught out when Hopper walks up to her. Instead, she shrugs just as casually as he'd spoken. "Technically, maybe," she says. "Gave myself the day off."
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But he'd still skipped his share of them, too.
Maybe there's a reason she's skipping today, maybe she just doesn't want to go, but unless it becomes a habit -- and he's not sure how he'd know that it does -- he doesn't think there's much reason to say anything about it.
"So what's the plan instead?" he asks. "You wander around the city like the rest of us bored and confused arrivals who aren't sure what to do next?"
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Still, she's not going to go taking that out on him. The truth of the matter is, she hasn't really thought past just not going to school. She'll need to steer clear of the Home, of course — it would be way too easy to disprove her claims if she tried to say that she was sent back sick or something — but other than that, she's mostly at a loss.
One corner of her mouth pulling just a little higher, she asks, "Why? Got any suggestions?"
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It's been ages since he's been bowling. It's one of those things he'd stopped doing after Sara had died and he'd meant to take Eleven eventually, when things had finally calmed down, but that had never really happened, no matter how many times he had promised it would.
"Then maybe some lunch? That sounds like a halfway decent afternoon." Especially in a place like this, where he knows he won't be doing anything else.
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After everything, she thinks she could do with a little of what's probably normalcy.
"I wouldn't say no," she says, grinning in turn, just a little bit despite herself, "to bowling or lunch. That sounds pretty fun, actually."
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"Just this once," he says with a small smile for her. "Next time I'll have to take you back to school."
Next time he might actually be a cop again, if he really is stuck here, and he figures Darrow will fall somewhere between New York and Hawkins in terms of the kind of work he'll be doing. He'd spent a lot of time in Hawkins picking up truants. That and owls scaring the piss out of old ladies made up most of his work.
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Right now, she kind of just wants to enjoy having a free day off that she doesn't have to spend seeing a doctor or in bed.
"'Cause the whole bowling and lunch thing sounds like a pretty good deal." Even if she isn't entirely sure why he's being so nice to her, she doesn't think there's anything more to it than that, either. People aren't usually quite that hard to read, and he seems genuine, not angling for anything unpleasant. That's good enough for her.
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Hopper can't disagree with her there, he doesn't think he ever did, but he'd still liked to imagine. It had made their lives feel so real, thinking about their future, their daughter's future. The one she'd never gotten to see.
"If you just don't feel like going, that might end up becoming a problem," he teases as they near the bowling alley. "School's important."
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She adds the last almost flippantly, not wanting to give it any extra weight. If he doesn't believe her, she can write it off as nothing; it's safer not to draw any further attention to it. If he does believe her, though, and does care, then at least he'll know she has a good reason not to be in school right now.
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So the words don't surprise him, but they do send a deep disgust straight into his gut.
"What's he done?" he asks, keeping his voice casual as well. He's already making plans, though, figuring out how he can get into the school, how to make sure there's just the one P.E. teacher before he starts slinging around threats, how to do it all so Beverly doesn't end up bearing the brunt of any retribution the teacher decides to dole out if he turns out to be a stupid asshole instead of just an asshole.
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Of course, anything beyond that, there's no way in hell she'll mention. Hopper seems nice, but she barely knows him, and the life at home that she left behind isn't anything worth talking about with her closest friends, let alone with someone who's little more than a stranger. It doesn't matter that she knows what those looks and lingering touches mean because she's been on the receiving end of them before. Everything she's said would be just as true even if that weren't the case.
"Nothing, really," she says, though the shrug accompanying the words is a little too tense to be wholly convincing. "I mean, nothing's happened. It's just... the way he looks sometimes, or stands too close, or finds an excuse to touch a shoulder or hair or something. It's not just me, apparently, but it's... I don't know. He creeps me out."
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"So all I gotta do is look at him and stand too close when I find an excuse to touch his hair and I tell him to keep his hands to himself," Hopper says. "I can do that."
He can do a hell of a lot more than that. As a cop he might have been a little more intimidating, but he figures he can wear his Hawkins PD coat and no one will be any the wiser. Hopper knows he's not perfect, he's a hell of a far cry from anywhere near perfect, but people who put their hands on kids make him see red.
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The others, her friends, must have guessed what was happening at home, at least to some extent. She barely remembers what happened in the cistern, but she knows that thing looked like her father, and it wasn't especially subtle. If Eddie has figured it out, though, if he even remembers, he hasn't mentioned as much to her, and she prefers it that way.
"He'd probably just say he never did anything," she says, mouth pulling to one side. "I figured that's what anyone else would say, too."
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He knows liars. Hell, he is a liar. He's not a good guy, he doesn't pretend to be some sort of saint, he knows just how many times he's fucked up in the past, how many times he's bound to fuck up in the future, but he can still try. And he's never done anything like that, never made some young girl uncomfortable with his attention because he knows that's not even remotely close to okay. That's the sort of thing that makes him want to find a cell in that awful lab where they'd kept Eleven and make sure this teacher doesn't ever get to see the light of day again.
Of course, right now he just shrugs casually and says, "Well, I'm not saying it, kid."
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At least she's managed to tell someone know, though if anything will actually come of it, she has no way of knowing. She just hopes that any confrontation doesn't lead to that creep taking it out on her or the other girls.
"You know, for... actually believing me. I didn't really think anyone would." She shrugs, too easy for the subject. "That's why I skipped. Seemed easier than trying to explain why I didn't want to go to P.E."
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But he just shrugs and smiles as they arrive at the bowling alley, then reaches out on impulse and nudges her shoulder with his knuckles.
"You get a pass this time," he says, reaching past her to open the door. The music inside is bright and lively and annoying. Hopper winces a little at the volume, but he heads inside with Beverly anyway. "But I'll go have a chat with him and you can tell me if he does anything else. Then it'll be more than just a chat."
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Pausing for a moment, she draws in a deep breath. When she looks up at him again, it's just a little more uncertain, though even being inside the bowling alley, with its bright lights and ridiculous music, is a relief. "Just... don't tell him where you heard anything from, okay?" The last thing she needs is for that asshole to take it out on her. She knows how that goes.
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He can be intimidating enough that he won't need to name names in order for the teacher to sweat a little under the collar. What Hopper would really like to do is find a way to get the guy fired, but that requires access to information he doesn't have just yet and probably won't. Not unless he goes back to work as a cop.
It's just that going back to work feels like admitting defeat. Like he's accepting he won't be able to get back to Eleven and he's not ready to do that yet. Sleeping in that empty apartment every night is bad enough, even if it is the first time he's had his own bed in over a year.
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"Alright, good," she says, then takes a deep breath and forces a little levity back into her voice. "'Cause, I mean, then I'd just have more of a reason to skip school, which would kind of defeat the purpose, right?"
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At the counter he asks for shoes in his size, then gets Beverly to tell him her size, too, as he pays for the shoes and for a couple of games. Bowling has mostly stayed the same since the eighties, even if the music and the lights are a little different and so Hopper knows what he's doing here. It's one of the few places besides a bar where he's felt like he's not utterly lost.
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There's only so much she can say at one time, though, so she doesn't let her smile fade as she tugs her sneakers off, setting them on the counter to exchange for the bowling shoes the man brings out for her. "And then we could have bowling instead of gym class. It seems kind of perfect, actually."
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"Lane ten," the bored looking kid behind the counter says.
"Don't we get a scorecard?" Hopper asks and the kid stares at him for a long moment before he points toward lane ten. There, above the chairs is what looks like a television screen. And just below is one of those computers he's never been any good with.
"You put your names in on there," the kid tells them. "The score are tallied automatically."
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Shifting her weight to make sure the shoes fit alright, she lifts her chin slightly. "Where are your left-handed balls?"
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"Uh... behind the lanes," the guy says, pointing.
At the same time, Hopper's eyebrows lift and he looks at Beverly with a grin. "You really know your shit with bowling, huh?" he asks. "So I'm about to lose a few rounds, aren't I?"
Not that he minds. Hopper's not exactly a professional bowler, he'd be happy enough to lose regardless, but he wouldn't know off the top of his head if he needs a right-handed or left-handed balls. He'd just grab whatever was handy and go from there.
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It may be the middle of a school day, but it feels normal, and she can't help but smile at him for that.
"I don't actually remember the last time I went bowling, like, at all, so I don't think I'll be very much competition. Maybe we'll even out, or something."
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"All right," he says, looking at the computerized screen in front of them at their lane. He rubs his hands together and looks over at Beverly, then gestures toward it. "You're up, kid. I still used a typewriter at work back in Hawkins."
And he sure hadn't had a computer in his home.
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It isn't like her father ever did anything fun with her. It isn't like she had friends before last summer. And bowling isn't exactly the sort of thing it's all that fun to do alone.
"It seems like everything here has computers, though."
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"Even my microwave feels more complicated than it should," he says, watching her take care of inputting their names into the system. It doesn't look hard exactly, but it just doesn't look like anything he's dealt with at home either. It figures kids have an easier time adapting, though, he's pretty sure their brains are just more elastic, able to absorb new information better.
"So how's the Home?" he asks. "Not skipping out on that, too, are you?"
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"So how many kids in the same room as you?" he asks, making a face before he nods for her to go ahead and pick up a ball. She should go first, he figures, her name is the one on the top of the screen now. "All of them around the same age or what?"
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It isn't as if she had all that much privacy back home, but her room was still her own. After growing up an only child, it's an adjustment to say the least.
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At that point, he'd been used to sleeping on a couch anyway. Before things had really fallen apart with Diane, he'd spent most of his time there, and once he'd moved back to Hawkins he'd so often been drunk that he'd passed out on the couch far more often than he'd ever managed to get all the way into his bed.
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Ball in hand, she aims as carefully as she can when she swings her arm back and forward again to release it, holding her breath as she watches it roll down the lane. It doesn't veer right into a gutter, at least; instead, it catches the two on the very side, which she takes as victory enough for the moment.
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"So do they just let you go out whenever and wherever you want?" he asks, watching as her ball rolls down the lane and takes out two pins. She has another two balls, so he keeps his seat for the time being. "Or do they make you find someone to sign you out?"
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Picking her ball back up when it emerges, she balances it in one hand and then the other before gearing up to take her next shot. "Before you ask, no, I haven't tried sneaking out yet."
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He would have been the father to make sure his daughter's bedroom window couldn't possibly be snuck into or out of.
"If you end up needing someone to sign you out just so you can get away for awhile, you can give me a shout," he tells her as she gets ready for her next shot. "Doesn't mean I'm not gonna ask some questions when you do, but I get it. Being around that many people would drive me up the damn wall."
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It's not like she's ungrateful, or like she doesn't recognize that she's lucky to have a place to stay at all with people who seem to genuinely mean well. That doesn't mean she wouldn't appreciate a break from being surrounded by other kids around her age, with whom she historically hasn't gotten along very well.
"But thanks," she adds, finding that she means it. "I'll keep that in mind."
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Being a dad kind of strips a man of his ego in a lot of ways.
"Me and Jane lived out in this cottage," he tells Beverly as he picks up a ball, then heads toward the lane, pausing at the line for a moment. He takes his time there, as if weighing his options, weighing the ball, shifting back and forth on his feet as he tries to find the right place to stand. He's making a show of it and it's entirely for Beverly's benefit. "It wasn't very big and even with just the two of us it could be close quarters. She got pissed at me one day and dragged the entire TV set into her bedroom so she could have a little bit of privacy. A place like the Home would drive that kid batshit, I think."
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Watching with only partially disguised amusement as he draws out the process of preparing to send the ball down the lane, she adds, "At least she'd have you if she showed up here."
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"It was Halloween," he says, drawing his arm back once, twice, and then finally letting it go the third time. The ball rolls down the lane, wavering for a long time at the edge of the gutter before it finally take out two of the pins on the end. "I told her I'd be home by 5:45 with candy, but I messed up. Got caught up at work with this weird case and by the time I got home..."
Well, she'd been pissed. And that night she had locked herself in her room, she just hadn't taken the TV with her that time.