something_incredible | (no subject)

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Hopper has tried counting the days. He's tried not counting the days. Neither one seems to give him more peace than the other, so mostly he's started to just focus on getting through a day. Each one at a time, which he's pretty sure is something they've said in the meetings he's still going to, even though he finds himself not listening half the time.

He feels like shit about that. These meetings are meant to help people, help him, but he still hasn't managed to say anything about himself beyond his introduction at the third or fourth meeting he had attended. He kind of feels like shit about that, too. Turns out getting sober leaves a lot of room for feeling like seven kinds of shit and Hopper understands more and more with each passing day why people slip.

He hasn't, though. He's trying really goddamn hard not to and the reason for that is sitting across from him in the living room, flipping through the channels on the TV without settling on anything in particular.

Right now he owes her more than just not fucking it up and so he crosses over to where she's sitting, his glass of soda in hand, and once he's set that on the coffee table, flops down beside her.

"Hey," he says, giving her a nudge with his elbow.

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She's restless, unfocused. Beverly knows it, but that awareness doesn't do anything to change that fact. It just keeps her where she is, one foot idly bouncing in the air as she flips through the channels on the TV, only half paying attention to what's on any of them. She's bound to stumble on something entertaining enough to leave playing sooner or later. The feeling isn't a new one, but it's not entirely a bad one, either. It could be worse, anyway. Things seem to have been somewhat settled of late, more so than they were for months beforehand, but that doesn't mean all of it just goes away. Getting stuck in her head is too easy.

Hopper sitting down and nudging her pulls her a little more back to the present, at least. She leans over to nudge him back, lowering the volume on the TV but not turning it off, and gives him a small smile. "Hey yourself."

Edited 2020-11-28 13:14 (UTC)

"Nothin' good on, huh?" he asks, even though he has a feeling that's not why she can't settle on something. They're doing better, the both of them, but things aren't what he'd call easy. Maybe they never will be, maybe they'll always be working on something, working on being better and he doesn't think there's anything wrong with that.

It just sounds kind of exhausting.

"Something got brought up at the meeting I went to yesterday and it's actually got more to do with you than with me," he says. "So I wanna ask you about it. You don't have to make decisions or anything, it's just... for information, I guess. I don't wanna keep any of this shit from you."

Because that seems like a good way to fuck it all up.

"Okay," Beverly says, nodding slowly, her expression growing a little more serious. She hits the mute button on the remote and then sets it aside, figuring she ought to pay some actual attention to this. Even if she hasn't always known what to say or do about it, she knows it's a serious subject, and ultimately a good thing. It's just new, and sort of daunting, and she's felt for a while sort of like she's holding her breath, waiting to see what will happen, if there's another metaphorical shoe that's going to drop or if this is going to help.

Shifting a little on the couch, she angles herself towards him, one leg tucked underneath her. "What is it?"

"They started talkin' about, uh... Al-anon, I guess," he says, thinking back to all the details. "Kinda similar to what I'm doin', where there's meetings and it's meant to be an anonymous place where people can say whatever they're thinkin', except it's meant for, uh... families. People with alcoholics for parents or partners or anything else, I guess."

He rubs his face, feeling sort of awkward about the whole thing. He wants Beverly to have a place, though. Somewhere she can talk about this stuff with other people who understand.

"I know you've got your therapist and that's good," he says. "It's real good. I just figured... I mean, if you want it. It'd be a place where other people would know what it's like, being in your shoes."

In a weird sort of way, it helps that Hopper seems kind of awkward about all of this, because she is, too. Beverly knows what is and has been going on with him, and she thinks she mostly understands it, but it's still fairly new for her. Even with her therapist trying to help her process it, or whatever, she isn't sure she entirely gets it. That's not really surprising, though, when she doesn't really get therapy, either. She knows it's helpful, or at least that it will be, but telling personal things to a stranger is something that still doesn't come easily to her.

Talking to multiple strangers sounds even more daunting. But then, the idea of having people who get it in a way that most of her friends aren't equipped to doesn't seem like a terrible idea, either. Uncertain, she hesitates, biting her lower lip.

"I don't have to decide right away, do I?"

"Nah, of course not," he says. "And if you decide one way and then wanna change your mind later, that's okay, too."

It's something everyone keeps telling Hopper would be good for her and he doesn't disagree with them. At the same time, though, he doesn't want to force her into anything she's not comfortable with. Even if she gives it a shot and decides it's not for her, he'll be okay with that.

Or if she decides not to go now and wants to try it down the road, that'd be okay, too.

"Okay," Beverly says, nodding thoughtfully. She still isn't sure if she wants to or not, if it would help or be more pressure, trying to talk to strangers about all of this when she hardly knows what she would say about it in the first place, but not needing to make a decision now, or fully commit to one, makes it a little easier. For her, this is all still unfamiliar territory, something she's just feeling her way through. Things that would be difficult enough on their own are all the more so in light of that.

She lifts one corner of her mouth, just a little, an attempt at a sort of reassurance. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm askin'," Hopper answers with a faint smile of his own. "I just wanted you to know it was there. An option, y'know. I'm sure your therapist'll let you talk about anything you want and she'll know how to approach it, but unless she's been there herself..."

He shrugs and smiles. "Well, it's different, right? I dunno if it's good different or bad different. I'm still not sure how I feel about it myself yet. These meetings are... they're kinda tough."

"Seeing a therapist is kinda tough, too," Beverly admits with a wry little quirk of her mouth. Although it's been months, she's still not really sure how she feels about it yet. Mostly, she knows, in an objective, distant sort of way, that it will be helpful, but she hasn't gotten to the point that it is, maybe because it's so hard for her to talk about any of that shit. At least with something like Hopper is describing, she wouldn't have to go into any of the rest of it — her own background, the things that happened back home. It would just be about this one thing, or that's how it sounds to her, and that might not be so bad.

Still, she doesn't want to try to make any decisions yet.

"But yeah, it's different. And it's not like I don't have enough else to talk about there anyway."

"Yeah, the way I hear it, that's kinda their thing," he jokes. "Talk, talk, talk, that's all they want you to do."

He rubs a hand over his beard and sits back on the couch, then says, "I been thinking I might talk to Laura a bit. She goes to see a therapist for her, uh... her stuff. With drugs. Rather than a group like I'm in. I'm wondering if that might be better for me. I never say much in the group, it all feels so exposed."

A part of him wonders if he shouldn't be talking to Beverly about these things, but she's the closest person in his life. They live together, he's taking care of her, and if he can't talk to her about it, then he's really screwed.

"That makes sense," Beverly says, because it does. If it's strange to be talking about this at all, it's mostly just because, despite how long she's lived here now, she isn't used to having an adult in her life who talked to her so openly, whom she felt like she could talk to in turn. It's one of the many ways in which this is unfamiliar territory for her. At least, though, they're navigating it together. Having him talk about it helps a little, in a strange way. She would be just stuck in her head with her own worries otherwise, unsure what to do about any of it.

One corner of her mouth lifts, not quite a smile. "A therapist legally can't tell anyone anything you've said. That part's nice."

"So I got someone to talk to when I start my life as a supervillain, that's what you're saying, right?" he asks. "Not to mention all the illegal shit you must tell yours about. I'm surprised you haven't already been arrested."

Then he pauses, as if he's only catching on to what Beverly is really saying and he says, "Shit, you mean it's illegal for them to talk, not that they have to keep our illegal activity secret, don't you? Forget I said anything about being a supervillain."

Despite the subject matter that prompted it, that pulls a laugh from Beverly, a crooked smile accompanying it. "Oh, too late," she says, readily playing along. "You said it, I heard it, your secret's out." Around here — well, the idea of a supervillain seems distinctly less impossible than it once could have. She's seen people do things that she once thought would only have been possible in more comic books. However briefly, she dated someone who was plucked right from the pages of one. There probably is a supervillain of some kind around here somewhere.

It's just not Hopper.

"And I only haven't been arrested yet because I just namedrop you every time," she adds. "Works like a charm."

"Hey, if it works, then it works," Hopper answers with a shrug. He's mostly joking, he doesn't want Beverly to get arrested and he hopes she knows that, hopes she is keeping herself out of trouble. But if she does get into trouble, he still wants her to be able to call him.

There's one place he'll abuse his power and she's sitting right here.

"I mean it, kid," he adds. "Try not to get arrested, but if you do, I'll get it worked out."

Even that offer is oddly touching. On some level, Beverly knows that already, or at least wouldn't have expected him to say otherwise. On the other, there's still that part of her always convinced that she'll be more trouble than she's worth. Skipping an exam, however accidentally, and barely passing her classes was one thing, but getting in legal trouble would be another.

She believes him, though, and even having no intention of doing anything that might get her arrested, it is kind of reassuring. "Okay," she agrees, one corner of her mouth lifting as she nods, the expression one deliberately light. "I can't many any promises, but I'll try not to."

"Yeah, I guess no one can make that promise," he answers with a rough bit of laughter. "People sometimes get arrested for the dumbest shit imaginable."

Sometimes people get drunk in public just to get arrested so they have somewhere warm and safe to spend the night. It's messed up and it hadn't happened in Hawkins, but it was definitely a common thing in New York. He had arrested a lot of people in situations like that, especially when it was exceptionally cold in the winter.

"What's the dumbest thing you've ever seen someone get arrested for?" Beverly asks, knowing it's kind of off topic, but too curious now not to wonder. She's heard plenty of weird, sometimes hilarious cop stories from Hopper before, but still, with a subject like that posed, she can't not ask.

Besides, lightening the mood can't be such a bad idea right now. She doesn't want to avoid those more serious things, or, more accurately, she knows she can't, but with so much to think about, she could use the slight reprieve.

He doesn't even need to think about it and the memory still makes him grin, even all these years later. Nothing much had come of it, luckily for the guy who had made the dumb mistake in the first place, but it's still a hell of a story.

"Wasn't even my call, but one night, long time ago, when I was still working as a beat cop in New York, my partner and I ran across another pair trying to arrest this guy," he starts. "The guy had gone grocery shopping earlier, then I guess stopped and had a few drinks, decided to piss in the street, which is what they were arresting him for in the first place. But when we got there, he was throwing tomatoes at them. His groceries."

"Oh my god," Beverly says, not even bothering to try to stifle a laugh. It sounds ridiculous, which is exactly what she'd hoped for, really, the mental image of some drunk guy throwing groceries at police a seriously hilarious one. Relatively harmless, too, she thinks, which helps. Mostly, she doesn't worry about Hopper's job, but there's an awareness in the back of her mind all the same that it has the potential to be dangerous. And she knows he probably does have stories that are more unsettling than funny, but at least for the moment, she prefers the funny ones.

"Okay, that's sort of amazing."

"There was crushed tomatoes all over the street," Hopper says, glad to have made Beverly smile. "On the squad car, on the cops themselves. He had some eggs in there, too, I don't know why he didn't reach for them first. At least the shell is kinda hard. Might've done some sorta damage."

He grins. "More than tomatoes anyway."

It's a better story than most of the ones he has from his time in New York. It had been a dangerous city then, although he's been told it isn't the case any longer. That's the New York he thinks he would like to see.

"Also might have looked even funnier," Beverly says, though she knows that's not really the point. All things considered, it would not be half as amusing if something other than tomatoes or potentially eggs were being thrown. There are plenty of things that could do a lot of damage — anything heavy, anything encased in glass. This would be a very different story if any of that were the case, though, and considering that she asked to hear about something dumb, they wouldn't be having this conversation if it weren't supposed to be funny.

Just imagining it, she stifles a laugh. "Like a cop omelet."

"Ha ha, a cop omelet," he says, giving her another nudge, but he is laughing, mostly out of fondness.

He loves this kid a lot. Most of the time Hopper doesn't know if he's screwing it all up, but he's trying really hard to make sure he's the sort of dad she needs. Someone she can trust. Someone who'll still be hard on her when he has to be, but not like her dad ever was. And he'll do his damnedest to make sure she always knows she can tell him anything she needs to.

"You want an actual omelet or somethin' for dinner?" he asks. "Maybe I'll cut a finger off, sprinkle it in, then it'll be a cop omelet just for you."

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