something_incredible | (no subject)

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.

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"Three bathrooms," she replied, and made sure to sound impressed too. She actually was, kind of. This place was nicer than a lot of her flats had been. He was a good dad, and he'd found a good place for himself and the girls.

"The door slamming's a requirement, I think. Better that than holes in the walls, maybe?"

He's not sure Eleven is above both, but he doesn't say so. If only to keep most of what Eleven can do still a secret. There's less of a chance someone might try to go after her in Darrow than in Hawkins, but there isn't no chance and he doesn't want to run the risk of anything happening to her.

She deserves a safe place.

"Two and a half, I guess," he says about the bathrooms. "That's what they called it when I was looking at the place. A half-bath. No shower, I guess?"

"Yeah, probably. I don't really understand realtor talk. I don't really think it's English."

She hadn't ever really chosen where she lived long-term. Before prison, she'd basically crashed where she could, then afterwards Section had provided her with a flat. Even here, she'd been provided with a flat.

Sometimes she thought about moving out, but she didn't actually mind the flat at Candlewood. She had it secured and there were no neighbors, so it wasn't bad.

Hopper shrugs and says, "Yeah, me neither. Mostly I was just glad it had three bedrooms and the mortgage on it wasn't gonna make me go broke."

He's not rich by any means, but at least he can afford this place on his salary. The raise he got when he was promoted to detective definitely helped and now he's not spending money on alcohol anymore, it's a bit of a kick in the teeth to realize just how much his alcoholism cost.

"Think you'll wanna come over for a strictly friends with benefits dinner once we're all settled in?" he asks, grinning over at Nikita.

"Are you offering to cook?" she asked, and raised a skeptical, amused eyebrow. It wasn't that he couldn't cook, because she knew he could and did. He might not have cooked before he had daughters, but he did now. It was more that they didn't usually go to his place. Explaining friends with benefits to a teenage girl wasn't something she wanted to try to do, and she also didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.

"Hey, I can cook," he protests with a huff of laughter. "I've even gotten kinda good at it the past year or so."

It's an improvement over the stuff he'd cooked for Eleven at first, microwave dinners and a lot of waffles because she'd liked them. It's easier now. Modern conveniences make it simpler for him to figure out recipes for shit that's actually healthy and takes halfway decent, too.

"I make a mean enchilada," he says.

"I like enchiladas," she agreed, because she did. She usually bought them frozen from a little grocery store that had three booths in the back, all of which were always full.

"I'll bring some horchata. You ever had that?"

She could get that from the grocery store too, and she liked it a lot. Normally she'd offer to bring beer if someone else was cooking, but horchata it was, in this case.

"Maybe. You gotta tell me what it is first," Hopper answers with a grin. He might have grown up in small town Indiana, but he's not quite the unrefined country hick people might think. He'd been in Vietnam for a few years. He'd lived in New York.

"I tend to just eat what's handed to me without asking what it's called," he adds, which is a strange thing to say, but it's the truth. Diane used to feed him all kinds of things and he never asked questions, because more often than not, Diane had better instincts than he did.

"It's rice milk, but it's not just rice milk. It usually has cinnamon and vanilla and a lot of sugar in it. Goes pretty well with enchiladas," she explained with a shrug.

She understood eating what was handed to her. She'd done that for years, and didn't blame anyone who did it.

"Don't think I've ever had it, but hell, if you say it goes with enchiladas, I guess you gotta bring it," Hopper answers. "Make it a whole Mexican themed night, I guess. Tell Beverly and El they're in charge of the guacamole or something."

Because he wants them included. He wants them involved, not just for the sake of having chores, like he thinks kids should, but because he thinks it might help them both feel a little more secure.

She wasn't really sure about including his daughters, mainly because she had no idea how he was going to explain her being there in a way that wouldn't make two teenage girls either suspicious or hostile. Maybe she wasn't giving them or him enough credit, but if it seemed like it was going to get weird, she would probably find a reason not to go.

"Chips too, then, if there's guacamole," she suggested.