something_incredible

It's been four years.

Hopper has done a lot of shit in his life he isn't proud of, he's made a lot of mistakes, but he can say for certain that getting sober four years ago isn't one of them. There were tough times, he'd almost fallen off the wagon more than a few times, but now he's here and those tough times don't come around quite so often. Most of the time now, he doesn't even think about having a drink or swallowing a few pills.

Since then, Darrow has changed. His life here has changed a lot, but there's one girl who has been with him through it all.

Beverly knows the significance of the day. He'd done his best not to lean on her during the worst times, knowing she was too young, with too many things of her own to carry, but he had always known, if he needed her, reached out his hand, she would have been there for him. What he'd had with Sara, what he has with Eleven, those relationships are special in their own ways.

With Beverly, he'd grown up. They both had.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the edge of her open bedroom door. "Dinner?"

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Beverly is aware of the date, what it means. It's a good feeling. She remembers too well how rough things were for a while — both before Hopper stopped drinking and she'd been quietly worried for so long, like a faint but persistent buzzing in the back of her head, and the first few months after. Even when things were at their worst with him, he'd never made her feel unsafe or uncomfortable. Her concern was only ever for him. That was back when it was still just the two of them, too. Everything has changed so much since then, in ways she's found herself grateful for. Their family has grown, and that's a good thing. But she also likes that there are still some things that are just theirs. This feels like one of those.

When Hopper comes to her door, she's reading, lying in jeans and a T-shirt on top of the blankets on her bed, one leg bent over the other. Somewhere along the line, it became second nature to leave her door open when she's not changing or sleeping, no longer needing to shut herself away whenever possible. Even after all this time, that's a good feeling, too.

She grins at his question, setting her book down as she looks over at him. She's not really sure what the etiquette is for congratulating a parent on being four years sober, but she knows what day it is and she's willing to bet that he knows she knows, too. "Dinner sounds good," she agrees, already sitting up, stretching a little before pulling herself to her feet. "What're you thinking?"

“Somewhere fancy, but not so fancy we’ll get kicked out for wearing jeans,” he says. He wants something rich, a thick steak, a chocolate mousse for desert, warm bread and freshly churned butter.

“There’s that steak house down by the boardwalk,” he suggests. “You wanna head over there?”

In a different time, he would have gotten a nice drink, too. A quality whisky. This time he’ll be more than content with a coke.

"Sounds perfect," Beverly says, grinning. Really, she probably would have had the same reaction to anything he suggested, given the occasion at hand, but it does sound good — something nicer than they might normally pick, but not posh to the point of being pretentious, still casual enough that they can relax and enjoy themselves. She can stay in what she's wearing, not need to spend a bunch of time getting ready, but they can have a good meal, something to mark a pretty damn significant occasion.

Four years somehow feels like forever and like it's flown by. That's not altogether surprising, though. So much of her life has been spent here, with him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

On her feet, she grabs the bag she's using as a purse and her phone. "Are we walking or driving?"

They could walk, but Hopper is hungry and he shakes his head and says, “Let’s take the truck.”

At this point, Beverly drives it more than he does, to the point where he thinks he should just give it to her.

Maybe he will, he thinks. Right now.

“Grab the keys,” he tells her. “On Monday I’m gonna go to the insurance place and change the title of it to your name.”

"Wait, seriously?" Beverly asks, a bright, surprised grin curving across her face. When she first started learning to drive, she did so in the truck because it was all they had that wasn't a squad car, and in the years since, she's come to really love driving it. For all that Hopper has never seemed to resist letting her borrow it whenever she wants to, though, she never expected it would be hers, half-convinced that she hasn't heard him right.

She does grab the keys from the hook by the door, that much easy enough, but even as they step outside, her expression is one of awe and mild disbelief. "Like, it'll be mine?"

"You drive it more than I do," he says. "And at this point I've got too many of you to safety carry around in a truck when I do drive. Probably have to get myself a proper car for a family."

Back when he got the truck, that would have been more difficult with the shitty pay he'd been making. Now, though, he's a detective, has been for awhile, and his job pays well. He has a stable life here, one he wants to make the most of.

That includes giving things to his kids when he can.

"You could get a minivan," Beverly suggests, barely managing to bite back a laugh at a suggestion she knows he won't take. "Really get in touch with your inner soccer mom, or some shit." With anyone else, at a time like this, she would definitely not be making a joke. Granted, there's no one else who would be giving her a whole fucking car, either, but hypothetically speaking, it wouldn't otherwise be her response. This has always been their relationship, though, and she trusts him to see it for what it is.

Still, she can't just leave it at that, grinning over at him, pleased and a little exhilarated. "Thank you. Oh my god."

Hopper isn't used to being able to give things to his kids.

No, that's not quite the truth. He used to be able to give things to Sara and now, in Darrow, he has that chance again. He's been doing it for years, but even now, it feels new.

"Yeah," he says. "You're welcome. Now c'mon, I'm starving."

"Okay, okay," Beverly teases, letting out a laugh as she walks over to where the truck is parked, unlocking the doors and climbing into the driver's seat. If it's going to be her truck now, then she's going to be the one driving them. Also, it's just sort of amusing being able to do so. He taught her to drive in this truck, what feels like such a long time ago now. That feels especially strange to think about now.

"In that case, hop in."

"You'll have to drive me to the lot to look for a minivan," he jokes, grinning over at her after he's climbed into the passenger seat. There's no way in hell he's getting one, but maybe am SUV or just some kind of sedan.

"Figure you'll use it more with your work," he points out. "You're still likin' that, right?"

It's not a job Hopper thinks he could do, but Beverly and Bill seem to be making it work. As long as she's happy, that's all he cares about.

"I am, yeah," Beverly says, shooting him a smile before starting the truck and carefully pulling out of the spot where it's parallel parked by the curb. It's strange, really. The job she's taken for Bill isn't something she ever would have envisioned for herself before he offered it to her. She likes it, though, a whole lot more than she thinks she would like working retail or in one of the dozen Ahab's across the city. Considering that she doesn't know what she would be doing otherwise — and that she's increasingly convinced that college wouldn't be the right path for her — she's more than happy to stick with it for now.

"It's kind of nice, working for a friend. Like, it's still work, but it makes it easier to want to keep doing it?"

"And it's not retail or somethin', which I know'd be boring for you," he says. And he's not sure how happy he'd be when she came home and told stories about all the customers who were assholes in ways big and small. Hopper knows how people can be, he's been called to retail stores more than a few times to remove people who were being dicks for seemingly no good reason.

"I'm glad it's workin' for you," he says, meaning it. "And Bill seems like he won't be a dick of a boss."

"Oh, god, I'd fucking hate retail," Beverly says, letting out a short laugh. She'd do it, of course, if it came to that, well aware that she's lucky to have the option not to, but she's also pretty sure she would completely lose her mind in the process. Given that she doesn't know what the hell else she would want to be doing otherwise, working for a friend seems like the best-case scenario.

"And I think Bill knows better than to be a dick. Which is more than I'd be able to say working for anyone else."

[Bev]

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