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“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Hopper’s good mood had - to put it mildly - abruptly swirled down the drain with the sight of the Wheeler kid proudly trotting out of the just-closing mall, laden with bags and proclaiming to all, “I found a gift for El!”
This would be all well and good, of course, since at least Mike was a good enough boyfriend (Hopper still shuddered at the term) to buy his girlfriend a Christmas present, except now somehow Hopper was the shitty guy here. The shitty father, who forgot to get his daughter a gift and now it was goddamn fucking Christmas Eve.
So now-
Now he was tearing down Main Street in the Blazer with the heater on full blast - it was snowing, for Christ’s sake, couldn’t they have a mild Christmas just once in their lives - desperately looking for something, anything, and trying not to feel too shitty about himself in the process. Seven o’clock on Christmas Eve and he’d only just remembered to get his daughter a Christmas present. Some stellar parenting right there, huh.
The radio was blasting Sinatra’s Christmas album, which wasn’t helping his mood, and after swerving around a nasty patch of black ice he was just about to concede defeat when he spotted, shining with a neon Christmas tree out front like a helpful, handy beacon, Melvald’s.
It was better than nothing.
Almost unconsciously, certainly foolishly, he checked his appearance in the mirror before heading out. Smoothed down his hair and tried to look less like the crazed parent who forgot to buy his daughter a gift.
“Hey, Joyce,” he said as he breezed in, bringing with him a gust of cold air at which she visibly shivered.
“Hey,” she said, tugging the sleeves of her turtleneck down a little further against the cold. “Bit late to be shopping, isn’t it? Christmas Eve and all.”
He smiled and tried not to let it be too rueful. “Just needed to grab some wrapping paper and stuff.” (Lie.)
“Well, you know where it is,” she said, voice a little quiet, a little weary, and he peered at her closer. Her eyes were tired, half-closed, the tip of her nose faintly red. She was leaning back against the shelf behind the till like she didn’t want to be here, and honestly? He didn’t blame her. It was Christmas Eve.
Deciding to stop and distract her properly when he’d solved the imminent El problem, he headed down the aisle and stared a little furiously at the almost-empty shelves. Yeah, he definitely left this way too late. Even Melvald’s was running out of stock.
He glanced desperately back at Joyce. On the one hand, she knew his daughter almost as well as he did at this point, and knew the stocks at Melvald’s even better. He couldn’t really not ask her, but at the same time he really, really didn’t want to. He was already failing at this parenting thing in Mike’s, El’s, and his own eyes. Joyce was one of the few people who still looked at him with any respect, and he couldn’t bear to see it replaced with disappointment.
As he continued to scan the shelves the bell dinged with the entrance of another customer, a sound he barely registered over the festive crooning of Connie Francis. He heard Joyce’s quiet, polite, “Hi, how can I help?” and smiled a little at how un-Joyce it sounded. Remembered how long it had taken her to perfect her customer service smile, back when she was working her summer job in high school. She eventually got fired, he recalled, for cussing out a customer who, in her defence, was being an asshole. Times had changed, but her sailor’s mouth hadn’t - at least, when she wasn’t at work or around the kids.
Which is why, when he heard her abrupt exclamation of “Fuck!”, he looked up sharply. She was slowly straightening up from behind the counter, which was showered in beer and brown shards of glass, looking with more than a little trepidation at the customer who’d obviously thrown it.
“Hey!” Hopper shouted, all composure lost. He strode over furiously. “What the hell was that?”
“Hop, it was an accident,” Joyce said, her eyes dark and large and pleading with him not to make a scene.
The guy was staring between his hand and the counter in confusion, as if he couldn’t make the connection between the broken bottle and his now-empty hand. “I- I wanted some horns.” He pointed at the stack of headbands with reindeer antlers for sale by the side of the counter.
Joyce seemed to be fighting a smile, which only angered Hopper further. “How about you get outta here fast, huh, before you wind up spending Christmas Eve in the drunk tank. Public intoxication’s a crime, y’know. Could get you a thousand bucks’ fine and jail time too.”
“Hop,” she tried again, but he didn’t look at her. The guy wasn’t moving, just standing there and swaying gently from side to side.
“Alright, that’s it.” Hopper grabbed him by the arm and propelled him towards the door. He loudly protested the whole way, but remained limp in Hopper’s grip, putting up no fight whatsoever. “Go home,” he said as he turfed him out into the snow. “Sober up. It’s only seven, for Christ’s sake.”
“Christ!” the guy said, as he rolled over in the snow in an attempt to stand up and succeeded only in covering his clothes in it. “Christ, y’know, because it’s Christ-mas. Ha. Funny. That’s funny.” His speech dissolved into mumbling but he gradually stumbled to his feet and swayed off down the street. Hopper watched him go with his arms crossed, less angry now than exasperated. Finally he turned back into the store to find Joyce looking at him, eyes bright.
“Did you really have to do that?” she asked, as she found some paper towels and started clearing up the mess.
“Do what?” Hopper asked, momentarily distracted by the way her hair had fallen just so, to throw her cheekbones into relief.
“Y’know, public intoxication’s a crime.” She put her arms on her hips as she spoke, deepening her voice in what was obviously a mockery of him. She raised an eyebrow as she fell back into her usual posture. “He dropped a bottle, Hop.”
“Yeah, but he could’ve hit you.” His voice was maybe unnecessarily gruff. “And it is a crime.”
She rolled her eyes at him before going to pick up a shard of glass. He suddenly took in exactly was she was doing. He rushed forward and pushed her hands away before she could, and heard her sigh. “For God’s sake, Hop, I’m not a child. I can clean up some glass.”
He felt his cheeks heat up and he stepped back, already missing the warm contact with her skin. “Sorry.” He stared at her as she piled up the shards and wrapped them in paper, before crouching down behind the counter, clearly going for the ones on the floor. He rounded it and watched her accusingly. “You’re not even gonna use a dustpan?”
She stopped and looked up at him through narrowed eyes, but he could see a faint smile playing on her lips. “How about you go get me one, then, if you’re so keen to protect me?”
“Where is it?”
“Store room at the back, on the floor by the door.”
He followed her instructions and found the dustpan and brush where she’d said, before looking around the store room with interest and faint dismay. It was cramped and dark - but he could see a whole shelf of the child-oriented gifts that had been missing from out front. Maybe there was hope for him after all. But he hurried back out instead of looking further, because he knew if he took too long Joyce would go back to using her bare hands to pick up the glass, probably gleefully flouting his concern.
“Here,” he said, handing the dustpan to her and watching with satisfaction as she finished cleaning up, safely.
“Thank you, Mom,” she grumbled as she stood up and dusted herself off. “Since when were you this… I don’t even know what you are.”
He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as he could, feeling his cheeks color again. “Just looking out for you, is all. Doing my job, right?”
She sent him a withering look. “So your job includes protecting me from broken inanimate objects, as well as violent criminals? It’s a wonder you get anything done, if you spend all day fetching helpless store clerks dustpans.” She was smiling brightly now, and for a moment he realised the stark contrast to her earlier weariness. She was laughing at him, that was clear, but at least he’d lightened her mood.
“Just doing my duty, ma’am.” He doffed an imaginary cap and bowed, and she laughed out loud.
“Whatever would I do without you, my gallant protector?” She proffered a hand and without even thinking he bent to kiss it, his lips gentle on her skin. Then he began to freak the fuck out when she giggled lightly and he looked up to find her blushing too.
He cleared his throat and stepped back to prevent himself doing something irreversible and stupid. “So- um-”
“Um,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she too was feeling the awkwardness or if she was just teasing him again.
“That extra stock you have in the back room, is that- um, is that for sale?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?” she asked, voice suspicious.
“Well- I- You didn’t have any wrapping paper I liked,” he tried, weakly. She shook her head at him and moved to the front of the store, flipping around the sign so it read Closed. “What- what are you doing?”
“Closing. Store is closed. Sorry.”
He stared at her. “What?”
She shrugged, face perfectly serious. “It’s Christmas Eve. Time for me to go home. Guess you’ll have to get your wrapping paper elsewhere.”
“No- you can’t!” He began to panic. Melvald’s was his last resort- nowhere else was open- El would never forgive him-
Her expression cracked into a smirk and he drooped with relief. “I’ll close up after you’re done. If,” she continued, and he glared at her, “you tell me what you’re looking for and why you’re so desperate to get it. Because it clearly isn’t wrapping paper.”
“It is-” he started. She began to put her coat on. “No! Wait! Fine. Fine, it isn’t wrapping paper.”
She turned and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“It’s- it’s a Christmas present for El.” He looked at the floor. “Yes, I’m a terrible father, yes, I’ve ruined Christmas, how could I do this, I had one job, et cetera, et cetera. Can we just find a gift, please?”
She was silent for a moment and he risked meeting her eyes. She didn’t look mad, or disappointed. None of what he thought she’d say looked to be on her tongue. “Okay,” she just said.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay. Sure, it’s not great from a parenting perspective, but you’re here now, right? And you haven’t been her dad for long. You’re not used to thinking about it.”
He could hardly believe his ears. Joyce Byers, the mother to end all mothers, excusing his forgetfulness? Letting him off scot-free?
“How about we look for something now, and next year you make it up to her with something really special, huh? How about that?”
He bit his lip. “Okay.” She smiled and turned away, starting for the store room, but he caught her arm. “Joyce- thank you.”
She furrowed her brow. “What for?”
“Well, for everything. Helping me out with her. Not just now, but this whole time. It’s- it’s been a while since I was, y’know, a dad. And it’s harder alone. So you-” He swallowed. He had no idea how to finish that sentence. Something about her being a godsend, except that would sound wrong. Or a Christmas angel - and he laughed, silently, because of how ridiculous that was.
She smiled softly and touched his arm, a touch at which he shivered. “You’ve done great with her, Hop, really. And yeah, I can’t say I haven’t helped, but still. You’re her dad. I’m just there if you need me.” Her smile widened. “Now, let’s go find a gift for her so she doesn’t disown you as a father.”
In the end they emerged victorious with a stuffed reindeer which she was probably too old for but would like anyway, he knew, and a sixties-music-themed calendar for the next year, since they’d discovered that was her favorite era - or at least the one she always had on repeat. Joyce had flicked through absently and smirked at one page, the month of June. It was a large picture of Marilyn Monroe, who probably didn’t belong with sixties music, but it was a cheap calendar.
“Remember you used to have a crush on her, back in high school?”
He had scoffed. “No, I didn’t. All the other boys did, but I didn’t. My big crush was Audrey Hepburn, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Classy kid, weren’t you?”
He’d just looked at her and tried not to think too hard about the similarity of dark hair, small frame, massive pretty eyes.
He waited for her as she locked up, staring out across the street with his shoulders hunched against the cold. The drunkard was long gone, hopefully to bed rather than to pass out in an alley somewhere. Then he really would be Hopper’s problem.
Finally she was done and she stepped up beside him, glancing up at him as her breath fogged in the air. “Well, goodnight,” she said. Her tone was awkward, almost expectant. He felt bizarrely like they’d been on a date.
“Goodnight,” he said, but didn’t move. He took a deep breath, before opening his mouth to speak-
And Joyce beat him to it. “Are we gonna see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” He felt wrongfooted, despite the fact that he’d been about to suggest the same thing. The surety of her tone, the casual nature of the invite sent his mind reeling.
“Yeah, tomorrow. Well, unless you’re working. Y’know, protecting the good citizens of Hawkins from those villainous shards of glass.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know, I think they’ll be safe for a few hours. Shouldn’t leave them too long, though. Those beer bottles really are nefarious.”
“I’m surprised you know what that means,” she murmured with a smile in her voice and he scowled down at her, only half meaning it.
“You’re surprised at a lot tonight.”
“You’re surprising.” She bit her lip and he tried not to let his stare linger there too long. “So, tomorrow? Come after lunch. I have enough trouble cooking without having to do it for two extra people.”
He nodded. “We’ll be there.”
-and then his brain short circuited as she leaned up and pressed a brief, gentle kiss to his lips. She moved away just as quick, smiling shyly. “Merry Christmas, Hop,” she whispered, before turning away towards her car.
He stared after her, fingers reaching up and ghosting over his lips. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated, half in wonder and half in reply. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who could be surprising.