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The banging on your front door wakes you with a start, and you instinctively reach for the baseball bat you keep under your bed, before realising you've fallen asleep on the couch, and it's barely 9pm.
"Hello?" You call out cautiously, looking at the door as though it might open, which given your bad habit of forgetting to lock it, it just might.
"S'me."
"Hop?" It sounds like him, but the voice is a little slurred.
"Yeah." There's a noise that might be him falling against the front door, which immediately makes you worry that's he's hurt, so you go straight to the door and open it slowly.
Hopper isn't leaning against the door itself, but against the wall right next to it. Judging by the smell, he's been drinking, but he's also soaked to the skin and there's mud splattered on his clothes.
"Jesus, Hop! What happened?" You reach towards him as he pushes away from the wall and sways slightly.
"Bad day." He tells you, staggering past you into the house as you open the door wide for him. "S'raining." He adds.
"Bathroom," You direct, and he obediently heads in that direction, leaving muddy footprints across the living room floor.
"Shouldn't have come here. M'sorry." He mutters as he stands in the bathroom shivering, a puddle growing around his feet.
"It's fine. Get those wet clothes off."
He gives you a lopsided kind of smirk, "Really, baby? Right now?"
"Cut the shit, Hop. Clothes off, get in the shower." You have no idea what's going on, but you know you need to get him warmed up and sobered up before you tackle anything else, and the best way to achieve that right now is to order him around; it wouldn't normally work, he just laughs when you try, but you have a feeling that in his current state he's probably quite open to being told what to do. You step past him to turn on the water, making it good and hot, because he's clearly freezing cold.
He drops his jacket to the floor, then fumbles with his holster, and you register to your shock that he's in uniform. God, you hope no one else saw him like this. Stories circulating about a drunk, out of control police chief need to be left firmly in the past.
"How did you get here?" You ask.
"Walked." He tells you, which is a relief in a way - at least he didn't drive - and certainly explains why he's so wet.
Batting his frozen fingers away, you carefully unbuckle the holster yourself, carrying it like an unexploded bomb into the living room and placing it on the table by the door. You're not a big fan of guns, and you'd rather keep his out of the way right now.
When you get back to the bathroom, he's down to his boxer shorts, and he's shaking violently from cold.
"Shower, Hop."
"M'sorry." He says again, and you shake your head.
"You don't have to be sorry, you just have to get in the shower, okay? We need to get you warmed up."
You wait until he steps under the spray, then go to the bedroom to find him something to wear. He's left enough clothes here over your various sleepover dates that you're able to pick out some pyjama pants and a Henley, and grab him a blanket as well.
Hop's still in the shower, steam pouring out of the bathroom as you quickly gather his wet and muddy clothes and take them through to the washer. You suddenly realise you're shaking with adrenaline yourself, and take a moment to breathe. Whatever's happened, he's here, he's in one piece, and you'll work it out.
You hear the shower shut off, and then Hopper's footsteps as he moves towards the bedroom. You follow a few steps behind, and find him unwrapping the towel from his waist, ready to replace it with the warm clothes you laid out for him.
"You okay?" You ask softly, trying not to startle him. He turns and looks at you as he pulls the Henley over his head.
"Yeah, shower helped." He looks and sounds more alert, and is no longer shivering, though you notice he still moves as though he's incredibly tired, and maybe even hurt.
"Come into the living room, I'll make you a hot drink."
He musters a smile, "Code for 'no more Scotch for you tonight, Hopper'."
"Yeah, you got me." You notice his feet are still bare, "Wait, I've got socks..." You quickly rummage through the dresser drawer and find a pair that look like his. "You won't fit into my fuzzy slippers though."
He lets out a short laugh, which feels a little reassuring. "Shame, I always wanted my own pair."
"Come on," You say, gesturing to the living room, "Bring that blanket."
You get Hop settled on the couch with the blanket around his shoulders and a mug of coffee in his hands, and sit down next to him.
"What the hell happened, Hop?"
He sighs, "Look, I'm really sorry about this. I should have just taken myself home. It's not your job to take care of me."
"No, it's not my job, I want to do it. I love you, asshole, remember?"
"I know, I know." He sounds so tired, and somehow sad. "But-"
"Hop, you take care of everyone else." You tell him, as gently as you can. "El, Joyce and the boys, me, the whole goddamn town... Every now and again, you can let someone take care of you. No one is going to think the worse of you for it."
He just shakes his head, but you continue anyway.
"And you are going to have to tell me what happened tonight, even if for no other reason than because the state you were in when you turned up here, you scared the hell out of me."
There's a long silence, and you have to bite your lip to keep from talking first. Eventually it pays off, though, because he finally gives you something.
"I had a shitty day, I had a drink, and I went for a walk. I wasn't planning on coming all the way out here. And then it rained."
"That's the story? Jesus, Hop, you're going to have to do better than that." You let your exasperation and worry properly show for the first time.
He stares down at his lap, "It's Sara's birthday today."
You suck in a quick breath. No wonder.
He sets the coffee mug down on the table, "I just wanted today to be a normal day, that's all I needed. Nice quiet day in this shitty little town, but then some asshole-" His voice starts to rise, "-drove his goddamn car into the side of a station wagon and almost killed a seven..." His voice cracks, "Seven year old kid..." His hand comes up to press over his eyes, and a noise emerges from his mouth that's close to a sob.
"Hop..." You rest your hand on his back, and he turns suddenly, pressing his face into your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around him as best you can while he loses it, his body wracked with silent sobs, his tears soaking the neck of your shirt, and your own tears sliding down your face and into his hair.
After a few minutes, his body stills, but his arms are still tight around your waist, so you just run your hand over his damp hair and wait it out.
"Shit." He mutters eventually, and you feel him shift, starting to raise his head.
"Hey," You say softly. "You okay?"
"Yeah." He still sounds tired, but when he sits back and looks at you, he doesn't look so wound up. He wipes his face with one hand. "I'm sorry about that."
"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm glad I was here."
"When Sara was in the hospital, I used to go do that in the stairwell, so no one would see me. I didn't want Diane to... Anyway."
You've talked a little in the past about his ex, about how if it hadn't been for his beloved daughter, they probably wouldn't have been together, and your heart breaks at the thought of him crying alone in a stairwell.
"I'm glad you came here." You tell him, and he smiles slightly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
"I think I'm sober now, too." He tells you.
"I think that might take just a little while longer." You counter, with a half smile.
"Yeah, maybe. Shouldn't have kept that bottle in my desk drawer, huh?"
"Probably not your smartest decision." You agree.
He lets out a long sigh, "I'm sorry if I scared you, sweetheart."
"I told you, you don't need to apologise. But next time things are bad, don't get drunk in your office and then walk three miles along the main road in the rain. Just drive straight over here and talk to me."
"Yes, ma'am." He replies with the ghost of a smile.
After you get another cup of coffee and a sandwich into Hopper, he calls Joyce to check on El, who's staying over along with some other friends for some sort of games night. You don't deliberately listen in, but you can't help smiling when you hear Hop laugh at something his daughter tells him. When he comes off the call, he seems calmer.
"They're bouncing off the walls." He says, "I don't envy Joyce."
"Me neither." You smile at him, "Come to bed, you look exhausted."
"I am exhausted." He admits. "I'm not going to be much use to you."
"What do you- Oh!" You have to stop yourself from laughing as you realise what he means. "Hop, I fell asleep on the couch before 9pm, all I want to do tonight is curl up and sleep, believe me."
You let Hop use the bathroom first, and by the time you're done in there, he's already under the covers and half asleep. You gratefully crawl in beside him, relaxing when he immediately pulls you into his arms, cradling you close.
"M'gonna do stuff t'ya in the morn..." He promises, voice heavy with sleep, and eyes already closed, "M'gonna make ya feel so good..."
"I'm going to hold you to that." You murmur back.
"Love ya baby, s'much."
"Love you too, Hop."
It takes you a little while longer to slide into sleep, laying watching Hopper's face as the frown fades from his forehead, his mouth softening. You can't quite believe he finally let his guard down so fully in front of you, that he walked miles in the rain to get to you, because when he was feeling broken, it was you he wanted. And it's with that thought that you finally fall asleep in his arms.