Chapter Text
“I think you’ve been recognized,” Joyce whispered. An elderly woman using a walker started shuffling over toward them.
“Maybe she just needs directions or something,” Hopper whispered back. As the woman got closer to their bench, she stared at him and said, “I know exactly who you are.”
The convoluted cover story Owens and company had come up with for him being alive involved a severe head injury, trauma and general incompetence from authorities who assumed he was dead even without a body to identify. He had been told to only say this when recognized and pressed for details. He was not to volunteer anything, engage in any follow-up discussions or answer any other questions.
Once directly in front of them, the woman pointed her finger in his face and said, “You’re Horace and Agnes’ boy. The middle one. Ernest. I heard you finally got married.” She moved her finger to Joyce’s face. “Gladys, right?”
“That’s us.” Hopper put his arm around Joyce. She coughed, covering up a giggle. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“You look like such a happy couple. Congratulations. Tell your parents that Bertha says hello.” She nodded at both of them before shuffling back over to a more shaded area.
“So much better than her recognizing me from my obituary.” Hopper sighed. “It wasn’t even a good picture. Who chose that?”
Joyce rolled her eyes. “It was a good photo, Ernest. Gladys did her best.”
--
The town may have been on fire and the ground may have been shaking and ripped open as mysterious particles floated through the air, but Joyce Byers had rules and the kids knew to follow them. No one went anywhere alone. No one went anywhere without telling someone. And they all had dinner together every night. Friends were always invited so attendance could be anywhere from five to ten people (give or take a Wheeler).
The kids agreed to those rules and spent most days with their friends. At first, Joyce (and occasionally Hopper) was completely on edge worrying, but after a week or so, she relaxed just enough to enjoy the alone time with Hopper. Sometimes they’d go for a short walk (depending on how his leg was feeling that day), sometimes they’d go for a drive and sometimes they’d just stay home and take advantage of an empty house. They needed to make up for lost time.
Today, they were at a park a few towns over, a place where people were anxious about what was happening in Hawkins but still relatively safe in their own community. A place where most people wouldn’t have recognized the thin man with the limp and the scarred face as a nearby city’s dead hero.
“I wonder if Bertha’s going to tell anyone she saw Ernest and Gladys today,” Hopper said, reaching for one of the sandwiches they had packed. Peanut butter. “And how happy they seemed.”
She laughed and passed him the bag of chips. “I hope the real Ernest and Gladys are happy too. Otherwise, there might be some questions.”
“Maybe they’re on the verge of announcing their divorce.”
“I hope not.” She frowned suddenly. “I hope Gladys isn’t terrible at marriage like I was.”
“Hey.” His serious tone made her look up from her sandwich. “Your ex-husband has always been a piece of shit. If anyone was terrible at marriage, it was him. He’s always been terrible at everything.”
“But I…”
“Nope. He’s terrible. And any guy who didn’t realize how lucky he was to be married to you and be the father of those boys isn’t just terrible but a damn idiot as well.”
He paused, wondering if he should say more, but she seemed embarrassed. Instead, he turned the attention onto himself and said, “Maybe Ernest is the one who’s terrible at marriage. I started out fine, but I was terrible at it toward the end. But maybe I’d be better at marriage now.”
A soft smile. “I think you might be.”
He took a few chips and passed the bag back. “Should we find out?”
--
He was joking. She could tell by the light in his eyes, the slight smirk. She ignored the sudden butterflies in her stomach. Decided it was probably indigestion.
“It’s silly to even joke about marriage now.” She looked around the park: the clear blue sky, the fresh air, the stable ground beneath them. Nothing like Hawkins. “What with the town in crisis and all. It would be insensitive to push that aside and start worrying about insignificant things like dresses and cake.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Plus, I’m an absolute mess right now. Not ideal husband material.” He held up one hand, using a finger of the other to tick off what was wrong with him. “Injured. Scarred. Insomniac.”
She held up her own hand and did her own ticking. “Brave. Strong. Sexy when you’re not being self-deprecating or fishing for compliments.”
He laughed. “At least I’ll look better in a tux now that I finally got the weight off.”
“Stop.” She groaned. “I hate when you make those kinds of comments.”
“So the engagement’s off then? That didn’t take long.”
Now it was her turn to smirk. His turn to look confused. “I didn’t say that.”
--
“How do you think the kids would react if we came home and said we were engaged?” she asked. “And this is all hypothetical of course.”
They were still on the park bench. His back and legs were beginning to ache, but he would deal with that later. This conversation was getting too bizarre to stop it now.
He considered this. Since he had returned from Russia and they were all reunited in a secluded house provided for them, El had been clingy and moody, Will had been sullen and Jonathan had been distant and checked-out. They were all shell-shocked and still dealing with so much, the never-ending barrage of trauma the five of them had to face on a daily basis, and they took the news of him and Joyce being romantically involved without much of a response. Just a few nods and okays. Even El’s reaction had been more subdued than they expected. But it was understandable.
“I think they’d all be thrilled for us,” he said. “Over the goddamn moon.”
“Really?” She sounded skeptical.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I’m sure they’d come around eventually.”
--
“There is of course another complication to getting engaged.”
“What’s that?” she asked. The bench had gotten too uncomfortable for both of them although the stubborn man next to her refused to admit it. They were now lying on the slightly damp grass. She didn’t care if they looked foolish. The world might be ending. She was past caring about looking foolish. And she now only really cared about this…whatever it was that they were doing. This ridiculous game of hypotheticals.
“Dead men can’t get married.”
Right. Legally, he was dead. Never mind that he was currently stretched out next to her, living and breathing and grumbling about his pants getting wet, with a heartbeat she craved hearing when she lay against his chest. She often found herself checking his pulse at random moments, putting her fingers to his wrist or neck as if she had been a nurse in a past life. His skin was warm and his eyes were bright blue and his mouth and his hands knew exactly what to do as they christened various rooms of the new house, and sure, he may have been battered and broken in various places, but he was very much alive.
But not legally.
Owens had promised to handle that. And he would, but it was more important to get them a place to stay and put money in her account so no one would be forced back to work before they were ready. And he was trying to help with figuring out what exactly was happening to Hawkins. Owens was a very busy man.
They were ok with being patient. Hopper hadn’t seemed to mind at the time. “Dead men don’t have to pay taxes, right?” he asked her when they left one of the meetings.
“With everything they’ve taken away from us, with everything they’ve done,” she mused now, lightly stroking his arm, “I think we should call in one more favor. See if you becoming ‘not dead’ can be put on his priority list. For a few reasons.”
“I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
--
In all the months spent freezing and frightened in a small Russian cell, he tortured himself thinking of all the ways he’d wine and dine Joyce if he managed to survive and if they were ever reunited. He never imagined a date of smushed peanut butter sandwiches and stale potato chips. He never pictured them lying together on the grass in some park with the sun beating down on their faces. His eyes were closed as she stroked his arm and he was so relaxed, he could almost drift off if it weren’t for what she was saying.
“I don’t know if I’d feel guilty,” she said. “I mean the town is in shambles, and we’re just waiting for this…monster to do more damage. And so many people are hurting. Every time I think about poor Max, it just breaks my heart. And all the kids are going through so much.”
He opened his eyes. “You don’t know if you’d feel guilty about what?” He sat up, wincing a little in pain.
“I mean…” She stopped. “I don’t know what I mean.”
She sat up too, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Even right now, there’s a part of me that wonders if we should be away from the kids for so long. What if something happens?”
“They’re fine,” he said. “They’re all at the Wheelers’ right now. But we can leave now if you want.” He leaned toward her and removed a small leaf from her messy hair. She was so damn cute.
“It’s like there’s so much to be worried about and angry about and sad about, but right now, I can’t help but also feel so happy that you’re here with me.”
He felt the same. “Is that what you’re feeling guilty about?” he asked. “Don’t. You deserve so much, Joyce. You deserve to be insanely happy after everything you’ve been through and everything you’ve done for everyone else. Please don’t ever feel guilty about that.”
“Not just that. Our ‘what if’ game. I know we’re just talking hypothetically, but I think I might feel guilty if we actually did what we’re talking about. Because I think it would make me insanely happy.”
--
She wondered if she had gone too far with this. She watched him for a second, trying to decipher the thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he gestured to his wounded leg, his busted knee, and said, “I wouldn’t be able to get down on one knee. I don’t know if you’re a stickler for that kind of tradition. But this isn’t my idea of the most perfect proposal situation ever.”
Her voice was shaky when she asked, “What would the most perfect proposal situation look like to you?”
“Well, we would’ve been dating a normal amount of time. Six months?” She shrugged, so he continued. “I’d talk to your boys first. Make sure they know how much I love their mother and that I will always be there for her and them. I’d take El with me to a jeweler because she likes sparkly things and would be a big help picking out a ring. I’d try to write something heartfelt and romantic, but it would probably sound stupid, so I’d have someone read it over first. Not one of our kids because that would be too embarrassing, but someone we know who’s smart. Then I’d take you to a restaurant that makes Enzo’s look like McDonald’s. And I’d order us a bottle of Chianti.” He overenunciated it, making sure she picked up on his correct pronunciation. El did the same thing when she wanted someone to know she learned a brand-new word.
She nodded, acknowledging it, while waiting for him to continue.
“And then I’d get down on one knee, because in a perfect world, it wouldn’t have been clubbed in a Russian prison, and I’d say everything perfectly and wait for your answer.”
She felt like she wasn’t breathing. What he was saying wasn’t real, right? They didn’t live in a perfect world and this wasn’t a perfect situation. But still, it was heartbreakingly beautiful and so easy to picture. A romantic proposal from the man she loved.
“But we don’t live in a perfect world,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “And this certainly isn’t a perfect proposal situation, is it?”
She sighed, deflated. “No.”
His voice softer now as he asked, “Can I tell you what an imperfect proposal situation would look like?”
Had she started breathing again? She felt lightheaded, heart beating fast, still unsure about what was happening, but she was just able to gasp out, “Please.”
--
“Ok,” he said. He had not been expecting their afternoon to end up this way. He wasn’t quite sure the exact moment this stopped being a joke or a hypothetical. He wasn’t joking anymore. Did she think he was? He was serious. Was she? Or was she going to laugh and say she had been kidding the whole time?
“The world is an absolute shitshow right now,” he said. “There are fires and earthquakes and monsters. Also, I’m a dead man who is afraid to get down on one knee because I might not be able to get back up without sobbing like a baby. But I love you so much, Joyce. I can’t imagine dealing with any of this crap without you. Our family is everything to me. Nothing about this is perfect or planned, but you are the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman ever so want to make it official? Want to get hitched even though we haven’t been on a real date yet?”
She stared at him. A few seconds passed and then a few more. He willed himself to be patient.
“Can we go on a real date?” she asked. She blinked a few times, and he noticed her eyes welling up.
“Of course,” he said. “Enzo’s was destroyed, but there’s got to be an Italian place somewhere that’s decent. Sound good?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” He grabbed onto the bench to help himself stand up. “Friday?”
“No,” she said. Then, “I mean, yes, Friday’s good. But yes to the proposal too.”
He froze. His mouth may have been hanging open. “Shit. Seriously?”
She laughed, tears beginning to stream down her face. She stood up too and faced him. “You were serious, right?”
“Yeah.” He cupped her face, kissed a few tears away. “Yeah.”
“Well, ok then. The world is definitely a shitshow, but I love you too, Hop, so let’s do this. Let’s get hitched. But let’s have the real date first.”
After sharing a few celebratory kisses, he reached for her hand, clasped it tight, and together they walked back to the car. They knew all the things that would happen once they entered Hawkins. They would tell the kids and deal with their (hopefully happy) reactions. He would call Owens about not being dead. He would find a jeweler.
The world still might be ending. And yet…
“Promise me something?” he asked as they passed the “Welcome to Hawkins” sign. The smile had not left his face. He may have been whistling a little.
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t feel guilty about this. Ok? We deserve this. What we’ve been through, if we can find any kind of happiness or reason to celebrate, it’s a good thing.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’ll try. Honestly, I’m still in shock but so happy. And will you promise me something too?”
“Anything and everything.”
She kissed his cheek. “Whatever kind of wedding we have, whether it’s something simple at a courthouse or some ceremony, we need to find Bertha and invite her. She’s pretty much the reason this is happening.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m on it.”