Chapter Text
The end of September rolled in, and with it, a dense fog and frigid temperatures that dotted dewy mornings with frosted window panes and suspended breaths of air. Joyce was opening on her day off for Donald, who promised to relieve her after his morning doctor’s appointment. She got to the store early to tidy up, count her register, and stock inventory, pausing every now and then to take sips of coffee and watch the rising sun bleed through the ice crystals on the huge glass windows with shimmering, golden rays as it rose. Maybe she’d volunteer to open more often; there was something immensely peaceful about being alone with the rising sun and a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the back that wafted robust aromas all the way to the front of the store, with only the dull croon of Patsy Cline as her company.
To her surprise, the familiar silhouette of a Blazer pulled up outside, and Hopper’s tall frame exited the vehicle, donned his cap, and entered the storefront with jingling bells.
“Hey,” he greeted her, shuddering and rubbing his hands together. “It’s damn cold out there.”
“Sure is,” she agreed with a smile. “You’re here early.”
“Actually, you’re here early. Don’t you usually start at ten?”
“Stalking me, Hop?” she shot back with a smirk, which instantly sent his already frost-flushed cheeks rosier. He sputtered. “I’m teasing. Just opening up shop for Donald this morning. It’s actually my day off.”
“Workaholic,” he grinned.
“So what are you doing out and about this early?”
“Oh… I’m just running errands on my way to work.”
“When the hell’d you turn into such a morning person?” she snorted.
“Since…” He trailed off and cleared his throat, growing a little cagey. She cocked a brow. “Just turning over a new leaf, what can I say?” Hurriedly, he swiped a few items off the shelves and dumped them on the counter. Brow still raised, she rang in a box of sugary cereal she’d never let the boys have, a purple toothbrush, women’s deodorant, and a floral hairbrush, trying to shove aside the unusual, bitter surge that swelled in her gut.
“Hot date?” she jested, forcing a smile.
He shrugged and pulled out his wallet, wordlessly paying. She didn’t press despite her raging curiosity.
“How’s, uh… Will doin’?”
“Fine,” she said habitually, but her face fell. “He had another episode a couple days ago.”
Hopper’s head shot up. “Yeah? Bad?”
“He doesn’t say much, but… I could tell he was really shaken up.”
“Shit. Well, just a few more days until his next appointment.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, although nothing about that looming lab or the sterile white coats of towering scientists poking and prodding her boy brought her any comfort. She handed him his change and nervously wrung her hands.
“Hey,” he murmured, studying her before nodding to the door. “Wanna have a quick smoke with me before I go?”
She glanced at the clock and chewed on her lip, bagging up his items. “I dunno, Hop, Donald’s probably gonna be here any minute. I don’t want him to think I’m slacking.”
“You’re with the Chief of the Police, Joyce!” he grinned, cheek dimpling. “Come on. Just a few puffs, for old times’ sake.”
“Only a half, okay?” she relented, fumbling for her pack of smokes and rounding the counter. She left her coat behind, but it would only be a couple minutes. She’d be fine with her long sleeves under her smock, she reasoned.
He held open the door, and she stepped out into a wall of brisk air that the just rising sun hadn’t warmed yet. Maybe she’d misjudged. In too much of a hurry to double back and get her coat, she lit up her cigarette and decided to tough it out, taking a drag and looking around at the leaves brushed with flaxen edges.
He flicked his lighter next to her until orange embers glowed and sizzled from the end of his cigarette. She took another long drag, the nicotine calming her worried insides. Her frozen trail of breath became indistinguishable from the smoke as she exhaled into the frigid air.
“Not even October yet and it’s this cold,” she groaned, crossing an arm over her body for a little bit of warmth. “Jesus.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “You didn’t bring a coat?”
“I did, I just left it inside.” She waved him off and smoked. “I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure.” He inhaled his cigarette and tilted his chin up into the air, blowing towards the sky. “Farmers are all saying we’re in for a cold one this winter. They’re worried about their autumn crops.”
“Great,” she sighed. “Guess we got lucky last year.” But she frowned in realization. “Well, with the weather, anyway.” A shiver ran through her bones, half from the cold and half from the still-recent memory of her missing boy. She wondered if there’d ever be a day that the events from last November wouldn’t haunt her all the way to her sleepless nights.
“Joyce,” he breathed, stepping closer, “you’re shivering.”
She sucked her cigarette and rolled her eyes. “I’m f-fine,” she insisted again, chattering teeth betraying her. Expression concerned, he unzipped his coat and started to shrug it off. “Hop, don’t be ridiculous! You don’t need to freeze, too!”
“I’m the one who dragged you out here. It’s the least I can–”
“No, keep it on. Can’t have you getting sick. You’ve got a town to protect.”
He snorted and tapped his cigarette, ash cascading to the concrete. “So that’s… two episodes in the last few weeks, huh?” he questioned, gaze set on a passing car.
“Yeah. I think they’re ramping up. I dunno why.”
“Wonder what Owens will have to say about that.”
“Do you trust him?”
Hopper glanced down at her in surprise, then turned his attention to the smoke wafting up from his cigarette. “I don’t… not trust him. He’s an unreliable egghead, but he’s not like Dr. Brenner.”
She nodded in satisfaction, because he was right. She’d take Owens over that slimy creep who had her handcuffed and delicately tried to manipulate her in ways that reminded her of her own ex-husband. She shuddered again, fingers trembling as she ashed her cigarette and brought it to her lips.
“Jesus, Joyce,” he sighed, voice like gravel. “You’re gonna freeze. C’mere.” To her surprise, he extended the edge of his open coat towards her and shifted close. It took her a few seconds to realize what exactly he was offering. She hesitated, staring up at him, the tender look in his eye beckoning. Biting her lip, she shyly stepped up to his chest, instantly confronted by the earthy scent of woodstove and traces of his aftershave bleeding into the sharp smell of his unfiltered Camels. He wrapped his arm and the edge of his coat around her and drew her towards him. She forgot how to breathe. “This… this okay?”
“Yes,” she answered, voice barely a whisper. She peered up at him, but found herself unable to hold his gaze. She averted her eyes and took a drag from her cigarette, cheeks warming. At least one part of her was warm. But even the rest of her began to thaw. He was like a goddamn furnace, heat radiating off his body. She hated to admit it, but she’d missed having a man to cozy up to in the cold months. But Hopper was her friend. She recalled the feminine items he’d purchased moments ago, now resting in the plastic bag on the ground beside him, and tried not to let her walls crumble too quickly, because as tempting as his heat and the feel of his firm, large body was pressed into hers, it was fleeting, an illusion—a white lie wrapped in carefully-constructed barriers of friendship, her own stubborn nature, and an emotionally unavailable man.
“Thank you,” she breathed, leaning into him ever so slightly despite herself. She warmed her fingertips against his side.
He grunted an agreement but couldn’t seem to look at her, like following the flurry of his impulsivity, he was also realizing how dangerous this was. She took a quick drag from her cigarette, and he did the same.
“How are you doing?” she asked, remembering herself. He’d been polite enough to ask about Will; it was only decent of her to inquire back.
“Me?” He cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m… I’m good. Fine.”
He really wasn’t giving her a hell of a lot to work with.
“Work going okay?” she tried.
“Yeah, I mean… less stressful without government cover-ups and monsters abducting citizens into another dimension,” he said dryly, and she snorted. “But it’s busy. Not New York busy, but busy.”
“Busy can be good. Keeps your mind off of things,” she sympathized, daring a glance up at him. He looked down at her, meeting her gaze, and his face softened.
“How about you? Keeping… busy?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “I’m picking up a lot of extra shifts. Will’s back in school now, so I’ll be a nervous wreck if I leave myself at home alone.”
He softened more. “You know, Joyce, you can call anytime. Even if you just need some company,” he offered, his voice a low, comforting rumble that vibrated through her chest. She swallowed hard, because the often-grumpy, damaged, and emotionally unavailable man clutching her protectively to his chest undeniably had a gentle side, maybe only for her, and it threatened to tumble her walls.
She studied the salt and pepper flecks in his beard, eyes wandering over the hard, rigid lines of his face where it intersected with steel eyes bluer than the autumn sky above them. “You wanna come over for dinner tonight?” she blurted out, breath catching in the back of her throat.
His eyes widened slightly, before he successfully managed to school his expression to something a little more neutral. But even his neutrality rapidly faded, giving way to a grimace. He closed his eyes and groaned, “I—I have plans. I’m sorry.”
Of course. Purple Toothbrush Lady.
She stiffened a little and tried not to let in the oppressive hurt that attempted to stab daggers at her chest like reawakening limbs after a freeze. “Oh. It’s—it’s fine, Hop. Maybe another time.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, staring down at her with affliction. She tried to translate what was peering back at her behind his icy blues. Was that disappointment? Guilt? “It’s just…” He trailed off, mouth opening and closing several times. “I’m–I’m dealing with a situation right now.”
“A situation?” She perked a brow, concern flooding her. “What–what kind of situation?”
“Uh…”
“Hop, is it about that place? Are we in danger again?”
“No! No, no, no, it’s… it’s more… personal.” He hesitated, face deeply conflicted. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak again, a familiar car swung around the corner and pulled up to the front of the store next to Hopper’s police Blazer.
Donald.
Regretfully, she flew away and stubbed out her cigarette, brows knit worriedly in Hopper’s direction. He stared back, gaze piercing but so ambiguous she wanted to scream.
Donald climbed out of his vehicle and glanced between the two of them. Joyce felt her cheeks warm.
“Morning, Donald,” she greeted—too cheerfully—and gave him an awkward wave and tight smile.
“Morning, Joyce. Chief.”
Hopper tipped his hat and a polite smile at the older man, then turned towards her, face sinking as he grabbed his bag from the ground and tossed his cigarette butt. “I should get going. A town to protect and all that.”
She smiled weakly, unable to shake the diffidence in the air. “See you later?”
“Yeah. See ya.”
Hopper lit up another cigarette, hefted himself into his truck, and sped off down the road towards the station. She watched after him more longingly than she meant to, but Donald’s clearing throat yanked her violently back to reality.
“The store all ready to go, Joyce?” he asked a bit sternly.
She sheepishly chewed her lip. “A-almost. Just need to finish counting the drawer. I’ll–” Stumbling backwards, she hurried inside to get back to work. As she flipped through the bills and organized yesterday’s receipts, she glanced up at Donald who was straightening the open sign. “Appointment go okay?”
“Yup, fine. Just a checkup,” he answered over his shoulder. “Thanks again for opening up shop.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a problem. Anytime. I actually enjoy it here in the mornings,” she mused, closing the cash drawer with a jingle of change.
“Looks like it,” the older man muttered under his breath. He picked up a broom and started sweeping the linoleum tiles. Joyce felt her face go hot enough to warm her entire body.
“All done!” she blurted out, compensating with a chipper, tight smile. “Need anything else before I go?”
“Nah, enjoy the rest of your day off. And… say hi to the Chief for me.”
Scribbling out her timecard, she grabbed her purse and left in a flurry, Hopper’s smell still permeating her scent memory the entire drive home. She called him the next night to invite him over for supper again, but it went straight to voicemail. So much for calling any time. Sullen but still hopeful, she swung by his trailer to drop off the leftover casserole she’d made for her and the boys—but he was nowhere in sight. Joyce silently cursed Purple Toothbrush Lady for completely stealing Hopper away from her.
An illusion, a lie, she reminded herself.
The next morning was the coldest yet, October just around the corner. Joyce opened the store again and conveniently left her coat in the back, but when the doorbells jingled, it wasn’t Hopper and his wide-brimmed hat who entered—it was the new manager from Radio Shack next door, dressed in a tan coat and a button-up checkered shirt. She vaguely recognized him but couldn’t quite place where she knew him from.
“Joyce Byers?” he chuckled, shaking his head in awe and gazing at her like a school boy with a crush.
“Uh, yeah, hi. How can I help you?” she asked politely, tilting her head.
He introduced himself. Bob Newby. Apparently they’d gone to high school together. He had a friendly face and told silly jokes that made her smile when she needed to smile. And unlike the other men in her life, he seemed to actually want to be around her, and it wasn’t an illusion, nor a lie.
He was normal, he was kind.
He was emotionally available.
Her stubborn walls began to crumble, but when she went to sleep at night, she still found herself dreaming about being wrapped up in Hopper’s navy blue coat and the earthy smell of cut pine and wood fire seared into her nostrils from that cold, September morning. But it occurred to her, as she lay in bed, staring at the sprawling shadows on her ceiling from the bending trees outside, Hopper’s trailer didn’t have a wood stove.