Chapter Text
The storm had settled over rural Illinois with the kind of stubbornness only summer could manage. It swallowed the whole sky in minutes, and showed itself as clearly not a passing shower that you wait out with a cup of a cold overpriced coffee. Lightning flashed often enough to turn the trees beyond Murray’s windows into skeletal silhouettes, each brilliant white crack followed by a low growl of thunder that seemed to shake the old farmhouse from its foundation. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then held.
“Well,” Murray muttered, peering through the lace curtain. “If anyone was planning on driving anywhere tonight, the universe has officially voted no.” No one answered him, and Joyce hadn’t sat down in nearly forty minutes.
She crossed the living room again, rubbing the side of her thumb raw against the edge of where once there was a wedding ring. She hadn’t been eating for years now, but for some reason, the habit remained. Hopper noticed, but had never said a word about it, even now that their friendship was somewhat back to what it truly was when they were young.
The truth was, he noticed everything about her when she was worried. The way she couldn’t keep still. The way she folded her arms only to unfold them again seconds later. How she stared toward the window without ever really seeing it. He’d watched it happen from afar when he got back to Hawkins. Then closer when Will disappeared. When Bob died. When every single disaster hang above their lives. Every single one looked different, worse and worse. Joyce never did.
“They’re fine,” he said quietly, and she stopped for exactly one heartbeat. The kids. She was dead worried about them. She gave him a killer look, then resumed pacing.
“You don’t know that.”
“Not for sure, but probably. THey're smart, and together.” Another lap across the room, and everyone flinched the smallest bit by how loud the thunder was. “But running into that storm isn’t gonna get us back any faster. We have to wait”
She didn’t answer, and the silence stretched again. Outside, thunder cracked so violently the windows rattled in their frames. Murray looked between them. Then, with the weary resignation of a man who had accidentally become roommates with the world’s most emotionally constipated couple, sighed dramatically.
“I’m making tea.” Neither of them acknowledged him. “Or picking up vodka?” Still nothing. He threw up both hands. “Figure out whichever one you people need.”
The kitchen door swung shut behind him, and the house suddenly felt much smaller. Joyce stopped by the window again. The road had disappeared beneath sheets of rain. Branches bent under the wind, whipping hard enough that every few seconds another handful of leaves slapped against the glass.
“We’re wasting time.” Hopper leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
“No.” She turned.
“No?”
“No.” Her eyebrows lifted.
“‘No’ is your whole argument?”
“My argument is there’s a damn tree somewhere across that road by now.”
“And?”
“And I don’t particularly feel like driving us into it.”
“We’ll go around.”
“In this? Joyce, the sky s falling.” She looked out the window again.
“We have to try.” He pushed himself away from the wall, taking a deep breath, almost a sigh.
“We’ll leave when the storm lets up.”
“When?” she snapped. “In an hour? Tomorrow? What if something happens before then? If already has happened.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “They’re there. My boys are there. And El's there too, alone.” Hopper swallowed.
“Again, no.” She laughed, a short, humorless sound.
“No?”
“No,” he repeated. “I know you're worried, but they’re not alone. They’ve got each other.” Joyce shook her head before he had even finished.
“They’re children.”
“They’re stubborn children,” Hopper corrected. “They’ll survive long enough for us to get back.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I know Jonathan.” The words escaped before he could soften them. “I know your kid. He doesn’t quit.” Neither do you, he thought, but did not say it out loud. Joyce’s eyes shimmered in the dim light.
“He’s barely sixteen”
“So was I once.” She stared at him.
“You think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” The answer was complete silence.
“Then stop acting like this is normal!”
“I’m not acting like anything’s normal.”
“Really?” Her voice climbed. “Because you seem awfully calm.”
He blinked. Calm. If only she knew. His stomach had been in knots since they’d left Hawkins. He’d been imagining every possible thing that could be waiting for them when they got back. Every siren. Every body. Every nightmare. But somebody had to keep their head. If Joyce was clearly losing hers… He couldn’t afford to lose his too. He was still chief.
“I’m trying,” he said evenly, “to make sure we both get back alive.”
“I don’t care.” His jaw tightened.
“I know you don’t.” She turned so quickly he barely had time to react.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re thinking like a mother.”
“And you’re not thinking like a father?”
“No, not right now. I’m thinking like the idiot who’s supposed to keep that mother from getting herself killed.” The room fell silent. The next thunder seemed louder now. Closer. Joyce looked at him for a long moment, and there was exhaustion in her face. Fear. Grief, maybe. They were fine just two days ago, but now… There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite read. Then she reached for the coat hanging by the front door. Hopper straightened immediately.
“Joyce.” She shoved one arm into the sleeve. “Joyce.” He repeated himself, more serious now.
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m done waiting.” She grabbed the doorknob, and he crossed the room in three strides.
“Joyce.” She turned just enough to look at him over her shoulder.
“If you’re staying…” Her voice trembled despite herself. “Then stay.” She opened the door, and the wind slammed into the house like a living thing, the rain followed it immediately, cold and relentless. The hallway light spilled across the soaked porch before another flash of lightning swallowed everything in white. Without another word, she simply stepped into the storm. For one frozen second, Hopper simply stared after her.
“…Jesus Christ.” From somewhere in the kitchen, Murray called
“Did one of you finally do something stupid?” Hopper yanked the old umbrella from beside the door.
“Yeah. Very much. He didn’t bother opening it. He just took off after her into the rain. “I'll be back. Watch smirnoff.”
Rain hit him before he had both feet off the porch. It was cold and heavy. Within seconds it had plastered his shirt to his back and soaked through his jeans, the water running down the back of his neck beneath the collar of his jacket. The umbrella almost snapped open with a reluctant crack above his head, immediately straining against the wind.
“Joyce!” She didn’t turn. She wasn’t running, and that almost made it worse. She walked with the determined, uneven pace of someone whose body was begging them to stop while their mind refused to listen. Her shoulders were squared against the storm, one arm wrapped around herself as the rain lashed across the empty road.
“Joyce!” Nothing. He caught up within half a minute.
“Will you go back, for the love of God?”
“No.” She didn’t even look at him. He pushed the open umbrella toward her, angling it over her head instead of his own. It made almost no difference. The rain came sideways.
“You are getting soaked.”
“So are you.”
“I don’t care about me.”
“I see it. Or anyone else..” Lightning cracked somewhere frighteningly close, the flash swallowed the road. thunder came almost immediately afterward, so violent it seemed to rise from the pavement beneath their feet. Joyce didn’t flinch.
“Joyce.”
“What?” She was already half shouting, the noise of the water falling making absolutely impossible to not do so.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“You need to stop.”
“I need to get home.”
“You can’t.”
“I can walk.”
“To Hawkins?”
“If I have to.” He stared at her. And he knew she meant it. Jesus. She actually meant it.
“You’ve lost your damn mind.”
“I don’t have time to have my damn mind.”
She simply kept walking. He sighed through clenched teeth and fell into step beside her. For nearly a minute neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the relentless hiss of rain, their shoes splashing through growing puddles, and the groaning branches overhead. The umbrella was becoming increasingly pointless. Every gust caught beneath it, threatening to wrench it from Hopper’s grip. He lowered it slightly, trying to shield her face. She immediately stepped away from it.
“Oh, come on.”
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s an umbrella.”
“I know what it is.”
“So use it.”
“I said no, use it yourself.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
“You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”
“Well, yeah, spent time with you and learned from the best.” Despite everything, the corner of his mouth almost twitched. Almost. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
“Joyce…” She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“They’re scared.”
“I know.”
“They’re probably wondering where we are.”
“I know.”
“They probably think…” Her voice caught. “…they probably think I left them. I didn't expect it to take so long. And now I can't even call them. They're my kids. I shouldn't have came” The words were so quiet he almost missed them beneath the rain. His chest tightened. Without thinking, he reached for her elbow. She pulled away instantly. “Don’t.”
“I’m trying to…” He tried speaking.
“And I said don’t.”
“I’m simply trying to keep you from walking into traffic.”
“There isn’t any traffic, Hopper.”
“There could be.”
“But there isn’t.” She shouted, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, water almost coming along with oxygen. “And even if there was I don't… ugh, nevermind.”
“There it is again.” She looked at him then, annoyed.
“What?”
“You keep saying you don’t care.”
“Because I don’t.” Her words came out with spite.
“You don’t care if you get hit by a truck?”
“No, I just…” SHe groaned. “Right now, I care about my children.”
“And I'm trying to make you understand I do too but you..I.”
“NO. Stop it. Stop talking. You don’t understand.” He stopped walking. She didn’t. He watched her get several paces ahead before calling after her.
“No.” His voice carried differently this time. Lower. Sharper. “I probably don’t.” She slowed down, because she hadn't heard him speak in that specific tone in… forever. “But don’t stand there pretending I don’t care what happens to those boys. To my girl” She turned. Rain streamed from her hair, down her cheeks, catching briefly in her eyelashes. A little string of guilt crossed her chest.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I…”
“You think because I’m telling you to wait, somehow I don’t understand?” He laughed once, tired and bitter. “I’ve buried a kid, Joyce. I know, what it is to worry.” The words hung between them. Joyce’s face fell immediately, alongside with the stubborn need to not let him speak. The storm seemed to pause around them. Not physically, but in that strange way grief could make everything else sound farther away. His voice was quieter now.
“I know exactly what it feels like to think every second counts. I know what it feels like to think maybe if I’d gotten there sooner…” He looked down at the rainwater collecting around his boots. “…maybe things would’ve been different.” Joyce swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry.”
Another silence. This one heavier. More dangerous. She took a slow breath. Then started walking again. Not faster. Just… forward. Hopper looked toward the sky for a moment, as though asking whatever cosmic force had orchestrated this night for a little patience. He got thunder instead.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. Then he followed… He always did. The road stretched ahead in darkness, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning. Pools of water had already begun swallowing the edges of the cracked asphalt, and every few yards another branch littered the shoulder. Joyce stumbled. A hidden pothole beneath the floodwater caught her foot. Hopper’s hand shot out instinctively. He caught her before she hit the ground, and she yanked herself free almost immediately.
“Stop grabbing me.”
“I will when you stop trying to break your damn neck.”
“I wasn’t… Ugh” She threw up both hands. “For God’s sake, Hopper!”
“Oh me? Me? For God’s sake, Joyce!” They were both shouting now. A little bit because the storm demanded it, but a little because they intended to. She turned on him so quickly he nearly collided with her.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop walking in the middle of a thunderstorm.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can, you….”
“I can’t!” The word tore out of her, loud and scratchy against her throat. “I am not standing and wondering if they’re alive! You truly do not understand that, even after everything? I can't… I can't believe you.” Neither of them moved, while the rain poured off the umbrella between them. Hopper stared at her for a long moment. Then, much more softly.
“You truly think I don't care?” That finally made her look at him. Really look. For the first time since she’d walked out of Murray’s house, she saw it. The exhaustion beneath his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way his hand gripped the umbrella so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He was scared too. Terrified. He just wore it differently. And somehow… That only made her angrier. Joyce let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“I didn’t say…”
“No, you didn’t.” He said, dry and rough. She took another step backward, rain running down her face so steadily it was impossible to tell where the tears began. Not sad ones, simply exhausted. “Because you never say anything, Joyce.”
Another flash of lightning painted the road white. For a heartbeat, they stood frozen in it. Then darkness swallowed them again.
“And you just decide.” Joyce’s voice shook now. “You decide what’s safest. What’s smartest. What’s best.”
“Somebody has to.”
“And it always has to be you?” She looked hurt, letting emotion be louder for a moment.
“When nobody else is thinking straight? Yeah.” She stared at him.
“So that’s what this is?”
“What?”
“You think I’m hysterical.”
“I think you’re terrified.”
“I am terrified!”
“So am I!” The words echoed down the empty road before thunder drowned them out. For a long moment neither of them spoke. The only sound was rain hammering against the umbrella. Joyce looked away first.
“You don’t understand.”
“You said that already.” He rolled his eyes and she shook her head.
“I mean… you don’t understand what it’s like.” He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he rubbed a hand over his soaked face.
“Tell me then.”
“My whole life…” she began, her voice quieter now, “every time something happened, I was the one who had to fix it, Hop.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was looking somewhere far beyond him. “When Lonnie left…” A bitter smile. “I had to make sure the lights stayed on.” Another step. “When Jonathan got sick.” Another. “When Will had nightmares.” Another. “When there wasn’t enough money.” She swallowed. “I fixed it.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “I always fix it. Alone.” Hopper listened without interrupting. “So what am I supposed to do now?” She looked at him again.
“What am I supposed to do, Hop?” The nickname slipped out again so naturally neither of them acknowledged it. “My boys are there.” Her voice cracked. “They’re probably scared. They’re probably looking for me, worried. And you’re asking me to sit in Murray’s house…” She laughed weakly. “…drink tea… and hope somebody else saves them.”
Silence. Hopper took a slow breath.
“I am.” She stared, but he continued before she could do so. “Because if we die trying to get back…” His voice remained calm, but there was something fraying underneath it now. “Then nobody’s coming.” She shook her head. “And I know you.” Something in her expression faltered. “You don’t stop. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You don’t think. You just keep going until you collapse.” She scoffed.
“I’m still standing.”
“Barely. You’re not okay. You…”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” His answer came so quickly she almost recoiled. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t moved, but something about the certainty in those three words struck deeper than any argument they’d had all night. He looked at her for a long second.
“I’ve known you since we were kids.” His voice softened. “I know what you look like when you’re angry. I know what you look like when you’re scared.” Another pause. “And I know what you look like when you’re lying.” Joyce’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not lying.”
“You know you are.”
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re falling apart.” She looked as though he’d slapped her.
“I am not.”
“You are being very repetitive today.”
“No!” Her voice cracked on the word. “I’m holding it together.”
“Barely. You don't have too…” She did not let him finish.
“Yes I have to. I'm all they have, I don’t have a choice.”
“I know.”
“So stop acting like I’m crazy!”
“I never said you were.” She threw both arms into the air.
“You keep looking at me like I’m made of glass!”
“Because you’re walking into a damn thunderstorm!” If she didn't trust him so much, she'd flinch. His voice was louder. “And I don’t want you dead! I can't live with it” The words exploded out of him before he could stop them. Silence hit again. Real silence. Even the storm went back to seeming distant for one impossible second. Joyce blinked. Hopper closed his eyes. Damn it. He hadn’t meant… No. That wasn’t true. He had meant it. He just hadn’t meant to say it out loud. When he opened his eyes again, she was still staring.
“I don’t…” she began carefully.
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t understand why you’re making this your responsibility.” He frowned.
“What?”
“My boys…” She gestured helplessly between them. “ANd me.” Another breath. “You don’t have to carry all of this. Those issues are mine to deal with. You have other things on your plate” Something unreadable crossed his face.
“I know.”
“So why do you do it anyway?” He looked away, toward the flooded road stretching endlessly into the darkness.
“I don’t know.” It wasn’t convincing. Joyce knew him too well.
“You do. yOu just don't want to tell me” He tightened his grip on the umbrella.
“I really don’t.”
“You always…”
“I said, that I don’t.” He said, sharper now. She took another step closer. Close enough now that the umbrella covered them both. He didn't even remember putting it up, probably just fidgeting with it like a nervous kid with an eraser in a boring class.
“Then tell me what's going on” His jaw flexed.
“There isn’t anything to tell.”
“Of course there is.”
“I said there's not, I…”
“Hopper!!”
“Joyce??”
“Why are you even here?” The question landed heavy. Not shouted. Not angry. Just… tired. Confused. As though she genuinely couldn’t understand why he had followed her into the storm. Hopper looked at her. Rain dripped from the end of his nose. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His chest rose and fell once. Twice. When he finally answered, his voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.
“…Because you asked me to.”
The words lingered between them. Joyce frowned. The rain softened for a moment, no longer pounding against the umbrella but falling in heavy, steady sheets around them. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled across the fields, lower now, almost tired.
“What?”
Hopper didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at the umbrella in his hand as though he’d only just remembered he was carrying it. Then back at her.
“You asked me to.”
“I…”
“You came to my cabin.” She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “You knocked on my door.” His voice was steady. “I was halfway through my morning. I wasn’t planning on leaving.” Another pause. “You asked me to.” His eyes met hers. “So I came.” Joyce felt something tighten painfully in her chest.
“Hop…”
“You ask.” He shrugged one shoulder, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I come.” Another silence. “It doesn’t matter if it’s two in the morning.” His gaze drifted somewhere over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if it’s because Jonathan stayed out too late. It doesn’t matter if Will is panicking becauuse of another nightmare. It doesn’t matter if your phone stopped working. It doesn’t matter if somebody’s fucking dead.” His jaw flexed. “It doesn’t matter if we’re driving across three damn states because you think some crazy Russian conspiracy is real.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at one corner of his mouth. “You ask.” He looked back at her. “I come.”
Joyce couldn’t speak. She remembered every one of those moments. Every late-night knock. Every frantic phone call. Every time she’d assumed… No. Every time she’d expected that Hopper would show up. Because he always had. He shifted his weight, water dripping steadily from the sleeves of his jacket.
“You asked me to help you find Will… And I did. “You asked me to look into the lab. You asked me to walk into that Russian craze” His eyebrows lifted.
“I wasn’t thrilled about that one.” She looked away trying to joke off the heaviness of the moment, but it didn't work. His voice stayed quiet.
“I don’t think you understand.” The warmth vanished from his expression as quickly as it had appeared.
“Understand what?” She said confused, and he laughed again, exhausted.
“You think I do all this because I’m the chief.”
“I…”
“You think it’s purely because it’s my job.”
“I didn’t say that, and...”
“No.” He interrupted her again. “You never say it.” His fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. “So let me save you the trouble.” He took one slow step closer. “I don’t do it because it’s my job.” Another. “I don’t do it because I feel sorry for you.” Another. “I don’t do it because I think you’re helpless.” By now they were standing so close she could see the tiny droplets of rain caught in his eyelashes. “I do it because…” He stopped himself. Whatever he’d been about to say caught somewhere behind his teeth. He looked away. “…Because somebody has to.”
Joyce’s heart sank. No. That wasn’t it. She knew him well enough to hear the lie. Small. Protective. Cowardly. She stepped closer.
“Somebody?” She was almost disappointed in a way she didn't understand, and he nodded once.
“Yeah.” She searched his face.
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should.”
“I’ve known you since we were five, Jimmy” She used the nickname his mother used back when he was a kids. His eyes closed briefly.
“Don’t.”
“I know when you’re lying too.”
“I said don’t.” She ignored him.
“You left Hawkins with me. You’ve spent those last days nearly getting yourself killed. You came after me into a thunderstorm… Why?” His jaw tightened.
“I already answered that.”
“No, you didn't. You gave me the safe answer.”
“It wasn’t…”
“It was.” She was the one talking rough now. Another flash of lightning split the sky. For a heartbeat, they were illuminated in stark white. Joyce could see the exhaustion carved into every line of his face. Could see how hard he was holding himself together. She took another careful step. Their boots were almost touching now. “Why are you really here?”
Hopper stared at her. She could practically watch him retreat behind the walls he’d spent years building. Brick by brick. Silence by silence. He was about to shut down. She knew it. So she said the one thing she knew would stop him.
“…Because if it’s just duty…” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “…then you can go.” His expression didn’t change. Not at first. Then something flickered. Small, and almost imperceptible. Hurt. She saw it, and almost reached for him. Instead she kept talking. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“No.” His voice was flat now. “I don’t.”
“You’ve already done enough.”
“I know.”
“So if that’s all this is…” She forced herself to finish. “…you don’t have to keep following me.”
For a long time, Hopper simply looked at her. Rain dripped from the brim of the umbrella between them. He swallowed once. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it.
“…You’re… nevermind. You'll never get it.” It wasn’t anger. Not yet. It was disappointment. The kind that settled deep in the bones. As though, after everything… She still hadn’t seen him at all. Joyce’s stomach tightened.
“What don’t I get?” Hopper let out a slow breath through his nose. For a second, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he laughed… but it wasn’t amused. JUst tired. Defeated.
“You know what the funny part is?” She waited. “I don’t even think you mean to do it.”
“Do what?” He looked at her for a long moment before answering.
“Make me feel like I imagined all of it.” The words landed softly. They hurt anyway.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about…” He gestured vaguely between them. “This.”
“This?”
“This.” He took another breath. “I spend half my damn life showing up.” His eyes dropped to the flooded pavement. “And every time…” He shook his head. “…every single time…” His voice grew quieter. “…it’s like the minute the danger passes, you forget I was ever there.” Joyce stared at him.
“That’s not true.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You sure?” She frowned.
“I never asked you to…”
“No.”
He cut her off.
“You never asked. You just expected.” The sentence stung because she couldn’t deny it. He had always been there. Always. She had stopped wondering whether he would come years ago. She had simply assumed he would.
“When Will disappeared…” His eyes never left hers. “…I was there.” She nodded almost imperceptibly. “When Bob died…” A flicker of pain crossed Joyce’s face. “…I was there.”
“I know, I…”
“When El closed the Gate.” Another nod. “When you called me in the middle of the night because your goddamn magnets stopped sticking to the refrigerator…” Despite everything, the memory almost made him smile. “I came.” He shrugged. “Didn’t even ask why. I just got dressed. Got in the truck. Came to your house.” He looked around at the empty road. “And now here we are.” He spread one hand. “Three states away. So don’t stand there asking me why I’m here.” His voice finally cracked. “How the hell do you not know?”
Joyce opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Because she didn’t know. Or rather… She had never let herself ask. She had accepted him the way people accepted sunrise. Certain. Constant. There.
“You…” she began carefully. “You’ve always… She couldn’t finish. He nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I have.”
Silence. The rain beat relentlessly around them. Neither of them noticed anymore. Joyce swallowed.
“I never thought you felt…” She searched helplessly for the word. “…obligated.”
Hopper blinked. Then another humorless laugh escaped him.
“Obligated?” He looked almost offended. “Joyce…” He took one slow step closer. “I’ve been a cop for a long time. I know obligation. I know responsibility. I know duty.” His eyes searched hers, something deeper than it had been for so long. “This isn’t that.” The words came before he could stop them. “I stopped knowing where duty ended and you began a long damn time ago.” His face changed the instant he heard himself say it. Regret. Immediate. He looked away when she didn't respond, standing still, as wide eyed as she could be while the water ran down their faces.
“You know what? Forget that.”
“No.” She finally said.
“Joyce...”
“No.” She moved closer before she even realized she was doing it. Rain dripped from the ends of her hair onto her coat.
“What did you mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything.”
“You absolutely did.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me.”
“Well, it shouldn’t.” He said, and closed his eyes. She could almost see the battle inside him. Every instinct he had was telling him to pull back. To make a joke. To get angry. To change the subject. Instead, he stood there, breathing hard. He wasn’t looking at her anymore.
“I just…” Another breath. “…started measuring things by whether or not they involved you.” Joyce felt tears mixing with the rain. “If something happened in Hawkins…” His gaze remained fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “…my first thought was you. If the phone rang late… You. If somebody knocked on my door… You.” He swallowed. “If I heard there’d been an accident…” His jaw tightened. “It was always…you.” Finally, he looked at her.
“I don’t know how to explain that to you.” His expression was so heartbreakingly open that it almost frightened her. “I don’t know how to tell you that somewhere along the way…” He stopped. Shook his head. “…your life started feeling like my responsibility. Not because it was. Or because somebody told me so. Solely because…” He searched for the words. “…because if anything happened to you…” His voice broke for the first time all night. “…I don’t know what I’d do.”
Joyce forgot about the storm. Forgot about Hawkins.
Forgot about everything except the man standing in front of her, looking at her as though he’d finally grown too tired to keep pretending. She took another small step.
“So why didn’t you ever tell me?” He smiled sadly.
“Tell you what?”
“Any of this.” His smile disappeared.
“Because you were married.” The answer came without hesitation. “Then you were griefing. Then you loved Bob.” His eyes softened. “And after…” He looked away. “…after Bob…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You had enough to survive. I wasn’t about to hand you one more thing to carry.” Joyce felt her heart splinter.
“Hop…”
“No.” He shook his head gently. “Don’t. I’ve managed to keep my mouth shut this long. So forget it. And I can do it a little longer.”
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. Neither of them noticed that the umbrella had slipped lower between them. Neither noticed that Hopper’s hand had started trembling. Or that, despite the pouring rain, neither of them had taken another step toward Hawkins in several long minutes. They had become stranded somewhere much more dangerous. In twenty years of things left unsaid.
Joyce looked at him for what felt like the first time all night. His shoulders sagged beneath the soaked jacket.
The umbrella, battered by the wind, had become little more than a formality. Water streamed from the edges, dripping steadily between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him this… Open. It scared her. Because if Hopper was opening up… Then something inside him had already broken.
“Hop…” She reached for his forearm. He didn’t pull away, but didn’t reach back, either. “I didn’t know…. You never said anything.”
“How could I?” He looked at her with tired eyes. “You were raising two boys. You were trying to survive. I figured…” He shrugged. “…I’d just survive too.” The simplicity of it hurt more than anything dramatic could have. Joyce lowered her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have had to.” A faint smile crossed his face.
“Probably not.” She laughed weakly, trying to map out the feelings through her tears.
“You make everything sound so…“So normal.” He considered that.
“It’s easier.”
“For who?” He didn’t answer. She already knew. For everyone except him. The silence settled again. Long enough for another flash of lightning to illuminate the empty road, and for Joyce’s fear to come rushing back. She looked toward the invisible highway leading east. Things were becoming too real, and a different kind of fear settled. She swallowed her feelings, and tried to change the subject back to what it should be.
“We still need to get back.” Her breathing became uneven again. He frowned. She shook her head violently. What if we’re too late?”
“We’re not.”
“You don’t know that! Stop saying you do!”
“I’m saying it because somebody has to believe we’re getting home!” His voice rose with hers. “If you give up, then what?”
“I am not giving up!”
“You walked into a thunderstorm!”
“Because they’re my children!”
“And because you’re terrified!”
“Yes!” She finally screamed it, admitting it fully. “I am terrified!” The admission echoed into the darkness. “I am terrified, Hopper!” Her chest heaved. “I keep thinking about Will.” She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. “I keep thinking about the quarry. The tunnels. The Mind Flayer. I keep thinking…” Her voice dissolved. “I can never, never stop thinking. How can I? What if this time I don’t get him back?”
Hopper’s expression softened instantly. Without thinking, he stepped closer.
“Joyce…”
“No.” She backed away. “If something happens to them…” Another step. “I’ll never forgive myself. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve found another way.”
“There wasn’t one.”
“I shouldn’t have left them. Not like their father. And I did. I left!” She laughed, almost hysterically. “Again.” The word caught Hopper’s attention immediately. Again? She didn’t notice.
“I keep leaving them.”
“Joyce…”
“They need me, and I’m never there when it matters.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is!” She looked at him desperately.
“You don’t understand.” Something inside Hopper snapped, not in anger, but in a new level of deep exhaustion.
“Stop saying that.”
“What?”
“Stop telling me I don’t understand. You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t understand.” His voice had become dangerously quiet. “You don’t get to tell me what I know about losing people.”
“I wasn’t talking about Sara.”
“I know you weren’t.”
“Then why are you…”
“Because every damn time you say I don’t understand…” He took another step. “…it’s like everything I’ve ever lived through suddenly doesn’t count.” Joyce’s face fell.
“I never meant that.” Her face was collapsing. She was so tired of the screaming, crying, talking slow and going back to screaming, she barely knew when she started to ignore the tears, and stopped trying not to look broken.
“I know. But you keep doing it. And even if you don't believe it, it matters to me. I do have a goddamn heart” She opened her mouth and closed it again, watched her struggle for words, then sighed.
“I’ve spent twenty years…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “…trying to be whatever you needed. The cop. The friend. The guy with a truck. The guy who fixes things. The guy who picks up the phone. The guy who comes when you call. Always. Always comes.” His eyes met hers again. “And somehow…” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “…I’m still standing here trying to convince you that I actually give a damn. You truly truly never noticed before, how I do care”
Joyce felt the weight of every one of those words settle over her. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to convince her. That she knew. That she’d always known. But had she? Or had she simply depended on him so completely that she’d stopped seeing what it cost him? The thought made her stomach twist.
“I’m sorry.” It came out as little more than a whisper. He nodded once. “I’ve been so focused on… myself, I think…that I haven’t…” She searched helplessly. “…I haven’t looked at you.” His expression didn’t change.
“I know.”
“And I should have.” Another silence. Then, quietly, she spoke again. “And I think you’ve needed me to for a long time.” For the first time that night, Hopper looked away. Not because he was angry. Because she was getting too close to the truth. Too close to the place he’d spent years making sure neither of them ever reached. He didn’t look back at her immediately, and simply stood there, shoulders rising and falling beneath the rain, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the flooded road as though the darkness might offer him an escape.
It didn’t. Nothing ever did. Joyce took another cautious step.
“Hop…” His name was barely audible now. Not because of the storm, but because she’d run out of anger. All that remained was a deep mix of a deep guilt, with the remaining of the fear. “I’m sorry.” He nodded once. She wrapped her arms around herself against the cold. “I mean it.”
“I know.” Another silence.
“You’ve always been there.” He gave the smallest shrug.
“I tried.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You were.” She swallowed. “You always believed me.” Despite everything, she almost smiled too. “When everyone thought I was losing my mind…you stayed.” Her voice cracked, and the hint of a smile on his lips escaped away into the translucid droplets dripping from his nose. She looked down at the water swirling around their boots.
“I think…” She hesitated. “I think I’ve taken that for granted.” The admission hung between them. He didn’t answer. She looked back up. “I just…” Another deep breath. “I got used to you.” That finally made him look at her. There was no anger in his face. Only a sadness so old it looked permanent.
“I know.”
“I never stopped to think…” Her eyes filled again. “…that every time I called…you were choosing me.” His jaw tightened.
“It wasn’t a choice.” The answer escaped before he could stop it. He sighed immediately afterward. “Forget I said that.”
“I can’t.”
“You should.”
“I won’t, then” Lightning flashed again. Closer this time. For a brief instant the rain glittered silver around them.
“You keep asking me why I followed you.” His voice had become almost conversational. Quiet and measured. “As if there was ever another option.”
“And there wasn’t?”
“No, there wasn’t.” He laughed softly. “You don’t understand me at all.” She frowned.
“Then help me.” He looked at her for a long time. Then finally spoke.
“You know what the problem is?” She waited. “You think every time I show up, I’m making a decision to do so.” He shook his head. “I’m not. It’s automatic.” His hand tightened around the umbrella handle.”And it's so tiring.’ A pause. “You call, I answer. You need something, I come. You tell me to jump., I ask how high.” A crooked smile appeared for the briefest second. “Hell… You told me we were driving halfway across the country because magnets stopped working.” Another tiny shake of his head.” And look where we're at. I’ve spent so damn long showing up… I don’t think I know how not to anymore.” The confession was so quiet she almost missed it. He wasn’t smiling now. She felt her chest tighten painfully.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It isn’t.”
“No?” He shook his head. “It’s the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done.”
“What, exactly?” He looked at her.
“Loving somebody who’s never asked me to.” The words slipped out before he could catch them. His entire body went still. Joyce stopped breathing. For one impossible heartbeat, neither of them moved. Hopper looked horrified. Not because he regretted loving her. Because he’d finally said it. He looked away immediately. “Forget that.” His words came out dry. But she couldn’t. And now, she never would.
“Hop…”
“No.” He rubbed both hands over his face, smearing rainwater across already soaked skin. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You love me?” Silence. He didn’t answer.
“Do you?.” She insisted on it, and silence kept dragging on between them. His jaw flexed when he swallowed.
“I said forget it.”
“I can’t simply do that..”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing good comes from this conversation.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve had twenty years to think about it.” His voice was tired now. “So trust me.” She stared at him.
“I don’t.” He gave a humorless laugh.
“I noticed.” She took another hesitant step toward him.
“So all this time…” His shoulders tensed. “…you’ve been in love with me?” He closed his eyes.
“I am begging you, Joyce… leave it.”
She searched his face. Every line. Every scar. Every year she’d known him. How had she never seen it? Or had she? Had she simply refused to? She whispered his name again.
“Hop…” His eyes opened. They were glassy now. Not from the rain. From something he’d spent twenty years refusing to feel.
“You really wanna know why I’m here?” His voice was calm. Too calm. “You really wanna know why I keep following you?” She nodded slowly. “Okay. Ask me that, then.” Joyce’s heart pounded and the storm seemed to get stronger for a moment, because she swore she was about to fall down on her knees. Maybe it was the wind, the cold… Or the overwhelming feeling of talking about feelings she ignored for half her life. Very quietly, she asked,
“…Why are you here?” He looked at her for a long moment. Then answered with a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“…Because if I wasn’t…” He swallowed. “…I’d spend the rest of my life wondering whether you made it home. And I couldn’t live with that.” A beat. “I can live without being loved back. A world where you hate me. Where you simply do not care.” His voice broke. “But I can’t live in a world where something happened to you because I wasn’t there.”
Joyce felt tears spill freely now. She took one instinctive step toward him. He took one back. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Because now there was nothing left protecting either of them. Joyce couldn’t move. The rain had become little more than a distant roar, muffled beneath the sound of her own heartbeat.
He had taken a step back. Just one. The first in twenty years. He had never been the one to step away.
“Hop…” Her voice trembled. He shook his head before she could say anything else.
“Don’t.”
“I…”
“I can’t do this ok? I can't, because I get it by now you’re only talking because you feel sorry for me.” Her eyes widened.
“Sorry for you?”
“I don’t want pity.” His voice remained quiet. “I’ve managed twenty years without it.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“No?” He smiled, but it was the saddest thing she’d ever seen. “You just found out. You’ve had about…” He glanced toward the sky as though trying to calculate. “…thirty seconds to think about it. I’ve had twenty years.” Joyce felt her throat tighten. He looked exhausted. Completely done for. Like he had finally set down a weight he’d been carrying for so long andforgotten what standing straight felt like.
“I just…” He swallowed. “…needed you to know.” Silence. “I couldn’t let you keep thinking I was here because I felt obligated.” His eyes searched hers one last time. “I couldn’t let you believe I don’t care.” The words wrapped around her heart, and she took a careful step toward him.
“So all those times…” He closed his eyes.
“Joyce… please.” He tried arguing.
“When I called, or asked you to come over… when I woke you up…You never minded?”
That finally made him laugh. A real laugh this time. Small. Disbelieving.
“Of course I minded.”
She blinked, and he rubbed a hand over his forehead.
“I hated getting woken up. I hated driving across town. I hated having to ask Murray for help.” Despite herself, she let out a watery laugh. “ANd I definitely hate Indiana.” She smiled through her tears.
“Then why?” He looked at her as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Because it was you.” The smile disappeared from her face.
“So…” He shrugged. “…I came.”
Joyce felt something inside her finally give way. All those years. All those tiny moments she’d filed away without thinking. Hopper fixing a broken lock. Waiting on the porch after Will’s nightmares. Changing the tire on her car without being asked. Bringing groceries over when Jonathan was working late. Checking every strange noise before she’d even finished explaining it over the phone. She’d called it kindness. Friendship. Duty. She’d never asked herself why it was always him. And why he never once complained. Until tonight.
“Oh, God…”
The words escaped her before she realized she’d spoken. Hopper frowned.
“What?”
“I…” She shook her head. “I’ve been so blind.”
“No. You were surviving.”
“I was using you.” His expression hardened immediately.
“No… It’s not like that Joyce, you…
“I was.” She looked at him desperately.
“I just… I always assumed…” She laughed bitterly at herself. “…that you’d be there.”
“I know.”
“I never even asked if it cost you anything.”
“It didn’t.”
“But It did.” She stared at him. I’ve hurt you.” He looked away.
“You’ve disappointed me.” The correction was gentle. Far gentler than she deserved.
“I’ve hurt you,” she repeated. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, because it was the full on truth. She stepped closer again. Close enough that she could have reached out and touched his jacket. He didn’t move.
“I never wanted to.”
“I know.”
“I never wanted you to feel…” She searched for the word. “…forgotten.” His jaw flexed.
“I know.”
“I never wanted you to think I didn’t see you.” This time, something shifted in his face, barely just enough for her to notice.
“You didn’t.” His voice barely carried over the rain. “You saw me.” He smiled sadly. “You just never really looked.”
The sentence hit her harder than anything he’d said all night. Because again, it was true. She had seen Jim Hopper. The chief. The friend. The man who fixed things. The man who showed up. But she hadn’t looked closely enough to notice the way his eyes lingered on her after everyone else had left the room. Or the way he always walked on the street side of the sidewalk. Or how he’d unconsciously memorized the boys’ schedules. Or that he’d started keeping her favorite coffee in his cabin years ago. Not because she’d asked him to. Because someday… She might. Her breath caught.
“I’m looking now.”
For the first time since he’d followed her into the storm, Hopper looked afraid. Not of the thunder, of the monsters around Hawkins, or even of losing the fight. Of believing her. Hopper couldn’t make himself look away. She was looking at him differently now. Really differently. Not through him. At him. Twenty years. It had taken twenty years. His chest hurt. He wasn’t even sure why anymore. Maybe because it was too late. Maybe because it wasn’t. Maybe because he’d spent so long convincing himself this moment would never happen that now he didn’t know what to do with it. Joyce took another careful step.
“So…” Her voice barely carried through the rain. “What happens now?” He smiled. Small. Tired.
“Nothing.” She frowned.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“I mean…” He shrugged. “…nothing changes.” The words seemed to hurt him as much as they hurt her. “We still have to get back to Hawkins.” He gestured vaguely toward the road. “We still have kids to save. We still have a monster to deal with.” Another shrug. “And tomorrow…” He looked away. “…tomorrow I’ll pretend I never said any of this.” Joyce stared at him.
“No.”
“It’ll be easier.”
“It won’t. I don’t want that.” He nodded slowly.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.” Something inside Joyce twisted painfully.
“No. I know you, Hop.” She sounded somewhat desperate now. He looked at her with a heartbreaking tenderness.
“No. You know the version of me that shows up when you need something.” The sentence slipped out before he could soften it, and immediately, he regretted it. “I didn’t mean…” She shook her head.
“I know more than that.”
“You know the chief.”
“I know Jim.”
“You know the guy who fixes your sink.”
“I know my best friend.”
“You know…” He stopped. “…the version of me that’s useful.” Joyce’s face fell.
“Don’t do that.” She looked hurt.
“I’m just saying, Joyce, that…”
“No.” She stepped closer again. “You are not useful to me.” His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“No?”
“No.”
“You are…” She searched desperately for the words. “…you’re home.”
His entire face changed. For one impossible second. Hope. Raw and unprotected. She saw it. Then fear crushed it almost immediately. He looked away again.
“Joyce…”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t know...”
“No, listen to me.”
“I am.”
“I don’t know when…” She laughed shakily. “I don’t know when you stopped being just… just Jim.” Her voice trembled. “But somewhere…” She smiled through tears. “…somewhere you became the first person I look for.” Hopper’s breath caught when shee kept going. “And when things go wrong…I just… I think of you. When I’m scared, I think of you. ANd when I don’t know what to do, I call you.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I call you because…” She looked directly into his eyes, her voice breaking again. “…because I know you’ll come.”
Silence. He couldn’t breathe. She reached for his hand. Very carefully, and he let her. Her fingers were freezing, but so were his.
“I’m sorry I never asked what that cost you.” He swallowed.
“It was worth…”
“No. You are not allowed to say that.” She squeezed his hand. “I mean it. Stop saying that.”
“It was.”
“no. It shouldn’t have been.” She looked at him desperately. “You deserved someone who came for you too.” His expression softened.
“I had that.”
“When? Who” He smiled sadly, allowing himself to truly get lost onto her eyes.
“You.” Joyce blinked.
“What?”
“You just…” He laughed quietly. “…didn’t know it.” She frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Another silence. Then a crack of thunder split the sky so violently that both of them flinched. It was followed by another. Closer and longer. Joyce instinctively looked east. The panic she’d managed to hold back came rushing in all at once. Her breathing became shallow again.
“No…” She whispered. “No…” Hopper immediately noticed.
“Joyce.”
“Hop, please. Please, we can’t stay here.”
“I know.”
“We have to go.”
“I know.” She took a step backward. Then another.
“I have to get to them.”
“We will.”
“No.” She shook her head frantically.
“We’ve wasted enough time.” She pulled her hand from his, backing away again. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, not being able to know for how much longer he could do this.
“I can’t stand here talking while they’re…” Her voice broke. “…while they’re waiting for me. For both of us.” She turned, and again, he instinctively reached for her wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop her from walking into the flooded road again.
“Joyce.” She froze for one second, then looked down at his hand. Something inside her snapped. She pulled free sharply. Her mind was a blur.
“Stop trying to stop me!”
“I’m trying to keep you alive!”
“I don’t need you to!” She took another step back, shouting, crying without trying to hide the tears streaming freely now. “I’ve spent my whole life waiting for somebody else to save me, and it never happened!”
“Joyce…”
“I’m done waiting!” He stared at her, confused. “You always tell me to wait. To think over. To be careful. To slow down.” She laughed bitterly. “And then…” Her next words came before she even knew she was saying them. “And then you leave. You make me believe I'm safe, and then you leave.”
Everything stopped. Not the rain, neither the thunder, and definitely not the wind. But Hopper did. His face didn’t change immediately. It simply… Went still. Completely still. His hand slowly fell back to his side. Joyce saw it the instant the words left her mouth. Saw them land. Saw something ancient crack behind his eyes. No. Oh, God. No.
“Hop…” He didn’t answer. “Jim…” Nothing. He was looking at her. But somehow… It felt like he was looking twenty years into the past. Hopper didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. For one endless moment, the only thing that existed was the sound of rain striking the pavement around them. Joyce’s own words echoed back at her.
You leave.
She saw the instant they reached him. Not on his face. Hopper had spent too many years learning how to hide his face. She saw it in his eyes. Something went out. Not all at once. Quietly. Like the last light in a house after everyone had gone to bed.
“Hopper.” She screamed again, crying, but nothing. He was frozen onto place, jaw tight while his eyes got more and more red. She took a hesitant step toward him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“No.” His voice was almost inaudible. Dry, hurt, firm. She stopped. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was looking through her. Past her. Into someplace she’d never been allowed to see. Another crack of thunder rolled over the fields. He finally swallowed. Then, almost to himself.
“…You don’t get to say that.” The words were angry, but more than that, they were broken. Joyce felt her stomach drop.
“Jim…” He closed his eyes His head dipped for just a second, rain running from the tip of his nose to the pavement. When he opened them again, they looked older than she had ever seen them.
“I’ll take a lot from you.” His voice remained frighteningly calm. “You wanna yell at me?” A nod. “Fine.” “You wanna tell me I’m stubborn?” Another nod. “Fair.” “You wanna tell me I’m an asshole?” The ghost of a smile. “You’ve got a pretty good case in your hands. I know I'm not a whole lot.” Joyce felt tears welling again, pursing her lips, scared to know where this was going. “You wanna tell me I worry too much.” Another nod. “FIne. I do. I'm annoying and overprotective, and I have to pretend not to be possessive, because in reality, I am. And if you wanna tell me I make everything harder than it needs to be.” He shrugged. “I probably do.” He looked at her. Finally. Directly. “But don’t…” His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “…don’t tell me I leave.” Silence.
Joyce couldn’t make herself speak. He took one slow step toward her. Not aggressively. Deliberately.
“I was nineteen.” She frowned. His voice had changed. Lower. Far away. “I was a kid back then too Joyce.” Another step. “I had a duffel bag over my shoulder.” His eyes never left hers. “I remember every damn thing about that morning.” Joyce stopped breathing. No. He wasn’t… He couldn't… “Do you even remember how it happened? Because I do.” She shrugged. “We were in the house close to the lake. Barefoot.”
The image hit her with startling clarity. Summer. Heat. His old pickup parked in front of the house. The Army bus waiting two streets over. She hadn’t thought about that morning in… God. So many years.
“You were crying.” His throat worked. “I told you not to, to forget about it, to not care. But you cried in my neck anyway.” Rain ran down both of their faces. Neither of them moved. “You hugged me so hard I thought you were gonna break one of my ribs.” A sad smile flickered, and Joyce covered her mouth, shivers all over her body while he painted an exact picture of the first time they'd said goodbye.
“Hop…” She was asking him not to. She knew where this would go.
“You made me a promise.” He laughed softly. “You told me to just come back.’” Another laugh. “You said in a whisper, not to get myself killed.’ His smile vanished. “You remember what you said after that?”
She closed her eyes. Because she did.
“Jim…” She tried speaking but her voice barely came out.
“You looked me dead in the eye…” His own eyes glistened now. “…and you said you’d wait.”
The words shattered something inside her. She remembered. She remembered every second. The smell of gasoline. His hand shaking while he tried to smile. She remembered grabbing the sleeve of his jacket because she couldn’t bear to let him go. She remembered saying it. I’ll wait.
“Oh, God…” Her whisper disappeared into the rain. He nodded slowly.
“Yeah.” Another nod. “I remembered too.” Silence. “So every day over there…” He looked toward the black sky. “…every damn day… I thought about coming home.” His voice cracked. “Not because of Hawkins. Not because of my mom. Not because I missed not being in the middle of a war.” His eyes found hers again. “You.” His chest rose unevenly. “I thought about you.”
“When things got bad…” Another swallow. “…I’d picture your front porch. I’d picture your laugh. I’d picture you making fun of my shaved hair.” A weak smile. “I’d remember dancing with you behind the gym.”
Joyce couldn’t stop crying now.
“I’d tell myself…” He laughed bitterly. “…‘Just get home.’ She’s waiting.’” Another beat of thunder. “Your‘Joy is waiting.’” He looked down. “I built an entire future out of those words.” The rain seemed impossibly loud. “When I got back…” His voice became almost frighteningly quiet. “…I didn’t get home.”
Joyce knew. He hadn’t. He’d come to her first.
“I walked straight to your house.” Another breath. “I still had my bag. hadn’t even unpacked. I could not wait a second more.” His eyes never left the flooded pavement. “Your mom answered the door.” Joyce squeezed her eyes shut. No… “She smiled.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “‘Jimmy,’ she said…. ‘It’s been a long time.’” He nodded to himself “It had.”
Another pause.
“Then she asked if I’d met your husband.” The word came out like broken glass. “Husband.” Joyce couldn’t bear to look at him.
“I didn’t know.” Joyce tried arguing, noticing how much her throat hurt when she tried to speak. She never heard him talk about that. She never heard this story, and now she felt like she might as well collapse onto the floor. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”
“I wrote.” His answer was as dry as a broken man's words could possibly be.
“I never got any…”
“I KNOW.” The shout ripped out of him before he could stop it. The sound echoed across the empty road. Immediately, he looked horrified. He looked like he would fall apart. He was mad now. Not at her. At himself. It was the first time he had actually screamed at her. He took a shaky breath. HIs whole body felt trembling and he didn't know where the cold ended and where the breaking apart began.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.” Joyce stepped toward him instinctively. He stepped back.
“No.” His voice was raw now. “Let me finish.” She froze. He was holding himself together with sheer force of will. “I can live with a lot of things, Joyce.” His breathing was uneven. “I lived with Vietnam. I lived with losing Sarah. I lived with waking up every morning in that damn cabin.” Another breath. “I lived with watching Bob love you, knowing I'd never get the chance to do so again.” His voice almost disappeared. “I even learned how to live with loving you when you didn’t love me back.” He finally looked directly into her eyes.
“But don’t…” The tears she’d never seen in his eyes finally spilled over. “…don’t you ever tell me I left.” His voice broke completely. “I never left you. I was taken. I did not have a choice. And even after this, I came back. I always came back.” He hit his own chest with the heel of his hand.
“And for twenty damn years…” Another hit. “…I have been trying…” Again. “…to find my way back to you.” His hand fell limp at his side. He stared at her. Devastated.
“So you can call me stubborn. You can call me an idiot. You can tell me I’m impossible. You can tell me I’m in your way. I’ll probably forgive you before the words are even out of your mouth.” A broken smile. “God knows I always do.” His face crumpled for the briefest second. “But that…” He shook his head. “…that is the one thing…” His voice was barely a whisper now. “…you don’t get to take away from me.” “The only thing…” He swallowed hard. “…the only thing I have never done…” He looked straight into her soul. “…is stop coming back to you.”
Joyce couldn’t breathe. She had seen Jim Hopper angry, drunk, laughing so hard he nearly fell off a porch swing.
She had seen him after Sarah. Quiet and hollow, like a ghost haunting his own life. She had seen him stitched up after fights. Bruised. Bleeding. Exhausted. But she had never, not once, ever before, seen him cry.
It wasn’t dramatic. There were no sobs. No shaking shoulders. Just one tear. Then another. As though his body had simply stopped obeying him. He dragged the heel of his hand across his face, smearing rainwater and tears together until neither could be told apart. His jaw tightened. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “I’m sorry.” Joyce stared at him.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t’ve…” He swallowed, trying to make all those emotions go down the drain alongside the his own saliva, that also tasted bitter. “…said all that. You’ve got enough on your mind.”
“Jim…”
She stepped toward him, and he stepped back again, shaking his head.
“You’ve got kids waiting for you.”
“So do you.” He blinked, and she took another step. “You have El.” His expression softened immediately.
“You love her. And I know you'd do anything for her… You know exactly how I feel. I'm sorry for how I spoke to you…” Her voice cracked a tiny bit. “And thank you. For caring. For coming.” He looked away. “I couldn’t help it.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You chose to. You always choose me.” Their eyes met in silence. He didn’t deny it, because he simply couldn’t. Joyce laughed through her tears, full of disbelief.
“My God…” She covered her mouth. “How did I not see it?” Hopper gave the smallest shrug.
“As I said, you just… You weren’t looking.” The words weren’t bitter anymore. Just true. She nodded.
“I know.” Another tear slipped down her cheek. “I know.” She looked at him. At the lines around his eyes, the gray that began to thread through his beard. And suddenly realized something that made her heart ache. He’d gotten older. While she wasn’t paying attention.
He wasn’t the nineteen-year-old boy who left Hawkins anymore. He wasn’t even the man who’d shown up at her house after Will disappeared. He’d spent years growing older… Waiting for a life that had never happened. Waiting for her. And she was too blind to see.
“Oh, Jim…” His eyes closed. He didn't want this. Didn't want her words to be said out of guilt. She crossed the last few feet between them, and he didn’t move. Didn’t retreat. Didn’t reach for her. He simply stood there. Very slowly, as if she was testing the cold wing, she lifted one hand.
Every instinct in Hopper screamed at him to lean into it, but somehow, he managed not to. He stayed perfectly still, and let his eyes remain closed when her fingers brushed his cheek, warm despite the cold rain. He flinched, now away from her touch, towards it. It was so small she almost missed it. The involuntary movement of someone who had spent far too long without being touched by the person they loved. Her heart broke.
“You’ve been carrying this alone.” She whispered, and he smiled sadly. His mind screamed at him, get it together, stop it, get out of the rain and pretend it didn't happen. Stop getting lost again into her. He let out a slow breath, trying to make the moment make sense. “Why?” The question escaped before she could stop it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked at her as though the answer were painfully obvious.
“Because you were happy.”
“I wasn’t… Lonnie was… a mistake.”
“You loved Bob.”
“I think I wanted to more than I truly did”
“But he loved you.” She nodded then. That, neither could deny. “He was a good man.”
“He was…”
“So you get it. I wasn’t gonna be the reason that fell apart. I couldn't.” Joyce felt fresh tears sting her eyes.
“And after Bob?” He looked toward the road again.
“You were grieving. It wouldn't be fair. So I tried to be there, so you wouldn't get through it alone” He smiled faintly.
“But… you… you also deserved someone.”
“I had someone.” His eyes returned to hers. “I had you. You just didn’t know it.”
The words hit her with almost physical force. She realized then, with terrible, devastating clarity, that Hopper had never been waiting for her to choose him. He had already chosen her. Years ago. He had simply… lived with the consequences. She shook her head.
“You deserved to be chosen too.” Something flickered across his face. Hope, once more. So small and fragile as dangerous, so he killed it immediately.
“Joyce…”
“No.” Her voice was steadier now than it had been all night. “You don’t get to decide what I feel anymore.” He blinked.
“What?”
“You made that decision for both of us.” She took another tiny step until there was barely any space left between them. “You decided I couldn’t love you.”
“I decided you deserved peace.”
“You decided for me.”
His mouth opened. Closed. She nodded once.
“You’ve been protecting me from the truth for so long…” Her fingers were still resting against his cheek, and he wasn't sure when they started to move in slow, long caressing, and why he didn't stop it. “…that you never stopped to ask whether the truth was what I wanted.”
He stared at her, completely still. The rain was calmer now, not as loud as when they left, but it still ran between them in silver streams. His heart was beating so loudly he was almost certain she could hear it. He spoke carefully. As though every word might shatter whatever was happening between them.
“…Joyce.”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re about to say things only because you feel guilty…” He swallowed. “…please don’t.” She frowned. “I don’t think…” His voice broke again. “…I don’t think I could survive hearing it, knowing that your feelings for me are based on pity.”
She felt her own eyes fill instantly. How long had he been living like this? How long had this man convinced himself that the only reason she could ever reach for him would be… pity? She shook her head.
“No. It's not..” Very gently, she slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, and he inhaled sharply. It felt like the first real touch in so long. The first one that wasn’t an accident. The first one in twenty years that wasn’t born of fear or urgency. “I don’t pity you, Jim.” She smiled through tears.
“I just think…” She continued, a trembling breath escaping her. “That I have a lot of apologizing to do.”
He searched her face desperately. Trying to find the lie, protect himself, trying not to believe her. And, for the first time all night, he simply couldn’t. Because she was looking at him the same way he’d been looking at her for twenty years. For a long time neither of them spoke. The storm raged around them, slower but still, branches bent under the wind, rainwater ran down the road in narrow rivers around their boots.
Hopper could only feel her hand. The one resting against the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d missed her touch until she gave it to him. That scared him. Because if one touch could undo him… What would happen if she kissed him? If she changed her mind tomorrow? If she looked at him next week the way she always had?
No. He couldn’t. He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, not to pull her away, just to hold it there for one last second before gaining courage to push it back. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, almost unconsciously. Then, with more effort than Joyce thought possible, he lowered it back to her side. She frowned immediately.
“Jim?” He took one careful step backward.
“No.” The word was quiet. Almost kind.
“What?”
“We can’t.” Her heart dropped.
“Can’t what?” He laughed softly.
“You know.” She shook her head.
“No.. I don't.”
“We can’t do this.”
“Why?” He looked away.
“Because we’ll get home.” She frowned harder.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“We’ll get home.” He repeated it like it explained everything. “The kids’ll need us. Then I will have reports, a punched mayor, that lab, then more and more mess…” His voice had become strangely practical again, detached from the moment. “And then…” He smiled sadly. “…life will keep going.” Joyce stared at him, not getting his point.
“And?”
“And you deserve for life to keep going.”
“So do you.”
“No. I don’t need…” He searched for the right words. “one perfect night.” She blinked.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. But I do.” He nodded slowly.
“If we do this…” He gestured helplessly between them. “…there’s no pretending anymore.”
“And if.. I don’t want to pretend?”
“I’ve gotten very good at pretending.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” His voice cracked. “I have to, Joyce.” She stepped closer again.
“You don’t.” He smiled sadly.
“I guess you truly don’t know me very well” She almost laughed through her tears.
“I’ve known you since kindergarten.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You knew the kid. The teenager who loved you. Then the chief.” He looked down. “I wanted that to be a lie, but you don’t truly know the man who’s standing here, because there was never space to. And even when we thought there was, look where that brought us within days of.. I don't know, trying to play pretend.
“I want to know you...”
“You won’t.”
“I already do, Hop. You just… You're upset. And I get it but that's not a reason to…”
“No.” His breathing had become uneven again when he interrupted her. “You know what happens if I kiss you?” She held his gaze.
“What?”
“I don’t stop.” The honesty of it stole the air from her lungs. “I don’t know how.” His eyes remained fixed on hers. “I’ve spent twenty years pretending I don’t love you.” His voice barely carried over the rain. That word again. Her breath held, and her heart nearly stopped again. “If I kiss you…” He swallowed. “I don’t think I can ever go back to knowing I won't get to do it again.” Joyce felt tears spill down her cheeks.
“Who says you'll have to do that?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t survive losing you twice.”
The sentence came out before he could stop it. Silence. Absolute, dreaded silence. He closed his eyes immediately. Damn it. Too much. He’d said too much, again. What was wrong with his mouth tonight.
“I shouldn’t’ve…”
“No.” She stepped closer. “Don’t take that back.”
“You know I have to.”
“Don't. Please. I'm asking you. Don't.” Her voice rose for the first time in several minutes. “You don’t get to decide that either.”
“Joyce.”
“No.” She shook her head, rain flying from her hair. “You’ve spent twenty years deciding for both of us.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You were only protecting yourself.” He froze. The words landed, not as an accusation, as a realization. She saw it in his face. He’d never thought of it that way. She stepped even closer.
“So just… Talk to me. Tell me.” He looked at her cautiously.
“What?”
“What are you afraid of?” He laughed a short, incredulous sound.
“What am I afraid of?”
“Yeah.” He stared at her, then looked around at the storm surrounding them.
“I’m standing in the middle of a thunderstorm with the woman I’ve loved for half my life.” Another small laugh. “I’m pretty sure the answer’s obvious.”
“No.” She shook her head gently. “Right now… I think you’re afraid of me.” His smile disappeared.
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. I’m afraid of tomorrow.” She frowned.
“Tomorrow?”
“When we wake up.”
He looked straight into her eyes.
“When this feels like a mistake. When you remember I’m just…” He gestured toward himself, nodded his head no, and pierced his own lips together, trying not to let too much feeling come along with the words. “…me.”
Joyce felt her heart ache. She reached for both of his hands this time, and he let her, only because he was too tired to stop her. Because he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to want her close. She intertwined their fingers. So slowly, so deliberately that his breath caught.
“I’ve spent years thinking I had to be brave for everyone.” She smiled sadly. “For Will. For Jonathan. Even for El.” Her thumbs brushed gently across his knuckles. “But I think…” She looked into his blue eyes, and noticed how much she missed not staring into them. They were darker than last time. She wondered if it was the light, or something else she'd missed, while playing blind. “…I’ve been a coward with you.” He frowned.
“What?”
“I hid.” She nodded. “I hid behind my divorce. I feel terrible about it, but I hid from you with Bob. Then behind the boys, and emergencies, and timing…” Another tear escaped her. “Because if I admitted I needed you…” She laughed shakily. “…I’d have to admit why.” Hopper stopped breathing. She squeezed his hands.
“And I think…” Her voice trembled. “I’ve known for longer than I wanted to admit.” His lips parted.
“Joyce…”
“I was just…” She smiled through tears. “too scared to lose my best friend.” His heart lurched painfully.
“Joyce…”
“Because if you didn’t feel the same…” Another breath. “And I couldn’t bear it. So I convinced myself I didn't feel anything, and that your care was simply duty. I made myself blind.”
He stared at her, utterly speechless. She gave the smallest smile.
“I guess we were both protecting ourselves.”
Neither of them moved. The world seemed to shrink until there was nothing left except two people standing impossibly close beneath a useless umbrella. And for the first time in twenty years… Neither of them had anywhere left to hide.
Neither of them spoke. The words he’d thrown into the storm still hung between them, refusing to disappear.
…the only thing I have never done…
…is stop coming back to you.
Joyce couldn’t find her voice. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to tell him she remembered that morning. That she had waited. Until she couldn’t anymore. That every letter she’d written had disappeared somewhere between Hawkins and Vietnam. That she’d thought he was dead more times than she’d ever admitted aloud. That Lonnie had never been Hopper’s replacement.
He’d been the life she’d settled for after believing the one she’d dreamt of was gone. She wanted to tell him all of it. None of the words came. Hopper mistook her silence. Of course he did. He gave one slow nod to himself. Almost imperceptible. Like a man accepting a verdict he’d expected all along.
“Right.” His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. Joyce frowned.
“What?” Another confused nod.
“I said what I needed to say.”
“Hop…”
“And you heard it.”
“Jim, I…”
“So…” He drew in a long breath. “that’s enough.”
Something in the way he said it made her stomach twist. No. No, it wasn’t. He bent down. Very slowly. The umbrella had slipped from his hand sometime during the argument, landing upside down in a puddle beside the road. One of the metal ribs had bent under the wind. He stared at it for a second before crouching to pick it up. His movements were strangely careful. Deliberate. As though if he moved too quickly, something inside him might come apart. Joyce watched him straighten the bent rib with his thumb. It refused to sit properly, so he tried again.
He clicked it shut, and the fabric collapsed with a soft snap. Then he brushed muddy water from the handle against his already soaked jeans, though it made no difference whatsoever. Everything they were wearing was drenched. Everything except the silence between them. He finally looked at her. The expression on his face nearly broke her. He wasn’t devastated anymore. He’d put that away, deep down somewhere he'd hide again for years. Locked it back where it belonged. Behind the crooked smile and small, sparkly, tired eyes. Behind Jim Hopper.
“Come on.” His voice was calm again. “We should head back.” She blinked.
“Back?”
“Storm’s not letting up.” He glanced toward the road behind them.
“Murray’s probably convinced we got struck by lightning.” He even managed the ghost of a chuckle. It sounded wrong. Like hearing someone whistle at a funeral.
“We’ll leave first thing in the morning, I promise.”
“Jim…” She took a hesitant step toward him. “You can’t just…”
“I can.” He adjusted his grip on the closed umbrella. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
She felt something cold settle in the pit of her stomach. He wasn’t talking about the umbrella. He started walking. Not toward Hawkins, but back toward Murray’s farmhouse. Each step slow. Measured. As though every instinct in his body was pulling him in the opposite direction. Joyce stood frozen watching him go. The rain blurred his outline almost immediately. Just a few feet, and somehow… He already looked farther away than he had all night.
She stared at his back. Broad shoulders. Head lowered against the wind. Still carrying the useless umbrella. Still walking slightly on the left side of the road. The side closest to traffic. Even now. Even walking away from her. He was unconsciously leaving the safer side for her. The realization hit her so hard it stole the breath from her lungs. He was still protecting her. Even while he was giving up.
No. No. Her heartbeat quickened. Not like before. This wasn’t panic over Hawkins. This was different. This was terror. Real terror. Because for the first time since she was five years old… Jim Hopper wasn’t coming back. Not really. He would still answer her calls. Still help with the boys, fix broken locks, bring in the groceries when Jonathan worked late, and definitely would still stand between her family and every monster that came out of the dark.
He would do every one of those things. With a smile. With a joke. With absolute loyalty. And he would never, ever tell her he loved her again.
He’d buried it. Right there. In the middle of that rain-soaked road.
For her.
Just like he’d buried it every day for twenty years.
She watched him keep walking. He never looked back. Not once. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to keep going. The distance between them couldn’t have been more than twenty feet. But it was that of twenty years.
“Jim.” Her voice was swallowed by the storm, and he didn’t stop. She frowned, and tried to say it louder this time. “Jim!”
Nothing. His shoulders tensed, just slightly, but his pace never faltered. She started after him. Her heart was beating so fast, it was like she ran the last couple minutes instead of simply standing. She felt like she could barely breathe, as she watched him actually go away, into a place she didn't know she'd ever get him back from again. Water splashed around her ankles as she hurried to close the distance.
“Hop!” The shout was desperate, and this time around he stopped. His back remained to her. The umbrella still hung loosely from one hand, rain rolled off the collar of his jacket. He closed his eyes, just for a second. As if hearing her say his name one more time hurt more than anything else that had happened that night. Very quietly, without turning around, e asked,
“What, Joyce?”
She didn’t answer. Not immediately. Because she didn’t know how. There wasn’t a sentence in the English language big enough for what she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to tell him she’d been blind. She wanted to tell him she remembered the boy with the duffel bag. She wanted to tell him she’d loved Bob. But never like… No… Not yet.
The words caught in her throat. Hopper waited. Still facing away from her. Still refusing to turn around. He already knew. He’d asked for too much tonight. He wasn’t going to ask for one thing more. When the silence stretched on, he nodded to himself, a dry smile on his face.
“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. “I figured.” So he took another step, and Joyce’s heart lurched.
“No.” She cried out, and he stopped again. Not because she’d told him to. Because she’d sounded scared. More scared than she had all night.So he waited. The rain drummed against the closed umbrella. Against the leaves overhead. Against the years between them. Finally, she whispered.
“Don’t walk away.” His shoulders stiffened.
“I have to.”
“No… You don’t.”
“I really do, Joyce.” His voice trembled despite how hard he tried to steady it. “If I stay…” He swallowed. “I’m gonna keep saying things.” Another pause. “And at this point, I don’t think either of us survives that.” Joyce felt tears spill down her cheeks.
“So that’s it? You're gone from my life?”
“No...”
“It sounds like it.” She sounded hurt and he hated himself for feeling so bad about causing it.
“It isn’t.”
“Then turn around.” Silence. “Jim.” Nothing. “Please.” His fingers tightened around the umbrella handle until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. He just didn’t trust himself.
“I can’t.” The answer came out almost broken.
“Why?” He laughed once, and her chest tightened again because it sounded so exhausted.
“Because if I look at you…” His voice faded. “I’m gonna believe you called me back for a reason.” Joyce’s breath caught.
“I did.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “You called me back because you’re kind, and you don’t want to hurt me.” She took another careful step, the distance between them had shrunk to only a few feet.
“I'm not… that. And believe, I know myself.” She shook her head. “I know the girl who cried for hours in that lake house.” His entire body went still. She continued. “I know the woman who buried her boy. Then found him. Then buried Bob.” Another step. “I know I am a real stubborn mother who would walk to Hawkins if she had to.” Another. “And I know…” Her voice softened. “the woman who’s standing behind you right now.” His breathing became uneven.
Very slowly, she reached toward him again. Not to stop him, she didn't have the strength to do so if he wanted to go. So she did so, simply to touch him. Her fingertips brushed the back of his jacket, between his shoulder blades. The gentlest touch imaginable. Hopper closed his eyes when his entire body reacted. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed her to stop him. Which only made him more determined to leave.
“Joyce…” His voice cracked. “Don’t.”
“I can't” He laughed weakly.
“You stole my line.”
“I know.” Silence. “You’ve always been the brave one.” That made him almost smile. She stepped closer until she was standing directly behind him, close enough that she could hear his breathing over the rain. “You went to war. And you came back.”
“I got lucky.”
“You buried your girl… I… I can't imagine that. Even if i somewhat did that too it was not… It was not nearly the same.” He closed his eyes tighter. “You kept living.”
“I tried.”
“You loved me…” Her voice trembled. “without asking for anything back.” His shoulders sagged.
“Joyce...”
“No.” She laid one trembling hand against the center of his back. “I get to say things too now.” He didn’t answer, and for a split second, she wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
“You said…” She swallowed hard. “that you’ve spent twenty years coming back to me.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “So let me, now.” He frowned slightly. She smiled through tears.
“Let me come back to you.” Time stopped. The storm disappeared. The road. The trees. Hawkins. Everything. There was only that sentence.
Hopper stood perfectly still. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. He’d imagined Joyce saying a thousand different things over the years. He’d imagined rejection. Pity. Kindness. Awkward apologies. Even silence. He had never, not once, imagined that. Very slowly, he turned. Not all at once, almost cautiously. As though he were afraid that if he moved too quickly, she’d disappear.
When he finally faced her again, she was crying… and smiling? SHe was looking at him with a tenderness he’d dreamed about for so long that it almost hurt to see it for real. He searched her face desperately, looking for doubt, for guilt, for obligation. He needed to see it there. But he found none. Only Joyce. She took the last half-step between them.
“So…” She whispered. “I’m here.”
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood there, inches apart. Twenty years suddenly reduced to the space between two heartbeats. Hopper searched her face. He didn’t say anything. Every instinct he’d spent twenty years cultivating was telling him the same thing.
This isn’t real.
The rain had finally plastered Joyce’s curls against her face, and her coat was soaked through. There was mud on the hem of her jeans, and she looked exhausted, and terrified. And as always, beautiful. Beautiful in the ordinary way she’d always been. The way he’d fallen in love with long before either of them knew what that meant. She smiled through trembling lips.
“So say something.” She almost begged in a low whisper. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. She laughed softly. A watery, breathless laugh.
“You’ve been waiting twenty years…” Another tear escaped her. “and now you’re speechless?” He managed the smallest smile.
“Shut up.” She laughed again.
“There he is.”
The sound hit him harder than any confession could have. God. He’d missed making her laugh. He’d missed being the reason for that beautiful sound. Joyce looked at him for another long moment. Then, very carefully, she reached up again, Her hands found his face, one resting against each cheek. Hopper froze completely once more, and her thumbs brushed gently beneath his eyes, wiping away water and tears, neither of them knew which.
“I’m so sorry.” His eyes fluttered closed.
“I know.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you do.” Her forehead rested lightly against his. “So many years…” Her voice broke. “I could’ve looked. I could’ve asked. I could’ve seen you.”
“You were surviving.”
“And so were you.” Silence. She smiled sadly.
“You hid it well.”
“I tried.”
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
Another silence. He could feel her breath now, warm against the cold air, close enough that every tiny movement made his heart pound harder. She whispered
“I’m looking now.” His breathing faltered.
“Joyce…”
“I see you.” Those three words shattered the last wall he’d been holding together. He leaned forward before he even realized he was moving. Not much. Barely an inch. Just enough that their foreheads remained touching while the distance between everything else disappeared. She didn’t move away. Neither did he. ANd for a long moment… That was enough.
All the time they had stolen from them, reduced to shared breaths. Shared silence. Shared rain. Then Joyce opened her eyes, and found his. There was no fear left in them. Only certainty. She smiled. The smallest smile he’d ever seen. And she closed the distance. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t the kind people imagined after years of longing. It was… Careful. Tentative. A question.
Her lips barely brushed his. Waiting. Giving him every chance to step away. He didn’t. For one perfect heartbeat… Jim Hopper forgot every reason he had ever given himself not to do this. His hand rose almost hesitantly to her waist, as though asking permission.
She answered by kissing him again.
A little longer. A little deeper.
The years between them seemed to dissolve. She could feel his hesitation melting. Could feel him finally kissing her back. Not cautiously anymore. But honestly. His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her impossibly close. She let out the quietest sigh against his lips. He’d dreamed of that sound.
God… How many nights had he dreamed of that sound? Joyce’s fingers disappeared into his wet hair. She smiled into the kiss, and he smiled back. The storm no longer mattered. Then, as when you dream you're falling and wake up from a dream, Hopper pulled away, with visible effort. He kept his forehead against hers, and his eyes remained closed, breathing uneven.
“No…” The word came out as little more than a whisper. Joyce frowned immediately.
“What?” He shook his head once.
“You know we can't, Joyce. You know that.” Her hands stayed exactly where they were.
“Why?” She cried out, trying not to let him pull apart a singe inch more. He laughed quietly. The sound was almost pained.
“Because…” He swallowed hard. “if I keep kissing you…” Another shaky breath. “I’m not ever gonna want to stop.” She looked at him with heartbreaking tenderness.
“So don’t.” She whispered, warm against his lips, and he forced himself to open his eyes.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me. Every bit of it. Everything. I'm here. I'm truly, wholly here.” His jaw tightened.
“I have spent twenty years…” He searched desperately for words.“pretending. Pretending this didn’t exist.” Another breath. “If I let myself have this tonight…” His voice dropped to almost nothing. “I don’t know how to wake up tomorrow and go back to pretending.” He looked directly into her eyes.
“I can't kiss you, I can't have you, because tomorrow morning, how the hell am I gonna convince myself that I don’t love you, more than I could ever love myself?”
The words hung between them. He realized what he’d said, and his entire body stiffened. He said that word too many times that night, but he hoped somehow, she didn't notice. Joyce didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe. Very softly, she asked.
“You what?” His eyes closed again.
“Nothing.”
“No...”
“Joyce…”
“No...” Her hands tightened gently against his face, shaking him the slightest bit while pulling in. “I heard you.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“I don’t care.” He looked away.
“Please.” She shook her head, and her voice trembled. “Look at me.” He couldn’t. “Jim.” Nothing. But she whispered his name one last time, her body was so close to him, that everything she did felt like a spell.
“Hop…” Very slowly, he opened his eyes. And she saw all of it. He wasn’t afraid of loving her. He was afraid she would ask him to say it out loud. Because once he did, there would be no taking it back.
˜So Joyce made sure to hold him tighter. And didn’t let go. Not of his face. Not of his eyes. Not of the truth hanging between them.
“You said you loved me.” Hopper looked away.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“But you did.” He swallowed.
“Joyce…” She shook her head gently.
“For twenty years…” Her thumbs brushed across his cheeks. “you’ve protected me. You’ve protected the boys. Even though you hate the man that made them exist.” He swallowed like a rock was going down his throat. “You’ve protected a whole town.” A sad smile. “And now you’re trying to protect me from you?” His jaw flexed.
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m selfish.” She almost laughed.
“You?”
“I want too much.”
“What do you want?” He shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“What do you want?” She repeated, knowing the answer, wanting, more than anything, to hear it.
“Joyce…”
“Tell me.” He closed his eyes. “You crossed a country for me. You followed me into a thunderstorm. You told me about Vietnam…” She whispered the next words, knowing they were the hardest for him. “You let me see you cry.” Her voice cracked. “And you’re telling me this…” She smiled sadly. “this is the thing you can’t do?” Silence. She leaned just a little closer.
“So let me ask you one last time.” He didn’t answer. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his soaked shirt. “So you don’t have to carry it anymore.” Another pause. “Tell me. What do you want?” He slowly shook his head.
“I say it…it’s real.” It was almost an warning. A plea.
“It already is.” She smiled through tears.
He stared at her. God… How was she still standing here? How was she still looking at him like that? After everything? She whispered.
“I need to hear it.” She asked, and he inhaled sharply.
“You already know…”
“I know.” She nodded. “But I want to hear you know.”
The sentence broke something inside him. His shoulders sagged. The umbrella slipped from his fingers again, landing forgotten in the flooded road. Neither of them looked at it. He covered his face with both hands. Joyce had never seen him like this. Not crying. Not yelling. Simply… breathing. Unable to carry the weight anymore. His voice came muffled between his palms.
“You have no idea…” A breath. “how long… I’ve wanted to tell you.”
She gently wrapped her fingers around his wrists, slowly lowering his hands, until he was looking at her again.
“I’m listening now.
His eyes searched hers one final time. Looking. Searching. Begging. For one reason not to destroy the life he’d spent twenty years surviving. He found none. Only Joyce. Waiting. He laughed softly. A surrender.
“You always did know how to corner me.” She smiled through tears.
“I learned from the chief.” Another silence. Then he drew the deepest breath she’d ever heard him take.
“I…” The word caught. He looked away. Shook his head. Started again. “I… Damn it.” He laughed at himself, and Joyce smiled along, and just waited. She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rescue him. This was his.
He looked back into her eyes. Everything he’d buried. Everything he’d survived. Everything he’d lost. Everything he’d hoped for. All of it lived in the next three words. His voice cracked. Joyce reached for him. He caught her hands. Held them tightly. As if they were the only thing keeping him upright. Then suddenly, the frustration, the fear, the grief, the waiting, it all became too much. He looked straight at her, and shouted into the storm.
“I love you!”
The words echoed across the empty fields. Birds burst from the trees. Even the thunder seemed to wait. His chest heaved. His voice was raw.
“I love you. I have loved you since I can remember. I loved you before Vietnam. I loved you there. Loved you when I came home, and felt like shit for loving you when you were married. Loving you when I was married. I was pissed off as hell, but I loved you when Jonathan was born, and just as much when Will was too. I loved you when Bob loved you, and pretended I didn't so you didn't shut me off.” Tears streamed freely down his face now. “I have loved you every single damn day I can recall off.” His voice broke completely. “Every. Damn. Day.” He stood there, breathing hard, looking completely terrified. When he finally spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “I don’t know how to stop loving you.”
Joyce was crying too hard to answer. So she did the only thing left. She stepped forward, rose onto her toes, took his face in both hands once more, and kissed him. Not to silence him. Not to comfort him. Not because she pitied him. She kissed him because after twenty years… There wasn’t a single sentence in the world that could possibly answer,
“I have loved you every single damn day.”
For a long moment after the words left his mouth, neither of them moved. The storm seemed almost embarrassed by the silence it had interrupted. Hopper stood there, chest heaving, rain streaming down his face, looking at Joyce as though he expected the ground to open beneath him at any second. He had finally done it. He had said it. Out loud.
There was no taking it back now. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He waited. Joyce couldn’t stop looking at him. This wasn’t the Jim Hopper the rest of Hawkins knew. This wasn’t the gruff police chief. This wasn’t the stubborn man who grumbled every time someone asked him for a favor before dropping everything to help them anyway. This wasn’t even the boy she’d grown up with. This was simply… Jim. Stripped bare. Every wall gone. Every excuse abandoned. Every wound she’d never known he was carrying laid at her feet.
Her hands found his face, his chest again, and this time he leaned into them, just barely, without realizing it. Joyce smiled through fresh tears.
“There you are.” He frowned faintly.
“What?” He said, slightly embarassed. She let out a watery laugh.
“You.” Her thumb brushed across the rough stubble on his cheek. “I’ve been looking at you all night.” Another tear escaped her. “And I think…” She shook her head at herself. “I think it’s the first time I’ve actually seen you in years.” His eyes closed.
“I’m sorry.” She said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear. “I’m so, so sorry.” He opened his eyes again.
“For what?”
“For making you carry all of that alone.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Both their voices were gentle now.
“You didn’t know.”
“I got so used to you… And now I know how awful that sounds.” He waited. “I got so used to you always being there, that I stopped asking myself why.” She laughed softly through her tears. “It became as natural as breathing. You’d knock on the door, fix what was broken, you’d stay until we were safe.” Another tear slipped free. “And then you’d leave before I ever had to wonder who stayed up all night worrying.”
Hopper looked down.
“I never wanted you worrying about me.”
“I know.” She nodded. “That’s exactly the problem.” He looked back at her.
“I never had the chance.” Silence. She took a slow breath.
“When you left for Vietnam…” His face changed immediately. Not with pain, with memory.
“I waited.” He looked at her, surprised. “I did.” She nodded firmly. “I waited. I wrote letters too. So many letters. And I kept every one I got back.” Her voice cracked. “There just…” She laughed bitterly. “There just weren’t very many.” Hopper swallowed hard.
“I wrote too.”
“I only ever got three...”
“I wrote every week.”
“I know… But I only figured that out years later. And they were all torn apart. I never read them.” She looked at him with heartbreaking tenderness.
“My dad used to tell me…” Her smile disappeared. “that boys came home different.” Another pause. “Then the letters stopped.” She closed her eyes for a second. “Nobody would tell me why.” “I kept asking. Every day. But no one answered me. So I just… I thought…” She couldn’t finish. Hopper whispered it for her.
“You thought I was dead.” She nodded once. The movement was almost imperceptible.
“I spent months waiting for someone to come to the door.” Her voice trembled.
“Every truck that drove past, I thought…” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought, this is it.”
“This is when they tell me.” Hopper felt something twist painfully in his chest.
“Joyce…” She shook her head.
“No… Let me finish too.” He fell silent immediately. “I didn’t stop waiting because I stopped loving you.” The words settled between them. Simple. Honest. “I stopped waiting because I thought I’d already lost you.”
His breath caught. She stepped even closer, they were practically sharing physical space by now.
“So when you came home…” She laughed through tears. “I wasn’t waiting on the lake house anymore.” Her smile broke, alongside her voice, and she started to try to speak while swallowing up her crying. “I wasn’t because I’d already buried you.” Hopper’s eyes filled again.
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.” She said, and he almost smiled.
“No. I didn’t.”
She nodded.
“We were kids.”
“We were.”
“And then…” She looked around at the empty road. “life just kept happening.” Another silence.
“I thought I was in love. With Lonnie. But he wasn’t…” She searched helplessly. “he wasn’t the life I’d imagined.” Hopper looked at her carefully while she smiled sadly. “But I tried so hard to build a life with him because I believed the one I’d dreamed about had ended in Vietnam.”
His heart broke all over again. Not from pain. From understanding. That those twenty years, the same twenty years spent believing she’d chosen someone else over him, she’d spent believing she’d never had the chance to choose at all. Very gently… she rested her forehead against his.
“So listen to me.” He nodded weakly. “You didn’t leave.” Another tear slid between them. “I'm sorry I said that. So sorry. And I'm so, so thankful you came home.” Her fingers intertwined with his even stronger. “I just wasn’t there to meet you.” He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she smiled through tears.
“And I think…” Her voice barely carried over the rain. “I’ve been trying to find my way back to you ever since.” His eyes searched hers. Disbelieving. She gave his hand the gentlest squeeze.
“You don’t have to keep coming back to me anymore, Jim.” He frowned, confused.
“What?” She smiled, the kind of smile that only came after years of carrying something too heavy alone.
“Because…” She lifted their joined hands between them. “I’m here now. For good.”
And for the first time since he had came back… Hopper believed her. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t yet. The words I’m here now echoed through him louder than the thunder ever had. He searched her face again. Once. Twice. Looking for hesitation. For kindness mistaken for love. He only found the eyes he'd loved so much, looking at him the way he’d looked at her for half his life. His laugh came out as little more than a breath.
“I don’t know what to do now.” She smiled through tears. “I had speeches you know? ANd now I can't remember any.” That made her laugh.
“You did?”
“Oh, hundreds.” He shook his head, almost embarrassed.
“In the truck, while shaving, before I went to sleep…” Another soft laugh escaped her, “I was pretty good.” She smiled wider.
“I bet you were.”
“I was.” He nodded solemnly. “I always said exactly the right thing.”
“What happened?” He looked at her.
“You.” She laughed, covering her mouth for a second.
“There you are.”
“What?”
“You’re making jokes.” He shrugged faintly. Silence settled comfortably between them. Not the painful silence from before. Something softer now. Their hands were still intertwined, neither of them had noticed, or perhaps they had. Neither wanted to be the first to let go.
Joyce looked down at their fingers, his hands were larger than she remembered. Rougher. Scarred. She gently traced one pale line running across his knuckles with her thumb.
“When did this happen?” He followed her gaze.
“Hm?”
“This.” She brushed another scar. “You’ve got so many.” He smiled faintly.
“I’ve had an interesting few years.”
“You always make everything sound so simple.”
“It usually isn’t.”
“No.” She looked back into his eyes. “It isn’t.”
Very carefully… She lifted his hand. Turning it over in hers. His palm was calloused, warm despite the cold rain that now had passed. She pressed the gentlest kiss against the center of it, and Hopper forgot how to breathe. His fingers twitched instinctively around hers.
“Joyce…” She lowered his hand again.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” He stared.
“You have?” She laughed softly.
“I told you… I’ve been hiding too.” He smiled. A real smile this time. Small and crooked, and entirely Jim Hopper.
“You really mean it?” She frowned.
“What?”
“Everything.” She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she stepped closer until there wasn’t even an inch separating them. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through rain-soaked clothes and hear the hitch in his breathing. She reached up once more, her fingertips disappearing into the damp hair at the back of his neck.
He leaned into the touch without thinking. His eyes closed. God. He’d dreamed about this. Not the kiss. This. The quiet. Her fingers in his hair. The way she looked at him like she wasn’t trying to solve a problem or survive a disaster. Just… Looking. When he opened his eyes again, she was already watching him.
“What?” He smiled sheepishly.
“I was just making sure you were real.” Her expression softened so completely it almost undid him.
“I am.”
“I know.”
“I just…” He laughed under his breath. “I’ve imagined this enough times that my brain’s having a hard time catching up.” She nodded.
“I think… I know the feeling.”
“Oh, you do?” He exaggerated his surprise.
“I’ve imagined kissing you more than once.” His eyebrows shot up.
“You what?” She blushed despite the cold.
“Oh, don’t make me repeat it.”
“I think I need you to.” She rolled her eyes fondly.
“You are impossible.”
“I’ve been told.” She smiled.
“I’ve imagined this too.” SHe admitted and his heart stopped.
“When?” She laughed quietly.
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” She looked at him for a long moment, his expression softened by now.
“Sometimes before I fell asleep.” Another shy smile. “After you’d leave the house.” She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “You’d fix something, or make the boys laugh. And then you’d smile at me…” She looked back at him. “And I’d spend the rest of the night wondering what it would be like if… you know…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Hopper reached for her almost unconsciously. His fingers brushed a damp curl away from her face.
“So…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “…what stopped you?” She smiled sadly.
“The same thing that stopped you… I thought I was going to lose my best friend.”
Their eyes met. Neither of them looked away. The rain started to fall again, only now it was gentler. The world continued to turn. But somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, all they've gone through alone, stopped standing between them, together. Joyce smiled, and very gently, she leaned in again. Their noses brushed first, then their foreheads.
“So this is your big moment?” she whispered with the faintest smile. He let out a shaky laugh. She smiled, her lips barely a breath from his.
“Yes, it is. If it is real.”
And this time, it was Hopper who closed the distance. The kiss was nothing like either of them had imagined. There were no fireworks. No dramatic swell of music. Only rain. Cold air. Two people who had spent so many years convincing themselves this could never happen that neither quite knew what to do when it finally did. His lips were warm, gentle. Almost impossibly careful.
As though he were terrified she might disappear if he kissed her too hard, Joyce smiled against his mouth. The tiny movement caught him completely off guard. He smiled too, without meaning to, not even realizing he was doing it so. She laughed softly into the kiss. He pulled back only an inch.
“What?” She was still smiling.
“You smiled.” He frowned, confused.
“I did?”
“You did.” A faint blush crept beneath the rainwater on his face.
“I don’t smile around like that.” She laughed again.
“You do now.”
She laughed. God. He’d almost forgotten already, how beautiful that sound was, and looked at her for a long second. Not speaking. Just… looking. Then, almost shyly, he tucked a soaked curl behind her ear.
“I’ve wanted to do that.” She tilted her head.
“Since when?” He thought about it.
“Probably…” A quiet laugh escaped him. “1956 or something.” She stared.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.” Her eyes widened.
“Jim Hopper.”
“What?”
“You’ve been in love with me that long?” He smiled sheepishly.
“I told you.” She shook her head in disbelief, and rested both hands against his chest, rolling her eyes fondly before leaning forward again.
This kiss lasted longer. There was less hesitation now. Less fear. Her fingers slipped into his damp hair. His hand settled carefully at her waist. He could feel the warmth of her beneath rain-soaked clothes. She fit there. Like she’d always belonged. Like some part of him had known exactly where to hold her all along. When she sighed quietly against his lips, something inside him gave way. He pulled her closer. Not urgently. Instinctively. His thumb traced slow circles against her back. She melted against him. Joyce rested her forehead against his once more.
“So…” She started to speak again, and he smiled.
“So?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you.” He chuckled softly, and she smiled to herself. “Ever since you fixed my kitchen sink.” He blinked, then laughed.
“The sink?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m trying really hard not to.”
“You looked so proud of yourself.”
“It was a good repair.”
“It leaked two days later.”
“And I came back and fixed it.”
“You did.” They both laughed. The sound echoed strangely through the rain. It was light and easy. As though the years had peeled away one by one. Hopper looked at her in quiet amazement.
“I forgot this.”
“What?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely between them. “I used to make you laugh all the time.”
“You still do.” She nudged him gently. “You’ve just been too busy pretending you were grumpy.”
“I am grumpy.”
“You brought me flowers after Bob died.”
“I panicked.”
“You made Jonathan pancakes.”
“They were terrible.”
“They were.” She smiled. “But you made them.”
“I couldn’t let the kid eat cereal forever.”
“You taught Will how to cast a fishing line.”
“He was awful.”
“He adored you for it.”
“I adored him before.” She looked at him for a long moment.
“You loved us. All three of us” His expression softened.
“I did.”
“You were always family.” He didn’t answer. Long before either of them had admitted anything, he’d already built his life around hers. Joyce reached up, brushing rainwater from his eyebrow. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think we’ve been together for years.” He laughed quietly with her words. “We’ve just been really bad at noticing.” She smiled.
“The worst.” He looked at her again. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he kissed her once more. She answered immediately, her arms sliding around his neck. He felt himself slipping into it. Into her. Into every impossible dream he’d ever forced himself to bury. His hands tightened gently around her. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want tomorrow. He didn’t want Hawkins. He didn’t want monsters or Russians or duty or responsibility. For one selfish, beautiful moment… He only wanted Joyce. His body stiffened. He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing hard. Joyce blinked, concern replacing the smile on her face.
“Jim?” He kept his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands were still around her waist. He couldn’t make himself let go.
“We…” His voice was hoarse. “Have to stop.” She frowned.
“What?” He laughed weakly by how offended she looked.
“First of all, we're in the middle of a street, at night, in the rain…” She smiled to herselft because, well… it was true. “But also, if I don’t stop now…” He swallowed. “I’m not going to… Well…” She searched his face.
“I don’t understand.” He finally looked at her, and finally, there was only love in his eyes. Unmistakable.
“So far…” His thumb unconsciously brushed against her side. “I’ve spent twenty years loving you from a distance.” He smiled sadly. “I knew how to survive that.” Another shaky breath. “But this” He glanced at the few inches separating their mouths. “I don’t know how to survive having this.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and he closed his eyes again. “I mean it. I don’t know how to go back.”
For a long moment, Joyce simply looked at him, then she smiled. Not because anything about the night had been easy. She reached up and brushed a wet curl away from his forehead.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“We?” She nodded.
“We.” A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I like the sound of that.”
“So do I.” He glanced toward the dark road stretching back toward Murray’s farmhouse.
“We should get moving.”
“We should.” Neither of them moved, and Joyce laughed softly.
“We’re really bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Leaving.” He looked at her for a second before chuckling.
“I guess we are.” She slipped her hand into his. Naturally. Not like a grand declaration. Not with trembling hesitation. Just… Like it belonged there.
He looked down. Their fingers fit together so easily that it almost hurt. He gently squeezed her hand, and he squeezed back. Without another word, they started walking. Their shoulders brushed with every few steps until Hopper quietly slipped his arm around her. She leaned into him without thinking. It felt… Ridiculously familiar.
As though she’d done it a thousand times before. The road glistened beneath the occasional flashes of lightning, puddles reflecting brief strips of silver before disappearing back into darkness. For several minutes, they walked without speaking.
It wasn’t awkward. There was simply nothing left that demanded words. Silence settled between them. Comfortable. Warm despite the cold. After a while Joyce nudged him gently with her shoulder. The house lights finally appeared in the distance, warm and golden against the dark fields. Joyce slowed.
“So…” Hopper looked over.
“So…”
“What happens tomorrow?” He sighed.
“We save Hawkins.” She smiled.
“That’s the romantic answer?”
“I didn’t say it was romantic.”
“No?” He shrugged.
“I think saving the world together’s not a bad first date.” She laughed so hard she had to stop walking.
“A first date?”
“We’ve skipped a few steps.”
“A few?”
“We’re a little behind schedule.” She shook her head, smiling so widely her cheeks hurt.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Thank you very much.”
They started walking again, the porch light growing brighter with every step. Joyce got quieter.
“So… are you scared?” He thought about it honestly.
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
“I think that’s okay.” She nodded.
“It is.” Another few steps.
“I don’t know what this looks like.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t know how to… do this.” He smiled.
“I don’t either.” She looked at him.
“So we’ll make it up?” He squeezed her hand.
“We’ve been making it up since we were five.” She laughed.
“I guess we have.” When they reached the porch, Hopper climbed the first step before stopping. Joyce looked at him.
“What?” He hesitated. Then, very gently… He lifted her joined hand to his lips. Pressed a soft kiss across her knuckles. Nothing dramatic. Nothing theatrical. Just a quiet promise. When he looked back at her, there was still wonder in his eyes. As if he couldn’t quite believe she was standing there. She stepped closer. Rested her forehead briefly against his.
“No more pretending.” He smiled.
“No more pretending.” She opened the front door. Warm light spilled across the porch. The smell of coffee drifted out into the cool night. Somewhere inside, Murray was humming to himself, blissfully unaware that everything had changed. Joyce looked back at Hopper.
“Ready?”
He looked at her hand in his. At the umbrella still hanging uselessly from his other hand. Then back into her eyes.
“As long as you’re with me.” She smiled.
“I am.”
Together, they stepped inside. Outside, the storm rolled east toward Hawkins. Morning would come. So would duty, and fear. But they'd be side by side. And as Hopper quietly set the still-closed umbrella beside Murray’s front door, he realized it had never managed to keep either of them dry.
It had only reminded him why he’d picked it up in the first place. Not because he thought he could stop the storm. Because Joyce was walking into it. Tomorrow, they would walk into another one.
The difference was that, this time, neither of them would have to wonder whether the other would come.
They knew now, that they always would.