There is only one day a year that Hopper likes his job.
On the first day of First Responders Appreciation Week at the end of his shift, he knows that they will be heading to the overpriced steakhouse just outside of town for free meal he could not justify paying for on any other day.
Powell jokes to Callahan that this is the only reason Hopper became a cop just as the hostess informs them, "I'm going to sit you with somebody."
"I am going to sit you with someone," She repeats with a painted smile. "Otherwise, my manager is going to ask me to ask him to leave and I cannot do that so, follow me. Right this way."
Hopper's gaze follows ahead to their seat and he sighs at the sight of Richard Harrington's unsupervised five year old.
He jerks up when Hopper pulls out the chair next to him and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. He gives a watery smile, "Hi, Mr Hopper. Hi, Officer Powell."
"I’m literally here too," Callahan mutters. Powell excused himself to speak to the manager, sharing a look with Hopper that says he'll figure out what's going on.
Hopper is an impatient man. He goes to the source, "What are you doing all the way out here?"
"Oh, um. My basketball team from the country club made it to the final round in our tournament and, um. We came here to celebrate."
The distinct lack of children running around hangs in the silence between them before Steve adds, "They left."
"You didn't go with them?"
"No, they- it's okay," Steve says, clearly upset. He takes a deep breath and exhales, "They forgot."
"My, um. My friend, Danny. He - he wasn't bein' very careful and he spilled steak sauce on my shirt," Steve says, pointing to the large stain splattered across the right shoulder of his pullover. "It was an accident, I think. And, um. I went to the restroom 'cause Mama gets mad if I’m dirty and I... And they forgot. And they left."
It doesn't meet his eyes.
"It's okay though," Steve reassures him. "Cause, um. It didn't hurt my feelings none 'cause it was - it was an accident."
"It was an accident," He repeats like a self-sooth. "I was in the restroom a long time and I’m littler than everyone else, and Coach Adam-"
"Your coach left you here?"
"Assistant coach," Callahan supplies. "Not that it matters but he's the assistant coach. I’m friends with his roommate. We're the same age."
"So old enough to do a head count?"
"The whole team was here so, um," Steve tries to justify. He's trying to rationalize himself out of his hurt feelings and he's too fucking young to be doing that. Hopper is pissed.
"Adam is a di- a jerk," Callahan says. "Every time I’m over at his place, he's complaining about coaching rich kids and how some guy forced their kid on the team with new unif- not you! Someone else, for sure. I’m just...shutting up now."
If looks could kill Hopper would still contemplate shooting his probie with a gun because Steve concludes, "So, no one likes me."
"Everyone likes you, kid," Hopper says, but his voice sounds angry. All this kid wants is friends.
Steve is the youngest on the team by a couple years because Richard Harrington got the age requirement waived. Hopper gets being annoyed by it. He gets benching the kid most of the season, but he does not understand this unnecessary bullshit cruelty.
"Hey, hon." Hopper nearly misses their waitress approach. "Are these gentlemen who you called to help with the bi-"
"Give us a minute," Hopper tells her when she tries to shift gears and take their drink order. He takes a moment, reassesses, and then lays out, "So, your coach-"
"-drove a bunch of kids twenty-five minutes out of town, racked up a bill of probably hundreds, and left you-"
"On accident," Steve sniffles.
"-with no safe way home and with the check? And none of those kids had a problem with it," He finishes. "These people are not your friends, Steve."
"Can you stop talking to me?" Steve asks with a voice brimming with tears. He presses his hands into his eyes, "My heart hurts."
"I want - I want my mama."
Hopper almost says that he'll take the kid home when he sees a familiar car pull into the parking lot. He watched the car park, the headlights go out, and an imposing figure step from the vehicle, "She's here, kid."
Angela Harrington was never a particularly intimidating figure - too petite, too young, too classic in her beauty - but she moved like a storm into the restaurant.
"I called her," Steve says, pulling him away from the pissed off hurricane heading towards them. "Mr Hopper, you know how I’m big?"
"And big kids don't cry none."
"I don't want to be big right now," He says and then crumbled into tears. Angela just reaches their table when Steve cries, "Mama, I’m so sad."
Angela's anger melts to understanding, to a mother's heartache, in the seconds she picks up her sobbing child. He clings. She holds him tight, rest her cheek to the top of his head and assures him that it's okay. He'll be okay.
Her eyes glaze over with its usual unreadable aloofness and she says to the officers, "Thank you for keeping him company until I got here."
She reached into her pocket and pulls out cash, "He said there was a bill..."
"Don't worry about it," Powell says before Hopper. "I spoke with the manager and we agreed the meals should be paid for by their rightful owner. It won't be too hard to track them down."
"Good," She says, trying to hand them the money. "For your-"
"Ours is on the house, don't worry about it."
She sits the cash on the table anyways, "Tip your waitress."
