#jopper drabble

Read it on ao3 here

“Did you ever think we would get here?”

Joyce whispers the question to him almost silently, leaning her head against his shoulder as she holds her steaming mug of cocoa in both hands and takes a slow sip. Jim gave a huge yawn instead of responding, the kind of yawn that El calls a ‘lion’ yawn, because his mouth opens so wide. 

He feels Joyce laughing more than he hears it. They’re both being as quiet as possible, trying to avoid waking the giant pack of people sleeping all around their new living room. 

Pairing: Joyce x Hopper

Word count: 565

Summary: Hopper finds a way to keep his date with Joyce at Enzo’s.

Warnings: Like 2% angst, 98% fluff.

A/N: Wrote this after the season 4 finale, and I’ve been going back and forth about posting it, but I finally decided to. Happy reading! 

Hopper frowned as he walked across the street, his hand in Joyce’s as they patrolled the area. Everyone in town was doing the same in the past week, assessing the damage that occurred because of the earthquake, allowing the upside down to filter into Hawkins. He slowly dropped her hand as they approached the exterior of Enzo’s, the sign above the building torn in half, and hanging precariously. He shoved the front door a few times, jammed by the lack of it being used over the past few days. With one last push, the door gave way, and they were finally able to see the interior.

Time stood still.

Time didn’t exist.

When they were kids and their worlds were still so unfathomably small, Jim Hopper had asked Joyce, “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

She had laughed at the question, balked even, because Joyce knew ghosts weren’t real. No one had seen a ghost. She was so sure of this simple fact that an earnest comfort came from knowing the creeping dread of doubt couldn’t penetrate that fortress.

But now, in a maelstrom of violence, gunfire, and shouting, time stood still and deconstructed itself around her. Joyce had lived a thousand lives in the years since she announced with total certainty on the bleachers at Hawkins High that ghosts aren't real. She had not only encountered things worse, more unknown, more dangerous than ghosts– she was now locked in a dreamy, immovable staring contest with one. That ghost was Jim Hopper, all newly sharpened edges and simmering darkness, panting next to her, wide-eyed. He only let go of her hand when–

Something exploded and they were running again, yelling, throwing themselves against sprawling concrete walls for cover. There was no time to stop, to be afraid, and yet time spread out between them.

There was a moment of reprieve in an alcove as Murray shouted into a radio. Joyce half-expected– wanted, even– that Jim would launch into a tirade about her being here, putting herself in harm’s way, all this way, how could she be so careless… There was no such argument, no raised voice, no anger in his features. He gasped her name, pulled her close, and kissed her. Hungry, loving, haunted. Not a ghost, but a resurrection. She sobbed against him, clutching his face, while he repeated her name like a prayer.

The waiter gives El and Will crayons and the children’s menu, and asks if they’re twins.

They say that they’re “Not twins,” but they accept the crayons gratefully, and draw galaxies and their family.

Hop is big and red and Joyce is tiny and yellow. Jonathan has stick arms and legs. Will wears his purple D & D hat. And El? El’s arms are tight around them all.

She has Joy-Joy and Hop and Jonathan and brother.

She’s loved, and she loves.

(Jonathan’s there too, but he’s on dates with Nancy.)

Hopper listened to Joyce converse with Karen Wheeler at the front door. It was nearly 11 PM, and she and Ted had stopped by the pick up Mike on their way home from a dinner party. He was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and leaning just out of sight.

He heard them say goodbye, and then there was a brief pause before Karen spoke again.

“You know, Phyllis Bradshaw’s been telling me that Chief Hopper’s been coming around this part of town more often.”

Shit.

He usually parked his Blazer in the driveway, off to the side next to Joyce’s Pinto. It wasn’t ever visible from the road, but nothing got past Phyllis Bradshaw, especially gossip mill fodder.

Tonight the three of them – Joyce, Hopper, and El – had taken Joyce’s car, leaving the Blazer at the cabin.

Joyce sputtered a bit before composing herself. “That old bat has too much time on her hands.”

“Yes, far too much time. Bye Joyce,” Karen replied, and she sounded smug before she raised her voice. “Bye, Chief.”

He choked, audibly.