Chapter Text
Montauk is warm afternoons and colder nights, the hush of waves and the song of seabirds. It’s only been three days that Hopper has lived here. He, already, can’t get enough of it.
There’s something so quaint about the place. It’s like a hidden gem behind big city Brooklyn, busy and bustling, and just on the other side of the island lies this hamlet, all to themselves. Hawkins was a gossipy kind of quiet that he’d always hated. It’s a breath of fresh air to not know every third person at the grocery store and around town, to see new faces and meet new people.
(Last night, the neighbors a couple doors down—Cindy and Matt—had swung by with a small housewarming gift. They’re a little younger than he and Joyce, with a kid about El’s age, and surprisingly pleasant. Pleasant enough that Hopper had found himself inviting them in for a glass of wine on the back deck before sundown. He can’t remember the last time he’d been so glad to have people in his space.)
The house still smells new and unlived in. It looks like that, too; boxes that are yet to be unpacked stack on each other in different parts of the house, but there hasn’t been any real rush to get it done. Time has been patient with them lately.
Joyce is still on the phone when he comes downstairs in search for the pack of thumbtacks, a stormcloud brewing over her head as she grows increasingly impatient with whoever’s on the other line.
“...I understand that. I’ve already filled that out–”
There’s an unmistakable tightness in her voice through the politeness she’s clearly trying to maintain. His heavy steps on the stairs catch her attention, glancing over at him and putting a finger up in his direction before he gets the chance to pry, phone to her ear.
Hop moves past her for the (somehow) already half-cluttered junk drawer, rifling through its contents while he listens to her conversation and the sound of crashing cerulean waves through the open window. He’s quick to find the thing of thumbtacks and store it in his pant-pocket, just as Joyce lets out a frustrated groan and pulls the receiver away from her face.
He frowns. “What's the matter?”
“Nothing,” she says, rubbing her temple, “I'm just on hold for, like, the third time in the past hour. It was not this hard getting my name changed the first time I did it.”
Droning elevator music begins to faintly stem from the phone in her hand as he pads over to her, and he can’t help but feel his lips twitch at her words.
He hadn't thought much about Joyce changing her last name. A part of him just figured that they were at a point in their lives where it didn't matter all too much, and yet she’d been the one to bring it up at all, unprompted on her own time. There'd been something so strangely touching and sweet about it; thinking out loud to him about hyphenating her name with his to still have the connection to the boys but also to him.
Hopper shrugs. “Maybe it's a busy day?” he reasons, reaching around her shoulders.
She snorts, softening. “At the SSA? Please, there’s barely a post office in this place.”
He draws her in, pleased as Joyce lets herself be tucked into his side with a sigh. The air coming off the sea has her hair frizzier than usual, pulled back into a low bun like it's something to be dealt with later. He gives her a squeeze and almost feels her relax into him. A relaxed Joyce is his favorite Joyce. A smirk tugs at his mouth before he dips his head.
“Y’know, I could start calling you “Hop” now, right?” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb up and down her arm.
She shakes her head against his chest. “That's definitely still you. You better not.”
Something warm settles in his stomach, chuckling softly as he moves to lean back against the wall beside the phone’s base, sliding down just enough to hold her waist and pull her between his long legs.
Joyce tilts her head and does that cute little nose scrunch as she smiles. “You're so giddy lately,” she remarks, smoothing down the front of his flannel with her free hand, idly scratching his chest with her fingernails. It does nothing to help him out.
“Can't a married man be happy?” His grin goes crooked and teasing, drawing her even closer as he squeezes these beautiful hips and lowers down to kiss her.
Her lips are soft and lingering as she smiles slowly against his own. She doesn’t really pull back when she pulls back, only pausing a beat to ghost the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip and he groans, re-capturing her mouth. It’s when she places a hand on the base of his neck and lets out a happy little moan that he shifts, having the decency to sneak the hand at her waist up to fumble at the phone and press the mute button. Just in case bureaucracy tries to step in between them.
(It doesn’t right then, thankfully. But the footsteps upstairs increasing in closeness sure send him a wake-up call.)
He straightens off the wall, humming into one last long kiss before they both pull away, resigned. She licks her lips and pats his chest, and as she turns, he chases her with an innocent smack to her ass. Grinning, Hopper turns back into the kitchen just as El comes into view and before he can see Joyce’s scolding glare.
When she’s nearing the bottom of the steps, he looks over at her. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she says. “Did you find them?”
He only hesitates for a beat before remembering what he’d come downstairs for other than to bug his wife. (He’s come to love that word, especially in reference to Joyce. His Joyce. His wife.)
“Oh, yeah.” He fishes the thing of thumbtacks from his pocket. “Here, catch.”
Hopper tosses the little container when El’s close enough and she manages to catch it with ease.
“Your room coming along?” Joyce asks warmly,
“Yes,” El says, tone lighter and smiling. “Hop helped put up my desk.” She passes both of them for the window, gazing out to the shore.
Hopper glances at Joyce, lowering his voice.
“I missed a nail or two, but it's holding up.” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck and considering. “For now.”
Joyce rolls her eyes.
“Now I get to start decorating with my posters,” the girl continues after a beat. Maybe she's taking after her brothers, but she's got all sorts of off-brand movie and band posters she's collected over the past couple years. Hopper still can't name the musicians if he tried. He really needs to keep putting her on stuff he grew up with.
El looks over her shoulder, then frowns at Joyce. “Who are you calling?”
Her brow jumps slightly like she'd forgotten about the irritating loop of music coming from the receiver in her hand all together. “Trying to get an appointment to get my name changed,” she says, “to match you and your dad’s.”
He feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips at that.
“I thought that happened at the wedding?” El asks.
“Feels like it should be like that, but no. Now I’m stuck waiting around for people to learn how to use a phone.”
“Can you come help me?” She turns to Hopper. “I was trying to see where I could put my posters. I can’t reach the top of the wall.”
He straightens off the counter and nods. “This where I come in again?”
El nods, ponytail swinging behind her. She turns on her heels and heads back toward the staircase, socked feet light on the floor. He follows before she can give an expectant look over her shoulder.
“Duty calls,” Hopper murmurs, passing Joyce who waggles her brow teasingly.
He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears her start to speak again, voice slipping back into that polite, customer-service tone before slipping then into confusion.
Joyce getting lost in the realm of technology isn’t an uncommon thing, but he’s quick to realize that it’s not her fault this time, not more than it is his own.
“…hello? Can you hear me?…”
“Unmute the phone!” he calls out over his shoulder.
A beat, then, “What?”
“Click unmute!”
She falls silent after that, then gets back to chattering with who’s on the other line. Hopper just smirks to himself and makes his way down the hall.
El’s bedroom undoubtedly is the one with the most natural light in the house. Taller ceilings leave the smaller space feeling bigger than it is, a bay window taking up a good chunk of the wall you see when you walk inside. There’s a clear view of the ocean through the paned class. She’s placed some of her various trinkets on the desk since he’d left and her stuffed animals are already cushioned along with the window seat. They’re little details that are making the once dull room into something that’s very much El.
“Since when’d you have these?” Hopper asks, the posters sprawled along her bed unfamiliar.
The girl pushes off the two stuffed animals at the corners of one of the vinyls, which were keeping it from rolling in on itself. “These are the ones Max gave me before we left,” she explains, lifting it up. “You know Wonder Woman.”
He nods, brow jumping. “Not familiar with this face, though.” He leans over her to take the smaller poster in his hands and frowns at the strange woman.
“Kate Bush.” El takes the poster from him and Hop lets her, watching the girl cross over to the emptier one of her walls. The others, he’s realizing, are already decorated in some other crooked, off-centered posters.
“You gotta straighten them out, kid.”
“I was trying. You’re tall so you can reach them better.”
He shakes his head, crossing and repositioning the Wonder Woman poster and taking over. “Yes, boss,” he grumbles, and El chuckles from beside him, handing him thumb tacks when he puts his palm out.
It’s nearing the two year anniversary of the closing of the Upside Down, and still, it’s only now that they’re starting to get the green light for this girl’s ensured safety. Hopper’s been wanting to move away for a while but against everything, including the extra steps taken to continue to keep El hidden months after the final battle, it was out of the question. But everything has seemed to fall into place.
Jonathan’s back on campus and Will’s down at his first semester at a smaller art school nearby. He and Joyce have essentially figured out where they’re retiring together twenty years beforehand, and El gets to be safe. He gets to keep being her dad.
He doesn’t know what type of legal loopholes Owen’s tied up to get all hands off her, but it worked, and that’s what matters. Schooling is still being figured out but a “gap year” is what the suggestion was, just to let things cool off. She’s got a tutor, peace at last, and a mom and a dad who love her very, very much.
“That?”
She tilts her head at the poster. Hopper, watching her and holding it up against the wall, is already panting.
“…Little more left?”
“El.”
“Okay, fine.”
He shakes his head and sticks a thumb tack in the corner of the paper before returning to his regular height. Even though his arms burn an unreasonable amount, he can’t help but fight a smile down at his kid. He ruffles her hair; it’s shorter now, a little like what she had a couple years back with all the same wave returning in an endearingly frizzy mess.
“Thank you,” she says.
He gives a small nod, squeezing her shoulder affectionately before drawing his hand away. “I’m gonna take a walk later,” he tells her, nodding out the window to the beach. “You wanna come?”
El’s eyes light up. “Can we go now?”
He pauses, hesitating, trying to remember if there’s a reason as to why that can’t happen, but he can’t find any. It’s been nice not to have any pressing commitments while they settle into their new home.
“Sure. I don’t see why not,” he reasons, and chuckles as she breezes past him back downstairs.
Hopper’s sitting outside on the back porch, admiring the waves as they ripple and shimmer like crystals against the setting sun. It’s just barely touching the water, beginning to dip down out of view as it leaves behind cotton candy-like clouds in oranges and reds. The air is growing cooler with the evening, a gentle breeze passing through that makes the windchimes sing with the gulls, and it’s just pricking enough to make him think that a flannel wouldn’t be an awful idea. But the screen door slides open and out comes Joyce, and that seems to be enough to get some warmth back in him.
“Hey.” Hopper sits up a little, watching her fumble with the door while jungling the things in her arms before giving up and leaving it open.
She bites her lip and crosses over to his spot on the couch, giving him a better look at the wine bottle tucked between her arm and side, two glasses clinking together, and a folded blanket wedged between her other arm. She bends down awkwardly beside him. “Take.”
He does, leaning up to free up space in her hold and grabbing the wine. Sinking back down, he inspects the label and blows out a low whistle. “Merlot?”
Joyce hums, placing the goblets and the corkscrew on the small table. “I like it when you pretend to know things about wine,” she teases, sitting down at the edge of the cushions. Then, “Uff. I’m cold.”
He ignores the wine comment, then ignores the vivid thought of all the ways he could fix that. Instead, he reaches for her, leaning up to pull her close. He feathers a kiss to her temple, rubbing his hand up and down her arm to feebly get her warm. She groans contentedly before he pulls back to let her crack into the wine.
While she works the cork, Hopper watches the waves push and pull at the sand through the long grass. Down the path, a seagull hops onto one of the far railings along the path to the beach, flapping its wings as it balances.
Joyce pours the wine then hands him one of the glasses with a small, soft smile. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” he echoes, clinking his glass against hers with a teasing look before taking a sip.
She cradles her drink and naturally leans back into his side. He grins, lifting an arm around the back of the sofa as she sprawls the patterned blanket along her lap. She fits so perfectly into him like this. He indulgently presses his nose into the top of her head, taking a long inhale of her floral shampoo.
Placing his glass down on the wooden arm of the couch, he reaches for her thighs beneath the blanket, coaxing her legs into his lap. She stretches out, getting comfortable as he runs his hand down her jean-clad leg until he reaches her feet. A soft moan escapes her throat as he starts to rub his thumb into the sole, softening even further.
Hopper grins. Women can be tricky sometimes but they're not that difficult to figure out. Not this one, at least.
“Speakin’ my language,” she sighs, warm and sleepy.
He hums, cradling her heel and pressing firmer into the arc. “Yeah?” he murmurs, already knowing the answer—she’s practically purring.
She hums, long lashes fluttering slightly, tipping her head back against his arm around the back of the couch. Seeing Joyce like this, boneless and snuggly, is one of his favorite things.
“So…” He sniffs, a lazy smirk returning to his lips. The image of her on the phone earlier returns to him. “Are you a Hopper yet?”
Her eyes open, and he watches in real time as his low words land; she smiles slowly through owlish blinks before murmuring, “Close,” after a beat. “Need to show them my license and, like, proof that you're my husband. The papers.”
His gaze drifts to the diamond of her ring, glittering when she tips her glass up to take a long drink, the red staining her lips.
“You’re real pretty, you know that?”
Joyce bites her smile, brow furrowing as she sits up from his arms, leaning to refill her glass again. She throws a little look over her shoulder, something close to shy and something without a doubt very cute.
(He changes his mind. A flustered Joyce might be his favorite Joyce).
“What’re you trying to do to me?”
Hopper exhales, shrugging. “I didn't know I was doing somethin’.”
She makes an unconvinced noise but nonetheless fond. Undeterred, he draws her close when she sets the bottle down again. Her thigh hooks over his and he settles his hand there beneath the blanket, squeezing softly.
“Why, 's it working?” he murmurs, low against her temple.
She shudders in his arms. He can’t tell if it’s his words or the cool brush of the night air—probably both. He’s just about to lean in and sweet-talk her a little more when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches the screen door pushing open.
“Hi, baby,” Joyce lilts as El comes outside. She sits up away from his hold and he lets her go, drawing his arm off the back of the couch as the kid pads over to them. “Doing okay?”
She nods and smiles softly, perching beside her mom on the couch with the wireless telephone in her hands. “Will and Jonathan are calling,” she says, and the air seems to lift with her words. Hopper watches fondly as Joyce takes the phone happily and brings it to her ear, greeting her boys in a cheerful tone.
With the business of moving into the house and Will and Jonathan beginning school again, they haven't had a moment to catch them over the phone yet with all five of them present, so Joyce's fondness makes itself present quickly. Hopper would be lying if he said some of that wasn't infecting his own mood.
They call until the sun begins to dip and touch the ocean’s horizon and the boys say they're gonna grab dinner in a little while. She lets them go after Hop tells them they've always got a place to come back to any time they like.
“I kinda thought it'd be easier for me to let them go this time,” she admits once El leaves. “I've been half-empty nesting for a while, anyway. But…”
Her nose scrunches, weakly smiling out to the sea. There's a bittersweet glint in her maple eyes that he catches onto quickly.
He softens. “We could go ‘n see them later this month,” Hopper suggests.
Joyce’s lips quirk against the rim of her glass, nodding. “We should.” She takes a drink, polishing off the rest of her wine. “I don't care if we're hovering.”
He hums, amused, easily welcoming her small frame back into his side when she leans back again. Curly tendrils of hair dust the side of her sun-kissed face and he tucks them behind her ear with a delicate hand, watching her blink slowly at the scene in front of them.
“I forgot how much I love living by the water,” she sighs after a beat, cozying into him.
Picking up his drink, he mulls over her words, continuing to slowly drag his fingers along her arm. “What, Lenora?”
“Mmm.”
He takes a sip, the red pleasantly bitter on his tongue. “I almost forgot about that,” he admits; the world continued to spin when he found himself in the freezing version of Hell, he supposes.
“I did, too.” She rubs her temple, gaze fixed low on her empty glass. “I tried to, at least.”
Hopper considers her words, the vulnerable turn in her tone. A bird squawks somewhere in the distance between the pause in her speaking, punctuating before she shakes her head.
“Everything was just so sad. I don’t think I let myself appreciate–” she vaguely gestures out to the water “–much of anything.”
He keeps quiet. There’s a part of him that feels like he should be apologizing, but she tips her head back after a moment and gives him a smile he can half believe in, meeting her doe-like eyes. One of her hands reaches for his own at her arm. “I feel like I ended up where I was supposed to, though,” Joyce whispers, and Hopper feels his heart melt just a little bit.
He exhales through his nose. “Happy to, uh. Lighten the spirits this time around.”
That gets a warm little laugh out of her, turning into his side further. Hop dips down to kiss her hair again, lingering as the sun continues to set until it’s gone completely and it’s nearing the time they should be heading inside for the rest of the night.