It's been a long time since the last update; I'm so so sooo sorry… please don't hate me!

I want to thank all of you for your patience. You're fantastic!

I also want to thank AnnieRavenClaw707 my beta reader, who is doing great work! Thank you for your patience and time! :)

Chapter 29: Coffee at 3:00 a.m.

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It was early morning when Joyce began to feel uncomfortable and cold. She cursed the fact that they had not yet been able to install the heating in the house. She tried her best to go back to sleep, so she leaned back, looking for Hopper's warmth but couldn't find it.

Annoyed, she threw her arm back but found the mattress empty. It was then that her eyes opened like a spring. Her body turned to meet the empty bed. It wasn't even warm. If he had gotten up, it was a long time ago. The woman was quite startled.

Since the nightmares had ceased, Hop slept like a log. He didn't even change his posture. It was as if the man had a power switch that didn't turn back on until the next morning. He had indeed returned very strangely from his visit to Flo, but Joyce supposed he was just tired. This could prove she was wrong. Or perhaps she was overreacting. There was only one way to find out.

Sleepily, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was three in the morning. "For heaven's sake. What the hell is he doing?"

Determined, she put on a jacket and wandered around the house. The children were sleeping, no doubt about that, so she went down to the living room. The light was on, but no one was there.

Instead, she found the papers of Mrs. Hammond's report scattered on the floor, with a notebook, next to an almost empty cup of coffee. It was like following a trail of clues that led her to the front porch of the house.

There she discovered Hopper's shadow. He was leaning on the railing. A cigarette was consuming in his fingers as his gaze stared at the infinite. Ok, this is weird. She thought.

As Joyce observed him unnoticed, her heart ached at the expression on his face, with no emotion at all. The gaze with which he searched for answers that did not come.

She would have liked to observe him a bit more. It was such a rare moment. They hadn't had time for them. But it was cold, and a chill caused her to cringe, making him turn alerted, much more awake than she was. God bless the good strong coffee.

"Joyce. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," She defended herself. "And I thought you had quit smoking." Her arms folded. It was so cold.

He exhaled the last puff of smoke "Well, they say that bad habits are never completely gone," The cigarette fell into the ashtray, where lay more than one. "It wasn't my intention to wake you up." He regretted, approaching her.

"Why are you here?" She shrugged chilled.

"Sometimes, the cold helps me think." He confessed, approaching her and rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up.

"It can also help you catch pneumonia." She snapped. "Seriously, Hop. What are you supposed to be doing?"

"Reviewing the report. I think the boys were right. A lot of things don't fit." He replied, avoiding her excruciating gaze.

Joyce bit her lower lip and looked out at the garden. No word was adequate to say what she had to say. Hopper was going through a significant career crisis, but he had to cut it short as soon as possible before it became a sick obsession. She mustered her courage and looked back at him.

"Hopper. I understand that you want to help, I do, but you can't get up at three in the morning as if the case were yours."

He clenched his jaw. He did it when he was upset, but couldn't reply. Joyce was disturbed to realize that she was beginning to know how to read his body language. Was that good or bad? She shook her head. "Sorry, Hop. I'm sorry, but if someone has to tell you, better be me."

"Tell me what?" He asked, starting to get annoyed.

"That you are no longer a police officer. I know it's hard to accept, but the sooner you do it, the better."

Hopper put his hands on his waist, staring at her. "From the beginning, you've been against this. You don't seem to care if there's a murderer in Hawkins."

He could not believe that the woman who left him standing, (No, he was not going to forget that) because she imagined a conspiration when the magnets in her fridge had fallen, now didn't care about crime. "Why does it bother you?"

Joyce exhaled tensely. "Yes, it bothers me." She admitted, realizing that if his body language was clear to her, he also knew how to read hers. "Because it's not our business. It's a case for the police. Hartman should be the one who gets up at three in the morning to investigate the case, not you. And do you know why? Because I want to have a quiet life." Her gaze sought him to understand her concern. "I don't want you to play the hero in something that doesn't concern you, and absurdly put yourself in danger. I'm just asking for that. I want to be able to be calm for a damn time."

"Doesn't concern me," Hopper lowered his tone. If she was worried, he was too, but apparently, they did not share the same point of view. "I want a quiet life too, Joyce. But I told you once, and I repeat it. For me, it is important that you feel safe," He continued, pointing his finger at the house. "I want for this to be called a quiet home. I want my family to be secure." He stated, putting a lot of emphasis on the last sentence.

Joyce was stunned. It was the first time that the word family escaped from his lips. Yes, it is true that they lived under the same roof and that they had already shared intimate moments, but the word family made it more official, and that gave her vertigo. Hop just exhaled when she didn't say anything. "Joyce. Go back to bed. I'm going to stay a little longer."

"Hop," She started to say, knowing that she had to reply with something, but her mind didn't collaborate with her heart. So there was an awkward silence.

He saw the conflict and didn't want to press her further. It was three in the morning, after all. Asking for more would be intrusive. "I just drank a cup of coffee, so I won't be able to sleep anyway. The only thing I could do would be to bother you, turning in bed." He admitted.

"You're right." She replied at last. "We live under the same roof and, whether we like it or not, we also share children ... and ..." She hesitated for a moment that seemed eternal to him. It was as if it was too hard for her to digest the word family. Lonnie must have been a complete asshole.

Joyce shook her head. "Bring me a coffee of yours. And tell me what you've found out."

Hop gave her a half-smile, content that at least she wanted to share his sleepless night, so he led her into the living room. Mrs. Hammond's report awaited them there.

At first glance, it seemed that Hopper was probably the messiest investigator in history. All the papers were lying on the floor in no specific order. Soon she realized that each of them had handwritten annotations following some kind of pattern that probably made sense in his head, she couldn't judge him either, she had no idea how to investigate a crime.

"Please, Hop. It's three in the morning. Give me a summary as brief as possible." Joyce asked reluctantly. After all, she was sleepy and just wanted them to get back to bed as soon as possible.

"Ok." He agreed, nodding. "It was not a robbery. It was a premeditated murder." He spoke almost without blinking.

Joyce snorted in disbelief. Yes, he knew how to summarize, too much for an accusation of that size. "Of course. And you've somehow deduced that by looking at photocopies of the crime scene photos, by the way, a crime scene that you have not stepped on or seen?" She almost laughed sarcastically. Had he gone mad?

Hopper sighed. "Unfortunately, I've had to see many crimes of all kinds when working as a homicide inspector in New York." His face was grave. "This is not a robbery, believe me."

She glanced at him, concerned. That statement made her feel uncomfortable. Yes, she remembered he had been an inspector, but she had never stopped to think about what that implied. It was as if that atrocity was normal for him, and then she was startled to think that there was a part of him she didn't know. It was true that they never talked about his life in New York, but Joyce always thought it brought back bad memories about his loss, so she never dared to ask him either. That part of his life was a complete mystery for her. She tried to get those thoughts out of her mind focusing on the case.

"Why hasn't the police realized it?" She insisted, unable to believe him yet.

"Joyce. Do you remember any murder like that at Hawkins? Wait. Do you remember a murder in Hawkins in the last, I don't know, fifty years?"

"No."

"Exactly. No Hawkins officer has ever seen a murder, let alone an undercover one. They wouldn't know how to distinguish it."

"But you do." She replied with an uneasy sensation. "How did you know?"

"As you can see, the body was placed in a position indicating that she died struggling." His finger pointed at the photos. It was evident that he had studied them in detail. "Besides, the woman's bag was found next to her corpse. Without any valuables, nor did her purse or any money appear."

"That's what it says in the report. Reaffirms the theory of the police, you know?" No. He wasn't going to drag her into the mud of paranoia.

"Yes. But," Hopper started to say, releasing another detail photo of the corpse. "Hammond died of a shot wound to the head. Right on the temple. Too precise to be struggling, don't you think?"

"Well, maybe it could happen. The killer could have been holding her or…"

Hopper ignored her to continue his explanation. "And then there's the bag. The thief would have taken it as loot, and calmly inspected it elsewhere. Who kills someone in the middle of the street, stops to take valuables from the bag, and then leaves it with the victim again?"

"One with no hurry?" Objected Joyce, who wanted to believe that there was no neurotic intrigue behind this unfortunate crime.

Hopper raised an eyebrow. How could she be so stubborn? Well, here was the final clue. "And there is more. This woman didn't die here."

"Excuse me?"

Hopper moved closer to her as if to reveal a great mystery. "This woman was killed elsewhere and then her body was placed here, leaving all evidence to make it look like a theft."

She shocked her head. "And how the hell do you know that?"

"Because of the blood," He replied with a confident grin.

Joyce was uneasy at his excited mood. He pointed to a pool of blood under Mrs. Hammond's head. "There is very little blood. The puddle should be at least twice as big for such a wound."

"And the coroner wouldn't have noticed that?" She tried one last time to take apart his guess.

Hopper pointed to one of the pages in the report. Apparently, that fateful day coincided with one in which the coroner wasn't in town. So the autopsy was done directly at the morgue.

"It seems that our killer was very lucky." She pointed out, realizing that Hop may be right.

"No, Joyce. This ... was premeditated, in detail. And somehow, it also took into account the day Gary was not at Hawkins. Whoever the killer is, he has a lot of information."

Joyce started to get nervous. "Do you think it could have been the government?" It was the first thing that occurred to her, but after her experience, it could be them.

"I thought that too. But I called Owens, and he swore twice that they had nothing to do with it." He admitted.

"So ... Could it have been ... the Russians?"

Hopper made a disapproving gesture. "It's not their style. They don't like leaving evidence. If it had been them, the body would never have appeared." A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

"So…?" She asked anxiously and unaware of his change of mood.

"That's the problem, Joyce. Whoever did this knew perfectly well how to cover it up. He has followed the manual guideline, done all the steps to make it look like an unfortunate robbery. Whoever he was ... knew perfectly well what he was doing. He isn't just any murderer… And that, that worries me, Joyce."

She shook her head vehemently. It was crazy, an authentic paranoid theory. It couldn't be. "Do you realize it looks like you're talking about the assassination of Kennedy?"

Hopper rubbed his face. "I'm concerned that someone goes to so much trouble to get someone out of the way. And that he does it so well… " He confessed troubled.

"And why would someone do something like that? I mean, she was a school history teacher, she wasn't anyone... important?"

"You don't have to be someone important, Joyce. Just... do the wrong thing or stay at the wrong place." He sighed, tired. "I'm stuck there. I really didn't know her. I would need to know her customs, her friends, what happened that day..." His gaze felt over her.

"Don't look at me. Will is a good student, I didn't have to talk with teachers, so I didn't know her."

"But you know Scott Clark." His voice was full of sarcasm.

"Seriously? Grow up, Hop." She spat back but suddenly felt silent. "But I know someone who can help us with that." Her fingers snapped. "Yes. Do you want to know everything about her? Let's ask the most nosy person in town."

Hop blinked puzzled but quickly guessed who it was. "Please tell me it's not ..."

Joyce nodded smiling.

"For heaven's sake." He said rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed. If gossiping had a name, it would be Karen Wheeler. Too many Wheelers in his life.

To be continued.

Author's note: Ok, you can hate me for not writing in a very long time... but, please, let me know if you're still interested in this crazy story :) Your comments help a lot.