A/N: The sex in this chapter gets a little rough, with some mild reluctance, and a hit of D/s.

I'd love to skip my shift at the bar and help Jim search for the missing boy – however little I can contribute, I want to do something. But Jim doesn't even consider the idea when I raise it over his hastily eaten breakfast.

"No, there's no point. You're not a cop, and in the event something nefarious is going on here, I'm not putting you in danger."

"I can see how this is wearing on you. Please, I want to help, even if it's just helping you."

"You do help me." He swallows his coffee in one draught, leaving his eggs half-eaten. "Breakfast was great. I'll see you tonight."

"What time will you get home today?" I ask. I can see he's grinding himself down on this so quickly, soon there might not be any Hopper left as he martyr's himself for his young love's son.

"Whenever I get home," he calls back, already halfway out the door.

Sighing, I settle back into the rusty kitchen chair. Hopper has never been an open book, I know that. But he's seeming extra secretive. I hate it, but the jealous part of my brain thinks back to our fight at the bar from when he lost it on a customer just for insulting Joyce... He was willing to blow up over some harsh words...what would he blow up to get her son back?

At the bar, the town is aflutter with rumors and conjecture – the boy ran away because Joyce wasn't a good enough caretaker, he went to live with his father, his father snapped and took the boy, there's a criminal on the lose that's been abducting boys and Joyce shouldn't have let him go home alone... It's exhausting just to listen to, and I sympathize with the poor mother. They're all speculating that this will be the "last straw" for her, whatever that means. Some try to rope me into these macabre conversations, probing if I (via Hopper) know anything that hasn't been made public. I keep my mouth shut and beg off. The last thing I want is to talk about this more, or reveal just how little Hopper has been talking with me lately.

I return from the night shift to any empty house again, and I pace, not bothering to make dinner. I ate at the bar, and I know Hopper won't bother to eat, so making food will just make me feel resentful. I keep the front light and the news on, desperate to learn of some update.

When I hear tires in the driveway at one AM, I snap off the TV. I steel myself to be the best version of myself I can be, for whatever version of Hopper walks through the door. I imagine he'll be cold and hostile, and I will in turn meet him with compassion and love.

But when he storms into the house and looks at me waiting for him, I see his posture soften, his face lose the harsh lines he wears as a mask with everyone else. Finally. He's willing to show a crack in his façade, so I can help him as his partner, not just his lover. He rushes to me and gathers me in his arms, kissing me with every ounce of his previously restrained passion.

I melt in his embrace, trying to respond with the same enthusiasm. Wordlessly, he leads us to the bedroom and makes quick work of undressing me, groping and kissing me furiously. I cling to him, knowing that he's using my body for relief, but still desperate for the closeness of his touch. I relish his musky scent, the scratch of his beard on my skin, and imprint the memory of his fingers clutching my hips.

His utility belt jiggles as he slips out of his pants, and then he leans me back on to the bed. One of his thick fingers finds my clit, which he teases for a moment before positioning himself at my entrance, his body poised above mine. Did he put on protection? I don't dare interrupt our wild coupling to ask.

He enters me with one smooth motion, and I bite back a cry, not prepared for the girth of him so soon. It's too dark to see his eyes clearly, but I hunt in the dark for his gaze, begging him to open up to me, like I've opened my body to him. I try to whisper his name, but my voice is stolen as he pounds into me, my thoughts so washed in pleasure I nearly forget my own name.

I wrap my arms around his back, drawing him closer into me, moaning with abandon. He grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back while still pumping his hips into me relentlessly. Leaning down, he bites part of the exposed flesh of my neck, though quickly soothes the pain with the warmth of his tongue.

This is rougher than he's been before, and though part of me wants to ask him to hold back, a titillating sense of danger sings across my skin. For the first time, I'm keenly aware of our size disparity and the strength in his body, coiled over mine. He could do anything he wanted, and I would be powerless to stop him. Which I feel most acutely when one of his strong hands cups my throat, squeezing just enough to make my pulse beat faster with uncertainty.

"I need you," he whispers. He moves his hand to find my clit in the dark, sending my head spinning again and overwhelming my unspoken doubts with pleasure. "Cum for me again. I want to feel you tremble around me."

"Jim," I cling to him, awash in pleasure already, my now overly-sensitive clit overwhelmed by his unsating need. "I can't."

"Please," he moans, his voice taut, his cock still rock hard and slamming my now soaking wet pussy.

At his command, the need in his voice, and his unrelenting hips, another orgasm cascades through me.

"God, yes. You're mine, Tricia. All mine."

"Yes, Jim," I cry as I clutch his shoulders. "I belong to you."

Then I feel his cock stiffen further, and he spills his seed inside me, moaning into my neck as his climax wracks through him.

He withdraws from me, and I know I will be sore tomorrow. Rolling behind me, he cradles me in his arms, hugging my back to his chest.

"Thank you," he whispers in the dark. "I'm not sure what came over me...we're not usually so reckless."

"No, not usually." I sigh, reality intruding. "But it was, admittedly, pretty fucking hot."

He chuckles, pulling me closer. "You can say that again."

"Are you okay?" I venture.

"I'm...better than Joyce is," he says sadly.

I roll to face him, stroking his cheek. "It's such a horrible situation."

"It is. And she's a hair away from spinning into delusion. It's hard to know what is real and what is...exaggerated with her in this state."

I nod solemnly. I guess the rumors I heard today weren't just idle gossip then. "She is going through a traumatic situation. But she's still the same person she was before. Women are so often dismissed, perhaps she's feeling she has to overcome that dismissal... She knows her son better than anyone else. You should trust her intuition."

"In any other situation, I would agree with you. But...the things she's saying are, well, verging on supernatural."

This piques my curiosity – and my concern. "Supernatural how?" I prompt.

"She's going on about hearing his breathing over the phone, that she could tell he's scared. But then her telephone got fried. Like destroyed." I cock an eyebrow at that. "And she's got all these lights strung up...I'm not really sure why."

"Well...that is quite unusual. But I suppose this is a very unusual situation," I joke, trying and failing to lighten his mood. "Does she at least seem...cognizant of what is going on, enough that you can trust her judgement?"

"Yes. Though she's distraught. And desperate for answers I don't have."

I rub a hand on his back. It's a perfectly reasonable for him to be so doggedly pursuing this case. I just worry he can't sustain this frenzied search.

"And I think there's something weird going on with that energy lab...I don't know if it's related to Will, but there's something not right over there."

"There's an energy lab here?" This is the first I heard of it.

"Yeah, it's some high security, high tech facility...I'm not even sure what they do there...but they certainly didn't open up about it when I asked. I'd been trying to research more about it, but there's hardly any information out there. The director has been around for a while though...and he was sued over a decade ago from a woman that claimed he kidnapped her baby."

I nearly bolt upright at that. "That's an awfully big coincidence." I can't keep the worry from my voice.

"Her case ultimately came to nothing and was discredited, but...I thought the same thing."

Well, tomorrow is another day. There's nothing else you can do today." He sighs heavily, revealing just how weary he is. "If I can help in any way, even if it's just taking notes, helping write your report, or helping on your research-"

"No," he interrupts. "Something isn't sitting right with me about any of this, and I don't want you involved."

Just as I cuddle closer to him, tucking my head against his chest, his radio whines. I hold back a sigh of frustration and longing, and I remind myself that this par for the course. Though I chose to date a cop, I thought in Hawkins, late night interruptions and long nights wouldn't be part of the bargain. But I should have known that Hopper, when duty called, would summon this fever of dedication. Even I didn't anticipate that he held this much burning determination. If he ever cared to do so, he could light the whole town on fire without hardly exerting himself.

When I hear the announcement that comes over the radio, I wish I could take back every negative thought I had about Joyce and petty jealousy I felt over the fire this crisis ignited in Hopper. I wish that Hopper could keep self-immolating himself in hopes of discovering the boy. Because that desperate hope was infinitely better than the horrifying finality of this news – the boy's body was found.

My eyes lock with Hoppers', and I rush to his side, wrapping him in a hug where I try to wring the pain from him and absorb it into myself. I don't think it works. He steps out of my embrace and methodically redresses in his uniform.

"Is there anything I can do?" I whisper in the dark.

He sighs. "Don't be here when I get back. It's not going to be pretty, and I don't want you to see it."

"Jim," I start, the tenderness in my tone replaced by concern and an edge of alarm.

"Don't argue with this, Tricia. You won't like how that turns out. I don't need coddling, but you do, so this is for your own good. Go home," he tosses over his shoulder while he slams the door.

I stand rooted to the spot, feeling as though I'm looking down on the scene from above. Is this a test to see if I will stand by him in the worst of times? Is this a test to see if I won't respect his wishes for privacy or trust him to take care of himself? Is he going to hurt himself if I'm not here? Will he hurt himself even if I am here?

Uncertainties swirl in my head, and I tug at my hair with frustration. I don't know what is the right thing to do. I don't know if there is a right thing – he could be angry with me no matter which option I choose. Haven't I proven that he can rely on me yet? How many times do I have to beg for him to let me in emotionally? Finally, I grab my coat, slamming the door behind me. He said leave – fine. I'll leave.