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"Take It to the Limit"

If it all fell to pieces tomorrow …

- The Eagles

Hopper cursed loudly as the tires skidded again. He'd known he should have left for home an hour ago, but he'd been in the middle of wrapping up a theft case, laying into this teenage hoodlum who reminded him a bit too much of himself at that age, and the storm hadn't seemed so bad. Now he could barely see, despite the rapid whip of the windshield wipers, and the roads were covered with snow on top of the frozen rain from earlier in the day. El would be pissed at him when he got home, to cover how worried she was, and he didn't blame her. He was pissed at himself.

He came around a corner, too fast. The tires skidded once more and this time they didn't catch. The big truck's momentum took it across the road directly toward a big tree. Hopper spun the wheel, trying to avoid it, and ended up taking the tree broadside on the passenger side. Not a terrible way to end up, all things considered, and he just wouldn't think about what might have happened if Eleven had been in the car.

Climbing out, he went around the car to inspect the damage, glad that this stretch of road was usually empty at this time of night. Not too bad, he decided. He'd have to have some body work done, though—a nice influx of cash just in time for Joe at the body shop to buy something nice for his new wife for Christmas. Yeah, that was him. Hopper Claus.

It was a big dent, though. He got back into the car, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. As he raised the match, he noticed that his hands were trembling. Of course. Close call and all.

Shit. Well, there was something he had never thought about—what if the car had skidded the other way, and that dent had ended up on his side, wrapping him around the tree? He was everything Eleven had, the only thing standing in between her and the lab getting hold of her again. If something happened to him, she had nothing. No one. No protection.

Something would have to be done about that, he decided, putting the car in gear and setting back out, more carefully this time.

The next day when he was back in the office, he called up Steve Nickerson, whose father had been his parents' lawyer. Steve had hung up his shingle next to his dad's. He wasn't a bad guy, and Hopper had only picked on him a little in high school. Steve was glad enough to draw up a will form for Hopper, although he wasn't thrilled about leaving it blank for Hopper to fill in.

He picked up the will form at lunch, making some small talk with Steve, who looked a lot more like his dad than Hopper had been prepared for, threadbare sweater and bald spot and all. Far as Hopper could tell, it was the exact same threadbare sweater his father had worn. For a moment, all the reasons he had gotten the hell out of this town to begin with flooded him.

Taking the will form back to the office, he sat down to type up the details. Simple, really. If something happened to him, everything he had went to Eleven. Jane Hopper, that is. And if something happened to him before she turned 18, he named Joyce as guardian. Joyce loved his girl like her own, and she would take good care of her.

He rolled the sheet out of the typewriter, and hit his intercom. "Flo. You busy?"

"No, Chief, just doing my nails," she said dryly, which he took to mean that she had a pile of paperwork on her desk that she was trying to avoid. He didn't blame her.

"Great. Then you can grab Powell and come on back here."

"You going to tell me what this is about?"

"Yeah. Soon as you do what I asked and get back here!" He clicked off the intercom, feeling very lucky that Flo had already been an institution in the department when he came on. He didn't know what he would do without her. He should get her something nice for Christmas. Maybe she really did like to do her nails? After the will, he'd stop over at Melvald's and ask Joyce about it. She had already helped him with a few normal-kid things for Eleven. Maybe she'd even drop some hints that would allow him to get her something—a small token, nothing that said too much.

Flo and Powell appeared in the doorway, and Hopper gestured to the signature portion of the will, which he had positioned carefully so they couldn't read the rest of the document. This laying low for another year crap was going to get real old, real soon, he could tell.

Powell signed, no questions asked, and disappeared. Probably he didn't want to know. But Flo frowned at Hopper. "You want me to put my name on this without knowing what it is?"

"No, of course not." She was smart, he'd always known that. "It's my will, all right?"

"Really." She looked down at him with surprise and what looked like pride. "Good for you. It's about time." She didn't finish the sentence and say it was about time he grew up, but the sentiment was there, and Hopper smiled, agreeing with her.

Flo signed, resisted the evident urge to pat him on the head approvingly, and returned to her desk and her paperwork. Hopper filed the will in his bottom drawer, locking it carefully, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now. Now Eleven was protected, no matter what happened to him. They would never drag her back there or do any more experiments on her. He and Joyce would see to that.