A/N: It's been a while! With the new season of the show, I have a new determination to actually finish this story. Thanks to everyone who favorites the story or writes a kind review. It means the world to me to have my words connect with people.

TW: general reference to self-harm.

The news of Will Beyer's death has rocketed around the town. When I take over the afternoon shift at the bar, it's the only thing the patrons – and everyone on the street – seem to be talking about. That and the scene that played out downtown this morning between Joyce and her oldest son. I pick up from the murmurs that Joyce doesn't believe her son is really dead. My heart feels another pang at that news. I can't even imagine how deeply she must be hurting.

I spend the day wondering how Hopper is handling the resolution of the case. He wanted so badly to bring that boy back to his family. I suspect he'd associated the pain from his daughter's death with Joyce's pain from the loss of her child. Which makes me worry about what that means for him now. Is Jim reliving anew the pain of his daughter's death?

And I wonder whether I did the right thing by giving him his requested space. Or did I turn my back on him when he needed me? With everything going on, I doubt Jim is at home yet, but I try his number during my evening break anyways.

If he'd done anything drastic, I'm sure I would have heard about it by now. And maybe I'm worrying more than is justified. After all, lately he's seemed more capable than I've ever seen him. More resolute and determined, seeming able to tap into a well of strength I don't think he knew he had. All for Joyce Beyers' son.

I'm disgusted with my jealousy – how can I be jealous of a grieving mother? It's a pathetic level of insecurity. And I feel a pit of acid rise in my throat as I dwell on dark thoughts I shouldn't. Like how it seems he had the ability to be this strong all along when he claimed he couldn't even pick up the phone to let me know he was still alive. And worse, an insidious thought – now formed - refuses to dissolve: He wouldn't put in this much effort if I went missing.

Then the line connects, and I inhale sharply, my doubts forgotten for now. "Hey," I say on a sigh as he picks up.

"Hey." The word is short but not curt.

"I was thinking about you. What a day."

"No kidding. It's one thing after another. Now a high school girl has been reported missing."

"Jesus, this town can't catch a break. …How are you?"

"As well as I can be, considering." I hear a long inhale as I presume he takes a puff from a cigarette. "The bar must be a buzz with all everything going on. Let me know if you hear anything about the missing teenager – Barbara. We're out of leads, and more grieving parents is the last thing I need."

"I'll keep an ear out for any rumors about her…I heard the boy's mom refused to sign his death certificate."

"Yeah. She was spouting off some real nonsense today. Claiming that the body recovered isn't her son's, that she's heard him over the phone, that he's speaking to her through string lights. None of it makes any sense, but there's no convincing her."

"Well…could she be right?"

"Right…about what? That her son was in her wall?"

"I don't know… You certainly know her better than I do, would know her state of mind. But women are routinely dismissed and disbelieved – especially about their lived experience. It sounds crazy, but the sudden string of incidents in this town seems like more than just bad luck."

"What, like a curse? I didn't know you were superstitious," he says with a condescending chuckle.

"It doesn't have to be supernatural, just something nefarious. How would a little kid even make it all the way out to the quarry? I'm not saying she's right about what's going on…but it's clearly more than meets the eye. Right? I assume you thought the same, and that's why you've been so… You've put so much pressure on yourself."

"I'm putting pressure on myself because I'm the chief and there was a missing kid." There's an undeniable edge to his voice now. Maybe I shouldn't have brought up the boy's case.

"I know, I know." I make my voice extra placating to ensure my tone is transmitted over the phone. "Sorry, forget I mentioned it. Not my area of expertise. I know you did all you could. I know you had to."

He says nothing. I take another step forward, bracing for the rejection before it comes. "Any chance I can come by tonight? I miss you."

"Tonight's not good."

"Jim, I'm sorry. Look, can we just talk in person? I didn't know what to do last night. I'm sorry I wasn't there, I just…sometimes I don't know how to help you. I just want to support you."

"No, no." His voice is heavy as he sighs, but his tone is softer than before. I can hear the rumble of affection in his words, easing my anxieties. "It's not that, Tricia. I'm not mad. Sometimes I am just better off alone. Without burdening you. Take care of yourself, okay? Go straight home when you get off work. Don't come by my place. Promise?"

His sudden change from tender back to aloof sends a shard of worry deeper in my chest, but I nod. "I promise. But you take care of yourself too, okay? I know the town needs you, Hopper. But I need you too. Can you promise me that you'll do that?"

"I always do."

The phone clicks dead, and I stare at it for a moment, dumbfounded by his sudden apparent callousness. But I sense that if I trespass on Hopper's space right now, I'll fracture our already fragile peace. When this craziness calms down, we can have another conversation about communication. I want to be a source of steadiness for him right now. I just wish that he would let me.

I did as Hopper said and went back to my place after I closed down the bar. Being apart from him still feels foreign. I can't remember the last time I went a day without seeing him. And to be apart during such trying circumstances…something doesn't feel right. None of this feels right, to be precise. Maybe after everything we've been through I'm now too sensitive to signs that he's putting distance between us. But I also can't deny anymore that something is going on with him that he's not telling me. I've gone through that enough times to be certain of the signs.

Despite my resolve that Hopper is hiding something, I don't know how to proceed. If I call him on it, he'll just clam up more. But giving him space is only giving me anxiety. I have no idea how Hopper is coping with the extreme and sudden stress of the various town tragedies. I can't shake the feeling that has settled into my bones that he's at risk of self-inflicted harm.

As soon as I get out of bed in the morning, I am resolved that I have to see him to make sure he's okay. I dial the station's number by memory. I don't know what I'll say when I get connected with him. I'm not sure how I can justify him spending his time, with all his other priorities, easing my anxiety. But I need to know he's okay — actually okay not just putting on a brave face.

The receptionist answers. "Hi, I'm calling for Chief Hopper please."

"You and half the town. Can I take a message?"

"He's not in yet?"

"You his girlfriend or something?" she asks with a hint of derision.

"Yes, this is Tricia calling."

"Oh. No, he's not in. I figured he was with you." The slight teasing in her voice is gone now.

"And he didn't say he was going to be in late?"

"Sorry, hun, I know as much as you do. Did you need to speak with him about something urgent?"

I can't have the whole town knowing how much I'm fretting over Hopper - and our relationship - when so many other people are facing real crises. "I - no - it wasn't anything urgent. Sorry to tie up the line. I'll try his home."

"A couple officers went to his place since he hasn't been picking up. They should be over there now. I'll let you know if I learn of anything to be concerned about."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." I give her my call-back number before hanging up. The dread wallops me. Calling was a mistake. I thought I would be able to confirm all was well — or at least normal enough. Now I really know something is wrong.

I check the clock. It's nearly noon. I'm supposed to be at the bar in an hour, which doesn't give me enough time to get ready and make it to Hopper's place and back…but I won't be able to think straight until I know he is okay. My mind is filled with horrifying reasons why he made me promise not to go to his house, tying my stomach in knots. I grab my keys, acting on the base need to see for myself that he's okay. I break a dozen traffic laws on the drive over but I make it in record time.

There aren't any cars outside when I arrive, so I suppose I missed the other officers and Hopper himself. I assume this means that Hopper is alright, but my curiosity burns now. If I can't get him to tell me what is going on with him, maybe I can figure it out myself. With trepidation, I unlock the door, bracing myself for signs his alcoholism has returned in full force or evidence of another woman in his place.

I never would have guessed the scene I find before me. His entire place has been trashed. Destroyed appliances and decor litter the floor along with shattered glass. I stare, gaping, at the state of his home. It seems someone was looking for something, but I can't imagine who would do this. Either he did this himself in some unfathomable rage or someone ransacked his place.

As I marvel at the destruction, I realize the phone was disconnected from the wall. Hurriedly, I plug it back in, the first step in righting the mess. At a loss of what to do next to start putting the place in order — and already late for my shift — I turn to the door.

The ring of the phone cuts through the eerie silence and makes me jump in surprise. Without thinking, I turn back to it. Whoever is calling might know what happened here.

"Hello?" I answer. There's no one on the other end. My skin prickles to gooseflesh as my uneasiness grows. "Hello?"

"Hi, sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number. I'm looking for Jim Hopper." It's a woman's voice. Now my dread about Hopper's safety evaporates. While I was worried he was in danger of harming himself, he was off….I can't even finish that thought.

"This is his phone. Can I take a message?" My voice is icy, a staked claim any woman would recognize.

"I was just returning his call. This is Diane, his ex…is he okay? He called and said he had been drinking. I know it's not my place to pry into his affairs. I just wanted to see if he was okay."

He…called his ex-wife but he hasn't called me? I was reassuring myself that his distance was due to higher priorities. That he couldn't give our relationship any attention or effort because he was overwhelmed by everything else. But…he called his ex? I feel dizzy, my empty stomach threatening to dry heave.

"Are you still there? Is he okay?"

"Uh, yes. I'm still here. Sorry. I think so. I…I'll let him know you called back."

"Thanks. I'm glad he has someone looking out for him." I hear a child's wail in the background. "I should go. And…good luck to you."

I've spent too much time here already, but I have to freshen up here or I'll show up at work with bedhead and morning breath. I throw myself together as quickly as I can, desperate to escape the suffocating air in his house. The drive back to town passes in a blur as my thoughts race.

I don't know what to think. I don't know if I'm being made a fool of. All I know is that Hopper is keeping me at arm's length - again. Which can't be good. I rack my memory to see if I can remember what tripwire I stepped into that made him pull back. If I can figure out what I did wrong, I could figure out how to fix it. But in the back of my mind is a nagging, stubborn voice of pride. Whispering insidious questions about why am I the one who is always rushing to repair the relationship, to hold us together while he takes a hacksaw to my trust? Why am I always his last priority?

Given the extraordinary circumstances facing the town, any other man would get a pass for boorish and confusing behavior. But I've given Hopper so much leeway and chances. This time might be one too many. Like a load bearing pillar that's been worn near through, a lesser force can topple what previously withstood worse impacts. This time, I'm wondering if this is what I want. If I want to be the one perpetually chasing him. Or if this time he'll have to turn around and choose me.