Joyce sat on the floor, facing Hopper. She took advantage of the stillness to pay close attention. Finally, her gaze was directed to a bottle of pills on a tiny table next to the sofa. She recognized the brand; it was a potent painkiller. If he couldn't sleep even with those pills, which she prayed he wouldn't eat like candy, it was because the agony was severe. She now understood Jane's worries.

Hopper eventually glanced up. "Do you want anything else?" He whispered, unsure what else he could do to get her to leave him alone.

"Yep." She remained still, not wanting to give him an excuse to pick a fight with her.

"You have a safe place to stay and a warm meal. In your position, it's far more than you could hope for." He told her reluctantly, unable to hide his annoyance. "Tell me... what else do you need from me? My bank account? Maybe my soul?" He tried to find humor in the situation, but his tone quickly shifted to one of anxiety.

Joyce remained silent. He was clearly attempting to provoke her into a fight so she would leave him alone. That was never going to happen. She was determined to help this time, as she had promised the girl.

He gazed at her, perplexed. "What?"

"We need to talk."

He let out a snort. "For God's sake, Joyce... wait until tomorrow."

"It needs to be now. It's very important." She stood up and extended her hand. "We need to talk, and you should come with me since I doubt you'll be happy if Jane wakes up." She stated this while peering into the other bedroom.

With a heavy sigh, and rejecting her hand, Hopper followed her into the bedroom. He hoped to resolve the matter as quickly as possible.

Determinately, Joyce shut the door.

"Well? What's so fuking important that it can't wait till tomorrow?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I'm quite observant. I noticed your handshake earlier in the shed. I assumed the firewood was too heavy, but... after viewing the pills you take... How bad is it?"

"It's no big deal." He spoke fiercely but didn't raise his voice. "It's also none of your business."

"Yes, it is." She snarled and moved closer to him.

"Oh, yes? How long ago?" He approached her as well. "You didn't care about throwing me into a ravine a few days ago. You even took my daughter and, oh, yes, you shot me."

"I know it's difficult to explain, but I swear I'm simply trying to help this time."

"Help?" He took another step, forcing her to back up. "My life has only become worse since I had the bad luck of meeting you." He continued to move closer to her. "You brought my shit to my door again; I'm having to jeopardize my work and reputation to cover your ass, and, to top it all off, I struck my shoulder again when we stopped the car in the quarry, oh... yes... because of you! Tell me, Joyce, how you intend to help me..."

Joyce had no idea how her back had hit the wall. Hopper had cornered her.

"So it's true. You're hurt." She spoke, her gaze fixated on him, attempting to keep her cool. She had to remain calm, but knowing that his new suffering was partly her responsibility made it tough for her. Was she ever going to be able to quit screwing him over? She had to do something right, and she wasn't going to stop until she did. No matter what occurred. She wouldn't be deterred by any possible resistance he may offer, she was determined to make things work.

"Stop talking rubbish," Hopper dropped his voice even more since he was so near. "Less pretending you care."

"I care." She was taken aback by how swiftly she answered.

Joyce's expression of fear and disbelief was diametrically opposed to the man's expression of pain and vulnerability. The moment was so intense that it felt like time had stopped.

Hopper was the one who broke contact and went on the defensive. "Of course. You need me to cover for you and get your silly cylinder back."

She attempted to keep her nerves under control. "You're right. I rely on you, which is why I'm concerned about your health. But your daughter also needs you."

"Don't even think of including my kid in this."

"I don't involve your daughter in anything. She's already a part of it, whether you like it or not. Hopper, she also needs you."

He placed his hand on the wall, just over her head. He wasn't trying to intimidate her; he just needed to sustain himself. Joyce noticed him attempting to conceal what appeared to be another whiplash of agony.

"Why are you doing this?" Her expression was filled with worry. "Why is it so difficult for you to admit you need help?"

Even though he was struggling and obviously in need of help and support, he straightened up and turned his back on her. "Because I don't need it,"

"I... I can help you."

He startled her with his laughter. "Joyce, stop it," he said as he sat in bed.

"I'll give it my best shot. You already know that I'm an excellent physical therapist." He stared at her, puzzled, and she drew closer; giving up wasn't in her plans. "I can give it a go. I can treat the muscle that's troubling you."

"No." He stood his ground, maintaining eye contact with her. "With your cynical way of helping... You're going to shatter my good arm. No, thank you."

"You said I couldn't ask for anything more. It's true. You have done far more than I deserve. I've done nothing except meddle with your life. I never meant to hurt you, and yet... look at you." She sighed and paused, searching for the right words. "I need to help you, Hopper, and I want to do it right. Yes... I have to repay the favor in some manner, and this's the only way I know how. I'm a mess at everything else."

He let out a breath. "Joyce, you can't help me even if you wanted to. Nobody can. It's an old wound that I have been living with for a long time, and it reopens from time to time with a hard blow. It'll go away in a few days."

"A couple of days is absurd for pain that keeps you from sleeping. Let me at least try."

"Joyce... Sometimes pain is good."

"Bullshit. Pain is only good for having clients in my future office, remember?" She spoke, a sad smile on her face.

"Oh, that one with the awful name. It doesn't inspire trust."

She chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't charge you anything."

"You're very stubborn."

"Look who's talking."

Joyce placed her hand over Hopper's still shaking one as he pursed his lips. "You don't lose anything, and I'm willing to try. I swear I'll be as gentle as possible, and if you tell me to stop, I'll stop." Her fingers clenched around his fist, trying to reassure him.

Hopper contemplated her hand on his, and she waited patiently for him to accept her help. It was tough for him; he had always gone on his own, without relying on anybody, but the pain was becoming stronger this time. He realized he couldn't go on like this, so he looked up with a slight sigh of resignation. "Are you used to getting your way all the time?"

She smiled brightly.

"Ahhh… And how...how does this work? What should I do?" He was completely lost.

"Oh, you don't have to do anything. Just get naked and lie on the bed."

He blinked, becoming paler by the minute.

"I mean..." Joyce flushed as she realized the significance of that statement. "Take off your shirt and lie down so I can examine your injury."

He was still stunned. "That doesn't sound like a good idea, Joyce."

She had almost persuaded him, and it was unfair that he regretted it at the last minute. "Hopper, take a deep breath. It's fine. You shouldn't be scared." She remarked condescendingly, attempting to provoke his ego.

"I'm not scared!"

Joyce smiled. "Then stop whining like a small child."

Hopper rolled his eyes but eventually complied, flinging his uniform shirt to the floor. Joyce attempted to look as professional as possible; she was aware that he was scrutinizing her and that his trust was on the line, so she concentrated, pretending that Hopper was some random client from her days in the office. However, Joyce couldn't help but notice a prominent scar on his chest. "That's..." she faltered.

"It's nothing more than a gunshot wound." He was playing it down.

"Nothing more?" She was perplexed. The scar was too close to his chest's center. It was practically a miracle that he had survived something like that. "It's quite close to..."

"To the heart? Yeah, well... Many people think I don't have one, which may explain why I'm still alive." He had a sorrowful expression on his face.

She gulped and tried to concentrate once more. "I'm guessing it's pain that's reflected in other muscles, right?"

Though he was interested, he narrowed his eyes. "A nerve was severed by the bullet. It's an old wound that occasionally reopens, but the pain goes away after a few days."

"If it reopens after a severe hit and goes away after a few days, it means that area is weak, and a blow might impact that injured nerve again, causing pain to spread to other areas such as the shoulder or even the entire arm. Just lie face down."

He raised an eyebrow but eventually gave up. Joyce inhaled deeply and crunched her fingers; it had been a long time since she'd practiced her job.

"No, no, no... Joyce, this's weird." Hopper tried to move away, but her hands were firmly on his back. All of his muscles stiffened at the same time.

"Don't worry." Her hands began slowly and tenderly massaging his lower back. She had to start somewhere, trying to calm him down and relax his muscles before moving on to the sore spot.

"Are you sure that you're a physical therapist? The shoulder isn't there." He cynically mumbled.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You probably need this as well. You've got a bad back."

"What can I say? The desk chair is a death trap," confessed Hopper. "But if you go that slow, you'll be done by sunrise," he finished.

"Are you in a hurry? I remind you that the alternative was to spend a restless night feeling sorry for yourself."

"Perhaps it's better than this," he sneered.

Her fingers proceeded to work their way up his spine. He remained as tense as a board of wood. "I'm going to move gently and quietly; if I hurt you, please tell me."

Hopper became irritated. He didn't want to spend any longer time in that situation than was absolutely necessary. "Hey, fix what you said and finish. It makes no difference if it's painful. That's ok with me."

Joyce continued to gently massage his back; she needed him to calm down so she could work better. Perhaps making him talk might help him relax.

"How often does this happen to you?" She muttered, her voice quiet.

Despite his position, Hopper felt the weight of her eyes on him. He despised it when others felt sorry for him. "Why are you interested? Do you need customers so soon? The police income isn't very good, so I couldn't afford a regular physiotherapist," he joked.

"Oh, I could offer you a discount," Joyce said, laughing. But she quickly returned to seriousness. "You must have recovered slowly."

"Don't feel sorry for me, Joyce. I... I should have died that day."

She felt his lungs inflate with a deep inhale under her palms.

"Do you know who shot me?" Hopper grinned sourly. "Brenner. Point blank. Yes... and I wish his aim was better."

Joyce gulped. She regretted forcing him to talk. She sincerely wanted to help him heal his old wound, but she seemed to be opening another, one that would be more difficult to cure. "Don't say that, Hopper."

"Yeah… I thwarted some of his schemes and arrested a couple of his pals. That bastard son of a bitch vowed to destroy me and my entire family. He should have begun with me and ended with me." He sighed heavily, tired. "He didn't have time to finish me off because reinforcements came at that precise moment. I wish he had."

"Hopper..."

"They could get me out of there. But oh! They all assumed I wouldn't make it, and they were stupid enough to tell Diane I was dying. She... She was under protection, but she left the safe home and went to the hospital. Brenner captured her on the way. The next day, her body was discovered."

She felt his muscles finally give way, completely giving up. "Joyce, you're right. I'm to blame for my wife's death. She wouldn't have been so rash if I had died on the spot, and my daughter would have had a great mother."

Joyce made a brief blink. She was trying hard not to let her eyes glaze over. "You can't blame yourself for not being dead! And you cannot know what would have happened if it were so. For the record, Jane's a wonderful girl, attentive and smart, qualities she most likely learned from her father. She's also sweet, but... no, this's not from you." She attempted to cheer him up by gently pushing down on the center of his back.

"I'm not even sure why I'm telling you this."

"Sometimes we simply need to let it all out. Otherwise, we would burn on the inside." Her palm slid fearfully near his old wound, almost as if she was pleading for permission to go.

"Ok..." When his fingertips traced the wound, he closed his eyes. "It's ok to have this pain occasionally or to go without sleep for a few nights." He confessed it with sorrow. "It's a bargain compared to what Diane paid."

"Hopper," she paused, still surprised by his burden. "This might be more painful than usual." He only nodded as she warned him.

She squeezed strongly on the spot, and his fists tightened hard. Her hands rubbed the muscles vigorously, looking for the lesion. "Hold on..." Joyce attempted to rush as she noticed his knuckles becoming white, and that's when she discovered what was wrong. "I've got it. Hold on a bit longer, Hopper..."

He gasped in anguish and turned his face away.

"Hold on. There... almost there..." Joyce felt his muscles reorganize themselves as a spasm ran down his spine. She became terrified as she heard an agonizing groan. Surely, It would have been a scream if his daughter hadn't been around. "It's ok." She attempted to soothe him by rubbing the affected area. "Don't worry. It's all over."

The groan faded into a lament as she continued to stroke his skin gently, slowly, and calmly, furrowing little circles and moving toward his neck. She attempted to comfort him by caressing the most sensitive part of his neck and whispering that everything was ok. She felt him relax in her hands, finally allowing himself to be soothed by her touch and words. His breathing began to steady, and his pulse relaxed.

His eyes remained closed, but his hands gradually opened until all pressure was relieved. Joyce kept comforting him, losing track of time. She continued to caress him till she was surprised by the quiet. As she looked closer, she noticed his body had become increasingly still, until it was obvious he'd fallen asleep.

"Hopper...?" She was astonished by his relaxed appearance. He seemed a completely different person, considerably younger than he appeared. Her fingertips dared to go deeper, seizing the opportunity to explore forbidden territory while he was oblivious. She stroked his jaw carefully, pressing her fingers into his beard. His skin was smooth and warm beneath her touch, so different from what she expected.

For the first time, she saw him for what he was, laying in front of her, utterly vulnerable. No anger, no stress, no frustration, no pain…

She saw his brokenness and was filled with compassion... and something else she didn't want to find out. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel a connection to him. Although fearful of the pain that could come from allowing such a connection, she realized that it was too late - she was already in too deep.

"Goodnight, Hopper."

It was ironic. Joyce sat on the sofa, where she had planned to sleep from the start. She cuddled down, knowing that this night would only be a brief pause in her life. For one night, she felt normal, protected, and as if she didn't have to look back, feeling persecuted. With a girl who trusted her with her concerns... and... with him. He trusted her for one night, and she... felt things. She felt things she shouldn't have. It couldn't be true. She tried to deny it and push away the emotions she had, but they lingered. She had caught him in a vulnerable state, and nothing more. Her happy dreams were just that, and no matter how much she hoped for them to come true, there was nothing she could do about it. She was dreading the next morning. Joyce Byers felt like she belonged somewhere for one night, but she knew it was all a deception. She'd be back to her gloomy reality the next day.

In the darkness of night, she finally allowed her emotions to take over. A tear escaped, trickling down her face, and then...more, till she fell asleep.

To be continued.