Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except the mistakes as this is un-beta'd.
Author's note: Okay so this is just as angsty but perhaps a tiny bit more fluffy?
Time After Time
It was becoming increasingly ridiculous that whatever the situation, whatever the emotion, it always seemed to lead them here – to him pressing her against the nearest flat surface and kissing her like his life depended on it, (he was beginning to think that it did), and then pretending it never happened and starting all over again. Post 2x09 Joyce/Hopper angsty fluff.
Chapter Two: Grief
For the second time in as many months Joyce wasn't entirely sure how she had ended up here – alone with Hopper in her house late at night with a heavy atmosphere hanging around them. At least no one was screaming stupid, hurtful, unforgivable things this time. Her cheeks still burned red every time she thought of the horrendous things she had said to him and what had followed afterwards.
The next couple of times she had seen after that encounter had been awkward to say the least. When he'd been dropping Jane off at hers for a movie night with the party or when they'd ran into each other in town it had been entirely uncomfortable. They'd both danced around the gigantic elephant in the room, desperately hoping the other wouldn't bring it up and talked about anything and everything to avoid the subject altogether. Just like it had never happened. It felt so distant and obscure that Joyce was beginning to wonder whether it had happened at all or if it was just some weird, little fantasy she had dreamed up herself. But if she closed her eyes she could still feel his warm, insistent lips against hers and she knew she wasn't imagining that.
When he'd come into the store earlier and brought nothing but a six-pack of beers to the counter she'd felt instantly concerned. This had obviously registered on her face as he very quickly informed her Jane was with her Aunt Becky for the weekend. Joyce hadn't pressed him any further, still not feeling entirely comfortable with him after what had happened. But he'd volunteered the information anyway. He, himself seemed surprised he had revealed such a thing to her, as if the words had escaped him before he had the chance to hold them back:
'It's Sara's birthday today.'
Her eyes had softened in understanding at once and although it was on the tip of her tongue she did not reply with worn out, standard I'm sorry. Instead she'd smiled, a warm, genuine smile and asked how old Sara would be before inviting him over to hers for better beers and some company. To her surprise he had accepted and it was only after he had left the store that she realised it was probably a bad idea to invite the man she had been secretly obsessing over for the last god knows how many weeks over to her house to get drunk with on what would arguably be the worst night of the year for him. Still, she'd offered and she could hardly ring him and call it off.
"Thank you for this… for tonight." Hopper commented quietly as he sat next Joyce on her sofa. They were both a few beers in. Will had gone to bed and Jonathan was out with Nancy so they were alone and increasingly drowsy with alcohol and sleepiness.
"Least I could do." Joyce replied honestly. "Especially after last month when I went bat-shit crazy on you."
It was the first time either of them had mentioned that night. The silence hung heavy between the small space between them. Hopper opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. He wanted to tell her not to worry about it, that he understood, that he was over it (the argument part of it at least), but somehow he knew his half-hazy brain wouldn't be able to word it right and would probably make it ten times worse so he remained silent beside her.
"I mean you're always there for me and the boys, always picking up the pieces of our latest disaster… it's the least I can do to return the favour a little bit."
Hopper turned to face her; there was an expression in his eyes that she could not place, an indescribable emotion somewhere between fondness, gratitude and complete sorrow. Joyce's heart broke a little at the sight. This wonderful, wonderful man that had helped her so much. Will was alive because of him and only him and she knew that. He had saved her boy, continued to save and keep him safe and she could never return that favour to him. She could never bring back his little girl or mend the gaping hole her absence had left in his life.
"I forget sometimes… I forget that El, Jane,isn't her, that she isn't Sara." Hopper told her quietly. He wasn't looking at her anymore but he could feel her undivided attention on him. He had the inexplicable need to bare his soul tonight but he couldn't look at her whilst doing it. So his gaze bore holes in the beer bottle he was holding instead. "And then Jane will say something or do something that's so out of character for her and I remember…" He sniffed back his feelings and began to play with the label of the bottle. "I suddenly remember that she's not her. It hits me straight out of the blue, winds me. It's like losing Sara all over again… And I hate her. In that second I hate Jane because she's not Sara. She's not Sara." He wiped at his eyes self-consciously and let out a long and pained sigh before finally turning to face Joyce once more. "Does that make me a terrible person?"
"No." Joyce answered immediately, so immediately and so assuredly he couldn't help but smile in response. He saw some of his pain reflected back in her eyes but there was also a determination there that he had come to recognise and god help anyone that got in the way when Joyce Byers had that look in her eye.
"It doesn't make you a terrible person Hop, it makes you human." She told him firmly.
"I just feel like I don't know what I'm doing most of the time."
To his surprise she laughed at his statement and somehow despite it all that sound still made him feel just a little bit better. If he had been in a different frame of mind, if it had been a different day perhaps he would have lingered on the thought that he could get used to hearing that sound for the rest of his days. That the idea of hearing that sound forevermore create a warm feeling right in the pit of his stomach that spread its way to every corner of his body and made his very veins feel alive with the buzz of it.
"That's just parenthood!" Joyce exclaimed suddenly. "Surely you remember that? The whole goddamn thing is just a hell of a lot of guesswork and even more worrying that you're doing it wrong."
Hopper gave the small stirrings of a laugh in reply. Apparently she knew just what to say to make him feel better.
"You're doing a good job Hop. You are. Jane is safe, secure, happy… well as happy as any thirteen year old girl can be with all of the angst." Joyce said dramatically and he felt himself smile again. "You're doing a good job."
And just as suddenly as he had smiled he began to cry. He didn't even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed or ashamed at showing such feeling to the woman he knew he spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking about. The verbal confirmation that he was doing okay, somehow, with everything that had happened and all that had come after him, somehow he was doing okay – Joyce's validation of this had made all of his pent up emotion come crashing down around him until he couldn't breathe from the force of it. He was entirely overcome.
He was aware of Joyce saying something, soothing words he guessed, but he couldn't hear or see her as he buried his head in his hands and rocked forwards. He felt her peel his hands away from his face with surprising strength before she literally climbed into his lap, gathered him into her crook of her neck and flung her arms tight around his shoulders. And fuck him if it wasn't the most comforted he had ever felt, in the last few years anyway and very probably more than ever before.
Her hands were in his hair and then running comforting circles across him shoulders and back as she continued to rock him and at last he could hear her gentle murmurings:
"It's okay… It's okay Hop, it's okay…" Her breathe felt warm as it danced across his forehead until at last she stopped speaking and rested her lips against his head instead.
After a few moments their rocking ceased, his tears began to dry on his cheeks and a natural and calm stillness settled around them. Neither said a word. Hopper was just about to pull out of her embrace when he felt her lips move from his head to place another impossibly soft kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes and relished the feeling. They were approaching dangerous waters once more but he could not have told her to stop even if he'd have wanted to. She landed another kiss lower still, lingering on the scratchy stubble of his beard, and another, getting closer and closer to his mouth. When she reached her intended target she stopped, her lips hovering over his until he opened his eyes to look back at her.
She was trying to give him every opportunity to tell her to stop, to push her off of him and call her crazy again. It would be entirely deserved. God alone knew why she was doing what she was doing. All she knew was it was the best way she could think of to comfort him, to comfort them both and she desperately wanted to do that – to comfort him and make it just a little bit easier, just a little bit better. To make it all go away just for a few seconds as he had done for her countless times over the last few months.
But he didn't tell her to stop, he didn't shrug her off. Instead he leaned forward to close the tiny gap between, grabbed the sides of her head in an utterly passionate and possessive move and kissed her as if it was the end of the world as they knew it. It very well likely was. There was nothing sweet or soft about his caresses as hers had been earlier – he kissed her with a desperation, a hunger, not just for her but for the pain he was feeling to subside. He was using her as the ultimate painkiller and depressant and she couldn't have cared less. If this would take away that sadness from him he could use her as much he wanted.
She was on her back, being pressed into the sofa with all of his weight before she knew what was happening. There was something oddly comforting about having him and all of his considerable size on top of her – as if he was shielding her from the rest of the world – the only thing she could feel, see, smell and taste was him and it was glorious.
"Hop…" She moaned between searing kisses. She sounded utterly wanton.
It was then they heard the key in the lock. They froze in shock, their minds too slow from the combination of drink and lust to realise what was happening until it was too late. Jonathan strolled into the living room, he stopped dead in his tracks as his mind processed the scene in front of him and his face burned crimson.
"Oh god, sorry! I… I'm going to bed, night!" He tripped and spat over the words as he tried to get them out as fast as possible.
"Jonathan, it's not…" Joyce began as she extracted herself from under Hop. She didn't know how to continue. She couldn't very well say it's not what it looks like when it was so painfully clear that it was exactly what it looked like. She started to walk towards her eldest son but he was already at his bedroom door. He shut the door behind him and didn't look back. "Shit!" Joyce exclaimed.
Hopper had already stood up and was straightening his clothes as she turned to look at him. His eyes were still bloodshot and his cheeks were glowing red with the embarrassment of being caught or of being so opening vulnerable or because he was regretting what had just happened for all she knew.
"Hop…" The word sounded so different to what it had done only moments before. It was so uncertain now.
"I should go. It's not… it's not you, really, I just… this is really unfair of me, I shouldn't have come when I'm like this." He sounded distant and distracted and she knew whatever had just occurred between them had now passed.
"It's okay Hopper, really…" She stepped towards him but he took a step back, keeping the distance between them.
"I'm going to go. I'll see you soon okay."
He grabbed his coat from the side and left without another word. And there they were – right back to square fucking one.
