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"Rescue Me"

'Cause I'm lonely

And I'm blue

I need you

And your love, too

C'mon and rescue me

- Fontella Bass

"Another strange kid? Come on, Phil, people are seeing things," Hopper said firmly. "Just tell them there's nothing in the woods and let it go."

Phil frowned. "I don't know, Chief. That kid the Walsh boy said broke his arm … We never found her."

"She never existed. The Walsh kid was out there messing around, doing stuff he didn't want his mother to know about, and he made something up to keep from getting in trouble. If my mom had called the cops every time I lied to her—"

"Yeah. Okay. I guess you're right, Chief. Hey, don't forget the party." Phil backed out of the office and closed the door.

As soon as the door was closed, Hopper reached into a drawer and got out his map, marking the new site. She was circling town, afraid to come too close. She must be freezing. And starving.

He'd been hearing reports of a strange kid out in the woods for a couple of weeks now, and he was increasingly convinced it had to be Eleven. The kids had said she disappeared, but they had never seen a body, so they assumed she'd gone into the Upside Down. Mike had been pestering him about it, wanting him to get Hawkins Lab to re-open the gate and look for her, and Hopper had talked him down. If Mike thought she was dead, it would be easier for him to move on—and harder for Hawkins Lab to find her if she was really out there somewhere.

Hopper made his way through the office holiday party, grabbing a Tupperware full of treats, and then ducked out into the cold. He wished he could give her some hot food, something more nourishing—but he had to find her first, and then he had to get her to trust him. She was a smart kid, she had probably figured out that he'd traded her location for the ability to go get Will as soon as Hawkins Lab showed up at the school. She'd likely be skittish around him—or anyone.

She would trust Joyce, he was sure, but he was reluctant to tell Joyce Eleven had survived. He told himself it was to protect Joyce, to allow her time to focus on Will's recovery … but he knew it was more than that, and worse, that he was being selfish, that he wanted to save and protect Eleven all on his own. Something about her big brown eyes, the shaved head … If Sara had lived …

He cleared his throat, climbing into the car and lighting a cigarette. This wasn't about Sara, he told himself firmly. This was about Eleven.

In the woods, he put the goodies from the party and a package of Eggos into a box he'd placed there, closing it tightly so animals couldn't get at it. If Phil's report was to be believed, she was around here somewhere.

He wanted to linger, but she wasn't going to come out if he was around.

Making his way back to the woods, he had just reached the car when he heard a sound behind him. He turned—and there she was.

He took off his hat instinctively. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You … all right?"

She nodded solemnly, but he could see her shivering. After a moment, she said, "Mike?"

"Yeah, he's fine."

"Can we … go?"

Hopper cleared his throat. "That's … complicated. Why don't we get you someplace warm and we can talk about it."

There was a pause while she considered that idea, and whether she found him trustworthy, and at last she nodded again.

He had already considered where he would take her if he found her, but he hadn't had time to get it ready. His granddad's old cabin was still filled with boxes of crap that his mother had left there when his granddad died, and Hopper had never bothered doing anything with any of it. Looking at it now from Eleven's perspective—well, what did she know? She'd seen Mike's house, and Will's, but beyond that she didn't know anything about how people lived. Maybe to her this was a palace. At least, Hopper hoped she would come to see it that way.

Dropping his coat on the floor, he said to her, "My granddad used to live here. Long time ago."

Jesus, he hadn't even thought about the cobwebs. What kind of a place was this to bring a little girl? He should take her to Joyce.

But he didn't want to. He wanted—he wanted this for himself. He wanted to save Eleven, to keep her safe, to give her the life she'd never had.

As she walked slowly through the cabin, he added, "I mainly just use it for storage now. Lot o' history here." He picked up a box he had forgotten he'd left here, a flowered box labeled "Sara", moving it to the bottom of a pile. "So, uh … What do you think?"

Eleven turned to look at him, startled, as if it had never occurred to her that it might matter what she thought.

"It's a work in progress," Hopper added apologetically. "It's … uh, takes a little imagination, but … You know, once we fix it up, it's gonna be nice. Real nice." Waiting for a reaction, for something, he finished, "This is your new home."

Her eyes were so big in her pale little face. She repeated the word. "Home."

"Great. You okay?"

Eleven nodded. "Mike?"

"Yeah." Why was he so reluctant to talk to her about other people? "Let's … uh, let's get started cleaning this up, okay? Then we'll talk."

It took a few minutes to get into the routine, but soon Eleven was moving boxes and Hopper was using an old broom to sweep cobwebs down off the ceiling.

"So, here's the thing, kid. They—Hawkins Lab—they think you're dead. And we want them to keep thinking that, because if they knew you were alive, they'd come for you. Right?"

"Right."

"So … I can keep you safe, and I can keep this secret, and you can stay here and no one will find you. But if we start telling other people where you are … Well, Mike would tell Will. And Will would tell his mom and his brother, and they would end up telling Lucas and Dustin, and—and we would all be in danger. Do you see what I mean?"

She put the box she was carrying down in a corner, looking at the floor and scuffing her foot against it. "I see." Then she looked up at him, the full force of her big brown eyes trained right on him, and said, "How long?"

He hoped to hell she couldn't read minds, because he didn't have a damned clue … and he didn't really want to. As long as he had her here, safe, he could make up for having betrayed her before, he could have another chance, he could be—he could be someone's dad again. He couldn't give that up. "Soon."

Fortunately for him, she hadn't grown up with real parents. Any of the other kids would have known "soon" for the evasion it was, but she didn't. She accepted it, and him, at face value. "Soon." But she wasn't happy. She was leaning against a ladder, half-sitting, and was looking at him like she wanted to ask more.

"Yeah." He looked for a way to cheer her up—and to distract her from any further questions—and found it in a couple of dusty boxes by the window. He set up the turntable and the receiver and dug through the box of records until he found his favorite. Jim Croce. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah." He grinned at her, happy to be able to share this with her. Showing her the album, he tapped on the top of it. "All right, this— This is music." He took the record out of the sleeve and placed it gently on the turntable.

Eleven jumped as the music filled the room. Had she never heard music before? Wow. He was glad he was the one to introduce her to it. Hopper snapped his fingers to the beat, bobbing to it, letting it flow through him. When was the last time he had really listened to music, really felt it inside him? It had been a long damned time.

He let it fill him, dancing along. Then he looked up and saw Eleven frowning at him as though she thought he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

"All right. Let's get to work."

And they did. By the end of the day, they had the place turned into somewhere a kid could live, someplace she could call home. Someplace they could both call home. He wasn't sure if he had fully convinced her about his taste in music yet … but that could come later.