LXII

By the time Hopper pulls up in front of her house, Henry is already waiting for her on the porch with his arms folded. The fact that he's dressed more casually than usual—jeans and a black sweater—does nothing to ease the knot Eleven feels in her stomach at the sight of him.

"We're here, kid," Hopper lets her know as he gets out to open the door for her. Then he turns to Henry: "You must be Henry, right?" Hopper walks up the steps to him, hand outstretched. "Jim Hopper, Chief of Police."

Henry just casts an icy glance at Hopper's outstretched hand, then fixes his eyes on Eleven.

"Would you be kind enough to explain where you were?"

Joyce winces. Eleven stops herself just in time from imitating her. Hopper, on the other hand, frowns. "Listen here, buddy—"

"It was my idea," Eleven rushes to interrupt the policeman, who drops his hand at Henry's obvious sulking. "I'm sorry…"

"Sorry," Joyce adds, picking up her pace to come and stand next to her. "We couldn't find anything in the stores here, and Hopper offered to drive us to a nearby town… We didn't let you know because we were short on time; otherwise, Jane wouldn't have had a dress until next week.

"And we couldn't let her go on a date badly dressed, isn't that right?"

Although it might seem that Henry's expression doesn't change in the slightest, Eleven notices the way his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. Eleven hates seeing him like this, with a look on his face that reminds her of when, as a subservient orderly, he would silently watch Papa's experiments, helpless to stop him.

"Hm." That's all the answer he offers.

She would rather see him openly upset than putting on this feigned indifferent façade.

However, while she is desperately thinking of a way to get around this situation, Henry finally deigns to speak: "In that case, thank you very much for what you did for Jane."

She wonders if they see the storm brewing under his apparent kindness—judging from Joyce's relieved look and Hopper's puzzled—yet not offended—expression, she assumes they don't.

"Er… Yeah, sure. Don't forget the dress."

"Oh. Oh, sure…" Eleven runs downstairs and follows Hopper back to the car.

Once the gift bag is in her hands, she returns to Henry.

"I didn't have enough… for everything," Eleven mutters. "But Mr. Hopper—"

"Just 'Hopper', kid."

Eleven grimaces; apparently, she hasn't spoken low enough.

"Okay. He—"

"It's nothing, I just gave her a present," Hopper interrupts.

Eleven closes her eyes and rests her head against the bag, sincerely wishing she could disappear. Afterwards, she turns around to look at him once again: "Yeah, but it's a lot and—"

The policeman shakes his hand in a gesture with the clear intention of playing it down. "It's a gift, kid, we've already talked about this."

Finally, Eleven sighs in a clear act of surrender. "Thank you… Hopper," she says softly, and even smiles at the man who, despite her rude exterior, has done nothing but be nice to her all day.

Only then does Henry speak again. Eleven watches him out of the corner of her eye: "If that's the case… thank you very much, officer." His tone is perfectly courteous.

"It's nothing," the man grumbles. "Come, Joyce; I will give you a ride."

"Oh. Yeah, sure, thanks…" Joyce offers Henry a sheepish smile and winks at Eleven before climbing into the seat next to Hopper's. She and Henry watch as the van pulls away, then drifts down the hill.

Eleven clutches the bag to her chest and has barely taken a couple of steps into the hall when Henry calls out to her.

"Eleven."

And he sounds furious.