"We should talk."
Teresa hated those words. Hated them since the first time she'd heard them leave Jim Hopper's mouth, and had hated them every time since. Often, they brought bad news. She expected this time to be no different.
She had an idea what Jim needed to talk about, too.
Routine was a loose term in Teresa's vocabulary. In New York, her time had been dictated by the hospital trips Sarah needed, and she'd never complained. She just understood it was the way things had to be.
In Huntington Beach, it was ruled by her mother's routine. Teresa would make any plan, as impulsively and last minute as possible, in order to get out of the house. If she was dragged to the other side of the country, she needed some type of control, and she just knew she didn't want to be home in the evenings, or even the nights, sometimes, and waltz around her mother and their problems.
It was how she'd been swept up in trouble in the first place. That had also ended with a 'we should talk' conversation.
The thing is, Jim had a routine. He had a start time at work, and even though Teresa had no school due to winter break, she knew she could rely on Jim to definitely be gone by a certain time in the morning. Even if he overslept, which was less and less as time went on. Then after work, he'd come home, put on an act about being shocked by her cooking ability, and then he would disappear after dinner with some extra food for an hour. She wasn't entirely sure what he did, but she knew he took a walk, because his boots would be covered in snow, and dirt when he returned. She never questioned it, incase it would disrupt their routine.
She thought they were doing well. She thought she was doing fine.
"Am I not supposed to be out here?" she asked, not looking up from her sketchpad as she sat on the deck overlooking the lake.
The best part about the trailer for Teresa was undoubtedly that deck. Early in the morning, after a night of restless sleep, she often found herself craving the air of the dawn, and she sat bundled up in a blanket, feet resting on the lower bar of the wooden railing.
She'd forgotten just how different Hawkins was. Having grown up in city environments for the past decade, first New York, then greater Los Angeles, she'd forgotten what is was like to be able to breathe fresh air without driving for hours. She hadn't been able to just step outside for it in years.
When Jim woke up that specific morning, she was still sat on a chair outside, feet resting on the balustrade as she drew in a worn sketchbook. He'd leaned against the doorframe, but was aware that moment would be appropriate to have the conversation he'd been putting off during Christmas.
"Be out here all you want," he chuckled lightly, approaching the edge of the deck and offered one of the cups of coffee to her.
"Thanks," she looked up, giving him a small smile, as he put down his own cup and pulled on his jacket. "I'm looking for a job, I swear—"
"No," Jim shot her an odd look, looking over to her as her words registered in his brain. "You're looking for a job?"
"Yeah," she stopped pretending like the cup of coffee was so interesting. "I had a job in California. I just— I thought you'd want me to—"
"No, keep looking for one, that's— I appreciate the effort," he nodded, having to rethink how to bring up what was on his mind. After another too drawn out moment, he let out a sigh. "You want to eat out?"
"Please."
So they ended up having the conversation in his car, parked by the woods, where she'd been more than confused to find documents in the back. Between an assortment of waffles, bacon, eggs, and better coffee, Jim explained the circumstances of Will's disappearance. That the lab—still functioning, but led by a new team—was conducting experiments until the experiment escaped the month before.
Which left the last—and perhaps most important—topic.
"Yeah, I remember her," Teresa said as she read through a file Jim had simply labelled Ives. "Sued them for kidnapping her kid, right? She had no tangible proof that the kid survived."
"Yeah. You remember what you said?" Jim asked, watching for her reaction.
"I was like— What, eight years old?" she shook her head, glancing up at him.
"You were five."
"I had an opinion about a miscarriage when I was five years old?" she asked, dropping the file into her lap.
"I didn't remember anything about it until we started looking. She was part of MKUltra."
"Yeah, CIA stuff. I wrote a paper on it for my poli-sci class in juvie," Teresa nodded immediately.
"You what?"
She kept his eye contact, having turned sideways in her seat as she drew her knee under her chin, pressing her boot into the seat of Jim's truck. She noticed just how shocked he was at the revelation.
"It was a— I guess they were trying to get us to understand why what we did was wrong. So I wrote a pretty unnecessarily long paper about how the CIA used unwitting human subjects, why it was unethical," she shrugged. "Didn't earn me any favours, but I just mean I understand what you're saying."
"Right. So Ives. Even her sister thought she was crazy. But we found her kid," Jim told her, watching as his daughter, with the same name as the mother of the girl he left food for, kept reading through the file, lifting sheets, turning pages.
"She was alive?"
"She is alive," Jim corrected her. "She, uh— You know about the gate I was talking about?" Teresa gave him a nod. "She opened it. As part of some experiments done on her by the chief supervisor, Brenner. That's what Will was pulled into by whatever creature came through to our side. From what the kids called the Upside Down."
He continued on to explain how Will had been held there for too long, how he helped Joyce get him back out, how they had to resuscitate him. That Jim himself was then pulled aside by the government, who talked to him about compensation, and how the whole group was sworn to secrecy. There were papers to sign, with too much legal jargon, but which made their current situation breaking the law. Telling Teresa about any of it was illegal.
"And I thought I was a special brand of Hopper," she smiled softly, but Jim just shook his head.
"I know you're good with secrets. Diane has assured me you were more than private when it came to your free time."
"I wouldn't say that, but okay," she let out a laugh.
"I need you to keep this quiet. No talking about it, or any indication that you know anything. Not to any of the kids. Not Will and Jonathan and Joyce, or any of their friends," Jim added, offering his hand, as he would do when she was a kid, and extended his smallest finger. Teresa stared down at it with slightly furrowed eyebrows, before she let a small smile flitter over her features. She linked her pinkie with her father's, and shook on it. When he let her go, she lifted a finger to her collarbone, drawing over it.
"Cross my heart."
"And I need you to never talk to anyone about what I'm about to show you."
Teresa knew the Hopper cabin. It had belonged to Jim's grandfather, her great-grandfather, and Jim had taken her on one occasion for a weekend that he used to teach her about survival. She had shown a lot of interest in his skills he'd picked up during his childhood, as well as in the military, so a weekend living in the cabin was a sort of bonding time for them.
It still stood in its run down, hermit kind of way, but this time, she was sketching it as something a little better. A home, maybe.
Jim told her to stay in the car, so she got herself busy. She had her foot crossed over her exposed knee, resting the sketchpad she seemed to carry everywhere on it, while she sketched the cabin as she remembered it.
She was just glad she'd put down the takeaway cup of coffee when the radio in the car crackled to life. She could make out the rhythmic tapping as permission to make her way up to the cabin, and Teresa put her things down, gathering what Jim asked her to from the back, before she sunk her scuffed boots into the snow along the new path.
There was a fire going in the cabin, the chimney allowing some dark smoke to ascend into the white sky that brought more promise of snow.
Even in the last few days of 1983, Teresa wasn't a fan.
Juggling the bag of supplies, Teresa kicked her boot into the door in a light rhythm, until it was opened. Then it was slammed in her face again.
"Nice to meet you too," she muttered under her breath, when the door opened again, this time firmly held by Jim as he shot her a 'told you so' look. "Yeah, okay, stop frowning at me."
"Tap off your boots," he told her, still holding onto the door as she did so, taking a step in.
"I can't believe your plan is to stash Carrie White in a cabin in the woods. Sounds like a horror novel. What is this, Maine?" she mumbled, readjusting her hold on the box as she flicked the door closed with her heel. "Cold like Maine."
"I mentioned being patient, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," she looked up at her father with an exaggerated grin, only to get another look from him. They'd always been able to understand each other, as if they worked on the same wavelength, but unfortunately for him, she was more than happy to exploit that to his expense.
"You can come out," Jim turned away from her, instead speaking to someone behind the slightly closed door of the extra room. Teresa turned to where he was looking, noticing a pink skirt, and a dark blue jacket enter the main area.
The older girl's eyes took in the young girl she'd only heard about, but she couldn't find it in herself to be intimidated. Jim had been more than descriptive about what she could do; the bath, the moving things with her mind, opening an inter-dimensional gate. This girl was more grown up than Teresa, and she'd shared a room with murderers for months.
This couldn't be any harder than that, right?
Before she could even say anything, though, the box in Teresa's hands was yanked away. It landed on the floor as Jim immediately rushed to the young girl's side. Before her arm could raise, Jim caught her attention, while Teresa stayed still, not wanting to alarm her any more.
"She's a friend. She's good," Jim tried to explain, putting himself between the girl and his daughter.
"Friend?"
"Yes."
The girl peeked around Jim's body to watch Teresa as she pulled her newly purchased hat, scarf, and gloves off, revealing her cuts and grazes. Her eyes were scanning Teresa for anything resembling a threat, but she didn't look like anyone who had been at the lab. In fact, she recognised the print on Teresa's t-shirt.
"The Thing."
"What?" Teresa looked to her, then down at her shirt. "Oh. Yeah. Classic," she smiled a little, not wanting to take any steps too far and perhaps spook the girl. Instead, she draped her top layer on the chair beside her, before she sat down on the floor, letting the girl come to her, if she wanted. "My name is Reese."
The girl looked to Jim, who gave her a small nod, and stepped aside.
"Eleven."
"El," Jim told Teresa as she shot him a questioning glance.
"It's nice to meet you El," she nodded, El still staring at her, hesitating to move. Teresa wasn't entirely surprised by that, from what her father that told her.
"Who is Carrie White?" The girl asked as Jim and Teresa had to share a look. She knew he'd be bringing that back up later...
"She's a character in a book," Teresa smiled slightly, unable to hide her amusement. "She can move things with her mind," she tapped the side of her head, her smile widening as El's eyes lit up in interest. "I can tell you're better than her, though."
El's lips stretched into a small smile, making Teresa mirror the expression as Jim let out a short breath of relief at the sight.
"She's going to help fix up this place. Make it a home," Jim told the girls, the elder of whom nodded, while El just looked between them both. Jim had told her that already, but she didn't realise there would be another person in the mix.
"Starting with maybe some music?" Teresa asked, getting a nod from her father as she slowly got up, and found the record player on the shelf, a box of her father's old records beside it. As she dusted off the old player, Jim stepped beside her, and chose a record, putting it on.
She did her best to not laugh, or even smile, when he started dancing. El couldn't help herself though, and Teresa ended up letting out a chuckle as her dad clapped his hands, and they got to work.
───────
"What is this?" El picked up a record Teresa immediately recognised.
"David Bowie," she answered, putting the rest of the sleeves of her own records into the old box, and lifting it to place on the shelf in El's room.
Jim designated the old storage closet as Teresa's room, who immediately agreed that El should take the one by the kitchen. The closet had a bed and a dresser, but Teresa hadn't packed a lot of clothes, so that was enough. She didn't really want to ask for anything else. The both thought El deserved a room to herself, and they planned to build an extension when things had died down. If that ever happened...
In any case, Teresa throughly enjoyed the fact that she packed her extensive record collection, which was relocated to El's room, so she could listen to them when she was home alone. Not that Teresa really liked the idea of the girl being home alone to take care of herself, but needs must, she supposed.
"Do you want to play it?" she asked, nodding to the record in El's hand.
"How?"
"Here," Teresa smiled, lifting the lid from the player, and slipping out the record from the sleeve. Placing down the needle at the edge of the record, she let Hang On to Yourself play quietly, until Teresa turned up the volume just a little.
Stepping away, she saw El's head bob a little with the rhythm, the older girl smiling at the familiar movement. "You like it?"
"I like it," El decided, turning to Teresa, who gently took her hand, pulling the girl around the room to dance.
Hopper came home from his grocery run to the girls dancing to Cindy Lauper, giggling as Teresa made El turn, smiling wider than he'd ever seen her. Standing by the closed door, Hopper watched Teresa stop, having noticed him come in.
"Evening," she smiled, though no guilt was laced in her expression. El waved her hand, flicking off the needle from the record, and stopping the music, apparently still scared of doing anything bad.
"We said low profile."
"It was my fault," Teresa spoke before El could even breathe. She reached forward, taking the bags from Hopper's hands, putting them onto the table as El joined her to help unpack. "Won't happen again."
Jim glanced at El, who was keeping her head down as much as possible, though her eyes had sparked with excitement at the sight of the box of Eggos. "Let's just keep it down," he decided, sending the girl a small smile as she finally raised her head to look at him.
"Yes, sir," Teresa put on a low voice, making El stifle a giggle, turning to the fridge to put the box into the freeze. That alone was enough for Jim to realise how easy it was for the girls to bond.
It wasn't difficult to realise Teresa felt the same way about El as he did. They both knew she wasn't Sarah, but the hole left by the girl they both lost was being filled again by the girl in the cabin. Although not the model family, he was glad he had at least a little bit of it back.
Dinner passed by peacefully, but once Jim explained the rules they had to set in order to keep El safe, the conversation soon turned to satisfying Teresa's curiosity. Telling her details and stories, as Jim knew he would have to eventually, might have happened upon them a little earlier than he would have liked, but it was necessary.
"Hold on, these kids uncovered a government plot, then think she died, and you just didn't think to tell me that absolutely no one but you know she's alive?" Teresa looked between Jim and El as they finished explaining the events of November as much as they could.
"They sent agents to look for her for weeks after the incident in the school. It's just safer for her to stay hidden."
"She's like twelve, she's not a fugitive," Teresa shook her head, lifting her foot onto her seat and resting her head on her knee. Jim started to realise it was a thing of hers. "What about the boys who helped you?" she asked, glancing at El.
"They don't know she's back," Jim replied for her. "It's safer this way. Things have to die down, and then we can think about it."
"And how long will that take?"
"A few months, at least."
"So— What's your plan? Keep her holed up here?" she asked. "What, like— prison?"
"Teresa."
She let out a sigh, turning back to El, who was more than happy with the couple of Eggos on her plate. The idea bothered her; the last time she saw a little girl confined to one place, she lost her.
It had only been a few days, and she was already a little (too) protective of the girl.
Hell, that was pretty much a Hopper trait. Teresa and Jim had a habit of getting too concerned about people, especially kids since Sarah. It made Teresa loyal, too much so, and Jim didn't need to think too long to figure out just how much she cared about people.
It did make him wonder about the charges that sent her to juvie, but he didn't ask. Not yet.
"Your house, your rules, I know."
"No," Jim sighed. "Just— Keep her safe."
"Yeah," she turned back to him, giving a firm nod. "Of course. It's just—" she cut off, unsure how to explain what she was thinking. "I thought I was just like weird, but I'm starting to think Hawkins had something to do with it."
"Well we know it's not my influence."
"Maybe it's Scott's," she shrugged, El lifting her head at the new name.
"Scott?"
Teresa and Jim both looked over to her, a soft smile on the girl's face.
"He's my— other Papa?" she tried, seeing Jim shaking his head from the corner of her eyes. "Like— Jim is good. Scott is bad," she went the easy route, El nodding in understanding.
"Bad man."
"Oh, God, no, not like your bad men. Bad man like— Shit, dad, like who?" she turned to him, suddenly desperate for some kind of comparison.
"We just don't like him," Jim told El with a small smile hiding under his facial hair. "He's not a bad man."
"He's annoying as hell," Reese mumbled under her breathed, still hugging her leg to her chest as El glanced at her. "He's a weird man child who tried to make me like him through whatever expensive thing he could. So he could marry my mama and be my papa."
"So Hop?" she asked.
"No," Reese smiled, having to hold back a chuckle. "He's— Hop doesn't make me wish I could do that thing you do. Scott, however, makes me want to shut myself in a cabin in the middle of the forest of nowhere forever so I don't have to see him again," she shrugged, much to the enjoyment of both Hopper and El.
Yeah, he realised. Maybe this could work.