Time After Time (a Stranger Things fanfiction)

Fools Rush In

"Fools Rush In"

Fools rush in, where wise men never go

But wise men never fall in love

So how are they to know?

- Johnny Mercer

Before Hopper bothered going into the courthouse, knowing the mayor would keep him cooling his heels in the outer office for as long as he pleased, he called Flo from the walkie in the car.

"Chief, the mayor's been looking for you."

"Yeah, he's about to find me. Flo, I need you to do me a favor."

There was a pause, and he tried to imagine what she was expecting him to ask. The list was long and varied, and he winced at a few of the favors he had asked in the past, reminding himself to up her Christmas bonus again this year. "What can I do for you, Chief?"

"I ... need something to wear." Fortunately, Flo knew his sizes, since she was the one who kept having to replace his ruined uniforms.

"I think there's a clean uniform in the closet, but you haven't worn it in a while."

Involuntarily, he glanced down at his gut in response to her implication. He had picked up a few pounds recently. All that junk food he ate sitting in the recliner watching TV while eavesdropping on El and Mike. And the Eggos. All the Eggos. "Yeah, not what I'm looking for. I need ... something to wear on a date." Okay, so he had told Joyce it wasn't a date. He was still hoping that by the end of dinner, it would turn into one. "Something like—something like Magnum would wear." He didn't look that different from Tom Selleck, he told himself. The mustache alone made them practically twins. Brothers, anyway. "I saw this shirt with flamingoes on it, at Penney's."

"Flamingoes?"

"Yeah, you know, the pink birds?"

The silence on the other end was longer this time, and then Flo's voice, skeptical, as if she had already guessed who he was going on a date with. Probably she had. The whole town thought he and Joyce were a hot and heavy item, anyway, with Bob having been gone for so long. "Okay, Chief, you got it. When do you need it by?"

"As soon as possible."

"I'm on it."

"You're a treasure."

She didn't even bother to answer that one before she clicked off the walkie, and Hopper reluctantly put his handset down and went inside the courthouse.

His interview with the mayor was about as frustrating and infuriating as he had expected, and ended in him having to arrest half the town's most stalwart citizens for protesting without a permit. Fortunately, they all seemed happy enough to blame the mayor and understand that Hopper had no choice but to do his bidding—for now. The town was simmering, though, over this mall issue, and Hopper wasn't looking forward to when the powder keg eventually blew.

He had just put the last man in a squad car for transport and booking when Flo came hurrying up, carrying a bag. "Special delivery!"

"Ooh, yeah!" Hopper took the bag from her, putting it down on the ground and rummaging through it. He pulled out the shirt, grinning widely.

"That the right one?" Flo asked.

"Yeah ... Yeah!"

Powell, leaning against the squad car, looked at the shirt, unimpressed. "That's a lot o' color for you, Chief."

"It's cuttin'-edge stuff, all right?" Gathering up his bag, Hopper hurried back to the truck. The skeptical silence from both Flo and Powell followed him, though, and he bellowed back at them over his shoulder, "It's cutting edge!"

Leaving them there to gawk, he got into the truck and drove back to the office to change. He should go back to the cabin, where El had been alone all day, he thought with a pang of guilt, but he didn't want to have to explain to her about Joyce—especially not when he was trying to break up her and Mike.

He shaved carefully, trimmed his mustache with a pair of scissors he'd snuck out of Flo's desk, and changed into the new shirt, stiff and clean. Surveying himself in the mirror, Hopper couldn't help but smile. Eat your heart out, Tom Selleck, here came Jim Hopper. Small-town sheriff, big-time lover.

Which reminded him ... He dug a deodorant stick out of the bag he kept for times he was stuck in the office overnight, and then spritzed on some cologne he had filched out of Phillips' desk, although he was careful to use only a whiff and not the drenching Phillips preferred. He wanted Joyce to smell it only as he walked her to her car after dinner, only as he bent to kiss her, soft and slow ...

Clearing his throat, Hopper pulled his thoughts away from that best-case scenario. Realistically, he doubted things would get that far tonight ... but a man had to hope, didn't he?

What would he say to her to convince her to give him a chance? He would talk about Bob, about how brave he had been, how— No. No, he wasn't going to bring up the way Bob had died in the middle of a date. He wasn't that much of an idiot.

No, he would talk about loneliness, and the quiet nights, and companionship, and old friendships and how they could turn into something else. How good they used to be together; how good they could be together again. He would reach out and take her hand, gently. Joyce would look at their entwined hands and she would feel how right they were for each other. She wouldn't be able to help it. And then he would draw her hand toward him, lift it to his mouth, and ...

He pulled his thoughts away from the fantasies again and lit a cigarette, glancing at his watch. Almost an hour left. Now, what should he say to her again? Pacing the office nervously, he went over and over what he planned to tell her, and how, hoping by the time he got there he would have it all ready to go.