/ "and i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay" /
Michelle "Mickey" Hopper has a lot of problems. An alcoholic father ignoring the loss of his youngest daughter, her sister, Sarah...
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...Saturday, November 12, 1983... let's shake hands - the white stripes
Mickey came back from the bathroom, lingering by the door to the office space when she saw Nancy and Jonathan conversing quietly as she held an ice pack to the side of his head.
Her mind drifted to Steve. Maybe he and the guys, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, were onto something when it came to the two teenagers in front of her. When she and Jonathan talked, most of the time dissolving into petty bickering, they acted like siblings. Like they'd know each other forever and were already fed up with all of the other person's little annoying habits. But he and Nancy were different. When they fought, it was emotional. There was something lingering behind each of their words to the other that she hadn't been able to pinpoint until that moment. But it was attraction. Unplanned, confusing, but ever-present attraction.
Mickey sighed. Steve would be devastated. He'd never really committed to any of the relationships he'd been in before. They were always half-hearted and based only on physical appearance. They were short-lived and unemotional. But he spoke of Nancy completely differently. Like she was his whole world. Oftentimes, it hurt when she heard him talk about Nancy like that. Because he'd only ever used that tone to speak about her.
This line of thinking was quickly paused when the door to her left opened and in strolled an angry-looking Hopper and Joyce. "Mick, you better be ready to explain what the hell is going on," Hopper said immediately, but faltered when he caught sight of her face. His demeanor changed completely as he slowly approached and touched his thumb just beneath the cut on her cheek.
"It doesn't hurt," she said quietly. "You should see the other guy."
"What'd you do?" he asked, a hint of a smile growing.
The corner of her lip turned upwards in a smirk. "Shattered his nose."
Hopper nodded. "And you always complained during out self-defense classes."
"Never again."
He chuckled and pulled her into a hug. Mickey softened at the sudden showing of affection. It had been a rough few days, both for her personal mental health and her relationship with the man in front of her. But a good hug from someone you love can often make the most unsavory of feelings melt away. "Sure you're okay, kid?"
"I'm sure," she whispered into his chest.
He patted her back and led her into the office space where Joyce was already arguing with Callahan over the fact that Jonathan was still sitting in handcuffs.
"Your son assaulted a police officer," Callahan explained slowly, like he was speaking to a child. Hopper's eyebrows raised as he glanced down at his daughter questioningly. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. And Hopper understood completely: there was something else going on here, but he could trust her and the other teenagers that their overdramatized actions, no matter how they appeared to a cop, were justified.
