[COMPLETED UNTIL SEASON 5]
Ana Thompson always seems to wind up in the strangest predicaments...
A perpetual victim of Murphy's Law, Ana finds herself arriving in Hawkins, Indiana just prior to the events of November 6th, 1983.
And, just prior to f...
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UP AND DOWN, up and down, Ana's left leg bounced anxiously, head held between her perched hands. She'd been awake most of the night, just watching Hopper drift in and out of consciousness, her foot tapping endlessly, the physical manifestation of her unease. Ana's grandfather had done the same in moments of apprehension. Oh, what would her grandfather say if he could see her now?
The sun had long since risen on a new day, but Hopper himself had not. Ana contemplated what her next move would be. Should she take him to the hospital if he didn't permanently regain consciousness? Granted, she'd have absolutely no way of explaining the cuts and bruises that now marred his body. Maybe she could construct a lie about the police chief being mugged? That idea had potential, but without Joyce to aid her, there was absolutely no way she would be able to lift him into the car alone. Again, she was definitely putting him on a strict diet once this whole ordeal was over with.
Ana's musings were cut short when groans and coughs sounded from the couch beside her. Lunging out of the tattered armchair she'd been resting in, she knelt next to the sofa as Hopper's eyes slowly opened and began searching the room listlessly. As his pupils finally focused on her, Ana offered a gentle smile and said, "welcome back to the land of the living, big guy."
Hopper's breathing was heavy, and a tear slowly escaped from his left eye as he whispered her name, almost as though he weren't sure whether she was real or not. And, the moment would have been sweet, had it not been for the retching sounds that quickly began emanating from Hopper's chest. Swiftly reaching under the coffee table to produce the cooking pot she'd designated precisely for that eventuality, Ana held the receptacle steady as he leaned over the side of the couch and began puking. The sound of vomit hitting the basin, the hacking and gagging that accompanied it, had Ana feeling nauseous herself.
She tried to hold back her own rising bile, she really had, but the combination of noises and smells had Ana taking her own turn in the cooking pot once Hopper had finished his. The family that shares together stays together, Ana thought wryly, as she drew back and wiped her mouth with her shirt sleeve.
Reaching for the aspirin bottle, Ana poured out several pills and handed them to Hopper along with a glass of water as he asked, "how long have I been out?"
Ana swallowed a few of the painkillers herself for good measure, wincing as they went down dryly, coating her throat like chalk. "All night. You were fading in and out most of the time," she answered.
After he'd taken the medicine as well, Hopper's barrage of questions continued. "Yeah, but how did I get here?" Last thing he remembered was getting pummeled in Hawkins Lab, and that was miles away from their cabin.
"Very slowly," Ana admitted. "Joyce and I had to carry you back. It wasn't easy." She decided to save the conversation about his impending diet for another time. It wouldn't be smart to kick a man who was already down, and, boy, did he look down.
As Hopper slowly began to rise into a sitting position on the couch, Ana questioned the last thing he remembered. "Some thug attacked me," he confessed while wincing at the new posture. No doubt, his body was sore all over.
"You need to take it easy. You just got the shit kicked out of you," Ana warned as he tried to stand. The irony of her telling him to take it easy after she'd ignored Dr. Owens same advice was laughable, but Hopper, ever contrary, same as herself, insisted numerous times that he was fine, and continued his labored efforts to vacate the couch.
Digging his palms into the cushions, and using the leverage to lift his weight, Hopper finally stood from the sofa. However, the action resulted in the blanket, which had previously been covering his bruised body, fluttering to the carpet where it lay between Ana and him.
From her kneeled position on the floor, Ana was graced with an eye-line view of Hopper's now disrobed junk. Her eyes slowly rose past his member, to his protruding stomach, beyond his chest bestrew with hair, until they were finally resting upon his confused face. "Well, hey, buddy," she joked with a smirk.
"Where are my clothes?" Hopper questioned with uncertainty while his gaze searched the room for the absent articles. He didn't bother with reclaiming the discarded blanket and she couldn't say she minded much. Wasn't anything she hadn't seen a thousand times before.
Rising off the floor, Ana stood in front of Hopper. She found the contrast of her fully clothed figure parallel to his completely nude form amusing, despite the unfortunate scenario. "They're drying on the porch. It was pouring when we dragged you in."
Finally finding some sense, or maybe it was modesty, he leaned down to retrieve the blanket from the floor where it rested, an action that elicited another pained groan from the man. Hopper tied the cloth around his waist to provide some form of decency, though it was a bit late for such formalities. Regardless, Ana wanted to pout at the loss of view but figured it probably wouldn't be in good taste.
She proceeded to follow Hopper into the kitchen where he pulled a beer out of the refrigerator, before offering her one in turn. An offer she politely declined with a wave of the hand and shake of the head. It was the morning for crying out loud, and his injuries probably required water more than booze, but she allowed him to indulge in the vice anyway.
Ana took the crack of the beer tab opening as an indication that Hopper was well enough to answer a few of her outstanding questions. "What happened to y'all in there? Did you find anything in the lab? I knew I should have shot that asshole when I had the chance," she grumbled in regret.
The final comment stood out amongst her rambling and had Hopper pausing in his trek to the bedroom. Slowly, open beer still clutched in one hand, he turned to observe Ana as she patiently stood behind him. "What do you mean you should have shot him when you had the chance?" The question almost sounded accusatory as it fell from his lips.
Ana simpered, almost with a sense of pride, thinking back on the previous day's events. "Oh yeah, I straight up pulled a gun on that thug." However, her boasting was only momentary, as Ana's grin dropped slightly with her next admission. "I didn't get to shoot him, though, that's on me," she muttered, begrudgingly.
Hopper looked at her utterly baffled, his eyebrows raising comically to meet his hairline. "You-" It was rare that words seemed to escape him, and she found herself relishing in the abnormality. "I can't-" After sputtering for a few moments, her began again with more certainty. "You pulled a gun on what was probably a government agent?"
The noncommittal shrug and nod he received from Ana did nothing to relieve Hopper's bewildered state. "I can't believe you," he finally concluded, before turning and retreating into the bedroom.
"I did it for you, babe," Ana called after him, her tone unnecessarily joyous, mostly just to agitate Hopper further.
While she allowed him to change in peace, Ana set about locating the notepad Joyce had jotted down the incomplete license plate number on. That, coupled with the physical description she had to offer, would hopefully give them some leads to follow.
As the curtain to their bedroom finally drew back, she had to stop herself from chortling at Hopper's appearance as he reentered the living room. Perhaps the comparison she'd made to Tom Selleck had been a wrong move. He was starting to dress as though he'd just stepped out of Magnum, P.I.
Choosing not to comment on the atrocious shirt gracing his frame, Ana began waving the notepad in her hand, and announced, "I've got a partial motorcycle license plate number and a physical description of the perp. Should you just deputize me now, or would you like to wait till later?"
