A jopper a/u where Hopper meets Joyce at parent teacher conferences. She is El's teacher and he needs some advice.
Read on here or the link below:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14147381/1/Conferences
Jim Hopper isn’t sure when his life became quite so habitual, but somewhere between losing his wife, and adopting his niece, he turned into an ordinary suburban dad. The thrill and excitement of police work in the city lost its luster when Diane got sick, when he realized she was what mattered, not the next promotion. After that, after losing her, grieving her, he brought El to Hawkins, took his position as chief of police where nothing ever happens, and settled into raising the girl just how he knew Diane would have wanted.
Now, however, he has a burgeoning teenager, and he can’t be sure what Diane would do, or what he should do when she spends hours with Mike Wheeler, hours kissing Mike Wheeler. Sure, he’s heard good things about the kid, knows that he isn’t one of the kids he’s always bringing into the station for fights or petty crimes, but the boy shows no respect for authority, no respect for him, and it pisses him the hell off.
Jim sighs, bringing his disposable cup of coffee to his lips, and he doesn’t fight the slight burn of the too hot liquid because at least the discomfort pulls his mind from his current thoughts, thoughts about strangling Mike Wheeler. He sets down the cup inside his blazer before opening the door and donning his hat. He’s come straight from the station for El’s parent teacher conferences, and he is tired, cranky, and already knows El is doing fine, more than fine. She is an impeccable student. She’s smart when it comes to school, now if he could only get her to be smarter about boys.
He walks up to the front of Hawkin’s middle school, pushes through the doors and nods towards Becky in the office, silently reminding himself he was supposed to call her. She’d passed him her number the last time he was here checking on truants. Still, he can’t bring himself to think of a relationship, not when he’s dealing with El, or maybe that’s an excuse because he hasn’t met anyone that compares to Diane. Then again, it’s probably unfair to compare every woman to his dead wife.
Once he reaches El’s homeroom, he brings his knuckles to the door, tapping gently three times before the door creaks open beneath the force of his knock. She’s sitting at her desk, Ms. Byers, and he sees her glance up, brown eyes finding him before she’s moving to stand and greet him.
He’s heard a lot about Joyce Byers. Hawkins is a small town, and the woman has lived here all her life so naturally there has been gossip that found its way to his ears. Stories about her crazy aunt, or her abusive ex, her two boys, and how their whole family is just a bit odd, but he’s tried not to let any of the rumors influence his opinion of his daughter’s favorite teacher. Since the very first day of class El came home raving about Ms. Byers. His daughter loves her. He has only seen her a handful of times, once or twice they passed one another in the grocery store, but for the most part she seems to spend her days at the school and her nights at home. He’s the same of course, only leaving home or the station to respond to necessary work calls.
“Hello,” Joyce says, her words pulling him from his thoughts, “you must be Mr. Hopper? El’s dad?”
She smiles as she closes the distance between them, her hand lifting to meet his. She’s small, smaller than he’d realized when he’s seen her before, and the rumor about her ex flits through his mind, an image of some faceless man bringing his fist to this tiny woman, but Jim had heard she was a fighter herself, never leaving her ex husband without a scratch of his own to tend to.
She’s wearing clothing a bit more casual than he’s used to from teachers, pairing slacks with a t-shirt, and he suddenly feels over dressed in her presence, his chief’s uniform feeling more formal than required for this meeting. He removes his hat with one hand, bringing his other to hers and giving a slight shake.
“That’s me.” He says, a smile pulling at his lips. “You can call me Jim, or Hop, my friends use both.”
Her smile widens in response, “please call me Joyce,” and then she’s gesturing for him to sit in an uncomfortable looking chair set in front of her desk, while she makes her way back to her chair opposite him.
They go through the motions. She tells him El is brilliant. He already knows. She tells him she’s been a great student. He already knows. And then…
“I need to discuss something important with you,” Joyce closes the folder in front of her, charts and statistics about El’s education closed away. “The other day,” she pauses, looking at him intensely, and he can’t help but notice the way she bites her lower lip, the action making him wonder briefly what her lips would taste like before he shakes that away, mentally chiding himself. This is his daughter’s teacher. Joyce continues with, “El asked me about sex.”
He’s frozen, eyes staring into hers, blinking, but he can’t formulate words, can’t seem to make his brain work.
“Jim?” Joyce questions, dark eyes twisting in concern.
He shakes his head, clearing his throat, “Um, I’m sorry,” he smiles, realizing he must have misheard, “I thought you said,”
She interrupts, “sex? That is what I said.” Joyce leans back in her chair, sitting a bit straighter, and he thinks he can see a flush creep up her neck.
He laughs, a slight little chuckle because he can hardly believe that he’s sitting here about to have this conversation with El’s teacher. “I,” he pauses, mind spinning, his brain still half dwelling on the flush of Joyce’s skin, “I know she’s been hanging around with that Mike Wheeler kid a lot.” He says Mike’s name with a hint of venom to his voice, “but they aren’t. I mean,” he studders,” I always have her door cracked, and they are kissing,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “so much damn kissing, but sex? They aren’t,” he pauses again and Joyce rescues him with her next words.
“She isn’t having sex.” He breathes out a deep sigh of relief, his hand swiping up to push through his hair. He can feel a sheen of sweat building on his forehead. If Joyce says sex one more time he’s not sure how he’ll react.
“She is just curious, has questions.” the woman across from him continues, “she mentioned it is just you and her.” The look of empathy in Joyce’s brown eyes strikes him in that moment, cuts deep, and he realizes she also knows how lonely it can be raising kids on your own. “I think you need to have a conversation with her. You know, a heart to heart.”
“A,” he pauses, bites his lower lip, “heart to heart?”
Her brows lift, “yes, you know, you talk with them, open and honestly, set boundaries.”
“Set boundaries..” He likes the sounds of that, but he honestly can’t say that he’s ever had a ‘heart to heart’ in his life, or that he even could if he wanted to. “Ummmmm, maybe you could do that,” he nods hopefully, ignoring Joyce’s arching eyebrow, continuing with, “ya know, as her teacher.”
She leans forward slowly, elbows resting on her desk, “No.”
“No?” He questions, all hope draining from his features.
“No,” she chuckles, “you’re her dad. It wouldn’t work coming from me.” She lifts her hand, index finger pointing towards his chest, “You need to do it.”
“Maybe you could just move Mike into a different homeroom?” He suggests, the idea seemingly plausible to him, “If she doesn’t see him as much at school that might help the situation.”
She scoffs, doesn’t hide her laugh, and even though it’s a sound of exasperation, he like it, thinks he could get used to hearing that sound, “you want me to switch their homeroom schedules, gym schedules, lunch schedules, all in the hopes that seeing each other less at school will somehow make them want to spend less time together outside of school?” Her eyes narrow waiting for his response.
He feels like an idiot, because of course she’s right, and hearing it come out of her mouth makes him realize how stupid of a plan it was, “Well, when you put it that way.” He sighs, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s pretty sure having a teenager comes with a constant headache.
Joyce sighs, head tilting, her annoyance melting away, replaced with sympathy, “look, I get it. I have two boys myself. It isn’t easy.” She pauses, stands and lifts her pen and notebook, circling her desk before sitting at the edge just to the side of him. “I can’t talk to them for you, but maybe I can help.” Her lips curve into a gentle smile, and his stomach twists.
“Help?” He questions, not sure what she has in mind, not sure anything could help him get through the next few years of raising El.
She leans forward just a bit, the action wafting a warm vanilla scent to his nose and he wonders if it's her perfume or lotion before she says, “Yeah, give you some tips.” She sets her notebook down in front of him, handing him the pen. He notices the way their fingers briefly touch, the contact warm and soft, and he keeps his hand there, lingering, until she pulls her’s away, releasing the pen.
He wonders if she feels it too, the attraction he’s noticing, or maybe it’s just been too long for him that he’s feeling like a teenager again himself.
Joyce smiles again, her hands resting on either side of her as she stays perched at the edge of her desk, “Let’s start with the basics.”
He grins, bringing the pen to paper, and thinks how his daughter is right. Ms. Byers is an amazing teacher.
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