Chapter Text
Sunday, March 23rd, 1986
“Let’s see… We have the daily progress reports first; our gate is holding steady even when the device is powered off, which is obviously good news. And we have the weekly progress marker - it’s grown by another five percent. The boys down in the lab are hoping that by the end of next month we’ll be able to push through for full expeditions.” Sam Owens places down a stack of folders on Kay’s desk, exactly as she’s ordered, exactly as he’s done every single day for the past seven months.
She stares at Owens unblinking. She wants to see the man sweat. His gaze shifts around her office, desperate for something to latch onto, but she keeps it impersonal. She has no photos, keeps no plants; everything in her office is gray. She doesn’t even use a real name - leave it to weak and inferior men to interpret a letter of an alphabet as a name, but it does suit her to occasionally allow them to fall into the trap of thinking of her as a person.
People, in her experience, are weak. They are fallible. Attachments are death, so she has none.
Kay has watched the remaining tapes of Martin Brenner’s lab rats over and over again. Doctor Brenner was undoubtedly a brilliant scientist; he insisted upon finding a way to get their intelligence network ahead of the Soviets with a solution that only the mad or genius would consider. He pushed beyond the claims of impossibility into something real and tangible. But he made a crucial mistake; he got attached to the numbers. He allowed himself to be their Papa.
It may have started as a simple manipulation tactic. She’ll never truly know what the man was thinking; he died just a few days after subject Eleven escaped captivity. He went after the child himself, the poor fool. He may have even believed himself to be something of a father to the subject. This is where Doctor Brenner failed. This is how she will succeed in his place.
She places her hand on the files and still does not blink. “You made a call on a payphone yesterday to Joyce Byers, did you not? What was that call in regards to?”
He gulps. There’s the sweat - it pricks at his receding hairline. “I — I just wanted to know if the boy was alright.”
“Will Byers. Yes, you’ve expressed concerns that opening a new gate may cause issues for him. We’ve discussed at length that this is ultimately unimportant.” Owens is another weak fool. He can’t even bother being as brilliant as Doctor Brenner was; he’s merely pathetic. “We can always take the boy in. Perhaps proximity to a newly opened gate would provide interesting results.”
His hands clench. She almost wishes he would lash out in anger. If he is going to have these pointless feelings he may as well do something with them. But he never does. He assuages his guilt at Jim Hopper’s current condition by providing him a few small creature comforts when he believes Kay isn’t looking. Kay allows the situation; it is easier to break a man who might have something taken from him than a man who has nothing and knows he will get even less if he gives you what you want. She imagines that Doctor Owens sees himself as a sort of hero. She knows better.
He only respects power. Kay has all the power. It is good to remind him of that every so often.
“Do you think we should take Will Byers, Doctor Owens?” She asks quietly.
“No! No, I, it’s not necessary. A waste of time and resources, you know, especially when the project is going so well!”
“I see.” She allows herself to blink. Doctor Owens relaxes slightly; his hands unclench, his shoulders fall back into a standard resting position, and he smiles at her. He is almost always smiling. “Very well then. You may go.”
He starts walking out of her office, nearly reaching the door before she strikes. “Oh, and, Doctor Owens? Prepare a session with Chief Hopper today. I still believe he can get us subject Eleven.”
Owens turns. She wonders if today is the day he will break.
“She’s dead, Doctor Kay,” he says. “He can’t help you - help us get her. We should focus on the subject we have. Eleven’s death is an unfortunate truth that we simply have to live with.”
“How very convenient.” Kay taps her fingers on her desk. “Another unfortunate truth is that I believe that Chief Hopper helped subject Eleven escape the country. Prepare him for a session.”
He locks eyes with her - and then looks away. Today is not the day he breaks.
Torture doesn’t actually work. She knows this; she is a scientist, after all. Anything Jim Hopper may or may not tell her during their session is likely to be a lie. He may not even have the answers himself. Doctor Owens certainly knows where subject Eleven is - he would not allow power like that to walk around completely unsupervised. For all of his many faults, he isn’t completely idiotic.
Torturing Doctor Owens would not get her the information she wants because torture does not work. So she accesses him through a man he has come to respect, and she allows Doctor Owens to give Hopper small creature comforts because it brings them even closer together. This brings her one step closer to the day that Owens finally makes a mistake. Then, when Kay has subject Eleven, she can be rid of Owens and Hopper; she’ll put a bullet in their skulls and be done with it.
Until then, she has the project. Until then, she has Eight.
–
Saturday, March 22nd, 1986
Will makes a point to talk loudly with Mike as they pack their things. No one has left just yet. They’re not sure if the two are even planning to announce their disappearance, or if Mom is going to operate in an ask for forgiveness not permission mindset.
Thankfully, she does. If only to give some blanket excuse of going to visit a relative. He turns to face Jonathan during her lengthy explanation of her actions, fighting the urge to snicker when they meet eyes. They love her, and they’ll never tell her this, but she’s a horrible liar.
Starting the efforts at tailing them is the most difficult part.
The three peer out the window to see if the two adults have left, and when they do, they give them a minute or so headstart before they all scramble at the door. It’s a quick act of leaping across the driveway, shoving their bags in the backseat and starting the car. They can’t floor it– Jonathan’s car is loud going normal speeds, they can’t risk getting caught because of a rusty muffler.
Luckily for them, there’s only one exit out of the neighborhood, and Jonathan knows the immediate area well enough to tail them to the interstate without much issue. The car is silent the whole way there; Will can see the sweat forming on Jonathan’s forehead from the backseat.
For a moment, they think they’re home free. Jonathan merges onto the interstate and they’re carefully weaving through cares to stay out of sight. The hard part’s over.
“Hey uh, Jonathan?” Mike seems nervous. He leans past Will to get closer to the driver’s seat, pointing to Joyce’s car. “I think she’s taking that exit.”
Jonathan takes in a long breath through closed teeth, holds it, then huffs. “Fuck.”
“Maybe they just need gas?” Will asks hopefully, even though it’s only been thirty minutes.
They manage to follow them with another car in the middle, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Mom does pull into a gas station. One that looks like it hasn’t been operated since 1973. They debate driving past them, but the woman is out of the car in seconds and staring them down. They’re not even that close to her, yet it’s as though she’s peering through their souls–all three of them.
Will glances over at Mike, then back at Jonathan. The car is dead silent as they slowly turn into the abandoned gas station and park.
“Boys.”
Will feels like a newborn baby deer stepping out of the car. He hasn’t been on her bad side in years. He makes mistakes, and she gets angry, usually when his safety is at risk, but anytime he sees something truly akin to rage building up it always fizzles out before she does anything.
Part of him hates that. The way she still treats him like he’ll fall apart at any minute. He knows she still disciplines Jonathan, meanwhile Will has spent the past three years stuck in a limbo of never being in the wrong, but not being able to do anything at all.
All that being said…he isn’t particularly glad that’s not the case right now.
“Is there a reason you’ve all decided to follow us?”
Jonathan huffs. “Could be because you lied to our faces. Or that you’re going on a suicide mission.”
“See what I mean Joyce?” Murray, by contrast to everyone else, is extremely casual. “Even they think it’s a fools errand.”
She pays the man no mind, scrunching her nose and rolling her eyes before her attention is back on them. On Jonathan, at least.
"Hopper is alive." She states it as though it were fact, as though thats the only explanation she needs. "Owens wouldn't have called if he didn't have some sort of rescue plan, but that plan won't account for you and I'm not putting you—any of you at risk."
"It could be helpful." Will says quietly at first, then raises his voice a bit. "I mean—depending on the plan. More people could be good."
Mike glances between them and the adults, as though waiting for permission to speak up. "And we can—you're sure we can trust him?"
Murray gestures dramatically at the boy, raising his brows at Mom. "Precisely."
"I'm not going to just throw Will into the line of fire." Jonathan says after a moment of pause.
Mom's reaction is one Will can't quite place. Her eyes widen for a moment at Jonathan's words, then narrow. The exact emotion is almost unreadable.
"I never said you would." She says finally, her words lacking the harshness they had before.
Jonathan sighs. "Wherever it is—we can check it out. See if Hopper is there and if Owens is there to help. If he is…maybe we don't even need to go inside?"
There's silence for a few moments. She looks over at Murray again, and however displeased she may be by his constant smug reactions, she relents.
"No one goes inside."
—
Hopper makes no move to fight against the guards' grip. The two soldiers stand at either side of him, each holding either one of his arms as if the chains on his hands and feet aren't enough to keep him restrained. It's not an entirely unfounded fear, he supposes. Neither of them meet his height, short just a few inches, and the one on the left is significantly skinnier than him, something Hopper thinks is an impressive feat all things considered.
A small part of him still wants to slam their heads against the wall. It would be a hard manevour, but he's done it before. Twice. The first month he arrived.
He was proud that first month. Owens was horrified at the sight of him. The doctor wasn’t made aware of Kay’s arrangement until after a few days of interrogation. Hopper had to be dragged again, having been given a day or so to recover from injuries he already had before being given even more.
Owens almost gave in the first week. As helpful as having a man on the inside has been for him and Jane, it always feels like pulling teeth to convince him not to roll over at the slightest hint of danger.
So he acts proud. If Kay decides she wants to interrogate him personally, he makes himself as much of a nuisance to her as possible. The less time she spends trying to get him to talk the better–she’s far more perceptive than anyone else. When Owens is forced to see the aftermath, to deal with the wounds, Hopper doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t so much as hiss in pain if he can help it.
He finds Owens to be incredibly…naive. Whenever he comes close to surrender, he has the idea that it would release Hopper from his torment. That he would be let go and given up to Joyce, and that Owens could scramble to protect Jane at the last minute.
The reality is they’d both be dead, and whatever pain Hopper has to endure now would be nothing compared to what they’d do to her.
The chip in his pride doesn’t come from any kind of physical torment. It doesn’t one day become too much for him. In fact, after the first few months of resistance they shift gears altogether.
Now, he sits in a small metal room. He’s drenched in cool water before he’s taken in, greeted by the ice box temperature they keep it at. Sometimes he spends days listening to inconsistent tapping and distant whispers. A sound that grates at him and drills into his head. Other times its noise so loud, so constant that he looses all ability to think.
When he’s not kept in the room, he spends his time with their…other project.
Kali. A girl older than Jane, but noticeably smaller. She carries herself with a kind of apathetic cynicism that he hopes to never see on his daughter’s face. He’s seen the state of her, when he’s the one sitting in the cell and she’s being dragged in. She isn’t hurt. She isn’t afraid. She’s nothing at all.
“How is your vow of silence going?” She asks, once the two guards slam the door behind him.
It’s the sort of tone that almost reminds him of a parent questioning their child after a particularly dramatic fit.
Hopper sighs and rolls his neck a few times, pushing his head so that it stretches closer to his shoulder. He’s dry now. His clothes aren’t warm exactly, but they don’t cling to him. He thinks he’s starting to feel his own body heat. He has very little to savor here, so he will do so no matter how much she might protest it.
He sits down beside her. They aren’t pressed up beside each other, but he sits closer than he needs to be. She shifts slightly, but she makes no effort to increase their distance.
“They got a new guy.” He says instead. “The skinny one. You saw him, right?”
Kali chuckles. “Funny you should say this.”
Funny. The man’s mostly skin and bones, but he looks alive at least. It’s more than he can say for the two of them.
“They warned him about an attitude problem. I think the lack of one might’ve spooked him.” He tries to speak casually. With just a glance up at the camera propped up in the corner, Kali seems to understand his words meaning. She shifts once more, this time to move closer, careful to block his hand, but nothing more. “Might be a personality hire, honestly.”
“Personality?”
Hopper shrugs. “Can’t be skill. He’s way too forgetful for that.”
She narrows her eyes, then glances down at the hand hidden from view. Hopper opens his palm for just a second. His keycard. Base level access.
For just a moment, Hopper swears there’s a glint of hope in her eyes. However fleeting it may have been. “I hope your doctor is as smart as you say he is.”