Maybe neat wasn’t the right word. Eleven didn’t know anymore. She hated that Hopper needed them to begin with – how he received damage to the point that this was the best course, the only course, unless they wanted him to rely on crutches or a wheelchair. She was also thankful that the technology and the talent still existed to help him. Viktor was known for incredible work down at La Niña, and Hopper had been in the best of hands.
Still.
There was this bitter taste on her tongue about it all, about everything, and it was beginning to feel permanent.
“How does it feel?” El asked, arms crossed, leaning against the makeshift door frame of the room. The Outpost wasn’t anything sophisticated, and the closed off spaces that worked for rooms weren’t spacious, but there was a semblance of privacy that she appreciated. “We can go on a run to help you get used to them if you want.”
The years hadn’t been particularly kind, and she’d been forced to adopt a semblance of an exercise routine (Adora had helped with that a lot) to keep her in shape - to keep her tough when she couldn’t immediately rely on her powers. She did well for herself when it came to hand-to-hand combat.
But it didn’t match up to what she was capable of, and that was frustrating.
"Feels damn odd, that's how it feels." Hopper had never been very good at accepting help or admitting he needed any to begin with. Getting older hadn't made that any easier. Especially with everything awful that had happened over the years. He was tired. And he was fed up with feeling like an invalid Eleven had to watch like a hawk. He was the parent, not her! And Joyce didn't need to be taking care of him all the time neither.
So here he was, with goddamn robot legs. His real legs were still there, under all the metal and gears, but it felt easier to stand and take a few steps now than it had in months. He made a hell of a racket though.
"They're loud, but more comfortable than I expected. Thought I'd be bitching about metal digging into my ass in five minutes flat." He took a few steps towards her and then turned to walk back the way he'd come.
El smiled a little. She took all of that to mean he was in decent spirits, at least. He was moving better. Viktor might have to do a few more tune ups down the line but overall – in the context, the scheme of shit things – this was good.
“Running is probably too aggressive then,” she decided with a hum, eyes dropping down to his legs and how they moved before looking back at him. “Do not push yourself too hard, okay? You should rest when you need to.”
Hopper rolled his eyes a little, fondly but also defensively. "I don't need to rest. I just barely got into these things."
He tried a few more moves to see how it felt. Crouching. Kicking. Dancing a little jig to see if it would get a smile out of Eleven. Laughs were even harder to come by but a dad could hope. It felt like too long ago when Eleven grinned in her unselfconscious and beautiful way. Hopper scowled.
"I'll talk to Vik about some adjustments. Find some WD40 to grease these joints." He struck a pose, legs spread and hands on his hips. "Do I look dumb?"
The dancing yielded something - more of an awkward grimace than anything, but there was also the faintest hint of a smile. Eleven still stood by the opinion that her dear old dad didn’t know how to dance.
“Not dumb,” she told him, face softening some. “They’re… kind of cool?” It was reassuring to know that if she lost a finger, or foot, or a whole arm that people were still around to help them so they could remain functional, but she also wasn’t eager to get a set of fake body parts any time soon. “And they work and serve a purpose - I know you will be able to move if we ever get hit here.”
That was a scenario she worried about. Something happening that required a hasty escape, and Hopper unable to move as fast as he was used to - and someone or something getting to him.
El couldn’t lose him. She refused.
Hopper read between the lines. Or at least, he felt like he could. Eleven would likely never call him a burden outloud but the feeling was there for him anyway. He didn't want her to worry about him in a fight. Or Joyce for that matter. He tested a few light kicks. The knee joints moved well all things considered.
"I can move and maybe put up a fight. My hands won't be full with crutches." He had a few guns around but he'd have to get them cleaned and check his ammo cache. "Worth a little metal digging into my ass." It was worth a lot more than that really. He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Think your mom will think I look "kind of cool" too?"
“Yes, dad,” she drawled out, the exasperation there for a more dramatic effect but Hopper earned another smile. “Mom is going to be here soon and if she does not see you resting in bed, she’s going to be mad.”
Joyce was a small, formidable presence. Having her look at you with those crazy intense eyes had a way of putting you in line, and El adjusted her behavior around her to not be at the receiving end of those looks. Or the looks of worry and disappointment. She didn’t feel the need to hide much of what she was doing from Hopper – it felt like he understood, even if he didn’t like it.
Mom, though?
Eleven crossed the small space and reached for a pitcher on the makeshift nightstand, pouring it into a cup for him. “Sit. Hydrate.”
"So bossy," Hopper grumbled cheerfully. He'd been in a terrible mood since his injury, even though he'd have done it again a thousand times. Joyce was okay and that was worth both his legs and then some. But seeing a light at the end of the tunnel was still lifting his spirits and not even getting ordered around by his grown up kid could change that. The opposite really. It made him smile a little, though he tried to hide it.
"I'm still the parent here, you know," he said, even as he gingerly lowered himself and his metal legs onto the edge of the bed. Okay, that felt pretty good actually. He might have pushed himself a little too much this first little test. He frowned petulantly and took a drink from the cup. "You got anywhere to be tonight?"
“Nope,” she replied, popping that p for emphasis. El sat next to him and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I know Joyce will take care of you but I want to make sure you’re okay.” It soothed her worries when she wasn’t around – and, shamefully, she thought about how he would be in good hands if something happened to her.
Her little ‘missions’ outside of the Outpost weren’t a secret. All of Vorerra were permanently on her shit list, and she was helping the rebellion by picking them off. Their powers were similar to hers. She knew what to expect, knew how to guard herself, knew how to track them.
But she could take a break.
“That was a close call, dad,” Eleven tacked on quietly. “We could have lost all of you. Not just your legs.”
He was relieved to hear her say she'd stick around. There was no promise that would last for long - she was a grown up now, much to his annoyance, with goals that had nothing to do with him - but he could at least keep her around for a few hours.
Hopper pressed a hand to the top of her head and then moved it to the side of her hair so he could pull her into a head hug.
"I know, kid." He sighed and disengaged so he could start pulling at locking mechanisms on the metal legs. "But it was Joyce, you know? I couldn't…well, you know. You'd have made the same call, I know you would've." The right leg came away easily enough when he engaged the locks, which was a good sign. They'd be easy to step into in a rush. "I'm sorry I scared you. I'll try to do better, alright?"
It wasn’t often that El had to tell him to be careful. Usually the roles were reversed, and she scarcely listened – she was a bundle of rage, and resentment, and this grief that festered and slowly rotted her heart. Years ago she struggled with the possibility that she was this monster with blood-soaked hands, responsible for a long list of deaths.
Now? She might very well be turning into that. If it kept what was left of her family safe, then she did not care.
“I know.” Her throat felt too narrow to even swallow. El bit the inside of her cheek, holding back a swell of emotions. It was Joyce – she couldn’t argue with him there. “I understand. I just… remember what it was like to lose you, and so does she. I almost felt it again. I hated it.”
She even laughed about it. It was a hollow sound, and there wasn’t much to be happy about except for the fact that he was next to her breathing. “More than I hate this place, and that’s a lot. But you guys – after that, you need to have a date.”
Hopper sighed, lost in thought for a moment. Eleven had really lost too much. They all had. It killed him to hear that emptiness in her laugh. How brittle she seemed these days, even if she was the strongest person he knew. He dropped his gaze away and removed the second robot leg.
"I'll be more careful. Which means a date probably isn't in the cards." He raised a darkly amused eyebrow at her. "But we'll see. I know she deserves something good, no matter how small. So do you. Stay and have dinner with us? We can scrape together a board game from somewhere in this hovel of a shelter, I'm sure of it."
“Would have to be an Outpost date,” Eleven hummed, thinking about it for him. It could be cute – gather up some crates to make into a table, put down an old fabric as a tablecloth. They had an abundance of candles. Food-wise, there wasn’t much variety but it was doable. She was also just a very strong supporter of her parents, and they deserved nice things.
Nicer things than this, but couldn’t do much to change things.
With a sigh of relent, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and leaned in for a playful shove. “I’m staying, though. It’s like having a family dinner, right?” El actually grinned up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”