[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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THIS HAD TO BE DEATH, was the first thought that came to Ana's mind after fading back into consciousness. No, she corrected herself after a moment. Death was painless, this hurt too much to be death-this was something so much worse.
She begrudgingly opened her eyes to let the cruel light of day in. As her surroundings finally focused into view, a few things became abundantly clear: her head was attempting to split itself in two, she didn't recognize where she was at all, and her clammy cheek was stuck to whatever surface it rested upon.
Ana didn't dare attempt movement just yet, fearing the wave of nausea that would inevitably consume her when she did. Didn't end up mattering much, though, as Hopper shot up into wakefulness with such force that he knocked her straight to the ground.
Apparently, a sweat-soaked Jim Hopper had been the surface she had previously been resting upon and had now been unceremoniously extracted from and onto the floor.
He looked around in uncertainty, hardly taking in the sight of the woman now straightening herself up on the carpet next to his couch. Empty beer bottles, liquor bottles, and pill bottles littered his home.
Grabbing his gun from the coffee table, Hopper, breathing heavily, rushed out the front door in search of something to explain their jarring appearance at his home. The woods were empty, his car was parked out front, the lake remained undisturbed, and no answers were in sight.
Inside, Ana had found the closest bathroom and promptly thrown up in the toilet, which was where Hopper found her upon returning indoors. Frenetically, he checked his neck in the bathroom mirror for any visible marks, before squatting down and appraising her own.
Ana had always bruised like a peach and the red dot already littered with discoloration was proof enough that last night had been real, not a drug and drink induced nightmare for either of them.
He grabbed the back of her neck then, and harshly pulled her face to his own. Leaning over Ana while she sat on the floor, cheek to cheek, Hopper whispered, barely audible into her ear, "we need to find the bug."
She would have laughed at the absurdity of such a comment, if being wiretapped didn't suddenly pose a legitimate concern in her life.
After swishing some mouthwash in her now soured mouth, the next half hour consisted of the two effectively destroying Hopper's place in search of some proof that it wasn't all a farfetched conspiracy. Pictures were ripped off the walls, his telephone was smashed to pieces, lightbulbs were unscrewed and shattered. Hell, even his couch was torn into for absolute certainty. Hopper had ultimately found what they were looking for, worked into the lamp attached to his living room ceiling.
Filling a cup to the brim with water, he'd dunked the offending bug inside, disabling that particular threat for the time being.
Both sat on the floor, in the wreckage of Hopper's home, breathing heavily. Ana could admit, for once in her life, that she was scared. The government was an unstoppable wheel, and if they were going to take it on full force, then there was a good chance they were going to be crushed underneath its turning. She was just a middle school teacher, how had she found herself wrapped up in such a mess?
