Chapter Text
It takes a full day of running and traveling and hiding for Joyce to have a breakdown.
They’d managed to make their way to a small town and secure two rooms in a rundown motel on the outskirts. Dmitri and Murray went to refuel the truck while Joyce and Hopper retired to their room, unable to stray far from one another.
Joyce forces Hopper into the shower first; he keeps the door cracked a few inches, the steam billowing out while Joyce sits on the center of the bed, stripped of her coat and hat.
It hits her in increments, as she listens to the sound of the water running, that this is real . That Hopper is showering mere feet from her, that they’re on the run from the Russian military, that she’s millions of miles away from her kids because she believed he was alive, and now he is.
Hot, wet drops slide down her cheeks, and she’s only half-conscious of how much she’s crying when suddenly warm, rough hands cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing away from moisture.
“Joyce,” Hopper’s voice is rough, and he kneels at the side of the bed, wrapped only in a towel. The sound of his voice pulls a sob from her, and she leans into his hands, vision blurry with tears.
“Hopper,” is all she manages to get out before she’s surging forward, wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders and pressing herself to him, desperate for the feeling of his body against hers. To his credit he barely stumbles, wrapping his arms around her small frame as she shakes, tears dripping down her cheeks.
It takes nothing for him to scoop her up in his arms, putting one knee on the bed and settling with her in his lap; Joyce’s head fits perfectly beneath his chin, and as she shudders with a sob, Hopper holds her tightly. He knows this is the catharsis that she needs- that for as long as he’s hoped to have her in his arms again, she had to mourn him and move on and continue to live her life as best she could in the wake of Starcourt.
Hopper drops a kiss to the top of Joyce’s head, and she finally pulls back to look at him. Her eyes and nose are red, and tear tracks stain her cheeks, but she simply touches the lines of his face with her fingertips, mapping the path of his nose to his cheeks to his forehead, finally lingering just above his mouth, thumb on his bottom lip.
“I missed you so much,” she finally whispers, spreading her fingers out and cupping his cheek in her palm. “I’m scared I’m going to wake up.”
Hopper shakes his head, one hand tangling in the ends of her hair to tilt her head back so he can press his forehead to hers. Joyce’s shoulders hitch in another sob, and her breath spills across his lips.
In an instant, she’s leaning closer, brushing her lips over his; it’s barely a whisper of a kiss, but Hopper feels his heart stutter in his chest. With a soft groan he pulls her into him, licking the taste of her tears off her lips as she sighs softly into her mouth.
“Not a dream, sweetheart,” is the rough whisper he manages when they part, and Joyce manages a small, shaky smile. “‘M not goin’ anywhere without you. Not ever again.”
“Good,” is all she says in response before she leans back in, kissing him once more.