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“This way- Joyce, this way-“
Hopper leads her - no, nigh on drags her - up into some kind of fun house, all twisting balconies and staircases and slides. She’s trembling by his side, whether with panic or adrenaline he doesn’t know. Either way, he can’t let her go off on her own. He wants to lead the Russians away from her, but chances are they’re looking for her too, and if they found her- if he wasn’t there to protect her-
So he takes her with him, and hopes for the best.
They’ve made it into some kind of room with hanging things like punching bags and an eerie, creepy voiceover when finally the Russians catch up with them. A man emerges from the doorway and Hopper launches himself at him, the gun going flying, and Joyce yelps as they grapple on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye as he’s hitting the guy in the face, trying to get him to stay down, he sees her go for the gun and he prays she has the common sense not to shoot it. She’d most likely miss and it would ricochet, or else she’d hit him instead of the Russian and somehow he really doesn’t fancy that.
Finally the Russian goes down and stays down and Hopper grabs his radio and Joyce’s hand. “Hopper,” she whispers breathlessly, touching a fresh bruise on his cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” After a furtive glance behind them he leads her up into that godawful tiger’s mouth, rounding stairways and balconies and corridors. He feels eerily calm, even as he knows they’re surrounded, even as he knows Alexei and Murray are probably dead. Joyce, by contrast, is thrumming with tension beside him.
“This is not a good idea, Hop,” she whispers as they enter the hall of mirrors. Glass on every surface, no easy exit. Only more mirrored passages.
But if it’s confusing for them, it’s also confusing for the Russians. Hopper needs it to be confusing. If they go out in the open one quick bullet will do for them in a second - but in here there’s no clear shot. They can lose them in here.
Then there’s a shot and the sound of breaking glass and and Joyce lets out a scream - short, that she cuts off immediately with panicked realisation - but it’ll be enough for the Russian to find them. Hopper manages to duck his next shot and forces him into close quarters, so close he can’t use his gun, so close Hopper can knock it out of his hands. The passage is tight, too tight for two tall men to fight in, so they knock against the walls and when Hopper gets in a solid punch the Russian drags him down with him.
“Bastard,” he grits out as the Russian’s strong arms grab him into a chokehold. He twists and manages to break free, risking a glance up to see-
Joyce, facing off against another man. Her fist flashes up and catches him on the nose - good for her, Hopper thinks, impressed - and he flinches. But then he grabs her and twists her arm back and she screams, and now Hopper is desperate to finish off the Russians, to get to her, to protect her-
But then a shot rings out. Achingly slowly, as if watching a movie frame by frame, the man folds and collapses to the floor.
Joyce. She’s staring at the body as if she’s not the one who put it there, her hands trembling as they hold the gun. The Russian, seeing his companion dead, goes for Hopper with renewed effort. He grabs Hopper into a chokehold so tight he sees white spots and thinks for sure it’s the end.
But then there’s another gunshot and the Russian goes limp. The Russian goes limp, and falls to the floor, and when Hopper looks round he sees the guy doesn’t have a face, not anymore. There’s only blood and gore and it’s horrific, but at least he’s dead. At least he’s dead and can’t hunt them anymore.
He scrambles to his feet, rushes to Joyce. She’s shaking violently now, breaths coming hard and fast and desperate. “Joyce- Joyce, come on,” he says, trying to steer her away, but her eyes are fixed on the bodies. Gently he takes the gun from her hand. “Joyce- we gotta go. We gotta go. Don’t look, okay? Don’t look at them. Look at me.”
“Oh my god,” she mumbles as he guides her, slowly but firmly, towards the exit. “Oh my god, Hop, I just- I just killed two people-”
“Two people who were gonna kill us,” he reminds her. “You just saved both our lives, okay?”
She looks up at him. That fiery determination is coming back into her eyes. “Okay.”
“And by the way, that was a damn good shot.” He doesn’t add that if it hadn’t been, if it had been maybe two inches to the left, it would have been his face that was blown apart. Joyce will no doubt dwell on that anyway, so there’s no point in doing it himself.
“I don’t know what came over me, I just-”
They’re out of the fun house now, walking back the way they came, back to the field where they parked the convertible. They have to find Murray, and Alexei, if they’re both still alive. They have to get the fuck out of here before more Russians come.
All around them the celebrations continue, oblivious. Children crowding around the coconut shy, people buying corn dogs and nodding along their heads to the band. Oblivious to the dangers all around them, to the fact that Joyce Byers - store clerk, single mom, occasional town pariah - just killed a man. Two.
“Survival instinct,” he says to her. She’s still wide-eyed.
She opens her mouth to respond but then she must see something, someone, in the distance because she freezes up. Grabs his hand and drags him into the gap between two stalls.
“What? Is it more Russians?” He risks a quick look around the corner but she pulls him back to face her.
“Kiss me,” she says.
“What?” He must be hearing things.
“Kiss me,” she says again, and when he still doesn’t move she reaches up her hands and tugs his lips down to meet hers. It’s warm and full and entirely unexpected, so unexpected that for a moment he’s still with surprise - but then his hands come up on instinct to bracket her waist and without even thinking his lips part to feel the hint of her teasing tongue.
After a moment that feels both infinite and far too brief she pulls back. His eyes flutter open and he sees that she’s blushing furiously, looking away at her feet. “They’re gone,” she says.
“What?” Apparently it’s all he can say.
“The Russians, they- um, they came past, looking for us. There wasn’t time- so I just did the first thing I could think of so they wouldn’t catch us. Sorry.”
He stares at her. Sure- it makes sense- but that kiss-
It had a hell of a lot more heat behind it than just a diversion. He wants to call her out on it- ask her what the fuck just happened- maybe kiss her again, just because he likes the way she tastes-
But then Murray’s there, (getting in the middle of Hopper and Joyce, again) shouting something about Alexei and Russians and we need to go and the moment is over, to be dwelt on another time.
They drive on towards the mall in the cooling dusk.