Work Text:
Jim Hopper absolutely hated these desperate little get-togethers. He had hated it in Indianapolis when it had been on a grand scale, and he hated it in Hawkins, with their shoestring budget and sad attempts at elegance.
Goddamn Annual Dumb Fucking Policeman’s Ball. Why couldn’t people just give money for the new Youth Center without having to be bribed with crudite and Asti Spumante? And now Flo had gone and dreamed big, and decided that it was going to Masquerade Ball. Fucking, honestly. The people of Hawkins didn’t want to waltz around in masks and costumes to Shostakovich or whatever fancy-pants composer his ex-wife used to listen to when she tried to turn him onto the “finer things”. They wanted Burt Hapley’s Bruce Springsteen cover band (The H Street Band) to play ‘Born to Run’ on repeat until they threw up mini corn dogs and bacon wrapped chestnuts behind the porta-potties at the county fairgrounds. That’s just the way it was.
But Flo had a new husband, and said husband owned a Refrigeration company in a nearby town, and nowadays she was carrying a bigger purse filled with even bigger ideas. If an expense for the ball wasn’t covered by donations from local businesses or citizens, Frank the Fridge was footing the bill. Peachy.
So, Jim was trapped by virtue of his position, forced to dress to the nines when his wardrobe only went up to six at best. This meant a trip to the city to rent a tux, and he absolutely hated tuxedos. The last time he had worn one had been at his wedding to Diane, and he had been miserable the entire time, despite his happiness at marrying the person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with.
He wouldn’t wear a mask, and that was fucking that. Too bad, so sad.
He had been able to sulk in a corner of the Hawkins Hotel ballroom for about five minutes before Flo came hurrying to his side, dressed as a fairy godmother of some sorts, waving a basic black mask over her head like a lasso. The older woman stood on her tiptoes and put forcibly put the mask over his face; the elastic stung slightly as the cheap material snapped into place over his features. It was one of those basic Zorro type masks -- the kind little kids bought from the Five and Dime. He felt like an idiot.
“Don’t you dare take that off, Jim Hopper!” she scolded, poking him in the chest.
“Geez, fine. Jesus Christ.” he rubbed the sore spot on his chest before getting smacked in the arm. “Ow! What?”
“Don’t blaspheme at my party.”
“ Your party?”
Flo gave a sharp reply that did not register in Jim’s brain. His attention had been diverted in an instant; appearing in the entrance of the ballroom, was the most striking woman he had ever seen. She was tiny -- at least a head shorter than the people that milled about her like orbiting planets around the Sun-- and her long, dark auburn hair was twisted in a complicated knot at the nape of her elegant, slender neck. Her face was partly obscured by a black, lace, half-mask, but he could see a flash of amber in her large dark-rimmed eyes. Her lips were pouty and painted a deep crimson that matched the satiny, sleeveless gown that clung to her curves and flared out in a mermaid’s tail of a skirt. Her gloves were black and elbow-length. Every color choice in her ensemble highlighted her pale, porcelain skin.
There was something terribly familiar about the woman, and Jim couldn’t put his finger on what it was until an elaborately costumed Karen Wheeler appeared at the woman’s side, clutching a butterfly mask that was attached to a glittering, excessively ribboned stick. Karen pulled at the woman’s arm to drag her into the ballroom, but she appeared to be crippled with shyness. There was a slight slouch to her shoulders that denoted a distinct lack of self-esteem.
Jesus Christ, it was Joyce Byers.
Jim felt himself being drawn to her like a magnet,leaving Flo to gape at him in astonishment as he made his way through the crowd (larger than he expected. Perhaps he had underestimated the town’s love of the ridiculous.) to stand in front of Joyce, beaming down at her. She was even lovelier up close.
Karen gave a low whistle and fanned herself at the sight of the Chief of Police. She had always been an incorrigible tease.
“Hello, officer,” the taller woman cooed.
“Did you leave Ted at home?” Jim inquired, his mouth quirking up at one corner.
“He hates these things, so we left him with the kids so I could get Joyce to let loose a little bit.”
Joyce said nothing, but her blush was beginning to match her dress as she stared at the floor. Something palpable and electric crackled between her and Jim, and he felt compelled to say something, anything to break the tension between the two of them.
“You look real nice, Joyce.” Smooth.
Joyce looked up at him with a half smile. She raked her eyes over his form in a way that made him radiate with heat.
“So do you. Something’s different.”
“Brushed my teeth.”
“There it is.”
Karen waved her arms at someone further back into the room, or so that was how it appeared. “Oh look! I think I see the Sinclairs -- I think I will leave you two to catch up.” She nudged Joyce in the arm and gave Jim a saucy wink before hurrying away.
Jim coughed nervously, shifting his weight with a sheepish grin.
“I didn’t think you’d want to come. I didn’t even want to.”
“It’s fine. I figured you had a hot date lined up anyway.”
Jim furrowed his brow at her deceptively casual remark. It stung, and he suspected that she was aware of the fact.
“I wouldn’t-- I mean, I’m not seeing -” she cut him off with a shrug that put tension in his jaw. He felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, a clear sign that he was becoming irritated.
“I said that’s what I figured. I didn’t say I cared.”
He hated that. The way she deflected and shrugged and revealed nothing. He supposed he wasn’t any better, what with his little moonlighting gig at the Department of Energy. He wondered if she suspected -- if that somehow explained her rough edges and impenetrable being. The more likely explanation was that Lonnie had put her on her guard. Closed her up tight.
She and Jim had begun to take tentative steps towards something that wasn’t courtship, but wasn’t quite physical either. They had shared a kiss about a week ago, after a few drinks at the Crystal Bar. The bar had been crowded and hot, so they went for a walk and talked about nothing of consequence. The kiss had come out of nowhere, a natural occurrence after they took a seat on a park bench. Joyce had been talking about taking up needlework (a joke, stemming from an observation about how old they had suddenly become), and Jim leaned over, gently cupped her cheek with one big hand, and brushed her lips with his own. She had been mid-sentence, and had gasped at the gentle contact, before leaning into him -- meeting his nervous peck with ravenous hunger.
He had pulled her into his lap after a few moments, and he clung to her like a tree; fingers twining through hair, teeth nipping and tongues caressing. They broke apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind the park bench, and Joyce’s face had turned a deep shade of crimson. Jim craned his neck to look behind him and swore. Callahan and Powell had been grinning down at the both of them. Joyce stood, excused herself and walked away with considerable haste.
They had not spoken a word to one another up until tonight. Thinking back on that night, Jim was all the more confused at her present attitude. He hadn’t disrespected her --he hadn’t followed her when she made her dramatic exit, but he didn’t think she would have appreciated such a gesture.
“Well, I guess you don’t care then.”
Another shrug. He wanted to nip and kiss those exquisitely bare shoulders, run his hands over them as he kissed those pouting lips. There wasn’t a single solitary woman that compared to her, not at the ball, not in Hawkins. Her fire, her bravery, her sense of humor…
“Fuck this,” Jim muttered, before turning from her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted someone in a long, long time, but he had had his fill of torturing himself with the impossible. He had told himself years ago that he would be damned before he spent another moment thinking about Joyce Byers. She had been Joyce Calloway back then, and she had left him breathing like a drowning man when she chose Lonnie over him. Until Sarah and Diane, it had been the single most painful moment of his life. He had a feeling that the pain would be more acute this time around, despite the measures he was taking to numb emotion. He wasn’t keen to take another risk.
Small, gloved fingers closed over his wrist, giving him pause.
“I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t go out and do things like this, ever, and I feel ridiculous.” her voice was soft and contrite and he felt his jaw unclench and his eyes soften. He turned back to her with a sad smile.
“I had a feeling Karen had to drag you out of the house.”
“She picked the outfit out too. I just want be in my pajamas. This strapless bra is really uncomfortable.”
He took a sharp intake of breath at the mention of her bra. Juvenile, really. They were adults and she should feel comfortable discussing her...wait, no, that wasn’t right. He was a dog, and she absolutely should not feel comfortable discussing her underwear with him. He wasn’t her boyfriend, after all. He was just a lovesick puppy and an idiot, chasing after an old flame and imagine said flame in nothing but her -- in nothing, really.
“Uhhhh…”
“Karen made me rent a room. Do you want to go upstairs and have a drink?” Or at least that is what he thought she said. The words came out in a breathless rush, and she had stammered over the word ‘upstairs’. Jim’s jaw dropped.
“Uhhh…”
“Okay, nevermind. I’m going to go over to that corner and hope it’s a gate, so I can disappear and live out the rest of my life in a--”
He really had to stop interrupting her with kisses. It wasn’t exactly polite when one got down to brass tacks, but she was so adorable when she was flustered, and the joke about getting sucked into another dimension, while endearingly self-deprecating, had filled him with a sick sort of dread.
Joyce whimpered against his mouth, and brought her arms up to wrap around his neck. He was relieved that she wasn’t outraged by the public display, even though he was a little self-conscious over it himself. He pulled away after a quick moment, resting his forehead against hers before standing to his full height. She was so small that kissing her made his neck and back ache. They weren’t teenagers anymore.
“I’ll come upstairs with you.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. He wanted her badly, and hoped she wouldn’t rescind her offer.
“Okay.”