This time of night was always slow.

Or maybe it just seemed slow, now that the dance had started over at the middle school, so none of the diner's booths were bursting with 7th graders, and the barstools were no longer occupied by dutiful parents/chauffeurs, gulping coffee and picking up the tab.

They had a bussers on hand tonight, which Katherine was grateful for. It wasn't like any part of this waitressing gig was a 'favorite', but clearing off tables was definitely low on the list of ways she wanted to spend her night. Scraping half eaten burgers and globs of ketchup into the trashcan before dumping dishes in the sink in the kitchen...no thank you, she'd rather be engaged in the highly complex and intellectual task of refilling salt shakers and charming customers for bigger tips. But at least her hands weren't inexplicably sticky.

Another Saturday night for the books.

The bell over the door rang, but Katherine didn't turn from the back booth, carefully screwing the lid back on a pepper shaker. The sign said 'seat yourself' and, if she were lucky, one of the bussers-was Danny the one on duty tonight?- could start his order.

"Table four, Katherine!"

Apparently she wasn't lucky.

"Just a second," she called back to Frank, the diner's overnight cook.

She securing the lid and brushed stray pepper dust off the table onto the floor. After all, she was the one who'd wipe it up later anyways. Katherine straightened her apron and headed to table four.

And froze.

Then pivoted and headed back to the kitchen, swinging the gray door open to find one Danny Wynette dunking a stained dishtowel into a 'clean' bucket of 'soapy' water.

"Hey Danny," she said cheerfully, "slow night, right?"

"Yep," he said noncommittally, wrenching the towel and sending a stream of cloudy water back into the bucket.

"I super appreciate your help though. You must be kinda bored of clearing tables though, right?"

The pre-teen's brow furrowed. "Okay, what do you want, Katherine?"

She dropped the act and held her hands out in an exaggerated plea. She was a couple of years older than most of the bussers, but that seniority didn't buy her much. "Take table four for me? I'll finish clearing off your section?"

"Why, who's at table four?" Danny dropped the towel in the bucket, and craned his neck to see around her, through the window in the kitchen door.

"And I'll wipe the rest of the tables?" she pushed her luck.

He shrugged and dropped the towel in the bucket, stepping around her.

Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She bent to pick up the discarded towel, before the kitchen door swung open again.

"Nice try," a freckled arm grabbed it before she could,. "You think I want to wait on Steve Harrington any more than you do?"

"Oh come on, he's a cool guy-" she tried.
"Okay, then you wait on his table?"

"But I asked you."

"And I say hard pass. He's been mixed up in some crazy stuff this last year...why can't you just take it?"

Because it's always weird to wait on anyone in my class.

Because whatever is going on with him and Nancy and Jonathan makes the whole school confused.

And somewhat nervous.

Also I haven't talked to him in like seven years.

"Can't you please, just this once-"

"Nope. And you know why not?" Danny slapped the towel against the side of the bucket and turned, spraying water, "Because it's above my paygrade."

She glared at him, yanking a pencil out of her hair. "Fine. I was going to let you keep the tip and everything."

"Have funnnn," he called after her, clearly not mourning the loss.

Telling herself not to overthink things, Katherine cleared her throat as she got to table four. "Welcome to Ronnie's diner, how can I help you today?" she recited.

Nothing.

He was staring at his folded hands on the table in front of him, frowning slightly. His leg was bouncing and the three together - focused stare, folded hands, nervous leg - meant he was thinking. His hair was bouncing from the movement. Katherine cleared her throat again to try to get him out of it gently.

That didn't work either.

She flipped the pencil around and poked the arm of his sweatshirt with the eraser. "Hey Harrington, tap water okay? Or do you want coffee?"

Steve started and looked at her. He didn't so much recognize her as he did register that he was in a diner by himself at 8pm on a Saturday night and his waitress was his next door neighbor.

"Kat, hi. Um," he released his hands and set them on the table, drumming them on either side of the menu. "Could I get a shake actually?"

"Sure," she flipped open her notebook, "Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, banana, chocolate banana, chocolate strawberry, or Orange Julius."

She started writing even as she rattled off the flavors. 'Chocolate', she wrote.

"Chocolate," he said. "Thanks."

She nodded. "Are you eating or just the shake?"

He tapped the table again. "Can I get a second to look it over?"

"Yeah. Chicken and waffles are the special this weekend; it's 4 bucks and it'd include the shake."

He folded the menu back up, handing it up to her. "Works for me."

She tucked the menu under her arm, finishing writing. "Got it."

"Thanks."

"Sure."

That...actually wasn't that weird.

It wasn't like normal, or anything, it just wasn't awkward. Which was a mercy.

Katherine ripped out the page and stuck it in the ticket holder, dinging the little bell.

She ran the check for table 17, stacked the plates for Danny, and made a face at table 6's tip. If it could be called that. She dumped it in her apron pocket and headed back to the counter when Frank rang the bell for her.

"Chocolate shake," she announced, sliding the glass across the table and plunking down the accompanying straw and spoon.

A couple of minutes later, she was stuffing napkins in the holder at table three. She tried not to notice, but she did: he hadn't touched the shake.

He was back in his leg bouncing, finger crossed pose.

Katherine bit her lip.

She had no tables, no checks, no bussing. She could probably make a case for continuing with napkins but it was her third round in two hours and the holders were practically brimming anyways…

She set the box of napkins on table 3 and moved around the edge of the booth, sliding opposite of Steve.

"Look," she pulled the at the bottom ⅚ of the paper wrapper of the straw, sticking it into the milkshake and then removing the remaining sixth without touching it, "It really isn't my business if this melts all over the table; it's Danny's job to wipe it off anyways. But you should probably at least try it, or Frank will get offended."

Frank neither wondered nor cared how his customers found the milkshakes to be, but it was the best she could do.

Steve looked back at the kitchen and shook his head, as if clearing it. "Oh, right. Sorry."

Katherine considered him, picking up the paper wrapping and fiddling with it absently. "Also none of my business, but you're okay, right?"

"Yeah, course. Why wouldn't I be?" He shrugged and slid the milkshake to in front of himself.

She folded the paper, tilting her head. "Employee loyalty aside, Ronnie's is hardly a happening place to be."

He shrugged again. "Maybe I really wanted a milkshake."

"Sonic's a lot closer."

"Well I was out this way."

"What's out this way? It's just the school..." She trailed off.

Everyone knew Nancy Wheeler was volunteering at the middle school dance; she'd been hanging up flyers for the past month all across campus, trying to convince other do-gooders to join her, so the kids could have more teens and less teachers at the dance.

Steve didn't say anything, and was focusing very intently on his shake. "This is really good, you know-"

"Steve, what were you doing at the dance?"

"I wasn't at the dance."

"Sure you weren't."

"I wasn't."

"Mmhmm. What color was her dress?"

He picked up the spoon, jabbing it in the shake. "Purple. You happy?"

"You know how creepy that is, right?"

"Not like I owe you an explanation, but I wasn't there for her; I was dropping off a friend."

Right. One of Nancy's brother's flock of friends. Because that's healthy.

"Of course."

Steve shoved the shake away from himself. "What do you want, Kat?"

She didn't know.

They hadn't been friends for years, right around when he started hanging out with Tommy and Carol. Company like that killed a friendship pretty quickly.

Frank rang the bell; the chicken and waffles were done.

She slid out of the booth.

"Syrup's at the end; by the napkins," she said briskly when she returned, sliding the plate onto the table. "Careful, it's hot."

"Thanks."

Neither of them looked at the other, and Katherine went back to the napkins. She'd finished the whole diner when she looked back at table four. He'd taken maybe three bites of the meal.

It's none of your business.

She sighed, walking back to the kitchen.

"Can I get a takeout box, Frank?" she asked through the window.

The cook peered out at the empty diner, then slid a bag and cup as well as the box up onto the counter. Smiling her thanks, Katherine pulled them down.

She stopped by the register to pull up Steve's ticket, then she hesitated. Though it was slow now, it'd been mayhem before. And parents were always good tippers. She looked over at table four; Steve's back was frozen again, his hair shaking with his leg. She opened the register and slid a $5 from her apron into it, impaling the receipt on the spindle file.

She walked the takeout box over to the table. "The waffle won't reheat very well, but cold fried chicken is just as good as hot, right?"

He looked up, for the third time seeming to be surprised to be in a diner. "Right," he echoed automatically, taking the box. "Uh, thanks. You can bring the check whenever."

She waved a hand, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Nah, don't worry about it."

He blinked, then shook his head. "Seriously, Kat, what do I owe you?"

"Seriously, Steve," she parroted. "Don't worry about it."

He looked like he was about to protest again, which she just really wasn't ready for. She had three more hours in her shift, then another 30 minutes folding silverware and windex-ing the windows, before she could go home; at this point it was just a matter of the path of least resistance. "It's not a romantic thing, okay. You've had a rough couple of weeks...months...year, I guess, actually. And if you're in here on a Saturday night, by yourself, then the least I can do is cover it with tips. Not a big deal."

"Kat, you can't-"

"Nobody calls me that anymore."

She hadn't meant it to be rude, but she certainly didn't sound kind. Either way, Steve stopped talking. He started transferring food into the takeout box, then set his cutlery down. Eventually, he tilted his head back to look up at her. "It's been a while hasn't it?"

She supposed she was supposed to know the days and minutes, but she really didn't. Life hadn't stopped when she and Steve Harrington had parted ways; it had just rerouted. They'd found new friends, friends that took them down different paths. And she had been okay, she was okay; he hadn't been. Then he'd found Nancy, and it seemed like he might be again. But now that Nancy wasn't exactly in the picture…

"More than a couple of weeks," she said, gently.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "When did we get to be seniors?"

She smiled reluctantly. "I'm sure it'll sink in, right about the time we walk across that stage."

"You're probably right."

"Always am. You sticking around after you graduate?"

His eyebrows rose and fell quickly as he exhaled slowly. "That's the golden question. You?"

"Community college. At least for a bit. I've never been out of Hawkins for longer than Christmas...I don't want to leave too quickly and then have to come back just as fast, you know? Maybe somewhere dramatic to actually get a degree, though."

"That's smart. Where would you go?"

"Not California."

Steve choked on the milkshake and Katherine grinned innocently, handing him a napkin. "You don't have to chug that; Frank gave you a takeaway cup, too."

"That's awfully kind of him."

"I thought so," she hesitated, "Speaking of which, how is your eye?"

He waved his fingers in front of his face. "No longer purple."

She paused again. "Word got around about all that. It was pretty decent of you."

He ran a hand through his hair quickly. "Don't know who you're listening to; I didn't do much, other than play punching bag."

"Better you than those kids."

He didn't say anything to that, and Katherine finished scraping the plate into the takeout box. She shifted on her feet; she had to say it. "I'm sorry about you and Nancy," she blurted.

She meant it.

Nancy was the best thing that had ever happened to Steve Harrington. Maybe Carol and Tommy didn't see it, but they were crap friends to Steve anyways. He'd been happy with Nancy, everyone could see that. Just like they saw how distinctly un-happy he was without her.

Steve looked back at the table, nodding slowly. "Yeah, me too."

Katherine fiddled with the tie on her apron. "You're going to be okay."

"Sure hope so."

"You will be," she said decisively.

He looked back up at her, and he shrugged, almost smiling. "Okay, I will be."

She nodded curtly. "That's the spirit. And, while I'm in an advice giving mood...as good as whatever weird babysitter/surrogate dad routine you're pulling with those kids is, you should work at finding yourself some company over the age of 12."

"They're 13."

She tilted her head and he winced. "Point taken."

He swept the box and cup into the brown paper bag; she stepped aside to let him get out of the booth. He unfolded himself out of the booth, pulled his jacket after him, going through the pockets. "So, what. Are you offering?"

I wasn't.

She really hadn't been. Years ago, she'd dreamed of a moment like this: Steve Harrington, heart broken by a girl who chose another, coming back to her. But now...she'd buried the crush a lifetime ago. Katherine was surprised that when she looked at Steve, she didn't see her grade school crush, or her neighbor who thought moving up meant stepping over. All she could see was a man whom she barely recognized, someone who was hurting, someone who was helping others instead of fixing himself. Someone who genuinely needed a friend.

I wasn't offering, but I am now.

"I don't know," Katherine sighed dramatically, gesturing around her at the empty diner, "I'm a busy woman."

Steve rolled his eyes."Whatever. Take this."

He held out his fist, palm down and she frowned at it. "What is it?

He wiggled his wrist and she narrowed her eyes, but obediently held her hand up underneath his. He unclenched his fist and a $10 bill fell into her hand.

"No, Steve, I already told you I covered it."

He shrugged into his jacket. "Okay, then you just got a really great tip."

"That's an understatement; it's literally a 250% tip."

"Guess I don't have to ask how you did on the SAT."

"Steve, you know I can't take this, come on," she held it out to him.

He looked at her, then took the bill back, folded it, and wedged it under one of the plates.

"You can take it, or Danny can find it when he busses the table." He grabbed the takeout bag, and did the weird clicked-teeth-plus-exaggerated-wink that guys like Steve reserved for their perfect gotcha moment. "See you Monday, Kat."

"You forgot the finger gun," she muttered after him.

She slipped the ten from under the plates into her apron, and carried the plates to Danny. He was sitting beside the bucket, clearly as over this shift as she was. He might've been actually asleep. She reached over him and grabbed the towel, heading back to table four. Outside, a maroon BMW revved its engine, and pulled out of the lot. Katherine shook her head, swiping the towel around the table, and not bothering to check her smile.

See you Monday, Steve Harrington.