Katherine was at a loss for what drove Steve out of the diner. The twins didn't know what they'd said and Dustin wouldn't tell her what they'd said, beyond a cryptic "Joel brought up the Hollands selling their…never mind, actually". The only Hollands she knew were Barb's parents, and 'knew' was probably not the right word, so that was a dead end. At any rate, when her car sputtered into her driveway later that night, the Harrington house was still, and even though she waited until 15 minutes before school started the following morning, the maroon BMW stayed in the driveway. From the second-floor window of her first period class, Katherine saw it creep into the school lot, and Steve made it inside just as the tardy bell rang. She couldn't find him during lunch either. It wasn't like she accidentally crossed paths with Steve all the time, but when Monday came around and she hadn't passed him in their driveways or a hallway once, she was more than a little suspicious. And so, after school, Katherine found herself sitting on the bleachers by the ball bin in the gym, telling herself she wasn't overreacting.

Doing her level best to avoid eye contact, she read the embroidered text on all the championship banners hung around the gym. As the players came out onto the court, she listened to the squeak of their shoes against the maple floor; she recognized the short scuff when they realized someone not-in-uniform was sitting next to their stash of basketballs. She didn't want any of their attention; she was just waiting for someone to approach the ball bag and stay by her, instead of grabbing a ball and retreating.

She'd just kind of been hoping that someone would be Steve.

The stench of cigarette smoke hit her a moment before Billy Hargrove put a leg on the bleacher bench next to her, crossed his arms on his knee, and leaned over. "Hey there, sweetheart," he said around a toothpick, clearly a stand-in for a Marlboro, "Did you come for a show?"

Katherine Tracy, don't you dare lean back.

She told herself not to inhale, and refused to lower her gaze from the rafters to the senior beside her. "Not really, Billy, just meeting a friend," she said curtly.

"Shame," he said quietly, and his eyes drifted from her face downward. "Welllllll, you have me at a disadvantage; I don't know your name."

It's like that's intentional or something.

But she didn't feel like being confrontational—not with this particular basketball player, anyways—so she gave a very polite smile, and went back to studying the banners.

She could tell he was still watching her, and the hope that he would just walk away was rapidly diminishing. She could hear the footfall from the other players, the guys on the court either stretching or jogging back and forth. "Looks like practice is starting; you should probably get out there and join them," she said evenly, "Don't you think?"

He hadn't moved away, if anything, he'd just leaned deeper into his propped up knee. "I think," he tilted his head, studying her, "that I usually don't go for redheads. But I could be convinced—"

"Or maybe it's a sign. Old habits die hard, spilt milk, water under the bridge, etc." She was running out of clichés when Billy shifted slightly, and she realized he was actually reaching for her hair.

Oh I do NOT think so.

She stood quickly, turning away from the court and lifting her chin as she stared down at Billy. "Looks like practice is starting," she said again, her tone clipped, "You should probably get out there and join them."

He straightened, stepping off the bench, and Katharine told herself again to not back away. She was still taller, but only because she was standing on the bleachers, and she refused to be the first to look away. Billy looked like he was about to say something, then his eyes focused on something behind her, and his mouth snapped shut. A moment later, Katharine felt hands around her waist and she was lifted off the bleachers.

Steve set her on the gym floor, and he bent to meet her eyes. "You good?" he asked quietly, and she couldn't read the expression on his face.

You mean other than grossed out by Billy's existence, confused that somehow I'm in the middle of this territorial thing you two have going on, and also not thrilled that this is what it took to get you to stop avoiding me? Yeah, I'm good.

"Just fine," she said.

He looked at her for a moment longer, nodded slightly, and turned back to the bleachers. "Get knotted, would you, Hargrove?"

Billy exhaled and leaned his head back, setting his jaw. "Hey," he smiled lazily, "just keeping your girl entertained, Harrington."

"Nobody's here for your particular brand of entertainment."

Billy laughed. "Everyone's looking for it, Stevie. Some people just don't know it yet."

Katherine pressed her lips together; thankful that Steve was between her and Billy.

They were just glaring at each other now, like some Arthurian scene, the king and the usurper.

A whistle blew, and Coach Evans walked onto the court. He looked at his team, hustling off the court for his instructions, and then over at the bleachers to the three of them.

Katherine figured he could get a pretty clear picture from their body language.

"Hargrove," Coach Evans yelled. "Sideline, let's go. Harrington, you know how I feel about students on my court; you've got two minutes."

Coach ex machina.

Before she could get too introspective, someone plugged the speakers into a radio and the gym shook with a heavy beat. Shoes were squeaking on the maple and the whistles shrilled above the music. Billy backed up to the courts, pulling the toothpick from between his mouth to point it at Katherine.

"Catch you later, Red," he said, before turning to jog over to the coach's line.

I hope you trip and choke on that thing.

But she didn't say anything aloud, and instead grabbed the sleeve of Steve's tshirt and pulled until he followed her. The end of the court was still loud, and she didn't let go of his sleeve until they were in the alleyway outside.

Steve looked up at the rain gutters, and down at the grass. "Sorry about that."

Yeah, me too.

"Not your fault," she shrugged.

"Did he call you Red?"

"It's for the hair," she said inanely.

"No shit."

She tilted her head, "Was the lift really necessary?"

"The what?"

Katherine mimed picking something up and setting it down. "The lift. Like, I get that you two are in the middle of a turf war, but was 'hands off' the necessary message?"

"Yeah, actually," he met her eyes, and she got the feeling he believed it.

Doesn't mean I have to like being the rook to your kings.

Which brought her back to the fact that she hadn't seen him in a week, and it took Billy Hargrove to call him back. She pulled her backpack off her shoulders and started going through it. "Guess what I did last Wednesday?"

Steve was watching her frenzy of motion warily. "Worked at the diner?"

"After that," she pulled out a folder, going through it, swinging the backpack over her shoulder. "After you ran out, after Josie and the twins—who, by the way, feel like they said something awful, but can't figure out what—and Dustin left, and after we closed for the night."

She pulled out his essay, and pushed it at his chest. His eyes darted down, recognizing her handwriting on the pages, the clean and fresh pages, neater and longer than the paper he'd given her last week.

Katherine pulled at her hair, from where it had tangled under the backpack. "I stayed up till 3, that's what I did. Going through this essay."

He pursed his lips. "You didn't have to rewrite it."

"I did, Steve, you didn't leave any room in the margins."

He took the papers involuntarily, and flipped through them. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I really appreciate that, Kat—"

"You know, I'd like to think you do, but it took Billy Hargrove poking at me for you to materialize."

Steve winced and Katharine looked down; her knuckles were white on the folder in her hands. She hadn't realized she was this upset, but clearly she was.

Steve was holding the paper uncertainly, shifting his weight between his feet. Katherine took a breath to steady herself.

"Sofia," she said slowly, "says my superpowers are grammar and worrying about my friends."

The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly, and Katherine found herself wanting to smile too. "She's not wrong. When you left the diner, the twins felt really bad, Steve. I know Josie said they 'just stopped by', but she doesn't have a spontaneous bone in her body, which means Sofia told her too. Which means they all knew how much it meant to me for you to get along. And then you left, nobody knows why, and you go MIA for almost a week? What's going on?"

Steve was paying incredible attention to the essay, and tried to shrug nonchalantly. "It's nothing."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Look, Kat, you heard Coach, I've got to get back in there—"

"Yeah, and I'd say you have ninety seconds left of the two minutes."

"I'm not doing this—"

"What, you're not going to explain anything thing?" she knew her voice was raising, and Steve was looking increasingly uncomfortable, but she pressed on. "You run out, avoid me for a week, stress my friends out—"

"Not here, okay?"

He said it louder than he'd intended and Katherine stopped short at the intensity in his voice. She looked around at the brick walls framing them, the field beyond them, the gym still thumping with the base of whatever song was playing now, the shoe squeaks and the whistle blows rising above it.

What is it about here?

But Steve wasn't looking at her. He was glaring at the ground, a memory of another conversation, maybe more, in this same place, was written on his face.

Whatever it is, I can't fight it.

"Okay," she said gently. "Okay, not here."

Steve shuffled the essay, but his face relaxed.

"I get off Ronnie's at 10," she continued, "And I'll be home fifteen minutes after that. Better?"

Steve nodded at the ground.

"Okay...okay." He wasn't responding, so she was really just affirming herself. She hesitated only a moment longer before walking away. Steve didn't say anything, and when she turned to leave the alley, he'd gone back inside.

Hours later, Katherine rolled her neck, watching the second hand click to its vertical position on the clock above the door of the diner. She'd finished all her tables at 9:34, had triple checked all the salt shakers and napkins by 9:47, and Frank had tossed her the keys at 9:59, to go out back for a smoke before he went home. On principle, she had to wait to flip the Come On In!/Sorry, We're Closed! sign until 10 on the dot.

10:00:00.

She flipped the sign.

She threw the deadbolt too; she always did when it was just her in the diner. The light switches were next, casting the diner into blue shadows. As she hung her apron behind the counter, a car pulled into the parking lot, its headlights illuminating the dark diner, and Katherine to suppressed a sigh. It was never fun to have to tell customers they were closed (but you're still here! We only want a milkshake! Please?), but tonight especially, she was in a hurry to get out of the diner.

Sure enough, a minute later, there was unrepentant tapping on the glass door.

She was surprised to recognize the silhouette in the door.

It's the hair.

She crossed back over the diner, clicked the deadbolt back, and stepped aside; Steve shouldered his way into the diner.

"I figured it'd be better than having to sit in the driveways," he said in lieu of a greeting.

She swung the door behind him, re-locking the deadbolt out of habit. "Pick a seat, any seat."

Steve picked the counter. There was a bankers light over the register, so Katherine reached over the bar to pull the cord and switch it back on. The diner was still bathed in cool blues, but the yellow ring from the light covered the counter. She pulled her feet up under her on the barstool, balancing; Steve was facing the counter, his feet tapping lightly on the foot rest bar.

"Alright, so, before," he turned to look at her, gesturing vaguely to the space in front of him, "anything else, thanks for the essay."

Katherine blinked, surprised. "Did you get to look it over?"

He hesitated. "Um, no. Not yet. But I know whatever you did it better than how it was before."

"You don't know that."

"Come on, Kat, we both do."

Okay, so, we do.

"Well, tentatively, in advance, you're welcome."

He seemed satisfied with that, and pulled back from the counter to rest his palms on his knees, lifting his fingers. "And I didn't mean to be scarce, I just have been really busy with apps and everything…"

"That's fair," she said carefully, "But almost a week, Steve?"

"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean to stress the guys out."

"And me?"

"Or you. But we don't really," he paused as he worked on choosing his next words, "cross paths much, do we?"

Ouch.

"We definitely didn't this week," she said noncommittally. "So you came out to Ronnie's at 10 at night to tell me you were just busy."

He nodded stoically.

I really shouldn't push my luck…

"And," she pulled her hair over her shoulder, examining the end of her ponytail in front of her, "Barb has nothing to do with it?"

He didn't say anything, but his fingers froze. He worked his jaw, and he looked down at his hands. "I, uh, don't know what you mean by tha—"

"I don't either, it's just what Dustin said."

Steve huffed. "Yeah, well, he shouldn't have."

"But he did. And, a rhino ain't a wombat, so what gives?"

"A what now?"

"Which, the rhino or wombat?"

"Either?" Steve shook his head, "I mean, neither; I know what they are. But what did that mean?"

"It means that if Dustin was way off base, you wouldn't be gripping your knees like they might dislocate if you let go. And you'd let yourself breathe, and you'd look me in the eye while you were at it."

His hands started up again, he took a gulping breath and looked towards her. Well, at her hairline.

"Steve, that's, like, not even 30% convincing."

"What do you want, a therapy confession?"

"I'd like it if you didn't stop me from closing the diner if you were just going to lie to me!"

They stared at each other for a long moment, the Steve let out a short breath, raking a hand through his hair, hopping up from the stool to pace in front of the counter. "You want me to say I'm still upset that one of our classmates is dead?"

"I didn't say that—"

"Oh, right, you just wanted to know what's relevant to you."

Katherine recoiled. "Hold on, that's not fai—"

"Isn't that why I'm here?" Steve held his arms out, extending them to the empty diner, "Because you wanted to know why I left?"

"I wanted to know you were okay," Katherine said sharply. "I didn't know that was such an imposition."

"Well you sure didn't believe me when I told you that I was."

"Because clearly you're not!"

"I'm fine!"

She crossed her arms and they glared at each other; she perched on her stool, and he standing between the aisles of booths in the diner.

Katherine studied him. "So where does Barb come into this?"

"You were the one who brought her up."

"Yeah, because Dustin let it slip that Joel had mentioned her parents—"

"That her parents are selling their house because their daughter was murdered and nobody did a damn thing to stop it?" Steve resumed his pacing, "Yeah, Joel 'mentioned' it."

Murdered?

Katherine's eyes followed his nervous pacing. "I…I thought she died of exposure. From that chemical leak."

"Right." Steve stopped short. "Freak accident, murder, same difference. Either way, she's dead."

She didn't know what to say.

When Barb had disappeared, it had thrown the school into a weird funk. Barb wasn't really the popular girl, but she also didn't have enemies; even if she wasn't on anyone's radar, it didn't mean they wished her dead. Things had creeped back to normal, but there were moments when the school seemed to remember.

"I didn't know you were close," she offered.

"We weren't."

Oh. And that's what makes it worse.

She unfolded her arms, gripping the sides of the stool. "Steve, I don't know what sort of survivor's guilt this is, but you know it's not your fault. Nobody but the scientists in that lab could've kept Barb from…" she hesitated, the word was never easy to say, "from dying."

Steve was staring at the ceiling, his fists clenched at his side. He dropped his head and as his hair flopped in his face, Katherine realized he still wasn't looking at her. When he spoke, it was so quiet that she almost missed it.

"That's what everyone says," he mumbled.

Katherine slid her legs out from under her. "That's because they're right," she said as gently as she could.

Steve tilted his head back, and his eyes finally lifted to meet hers. Katherine drew in a quick breath at the depth of emotion in them, before Steve looked away again. "No," he said, in the same small voice, "it's because they couldn't have done anything."

She thought about it for a moment before slipping off the stool and coming to stand in front of him. He still didn't look up, but at least she would hear whatever he said this time. "Steve, you're included in that 'everyone'. There's nothing you could do, either."

He shook his head again. "Thanks, Kat, but you really don't know that."

"Look at me. Hey, look at me," she ducked her head so she was between his gaze and the floor. When she straightened, his gaze rose too. "There, that's better. I know I'm not great company, but I think I'm a better view than the floor, okay?"

"You're fine company," he muttered.

"Mmhmm. So, what aren't you telling me?"

He shifted. "Nothing."

"Bullshit," her voice cracked, and she raised her chin defiantly. She never swore, but if this was the way to get him to listen to her, then so be it.

His jaw clenched, but she didn't back down.

"Kat, it's not—"

"It is that simple. What is it that I don't know?"

His eyes searched hers and she couldn't figure out what he was trying to read in them.

I want to know.

Whatever had driven him out of the diner, away from her friends, away from her, it was bigger than he could carry on his own.

I want to help.

She had two good shoulders, and while they weren't enough for Hawkins High Athletics, they were wide enough and strong enough to help carry whatever was weighing him down. And she realized, more than anything else, what she was trying to say here.

I. Am not. Her.

She didn't know what Nancy had said to break Steve that night of the Halloween party, didn't know what sort of falling out they'd had since then. And Nancy really did seem happy with Jonathan, so it wasn't like Katherine held it against her. It was that she could see it on Steve's face, the way his eyes kept drifting to her hairline, to reinforce the disparity in their images. Something told her that no one else had asked him, pushed him, read him, before Nancy, and no one had since. And now here she was, and she couldn't think of how to wordlessly communicate that she wasn't the girl he was still not over, so she just met his gaze.

His shoulders dropped.

"I could've stopped it," he admitted.

She didn't buy it for a moment, but the denial method hadn't worked so well, so Katherine tried another way. "How?" she asked.

"I was there."

"At the lab?"

"No, not at the lab, at," Steve clenched his teeth together, "at my house."

"At your house?" she repeated flatly.

"Yeah. Barb drove Nancy over for a couple drinks, since my parents weren't home. We…we let her drive home alone. We were…we were the last ones who saw her."

Her mouth opened; she hadn't expected that.

Okay. Okay, so what?

So he was the last person to see her. So, since Nancy stayed, that meant Barb was alone. But that didn't push Barb towards the chemical spill, didn't mean he was at all to blame for the fact that the scientists let their experiments take precedence over the life of a high school girl.

"Steve," she shook her head. "You know that doesn't mean it's your fault. You have to know that."

"Oh yeah? Then whose is it?"

"I-It's the scientists, the—"

"Did they push her to drink? Did they leave her on their porch? Did they go upstairs and not care about what happened to her?"

"That's not what you did—"

"How do you know what I did?" he shouted, backing away from her. Both his hands were on his head, clutching it.

Katherine didn't know why, but suddenly her eyes were burning.

"I invited her over, Kat. I did that. She was out that night, and if it weren't for me trying to impress Nancy, she'd still be alive."

"Steve—"

"I was in my house, Kat, I was safe. I was worried about my parents finding out about the beer, and about what Nancy thought of me, and all the while...she was dying. Barb died. Alone."

He genuinely thinks he killed her.

He was breathing hard, and she wasn't sure if it was just her vision clouding, or if his eyes were shimmering too. Something in her heart just clenched, and she realized that Steve being alone didn't mean lonely Friday nights. It meant nobody to dig their heels in next to his, nobody to lean their backs against the weights he was strapped too. Nobody to fight his demons.

Oh Steve, how long have you carried this?

The diner was still, the shadows long and the King of Hawkins, wavering in the blue light.

"You were inside and safe while she was out?" she asked slowly, needing to clarify.

Steve's hair bounced as he nodded.

"She was driving around, and that's how she got exposed? While you were home?"

Again, he didn't make a sound but nodded his affirmation.

She tucked her hands into her back pockets, rocked back on her heels, and shook her hair out of her face. "Alright. Then I killed her."

Steve's head shot up. "Kat, what—"

"I was home, Steve, right next door. While you were drinking, I was minding my own business, not bothering. I probably rolled my eyes at how loud you were being, but I stayed put didn't do anything. I killed her."

"You know that's not—"

"What's worse," she interrupted, words flowing out of her, "is I bet I was working that night. So chances are, I was driving too. But I'm the one who's here, and she isn't."

"Damnit, Kat, it's not the same—"

"Like hell it's not!" she cut him off again, surprised that her voice was shaking. She steadied herself and lowered her voice. "Because if driving alone or being home on the night Barb died is what killed her then I am JUST as guilty as you are."

"You're not the one who—"

"Tell me what you did, Steve!" She wiped angrily at her face, realizing it was wet. She stepped closer to him, rising on her toes, "Tell me one thing you did that night and I promise, I PROMISE, that I did it too." She realized he hadn't moved. He was staring at her, a desperate expression on his face; this was probably the first time he'd let himself feel this much about it.

She took a final breath. "Look me in the eyes and tell me, Steve Harrington. Because if you won't let me hang for it, then there's no way I'm letting you."

"Kat..."

She hadn't been imagining it; he blinked rapidly and shoved his sleeve in his face.

"You," she lifted her arm again and poked a finger at his chest. "Did not kill Barb. Do you hear me? You. Did not. Kill her."

He was silent for a long moment, and the diner was quiet except for the sound of their stilted breathing. She watched every emotion race across his face: conviction that he was a murderer, hope that maybe he wasn't, indignation that she would tell him so, doubt that she could be right. The truth of his reality waged with the logic of her argument, and she saw the moment his jaw went slack as he let it go.

His shoulders dipped imperceptibly, and she reached for him.

He was a good deal taller than she was, but her hands found the back of his neck, pulling his head down to her shoulder. Her arms stretched around his neck, cradling him, and he hesitated for a moment before his arms wrapped around her waist.

He was shaking, and she held him, listening to his uneven breathing and trying to steady her own. It wasn't long before her arms went numb from the angle, but she wasn't letting go for the world.

"It's okay...you're okay...it's going to be okay..." she whispered it over and over again, repeating it, meaning it. It might be hours until the man in her arms believed it, but she wouldn't stop until he did.


A/N: So this one was a little longer! Steve feeling feels is my hope for ST3, so it manifested itself in this chapter. Please review (seriously guys, I need some input here); can't wait to write the next one for ya!