This chapter was very difficult to write and underwent several revisions. I hope the end product turned out okay. Thanks for all the alerts and a big thank you to Lucy Potter 123 for reviewing! -Scarlet

Chapter 6: The Snap

"Jarvis, can you open the containment field, please? SI-1185."

"Yes, Ms. Campbell."

I worked a few buttons closed on my lab coat as the glass opened, revealing three rows of circular agars. As I grabbed the tester from the continuous NAS group, I felt the gentle tingle of the blue light on my fingertips.

I brought it over to the lab bench directly across from the samples. Grabbing a scalpel, I scraped off some of the untouched medium and tapped it onto a glass slide. I gently eyedropped some blue liquid onto the sample and placed a second slide on top. I reached for the microscope nearby, pulling it closer to the edge of the metal counter.

After I positioned the slide under the lens, I looked through the eyepiece and used the coarse adjustment knobs to locate a group of cells. I focused in on the tiny objects with one hand and reached for my pen and notebook to blindly record my observations with the other hand.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I straightened up as a shot of adrenaline ran through me. "Steve," I breathed, watching him approach the other side of my lab bench. I smiled.

"Here I am," I chirped, "counting T-cells."

He gave me a neutral smile. "Nice party, right?"

I rested my palms on the cold surface between us. "It's nice, I guess," I replied, letting my gaze wander back to my microscope.

"You're not coming back upstairs, are you?"

I noticed how closely he was watching me. With a wince, I slowly shook my head. "I wasn't planning on it," I hedged.

His gaze wavered. "I was hoping you'd stay longer," he said in a low voice, crossing his arms.

I bristled; it was very unusual for him to have such an attitude. I moved back to my microscope. "You know how much I hate parties," I said dismissively.

His steps on the other side of the counter mirrored my own. "I know it seems like a silly party," he continued, "but it's important to show support to our friends."

My eyes flashed to his, taking in the weight of his gaze and the stiffness of his posture. I turned away from him and resisted the urge to say, "They're your friends." I rested my hand on the stainless steel hood above my samples, trying to think of a better way to phrase it.

Suddenly, in a stern voice, he said, "Come back upstairs, Kate."

I froze. He's being a control freak. I closed my eyes and breathed out a sigh. What I said next was perhaps a result of the wine, or perhaps it had been months in the making.

"Should I obey you because you're so much older than me? Or because you're a man?"

"...What?" I could only imagine the baffled expression on his face. "What on earth are you talking about? I…I never…," he trailed off incredulously.

Balling my hand, I stared hard at my bone-white knuckles. I felt my stubbornness rooting me in place, while I simultaneously felt guilty for going against him.

"Kate…" I couldn't bring myself to look at him, even as his footsteps rounded the bench and his hand encircled my arm. He tugged gently, trying to get me to face him. "Kate?"

Dragging my gaze over to him, I saw the look of confusion swirling in his eyes. His next words fell on deaf ears as my nostrils flared at a strong, strong scent of alcohol.

"What have you been drinking?" I asked.

Shaking his head, he blinked as if I had disrupted his train of thought. "Something Thor brought," he replied. "But that's not important…"

I narrowed my eyes to estimate the dilation of his pupils. "I think you're drunk," I stated.

Steve held up a single finger. "I am not drunk."

Grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hood, I flicked on the overhead light and watched his pupils for a reaction. I didn't notice any constriction. "You might be," I murmured.

"Kate, would you stop?" he complained, suddenly pulling his arm back.

His unusual aggressiveness made me even more convinced that the alcohol was affecting him. I need to get him home. I stiffened in shock when he grabbed me by both shoulders. His grip wasn't painful—just firm. His expression was pleading.

"I'm trying to tell you something," he said, shaking me slightly.

"God, just—" I stopped short as the icy feeling of fear gripped me. If he was drunk, he could easily forget his own strength. I put my hands on his chest and pushed; he didn't let me go.

"Listen…" His eyes were wide, causing my heart to pound wildly in my chest. "You have no idea how much I respect you," he said breathlessly. "I am so proud of who you are and everything that you do."

His grip tightened with every word, and I started to panic. "S—Steve…" I squirmed relentlessly, trying to break away from him. "You're scaring me—"

"Kate, I'm trying to tell you that…that I love you."

I stopped struggling and stared up at him. Just like mine, his expression was strained and his breathing was heavy. I had pictured this moment a thousand different ways, a thousand different times in my mind, and none of them were even remotely close to this. I felt a painful throb in my chest.

I felt my face contort into a look of betrayal. Tears gathered in my eyes, and his face swam in my blurred vision. "How could you?" I breathed hopelessly.

Almost immediately, Steve pulled me to his chest in a tight embrace. I blinked in momentary surprise. "I love you, Kate," he repeated.

He just wants me to say it back. I pressed my lips together, feeling another batch of tears well up in my eyes. He just wants me to say it back. I suddenly felt my control eroding—derailing—and my anger clawing its way out of me like a wild animal.

Then, I just...snapped.

I pushed him away in earnest, and he staggered backward as if it was me who had super strength. Tears spilled over as I lifted my finger and screamed at him, "You have no right to be so fucking insecure, Steve!"

Pain flashed across his face as though I had slapped him. A few breathless moments went by, and then, he stepped forward with his jaw clenched in indignation.

"Don't I?"

The lit fuse of my anger flared on. "What the hell are you talking about?" I yelled.

"Stark," he stated. "I'm talking about Stark."

I threw my hands up. "What about him?"

His expression was steely and controlled. "You two had dinner the other night."

Shaking my head, I looked at him like he was crazy. "That was Chinese takeout in the lab, not dinner!"

He simply dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head.

"Steve, you know Mr. Stark. He's…" I waved my hand ambiguously, trying to find the right word for his forwardness.

"Yeah, I know," he stated, crossing his arms. "That's the problem."

"Steve…" I started laughing at the absurdity of the accusation. "You…you're drunk," I told him. "And I'm leaving with Sam."

Breezing past him, I ignored the way he reached for me as I determinedly stripped off my lab coat. I continued to rant as I grabbed my purse and jacket from the lab bench. "I don't know what sick fantasy you've made up in your head, but it's completely insane!"

When I turned around, Steve stretched his arms between the counters, blocking my exit. He looked at me with his eyes wavering in uncertainty. "What is reality, then?" he asked in a shaky voice. "That you don't…love me?"

My eyebrows came together as I shook my head, desperate not to cry again. "You know that's not true," I practically whimpered. I shouldered my way around him and made a break for the elevator. My footsteps echoed loudly against the linoleum floor.

"Katlyn!"

My hand stilled on the illuminated elevator button. He had never used my proper name before. He had never raised his voice at me before. As my hands balled at my sides, I wanted to hurt him just as much as he was hurting me. I loaded and fired the first ammunition that came to mind.

"Did you pick me because I look like her?"

His voice shook. "Look like...who?"

"You know who," I stated.

In the moments of silence that followed, I heard his footsteps approach until he stood right behind me. My stubbornness forced me to stare straight ahead at the elevator doors.

Eventually, I heard a short sniff. It sounded like he'd been crying. "Don't drag Peggy into this just because I brought up Tony," he said in a weary voice.

I shook my head, muttering, "'Tony.'" I couldn't remember the last time either of us had used his first name. He doesn't know me. I pressed my quivering lips together. He doesn't know me at all. When the doors finally opened, I stepped inside without looking back.

"Kate—"

I couldn't make out another word as the doors closed.

…

There was no catharsis after my emotional explosion—only complete and utter numbness. Sam noticed something was off as I drove him to his hotel, and he clearly walked on eggshells during our brief conversation. When I got myself home, I slammed the car door shut as hard as I possibly could. I went upstairs and immediately collapsed, fully dressed, into bed.

Why? Why am I like this?

The last time someone told me "I love you" replayed in my mind like a scene from a movie. It was my mom, at my second-grade graduation, when I successfully walked across the stage without stopping. She'd only said it only a handful of times before that, and to her, that was more than enough.

My tears came relentlessly. I thought of how I seemed to disappoint everyone that entered into my life. I thought of how everything I ever touched turned to dust. I thought of how much I missed him already. I thought of how much I loved him. So much that every bone in my body ached at the thought of him breaking up with me.

I love him! Jesus Christ, I love him.

Why could I say it to myself a thousand times but never out loud? Why did it bother me so much that he said it so easily, so carelessly? Why was everything suddenly so…fucking…difficult?

As I spiraled down into my own personal hell, I eventually, somehow fell asleep.