CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
XXV.      back to the future
[ season 3, episode 2 ]

          "I don't get it."

She'd had enough. Steph slammed the pen down and pressed her forehead against the table. Dustin paused the Russian tape, sighing impatiently. Of all the people he thought would prove to be of some assistance in this mission, he incorrectly assumed it would be Steph.

"If we don't understand Russian, this is futile," she grumbled dispiritedly.

Steve, with mutilated banana rolling around in his mouth, rolled his mahogany eyes, "No, we have the dictionary. It'll ──."

"──Steve. Can you eat with your mouth closed?" Steph demanded in exasperation, grimacing. She leaned forward and prodded the play button on the recorder, if only to drown out the irritable noises of Steve's chewing and Dustin's fingers drumming against the table.

Again, it proved fruitless.

Steph shrugged. She handed the pen to Dustin, who took it with a frown.

"You're not giving up, are you?" he asked.

The sheer disappointment etched into his expression swayed her from admitting she was two seconds away from throwing in the towel.

"No," she said, "I'm just giving you the opportunity to write something down."

"What, exactly, would that be?" Dustin retorted.

"How am I supposed to know?" Briefly, she glanced up at the clock perched on the wall above the bulk of spare Scoops cones. "We've been at this for two hours and──" Steph held up the blank piece of paper, "──we've made this much progress. Zilch."

Steve tossed the empty banana peel into the bin. He wiped his grotty hands on the back of his Scoops shirt and said, "Hey, slow progress is still progress. Right, Dustin?"

Much to Stephanie's surprise, Dustin didn't look all too convinced by those words of 'encouragement.' He was usually on Steve's side. Not today. In fact, on the contrary, there was impatience mingling with the scepticism on his face when he looked at Steve.

"Steph's right. We've made no progress──"

"──Seriously, dude? Just play the recording again," Steve commanded. He started pacing the room, looking deep in thought.

Dustin exhaled sharply and jabbed the play button.

Once the recording came to an end, Steve's pacing ceased. He splayed both hands on the table and leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. There was still that unshakable blank look stamped on his face; he always gave off the impression of being borderline simple. Head empty, white noise buzzing in his brain.

Steph arched a quizzical brow, "What? Don't tell me you've suddenly been blessed with the power to comprehend Russian."

He scowled viciously, "Didn't you hear the music?"

"What music?" Dustin questioned sharply.

"In the background ── the music in the background." He pinched the bridge of his nose at their dumbstruck expressions. "Really? Have you been listening at all? Play it again."

Before Dustin could play it again, Steph snatched the recorder out of his hands and held it out of reach. "No, no. Not again. If I listen to it once more, I'll be able to recite it in my sleep."

"Do you want to solve it or not, Blondie?" Steve questioned. He had his hands on his hips, looking very much the part of a stern mother; all he needed was a wooden spoon and some colourful hair-rollers.

She pursed her lips, "Don't call me that."

"What? Blondie?"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

"It's annoying. And weird."

Steve spluttered indignantly, "It's a statement of the obvious! You have blonde hair."

As was common with Steph, she simply couldn't resist retorting stubbornly, "Actually, I'm a natural brunette."

He blinked, confounded.

"Seriously──"

Dustin rocketed up from his chair and clapped loud enough to silence the pair of them. His eyes blazed with a fury Steph did not believe him capable of harbouring.

"Once you two have quite finished," he seethed, shooting them both an identical reproachful glare, "I'd really love to get back to the task at hand. Do you think that's remotely possible?"

"Yes," Steph grumbled.

"Fine," Steve said petulantly.

Just as they got themselves comfortable around the table again ── well, as comfortable as could be in the hard plastic chairs ── the door to the supply room swung open. Robin hobbled in, looking worn out and extremely irritable, clutching her scooper as if one inch away from threatening to use it as a weapon on the next person who dared approach the counter. Steph craned her head around the corner; it looked busy out there. A gaggle of kids had swarmed at the front of the store, smearing greasy finger marks all over the glass-case display of ice cream.

"Hey, babysitting time is over," she said sternly. She jabbed a finger at Steve, "You need to get in there."

Before he could respond, her eyes gravitated to the whiteboard on the wall, covered in Russian symbols and the alternating alphabet ── courtesy of Dustin.

"Hey, my board!" Robin exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "That was important data, shitbirds."

"I guarantee you, what we're doing is way more important than your data," Dustin proclaimed.

Steph rolled her eyes. Dweeb.

"Yeah?" Robin probed, "And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyways?"

Simultaneously, Dustin and Steve's eyes bulged from their heads. They shared a look of sheer disbelief. Steph let out a long, rattling sigh. She should've known. Keeping something discreet around Steve was like walking through the mall with a huge, neon sign on her head saying 'we're translating a secret Russian tape.'

"How does she know about the Russians?" Dustin hissed at Steve accusingly.

"It wasn't me!"

Dustin's gaze shifted to Steph. She immediately recoiled, raising her hands in mock surrender, "Hey, don't look at me. I didn't say a word."

"What if Veronica overheard and──"

Robin clapped loud enough to draw their attention back to her, "It wasn't Ronnie. You are extremely loud. I can hear you from out there," she said, gesturing beyond the supply room where the counter was situated. "You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you're trying to translate, but haven't figured out a single word because you didn't realise the Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do. Sound about right?"

Steph whirled around in her chair and glared furiously at Steve, "I told you to keep your voice down, didn't I? A foghorn wouldn't make as much noise as you."

"Oh, right ── of course you blame me," he muttered bitterly. "It's always Steve, Steve, Steve──"

Ignoring him, Steph scrunched up a piece of paper they had abandoned as a result of yet another failed attempt at translation, and launched it at Steve's head. It bounced off his forehead ── he scowled angrily ── and rolled across the ground, eventually coming to a stop at Robin's feet. She picked it up and unrolled it. Her eyes flicked over the words ( most of them crossed out ) and snorted in amusement.

"Wow. You're making real progress here," she said derisively, tossing the paper aside.

"Oh, yeah? Think you can do better?" Steve demanded, tenderly rubbing his head where the ball of paper had made contact.

So dramatic.

"I'm fluent in four languages," Robin told them matter-of-factly.

Intrigued, Dustin's spine straightened, "Russian?"

"Ou-yay are-yay umb-day," she said.

Steve and Dustin made bird-like noises of triumph, apparently under the impression Robin's string of gobbledygook was Russian. Steph knew better than to fall for such tricks; she wasn't as gullible as Dustin or Steve.

"Holy shit!" Dustin exclaimed hopefully.

Robin grinned, "That was Pig Latin, dingus."

"Idiot," hissed Steve, hitting Dustin's arm lightly, his insult aimed at the boy even though he himself had also totally believed Robin's Pig Latin to be a sentence uttered in Russian.

She sat down, "But I can speak Spanish and French and Italian, and I've been in band for 12 years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me."

Steve scrunched his nose unsurely, "Uh──"

"Come on, it's your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don't even want credit, I'm just bored."

Robin leaned forward and held out her hand expectantly, eyeing the recorder in Dustin's hand. After a moment, the latter reluctantly handed it over. Robin smiled triumphantly and immediately jabbed the play button.

Outside, the incessant ding of the counter bell was enough to drive anyone insane. Steve shouldered his way out of the storage room. Stephanie wished Robin and Dustin luck and followed Steve; she was determined to go home and barricade herself in her room, listen imploringly to the steady thump of music and inhale the toxins from her cigarettes. Social batteries existed ── her's was worn down.

She noticed Erica and her friends storming away from the counter grumpily, tossing furious looks over their shoulder at Steve as they went.

Steph leaned against the counter, "What did you do?"

"Told them they couldn't have anymore samples," said Steve. He wiggled his fingers at them in a victorious wave as they rounded the corner and disappeared into the cavernous mall. "Erica isn't happy. I think I might have to sleep with one eye open tonight."

"That's a wise idea. She seems like the type to take revenge," Steph mused.

Steve nodded, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, "Yeah, she does . . ." He trailed off, looking down at his shoes. "Now that you're back in Hawkins, are you planning on staying a while?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it like a fish out of water. He didn't know she was planning on going to university at the culmination of the summer ── scarcely anyone did. Everything that had happened in Hawkins . . . she wasn't exactly keen on staying any longer than necessary.

Rather than plunge into the depths of her future plans, Steph just shrugged, "No idea. Why?"

He ran a hand through his hair, meeting her cobalt gaze, "Oh I was just, you know, wondering. When you left last year, you went without saying a word. I guess I wanted to know prior . . . so I could say bye this time."

"I was meant to say bye," she said earnestly, "But my flight changed with the storm, and it was chaos, and I had to leave in the middle of the night. I didn't want to call and wake you."

"I wouldn't have minded," he told her in a very quiet, very reserved voice that almost sounded as if he was meant to keep it solely inside his head.

She blinked, unsure of how to respond.

Looking somewhat embarrassed, Steve quickly cleared his throat, "But it's fine. Doesn't matter now, you're back and, uh . . . yeah."

"Yeah," she echoed.

God, it was so awkward. She wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her whole. Running into a Demodog would have been preferable to standing there any longer.

"Alright, I'm going to head off," she blurted, stepping out from behind the counter. "I'll be back tomorrow to help with the Russian."

He shushed her, giving the customers sitting in a booth over her left shoulder a pointed look. They didn't seem to notice anything untoward ── they were immersed in conversation, swallowing mouthfuls of their chocolate sundaes.

Steph rolled her eyes fondly, "Sorry. I'll be back tomorrow to help with you-know-what."

"Better." Steve grinned.

"Bye, Harrington."

He waved as she turned her back and started toward the exit. However, before she could get any more than five steps, he called out her name. She came to a halt, peering at him over her shoulder questioningly.

Donning an expression mingled with both  apprehension and intrigue, Steve asked, "Have you seen Back to the Future yet?" 

Her brows cinched on their own accord, "No. I haven't."

"Robin told me it's good," he blurted, scratching the back of his head, causing the Scoops hat to wobble precariously. There was something he hadn't said yet, something making him uncharacteristically nervous. It became clear as a summer's day when he spoke again, "We should go see it tomorrow night."

Steph looked at him steadily. She did not want to make it obvious that it felt as if her heart had just leapt into her mouth.

"What, just you and me?" she inquired.

A faint rosy-hue dusted the apples of his cheeks, but he was resolute despite it, "Yeah ── unless you don't want to, obviously."

She arched a brow, adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder, "That sounds like a date to me, Harrington."

"I ──" he stammered silently, trying to string words together. Then, as if a sheet of mist had dissipated in his brain, Steve's expression changed. He looked calmer, less embarrassed, squaring his shoulders. He seemed to remember who he was. "What if it is?"

"Doesn't make a difference to me."

And with that, she span on the heel of her foot and made a beeline for the exit. Her cheeks were burning, no doubt coloured redder than a tomato. Distantly, she heard Steve calling out after her.

"So is that a yes?"

She didn't reply. But she knew her answer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it's been so long since i updated
this and im soooooo sorry. i have
inspo and ive missed steph so bad,
so hopefully im here to stay.