Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clint’s house – end of July

As she gets back to the house, Laura has a growing feeling that something’s off. Her demeanor shifts from relaxed to tensed up. She shouldn’t have leave Nathaniel and Lila — not even for an hour. At least, Cooper is safe at his friend’s place.

Slowly, Laura puts down her basket, filled with fresh veggies and herbs. The recipes she intended to make with them are all forgotten. She looks around for signs of traps. Through the front window, she can see the empty kitchen but she can’t see through the leaving room. Which also mean she can’t be seen from it. She could go around the house, gather intelligence. She could climb on the roof and get the pistol in the master bedroom, getting in through the window.

But Lila and Nathaniel are inside the house, possibly already taken hostage, maybe even wounded. So Laura Barton sends a text to her husband and turns her phone silent as she quietly moves towards the front door. She grabs a shovel on her way. Her hands firm on her newfound weapon, she opens the door. Hold habits kick in and adrenalin sharpens her mind; her every movement are controlled and steady. She scans the room on her first step in. There’s no one and nothing. Assured there’s no immediate threat, she takes another, more attentive look. Nothing stands out. Except for the silence.

Focused and ready to fight, Laura steps in the leaving room. She frowns in worry. There’s no sign of her children. Determined to protect her family, she goes back to the kitchen, from where she’ll search the other rooms. “Laura Barton, hiii! I hope you don’t mind I ate an apple because, if you do mind, it’s… eaten, you know?” As Laura doesn’t reply, the woman goes on. “I waited for so long. Not you. I’m glad to see you, but the person I was waiting for is your husband, Clint Barton.”

A blond Russian is in Laura’s kitchen, and she’s talking a lot. No weapons to be seen. The intruder is wearing casual clothes — and lots of jewelry. As silence lingers, she insists. “Do you know where he is?”

Laura gnashes her teeth. Her attitude is very nonchalant and inappropriately friendly. Now, she thinks she knows who that woman is: Yelena Belova. Clint talked about her; she’s a Black Widow and Natasha’s adoptive sister. “Where are my children?” Sharply asks Mrs. Barton. From what she knows, Yelena probably doesn’t mean any harm. But she broke in, and the kids are nowhere to be seen.

The other woman pauses, her smile fading as she holds Laura’s aggressive gaze. “Nathaniel and Lila are in their bedrooms” She points that direction. “Where is Clint Barton?”

“Should be there any time soon, thanks to you.”

Chapter Text

I shoot two arrows while running. Before any reaches its target, I jump over a fallen tree and bend my bow again. A shoot on my left and suddenly there’s movement over my head. I shift to avoid the wood piece. With no break, I continue to run to the last target. My arrow flies through the branches. It’s deviated twice within the hundred feet it travels and ends up in the bullseye.

I can’t help but smile broadly, proud of myself. It’s the third time I run this circuit this morning, and it’s finally flawless. Still breathing heavily, I turn to Clint, but he doesn’t seem much interested in my performance. He’s looking at his phone, frowning. When he turns on his feet without a word, I know something’s wrong.

He doesn’t ask me to come, but neither does he ask me not to, so I follow him and jump on the four-wheeler with him. Engine roars and dirt splashes out as we’re tossed about on uneven ground. He drives at high speed but then slows down, relaxing. As an explanation, he shows me his phone. There’s a text from his wife: “It’s Yelena.”

A few minutes later, we get at the house. He leaves his bow and quiver; mine remain in my back. As we get in and despite being a step behind, I notice a silent exchange between Clint and Laura. I don’t get what they say in that gaze, but there is a lot.

As usual, Nat runs through the room the moment he sees us. His father affectionately rubs his hair and, next moment. the boy crashes into me, hugging me thigh. Absent-mindedly, I pat him in the back, my attention drawn to a shove put against the wall. Clint notices it too and, without a word, takes it and heads outside — likely to put it back where it belongs.

I glance at Laura, a bit puzzled, when a familiar deep voice calls my name. “Kate Bishop! Enjoying vacation in the countryside too, eh?” Yelena’s tone is light and she gives me a knowing look and I can’t tell if she’s teasing me or being genuinely friendly. I can never tell when that woman is serious and transparent or making fun of me and condescending. Mrs. Barton, on the other side of the room, has a cold, upset look. I’ve never seen her like that before.

I straighten, comforted in the idea that my bow and arrows are in hand reach. The Russian probably has knives or guns hidden in her brown blazer and in the pockets of her cargo pants. “Who has a contract on their head this time?” I ask. At my words, Nathaniel, still hugging me, raises his head.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, I just want to talk.” Says the Russian with a reassuring tone — which isn't reassuring —, stepping closer. She waves her hands as she speaks and my eyes fall on them. She has many rings on each, which she herself admitted are weapons once. “Why everyone here has such a poor opinion of me?” She goes on, seemingly offended. “Laura thought I would abduct children, you think I can’t visit an old friend without killing someone… Even Nat says I’m a bad nanny.” Saying his name, she points at the boy.

My eyes fall on him, wondering what she might have done to him. “She wouldn’t let me try her knife!” Protests the kid. I can’t help but sigh. “And your jokes aren’t funny at all!” Goes on Nathaniel, turning to Yelena with a pout.

I manage to restrain myself from giggling and Clint’s return prevents me from further annoying one of the deadliest person living — or having ever lived. Yelena’s eyes fix on the Avenger and her expression gets serious as she speaks up. “I’m here to talk. To apologize.”

At first I’m not sure whether I heard right or not. Then I feel like I’m intruding in a private conversation. “I’m going to—” I begin to excuse myself, trailing off as Clint isn’t paying attention to me at all. I withdraw promptly, not glancing back to either Yelena or Laura.

“Come Nat, let’s go play outside.” I pull the boy’s hand, who fallows me joyfully.

Chapter Text

I’ve only been at the Barton’s house for a week, yet it feels like home. They all welcomed me with open arms and made a place for me in the family, just like they had done last Christmas. I really appreciate having them around. I feel especially grateful for it since my mom is in prison — she did terrible things. I still love her, but I keep my contacts with her to a minimum these days.

She asked me to run Beshop Security in her absence, but I declined. It’s not the life I want. Spending my days in an office, endless meetings, budget issues… Definitely not for me. Besides, the company does well without me.

The last months have been spent training, cleaning my apartment, going to school, crafting trick arrows, walking Lucky the Pizza Dog — who’s now eating more dog food than pizzas, hanging out with friends, calling and texting with Clint. A lot. Maybe more of calling and texting him and calling than texting with him. But he didn’t block me or deleted my phone number, so I guess he secretly likes it. And here I am, invited at his house for a whole week — for training of course. Intensive training. In the last days here Clint, I improved more than in all six months — almost seven now — since Christmas events.

And yet I did train a lot in the last months. I went LARPing too. Okay maybe LARPing doesn’t count as training, or fighting. But it’s fun. I made great friends, along with Missy and Grills and Orville. But of course, none of them can teach me how to shoot an arrow while freefalling. Only Clint can.

I wonder what’s taking them so long in there. It’s been over an hour Yelena and Clint are talking. Mrs. Barton went pick Cooper at her friend’s and took Nat with her. So I’m left alone in the backyard, absent-mindedly shooting arrows at boring, stationary targets. There isn’t even wind. I sigh, releasing yet another arrow, which hits the center of the red circle.

Suddenly, I feel quick taps on my left shoulder. As a reflex, I strike on my right with my bow but of course, I hit nothing. Yelena bends back, avoiding the hit with annoying ease. I pause, staring at her, kneels flexed, feet spread, gripping my bow firmly, a arrow in the other hand.

The other woman only holds my gaze, hands in her pockets and I feel a bit foolish. I clear my throat and I move to a more casual posture, trying to dense down. Not easy around a deadly, blood-thirsty Black Widow. “Uhm, by the way, I wanted to say thank you… for uh, the video you sent me? The one with my mom I mean. It was… gracious of you… I mean I tried to text you back but…”

She cuts me, her expression unreadable. “You’re welcome, Kate Bishop. I often change phone number.”

I sigh, irritated. “Could you please stop calling me with my whole name all the time?” My tone sharper than I intended, but her expression doesn’t waver the slightest.

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll stop calling you Kate Bishop.”

I clench my jaw, suddenly craving to punch her. It would be a bad idea though. So I restrain myself from committing violence. “Thank you.” I say with my brightest forced smile.

“Are you coming to eat?” She asks, looking like it’s an ongoing conversation. I glance at the house, trying to catch up, but puzzlement must be written all over my face.

“Oh but—" haven’t Laura and Nat left? I was about to point out. Then I see the car before the house. I didn’t even hear them come back. Just like I didn’t notice Yelena before she tapped me on the shoulder. I pull myself together. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

The Russian simply nods with a somehow both indifferent and satisfied expression and she heads towards the house. Catching up, I think to myself that I never met someone as hard to fallow as her.

Then I remember about my many arrows stuck in the targets on the other side of the yard and I turn around to go retrieve them. “I’m coming!” I shout while running the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

When I finally come to the table, changed into comfortable clothes, everybody’s already eating. The atmosphere is light, warm and friendly. Lila and Cooper are arguing over some unimportant topic. Their parents are smiling fondly while pretending to ignore them.

Diner is a delicious salad made of fresh leaves and herbs, roasted vegetables, homemade, flavorful bread and juicy, local sausages. Everyone eats enthusiastically, excepts for Cooper, who’s picky when it comes to salad. His mother ends up agreeing that he only eats a small amount of it.

Nat protests it isn’t fair; his sister shushes him and he goes silent, pouting. With a wink and a grimace, I bring back a smile on the boy’s face. Nat is unable of remaining in a bad mood.

Conversation is light and casual, we talk about school year, which is beginning next week, about my training that’s doing great, but coming to an end. Honestly, I feel like we’re already reaching the limits of Clint’s teachings. Last lessons were basically doing the same thing again and again with constant accuracy.

Yelena doesn’t talk much, barely nodding or humming every now and then; Laura asks her how she’s doing. “Fine, I’m doing fine.” Yelena says like there’s nothing more to say at all.

“Did you free all the Widows?” Asks Clint.

“Yes, I did.” The Russian doesn’t seem to want to talk further. A shadow passes across her features and I change topic, asking Cooper about his day.

After that, Yelena keeps mostly quiet, nodding every now and then. Still, and though her expression is hard to read, she seems relaxed. Ambiance is warm and light.

Which is why, once diner is finished and everyone go their way, I’m surprised that she comes to me and asks: “You want to fight?”

I turn to her with round eyes, my mind racing, trying to figure out what I did or said to offend her.

“Clint says you improved.” The woman goes on. “I’m curious to see how much that is.”

The idea that she wants to fight to test me isn’t really comforting. “Ah—” I say, trying to find an excuse not to fight with her — or get a beating from her.

“Come, it’s going to be fun!” She exclaims, her enthusiasm sounding exaggerated for some reason. Which is creepy.

I don’t know how, but five minutes later, we’re in the backyard, tall grass up to the kneels, the sun is beginning to set, and she removes her many earrings, getting ready to fight.

Chapter Text

Of course, she has the upper hand from the beginning. For every punch or kick I succeed, she punches or kicks me twice. Or I’m sent rolling in the grass. And when I think I'm getting her on the ground, she turns the situation around in a flash. Or she falls and uses the position to her advantage, kicking my legs a way I can't counter.

While I’m completely unable to see any pattern in her movements, she seems to know what I'm going to do even before I start to move. She dodges, blocks and counterattacks which such ease, like it’s effortless. Like she's been doing that her whole life. Which she has.

The frustrating part is the fact she isn’t all in. She stops all my attacks, but nothing more. The moment I'm rolling on the ground or pushed away, the moment my guard is shattered… she stands and waits. She doesn’t push her advantage. And while I'm panting, muscles aching from the effort, she remains fresh and relaxed.

One more time, I try a punch, which she avoids. I had anticipated it and instead my hand moves to her shoulder to grab her clothes. But before I can touch the fabric of her blazer, I don't know how, my wrists are trapped in my back, her grip firm on them. She pushes me away and I can't do anything against it as she makes me spin on myself.

Then, I’m free. I face her back, all parts of my body are hurting, my lungs are in fire, I'm tired. I can't win and I now it. I just want this to end.

And Yelena watches me with this unaffected expression. So I slap her.

Her expression does change, but any glimpse of satisfaction dies the moment it raises. Yelena's eyes go wide and her mouth opens; she looks overly shocked and offended and I know I've done a mistake. Her tone is pretty upset too. “Hey, what was that? It's the second time you do this to me. Second time you slap me in the face. You have a problem?”

For a moment, I'm wordless, shocked with her reaction, trying to understand what's going on, feeling like I crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. “I... I'm sorry...” I finally manage to pronounce, still breathing heavily from the fight.

I frown as there's a part of me that can't believe I'm apologizing for a slap in the middle of exchanging punches and kicks. Under her intense gaze, I quickly give up. “I don't know what to say.” I add with an apologetic tone.

“No? You don’t know what to say?”

“I mean... we... we were fighting and... and...” I hesitantly try to explain myself, but, unable to find any thing else relevant to add, I go for the simple fact: “... and I slapped you.”

“Yes, you slapped me. We were fighting, and I throw you on the ground—"

I nod in approval and complete her sentence: “multiples times...”

“I throw you multiples times...”

She doesn't seem as angry anymore, so I go on: “I was definitely in a weaker position. I was losing. (Yelena hums in approval as I speak) Let's say it, you were totally overpowering me. Then I slapped you in the face.”

She nods gravely.

“It was very inelegant of me to do that out of desperation, in the middle of a fair, honest fight.”

“I wouldn’t say better.” Her tone is neutral and firm, with maybe a hint of satisfaction.

I huff, there's nothing to add.

I already said a lot. How come did all that happen exactly? I’m feeling kind of overwhelmed.

And my ego hurts. She completely overpowered me in that fight. She overpowered me so much I slapped her in desperation. I don't slap people. And now I slapped her twice in less than a year.

Chapter Text

Yelena doesn't seem to hold that slap against me. Or maybe she does. I hardly ever know what she thinks. As I get into the kitchen, she greets me with a "Good morning Kate".

“Good morning.” I reply — pure reflex.

Then I pause and look at her. What's going on? What is she doing here? Why is she still here at all?

“Morning.” Says Clin, passing me, acting like this is yet another normal morning, getting jam and bread from the fridge.

I blink and watch him, puzzled. Does he not see there's a Black Widow in his kitchen, handling a knife? The Russian turns to me. “You want some apple?” She asks casually, holding a piece she'd just cut.

“I uh...” I begin. Then I realise I’m wearing an oversized rainbow t-shirt and boxer shorts while Yelena’s in crop top, plaid pants and vest. “I need to get changed.” I say, pointing somewhere in my back.

I head back to the guest room. That was not bad an excuse. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that good either. But I do need to get changed. Maybe I got a bit too much comfortable with Clint and his family. Thinking twice and despite the warm weather, it would have been more appropriate to put pants on. Or full daily clothes.

A few minutes later, wearing back shorts and a purple tank top, I go back to the kitchen to see Yelena leave, going I don’t know where. I decide it doesn’t matter and I don’t care.

The whole family is now up, and the kitchen is pretty busy and noisy. Pouring milk on a cereal bowl, I manage to get Clint’s attention long enough to ask what the Black Widow is still doing here. He replies she offered to help with some work on the property, which only gets me more confused.

I sit to sip my coffee, absent-mindedly listening to Nat. The boy is telling me about a dream he had last night. He says I was in it; I was an enormous spider with tentacles. But not really a monster. His confusion somewhat comforts me with my own. There are things not meant to be understood, I guess.

I’ve just finished my cereals when Clint calls me. I grab my bow and arrow and we go training.

We use the wide fields to practice long distance shots; I shoot five arrows on a target, then I switch. Meanwhile he takes the arrows off the first target and send them back to me. So I never run out of arrows and I don’t have to walk the 700 yards between separating me from the targets. That morning, there was some inconsistent wind, which made it a bit tricky, but it’s all the point of training.

Clint keeps saying real life conditions are going to be a lot worse than anything I'll never face in training. In my opinion, training’s difficulty could be increased to match real life conditions, but all that he increases is the amount of repetition. Shooting arrows again and again until all my muscles ache widening my shoulders gets impossible. He says it's for muscle memory, so that I'll be able to do it in my sleep. Of course, Clint is a great coach. But I wish we could do more thrilling stuff.

My hand reaches my quiver for the next arrow, but it's empty. And when I look down around me, I realise Clint hasn't shoot me back any in a while. At that moment, my phone dings in my pocket. It's a text from him: "Done." His texts are always the shortest. This one means we're done here and to head back home. I send a reply containing more than ten characters, along with a few emojis. He really needs to get warmer; his branding is terrible.

Chapter Text

When I get back to the house, Laura and Lila are outside, working with wooden boards, screws and drills. Lila sees me first and waves her hands. Laura, busy, greets me with a smile. “Hey, what are you two building here?”

“A bookcase. Cooper destroyed mine.” Says Lila.

“Oh—"

Before I can ask what happened, we’re interrupted by a pickup reversing into the driveway, its box full of wood. I’m even more surprised to see it's a certain Russian driving. She stops the truck near us and I turn to Laura, questioning. But my name is called, with a unique pronunciation. “Kate Bishop! Come and help me the wood!”

“You said you'd stop using my full name all the time.” I comment while reaching Yelena.

She pauses, a log of wood in her arms, as if she'd forgotten she said that. “Right.” She finally says, handing me the piece of wood. I flinch under the weight. How did she make it look effortless? “I can't help it.” She adds casually, picking some more wood from the truck.

This woman really makes impossible any discussion. “Where am I even supposed to put that?”

As an answer, she nods towards the shed where Laura and Lila are working. I head there and Laura points me where in which corner the wood. “She likes you.” She comments as I put down the heavy piece of wood. I blink, confused, but this conversation doesn’t go any futher.

Yelena puts a log on the one I carried. “This truck is not going to empty itself.”

I end up pilling wood with her. My muscles, especially my arms, shoulder and back were aching from the training; it only gets worse.

“How exactly did you overpass all Clint's security systems?” I ask after putting down another wood piece. We exchange a glance and I immediately take my question back. “Oh right, never mind, yeah. A Black Widow who tracks Black Widows... You're kinda an expert at—” I trail off as I realise she's ignoring me, effortlessly lifting a huge piece of wood on her shoulder. I go quiet from then on, which only makes the job feel harder and longer.

Yet I don’t give up and we finally empty the truck. That has probably to do with my ego not wanting to give up in front of the assassin. As I put down the last log, Yelena speaks up. “You're relentless.”

I don't get if it’s an insult, a compliment or a reproach. As she turns back on me, I can't see her expression to tell apart. She doesn’t add anything and gets in the truck, turning the engine on as if didn’t hadn’t say anything at all.

Exhausted, I head to the house for a glass of water and a seat. Clint is in the kitchen, who playing a board game with his sons. “You didn’t feel like carrying wood, partner?” I ask, a bit annoyed thinking he spent that whole time comfortably sitting here, playing.

“I thought you wanted harder training.”

So it was deliberate. He's lucky I'm thirsty, and tired. I gulp down a full glass of water. “I didn’t mean it that way.” I counter.

Clint doesn't even bother to reply, his attention on the game, where Cooper seems to be winning. Yelena gets in, she takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it at the sink before thirstily drinking it. “Do I have something on my face?” She asks me.

I blink, realizing I was staring. Unapologetic, I keep it cool. “Nice to know you're actually human.”

Yelena pauses than burst into laughter. “You're funny. Really funny.” She leaves the room and I collapse on the living room's couch, my whole body hurting, determined to stay there at least until the end of the day. A few moments later I hear the shower running. Must be Yelena Then I realise she didn't say my whole name.

As I sink further in the couch, I ponder, unsure if I should be satisfied or annoyed with it, but my mind’s getting more and more fuzzy with tiredness.

Chapter Text

I’m resting in the couch, drowsing yet still aware of my surroundings. Clint sits on the other end of the couch and sighs. “I lost.” Judging by the sound, I guess Cooper and Nathaniel are still playing in the dinning room. “Yelena left while you were sleeping.” Adds Clint after a pause.

I frown. “I didn’t sleep.” There’s a silence; Clint holds my gaze, unimpressed. Okay, maybe I don't remember Yelena leaving.

“You slept.”

“Okay, maybe—” We speak both at once, then go silent. Right, Yelena left. As always, coming and leaving as she’s pleased, without warning. Whatever. I shrug. I really don’t care about her.

Surprisingly, Clint is the one who first speak up again.“Why are you so guarded with her? That’s unlike you.”

I turn to him in bewilderment. “Maybe because she tried to kill me the first time we met? She threw me off a building!”

“She got you on a safe line. She didn’t mean to kill you.” Replies calmly my partner.

“Don’t you remember she tried to kill you too!?” A sharp pain in my back reminds me of my sour muscles. I move more carefully, insisting. “She really meant to kill you. She had accepted a contract.”

“She thought I was responsible for her sister’s death. I would I have tried to kill her too if I thought she’d kill Natasha.”

He’s got a point and I fidget, a bit sheepish.

“She apologized.” Adds Clint.

“I didn’t know.” I mutter. “I mean I thought… I thought she was blindly fulfilling a contract.” I glance at the archer. “But, like, that doesn’t excuse her attitude. What’s the matter with breaking into people’s houses? How come is that normal? And why does she brag about her skills all the time? Okay, I know she’s stronger than me, she could kill me in an instant if she wanted, we don’t play in the same league, I’ll never stand up to a Black Widow.”

“It’s true she could kill you if she wanted.”

“Yeah thanks, that’s very helpful.” I reply dryly.

“She could kill me too.” He goes on. I glance at my partner in disbelief. Right, she’s strong and skilled but he’s Clint Barton, an Avenger.

I shrug, unsettled.

“But she’s not a show off.” Adds Clint as I’m not replying. I stare at him. Is he blinded or—?

“I’ve seen a lot of show off people.” He goes on, leaving me no time to speak. “And she’s not amongst them. Even Nathasha would show off sometimes, but Yelena doesn’t."

“Ah, nice, then I’m the only person Yelena Belova is condescending with.” My tone sharper with mixed sarcasm and annoyance.

Clint is unimpressed. “She’s confident. She says things as they are. But she’s not condescending. You know, Black Widows are often difficult to understand. The time they spend in the Red Room… it marks them.”

I blink, taken aback by the mention of the Red Room. “Yeah.” I admit.

“She never had a normal life around normal people.” He goes on.

Now, I feel bad. I didn’t think of the possibility that Yelena was struggling with normal daily interactions. She looks so… in control.

I breath in and straighten with newfound determination. “Thank you for clearing this misunderstanding, partner. You’re right, I have nothing to hold against Yelena now she doesn’t want to kill you anymore. You know what, I’ll offer her a drink. I tried last time, but timing wasn’t optimal.”

Later that night, while going to bed, I realise I don’t have Yelena’s phone number — she said she changes often — or any way of contacting her. I don’t even now were she lives — or in which country. So much for asking her out.

There’s a good side to this, though. If years pass before our paths cross again, it gives me plenty of time to improve my hand-to-hand combat skills. I’m determined to win next time we fight.

Chapter Text

Next morning

“Kate wake up, dad says you’ll miss your train!” Nat’s yell indeed wakes me up as he jumps on my bed. I huff and grab the boy’s waist, tickling him and pushing him into the mattress as a retribution.

“I’m not Kate, I’m a bed monster.” I reply, menacing. The boy squirms under the merciless tickles, laughing his lungs out.

“Nat, let Ket get ready.” A fond yet firm voice interrupts us. “She’s got packing to do.” At his mother’s voice, the boy’s face gets disappointed. “Yes mom.” He sighs but obeys.

Before he gets out of the bed, I catch him with a playful growl and crush under my weight for a second or two. When I free him, a huge smile spreads across his face. Smiling too, I give him a wink while pushing him out of the bed. “Now, out of here, you. I need to get ready.”

Nat leaves but, just pass the doorstep, he stops and, in his mother’s back, he winks back at me. He’s frowning from concentration as he tries hard to close only one eye while the other remains open.

“We let you sleep as long as possible.” Laura’s gentle voice grabs my attention. Meanwhile, the boy turns back and run down the stairs. “You leave in twenty minutes. Do you want help for packing?”

I smile at her consideration. “Thank you, I’ll be downstairs in five. I packed most of my stuff last night.”

She nods and seems about to leave, but then she turns to me again. “You know you’re always welcome her, Kate. You’re a family member now.”

Taken aback with her generosity and love, I’m speechless for a instant before I mutter “Thank you. Thank you.” I say it again, my tone firmer carrying my sincerity.

“You have my phone number if you want to talk. About anything.” She adds with a warm smile. “My husband has many qualities, but he’s not the most listening.” She chuckles and I blush, remembering of calls with Clint where I could talk for ten or twenty minutes straight, only to find out he had paid zero attention to what I was saying from the beginning.

“Yeah…” I chuckle to ease my embarrassment. “He’s definitely better with a bow than talking.”

Laura nods in approval and leaves the room. I take a sharp breath to focus and jump out of the bed to finish packing.

I really love this family.

Chapter Text

Luckily, the person sited next to me in the train is a bubbly old lady who tells me everything about every single one of her grand-children — they are fourteen of them. In return, I tell her everything about my last week and all the cool things I learned with Clint. Of course, she’s impressed I’m friend with an Avenger. But she doesn’t know who Clint is. “The archer.” I insist. “Oh, the archer.” She replies.

So next thing I do after we reached out destination and I said goodbye to my new friend is to text Clint about his image. Once I’ seated in the subway, I’ve got nothing to do except sending a few more texts to Clint. They include a suggestion to create a Bluesky page, and suggestions for posts. I also write a message in a group chat with New York friends. “Tonight, my place. There’s so much we need to talk about”

By the time I reach the nearest station to Grills’ place, it’s about 4 pm. Workers and students overrun the place and getting out with my huge bag is a challenge. The crowd is loud, people don’t look their surroundings and at some point, I feel a gum stuck under my shoe. Outside, more people and noisy cars.

I smile broadly. I’m home. As much as I love Clint’s house and I love training in the woods, I love the city and its boiling activity even more.

Walking to Grills’ apartment, my bag on my shoulder and my footsteps cheerful, I notice a street musician. The music he plays has something captivating and I slow down; people pass me hurriedly. The musician is an old black man and he plays jazz on his saxophone. He eyes are closed, his long white dreadlocks swinging with his movements.

I’m standing there for a moment, staring at the jazzman, when a young man bumps into my bag. “Watch where you're going!” He exclaims, reporting his attention on his phone as he walks away in a hurry. I ignore him and look back at the musician, who’s still immersed in his music, eyes closed and moving on his own rhythm.

I fish in my pockets, but of course they’re empty except for a hair tie and a few basic arrow heads. So I take my wallet out and, luckily, find a twenty bucks bill in it. I put it down in the saxophone case. “I love that song you’re playing.” I wait for answer, the moment lingers, but no reply comes. The old man continues to blow in his instrument, his fingers to play on the keys and his dreadlocks to swing.

I shrug and move on. That’s great.

My cheerfulness is unaltered as I get to the building. More, it’s growing. I’m happy to be back in town. Last seven days were fantastic, the Bartons are very lovely, and I got to train with my partner every day. I’m so hyped about training now — not that my motivation was down, it’s just higher now. I’m so excited about the new things I learned and I’ve also got new ideas for trick arrows.

I ring Grill’s doorbell and the door opens almost immediately. The firefighter has a bear in a hand, he seems surprised to see me as if he was expecting someone else yet welcomes me warmly. “Hi, Kate. Come in!” Behind him, the tv is on; there’s video game paused.

I glance down than back at him, puzzled. “Where’s Lucky?”

“Lucky? Your friend picked him up already.”

“My friend? Who? Florence? Maxwell?”

“No… uh… Yelena. She said her name was Yelena… Belova.” He concludes after a short hesitation. Noticing my wide eyes, he adds some description: “Blond hair, excellent shape, three inches shorter than you… Lucky seems to love her.”

“Yes, yes I know who Yelena is— Wait what? You said Lucky seemed to know her?”

“Yes, he knew her for sure.” Grills seems confused, even concerned. “He loves her. Is she not your friend? Don’t tell me she’s your ex!?”

“What? No? No. Nonono. She’s absolutely not my ex. She’s…” I end up explaining: “She broke into my apartment like… six months ago. And three days ago, she broke into Clint’s house. And she’s a killer in hand-to-hand combat, and I happened to slap her. Twice.” I pause. “You know what? Forget all I said. I’ll… I’ll just go get Lucky.”

“Is he fine?” Asks Gilbert worriedly. “He seemed so happy to see her, that means she’s taking good care of him, right?”

“Yes, yes.” I automatically reassure him. “She’s going to take good care of him. I guess.” I mutter the last words for myself. “What time you said she came?” I add.

“10 pm yesterday.”

“Yesterday!?” I yelp.

“Hey, I really thought she was legit. She showed me her text conversation with Clint, I had no idea he could write so much! She had pictures of Lucky in her phone, too.

“Traitor.” I mutter angrily. At his face, I clarify: “Not you. Clint.” I add to myself, upset: “And he says we’re partners, eh?”

I’ve already walked half the hallway when I stop in my tracks and turn back to Gilbert, who’s still on his doorstep. “Thanks for looking after Lucky!” And I’m off.

I jump in a cab, first thing I do is calling Clint. He doesn’t pick up. I call again — he rarely picks up the first time. But then he doesn’t on the second, thirded or fifth. I leave several voice messages, asking explanations for my dog’s disappearance, did he know about Yelena being in New York since yesterday and how come he texts with her and told me nothing about it!? Are we not partners!? And why the fuck doesn’t he pick up his phone my dog has been kidnapped!??

“Ma’am.” Says the driver. I look up and realise we reached our destination. I put my phone in my pocket though it’s still ringing. Then I grab my wallet, and as I don’t have cash, I hand my credit card. My foot stamps impatiently while the man types on the payment machine. As soon as he gives me my card back, I rush out of the car towards my apartment.

Chapter Text

I climb the stairs four at a time and tumble into my apartment. I drop my bag and hurriedly remove my shoes. The living area is empty; I open the bathroom’s door — you never know — and climb the stairs up to the mezzanine. Yelena isn’t in my room either. I don’t know what I expected: to find her sited in my couch, watching tv with Lucky? Okay, maybe I kinda did expect that.

At that moment, my phone buzzes. It’s a text message form an unknown number. There’s an address alongside with a picture of my dog asleep on a blanket, his chin resting on his paw. I frown: how come do I get that within the minute I get back in my apartment? “This isn’t a coincidence.” I mutter.

As a reply, I get another text from the same sender. “No”

Eyes squared in suspicion, I speak out loud again. “Yelena?” Who else could send me a picture of Lucky right now?

“Yes” Three letters on my screen.

I look around as I talk. “You put cameras in my apartment?”

A new bubble appears on my screen. “No. I put a mic. Cheaper, smaller, more practical.”

I skip her case for microphones over cameras and shout: “You broke in again!?”

“Come on.” She writes. “I didn’t break anything. I slipped a mic under your door.” “I didn’t put a foot in your apartment.” She adds.

I take a deep breath. I’ve resolved to be nice and friendly with her — before she kidnapped my dog, but still.

Another text comes in. “Are you coming now or does Lucky stay with me?”

“Yeah, no, right, I’m coming.” I agree. “I just want to mention it’d be—

“Waiting for you.”

 “—much simpler if Lucky had been at Grills’ place like he was supposed to be.”

When I leave, changed and the mic in my pocket — deactivated — I hadn’t got any new text form the Russian. I did get replies form my friends Maxwell and Jennie though, saying they had plans for tonight. Florence suggests we meet up tomorrow instead and the two others agree, so I confirm it’s fine with me as well.

A quick search tells me the address Yelena sent me is some sort of gym or box club located in the industrial district. I’ll have to tell her where the nice gyms are.

After a subway ride and two busses, I’m off in an alley with tall, packed, industrial buildings all around. Working day’s over and there’s no one around; buildings are empty except for a solitary janitor washing windows from inside. In a dead end I walk pass, I notice a few young men talking low and bags changing hands. I pinch my lips and restrain myself from calling on them. I’m not here for that.

As I turn a corner, I almost bump into someone. It’s a man about my age, along with two friends of his. One dribbles with a basketball while the other plays with a baseball bat. “Good afternoon to you gentlemen.” I greet them cheerfully.

“You’re in the way.” Replies the one with the basketball while the two others glance at each other as well as to me. I step aside and they go their way without further ado.

I’m satisfied I didn’t get involved in a fight. Finally, I get to the address Yelena sent me, I push the door open and get in.

Chapter Text

I know what a gym smells like: sweat. That’s normal. Everyone sweats in a gym. Now, this one smells like sweat. It smells like it’s been soaked with barrels of it months ago and haven’t been cleaned ever since. Judging by the floor and walls, it very well might be. The pungent smell gets to the throat, mixed with the scent of smoke and motor oil. The sooner I get out of here the better.

I jump as a neon blinks over my head, reaching for my bow as a reflex, but I don’t have it. A sharp, bright light is casted before the room goes back to gloominess. No one seems disturbed by it though a few people glance at me — not in a very welcoming way.

I put on my warmer, friendlier expression and take a few steps in. Everyone here is a sportsman or woman. We should get along. In the middle of the room are four rings; three of them are used. People who aren’t fighting are punching heavy and speed bags, lifting free weights, jumping rope or passing a ball in small groups.

I spot the golden retriever I’m looking for in the opposite corner of the room. A blanket lies on the concrete floor and he’s curled up on it, seemingly asleep despite the surrounding activity and noise.

I’ve just spotted Lucky when a man stands in front of me, preventing me from going any further. I smile broadly. “Good evening, sir! Nice biceps you’ve got there!” I point at the massive muscles stretching his tight t-shirt. The man is about three times my weight — all muscles. He widen his feet, crosses his arms, flexing all his upper body muscles and looks down at me without a word. “Nice club in here.” I go on cheerfully. “Could benefit from cleaning though…” The neon blinks again. “… or from new lights…” The man’s expression tells me my efforts to brighten the mood are not paying off, so I cut short. “I’m just here to pick up my dog and I’ll be on my way.” I point at the said dog, but man’s eyes remain fixed on me. “Lucky!” I call.

The muscleman frowns. “It’s Yelena’s.”

“Yeah, well, technically, he’s my dog. She…” Kidnapped him... “… was looking after him. Lucky!” I call again, a hint of impatience in my tone.

As the dog doesn’t come and the man looks like he’s not believing me, I explain: “He’s… not very obedient.”

A few people are staring at us and a red-haired woman steps in. “You should get out of here. It’s no place for fancy bitches.” She has boxing gloves on.

There’s a violent thud on my left and I turn tot the ring: a fighter got her opponent on the ground. I can’t see her face, only her short blond hair, as she stretches her opponent’s arm in his back. The guy, twice bigger than she is, taps on the ground with his free hand, admitting defeat.

She stands up and helps him on his feet; the size difference is striking. When the blond turns around, our eyes meet and mine widen as I recognize her.

“Kate Bishop, at last. You found your way.” Yelena casually grabs her water bottle, squeezes it over her mouth, gulps the water down and goes through the ring ropes. She doesn’t have shoes and walks directly on the concrete with bare feet. In fact, she’s only wearing shorts, a sport bra and hand wraps. I’ve never seen her with so much exposed skin — or with no jewelry.

“You cut your hair.” I point out.

“You’re observative.” Her tone is neutral and she turns away, walking to the other side of the room. Muscle Man moves out of my way like nothing happened and Red Hair gives me a threatening glance before she goes back to punching a speed bag like she wants to kill it. Therefore, I’m free to go to Lucky, who’s head Yelena is petting.

That traitor of a dog — I really need to teach him to come when called — is now sighing in satisfaction at the scratches. The Russian grabs a long dark grey jacket and puts it on, tying the belt on her waist. Then she sits on the bench next to Lucky and begins unwraping her wrists.

“You kidnapped my dog.” I say, resolutions of being friendly all forgotten.

Chapter Text

"I do not kidnap people, or dogs.” Replies Yelena. She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Okay, I take that back. I didn’t kidnap that specific dog."

My voice gets higher. "You took him without my approval or knowledge! What is it if not a kidnapping?"

"He came with me willingly." Replies Yelena, calm and unfazed, folding her hand wrap and removing the second one. "A, I didn’t force him. B, the person who was looking after him at that moment agreed with it."

"He shouldn't have!" I burst. People look at me, but I don't care. "He shouldn't have trusted Lucky with a stranger."

"I'm not a stranger." She answers as if it resolves everything. She puts the bandages in a bag, along with her water bottle. She puts on her shoes and Lucky raises his head at her movements. He gets on his paws and stretches and takes a few steps around like he’d been sleeping for hours, oblivious of me.

Yelena picks up the blanket, piles it up and puts it in the bag she zips. "We're done here, boy." In understanding, Lucky glances at her, waves his tail and strolls away.

"Hey!" I exclaim, pursuing him. "Come back Lucky!" As he reaches the door, he glances at me. Before thinking, I open it for him. I'm glad to be out of here too. But then I realise something's wrong and I turn to Yelena. "Where's his leash?"

"Why would he have one?" She replies carelessly.

"Because otherwise he's going to run off!" But no one listens to me: Yelena is walking away, hands in her pockets, and Lucky trots ahead, sniffing around yet sticking by her side.

I catch up.

"I would have brought him back to your place, but you don't want me to go in when you're not there." Says Yelena like it explains anything.

"Thank you very much for not breaking in, but you could have left him at Grills' in the first place! Or asked before picking him up!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Kate. I needed his help on a mission, okay? He enjoyed it.” She pauses. “Plus, I texted you when you got back in New York."

I huff, flabbergasted with her reasoning. The rational and mature part of my mind reminds me I wanted to be more understanding and friendlier with her. It's hard to keep up with that resolution when she behaves like she isn’t accountable for anything. I take a deep breath to calm down.

"You texted me when I got back to my apartment.” I say, my voice steadier, a hint of anger lingering. “Before that, I'd gone to Grills' and had have plenty of time to imagine all the worse things that could have happened to Lucky." The dog raises his head at his name — a first tonight. I look back at him with mixed annoyance — he's such a traitor — and fondness —he's so cute and I missed him.

My phone rings with a text from Clint — I know it’s him because I programmed a specific sound. "Lucky is fine. Don't worry." Nothing more.

"YOU'RE A TRAITOR I WON'T EVER CALL YOU PARTNER AGAIN" I write and send it before thinking twice. It makes me feel better. I hope he won't block my number though.

"It was Clint?" Asks — or affirms — Yelena.

"Yeah." I reply, pocketing my phone.

"He asked me to train you in hand-to-hand combat."

"What!?"

She goes on calmly, walking steadily in the poorly lit alleys, gaze into the distance. "I think I could teach you a few things. When you prepare for a left kick..." She begins to explain, but I cut her.

"He asked you to train me. And none of you asked for my opinion!?"

She shrugs. "You're not interested, you don't come. Very simple." Turning a corner, we get to a normally lighted residential area. "There's you're cab. Be at the gym tomorrow at 6 am."

"The gym!? You mean—" But she's gone already, halfway up a nearby building. "Of course she means the creepy dirty gym." I mutter to Lucky, who looks back at me with a big puppy eye and happy face. "Traitor." I add, annoyed. I soften. "I missed you, bud."

Lucky jumps in the cab the moment I open the door like he recognizes the car and, somehow, the driver knows my address before I tell him.

Some more unanswered questions. Around Yelena, these are multiplying. I come to think she herself is an unanswered question.

Chapter Text

I’m lying on the couch, flipping a coin to the ceiling with some stupid celebrity game on the tv. Once more, the coin falls right into my hands and once more I pinch it with my thumb and middle finger, I raise my elbow and snap.

“Shit.” Something went wrong, the shot took a curve. It hit the ceiling then the wall just over the tv then the floor and rolled under the coffee table where it stopped. Out of reach. “I should be shooting boomerangs instead of coins and arrows."

My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Florence confirming she’ll be there tomorrow night. Both Maxwell and Jennie had got plans for tonight, so it’ll be tomorrow. I scroll social medias, send a few texts to friends — none to Clint — but there’s a limit to wasting time on a phone. So I get up with a groan to retrieve my coin from under the table.

Lucky notices my movement and gets up too, yawing and stretching and looking at me. “We already went walking, buddy.” He raises his ear, unconvinced. “What? You had more walks with Grills, is that it?” The golden waves his tail happily and moves to the door. I sigh. “Okay, let’s go walking then. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. But hey, don’t get used to it, understood?”

An hour later, I’m back in the couch, another stupid show on the tv, flipping coins all over my apartment — I grabbed the pot, so I don’t care about getting the coins back anymore. Lucky, impassive, sleeps on his cushion.

I’ve unpacked from the week I spent at the Barton’s, walked with Lucky — twice —, cooked myself a frozen pizza — and gave the leftovers to Pizza Dog, cleaned my apartment, crafted arrows, trained briefly — Wednesday is supposed to be my weekly day off —, took a shower, watched tv, scrolled social medias, texted with friends… And it’s only nine.

No way I go to bed at nine when I’ve got all tomorrow morning for sleeping. I snap another coin, straight into the front door. I could call Clint and ask for explanations, but I decided I left enough voice messages earlier. I won’t call him before he calls me. I could go out, hook up with a girl in a bar. I snap another coin between my fingers, but the shot is a bit too strong. The coin flies, hits a wall, almost strikes a figurine but instead bumps into a pole, goes straight to Lucky and slid under his cushion. The dog doesn’t flinch.

I don’t feel like going out. I can stay in here at least until… until my friends come over. I shoot at the ceiling and the little metal piece falls back into my hands. I shoot it again and it’s in the air when my phone starts ringing. It isn’t Clint’s ring though.

I get back my coin then look at my phone. It’s Laura, so I accept the call. “Hi Laura.”

“Hi Kate, I’m with Clint here, he wanted to talk to you.” I roll my eyes at the white lie. Sure, he wanted to talk so you called — but I don’t argue. There’s some grey sound as Laura leaves. “Hi Clint.”

“Hi kid.”

“Why did you ask Yelena to teach me?” I begin.

“Because I can’t teach you better in hand-to-hand. And because Black Widows are experts at it.”

“You could have asked my opinion.”

He sighs. “I asked her first because I didn’t know what she would agree to it or not.”

“What about after she said yes?”

“You said you were to call her yourself, invite her for a drink.”

“So what?”

“So you two would talk. You didn’t my input anymore, did you?”

“I do not have her phone number. I can’t call her.” I replied, a bit annoyed by how rational his reasoning was. But really, would it have been too much for him to text me something like: “I talked with Yelena, I think she would be a better coach than me for hand-to-hand combat and she accepted to teach you if you want. You two should talk about it.”

“She found you anyways.” Clint goes on.

“She kidnapped my dog!”

He sighs. “Lucky loves her.”

“What!? What are you saying, he loves her? Home come could he, how does he even know her and how come do you know he does when I don’t!?”

There’s a silence. “Are you done screaming?”

“I am not screaming!” I burst.

Silence lingers again but the next sound isn’t Clint’s voice, it’s the beep of a line having been cut. Upset, I’m about to call back the archer — on his own phone, not his wife’s — when I get a text from him. “I thought you knew Yelena visited Lucky at the dog daycare. I didn’t see the point talking to you about it.” I huff. You would know talking is pretty useful, should try it sometime. “What’s the issue with her making friends with Lucky?” He adds.

“You could have told me anyways.” I reply, annoyed — both out loud and written. Lucky, whose been still through the whole phone conversation, raises his head. “Or you could have.”

Later that night, I send an extensive text to Clint saying, in short: “I’m sorry for my reaction. I’m kind of sensitive about information being kept away from me, especially since everything that happened with my mom. I get you didn’t mean to hide things from me or take decisions for me, I shouldn’t have assumed so. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I’m sorry. You’re my favorite partner ♥️”

“It’s alright kid.” He writes back after a few minutes. “How many people do you think I yelled at when I was your age?”

“That’s so paternalist but I love you anyway ♥️” I reply — he did read my thesis long text.

“Don’t expect me to send you hearts back, kid.”

“It’s easier than you think, old man. You just have to press on the little icon. Like that: ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️”

“I don’t have emojis.”

I chuckle to myself. He’s not going to win that one. “You can do it this way too <3”

“Good night Kate.”

I shake my head; that’s fleeing. But fine. “Sweet dreams to you, Clint.” “And kiss Laura for me” “and Nat and Lila and Cooper” The several texts are sent almost without delay. He probably read all three. But I won’t know because he doesn’t reply. Some things don’t change.

Chapter Text

Next morning

I look down at Lucky. "You took me here?" The golden retriever looks back at me, eye round and ears up.

How did I end up here so early in the morning? I had intended to sleep in. I had no reason to wake up early. But then I needed to go to the bathroom at four in the morning. I went back to my bed, but Lucky made sure I didn’t go back to sleep.

Instead, I settled for a lazy morning. After a shower to get ride of Lucky's saliva he had covered my face with, I cooked some frozen waffles and I made myself a delicious breakfast with fresh fruits and pre-cooked bacon. After that, I lied on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and watched one of the stupid movies with zero plot that play at such an early hour. The nice thing with movies with zero plot is you can catch up in the middle of it and still understand everything that's going on.

By five, I was falling asleep on the couch and Lucky came to me, his leash in between his teeth, and whined — persistently. He probably got used to go for a run in the early morning with Grills. It’s not going to be a habit, but today I was awake, and I had nothing to do but watch some stupid movie, so why not. After walking, we can both come back to watching tv — and hopefully there’ll be more interesting stuff on.

That's what I thought. But now, somehow, I'm in the industrial district. Maybe I have some responsibility in it: I have been texting with friends from university and I kind of lost track of time... But I'm usually more aware of my surroundings than that. I have a great sense of direction. Lucky, of course, won’t take any responsibility in it.

I sigh, looking at the buildings around me, all grey, unwelcoming squares with very few windows. Again, there's no one in the streets. Or workers are already at work, or they haven't arrived yet.

It's about six forty: I could go back home — another hour walk —, or I could go to the gym. I'm almost not late.

Lucky whines, because I stopped and we're not anything. "Okay, maybe I'm kinda curious, alright? I mean there's Clint, and there are her combat skills, so if she wants to train me—" Lucky tilts his head and whines again. "But why would she agree to train me? She doesn't even like me! And there's no reason for her to be in New York!" I pause. "Or maybe there is one." I look at Lucky who’s now panting in impatience, staring at me, pulling on his leash. "Does she have some business in the city? Is that why she wants to train me? She has some mission in New York and she needs coverage?"

As I speak, I find myself walking again. Towards the sport club. "She could have chosen a nicer place, though." My annoyed comment doesn't get to Lucky, whose tail is waving in excitement as we head to the gym.

Chapter Text

When Lucky and I get in the gym, it's more crowded than the day before. Which is weird: it's Thursday, about seven in the morning. Most the people in the room are teenagers. I even spot a kid no older than nine or ten.

He comes towards me so I smile to him. "Hi." But he ignores me, free Lucky from his leash and turns back where he comes from. And Lucky fallows him so I’m left with a leash with no dog attached to it.

"Hi, your dog is very cute, can I pet him? Hi nice to meet you, I'm Kate. This boy's name is Lucky, sure you can pet him, he'll love it." I mimic to myself.

"What did you say?"

It Yelena. "I uh... I was talking to the boy who—" I glance over my shoulder, but the boy is nowhere to be seen — and so is Lucky.

"You've got sport clothes under that?" She goes on. Somehow, it sounds more like an affirmation than a question.

I look down at my clothes —joggers, a sweatshirt, a coat and outdoors boots. Perfect clothes for an early morning walk when the weather decides it's already fall though September hasn't turn yet — thanks to climate changes.

"No. Just underwear." She stares at me and I feel judgement in the silence, so I go on talking. "Normal underwear, not sport underwear. I didn't mean to come here, in fact. I was walking Luky but—"

Yelena’s expression turns to disbelief. "You didn't mean to come? You just happened to cross half the city and end up here?" She shakes her head. "Come, I'll lend you clothes." She glances at me. "Since you're here, you want to train?"

I fallow her, listening, but then it appears it was an actual question and she's expecting an actual answer. "Uh, yes. Yes I want to train." I finally reply.

She nods and I fallow her to a corner of the room where several sport bags are lined up against the wall. She grabs one and zips it open. "Why are there so many kids?" I ask. "Aren't they supposed to be at school?"

"School begins at eight." She hands me piled clothes. "Changing room is this way."

"Don't you have sneakers or something?"

"No."

"Okay."

The Widow is bare feet on the cold — and dirty — concrete floor. Like yesterday, she's only wearing shorts and a sport bra.

"Stop staring at me, you will not get sex with me"

"Eh? I— I didn't— I wasn't— I wasn't staring.” She stares at me in silence, so I go on with explanations.  “I didn't mean to stare. And I do not think we are to have sex. There's no reason. I mean, Sure you're hot, but you're not my type. Absolutely not my type. And you don't like me either, so there's no way we would have sex."

She looks at me weirdly, I can’t tell what it means as, as often I’m unable to read her expression. Maybe she's homophobic and disgusted with the idea of women having sex together. Maybe she thinks I'm stupid to imagine we could ever get together — which I didn't, I would never.

"Are you going to get changed now?" Maybe she just thinks I talk too much.

I wasn't staring. Certainly not starting in an interested way: I am not interested.

Yes, I noticed she's hot. Any straight man would have noticed too. And yes, she's sexier with short hair and also where am I supposed to look when she's wearing so little clothes there's more skin exposed than not?

Yet, she isn't my type at all. I'm into older women. I fall for mature, experienced and caring women. Not for blood thirsty killers acting passive aggressive and breaking into people’s houses and kidnapping dogs.

Mary — Red Hair — makes me loose balance with a, precise and quick succession of blows fallowed by, violent kick just above the feet. I fall in the ring’s ropes.

"I think she's ace." Says Mary.

"I’m sorry. What?" I get back on my feet, and punch her in the stomach, impact cushioned by the boxing gloves.

"Asexual. She's ace."

"Yes, I know what ace means, thank you." We turn around another in the ring, exchanging a few blows.

"Yelena.” Replies Mary casually. “She turned you down. Don't take it personal. She's not into women. Or men."

"She didn't tun me down. I didn’t ask her out. I'm not into her." As I speak, I faint on the right to succeed a strong punch in her stomach with my left hand.

"Yeah whatever, you're only fooling yourself, fancy girl." And she clenches on my left arm. She uses my own movement to lift me over her shoulder like I weight nothing. She fooled me like a novice.

Mary helps me back on my feet, smiling smugly. "Another one?"

I take her hand and we face each other. I breath in and out to focus. “Yes. Let’s do another one.”

Chapter Text

Yelena shows up in the middle of our third fight — I won the second one. She stands outside the ring; both Mary and I glance at her. But the Russian remains quiet, watching us fighting, armed crossed.

Apparently, a public motivates Mary: she's suddenly having a rush of energy and she performs a series of powerful blows and swift dodges. She puts on a fair match, but she can't win. I am a great fighter. Maybe not Black Widow level, but my skills in hand-to-hand combat are more than decent. Mary's back hits the ground as a result of a body throw. She taps the floor, conceding defeat. "You're too impulsive.” Comments Yelena. “You're only reacting. You're not in control. You would be the one on the ground if not of your reflexes. Stop lying on them."

I wince, all satisfaction and pride from winning vanished. Mary gets back on her feet and drinks from her water bottle, listening with interest.

I turn to Yelena, torn between the impulsion of pointing out I did won and the desire to learn from her or at least give her a chance as a coach. "Okay. Not enough control. How do I get that, teacher?"

I can see her think for a moment before she answers. "The zone you're in when your bow is bended, just before you release your arrow. Get to that."

I didn't expect such a thoughtful answer. But thinking of it, that doesn't tell me how to get in such a zone in the middle of a fight. To stabilize a bended arrow, you have to lower your cardiac rhythm and breath. Too late to ask: Yelena’s already gone, boxing with a guy twice as tall as her.

"Ready, fancy girl?" Asks Mary, guard raised. It doesn't look like she's going to give me time to think further about Yelena's advice.

About eleven, we take a break. I'm not sure I’ve made any progress so far, though I won almost all fights with Mary, and then with Kalvin — a powerful but slow boxer who volunteered to train with me. I'm exhausted, all my body is aching and I don't think I'll learn anything at all from those non-stop fights. In my memory, they all regrouped in one blur mess.

I put one foot in front of the other as an automatism and Red Hair — Mary — grabs my hand, pulling me to the changing room. I think I was heading to the entrance door.

I'm putting on my boots, the simple action of sliding a foot in the rigid leather requiring all my concentration, when I'm interrupted by Yelena’s distinctively low voice. "That's great progress, Kate."

I look up at her, confused. What is she talking about? My boots? Me putting my boots? She's talking to me, right? Yes, she said my name. And when did she change? My eyes fix on the light green shirt as I try to understand how come it appeared on her out of nowhere.

"You're staring again, Kate Bishop." I blink and point at her shirt.

"You— changed?"

There's a short silence. "You look like you need food." She concludes Somewhere I think it does sound like a good idea but when Yelena leaves, telling me to wait there, I forget about it and all I can think of is how comfortable the bench I'm seating on looks like, so I carefully lie down, using the sport clothes I removed as a pillow, for a short rest, just a few minutes, until the Russian comes back.

I wake up from a weird dream implying green shirts doing magic tricks — but I guess all dreams are weird by nature.

I slowly sit up, all my muscles are aching, the nape on an unsuitable surface adding to the pain. I look around, taking in the small, dark, smelly locker. I grin. How could I have slept here? I sigh and rub my forehead. I guess I lacked sleep from the night before — still. A cramp stiffens my left leg and I reach out to knead the sour muscles. I need a massage. I notice a movement under the opposite bench and I lay in, wondering what it might be.

Soon, a golden head comes out. The familiar golden retriever gets on his feet and shakes. Then, he goes straight to a plastic bag next to me and pokes at it. I raise my eyebrows, slightly insulted that he went to a plastic bag before coming at me. But now I'm curious about it, so I reach out. Inside the bag is a pizza box with a post-it on it. It reads: "It's not for the dog. He ate already." Yeah sure; I remove it. Under is another note: "I do not don't like you."

Let’s reread that later. For now, lunch time. And no, I can't eat pizza — or any fast food — without giving some to Pizza Dog. It’s in his name.

Once we're done, I call a taxi. Getting out of the gym with Lucky, I'm almost surprised to see a few guys benching and chatting in a corner of the room. I expected the place to be desert. After all and though there were lots of people when I got in, by nine we were barely half a dozen in here.

By the time I get home, I regret the clothes' choice I made that morning. Temperature has risen over 70 degrees and the taxi's air conditioner is broken.

Chapter Text

First thing I do back home is to take a shower. After that, I should have gone to the grocery store, buy some food and snacks for the night. But I fall on my bed, and when I wake up, it's past four. I quickly clean up the apartment and soon Maxwell is ringing at the door.

Max and I met in a charity event — the kind of place where rich people expose how rich they are — two years ago. He was the only one who stood out more than me — I was wearing a suit; rich people tend to be conservative minded. Maxwell's pink polish nail matching to his necklace’s gem drew more attention than the host's speech — that said, the host's speech wasn't much interesting, as usual.

"You came directly from work?" I ask my friend after a hug.

The young man smiles brightly and shows off a bag. "I stopped on the way and took us some snacks."

"You're the best!" Casually, he moves to the kitchen and puts down the bag on the table, taking out chips, pretzels, barbecue flavored peanuts, candies and ramen noodles.

I glance at his suit. "Do you want more comfortable clothes?"

"Yes, it would be lovely. Do you still have that shirt with a unicorn and a rainbow on it?"

I roll my eyes. "Please leave with it. I give it to you."

He chuckles. "But what clothes would I borrow when I come here if you give it away?" He asks as I go upstairs.

"You've got a point." I admit. Maxwell and I have opposite tastes regarding clothes. The shirt he asked for not only has a big rainbow printed on it, along with a cute purple pony with a corn, but the shirt itself is candy pink. It was a gift from one of my mother's friends — she hadn't seen me since my fifth birthday.

When I get back with the shirt, Maxwell had made himself at home. His vest is put down on a chair. On the table, bowls are filled with chips and peanuts and pretzels and my whole reserve of alcohol is lined up — which are a few beers, half af a cooking white wine bottle and a bottle of whisky that my uncle loves.

"I texted Florence to bring some beers." Says Max, eating pretzels. "You don't often have people over, do you?"

"Well at least I have dishes and cutlery for more than one person, now." I reply, grabbing some peanuts.

He chuckles. "'Long way to go..."

He changes himself and we settle in the couch to chill, waiting for our friends. He asks me about my week at the Barton's; I ask about his girlfriend, Anna. He doesn't see her a lot lately: her brother is getting married next month, so she spends lots of time with her mother and future sister-in-law. "I think her father still hopes she'll choose a distant cousin or friend's son, a well-behaved Muslim, to marry with." He says lightly.

I frown "Doesn't it bother you?"

He shrugs, smiling. "Can't be angry at him for wishing the best for his only daughter."

"You are the best for Anna, Max." I affirm.

He laughs, not taking this conversation very seriously — I’ve barely ever seen him serious. "I guess it'll be for her to decide."

I tilt my head, doubtful. "I don't think she'll ever leave you, even for the nicest Muslim guy. You're lucky, Max, you know that?"

He smiles lightly. "Yes I know."

I can see on his face he's about to crack a joke, but the doorbell interrupts him.

Next moment, Jennie irrupts in the apartment. While she greets us with large hugs and the last gossips, Florence quietly closes the door behind them and puts the beers she brought in the fridge.

We settle in the living room, Maxwell and Jennie grab cushions to sit on the floor while Florence and I take the couch. Lucky comes by, tail waving, but Maxwell takes the snacks away from him, so he sighs and lays down by Florence's feet.

We chat all night, talking about everything and anything.

Chapter Text

"Have you met someone?" Asks Jennie out of the blue when I come back with fresh beers.

She shows off my phone she'd been looking into. "No conversions on dating apps in weeks."

I reach out and take back the device. "I've been busy."

"Kate's not like you, Jennie." Observes softly Florence. "It's not abnormal for her not to date for a few weeks when she's a lot into training or projects."

"Maybe." Replies Jennie, unconvinced. "But there’s definitely someone, look at her face. So, what's her name?" Insists Jennie, turning to me.

"Nobody."

Florence thoughtfully sips her beer. I have no idea what's going on her mind and it's strangely more unsettling than Florence's questions — not that I have anything to hide. I haven't met anyone.

"Why do you assume it’s a she? Kate’s bi." Comments Maxwell before eating a mouthful of candies.

“Sure but can you name a single male she’d fall in love with?” Retorts Jennie. “So, who is she?” She insists, turning to me.

"There's nobody." I mumble in my beer.

“Are they married?” Asks Max on a playful conspiring tone.

"Oh, don't tell me she isn't out and you have to pretend you're just friends." Insists Jennie with a knowing look.

"There's nothing like that!" I snap. "I'm not dating anyone!"

But I guess I'm not very convincing: Florence speaks up, her tone soft. "What is her name?"

Her expression is gentle and listening and I give up. "Yelena."

"Does she know you have a crush on her?" Asks Florence. The two others are now quiet but intently listening. Max crunches a pretzel.

"No. Yes. I do not have a crush on her. Like… Okay she's hot but nothing more. She's definitely not my type."

Maxwell comes closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders, leaning on me. "You have to tell us everything about her."

"Girl, you have to get out of there. Stop seeing her." States Jennie, breaking the silence.

"Didn't you say she's a good coach and you want to improve your combat skills? You two could be friends." Objects Maxwell. He throws a peanut in the air and catches it in the air; Jennies rolls her eyes.

"Well... we only had one training session but..."

"Friends!?" Cuts Jennie. "Max, what are talking about? They can't be friends, Kate has a crush on her." She turns to me. "Girl, you need to take some distance, get yourself busy with something."

"It's absolutely possible to become friends with someone you had a crush on. Look at Charlie, he had a crush on me in high school and now we're absolute best friends." Counters Max.

"You do look like a couple." Retorts Jennie.

"Max has a girlfriend." Patiently interferes Florence as Maxwell is busy eating snacks. "And Charlie a boyfriend."

"We were talking about Kate!" Snaps Jennie. "Don't you guys remember what happens when she can't go over a crush because she sees the girl every day at school? Don't you remember Nora?"

"It was in secondary school." Replies Florence on my behalf.

"Yeah, the situation here is completely different." Approves Maxwell. He turns to me. "She clearly told you she wasn’t interested, so now you can move on. Now the decision is up to you whether you want to be platonic friends with her or not."

Jennie only waited a few seconds before using my lack of responsivity against me. "See! She clearly needs to cut ties with that girl or it's going to end up like with Nora."

Silence lingered again, all eyes on me.

"I... I don't know okay." I finally reply. "I don't know if I want to be friends with her. I thought I wanted to, but now it's just getting very complicated, and weird, and Lucky is stolen from me all the time..."

Lucky raises his head and waves his tail upon hearing his name.

A while after my friends are gone, I'm lying in my bed, sleepless. Maybe Jennie is right. Maybe I need to take some distance from Yelena. But like, it's not like I'm in love with her or a anything. She's hot, that's all. Okay, maybe I do have a little bit of a crush on her. Nothing more.

Just before I fall asleep, in that state of half consciousness where things get both blurred and clearer, I thought of the fact I didn’t mention the 'I do not don't like you' post it.

Chapter Text

The next day, I'm at the gym at 6, ready for training. Lucky woke me up at 5 — he really made a habit of waking up early — and after that, I didn't have any reason to stop going. So I went again on Monday, and the days after. Max and Jennie made a huge deal out of nothing, honestly. Plus, I like boxing. Sure, it's a bit brutal, and it's not nearly as cool looking as coin throws or martial arts rolls. But still, it does what it aims to. Very efficient when you're out of weapons or left with nothing but a small, one-handed one. Plus, boxing training develops speed, cardio and strength. Always useful.

I made new friends. First, Mary, the one I spare with the most. Then Felix, the young boy who loves Lucky. The second time he came and unleashed him without replying to my greetings, Mary explained me he was deaf. So now I sign to him, and he replies "Hi" and "Goodbye". I think he's a bit intimidated — understandable: I’m the world’s greatest archer — but soon we'll be best friends him and I. This morning, I brought a coin and made a demonstration; he was impressed. Unfortunately, the coin got lost, and Felix hasn’t try shooting one yet, but I'll bring more coins tomorrow.

Every morning, I eat a light breakfast and drink a coffee, half an hour cab and I get to the industrial district with Lucky. I arrive motivated and energized, and after some warm-up with Mary, I'm ready to get in the ring. Yelena teaches me a new technique or corrects a mistake of mine on and I box. For the first two or three fights, she usually sticks around, correcting my movements and commenting the match. After that, she leaves — though I sometimes notice her quietly watching from afar.

I've spared with pretty much everyone who attends the club by now, except for the kids — but Yelena did have me fight with some of the teenagers.

I'm starting to get a bit impatient, only learning one or two movement or trick a day, despite fighting in the ring for hours.

That day, when I jump out of the ring at noon, I come face to face with Yelena. I had no idea she was there.

"It's getting worse." She says.

"What is?" I reply, startled.

"You're thinking." She retorts, sounding a bit annoyed.

I stare at her with wide eyes. After a moment of silence, I admit I don’t get what she’s trying to say. “I’m sorry. What?"

"You got it thought. The first day." Replies the Russian, irritation piercing in her voice. "Why are you thinking so much all the time? Can't you stop it sometime?"

"Stop thinking?"

"Yes."

"No."

She got silent for a moment, staring at me like as if in heavy disbelief. I fidget, uncomfortable. Is she serious, or is she playing me? "So, what are you suggesting, coach?" I ask, in an attempt at playfulness. "I should have sleepless nights then fight for hours until I become a zombie like the first day?"

"If it is the only way you get your brain to off, yes, you should do that." She replies. I chuckle. That's a funny one. But the Black Widow remains dead serious.

I quit drinking coffee — but don’t quit sleeping at night.

And today, I walked to the gym instead of taking a cab. As one would have expected, Lucky was very happy about it. Yet, apparently, it wasn't enough.

"No, no, no." Says Yelena, exasperated, as I throw Mary on the ground for the second time in a row. "You're thinking again."

I wince. I wasn't feeling like I was thinking much. I mean, of course my brain was active. Very focused on getting punch the least as possible, and finding a breach in my opponent's guard. Focused on the fight.

"I shouldn't have teach you these techniques." Adds Yelena. "Now you're being lazy."

I wince again. My aching muscles and pounding heart don't feel that way — and that's also really not nice to Mary.

"You think, and you react. Boxing is about intuition, not thinking. You just lean on your knowledge like it’s a crutch!" Goes on the Black Widow. She has an impatient gesture. "Get out, Mary." She finally commands.

My eyes widen in surprise as she takes the other woman’s place in the ring. Before I can say anything, I get punched in the stomach. I breath out and step aside, standing guard.

"Stop thinking." Repeats Yelena, throwing another punch at me.

Chapter Text

I collapse in a corner of the ring, weakly hovering a hand to call a time out. I have no idea how much time has passed since Yelena first punched me, it feels like an eternity. I’m completely drained out and I cling on my water bottle like it’s a lifeline.

"We've got progress there." Comments the Russian, looking inexplicably satisfied, as she kneels down and take her water bottle too.

I look down on myself: I'm covered with bruises and marks. If it had been a real fight she would have killed me dozens of times.

"Doesn't feel... like progress." I pant.

Once she drank, Yelena splashes water on her hair and shoulders. She remains on the ground and I notice she seems a bit out of breath too.

Satisfied with the idea I got her at least a slightly tired, I splash water on my face too. Yelena snorts and I feel like a kid trying to do the same as grown-ups. I’ve got water in the eyes. I wipe it, stand up and change topics. "I'd take a coffee right now." Not the most brilliant, but it’s the only thing I could think of. I do really need a coffee.

"Yes, let's go eat." Approves Yelena. I’m surprised she moves on so easily but then she stands up, pushing on the ground with a hand, and groans in pain.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" I rush to help her up.

"I'm okay, Kate Bishop. I've known worse." She replies casually, and there’s in her expression a hint of something I can't quite pinpoint.

"Did I hurt you?" I insist. I look at her, trying to find where she's in pain. I cure myself; I barely remember anything of our fight, and I have no idea where I might have hit her.

She taps on my shoulder the shoulder, a gesture that could be condescending, or could be comforting. "Let's go eat." She repeats, walking away.

The waiter puts our plates before us and Yelena pours a generous amount of hot sauce on her food.

"Are you... going to eat all of that?" I ask, pointing at the plate. The servings in that Mexican restaurant are generous. There's enough there for three people.

She stares at me like I'm talking nonsense. "Yes. If you want more, you can order."

"Oh, no thank you." I shake my head. I've only ordered one taco and it's so huge I'm not sure I'm going to eat it all.

She hums and glance at my plate, looking skeptical for a instant. Then she takes a big bite of her food. I can't help but wince at the amount of hot sauce there's on it.

"So, what is your mission about exactly?" I ask with my best casual tone and expression, biting in my taco.

"What mission?" Replies Yelena, eating her food enthusiastically.

"Your mission. The reason you're in New York." I insist.

"Oh." She replies lightly. "I don't have a mission in New York. I'm just doing some tourism and shopping."

I put down my food. "Tourism and shopping? That's the mission you took Lucky on?"

The golden, who was lying under the table, sits up upon hearing his name and look at us with a tilted head. Yelena glances at him, seemingly unfazed. "He was very helpful to find nice food places." She takes another huge bite of hot sauce taco. She seems totally immune to spiciness.

"Food places..." I repeat, not convinced that's all there is.

Lucky whines, looking at me with round puppy eyes.

"No. Don't give human food to the dog."

I look at her, then at Pizza Dog, then at my plate. "It's going to get wasted otherwise..."

"No." She says again. The moment I try to slide food under the table, I get slapped on the hand. "Don't you have any idea how bad this is for a dog?"

"Ow... He loves junk food." I protest, rubbing my hand. Effectively, Pizza Dog is watching my plate with high interest.

"Lucky, down." Commands Yelena. And with wide eyes, I watch the dog sigh yet obey — he really obeys to everyone but me.

As Yelena finishes my plate — no food waste —, with a lot of hot sauce, I come back to the previous topic with a new angle. "How long are you in New York for, then?"

"Depends how fast you learn."

"Uhm, what?" I reply, taken off guard.

She shrugs casually. "Once you'll have the basics, we can move to Ohio and train seriously."

This time, my jaw drops. "To... Ohio? What? Why? I have University. Starts in two weeks. And… train seriously? What do you mean train s…?”

She brushes the objection with a wave of the hand. "You only have two online classes this semester."

"Yeah, but… Wait. How do you even know that?"

For only answer, she stares at me like I asked the dumbest question. Okay, maybe it was a bit stupid: she's a Black Widow. "Clint told me." She says.

"Oh... Uhm. Of course. Clint."

"By next week we’ll be done here, I think. Fanny misses me, I should be back home."

"Fanny?" I repeat, lost again.

Yelena nods with the softest smile I've ever seen on her face. "I think she'll like you."

Chapter Text

"I don't know, Max. She just said her name." I say, agitated, pacing in my friend’s apartment.

"Maybe she's a friend, or a family member, you don’t know. Does she have sisters?"

I pause briefly. "She… had one. Natasha."

"Okay, not a sister then. Doesn't mean it's her girlfriend either." He replies, eating pretzels.

"She said that Fanny was at home. That she was missing her. And, Max! Her expression. I've never such a sweet expression on her face." Upset, I collapse on the couch next to him. Max wraps a comforting arm in my back and rubs my shoulder.

"Okay, okay." He says gently. "But you know, Lucky too misses you when you're away, and you love him a lot." He adds, pointing at the dog sleeping on the floor, paws extended.

I pout with annoyance. "If Fanny was a pet, Yelena wouldn't have left her alone at home for weeks, Max."

"Okay. Why don't you just ask her then, uh?"

"I'm sure she's her girlfriend." I mutter, sinking deeper in the couch.

He strikes my hair in an attempt to comfort me. "What did she say, exactly?"

"She said Fanny will like me. And then she got a call and left."

"You're so much in love." Is the first thing Jennie says walking in the room. As Florence quietly sits on a cushion, I sigh and roll my eyes at Jennie. "I'm not in love." She looks back at me, her expression filled with disbelief. "I'm just disappointed she has a girlfriend and never told me about her before..." I explain. "I mean, I though we were friends, that’s all."

"She invited you to her place, in Ohio, right?" Remarks Maxwell.

"For training. Just for training."

"Why are you so upset about it?" Asks softly Florence. “You would normally be thrilled about something like that, wouldn’t you?”

Her question leaves me speechless. "Okay." I finally admit. "Maybe I hoped it was not just about training."

"You need to take your mind off all that for tonight." Says Max.

"Yes." Approves Jennie. "You should go out and date, girl."

"Movie night." Proposes Max at the same time.

"Movie night." Settles Florence.

And movie night it is.

However, Jennie's advice did not fall on deaf ears. Dating strangers is always great to get over a crush. Plus, I have boxing training with Yelena on Monday morning. She wants our relationship purely professional, I get it. It's fine. It’s great. No unnecessary feelings. I won't make a fool of myself hoping for something that'll never happen. So that weekend, I spend my evenings in bars and my nights in other beds than mine. I choose men, it's simpler than women. No questions asked, no feelings involved, no expectations of seeing each other again. Okay, maybe I choose dicks, not just men.

Sunday, I get involved in a fight bar. A moron tries to force a drunk girl to come with him, with only excuse for his behaviour that she had flirted with him earlier. So I punch him. Turns out he has a few friends around. Or maybe they are just brutes looking out for a fight. I’m a bit drunk myself, and, afterwards, I am little interested in hearing their explanations. In fact, I spend the night at the police station. I can't say it’s much worse of a night than the two previous ones, however. I have a cell for myself, a clean bed, and get to sleep until morning with no disturbance.

The next morning is less. I oversleep, and after that it takes forever before they give me the documents I have to sign, and leave me out.

So I'm late at the gym. It's about 9, I'm still wearing my clothes from the day before, I seriously need a shower and I suddenly think of the fact I might have been better to go home and skip today's training considering the situation, but my hand is already on the door handle.

"Oh fuck. Pizza Dog." I remember. 

Chapter Text

Turns out Lucky is already at the gym. Yelena came in with him that morning, explains Kalvin — he says it like it's perfectly normal. Then he mentions something about a priest.

"The priest!?" I repeat.

"Yeah, you know, the priest who came every Sundays.” But I have no idea who he’s talking about : Yelena and I don’t train the weekends. “You better ask her directly. I don’t know quite the whole story." Shrugs Kalvin.

"Okay, thanks Kalvin." I nod. He nods back and goes outside to smoke a cigarette.  I rub my forehead. What is going on, this time? I sigh. And jump when Mary leans on me from behind out of the blue.

"Woah... Somebody's on edge..." She teases. "You should try sex." She adds with a knowing look.

“Tried that. Didn't work out very well."

"Maybe you didn't try with the right person."

The gym's door opens, preventing me from answering. Yelena enters, followed by a man in civilian clothes but a badge and a gun on his belt clearly identify him as a police officer. He stands by the door as travels the room and retrieves a bag from under a bench.

It seemed like she hadn’t seen me, so I step in. I have dozens of questions on my mind, but the one I speak out is : “Why did you kidnap Lucky again?”

"I did not kidnap anyone. He came with me willingly, okay. I have to go.” She says, pointing the policeman. "But I see you tomorrow, okay? I'll pick you up at 7."

"Okay, yeah, fine." I reply as an automatism. "Uh... What? Wait... Yelena!" But she's already gone, and the man with her.

I could have not gone with her. I could have stayed home. I could have slept all morning, I could have gone to the gym and trained with Mary, and showed Gelix coin throwing. I could have trained on myself, spent my evenings with Max, Jennie and Florence, found myself a part-time job before school begins...

But of course, I woke up early and when Yelena arrives, my things are packed and Lucky and I are ready to leave. I mean, it's not like I was committing to anything. I can come back to New York any time. Actually, it’s more of the other way around. Stuck in a car with me for hours, Yelena would have no choice but to answer my questions now. Plus, I was curious to see her place. What kind of home does a former Black Widow lives in?

This is all pretty exciting, and I’m feeling the same way I did, as a kid, going to archery camp in the summer. The Russian promised advanced training and I can’t wait to see what amazing stuff she is planning to teach me: sky jumping? multiples opponent fights? cool spy techniques?...

"So, who's Fanny?" I ask, sitting on the passenger seat. Lucky, on the back seat, sticks his head out the window. I didn't plan to ask that. Maybe more 'What's the thing about the priest?' or 'Why did you take Lucky to the gym yesterday?'. It's not like I'm that much interested to know more about Fanny. It's just, you know, our conversation had been interrupted, so it's just normal I would bring back the topic.

"Hi, good morning, Kate Bishop. How are you? I'm fine, had a great night, what about you?" Replies Yelena why exaggerated enthusiasm. Which means she's very upset — or maybe she's just making fun of me, I don’t know.

I waver, embarrassed.

"She's my dog. An American akita." Says the Russian before I say anything more, eyes on the road as she drives.

I blink, lost. "Uhm... what?"

"You asked about Fanny." She replies, glancing at me. "She's my dog. I talked to you about her, remember?"

"Oh. Your dog. Of course. A dog. Fanny."

"I showed you pictures, too."

"Nope. No, you didn't."

She glances again at me — maybe my denial was a bit too much.

"Didn't show me any pictures." I go on with a more normal tone. "I would love to see them though. I'm sure she's very cute." I add.

Yelena gives me a side glance. "No. She is not cute. She is gorgeous."

"Uhm." I nod. "Gorgeous." I repeat, mentally noting to never call Fanny cute again.

"I'll show you pictures when we take a break." Says Yelena after a short silence. "They're in my phone."

Chapter Text

An hour later, Yelena has told me everything about the priest. He was preaching in the neighborhood, targeting children and parents with promises of free education in South America. He was talking about high quality Christian schools, where the children could devote themselves to learning in the best possible environment. But in fact, he was member of a sect creating an army of soldiers in anticipation of Judgment Day, meant to be happening soon. This sect was mostly active in South America but had recruiters all over the world to convert children and convince Christian parents they can offer their kids a better education than public schools do. They were promising the best teachers, the best learning environment and good moral values. And were looking for funding.

As for the kids sent to those schools, they were to be cut from the outside world and brained washed into their new role of soldiers for Judgment Day. Instead of maths and history, they would be thought an extremist form of Christianism including despise and hate to all sinners, including non-Christians, homosexuals, unmarried couples and so on. When Judgment Day would come, their role would be to purge the Earth from sinners. In those places where adult men ruled over dozens or, even hundreds of children, erecting themselves in god-like figures, abuse obviously occurred. Abuse of power as well as physical and psychological violence. And, also, sexual assaults. However, authorities in those countries were doing very little, for this sect was very rich and authorities corrupted, plus many of the sect leaders had powerful positions. Overall that, most of the kids involved where foreigners. Authorities here, and in other countries where the recruiters were active, were only starting to take interest in the matter, as the parents themselves often had no idea what was happening to their children, and when they had doubts or worries, were struggling to reach out or bring them back home. Brain washed kids would often cut ties with their parents and remain silent for years even after coming back in their home country. And what they first thought were isolated cases, the police was now starting to see what a huge network was active on United States ground, luring vulnerable children into a sect.

So when Yelena signaled the priest who was recruiting at the gym, the police was immediately interested in the information and proofs she could provide. "I thought you were more the kind to kill the bad guys." I observe. "So, you know... you're done with it."

"I only kill when I'm paid for it. Or if they try to kill me first." Replies Yelena, neutral. She tills her head. "Or if they would have try to if they had the chance... Or if they stand between me and my paycheck..." She looks at it for an instant and seems to realise these are many reasons. "I kill a lot." She concludes, her tone matter of fact. She turns to me. "Do you think I kill too much, Kate Bishop?"

"Uh... No.... Well... Maybe, yes." I clear my throat and move out from this slippery topic. "Anyway, I am glad you collaborated with the authorities on that one." I can hear the awkwardness in my voice as I force a positive, light tone. I keep talking to mask it. "It may even help them catch the people he works for..."

The glance Yelena gives me stops me dead in my tracks and I go silent. I fidget with my security belt and clear my throat, looking out the window.

"What?" She says.

I frown at the question, glancing in her direction. "What what?"

"What is it?" She insists, looking more intently at me, which makes a bit uncomfortable since she not looking at the road in the meantime.

She gives me a weird look. "Come on. Not you, Kate Bishop."

I blink, lost. "What?"

She laughs but I no idea what's so funny. Her eyes leave the road again to land on me and her expression is full of disbelief. "You're scared I could kill you!"

"What? No." I protest. "I mean... Yes, maybe? Well, you know, considering... It's actually a compliment." I add, but it only makes roll her eyes. "You're... good at what you do." I try to explain.

She stares at me. "And what I do is kill people?" She finally says, her tone sharp.

I grimace. "Uh... Is it not?"

"No it is not." She states firmly. There's a silence and she tilts her head with second thoughts. "Well, it isn't anymore." 

Chapter Text

Considering how turned out my attempts at conversion, I went quiet for a moment. Yelena seemed to being enjoying herself, listening to music and driving.

I sleep for a bit and when I wake up, we arrive to a gas station. Yelena fills up, then goes the shop and when she comes back, she's carrying a plastic bag that looks pretty full. She throws me the keys. "Your turn." She says, heading to the passenger side.

"Uh... I don't have my driver's license..."

She looks at me, opening the car door.

"You forgot it?" She pauses briefly. Then she shrugs and gets in the car anyway. "Well don't give the police a reason to stop you then."

"I mean... I really don't know how to drive." I insist. "I never took my driver's license."

Yelena first laughs before she seems to realise I'm being serious. She walks around the car to the driver seat, grabing the keys I’m still holding on her way.

"We'll add that to your training program." She decides.

"Can you give me some peanuts please?" She asks, pointing at the bag next my feet once we’re back on the highway. It’s the food she bought at the gas station. I grab the snack and open it for her — that’s my job as a copilot and I kinda like it in fact. Of course, the peanuts are spicy flavoured.

When Yelena parks the car, I five her a puzzled look. It's late in the afternoon, we've been on the road all day, and I'm wondering where this place is and why we're stopping here. We quit the highway a moment ago and ended up in what seems to be a small town's residential area. And now we're parked before a few-storey apartment building that doesn't look like much.

However, the Russian gets out of the car and opens the door to Lucky. The dog immediately jumps out and, his nose on the ground, inspects the surroundings.

If the building didn't look like much on the outside, inside doesn’t look greater. The floors and stairs are covered with a carpet that might have once been wine red but now is somewhere between grey and brown. The carpet may help with the noise, but it defenetly makes the scent worse. It smells like cigarettes and musty. Yelena takes us to the third floor and knocks on a door on the left yet opens it before waiting for an answer.

The main room is all at once entryway, kitchen and living room, and it's so small there's no dining table.

Yelena removes her shoes and goes in like she owns the place. Unsure what to do, I remain on the doorway with Lucky, my bag on the shoulder when something I first thought was a big cushion moves in a corner of the room.

"Uh... Yelena?"

But the Russian opened the tap and fills up a glass of water, so she doesn't hear me.

The thing moves again and gets up. When it turns around, a pair of dark eyes fix on me. The dog stretches and yawns, showing off pointy teeth.

"Huh... I guess this is Fanny?" I finally comput. The dog indeed looks like the pictures Yelena showed me. Pale brown, fluffy hair with dark brown erect ears, white face and chest.

Lucky, by my side, hasn't moved, eyes fixed on the other dog, head titled and breathing out of his mouth, waving his tail.

"Water?" Offers Yelena, sliding a glass towards me on the counter. "Are you hungry?" She goes on, turning to the fridge. "I'm starving." She observes.

"So... Is this where you live?" I finally ask as she's rummaging through the cupboards.

She pauses and glances at me. "Yes." She says like it's obvious.

"Then... Why did you knock on the door before coming in?"

"For Fanny." She replies, retriving two mac'ncheese boxes from the cupboard.

"Ah." I nod though I’m not quite sure I'm following.

"For her not to think we're intruters." She explains, reaching for a pot and a wooden spoon.

"Ah... And what would she have done if she had thought we were intruders exactly?"

Yelena opens the tap to fill the pot with water. When it’s full enough, she puts the pot on the stove and lights it. "She could have torn your hand off." She replies casually. "Mac'n'cheese, for super?"

I blink, glance at Fanny who leaned back on her cushion, then at Yelena who's ripping open the mac’n’cheese box. What did I get myself into? I think to myself, still standing in the doorway with my dog and luggage.

And yet, I find myself salivating at the idea of mac'n'cheese.

Chapter Text

I sit next to Yelena on the couch with my plate of mac'n'cheese — of course, hers is covered with hot sauce. Fanny is taking half the place on the couch, her head resting on her master’s tight, so my shoulder is pressed against Yelena’s, which she seems unbothered with, eating her food happily, so I try no to think too much about it either.

I glance at Lucky, who’s lying on Fanny's cushion now that he inspected to whole apartment — which was fairly fast due to the said apartment size.

"I fed him when you were in the shower." Comments Yelena.

I nod, too tired to argue. She behaves with him like he's her dog — fine.

I take a bite of macaroni and it's deliciously tasty — box mac'n'cheese never disappoint.

"I'll go to the grocery store tomorrow. The fridge is empty." Says Yelena between mouthfuls of hot sauce macaroni.

"Okay."

We continue eating in silence and I get lost in my thoughts, asking myself what I'm doing there, what I agreed to, why I started training with her to begin with, but then I remember it started even before that. She talked with Clint about coaching me in my back. She retrieved Lucky from Grills' without telling me.

"Is it always going to be like that?" I ask, irritation piercing through my voice. "You decide and I just get to agree afterwards?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Wow, if you want to go to the grocery store, just say so." She replies like this is some sort of joke.

"I'm not talking about the grocery store!" I snap, standing up.

Something in the way my voice resonates in my own ears makes me step down and I sigh. Yelena's expression is sharp and alert.

I swallow, trying to express myself in a more sensitive way. "Sorry." I say. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

The Russian is still sited on the couch, Fanny's head laying on her lap and she holds my gaze without a word.

"Look... I just... I'm tired to never get a word on what's happening. I don't even know how I ended up here." I explain tentatively.

The Black Widow stands up, carefully placing Fanny’s head on the couch, yet something in her demeanour makes me take a step back and I feel like I did something wrong.

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to." She says, her cold, detached tone sends a chill through my spine.

I clear my throat, uncomfortable.

I don't know what I would have say — probably too many words that mean nothing — but she cuts me. "You can sleep upstairs for tonight if you want. The keys are by the door." Her tone is monotone and she talks without looking at me, expressionless. When she opens the pipe and starts doing the dishes, it’s clear I'm expected to go away.

I remain standing idly, trying to find the words to smooth things over, but I don’t know what to say that wouldn’t risk to make it worse and I don’t even know if I want to make up for my words. So I grab the keys by the door — it takes me a minutes to find the one with a paper attached saying 'upstairs' amongst all the keys hanging there but I obviously couldn't ask Yelena for help.

I call my dog and it’s only at the second time that the golden retriever gets on his paws with a sigh and reluctantly comes with me, as he'd better stay here than come along.

Suddenly, the anger I had calmed down rushes in my veins again and it takes all my self-control to prevent myself from slamming the door behind me, but instead I close it carefully.

Hopefully, there's only one floor up Yelena's apartment. Unfortunately, there are two apartments on that floor. I knock at both of the doors and when I hear a male voice yelling me to go away through the one on the left, I know the key I have is for the one on the right — or at least I hope it is.

It does fit in and the door open smoothly when I turn the handle. Lucky goes in even before I find the switch, his nose on the floor and tail wagging.

When lights turn on, I hurriedly step in and close the door behind me, glancing in my back to make sure the neighbour didn't come looking who knocked.

This apartment is bigger than the one Yelena lives in and is furnished with expected furniture like a table, chairs, a couch and so on. But on top of that, the place was filled with weapons and military equipment.

"Jeez..." I sigh, locking back the door behind me and dropping my bag on the floor. Guns and grenades are hanging on the walls; maps, microphones and gas masks are aligned on the table. If the neighbour ever sees any of it, he's going to call the police — and I don't want to be to one who answers the door when the police comes knocking at the door.

Lucky, unbothered with the decoration, casually jumps on the couch and lies there in a roll.

"I guess you won't get into trouble if we sleep here for one night, uh?" I ask out loud, dubious.

Chapter Text

I lie in bed, unable to find sleep replaying in my head my last conversation with Yelena. Replaying all the conversations I ever had with her. Trying to understand what went wrong, what I should have said — or shouldn’t have said — and how I ended up there, in an apartment filled with enough weapons and equipment for an entire squad to launch a secret operation. Enough bullets and grenades to kill hundreds of people.

I don’t like thinking of that. I shouldn't be thinking like that. Yelena said she doesn't kill for a living anymore. I roll on my belly. I should trust her. Surely, all this equipment is just for self-defence, or collection, or souvenirs. I too, have weapons at my place after all — maybe not that much or that deadly but...

I reach out and grab the first thing I can get from the nightstand — it's a lipstick. I fidget with it briefly before I turn to my back again and throw it to the ceiling. I don't know what to think of that woman. I catch the lipstick falling back and throw it again right away.

I lost it, earlier. I'm not usually like that. I'm an emotionally mature adult. I can speak out my feelings without yelling at people. But Yelena... I don't fully feel like myself around her. I never know what she thinks, I never know when she's serious or playful or mocking. She’s a minute completely indifferent, the next exaggeratedly shocked, scary or just gone — and sometimes all at once.

She irks me beyond reason. So I slapped her. In two separate occasions. And now I lost it on her again.

Yet, even now, I feel awful at the idea she might want me to leave. At the idea of never seeing her again. I... I desperately don't want that. Jeez I just I want her respect me, to impress her maybe.

I catch the lipstick in its fall again and fidget with it. She's more friendly with Lucky than she is with me.

"You're still there." Says Yelena like it’s unexpected — what did she think? that I would have leave in the middle of the night without a word?

I’m just out of the bathroom from a shower when I stumble into her. "My med kit is in there." She adds, pointing behind as explanation for her appearance. My eyes go down and I frown noticing the hand she presses firmly on her abdomen. My gaze goes even downer, and I see blood on the floor next her feet.

"You're bleeding!" I exclaim.

"Yes, I know that. That's why I need my medical kit." She replies dryly.

I reach for my phone, taking things in hand. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"No. No ambulance." Replies Yelena, taking my phone off my hands before I can call 911.

"Uh, well, I would take you to the hospital myself but..." As I'm speaking, the Black Widow walks into the bathroom, so I fallow and keep talking as she retrieves the medical kit from the medicine cabinet. "... but I don't have my driver's license and the last thing you would need right now is a car accident..." She leaves the bathroom, the kit in one hand, the other one pressed on her wound. I hadn't noticed earlier because her t-shirt is dark brown and she also has a vest, but looking closer it's soaked in blood. When she walks, she leaves a red path the floor. "... So we should really call an ambulance to take you to the hospital. Or a cab. But I don't think a cab would agree to take you when you're bleeding this much, so the ambulance is the best option."

Apparently not listening, Yelena settles in the couch. "No. No hospital, Kate Bishop." She replies sharply after a silence. "Just open this for me, I can't do it with one hand." She says, gesturing at the medical kit she's been trying to zip opened. “Please.” She adds.

There's an exasperation in her voice that makes me feel sheepish even though I did nothing wrong. I shut my mouth and quickly open the kit.

"Thank you." She says in a tone that sounds more like an 'at last'.

I fidget on my feet as she takes some gauze, rips the packaging with her teeth and applies the fabric onto her wound from under her shirt, pressing both her hands on top, mixed pain and relieve on her features as she sighs and leans back.

"What?" She asks, looking at the ceiling. Despite everything, her tone is as steady as ever and it irrationally makes me doubt of the gravity of her injury. But there the trail of blood on the floor is no imaginary. There's also the fact she used my full name, something she hadn't done in a while.

"Can I help?" I ask.

She glances at me like I suggested to turn a knife in her wound. "No."

I nod and fidget on my feet again — it's pretty clear there's no point insisting. Even though she's in quite a 'état lamentable'. She also only have two hands and needs at least one to apply pressure on her wound.

"Actually." she sighs, her tone a bit less sharp. "You could remove my shirt. Please."

"Uhm?" I reply as my mind finds itself unable to form complete words.

"Take the scissors and just cut it off." She adds, pointing at the medical kit.

My eyes fall on the medical tool, then travel to Yelena's shirt, then to her face — she is staring at me.

"The scissors." I repeat. "Remove your shirt. Alright, no problem I can do that." I reply confidently — I'm absolutely not nervous at all why would I? Yelena rolls her eyes and I — try to — pretend I didn't notice and keep my cool.

"So... I just... cut your shirt, yeah?"

"Yeah." She confirms coldly but looking a bit tired. Her face is pale too, I notice.

"Are you okay? You look tired. Actually, you don't look okay at all, you should really go to the hospital, you lost a lot of blood and..."

"Are you going to do it?" She cuts me sharply, looking exasperated. "Or do I have to do it myself?"

I swallow. "I'll... I'll do it..." I agree, reaching out for the scissors.

Chapter Text

"Go get some vodka. Please.” Asks Yelena once I'm done ripping her shirt apart, revealing the cut on her belly, along a massive bruise on her side and older scars. “It’s in the cupboard next the oven.” She completes.

I turn to the medical kit and present her with a bottle. "Here. There's alcohol."

She looks down at it and makes a face. "That's an insult to vodka, Kate" She replies, her Russian accent thick. "This thing is not nearly as tasty as vodka.

"Oh... Uhm...” I hesitate. “Well you've lost a lot of blood, you probably shouldn't drink alcohol considering..."

"Kate. The vodka." She cuts me.

I clear my throat. "Ahem. Yeah, sure. I’ll… I’ll get it."

"Or maybe you want to do my stiches yourself?" She asks in that neutral tone of hers — I can't tell if she's ironic or genuinely offering but I decide to act like it's the latter.

"Oh... No, thank you, really." I say, heading to the kitchen. In cupboard next the oven, there isn't one bottle of vodka. There are dozens.

Not commenting — at least not out loud — I take one bottle of the many bottles and close the cupboard’s door. When I’m back to her, Yelena has both her hands pressed on her wound, so I take off the cap for her and bring the bottle to her lips. She gulps a mouthful then quickly removes hand from her belly and grabs the saline water in the med kit. She briefly lifts the gauze from her wound and pours liquid on the flesh, observing the cut to gauge the damage. I instinctively wince as bloody water drips.

The blond, however, doesn't make a sound and presses back the gauze on her wound with no emotion. I wince again — that must be painful.

Yelena leans back and takes a deep breath. "You can go open the door to Fanny now." She says.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, lost.

She looks at me. "You're not helping here. And Fanny is stuck outside."

"Oh." I reply, trying not to be insulted with the fact she thinks I'm useless here. Though, I'm not sure I understand. "But... why is she stuck outside?"

"Because I came in through the window."

"Right." Why didn't think of it myself? "So you want me to take her here?"

"No, no. Take her to my apartment. And Kate. Can you take the grocery bags to my fridge, too? The milk will go sour." She adds as I'm leaving.

" Okay. No problem. Leave it to me."

Still, I'm kind of questioning Yelena's priorities. Then I find Fanny at the back of the building, guarding two grocery bags. "Jeez! I hope nobody saw you!" I exclaim in a whisper. The American Akita's mouth is smeared with blood and there are spots on her fur too.

She holds my gaze, unfazed. I sigh. "Let's get you inside before someone sees you."

I grab the groceries and look at Fanny but she doesn't have a collar or anything like that. So I just have to hope she fallows me as I head to the front door.

Hopefully, we don't meet anyone in the hallways. Thanks to the carpet's color, Fanny doesn't leave visible marks either and we get to the fourth floor unnoticed. As soon as I open the door, Fanny goes to her cushion and lays there.

Once I’m done putting away the groceries as asked, I glance at the soiled dog, pondering. She needs a bath and by then she will put blood on everything she touches. But I don't like the idea of letting Yelena alone for too long in her condition — though she didn't look like she needed me much.

Finally, I leave Fanny alone because she probably wouldn't let me wash her. Plus, probably won’t leave her cushion for a while.

I find Yelena where I left her, finishing her stiches, a focused frown on her face and looking maybe even paler than before. Lucky is lying down at her feet, watching her, his ears reacting to her every movement.

"Kate Bishop." Yelena greets me without taking her eyes off her wound. Her tone is dry and neutral as usual I can't tell if she is calling me or if she's annoyed to see me again.

She continues what she is doing like I’m not there and when the needle pierces her skin trough both edges of the wound, I wince in empathy. She, however, doesn't make a sound. Hands steady, she knots the thread.

Then she lets go of the needle, which falls on the floor, and leans back with a heavy sigh.

Silence settles on the room, me standing next the door, not knowing what to say or do, her sitting on the couch, her head leaning back, the med kit and vodka bottle next to her, her belly, pants and hands covered with her own blood. I swallow hard.

"You need to lay down." I finally say after ruling out 'are you okay?', 'let's get you to the hospital' and the helpless 'how can I help?'.

For only answer, I get a small nod or maybe there was no answer at all and she just happened to slightly move her head at that moment. By the time I come next to her, she still hasn't spoken a word or moved further.

I frown in concern. "Yelena?"

"Yes." A single word, but her voice is as firm as usual, maybe a bit huskier, but that might just be because of the vodka she had — the bottle is half emptied.

"Let's get you to the bed, okay?" I suggest. It probably might have been better for her to not move at all, but the armrests of the couch would make it uncomfortable to lay, so I think the bed is better. She seems to think the same for she grabs my sleeve and collar to help herself up. I instinctively put my arms under hers to support her and she leans on me more than I thought she would to walk to the room.

"I need to cover it." She says, looking at her wound, once she's sitting on the edge of the bed. Indeed, some blood leaked because of the movement.

"Okay, I'll get the med kit. Tell me how to do it."

And, looking weak and exhausted, she allows me to do it. First clean the area around with cotton balls and alcohol, then apply clean gauze on her skin, carefully fallowing her instructions.

Chapter Text

I'm pacing in the small living room, glancing at my phone every few seconds and trying to find something more I could do while waiting for Yelena wakes up.

I washed Fanny — was a bit of a gymnastic considering the size of the bathroom but we got through in the end — I cleaned the apartment, put Fanny cushion and Yelena's full of blood clothes in the washing machine, made some chicken broth, went to the pharmacy and bought gauze, iron supplements, both blood thinners and coagulants — I don't know which one Yelena will need but internet says those are the medication someone who’s lost blood may need — and pain killers — which I'm not sure she'll agree to use, but it’s definitely more healthy than vodka. I also considered cooking, went through her fridge and cupboards, but settled instead on frozen pizza because I didn't want to burn anything. The pizza did manage to burn — it's entirely the oven's fault, not mine. Plus, it was still eatable, and the smoke detector wasn't even triggered, so everything is fine. Lucky loved it half burned as well — I did look for kibble before feeding him pizza but somehow couldn't find where Yelena puts it.

I put Yelena's phone on the bed stand with a note asking to text me when she wakes up — at first a I wrote 'if you need me', but I though, if I do want her to text, 'when you wake up' is better. And now I'm waiting for her to do so.

I could go upstairs and check if she's fine for myself, but I don't want to wake her up if she's sleeping. I look at Lucky, who's sleeping the floor since we got back from the pharmacy. Fanny is upstairs with Yelena. She went with me to the other apartment at first occasion, and stayed there.

My mind spirals and I’ve been desperately trying to occupy it. But it goes back to Yelena every time. I helped her to bed and I know it's not right, especially because she doesn't feel the same way for me — she explicitly told me she wasn't interested — but helping her remove her clothes, and her countless jewelleries, and caress her skin with alcohol-soaked tissue to wash again the dried blood... It makes me want to do it again. Want to touch her again, to stroke her skin again — without any blood involved ideally — want to undress her again.

But I know it's not going to happen and I shouldn't be thinking of it, I shouldn't be desiring it, desiring her. It's only going to make things weird.

So instead of going upstairs to check on her, I pace in the apartment and wait for her to text me. Which is killing me — not really killing me, but figuratively speaking...

"Yes." I pick up the phone even before it rings, even before checking the name. "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" It's Max's voice.

"Oh. Max. Hi, how are you? Sorry, I thought... Anyways, nice hearing from you, you're doing great, with your brother-in-law's marriage and everything? How's Anna? Me? Oh, me, I'm fine, totally fine.”

Maxwell listens to my verbal flow without interrupting though I can hear noise around him. "You're in the subway?" I ask, deducing from the sounds.

"Getting out of it." He replies, his tone light as usual. "I'm having lunch with Anna."

"Great. Great."

"I got your texts." He says. "Sorry, I worked late yesterday and I went straight to bed when I got home."

"Oh, no it's okay." I wash his excuses, suddenly embarrassed that I texted him so late. I don't even remember what I wrote.

"So you're okay?" He asks cheerfully.

"Oh... Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I'm great!" I reply, looking around me.

Max chuckles. "Sounds like it's never boring, with that Yelena." He laughs.

I sit in the couch. "True, that's right." I admit.

"So, are you coming back to New York or are you staying there?"

I pause. Yesterday evening, I was ready to leave, but now... "I don't know... I guess I'll stay at least for the day. Plus, I'd need to get some train ticket. Might take a few days."

"Okay!" He replies cheerfully. "I see Anna at the corner of the street, I'll have to leave you, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." I reply right away. "Say hi to her for me." I add.

"Okay." He agrees. "I love you, Kate."

"I love you too Max."

"And I'll come get you in Ohio if that's what you need." He adds lightly. "Though I'm pretty sure the train will be faster."

I chuckle. "Probably yes." Just as me, Max is a son of the city and he doesn't have his driver's licence. Last time he came get me from anywhere, it was from a bar, I had lost my wallet, was very drunk — which is probably why I called him of all people — and he came on his bike. By the time I got home I had sobered up.

Max hangs up and I lean back in the couch, a smile still playing on me lips. Lucky glances at me, waves his tail and come lay his head on my knee.

"Good boy." I greet him, petting him cheerfully. 

Chapter Text

"Have someone ever told you you look a lot like a puppy?" Asks Yelena as I walk in the room. I got tired of waiting for her text and came to check on her. Apparently, she's fully awake.

"No, not that I recall of, no."

She hums thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well you do look a lot like a puppy."

I look at her a bit puzzled. "May I ask why?"

"Yes you may." She replies patiently.

There's silence and I sigh, getting a bit annoyed. "Why is it that I look like a puppy, then?"

She points at my face with a vague gesture. "Baby face, wide puppy eyes, always happy, very curious and continuously excited... Puppies also sleep a lot." She adds thoughtfully like she just saw this additional resemblance. I frown as her gaze gets lost towards the ceilings. "I love puppies." She adds emphatically.

I blink, staring at her, my mind blank for a moment. Am I so desperate for her to love me that I'd be happy with her loving me like a puppy? Yes? Maybe? No. Maybe yes but definitely no. "So you see me as a puppy that you have to care for and that follows you everywhere?" I retort, my tone maybe a bit sharper than I meant. Or less offended than it should be.

"It's true." She nods as in deep reflection. "Puppies do follow you everywhere." She pauses and turns to me. "Do you need someone to take care of you, Kate Bishop?"

Something in her exaggeratedly concentrated expression makes me suspicious. First, I thought she was playing me, then I notice how small her pupils are. Her voice is also less husky than usual and slightly pasty. And her talking is kind of slow — and kind of confused — which didn't bother me at first because I thought it was the fatigue from her injury and the blood loss, but now... "Did you take any drugs?" I ask bluntly.

She blinks a few times, looking at me like she genuinely has no idea what I'm talking about. Then realization washes her features. "Ah." She says, lifting a finger. "Morphine. I took morphine." She explains, pointing at the bedstand.

I glance down at the piece of furniture, frowning. Then I grab the drawer and pull it. Inside, I find several bottles of medical pills, many vials and even syringes. "Really!?" I exclaim.

"What?" She replies, unfazed. "Better be prepared and not need it than need it and not be prepared, my mom says." She explains calmly. "In this case, it was... needed it and was prepared. Was prepared and needed it." She continues thoughtfully, lost in her own thoughts — or let’s say in the drug’s thoughts.

I sigh, a bit taken aback to see her under influence like that; she's usually so very much in control. I can't help but also find it funny all together.

"So... Will you tell me what happened?" I ask, pointing her injured side.

She looks down at it and it takes a minute before she replies. "On my way from the grocery store, I was attacked. Five men jumped out of a van. I got cut in the middle of the fight."

I frown, figuring out the scene. The vehicle stopping right before her, armed men getting out...

"What did they want? Kill you? In the middle of the street?"

"Yes" She replies, her usual unbothered tone tinged with amusement — possibly an effect of the morphine. "Isn't it funny?" She adds.

"Yeah, well, not really. It could have been worse. And did you think of Fanny? It's a miracle she didn't get a scratch."

Her expression goes dark at the thought and she fidget with the covers.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." I softly say after a moment.

She looks at me and her expression is so sad it makes me want to hug her tight and reassure her everything is going to be fine — but she might as well kill me if I do something like that. Plus, her retracted pupils remind me the unusual sensitivity she is showing might only be an effect of the morphine — but if it is then maybe she would actually let me hug her, right?

"I was thinking of Natasha." Says Yelena, drawing me out of my thoughts. Her voice is soft and filled with mixed sadness and deep affection.

I swallow. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, the beginning of a smile tugging her lips. "How would you be?" She asks. "It was not your fault. It was not your fault for Natasha, and it was not your fault someone from my past life sent mercenaries at me and Fanny could have been injured."

My eyes go round at the words. "You know who it was?"

"I have an idea, yes."

"And you won't tell me about it?" I insist.

"No, because you may as well get in your little puppy head to get after them yourself. I haven't taken enough morphine to do something this stupid."

I blink, absorbing her words. She called me puppy again. She doesn't want me to chase her aggressors — she doesn't trust me? she wants to protect me? no, no no no that's stupid she doesn't care the slightest about my safety. And... it seems she's still pretty much in control of herself after all. "Them? So they are more than one?" I retort.

She sighs, seeming annoyed to have blurted the information. "Yes." She replies dryly. "They are more than one. Now will you restrain yourself from trying to find more at least until I'm back on my feet?"

My eyes go wide. "That means you'll let me in when you go after them?" I react, surprised and happy with the though.

She stares at me for an instant. "So much like a puppy." She mutters under her breath but still loud enough for me to hear. "Of course you can come." She adds on a normal tone. "I'm your coach, no? That'll be good learning occasion for you."

Chapter Text

Before night, Yelena goes back to her small apartment. I went out to walk Lucky and, when I came back, she wasn't in the bedroom anymore. So I went looking for her and found Fanny in her apartment — in itself a strong indication that she might be there as well. And I was greeted with a crystal clear "Leave me alone, I don’t need your help!" when I knocked at the door.

In the fallowing few days, she continues insisting on not being helped. She cooks her own food and rather leans on the walls and furniture than accepting my arm. She's so fricking stubborn.

Plus, she drinks vodka all the time — which I really don't think is a good idea on a medical point of view. And it makes her very difficult to talk with — even worse than usual.

The first day, I don't argue. I go walking with the dogs as she asks. Hours each, as she says. And when she shows me the food for the dogs, I understand why Lucky loves her so much: she gives them to eat raw meat, organs and meaty bones, all carefully proportioned. Even pizza and french fries can't beat that.

However, the second day, around supper time, I try talking her into letting me help. After all, she'll heal faster if she rests properly. But she refuses to even discuss about it. And she ends up drinking even more vodka. Whether she likes it or not, I have to do something. She’ll thank me later. I guess. So, that night, once she's asleep, I gather all the alcohol I find in both apartments. And I pour it all into the sink drain.

The next morning, I go walking with the dogs and after that, I settle on the couch, instead of insisting to help Yelena with her food. I text with friends who are at a LARPing event for the weekend and I find myself so absorbed in the conversation that I don't hear the blond do the dishes and go to her room. However, I hear perfectly when she goes out, rummages in the cupboards and yells "Kate, what did you do with the vodka?!"

Jumping, I clear my throat in an attempt to regaining composure and I turn to face her. "I… uh… I put them away. Actually, I, ahem... threw them away..." I explain, not holding my ground exactly as confidently as planned.

She stares at me from the kitchen, a hand on the countertop. For a moment it looks like she's leaning on it a lot. The Black Widow frowns.

"You threw away my vodka. All my vodka." She repeats, her tone steady and cold, and I completely forget about the countertop.

"Ahem. Yes." I reply, a bit uneasy.

"Then go to the convenient store and get some." She demands.

"No." The word goes out before I can think of it, and her expression instantly makes me regret it, but I don't take it back. I too, can be stubborn sometimes.

"Why?" She asks and the exasperation in her voice tells me how short of patience she is. Is she about to blow a fuse? Is it even possible? She always looks in such control of herself…

"Are you alcoholic?" I ask bluntly, not thinking of consequences, regretting it instantly but, surprisingly, she rolls her eyes and chuckles, seeming more amused than upset. I swallow.

"No." She says. "Only I can't sleep without vodka." She adds, dead serious.

"Ahem..." I clear my throat again, trying to find a delicate way to put it. "... You know... not being able to find sleep without drinking... is a symptom of alcoholism."

She stares at me like I'm the one who doesn't understand. "It's not about alcohol. It's just vodka. Like some people need their teddy bear or glass of milk and cookie."

"Wath is there about vodka except alcohol?" I retort. And where is she taking her examples from? Kid movies?

The next word that comes of her mouth is most definitely Russian and most definitely a curse word, though I don't understand a single syllable of it. "That's the second time you insult vodka in very few days, Kate Bishop. This won’t work."

I sigh. "Anyways, you did sleep the first day after your injury and you didn't have vodka."

She holds my gaze, unfazed. "That's because there was your scent on the blankets." Her tone is dry and cold, absolutely not matching her words, — whatever they're supposed to mean. Absolutely not matching my suddenly burning cheeks — whatever it's supposed to mean. "Natasha's used to do the same." She adds thoughtfully I swallow hard. Did she just compare me with her dead sister somehow?!

Speechless, I stare at her with a wide mouth for a moment until it becomes quite uncomfortable and my brain remembers to speak and I mumble something probably incoherent, very likely stupid, and hopefully not loud enough for the Russian to hear any of it. Then I go to the convenient store and buy vodka.