Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Yelena exhaled in pure disbelief beneath her sunglasses, her eyes rolling back so far it felt borderline dangerous for her optic nerves. She thought she had found the perfect hiding spot, but of course, Walker had found her anyway because suffering was apparently a constant.

Typical.

“He’s shopping,” she retorted and didn’t bother correcting him when he took a seat next to her.

For one, it’s pointless in getting anything through his thick, empty skull. Secondly, she was keeping tabs on how many times she could knock him flat on his back when he least expected it, as payback, after this was said and dealt with.

So far, they’re already on fifteen, and it’s only been a week.

“Shopping?” he echoed, throwing a sparkling water he had purchased her way. Then, he slid Yelena’s plate of lobster and trivet noodle—whatever the hell that was—towards himself and started eating. “Where?”

“Where else?” she snorted, jabbing her thumb into one of the many luxury stores across the street. Walker followed the direction of her thumb, squinting at the storefront like it personally offended him. “In there.”

“That place? Didn’t know they let civilians in there,” he asked between a mouthful of food, grabbing a loaf of bread and practically shoving it down his throat. “Holy shit, this is amazing, by the way.”

She also didn’t know Michelin-star restaurants let disgusting pigs come and sit next to her, but no one saw her questioning it. She took her red wine and slid it further away from Walker’s vicinity in case he went for that next.

If she wanted to behave herself, she needed alcohol.

“They don’t let civilians in,” Yelena shot back, reaching to pop the tab of the can of sparkling water open with a sharp crack. “In case you haven’t noticed, a prince doesn’t exactly count as a civilian. You should have seen the way they almost started drooling when he showed up at the door.”

However, she did find herself wondering: if she walked in there, would they allow it?

Everyone knew who the newest Avengers were—knew exactly how far they fell short of the originals—but that didn’t mean they were invisible. Recognition still followed them, warped and uneven as it was.

“Right. Him.” He dragged the word out, taking a long sip of his drink he had brought with him. Yelena didn’t miss the way his mouth curled, already smelling blood in the water. “Your very generous, definitely-not-boyfriend prince.”

“Are you going to bring that up every chance you get?”

“To see you pissed? Hell fucking yeah,” he smugly retorted.

“Even though you stole my lunch?”

“Which I know you don’t even enjoy,” he countered. “I’ve seen you picking at it for half an hour.”

“You’ve been watching me for that long? That’s so creepy,” she threw back.

“Please, get over yourself,” he snorted, woofing down another bite.

“Mm. Fuck you, dipshit.”

“Should someone who is the prince’s would-be wife be using such foul language?” he went on, looking far too pleased with himself. Yelena stared at him, completely blank for a beat. Then, she smiled, flashing all her teeth before taking her sparkling lime water and promptly spilling it all over one side of his leg.

The can followed a second later—light, but pointed—bouncing off his shoulder.

Walker sputtered, jerking back as citrus-scented water dripped down his boots.

“What the actual fucking shit is wrong with you?”

 Yelena burst out laughing as she doubled over slightly, one hand coming up to her stomach.

“Oh, that is good,” she managed between breaths, shaking her head as she looked at him. “You should see your face. It made not kicking your seat before very worth it. Mm, thank you, I needed that.”

Walker scowled at her, drenched in one leg and incredulous.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You kill me? Ha! Please, you couldn’t even do it in The Vault. You think you can do that now when I can read your moves better? And how would the prince think of that?” she mused, propping one elbow on the table and batting her eyes.

“Oh, now you’re bringing him into this?” he shot back, snatching the tissues in front of her. She doesn’t even know why he tries, but it wasn’t going to stop her. “What happened to ‘he’s not my boyfriend’?”

“He isn’t. However, I did not say he would not be offended on my behalf and do that.”

Walker paused mid-wipe, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I hate you.”

She winked at him, leaning back and lifting her glass of wine she had ordered.

“Don’t care. Why are you here?” she finally asked, arching a brow even though she had a hunch.

“Why does it look like I’m here?”

“Because Bucky doesn’t trust me,” she deadpanned, not even trying to beat around the bush. “Even though I did an amazing job saving the prince and playing bodyguard without causing a scene. Even though when Bastian came over this morning and decided that I needed to change my entire schedule to go shopping with him, I didn’t stab him.”

She shouldn’t be too surprised that Bucky would have sent someone after her. The man doesn’t even trust her to walk into a room without assuming she’ll come out of it with a body count. At this point, he might die from an early heart attack with how much he worries. 

“After this, I wouldn’t either that you wouldn’t do something impulsive,” he grumbled, dragging the tissue down his soaked pant leg. “You’re damn lucky I drove here, or else I’ll be billing you for the Uber ride back.”

“Oh my God, you’re still hung up about the pants?” she snickered.

“Yes?!”

“Just relax, okay? Bucky is too worried. I promise I’m not going to punch the Crown Prince of Ticust and cause a diplomatic incident that will spiral into a huge international mess. Blah, blah, blah,” she said, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her wine.

No matter how much she sometimes wanted to punch the prince, given how persistent he was.

He probably never heard the word “no” in his entire life.

Spoiled little brat.

Walker glanced at her over the rim of his cup, unimpressed. “That’s a very specific promise.”

“What can I say? I’m thoughtful like that,” Yelena replied with a light shrug.

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

“Same thing,” she remarked, setting her glass down with a rather loud clink. “But he needs to hurry the hell up and leave this country already. I don’t think I have it in me any longer to keep tolerating this situation.”

As a matter of fact, just the thought was enough to almost ruffle her hair madly and bang her head down on the table in front of her in pure frustration. Perhaps this would be what was needed to get out of this nightmare.

“This situation? Of what? Enjoying fancy ass meals on his money and keeping him company?”

“Yes. I’d rather be knee-deep in an actual fight, breaking bones, saving civilians, doing anything else than entertaining this,” she snapped. “This is small, meager baby potato stuff! Not big potato Avenger thing! Hell, I would’ve been fine with filing paperwork or being on comms with Bob.”

“Oh yeah, I bet you’d love that.”

Yelena’s head snapped up so fast her hair almost whipped her in the face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Walker didn’t bother hiding his smirk, which only annoyed her further. He leaned back in his chair comfortably, folding his arms like he’d been waiting all morning for this. “What do you think it means?”

She blinked, thrown for half a second, then scowled.

“It means you’re being a little shit.”

“It means,” Walker said, drawing the words out, “you enjoy being on comms with Bob.”

Yelena scoffed immediately, hoping that it didn’t come off a tad too defensive. “What? Am I supposed to apologize that you don’t have the patience or the neurons for that kind of work, unlike someone across from me?”

“Uh-huh. Keep deflecting.”

“I’m not. You’re deflecting!”

 He tipped his chin toward her, unimpressed. “Yelena, you just listed “filing paperwork” and “being on comms with Bob” in the same breath like they’re equally tolerable. However, we both know that every time you’re both assigned together, you literally light up. Argh, I get goosebumps thinking about it.”

“Nothing is going on between us,” she snapped.

“Aha! I didn’t say there was,” Walker replied, slapping his hands together like he just won the entire argument. “All I’m saying is that you’re really taking the whole ‘we stick together from now on’ very seriously.”

Yelena opened her mouth, closed it, then glared harder.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

But the problem was: he did. Walker had been watching all of them long enough to see the patterns: who Yelena threatened for fun, who she tolerated, who she unconsciously drifted towards out of everyone else in the room.

Bob was firmly in that last category, whether she’d admitted it to herself yet or not.

Yeah, when she said “we stick together from now on,” she hadn’t exactly meant it the way Walker was implying. At the time, it was her way of claiming him as part of a real, chosen family, rather than letting him be treated like a weapon Valentina used and then discarded.

Though Walker sometimes wondered if Yelena was going to bring Bob to live with her somewhere in Manhattan, since this had been before the stunt Valentina had pulled by announcing they were the newest Avengers.

Still, Walker wasn’t fooled by how close they had grown the last few months.

So he shrugged.

“Look, if you want to play stupid about it, that’s your business. Just know that I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching and the other way around,” he affirmed.

“I’m not playing stupid,” she protested, and she hated how defensive she was getting now. Not to mention how quickly her heart was pounding, and how she wanted to ask what Walker had meant by that. “Your—”

“Yelena!”

She tried not to groan, turning her attention back and pushing her sunglasses up in time to see Bastien—he insisted on being called his first name—waving at her. Two bodyguards followed right behind him, all big and colossal while carrying five large orange bags.

Of course he went shopping for more stuff.

Great.

She straightened a little, smoothing her expression into something far more neutral than she felt. Bastien was already making his way toward her with that easy, irritating confidence of his, the kind that suggested he had never once in his life been told “no” and had no intention of starting now.

Walker, who had clearly noticed the same thing, leaned slightly toward her with the kind of expression that said he was absolutely going to be insufferable about this later. “Aw, you were saved by the prince. How cute.”

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath.

Bastien reached them a second later, smiling like he belonged there.

“Oh. Mr. Walker, you’re here too. Did you need Yelena for something Avenger-related?”

“Nah, just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hey,” he said and gestured to the plate of food he had stolen from her. “Restaurant’s got like great food, by the way. You mind if I ordered one to go on you?”

“Walker,” Yelena hissed.

“What? He’s loaded anyway.”

Seriously, how was this man the previous Captain America?

“Not at all. A friend of Yelena is a friend of mine. Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I picked out a few things for you,” Bastien remarked, far too pleased with himself. She stared at him, then at the two bodyguards behind him, then at the five orange designer bags.

“What?” she said at last, genuinely thrown. “Me? Why?”

Bastien’s smile softened in a way that was almost annoyingly sincere.

“Because,” he said, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, “I thought you might like them.”

Yelena frowned, looking from him to the orange bags and back again.

“You went shopping at an expensive designer store for me.”

He nodded once, entirely unashamed. “Yes, among other things.”

That made her pause.

Of all the places he could have gone, he’d picked the one that practically radiated expensive taste and impossible confidence. She stared at the bags again, now with a completely different kind of disbelief.

“Why?”

Bastien’s expression turned almost shy for a moment, which somehow made the whole thing worse. “Well…I remembered you mentioning you didn’t always have the time to shop for yourself a few days ago. And anything you do wear is often military practical clothing that the US government approves.”

Yelena’s mouth opened, then closed.

Because she had said that. Offhandedly.

Fuck.

Walker, standing beside her with his stolen food and deeply irritating grin, looked from the bags to Yelena’s stumped face, clearly catching the exact moment she had run out of words to even argue with him.

“Oh,” Walker chuckled, delighted. “He really likes you.”

Yelena shot him a look while the prince laughed.

“Of course! I am pursuing her after all,” he grinned.  

Yelena folded her arms.  “You know I could’ve bought my own.”

“I know,” Bastien said, huffing out his chest proudly, which kind of reminded Yelena of a peacock. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to surprise you. I tried to pick something practical that would also complement you well. Shall I send it back to the Watchtower then?”

As he took a bag and handed it to her, a flash caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

Yelena’s jaw tightened at that. Of course he would say it like that, with that easy confidence and those bright eyes, as if she were the kind of person who could shrug off a gift that expensive when there were paparazzi watching.

And there, just behind the irritation, was another problem:

She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Not because she liked him that way—she very much didn’t, no matter how determined he seemed to be about the whole pursuing-her thing—but because she knew everyone’s going to give her shit for it.

Worse, she knew there were probably cameras around.

People always loved a good photo of the prince looking charming and her looking difficult.

The New Avengers didn’t need more slandering.

She glanced past him, just enough to catch a few phones held up at awkward angles near the edge of the street. She rolled her tongue at the inside of her mouth before she forced herself to breathe evenly.

Then, she schooled her face into something polite, something easy, something that would read well. Then she lifted one corner of her mouth into a smile that felt fake enough to make her teeth ache.

“Thank you, that’s very…sweet of you,” she said, taking one bag.

Bastien’s expression brightened immediately, relief flashing across his face.

Walker, on the other hand, looked like he was seconds away from choking on his own laughter.

“Wow,” he said under his breath. “You said thank you like you were being held hostage.”

Yelena did not look at him.

If she did, she might actually stab him…or toss the glass of wine over his head.

Just six more days of this misery.

She could do it.

“Great,” Bastian beamed. “Then shall we head back to my car to drop them off first? Mr. Walker, please enjoy the rest of your meal. Anyway, Yelena, I’ve been thinking of visiting the Empire State Building. Have you ever been there before? I heard the view is spectacular on the top.”

“Mm, is that right?” she played along and fell into step beside him, one hand still curled around the edge of the bag as they started toward the curb. Yelena couldn’t help but notice that he looked absurdly pleased that she was cooperating.

He was still talking, something about the skyline and how he thought she would enjoy the city at night, but Yelena only half heard him. Her attention snagged on the crowd around them, on the passing cars, on the blur of faces and coats and moving shadows.

And then, at the edge of her vision—

A figure.

Broad shoulders with fluffy, dark hair and a posture that practically slumped into itself.

Bob?

Her breath caught so suddenly she nearly stopped walking.

She turned her head sharply, but just as quickly, the figure was gone. She frowned, her pulse thudding harder than it should have. She was about to blame Walker for even putting the idea in her head when Bastien’s voice cut back in, bright and oblivious.

“—and from the top, you can see all the way out past the river. I think you’d like it.”

She forced her gaze forward again, swallowing down the spike of adrenaline.

Stupid Walker.

Stupid Prince of Ticust.

Stupid, small baby-potato stuff they tasked her with.

“Mm,” she said, noncommittal.

Still, as she followed him toward the car, she couldn’t shake the strange, prickling feeling that someone was watching her. Yet rather than feeling cornered or suspicious, the sensation settled over her like muscle memory.

Weird.

Five more days.

Five more days before the Crowned Prince of Ticust leaves this country.

Bob could do that.

At least that’s what he told himself, but even then, he found himself pacing in front of the window that looked out over Central Park so much that it felt like it was only a matter of time before a groove was worn into the floor.

“She’s fine. She’s probably already thinking of the week ending,” he murmured to himself even though it wasn’t exactly helping his wandering mind. It was easier to picture her annoyed than anything else—Yelena rolling her eyes and looking bored out of her mind. Easier to believe she was counting down the days until she could finally complain loudly about every second of it.

But the thought didn’t stick.

Because right behind it came the one he didn’t want to look at too closely.

What if she didn’t hate it?

She did come home yesterday, carrying five bags of designer bags and clothing.

Sure, she ended up giving them all to Ava, who actually looked like she wanted all the cashmere sweaters without a second thought—as if they were from the thrift store—but what if it’s because she already made up her mind to marry him and there’d be more where that came from?

Bob’s pacing slowed, then picked up again, like his body couldn’t decide what to do with itself. He dragged a hand over his face, staring out at the park as if the trees could offer him some answer.

The prince was…well.

A prince.

Rich. Charming. The kind of guy who could walk into any store of his choosing and buy half the store for her without blinking. The kind of guy who could offer her a whole different life just because he felt like it.

And Yelena deserved nice things. He knew that. He’d thought it a hundred times over. She deserved more than lift-threatening missions, injuries, and whatever scraps of normalcy they managed to steal between jobs.

So why did the idea of her taking that offer make his chest hurt?

Why did it feel like it was the end of the world?

He swallowed, jaw clenching.

He could see it too clearly: Bastien extending a hand, a castle somewhere that wasn’t this, a future where she didn’t have to fight for every step. Where she wasn’t just an asset, a weapon, or the woman everyone underestimated until it was too late.

A future where he wasn’t in the picture.

Bob’s fingers curled at his sides at that.

She wouldn’t, he told himself. Yelena Belova didn’t belong in silk and tiaras and diplomatic dinners. She belonged in combat boots, messy ponytails, and laughing in his ear over comms. She had promised they would stick together from now on.

But what happens if “from now on” had an expiration date?

Promises made in adrenaline and shared danger didn’t always survive the sunlight of normal life—or whatever passed for normal around here. He hated that he even knew that, hated that the experience was the one whispering that, at the end of the day, people leave.

That was the part that scared him.

Was there a way to ensure Yelena wouldn’t be tempted to leave?

He pressed his lips tightly together, drawing his intertwined hands up to his mouth.

What if…

What if he scared him off?

It shouldn’t be hard, given his powers.

He could just give him a small fright with his powers and—

“Bob?”

He flinched, hands dropping from his mouth as he turned.

Ava was standing in the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the frame, arms loosely crossed like she’d been there longer than he realized. The overhead light caught the edge of her hair, making it glow faintly, like she was halfway phasing without thinking about it before she saw him.

“Uh… h-hey, Ava,” he managed, voice coming out more uneven than he liked as he gave a little wave. She studied him for a beat, eyes flicking from his face to the window behind him and back again.

“You alright over there?”

Bob forced a quick nod. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ava’s brows lifted just a little, unconvinced.

“Mm,” she hummed under her breath, almost to herself. “Don’t know if I can do this right, but first for everything, I suppose,” she whispered, so soft he almost missed it. Then, louder: “Do you… want to talk?”

He blinked. “Talk?”

“Yeah. Talk.” She pushed off the doorframe and took a few slow steps into the room, keeping her distance but not bolting like he half expected. “You look like you have a lot on your mind. I might not be Yelena, but, you know—I can lend you my ears.”

He almost folded in on himself as he meekly asked, “Was it…that obvious?”

“Kinda,” she shrugged. “And I presume this is about…Yelena?”

Well, no point in hiding it now?

Bob’s throat worked. “I mean…are… are you not scared?”

Ava tilted her head. “Scared? Of what?”

He swallowed, the words sticking for a second before he forced them out.

“Of… the prince’s proposition to her?”

Her expression did something complicated—half eye-roll, half fond exasperation.

“What, of her falling in love with him and going back to his country?” She shrugged. “Yeah, no. Not at all.”

Bob frowned, thrown. “You’re… not?”

“Bob, let me tell you something. That woman? Truthfully, I didn’t think it was possible for her to fall in love,” she stated plainly. She then moved to stand beside him, close enough to share the view of Central Park but not so close that it felt crowded. “Especially not after what she endured in the Red Room. Her missions.”

Bob’s jaw tightened.

“I know,” he said quietly.

She had told him.

One night when they both found themselves unable to sleep and wandering around the common rooms. And before either of them had known, it became something they did whenever the other couldn’t sleep.

Show up in the other person’s room and talk.

Sometimes they’d watch a movie.

Other times, they'd read a book or talk about whatever came to mind while they were lying next to each other on the bed. Bob didn’t have a clue if the others knew, but they had never mentioned it.

“Yeah, you do.” Ava glanced at him. “So you also know that this woman doesn’t hand out feelings like party favors. If she ever falls in love, it’s because someone fought through a minefield to get there.”

He swallowed. “And you don’t think that someone is him.”

Ava huffed out a short laugh. “Bob, the prince bought clothes worth thousands a piece, and she handed it to me like it was a grocery bag. She didn’t even flinch.” She shook her head. “You think that’s a woman halfway to running off to a castle? She’ll be bored. Did she look bored when you saw her yesterday with Walker?”

Right.

When Bucky had grunted something about “maybe someone could check on Yelena, just to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid” yesterday, Walker was volunteered against his will before Bob also decided to tag along.

You know, for “fresh air.”

However, the second he saw Yelena sitting at the outdoor area of a fancy restaurant, his nerve evaporated. The sight punched the air out of him in a way he wasn’t ready for. So instead of walking over, he’d tugged on Walker’s sleeve and muttered, “Uh, hey, I… think I ate something bad. My stomach’s kind of killing me. I’m just gonna, uh… hang back.”

Walker had squinted at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Bob had insisted, hand pressed lightly to his abdomen like his body would back up the lie if he sold it hard enough. “I’ll be fine. Just… go ahead.”

Walker had shrugged and left him there.

But see, Bob never went back to the Watchtower.

He’d crossed the street instead and found a spot half-hidden between a lamppost and a storefront, hovering just far enough away that none of them would clock him unless they were really looking.

From there, he watched everything.

Watched Bastien talk as if the city were his personal backdrop. Watched Yelena’s expression hover somewhere between amused and deeply done with all of it. Watched her shoulders tense when the cameras flashed. Watched Walker steal her food and then snicker at her fake smile.

It was pathetic; he knew that. Yet it was the only way he knew how to appease the gnawing thing in his chest, that anxious need to check she was okay without actually inserting himself into the scene she clearly hadn’t invited him to.

He had almost been caught too.

And after she left with the prince, he didn’t go back just yet.

He wandered.

Down the block, past three storefronts and a crowd of tourists, until he found himself inside a cheap souvenir shop with flickering fluorescent lights and a rack of graphic tees that all looked like they were trying too hard.

He told himself he’d ducked in to kill time. To get his mind off things. To buy something for himself because that’s what normal people did when they were out in the city and not feeling like their entire reality was about to shift.

And then, a shirt was in the five-dollar bin near the back caught his attention.

A cartoon macaroni and a cartoon cheese, holding hands, both smiling with the caption:

We go together!

It was rather corny, and for some reason, it made him think of Yelena. In the way she’d snorted at dumb puns and groaned about “American humor” while secretly keeping the jokes that made her laugh. Of the nights on the couch where she’d paused a movie just to send him a picture of some ridiculous “meme” that had caught her eye.

So he bought it.

Paid in cash and didn’t have the courage to give it to her because it wasn’t worthy.

Not when it’s compared to what Bastien had gifted her.

Which was why it was currently sitting on the chair in his room.

When Bob finally realized he never answered Ava, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“She…kind of did,” he replied.

“Exactly. Plus, the only time I’ve ever seen her interested in another person? It’s you, Bob.”

“M-me?”

“Yeah. She’s always defending you. Hell, the only time I’ve seen her look genuinely rattled is when something happens to you. Or when you’re too quiet. Or when she thinks you’re blaming yourself for things you couldn’t control.”

Bob’s fingers curled loosely. “She… doesn’t say that.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Ava replied, glancing up at him. “She’s not great with the whole verbal-emotion thing. But you’re the one she circles back to. Every time. It’s kind of disgustingly cute. But don’t tell her I said that.”

He let out a slow breath, some of the sharp panic ebbing, even if the worry stayed.

“I…I won’t.”

“Well, you can, but I’ll just deny it,” she said, laughing. “I’m not scared of some prince’s proposition, and you shouldn’t either. If Yelena ever chooses to leave, it won’t be because of him. And if she ever falls in love…” She shrugged. “My money’s not on the guy with the crown.”

It was then that he turned, ready to ask who she did have her money on.

Yet before he could even get the word out, she phased out of the room.

Typical.

How did her sister do it?

Yelena had no clue how Natasha had ever managed to charm men, talk circles around world leaders, and make half a room lean in just by smiling at the right moment. It never came naturally to her the way it seemed to for Natasha.

Even though the Red Room had trained her for that—built that skill into her bones and brain, sharpened it into a weapon—every tilt of her head, every soft laugh, every calculated glance had once been backed by conditioning and mind control, designed to make her into whatever they needed her to be.

And maybe that was why standing here and pretending to be diplomatic and pleasant of her own free will made her skin itch.

The dress didn’t help.

It was one of Bastien’s—of course it was.

He’d shown up at the Watchtower this morning with a garment bag over his arm and that same bright, earnest smile, insisting it was “more appropriate” for the auction event than her usual tactical gear even though she was employed to be his bodyguard. 

Yelena had opened it in her room to change into before leaving with him, and her eyes practically twitched when she saw it. It was expensive, for one. Heavy in the way only well-made fabric could be, the kind of deep jewel tone that made her eyes stand out and skimmed over her frame like the designers had tailored it to her specifically. The neckline was clean, the lines sharp, the back just daring enough that she’d almost called it quits.

Almost.

Because she hated it.

Hated how now, under the soft golden lights of the auction hall, the dress fit her as if it belonged here. Like she belonged here and that was the problem. Every time someone’s gaze slid over her—lingering a fraction too long on the cut of the fabric, the bare skin at her shoulders, the way she’d reluctantly let someone pin her hair back so it wouldn’t get in the way—she felt that old, unwelcome echo tug at the edges of her mind.

The memory of being dressed up because someone else decided it suited the mission.

Because someone else needed her to play a part.

This time, she’d said yes herself.

That didn’t make it feel any better about the situation.

“Is it too much?” Bastien had asked earlier, hovering in the foyer while she’d stepped out of the dressing room, his expression all hopeful anticipation.

Yelena had rolled her eyes, tugged at the hem, and muttered, “It’s fine.”

Perhaps if she said it enough times, she might believe it.

Now, hours later, she stood near the edge of the bidding floor, champagne she wasn’t drinking in one hand, fingers of the other curled loosely around the sleek clutch Bastien’s people had pressed on her “to match.”

Which was now holding her gun.

The room was all polished glass, sharp suits, glittering jewelry. Auction paddles. Soft laughter. The occasional murmur of numbers that meant more money than she’d ever see at once without a bank vault involved.

And there she was, an assassin dressed like a princess, pretending the heels didn’t make her want to kick something.

“Yelena?” Bastien’s voice reached her from just behind. “How are you finding it so far?”

She turned slightly, catching his reflection in the nearby display case before she met his eyes.

“Lots of rich people,” she said dryly. “Lots of things they don’t need.”

His mouth tugged into a crooked smile. “That’s…accurate, yes.”

He looked pleased, though—pleased that she was here, that she’d worn the dress that matched his black tie. He didn’t see the way her shoulders tensed every time someone mistook her for an honored guest instead of security, or the way her fingers flexed when a stranger’s gaze got too curious.

Natasha would have glided through this room like it was home.

Yelena stood in it as if she were ready to burn it down if necessary.

Four more days, she reminded herself, smoothing her expression back into neutrality as Bastien drifted off to greet another cluster of donors as she kept a close eye. And then back to her life as a New Avenger, equipped with her combat boots and batons at her back.

Yelena waited until Bastien was fully absorbed in conversation again—hands moving, donors nodding, the usual dance—before she edged away from the main cluster and made a quiet line for one of the side bars.

If she was going to survive four more days of this circus without punching anyone in a very public, very diplomatic setting, she was going to need more alcohol. The bartender caught her eye as she approached.

“Another glass, miss?”

“Make it stronger,” she replied, setting the untouched champagne flute down and sliding it aside. “Red. Whatever you have that doesn’t taste like juice.”

He nodded and turned to the shelves.

Yelena exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she let herself tune out the murmur of bids and polite laughter behind her. Just a few minutes. A drink, a reset, then back to work. She reached for the fresh glass the moment it was set down—

“Should you be having more?”

The voice at her shoulder nearly stopped her heart.

Every instinct surged to the surface at once. Her spine snapped straight, fingers tightening around the glass, one hand already shifting minutely like she was about to go for the knife she wasn’t allowed to bring.

Then she recognized the tone.

Yelena turned so fast her earrings brushed her neck.

Ava stood beside her in a sleek black dress that blended with the shadows off to the side.

“Jesus,” Yelena hissed under her breath, pressing a hand briefly to her chest. “Do you mind not sneaking up on me? It’s funny when you do it to Walker but not me. I almost stabbed you in the face.”

Ava’s mouth curved, amused. “You don’t have any knives on you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Ava said, glancing down pointedly at the smooth lines of Yelena’s dress. “You complained for ten minutes this afternoon about how the tailoring doesn’t allow for proper weapon concealment before leaving.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “You take too many notes.”

“And you drink too much when you’re annoyed,” Ava countered calmly, nodding toward the glass in Yelena’s hand. “Hence the question.”

Yelena snorted, lifting the wine and taking a deliberate sip anyway.

“Trust me, this is the only thing keeping me from strangling someone in a tux.”

“Is that on the mission parameters tonight?” Ava asked. “Strangling dignitaries?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Yelena let the glass hang loosely from her fingers, gaze flicking back to where Bastien was laughing with an older man in a white dinner jacket. “Babysit the prince, look pretty, don’t cause an incident. Very boring. Why are you here?”

“I can’t come and look at what rich people are throwing their money on?”

“Did Bucky send you?” she deadpanned.

“No. Valentina, actually,” she replied.

“Really?”

“Well, she said she wanted something at the Watchtower’s lobby, but I think there was another motive,” she admitted and then studied her profile for a second. “Anyway, so here I am. How are you holding up? You look…tense.”

“I’m wearing a dress I didn’t pick and heels that could double as torture devices,” Yelena said. “Of course I’m tense.”

“That’s not all of it.”

Yelena rolled the stem between her fingers. “I don’t like people looking at me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m…part of the decoration,” she muttered, twirling her glass around. “Like I’m supposed to smile and nod and make everyone feel comfortable when the only reason I’m here is in case someone tries to kill him.”

Ava was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“You know you’re allowed to be uncomfortable, right?”

“No shit, but the cameras don’t care if I’m uncomfortable,” Yelena said. “They just care if I look like a problem and the next thing I know, I wake up with more nasty comments on us. Argh, I feel like Walker.”

“From what I saw,” Ava replied, a hint of dry humor slipping in, “you look like you could kill half the room and then politely apologize for the mess. If you’d like, I can lend you a hand on the matter.”

Yelena huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “That’s not comforting.”

“Not trying to be.” Ava shifted her weight, then added, more softly, “Just…don’t drink yourself numb because you hate being here. You can hate it and still stay sharp.”

Yelena glanced sideways at her. “You sound like Bucky.”

“God forbid,” Ava said immediately. “I’m just saying: you’re good at walking into rooms you don’t belong in and making them yours. You don’t have to like the dress for that to be true, you know.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbled, letting her gaze drift back to Bastien

“So…have you been swooned yet?”

She snorted loudly. “Are you kidding me? This is no different than babysitting a child.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. A child with too much money and thinks the only way into a woman’s heart is through it.”

 “You’re sure there isn’t even a little part of you that enjoys being chased around by royalty?”

Yelena turned to give her a flat look. “Do you enjoy being wrong?”

“Sometimes,” Ava said. “It’s entertaining.”

“Well, you are wrong,” Yelena growled. “He keeps buying things I don’t want and inviting me to events I don’t care about. That’s not swooning. That’s…annoying. I’m this close—this close—to threatening him and calling the entire thing off.”

“You have to admit he has good taste,” Ava murmured.

Yelena gestured vaguely at her dress. “Yes, fine, he has taste. So? That doesn’t mean I’m going to faint into his arms and say yes to some fairy-tale proposal. I have no idea how he thinks this would be the way to my heart. Can you believe it?”

“Didn’t say you would fall for him,” Ava replied evenly, taking a glass of champagne someone had been talking around with on a tray. “Just checking you haven’t secretly developed a crush while everyone’s been busy panicking.”

Yelena barked a laugh. “On him? Please. You’d sooner see me marry Walker.”

Ava made a face. “Okay, now you’re just saying cursed things out of spite.”

“Good,” Yelena said. “Let the thought haunt you.”

“Touché.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching Bastien shake hands with someone who looked like they owned ten skyscrapers. Yelena rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, the wine dark and restless.

“How’s Bob?” she asked, too casually.

Ava glanced at her, trying and failing to hide the tiny spark of amusement in her eyes. “Bob?”

“Yes, Bob,” Yelena replied, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the crowd. “He’s…okay?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I am stuck here in high heels listening to rich people talk about how ‘fascinating’ it is to see an Avenger up close,” Yelena grumbled. “Someone should be making sure he’s not spiraling into a million anxiety loops without supervision.”

Ava pressed her lips together, as if physically holding back a grin. “He’s…fine.”

“Fine how?” Yelena asked sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Fine can mean a million things with him. Fine like ‘sleeping and eating properly,’ or fine like ‘pacing in front of the window and worrying himself into a migraine’?”

“God, you’re hard to please,” Ava retorted. “He’s okay. I talked to him earlier.”

Yelena’s eyes flicked to her. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“How was he?”

It came out quicker than she meant it to, but ever since she’s been assigned to “humor” the prince, it felt like they barely got to talk. Whenever she was home, she was either exhausted or needing to update Bucky on the day's affairs.

Argh.

Ava pretended to study the wine list posted near the bar. “You know. Bob.”

“Ava.”

She sighed. “He was worried about you, happy?”

“Me? What? Why? I can take care of myself.”

“We all know that, but it doesn’t mean he still can’t help but worry about you, like all of us,” she quipped. Ava watched her for a beat, then added, “He asked if I was scared just yesterday, actually.”

“Scared of what?”

“The prince asking you to fall in love with him and run away to his country.”

Yelena scoffed so hard she almost spilled her drink.

“What? That’s—no. Absolutely not. Why would he even—”

“Because he cares the most about you,” Ava cut in gently. Yelena went quiet, jaw working. Thankfully, Ava decided to be kind and not twist the knife. “Look, Bob’s okay. He’s overthinking as usual, but he’s holding on okay.”

Yelena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Good.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the way the word came out warmer than Yelena likely intended.

“You miss him that much, huh?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yelena said immediately. “I’m just…used to him being around.”

“That’s one way to phrase it,” Ava murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Ava lied smoothly. “Just—focus on not murdering anyone here, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t explode from nerves back at the Watchtower. In four more days, we can laugh about this in a couple of years' time.”

Yelena smirked faintly.

“Deal.”

“Great. Now if you need me, I’ll be in room number three, bidding for the ugliest and gaudiest vase I’ve ever laid my eyes on just to piss off Val. You’re more than free to drag the prince and have him contest in a bidding war with Val’s card.”

Yelena blinked, then laughed under her breath. “Now that’s tempting.”

“I know,” Ava said, clearly pleased with herself. “Just imagine the headline: Crowned Prince of Ticust engages in petty bidding war over nightmare pottery with the New Avengers. God, Val would combust.”

Yelena tilted her head, considering it far more seriously than she probably should have.

“If I bring him in there, he’ll definitely try to win. You know that, right?”

“I’m counting on it,” she laughed. “You get entertainment, he gets to feel gallant, Val gets an aneurysm when I go and bid on something equally ugly that she’d have to look at every time she comes to see us. Everybody wins.”

“Except whoever ends up having to dust that thing,” Yelena said. “I’m not doing it.”

“Oh, I already have a way to pin that duty on Walker.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re evil.”

“Thank you.” Ava stepped back, already half turned toward the adjoining room. “Go guard your prince. I’ll go emotionally devastate a room full of art collectors. Make sure you stay on your best behavior.”

“I know.”

Yelena watched her slip away into the crowd, the corner of her mouth still tugged up.

Then she straightened, adjusted the strap of her dress, and headed back toward Bastien while secretly counting down the days until she could trade auction paddles and cameras for Bob’s voice in her ear and something that actually felt like her life.

Four more days.

She’s dealt with worse.

Bob should have known the peace wouldn’t last.

He had made it exactly fifteen seconds into the common room with a mug of tea in hand, the book he had picked out from the bookstore a few days ago before Yelena’s voice sliced through the air like a thrown knife.

“Ew, Walker, I told you to keep your disgusting socks off my side of the couch!”

“Since when did we have assigned seats?” Walker fired back, equally loud.

Bob stopped just inside the doorway, shoulders tensing, eyes flicking automatically to the usual disaster zone that was the New Avengers shared space. Yelena stood at one end of the couch, arms crossed, a pair of gray socks dangling from two fingers like she was holding a biohazard sample. Walker sprawled at the other end; boots kicked high up on the coffee table. 

“Since you spilled your protein power drink on your side and refused to clean it,” Ava chimed in.

“Ha! See?” Yelena said with a huge grin.

“I fuckin’ told you it wasn’t me! I bet you that it’s Alexei!”

“No, I don’t drink that American powder! I eat food like a real man,” he thundered.

“Are you going to say this isn’t your sock next?” Yelena countered, waving his socks.

 “They’re not that bad,” Walker argued. “They’re just…well-worn.”

“They’re sentient,” Ava said, sipping her cup of morning tea. “I saw one move.”

“You did not!”

Bob took that as his cue to quietly slip along the wall, skirting the edge of the chaos. He kept his head down, mug of tea tucked close, navigating around an abandoned duffel bag and what looked suspiciously like one of Ava’s knives left on the console.

The argument rolled on behind him as Bucky gave Bob a small nod in acknowledgment.

He gave a small smile in return, reaching for the box of cereal and his bowl.

“If you put these things on my side of the couch one more time,” Yelena threatened, “I’m going to march into your room and set your entire sock and all your clothes on fire! Including your stupid beret.”

“The beret is fucking classic! And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a national hero,” he went on. “Unlike you, I served this country and—”

“Argh, again with this story?” Ava interjected, tilting her head. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“It’s a good story,” Walker defended.

“I agree,” Alexe interjected, but it went unheard.

“I say we just gut him and be done with him,” Yelena snickered.

“Oh, you’re real brave now, huh?” Walker countered. “What’s the prince going to say when he hears his would-be queen is out here threatening to kill another person over something as simple as laundry?”

Bob froze just as he was about to pour the milk.

There was a beat of silence, then Yelena’s incredulous scoff. “He is not my prince.”

“Uh-huh.” Walker sounded entirely too pleased. “Sure. Totally. Guy buys you half of Fifth Avenue, invites you to all these fancy ass events, and you’re telling me he’s not drawing up wedding invitations in his royal notebook right now?”

“Walker,” Ava warned. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he barreled on. “What are you going to do about it? Run to the prince and tattle on me?”

“You’re right. Maybe I should marry the prince!”

“What? Lena, you don’t mean that,” Alexei choked out. c

All the while, Bob’s heart practically dropped to the bottom of his stomach.

“What?” he whispered, but his voice was drowned out by the noise in the room, so no one heard him. At least, that’s what he thought until he caught the briefest flick of movement from the corner of his eye.

Bucky, who’d been leaning in the kitchen doorway nursing a cup of coffee and pretending not to supervise, glanced sideways at him just once, but it was more than enough. He ducked his head, trying and failing to seem normal despite the storm raging inside of him.

Out in the common room, Walker was still talking.

“Oh? So when’s the wedding? You gonna invite me? I clean up great in a suit, by the way.”

Yelena snorted. “Soon, and then I’ll invite you to execute you since I’m the queen!”

Ava groaned. “Please don’t say this in public.”

“Is that right?” Walker egged on.

“Yeah. But before I execute you, I’ll make sure to parade you around and let people throw shit at you,” Yelena fired back without missing a beat, but Bob barely registered the way Ava was laughing.

His fingers had gone numb around the carton of milk, heartbeat a heavy, unsteady thud in his ears. The words ‘I should marry the prince’ clung to him like smoke, all context and sarcasm stripped away by the way his brain caught them.

He swallowed, staring down at his very sad-looking cereal.

Perhaps Bucky decided to grant him mercy when he set down his coffee loudly.

“Okay, break it up,” Bucky’s voice cut through, flat and done.

The noise in the common room dipped a fraction.

Yelena glared at Bucky. “Walker started it.”

“I don’t care who started it,” Bucky firmly maintained. “I’m ending it. Walker, take your sock and stop leaving it everywhere. Yelena, behave and don’t do anything reckless. You have three more days, and then he’s leaving.”

“Me? Reckless? I’ve been nothing but nice to the prince,” Yelena grumbled.

Bucky ignored her as he walked out of the kitchen.

“Walker, grab your sock and let’s go spar since you have that much energy.”

He groaned, snatching the offending item from Yelena. “Buzzkill.”

Afterward, the volume in the common room was peaceful once more.  

In the kitchen, Bob didn’t move.

He stared down at his bowl, the spoon sitting heavy in his hand. The cereal—Wheaties, already soggy—floated in a shallow pool of milk that suddenly looked far too white, far too still. He tried to breathe around the tightness in his chest.

It was a joke, he told himself.

Just Yelena being dramatic. Just Walker being an idiot. Just noise.

She didn’t mean it. She didn’t—

The air around his fingers trembled, the edge of the carton in his grip warping almost imperceptibly.

Easy. In, out. Don’t—

A ripple shimmered across the surface of the milk.

Bob’s eyes widened.

Tiny bubbles began to form at the edges of the bowl, clinging to the sides, then rising toward the center. The milk shivered, then started to roll in on itself in a slow, unnatural simmer. The Wheaties, already half-mush, broke apart entirely, crumbling into a pulpy sludge under the heat that wasn’t coming from anywhere.

He tightened his jaw, knuckles blanching as he fought to pull back the emotions that were threatening to eat him alive, to shove the surge of power down where it belonged. Yet even then, the milk kept boiling right in front of him.

Just three more days.

Seventy-two hours.

He could do this.

Easy.

Yelena should have known that with her luck, everything would hit the fan with two days left.

 It started when Bastien decided, very cheerfully, that he wanted to spend “a proper day” at the Watchtower on his second-to-last day here. According to him, he had always been curious about where the Yelena worked.

He wanted to know what their headquarters looked like, how they trained, how they organized global defense. According to Valentina, it was “a priceless opportunity to strengthen diplomatic ties” and “project a cooperative image to the international community.”

According to Yelena, it was a terrible idea.

The Watchtower was layered security, classified tech, redacted files, and too many people with too many triggers. It was not a tourist attraction. It was definitely not a playground for a curious prince with a camera-ready smile and a tendency to wander.

And yet, there he was.

Walking through the main atrium beside her in a tailored suit, hands clasped behind his back like a kid on a school field trip, while Valentina’s authorization codes quietly made half the building’s restricted doors temporarily accessible to “approved royal guests.”

“Thank you for indulging me, Yelena,” Bastien said, his voice echoing slightly off the high ceilings. “I promise I’ll try not to touch anything I’m not supposed to and be on my best behavior as well.”

“You better not,” Yelena mumbled, eyes already scanning for potential problems. It didn’t help that the rest of her teammates were here as well, and God knows what could happen when a bunch of degenerate rejects are in the same space. “Some of this stuff will kill you.”

He laughed, delighted. “You always make it sound so dangerous.”

“It is. This isn’t a museum. Half the people in here have trauma, and the other half have weapons,” she deadpanned. And even though Bucky had made everyone promise to be on their best behavior, it was another thing if they would actually listen at the end.

“Do you count as both?” he asked lightly.

“Obviously,” she snorted.

He smiled at that, like he was storing it away.

“I truly appreciate you showing me this,” Bastien went on right next to her, grinning rather happily. “I know it’s…not…what’s the word? Standard procedure for showing outsiders any sort of tours.”

“Understatement,” Yelena muttered, thinking of the e-mail Bucky had opened, read, and then stared at for a full minute before saying that Valentina had officially lost her mind for doing something like this.

Bastien continued, undeterred. “I just wanted to understand your world better. The place that shaped you. The work you do.” He glanced sideways at her. “If I am going to keep insisting you visit Ticust one day, it feels only fair that I visit your ‘home first, no?”

“This is a barely functional workplace held together by duct tape and unresolved issues.”

He chuckled. “And yet, you chose it.”

“Mm.”

She didn’t answer that, and he took her silence as an invitation anyway.

“You know,” he said, tone softening as they stepped into a quieter corridor, “you would have a place in Ticust if you wanted it. Not just as…” He searched for the word. “Not just as a queen that sits around all day.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” he agreed, warming to the topic. “You could reform it—make it a true protective force, trained to your standards. You could lead them. Or train them. Or do both.” He smiled, earnest. “You’d be a nightmare for anyone who thought of touching that country.”

“Flattering,” she said. “I think.”

“And if you didn’t want that,” he added, like he’d rehearsed this part, “you wouldn’t have to. You could have…something quieter. A life that isn’t built on risking yourself every day. Space to breathe. To decide what you want without the world constantly in crisis.”

Her throat felt suddenly tight in a way she did not enjoy.

“Oh?” she said, forcing her tone into the same bored, faintly amused register she used when Walker said something stupid. “So many options to choose from. What am I going to do with myself?”

“I mean it.” Bastien’s gaze searched her face. “You could still fight, if that is what you enjoy. Or you could consult, advise, train. Or you could stop entirely, if you ever decided you deserved to rest.”

That last bit landed uncomfortably close.

Yelena shrugged, shifting her weight, eyes flicking to the security camera in the corner more to give herself something else to look at.

“Sounds very…nice,” she said. “Very fairy tale-like.”

However, it’s not what she would want, deep down.

Because it’s not her sister’s legacy she’s trying to uphold there.

It’s here.

“It doesn’t have to be a fairy tale,” he said, lowering his voice. “It could be real. I know you think I’m just a spoiled prince chasing a challenge, but I do see you, Yelena. I see how the world uses you. How it takes and takes. I would never ask you to come with me just to make you a symbol again.”

She forced a laugh.

“You’re doing a terrible job of not making this sound like a recruitment speech.”

“Is it working?” he asked, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“No, but points for persistence.”

He grinned, undeterred. “If you ever say yes, you can keep your knives.”

“Oh, can I?” she drawled. “How generous.”

“And you can still protect people,” he went on. “Just…from a place where the floor isn’t always about to drop out from under you. Where you are not constantly waiting for the next disaster to happen.”

“It’s our job to risk our lives and protect the planet,” she said. “You have a job too. Shaking hands and smiling for cameras.”

“And negotiating,” he added. His expression then turned serious as he stopped walking, taking her hands into his. “Let me be blunt, Yelena: if you wanted to, you could stand beside me and change things in ways a gun and baton never could.”

Don’t punch him.

Don’t punch him.

Don’t. Freaking. Punch. Him.

Yet deep down, she hated that there was a part of her—small, stubborn, traitorous—that recognized there was truth in that. Even though they owned Valentina, they still abided by the standards set by the US government.

Yet instead of thinking about it, she shoved it down and put on a smirk instead.

“And what would that make me?” she asked, tilting her head. “Your glorified bodyguard? Your imported attack dog? Your queen?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Whatever you chose to be.”

“Yeah?” she said, eyebrow arching, daring him to keep going.

Bastien’s fingers tightened, gathering both of her hands now and folding them gently together between his own. For once, the easy, playful grin dropped; in its place was an open, earnest, and far too intense grin for the middle of a hallway.

“Yelena,” he began, voice low. She knew without a doubt where this was going, but it was probably for the best to shut him down now once he was done with his proposal-thing. “I mean it when I say that I see you romantically. And I know a week isn’t enough, but perhaps—”

The floor suddenly shuddered.

It was subtle at first—a low rumble under her boots, like distant thunder caught in the bones of the building. The overhead lights flickered once. A metal sign down the corridor gave a soft, uneasy rattle.

Yelena’s instincts snapped to attention.

Her hands jerked out of Bastien’s grip as she shifted her weight, ready to plant her feet, to reach for a weapon she wasn’t technically carrying in front of a royal guest. The rumble deepened for half a second and then the world tilted.

Her stomach lurched as her feet left the ground.

One second, she was standing on polished Watchtower flooring to let him finish his terrible speech. The next, her body was lifted cleanly off her feet, the hallway blurring past in a rush of motion and adrenaline.

“What the—” she hissed, hand going automatically for a knife that wasn’t there—

“Easy,” a familiar voice said, breathless and too close to her ear. “Got you, Lena.”

Yelena’s eyes snapped open fully when she realized her body was pressed against a solid chest, one arm braced under her knees, the other firm around her shoulders. She twisted, shock punching through every other reaction.

“Bob?”

“H-hey,” he managed, eyes a little too wide, breathing a little too quick.

She blinked up at him, still half-cradled in his arms like some ridiculous princess carry. The hallway had stopped moving, but her brain hadn’t quite caught up, and by the time that it did, she realized she was now a few hundred feet away from where Bastian was standing.

Staring at both of them with wide eyes.

Какого хрена?

“What happened?” Yelena demanded. “Why did you carry me off? Are we under attack?”

“No, no, we’re…we’re not,” he said quickly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Then…why did you carry me off?”

Especially when she was about to finally turn the prince down and send him on his damn way?!

Color crept up the back of his neck, and Yelena stared as it traveled all the way up to his cheeks and then ears. For a second, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—the sky or even the bottom of the Hudson River—than standing here holding her.

Was something going on?

Now that Yelena thought about it…

Hasn’t he been avoiding her these last few days for whatever reason?

“I just, um…” He glanced over her shoulder, back down the hallway where Bastien stood frozen several yards away, staring at them with open, startled confusion. The prince took a tentative step forward, clearly about to call out.

Bob’s grip tightened, and without meaning to, the building started to rumble again.

So much so that not long after, the rest of the team had come out to stare at them.

“Bob?” Yelena asked. “What’s going on with you?”

“I saw the, uh…shaking,” he said, words tumbling over each other. All the while, the faint tremor in the walls eased as he forced a breath out, trying to shut down whatever had just rumbled through the building. “Thought it could be…something. So I moved you. Just in case.”

Yelena’s brows shot up. “The floor shook for, like, two seconds.”

“It could’ve been worse,” he blurted. “Structural instability. Or, uh…or a localized event. Or—”

“Bob.” Her tone cut through his babble, sharp but not unkind. “Put me down.”

He swallowed and very carefully set her back on her feet, hands hovering for a moment like he wasn’t sure he should let go. When he did, he took half a step back, shoulders tense, eyes flicking everywhere but her face.

At Bucky’s face.

At Walker’s concerned look.

At Alexei who looked ready to fight.

At Ava who looked like she was fighting back a smile for some reason.

When he finally looked back at Yelena, she seemed upset as she marched up to him and poked him in the chest, looking him dead in the eyes. “We’re not under attack. The building’s fine. So why did you really drag me away mid-conversation?”

His mouth opened, then closed.

Because he’d seen Bastien holding her hands. Because he’d heard enough of the prince’s tone to know exactly where that speech was headed. Because the idea of standing there and watching her face while Bastien asked her for “more” had made something dark and ugly surge up from the pit of his stomach and into the building itself.

“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze darting briefly toward Bastien again. “He…”

“He…” Yelena echoed, arching a brow.

“He…he was getting close. And the rumble, and—”

“You caused that, didn’t you?” she said quietly.

Bob flinched.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, words tripping over themselves. “It just—happened. And then he was—he was holding your hands and I thought—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing, eyes dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want to risk…anything going wrong. So I moved you.”

“Risk what?” she pressed.

He hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to retreat, to deflect, to make a joke.

To say security or structural damage or something along those lines.

Instead, what came out was softer, rawer, and far closer to the truth than he wanted.

“Risk seeing you say yes,” he whispered.

The words hung there between them, heavy in the humming quiet of the hallway.

For a second, Yelena forgot how to breathe.

“What?” she managed, voice coming out sharper than she intended. “Say yes to what?”

Bob swallowed, throat working. He forced himself to look at her.

“Say yes to him,” he said, each word dragging its feet out of his chest. “To his proposal. To…leaving.”

Her brows pulled together. “That’s—he wasn’t—”

“He was getting there,” Bob said quietly.

Yelena stared at him, thrown in a way missions and gunfire had never managed.

“And what, you thought if you just physically removed me, the conversation wouldn’t exist?”

“I thought if I didn’t have to see it, I could survive it,” he admitted, voice fraying at the edges. “That’s not…better. I know.”

Something in her chest twisted.

“Bob,” she started, but he shook his head, words spilling out now like a dam had cracked.

“I know I don’t have any right to be this—this jealous when we’re not…that,” he said, the word tasting bitter. “He’s a prince. He’s rich, he’s charming, he can give you…anything. Palaces. Guards. Safety. A whole country that actually wants you there.”

His fingers flexed uselessly at his sides.

The faint, invisible hum of something darker buzzed just under his skin.

“Bob—”

“I don’t have that,” he went on, softer. “I don’t have money. I don’t have a kingdom. I have…a small room here and a window that looks over Central Park, and a power that terrifies everyone, including me.”

Yelena’s face went still. “That’s not true.”

“It is. I’ve got more problems than anyone should ask you to sign up for,” he said, forcing the words out before he could stop himself. “Nightmares. Bad days. Whole weeks where I’m not sure if I’m going to be useful or dangerous. I’m…a coward half the time. I couldn’t even walk up to your table at that restaurant. I watched from across the street like some creep because I couldn’t stand being in the way of his world and yours colliding.”

“Wait, you…you were there with Walker that day?”

“I did. And I bought you a T-shirt,” he blurted, like that might somehow sum up everything and nothing at once. “It was from the five-dollar bin of a cartoon macaroni and cheese holding hands. I thought you’d like it. I thought maybe it’d make you laugh when all this was over.”

Her eyes widened, just a fraction. “Yeah?”

“But I couldn’t give it to you,” he said, eyes burning as he stared somewhere over her shoulder. “I looked at the clothes he bought you, and the fancy places, and the way people look at you when he’s around, and I felt…ridiculous. Like, who am I to hand you a cheap shirt and say ‘hey, I saw this and thought of you’ when he’s out here dropping thousands on you like it’s nothing?”

His laugh came out thin and wrecked.

“So no,” he finished quietly. “I didn’t want to be standing there if you decided you were tired of this. Tired of fighting and bleeding and risking your life. I didn’t want to watch you look at him and realize you could have a life where you’re not constantly in danger because of people like me.”

“You’re not dangerous to me. I’m a Black Widow,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

And Bob finally met her eyes, something raw and unguarded in his.

“I was scared you’d say yes,” he confessed. “And I’m even more scared that if you did, I wouldn’t have any argument that didn’t sound selfish. Because you deserve all the things he’s offering you. And I can’t give you any of them.”

For a long moment, the only sound between them was the soft hum of the lights.

It was the first time that even their own teammates were at a loss for words.

“Are you done?” Yelena asked at last.

Bob blinked, thrown.

“I…yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I think so.”

She exhaled through her nose, a sharp little sigh that sounded more like gathering herself than annoyance. Then she rolled her shoulders once, as if making a decision before nodding and staring only at him.

“Okay,” she said. “Bob, can you open your arms for me?”

He stared. “What? Why?”

Her mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin. “So you can catch me.”

Before he could process that, she moved.

Yelena took one quick step back, then launched herself forward, throwing her full weight at him. Out of sheer reflex, and maybe muscle memory, his arms flew out. He caught her—barely—stumbling one step before he found his balance, Yelena settling into his hold like she’d done it a hundred times.

Princess-style once again.

“Wh-what?” Bob stammered, eyes comically wide. “Yelena, what are you—”

She was laughing, bright and unrestrained, one arm looped around his shoulders, the other braced lightly against his chest. Once she caught her breath, she twisted slightly in his arms to look back down the hallway.

Bastien was still there, a few paces away, gaze fixed on the two of them.

On Bob holding her, on Yelena very much not scrambling to get free.

“Your Highness,” Yelena called, voice steady in a way that made Bob’s heart stutter, “I appreciate your offer. Really. The…job, the life, the everything that a woman might ever want.” Her fingers curled into the fabric of Bob’s shirt, just enough that he felt it. “But you should know something,” she continued, chin lifting. “I’m already in love with someone else. For a while now, actually.”

The words hit Bob harder than any explosion.

Bastien’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face before he smoothed it out with practiced grace.

“Ah,” he said quietly. “I see.”

Yelena gave him a small, almost apologetic smile.

Bob made a strangled sound in his throat.

“Yelena,” he whispered.

She didn’t look away from Bastien as she added, lightly but firmly, “Thank you for the offer. Truly. But I’m where I want to be, in New York and also honoring my sister’s legacy like she would have wanted.”

What Yelena wanted to.

A purpose.

For a moment, the prince just watched them. From the way Yelena was settled against Bob’s chest, his arms instinctively tightening around her like she was the only solid thing in the room. Then Bastien’s shoulders dipped in a small, resigned nod.

“In that case, I suppose I should be grateful I met you at all, Yelena Belova,” he said, a soft smile touching his mouth. His gaze flicked to Bob, and there was something like understanding—and maybe the faintest hint of challenge, or blessing—in it. “Take good care of her. You’re a lucky man.”

Bob, still stunned, could only nod. “I—I’ll try,” he managed.

“Don’t try,” Yelena muttered under her breath, finally glancing up at him with a look that was far too fond for his system. “Do it.”

He swallowed hard, arms tightening just a little around her.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

And then, she pushed herself up and sealed it with a kiss.

“Yelena, you got mail.”

Bob couldn’t help but look as Yelena let out a groan that sounded like a dying whale from where she was currently lying next to him in the very lumpy and tiny cushion chair that wasn’t supposed to accommodate two people at a time.

“Just put it with the other shit, Bucky. I’m kind of busy over here.”

“Busy?” Bucky repeated, unimpressed. “You’re on your phone.”

“I’m emotionally busy,” Yelena corrected, not looking up from where she was currently scrolling past a bunch of videos without blinking. “Very important recovery process after playing babysitter and all that. You know, doctor’s orders.”

Bob chuckled, turning to see that Bucky was holding what appeared to be a sleek envelope and a small cream-colored box. He frowned, sitting up a bit straighter, which caused Yelena to groan once more in dismay.

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, it looks like Bastian sent a gift before leaving. The letter looks handwritten, too.”

“Of course he would. Why stop at five days of torture when you can send post-mission souvenirs?” she grumbled, wiggling around so she was once again cuddled up closely next to Bob. “Open it for me or don’t. I don’t know, give it to Ava for all I care.”

“You’re just…not going to open those?” Bucky asked carefully.

“Nope, don’t care enough,” she quipped.

“You’re not even curious?” Bob inquired, genuinely surprised.

She hesitated for half a second, then shrugged.

“Curious, yes. Interested, no. There’s a difference.”

Bucky huffed. “Well, it’s not my business, and I’m not going to try getting involved. Particularly because I don’t want you to pin anything on me while I’m still making sure the prince doesn’t have any ill intentions with us. Either you open it or throw it away yourselves. I’m not touching it.”

“Coward!” Yelena shouted as he walked away.

Bob watched Bucky retreat, then glanced down at the envelope and box on the coffee table. They sat there like they were ticking.

“Maybe we should?” he said after a moment.

Yelena didn’t look up from her phone. “Why?”

“Not to be rude?” he tried.

She finally tore her gaze away from the screen to squint at him. “Not to be rude? I don’t remember you caring about being rude when you whisked me away in front of him mid-conversation last week.”

He could feel his face reddening. “You ever going to let that go?”

“No,” she said immediately, but a smile was already tugging at her mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he groaned.

Then, she sighed dramatically, then pushed herself up out of the too-small chair with a graceless little flop, the motion jostling him. Bob’s hand shot out instinctively to steady her. As she straightened, he tried and failed miserably not to smile at the T-shirt she was wearing.

The ridiculous cartoon macaroni and cheese, holding hands that she had barged into his room shortly after Bastian left and had been wearing to bed every night since then. He still wasn’t over it.

How she chose his five-dollar shirt over the thousands-of-dollars one she was gifted with.

Yelena stretched once, then padded over to the table, bare feet whispering against the floor.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s see what His Highness sent for us, but this better be it.”

Bob got up to join her, heart doing that stupid, quiet flip as he fell into step at her side—like it had finally gotten the memo that this was where he was supposed to be. Yelena picked up the envelope first, turning it over in her hands. The seal was neat, the handwriting on the front careful and elegant.

“Looks fancy,” Bob said quietly.

“I mean, this is him after all,” she snorted, taking the kitchen knife and tearing it open in one smooth motion. She unfolded the letter, eyes flicking across the page. Her expression didn’t change much—brows knitting once, mouth flattening twice—but other than that, boredom.

After a moment, she snorted.

“What?” Bob asked.

“He’s thanking me for ‘making his stay unforgettable,’” Yelena said, rolling her eyes. “And to enjoy the cake as congratulations.”

 “What? Congratulations for what?”

She flipped the letter around so he could see the neat script near the bottom, reading aloud in an overly dramatic, faux-princely voice: “‘To both of you, on finally getting your heads out of the clouds and into each other’s orbit.’”

His brain stalled. “Uh…what?”

Yelena snorted. “He says he’s ‘honored to have been present for the moment of realization.’” She squinted, then translated, “Which I’m assuming means when I jumped into your arms and told him I loved someone else.”

Bob felt his face heat. “Oh.”

“There’s more,” she went on, amusement creeping into her tone. “‘May this small gift sweeten your days together, as you have sweetened mine by proving that even the most stubborn hearts can choose happiness.’” She made a face. “Wait, who’s stubborn? He better not be talking about me.”

Bob’s eyes went to the cream-colored box. “The cake’s in there?”

“Guess so.” Yelena set the letter down and lifted the lid.

Inside was a perfectly glazed little cake on a gold cardboard base, hand-sized, with icing so smooth it looked fake. Across the top, in careful piping, were the words:

To Yelena & Bob—Long may you reign over each other’s hearts.

Yelena actually laughed.

Bob stared at the cake, then at her.

“Isn’t…isn’t this bakery famous?” he asked faintly.

“And very expensive.” She grabbed a fork from the counter, stabbed it unceremoniously into the edge of the cake, and scooped out a chunk. Instead of eating it herself, she held it up toward his mouth. “Here. Royal blessings or whatever.”

His brain short-circuited for a second.

“You—you first,” he protested weakly.

She rolled her eyes.

“Bob, we already kissed in front of a prince. Sharing cake is not the intimate part here.”

He huffed a shaky laugh. “Y-yeah, that’s true.”

leaned in and took the bite. It was stupidly good—rich, sweet, way too fancy for the fluorescent lighting of the Watchtower kitchen.

Yelena watched him chew, one eyebrow lifting. “Well?”

“It’s…really good,” he admitted.

“Good.” She scooped another piece, this time popping it into her own mouth. “If he’s going to be unbearably sincere, the least he can do is send decent dessert.”

Bob’s eyes dropped to the lettering again.

“You’re…okay with this?” he asked quietly. “With him…congratulating us like that?”

She swallowed, then set the fork down and turned toward him fully, reaching up to hook a finger in the front of his T-shirt and tug him closer. “Why wouldn’t I be? He’s right after all. Not about the stubborn part but the part where I chose you. I do. Every single time, Bob.”

His breath hitched. “Lena.”

She smirked, leaning up just enough that her forehead brushed his. “Besides, now we have cake, a T-shirt, and at least one prince somewhere being sentimentally supportive. That’s basically a fairy tale!”

Bob let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Pretty weird fairy tale.”

“Yeah, well,” Yelena said, thumb smoothing absently over his shirt, “I never wanted the normal kind anyway.”

He smiled then and reached past her to steal a bit of cake with his finger, dabbing a smear of frosting on the tip of her nose. She blinked a few times and then scrunched her entire nose trying to see it.

“Did you just—”

“Royal blessings,” he echoed, a little braver now.

She squinted at him, then grabbed the fork again.

“Okay,” she said. “Guess we’re doing this.”

By the time Bucky stuck his head in ten minutes later, there was cake on the counter, cake on the box, a smear of cake on Yelena’s cheek, and Bob laughing so hard his shoulders shook while she tried to stab another bite into his mouth.

Bucky took one look, saw the writing on the cake, saw how close they were standing he just shook his head.

“About damn time,” before backing quietly out of the room.

Neither of them even noticed he’d been there.

Commission by: Dani_SmileK on Instagram!