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The avengers react slower than she would when the front door of her house opens without warning. Steve is up first, jumping to his feet and taking a vaguely defensive stance, followed by Clint and Thor. Tony elects to stay seated and look mildly concerned, whilst Bruce sends her a questioning look.
Natasha, for her part, merely sighs and rests her head in her hands, already knowing exactly who is at the door. She had heard the footsteps approaching, recognising them instinctually, and is more worried for her patience than their safety.
The familiar footsteps grow closer and Natasha finally drags herself to her feet. She makes her way out of her living room and towards her front door, waving for Steve to stand down as she goes, and resigns herself to whatever this will become.
Blonde curls appear around the corner of the hallway and, despite herself, she feels a warmth grow in her chest.
Yelena looks dangerously close to unconsciousness as she stumbles towards Natasha, and Natasha’s brow crinkles with worry. She's swaying dangerously, uncharacteristically unsteady on her feet, and she looks far paler than usual, despite the warm glow that the hallway lights cast on her. Her hair is tousled and dirty, the stray pieces plastered to her forehead by sweat. There is a litany of small cuts covering her face and her clothes are slightly singed, but most notably, the side of her suit is stained a deep red that seems to be growing only darker.
Natasha quickly strides forward and meets the blonde, forgetting all her tired complaints about the headache Yelena would cause her as she gently pulls the younger woman into her arms. Yelena sinks into the embrace, and soon her entire weight is resting against Natasha, and Natasha can't help the soft smile that tugs at her lips.
“Rooskaya,” Natasha’s hand comes up to cup Yelena’s face, “who did this to you?”
Yelena looks up at her, blinking slowly, and somehow manages a smug smile. “No one important,” Yelena answers, voice strong despite the clammy feel of her skin. "Mostly me, actually. The explosion was a bit bigger than I predicted."
The last part is whispered like a secret for only Natasha, and she can’t help the fond eye roll. "Okay," she murmurs, kissing the top of Yelena's head gently, "well done, then. You did well. Next time, though-"
"I know, I know." Yelena brings up a weak hand to wave her off. "Don't get myself caught up in the explosions. Whatever. Now, are you going to patch me up or not? I'm still bleeding heavily, you know."
Natasha scoops Yelena into her arms in a practiced motion and Yelena, in just as practiced a motion, laces her arms around Natasha's neck and adopts the damsel in distress pose.
The Avengers are stood right behind her when she turns around, clearly having watched the entirety of their conversation - if the blush on Bruce's face, the shock on Clint's face and the unashamed interest on Tony's face are anything to go by - and Natasha is a little startled at seeing them. She had forgotten that they were here, too wrapped up in her concern for Yelena to remember, and is only now reminded by the sight of them, looking like a lost group of teenage boys. Gods, she's going soft.
She doesn't let her surprise show; instead, she brushes past them, careful not to knock Yelena into any of them - careful to knock her shoulder into Tony's - on her way past, and carries Yelena into their kitchen.
Quickly, she grabs their emergency first aid kit from its spot on the counter, one of many they have in the house, and begins laying out the pieces she'll need. She tends to Yelena as gently as she can, keeping her touch light and careful. Both of them have been through this process countless time, cleaning and stitching wounds, setting bones, popping joints back into place, and both of them have experienced far greater pain. Still, Natasha squeezes Yelena's hand as she dabs alcohol on the wound and she kisses every cut she sews back together.
It takes the time that Natasha spends wrapping the large cut on Yelena's side for the boys to get curious. The door creaks open and Natasha hears quietened but aggressive whispers from behind it, until someone is shoved the door and it is closed behind them. Natasha doesn't look away from Yelena; she knows its Clint.
"So..." Clint clears his throat loudly.
“Yes?” she says expectantly, if only to stave of the awkward whistling that was sure to follow.
“Umm, well, I just," he pauses, clearly unsure what to say, "who is this?”
“This,” she nods in Yelena’s direction, “is someone who needs all of my attention right now,” she finishes pointedly.
Clint seems to understand her meaning and nods, quickly hurrying out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Sighing, Natasha resolves to deal with that later and turns back to Yelena. She finishes cleaning the wound and stitches it up, heart clenching with every pained noise that Yelena makes. She finds a bandage to wrap around the wound once she is finished with the stitches, and when her hand is free she brings it up to cradle Yelena’s face.
“Moya lyubov,” she whispers, pushing herself up to connect her lips with Yelena’s. The blonde sighs against her lips and leans into the kiss, bringing one of her hands up to Natasha’s hip and letting it rest there.
The kiss is gentle out of fear of hurting Yelena, but Natasha tries her best to close all of Yelena’s cuts with it and breath extra life into her. When they pull apart, Natasha rests her forehead on Yelena’s and reaches a hand up to brush it through her hair.
“How do you feel?” She keeps her voice low, fully aware that there is most like a jigsaw puzzle of grown men all trying to listen in from outside the door.
“About a pint of blood lighter,” Yelena responds, voice as quiet as Natasha’s.
Natasha huffs and rolls her eyes fondly. “Not too bad then.”
Yelena smiles at her and Natasha’s heart warms, but the grin lacks its usual cunning and Natasha is reminded of the blonde’s exhaustion. Leaving one last kiss on Yelena’s lips, she stands up and offers a hand to Yelena. “Come on, you need to rest and get that blood back. Unless you want to resort to vampirism.”
Yelena pouts at her for a moment, clearly not enjoying the space between them, but takes Natasha’s hand anyway and uses it to pull herself up. Natasha lets Yelena use her shoulder to aid in their slow walk towards the door.
“You’d totally be into it if I could suck your blood and you know it,” Yelena huffs, cheeks puffing out, and Natasha has to fight the urge to poke them. Yelena would not appreciate it.
Natasha shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe.”
“You would!” Yelena insists, and Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What? You would.”
They’ve reached the door now, but Yelena has stopped walking and is staring at her indignantly. Natasha can see her contemplating how best to prove that she’s correct.
Yelena’s face shifts suddenly into something that Natasha can tell is supposed to be alluring, with hooded eyes and a heady gaze, but is ruined by the exhaustion that sits in Yelena’s face. “I could prove it,” Yelena says, voice reaching for dark and deep but only achieving tired.
Natasha stares at her for a moment before she bursts out laughing. She pulls the door open, still laughing openly, but is pulled back to face Yelena before she can even take a glimpse at what awaits her outside.
“What?” Yelena asks, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Oh Rooskaya,” Natasha says, reaching forward and actually pinching Yelena’s cheeks. The blonde scrunches her nose in protest but makes no move to stop her. “You are adorable.”
Yelena huffs and grumpily returns to her position leaning against Natasha’s shoulder, but Natasha can feel the outline of a smile pressed into her skin.
An awkward throat clearance interrupts them, and Natasha looks out of the very open door to see Stark watching them, and eyebrow raised.
“Are all russians this cute, or is it just the murderous ones?”
Natasha rolls her eyes, much less fondly this time, and ignores him. The other avengers can only watch in bewilderment as the deadly Black Widow carries her no doubt just as deadly friend(?) up the stairs, whispering to her all the way.
When they reach the top of the stairs, Natasha leads them towards their room and pushes open the door. She pulls Yelena to the bed and lies down, opening her arms in invitation - one that Yelena gladly accepts.
Natasha smiles contentedly when Yelena is settled in her embrace, relishing the safety of having her lover within her arms. Bringing one hand up to absentmindedly stroke Yelena’s hair, Natasha settles in to sleep.
“What about the avengers?” Yelena asks, disturbing a beautiful moment of peace. Natasha curses. “Go deal with the fools.”
“They can deal with themselves.“
“No they can’t.”
“You’re more important than them.”
Yelena flushes slightly, but still refuses to let down. “I’ll come with you then. I can rest whilst you talk to them.”
Natasha ponders it, then relents, regretfully extracting herself from the comfort of their bed. “If you insist.”
So, they make their way back down the stairs to find the avengers exactly where they left them, seemingly lost on what to do now. They look relieved to see Natasha, but suspicious of Yelena.
Yelena, of course, pays them no mind, and pushes herself off Natasha’s shoulder to hobble towards the living room. Natasha follows her easily, only pausing to throw a pointed glance at the avengers.
When the boys finally make their way into the living room to join them, they are already perfectly settled on one of the couches, Yelena’s head in Natasha’s lap and Natasha’s hands in Yelena’s hair. Each one of them tries desperately not to stare at the open display of affection but both Natasha and Yelena are meticulously trained spies and it is a futile effort.
“So,” Natasha says, never one to let someone else start the fight, “shoot.”
“Who is she?” is the first question fired at her.
“My name is Yelena Belova,” Yelena answers, thickening her Russian accent to the point that her words are barely legible, “and I am here to kill you all.”
The avengers all tense, somehow threatened by a girl lying limply in someone’s lap with a giant wound in her side. Natasha just sighs and slaps Yelena lightly on the forehead. Yelena glares at her and rubs at the spot so forcefully that Natasha is sure it hurts it more.
“Her name is Yelena, yes, but she is not here to kill you all.” Natasha states firmly, throwing Yelena an exasperated glance. “I promise,” she adds when she sees their disbelieving faces.
“I could though,” Yelena mutters quietly, and Natasha smirks because yeah, she probably could.
“Well then, why is she here?” Bruce asks, trying keep some semblance of peace.
“She is my…” Natasha pauses, contemplating what to say, “housemate,” she settles on.
Yelena snorts.
“Housemate?” Clint asks, and Natasha nods decisively.
“But there’s only one bedroom?” Steve asks, and Natasha can see the cogs in Tony’s brain start to run.
“We share.”
“But there’s only one bed.” Tony drawls, somewhat suggestively.
“Yes.” Natasha answers.
A few seconds pass where the boys all stare at Natasha, blinking confusedly, and Natasha stares back unblinking, before Yelena (who definitely has a dramatic flare, Natasha doesn’t care what she says) suddenly sits upright, wincing with the effort.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, we are любовники!” Yelena cries, throwing her arms up. “Lovers!” Yelena continues, and Natasha ducks to avoid being hit by a stray arm.
“Lovers?” Steve asks.
“You know? Dating? Girlfriends. Wives.” Yelena explains, as if is explaining it to a toddler.
“Wives?!” Clint screeches, and now everyone is shouting questions at her.
She contemplates denying it and putting an end to the noise, but something stops her. Wives. She likes the way it sounds. And she supposes it’s not completely a lie; they act married. They may as well be married. In fact, why aren’t they married?
She turns to Yelena, now sitting upright next to her, and smiles softly at her. “Wives huh?”
Yelena shrugs. “Sure. I deserve a ring though. A good one.”
Natasha laughs, “I’ll get you the best ring, I promise.”
And when Natasha kisses Yelena, the loud protests fade into background noise, because what could possibly compete with Natasha kissing her wife?
Wife.
Who would’ve guessed, huh?