Chapter Text
Sometime past two in the morning, past the third cup of cold coffee, and past Kate’s breaking point, a knock sounded at the window of her apartment.
At first, Kate ignored it.
Between working a double shift and searching for a college that a) didn’t cost a fortune and b) accepted transfer credits, the line between reality and hallucinations was becoming blurrier by the second. Kate rolled her shoulders and turned back to her laptop screen, her eyes aching and her back protesting the hunched-over position she’d been sitting in for hours now. Twenty-two with eighty-year-old back pain. Just her luck. If she kept up with martial arts the way she’d been doing when she was younger, her knees would follow soon too.
As Kate clicked on the information page for the City College of New York. Another 404 error came up. She groaned and ran her hands through her hair—which permanently smelled like deep-fryer grease, on account of the restaurant she’d been working at’s favourite way of cooking everything—and clicked back.
Then: another knock. Next to her feet, Pizza Dog (and she really, really needed to find a better name, but at this point, it had kinda started to stick) stirred. Then: a lazy bark. Then: a louder, more pointed bark.
“Okay, okay,” Kate whispered and ran her hand over PD’s head. Her heartbeat picked up, thumping against her ribs, but at this point that could mostly be from the caffeine. And stress. And adrenaline? When life was as chaotic as hers had been lately, what was one more intruder at the window? She swivelled around in her chair, got to her feet, and crept in the direction of the sound. On her way, she grabbed her bow. Keeping it next to her at all times had become second nature after everything with Clint—which, granted, was probably a more of a trauma-induced response than a practical solution but Kate would unpack that later when she could afford a therapist.
With an arrow nocked, she slipped through the shadows of her apartment toward the windows. Outside, rain fell. Soft pinging against the roof, against the glass. Drops raced each other down the window; the world was dark but each drop held the glow of the streetlights.
Kate tensed. “Who’s there?” she called.
No answer came.
Then, a voice in the night: “If I was really an intruder, you think I would knock? Just ‘oh, hello, I’m here to burgle you, please let me in’?”
If Kate was less experienced, she would have let the arrow fly out of pure shock. But Kate was not a flighty kid, jumping at every bump in the night, no matter what anyone else might think. “Jesus, Yelena. Some warning would do.” She lowered her bow, set it aside, and opened the window.
There, on the fire escape, was a familiar face with a blonde braid and silver studs lining her ears. “Hi-i,” she said back and waved, slightly. Her dark clothes were soaked with rain; loose strands of hair were plastered against her cheeks.
Kate stuck her head through the window. It was late February. The rain might as well have been ice. Still, Kate looked up and down the street, eyes flickering over every car and storefront and truck and pedestrian as she searched for danger. “What the hell are you here for? Did anyone see you?”
“No, no, I am fine out here in the cold and rain. Keep talking—don’t invite me in.”
Kate rolled her eyes as she ducked under the windowpane and gestured for Yelena to come in, too. “You know, usually when people want to come in they use the door. Ring the buzzer. Text. Call. Come at literally anytime besides—” she glanced at the clock on the wall— “two eighteen in the morning.”
Yelena shrugged as she climbed in through the window, one hand at her side. Her wet, muddy shoes hit the floorboards with a thud. “I didn’t think you were home, but I saw the light on, so, you know, thought I’d be polite. Knock.”
PD made his way up to Yelena, sniffing suspiciously, but keened the instant she scratched under his chin.
“Some guard dog you are,” Kate mumbled before turning to Yelena. “It’s my place. In the middle of the night. Why wouldn’t I be here? And, you know, I thought you were an international super spy slash assassin. I don’t really buy that you didn’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter if you buy it or not. You weren’t my target, Kate Bishop. Do you think I just know everything about everyone always? I am not the facebook.” Yelena made her way across the apartment toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of mud and rainwater on the floor behind her. “I thought you would be at your fancy school upstate. I just need to use the toilet.”
“You were going to break and enter just to pee?”
Silence lingered for a moment. “Yes.”
“Yelena, I’m not a complete idiot—” the door slammed in Kate’s face. She blinked at the dark wood. “And you’re cleaning that mess up when you’re done! I’m not a maid.”
“No one has cleaned this place in months,” Yelena said, her voice muffled through the door.
Kate crossed her arms over her chest. PD looked up, almost in agreement. “That’s not true,” she said. “I vacuumed… sometime this month.”
Inside the bathroom, a heavy clunk sounded, along with the shuddering noise of bottles tipping over.
“Hey—are you going through my stuff? Because, I swear to god if you use my ibuprofen to kill some diplomat we are going to—to have some very strong words.”
A muffled laugh. “Ibuprofen? I would need to slip him so much before his kidneys even started to hurt the littlest bit.”
“Him? Yelena. Him? Are you actually on your way to kill a diplomat? Cause the last thing I need right now is to be connected to an assassination.” Kate wrapped her knuckles against the door. “Yelena?”
Inside the bathroom, it sounded as if she was breathing heavily. “A minute.”
Kate dropped her hand. “Yelena?”
This time, no answer came through.
“Are you alright?” Kate tried the knob, but Yelena had locked the door behind her. “I’m coming in.”
Again, there was no answer. Kate put her weight into her shoulder and, with a jump and some force, the old wood splintered open.
Yelena sat on the edge of the tub. Her shirt and jacket were off, hanging on the towel rack, which left her in a dark sports bra.
Her side was a constellation of black and green bruises with a nasty cut across her lower ribs. It didn’t seem deep—it wasn’t gushing—but dried blood clung to her skin. Was it rain or sweat that kept her hair sticking to her face? She had a towel in her hand, the grey now stained faintly, and a kit with bandages next to her.
“Shit—Yelena.”
“Eh, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
“You’re bleeding all over my bathroom floor.”
“I’ve had worse,” she repeated and continued to dab at her skin with the towel without looking up. “That is, I’ve had worse as long as I don’t get an infection from these towels. Seriously, when did you last wash them, hm?”
“Yelena. Can you stop joking for one minute?”
She sighed, lowered her hand, and looked up. “Seriously. I am alright. You should see the other guy.” Yelena reached toward the butterfly bandages. With one hand, she tried to pinch the cut together to close up the cut while, with the other, she tried to place the adhesive edge on her skin. The angle was awkward and wrong.
“That isn’t going to work.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a doctor.” Yelena moved one hand to secure the bandage and the moment she did, the cut opened up again.
“It’s supposed to work like stitches.”
Yelena pressed her palm to her forehead. “Wow. Thanks for telling me. Somehow, in all my training, they neglected basic first-aid.”
“Just—here.” Kate crossed the bathroom and knelt down next to Yelena. “Let me.”
For a moment, Yelena’s mouth opened, as if she were going to protest.
“Let me take care of you. You came here. Stop being stubborn.”
Yelena deflated. Her shoulders sagged; the crease between her eyebrows eased. Her lips stayed turned down. “Fine.”
First, Kate dabbed the skin with the towel (which, despite Yelena’s protests, she had washed only a few days ago) and the dried blood came away leaving only the bruises and stark red cut behind. As she dabbed the edge of the cut, Yelena winced and jerked. “Sorry,” Kate mumbled.
“About what? I didn’t even feel anything at all.”
For that, Kate held back an eye roll. She took the bandage in one hand and, with the other, moved the warm skin over Yelena’s rib cage together. “Like this.” She closed the cut with the bandage and smoothed the edges down.
In the bathroom, with the glow of the yellow lights, Kate realized how close they were together in the little space. Her hands stayed on Yelena’s ribs. She could feel her heart beating wildly underneath.
“My saviour,” Yelena said. This time, the bite didn’t stick. Her eyes, warm and green, stayed locked on Kate’s.
She stayed there for a moment too long before she crumbled under her gaze. Kate turned away and removed her hands. Her fingertips longed for the heat to return.
“I should—I should shower. If you don’t mind,” Yelena said. Her throat bobbed. “You know. Sweat. Rain. Mud. Blood. Not very Sex and the City to go around New York like this.”
“Yeah, that’s more Friends. ”
“I don’t remember that episode.”
“Yeah. It’s—they don’t show that one on reruns.”
A smile split across Yelena’s face, but it faltered as her fingers lingered at the edges of the wound. “I probably should have showered before you did the bandage.”
“Yeah—yeah. I was thinking that too.”
Yelena shrugged and looked down toward her pants. Her fingers hooked through the buttons and she started to undo them without a word, but a smirk still splashed across her face.
Kate whipped around, her face hot. “Some warning.”
“It’s fine,” Yelena’s voice sang.
“Right. Well. I’ll get you a towel.”
“A fresh one.” The water started to rush and Yelena hummed.
“Sure. Fine. Of course. And, uh, the hot water takes a while. If it comes on at all.”
Kate stepped quickly out, her face on fire, and closed the door behind her. The broken wood around the lock crunched in the frame.
PD looked up at her. His tail wagged away and his head cocked to the side.
“Not a word,” Kate told him.
PD’s tail wagged on.
Fifteen minutes later, Yelena came out of the bathroom. Her wet, blonde hair hung around the heart of her face. She towelled (clean towelled) the ends.
But what really nearly made Kate choke on her old coffee was seeing Yelena in her clothes. Kate’s clothes: a soft, faded concert t-shirt from almost five years ago now; a sweatshirt from the archery team that hugged Yelena’s impressive arms; sweatpants from the Aritzia haul Kate had done pre-cancelled credit cards.
Kate spit the cold coffee back into her Hawkeye mug.
Yelena looked her up and down. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Totally. Why wouldn’t I be?” Kate emptied the last dredges of the coffee pot into the sink. “You want coffee? Tea? Beer?”
“It’s almost three in the morning.”
“Yeah?”
Yelena gave a face that Kate could only describe as ‘fair enough’. “I’ll have a beer. As long as it’s not that light American stuff that tastes like—“
“Like piss, I know, I know. Very funny.” Kate opened her fridge, pulled out two bottles, and set them on the counter. “If I’m giving you free beer, you could at least be a bit more creative with your insults.”
Yelena jerked her chin. “Ah, I guess I’m not on my ‘A-Game’,” she said, making air quotes. “I will make up better insults when I don’t get slashed with a knife.”
Reality, cold and brutal, slammed into Kate. “A knife?”
“I told you already, I’ve had worse. I didn’t even need you to fix it. I just thought this would be a quiet place to get cleaned up and—“ she slid one hand over the other— “be on my way. A ghost in the night.”
“How do you even get stabbed?”
“Just a light slash.”
“And then act like nothing happened?”
Yelena shrugged and knocked the caps off the beers and slid one bottle towards Kate. “And you, Kate Bishop?”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Why aren’t you back at your fancy school?” Yelena leaned back against the counter and took a long sip of her beer. “Hm. Not bad.”
Kate tightened her grip on her own cold bottle. “I know. I don’t buy shitty beer.” She took a sip, too. Her nerves were shot—between caffeine, exhaustion, and well, Yelena—and one more ounce of pressure would crack her clean in two.
“And, uh, about school.” Kate took a long drink. Her throat suddenly felt very dry. “Fancy upstate schools costs fancy upstate prices. And when your mom gets all her assets seized because she was involved in the very illegal underworld of organized crime, there’s not much left to pay for Art History 402. Not that I want her money, anyway.”
“What’s so special about 402? Did you take any of the Russians? You should.”
“402 isn’t real. I was just making—you know—a point.”
Yelena nodded slowly. “And a scholarship? Every movie and tv show I’ve ever watched they all go on and on about scholarship this, full-ride that.”
Kate sighed. “I could get one,” she admitted. “Pretty easily. But I don’t want to. I went to this school because it made my mom happy. Because it would make me acceptable to the ‘right people’. But I don’t even know who the right people are anymore.” Kate crossed her arms over her body and leaned back against the counter. Yelena’s gaze was still intense but this time, Kate didn’t feel like shrinking away. “My credits will transfer. I want to find a program I can get through on my own.”
Kate ran her hands through her loose hair that still faintly smelled like the diner. “I’m trying to figure out who I am. What I like.”
Yelena nodded again. Her lips thinned. “And, Kate Bishop, who are you?”
“I don’t—”
“You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re fierce and stubborn and, sometimes, a little bit dumb.”
“Hmm. Thanks.”
“It’s true.”
Kate held out her bottle in mock cheers and took another swig.
“And, Kate Bishop.” Yelena’s voice was low. Husky. “What do you like?”
Kate swallowed the beer and the lump in her throat together. Yelena, now, was close. She smelled like Kate’s soap—lavender—and antiseptic.
“I’m still figuring that out, too.”
Yelena’s fingers skimmed over Kate’s jaw. Her lips, like a bow, parted inches away from her face. And then they met. Warm. Slow. Traces of the dark, caramel beer lingered on her lips. It would be so easy to get lost in the gentle motion and sail away like a boat on a gentle sea.
But Kate stepped back. Her lips tingled. Warmth washed over her whole body. Rain still pattered against the windows; an engine revved on the road past the walls.
“You’re hurt,” Kate said.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’ve had worse.”
“You’ve been better, though.”
Quiet. And then: “I guess.”
Kate slid her fingers through Yelena’s. “Let’s get some rest for now. I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got the whole day off.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.” For a moment, Kate was certain she’d forgotten how to breathe. “I, um, I’ve only got one bed.”
“You only have one fork.”
“Yeah.”
“I assumed you only had one bed.”
“Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”
“I can take the couch.”
“Oh.” Kate searched her face. “You don’t have to.”
“I wouldn’t be a good guest to make you take the couch in your own house. I mean, what would that be like? ‘Hello Kate, yes, it’s me. I was thinking I would take your medical supplies and your beer and then make you sleep on the couch’?”
Kate’s face warmed again, but this time, she smirked. “I was kinda thinking we could share.”
Yelena’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “Yeah, I think that will do just fine.” She circled her hands around Kate’s waist and kissed her again.
Kate’s heart fluttered. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem as intimidating as it once did.
She would work it out, piece by piece, little by little.