Work Text:
The apartment might be full of smoke, but that’s totally on purpose.
Kate’s just taking them back to where they first met.
…Okay, she’s taking them back to where they first spoke, but that’ll have to do because Kate’s worked much too hard on the whole trust-thing to start pulling jump-scares on her girlfriend now. Even just the thought of doing so feels disingenuous and uncomfortable because she's well aware that Yelena trusts her enough by now that she could probably pull it off (Kate might not survive it, but she could do it). She can almost hear Yelena snarking her for it now.
(“I’m not scared - I’m just disappointed,” Yelena would say to her, probably. Then, she'd cross her arms and stare at Kate with that look that never fails to make her senses scream ‘danger’ in a way that definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Sometimes, Kate wonders if she was born with a screw loose or if she just lost one along the way because self-preservation isn't always at the top of her priority list. Surely, the prospect of imminent death shouldn’t be so… exciting? Still not worth it, though.)
Anyway, point-being...
The first time they spoke to one another, the apartment was crispy.
Just like it is now.
And Kate might be lying to herself when she said it was on purpose, but it was either that or spend the rest of the time Yelena’s out shopping imagining her girlfriend’s reaction to this mess. Kate might be something of an Avenger now and be missing a few of those aforementioned mind-screws, but pissing off a Black Widow is still a terrifying way to die.
And at this point - as her girlfriend has graciously pointed out on several occasions - it is also an un-cool way to die.
(At least, it is for Kate, and never in her life has the archer been so fine with such a blatant double-standard.)
Sighing and with a dismayed shake of her head, Kate sets the fire extinguisher on the floor and stares at the ugly mix of charred countertop, walls, stove, and the assortment of melted knick-knacks Yelena’s picked up from the flea market over the years. A splotchy layer of white foam hides Kate’s culinary atrocity from view. It looks a bit like whipped cream and a dissociated part of her brain hysterically suggests that adding a cherry-topper from the fridge might make it easier to look at.
Yeah, Yelena’s so not going to be happy.
It turns out, Kate’s totally right, though maybe not exactly in the way her anxiety told her she would be (she should really try harder to ignore that bastard).
“Kate?” Yelena’s voice is steady and loud, but Kate knows her too well to miss the concern laced through it. Kate turns around and notes that her girlfriend has chosen to enter through the window at the top of the stairs, rather than the front door. She hasn’t done that in a while (it turns out giving black widows keys reduces the rate of B&E’s in Kate's house by at least 80%), so it’s noticeable enough to trigger Kate’s own alarm bells. Boy, she’s really doing a great job re-creating that first encounter.
The black widow looks like she’s on hyper-alert as she creeps slowly down the stairs towards Kate, and the archer can feel Yelena’s eyes slide over her body looking for an injury. A wrinkle forms between Yelena’s eyes before she speaks, “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Oh!” Her voice makes Kate jump and the subtle flinch that travels to Yelena makes her feel bad. Everything about this makes her feel bad. Kate was expecting her girlfriend to be angry or annoyed, not… Worried. Anxious. Very, very slowly, Kate reaches out and strokes down Yelena’s arm gently as she whispers, “I’m fine – it’s not what you think. It’s my fault. No one’s here but us.”
The tension melts from the blonde’s shoulders, but the frown remains fixed in place. Kate watches as Yelena’s eyes sweep over the destruction. Honestly, tasteless joke or not - it really does looks like Ragnarök in here. Kate smiles weakly when Yelena finally looks up at her.
“Uh, surprise?” Kate says and her nerves are dancing so hard that it feels like there's an illegal rave happening under her skin, “I know you said I don’t belong in the kitchen – and at the time, it was totally a refreshing ‘fuck you’ to the patriarchy – but I really wanted to do something nice and different for our anniversary this year…”
Yelena’s still staring at her with that blank expression that Kate still hasn’t been able to decode, even after two years of dating. It’s the expression that never fails to topple Kate into a rambling mess. Vaguely, the archer wonders if her girlfriend does it on purpose as a means of forcing Kate’s hand into revealing the truth faster.
“And – I mean – this might not be so nice, but it IS different… You know, kind of like a nod to how far we’ve come? Really, if you think about it… it’s almost, like… poetic?” Kate grimaces inside so hard, she knows it shows on her face. Closing her eyes, Kate turns her face skyward and sighs. Time to cut her losses, “Actually, forget that. It’s… I’m sorry. I’m just really bad at cooking.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, that too.”
There’s a soft touch to her jaw and Kate cracks her eye open to look at Yelena – Yelena who is suddenly very close to her and smiling tenderly. Kate reaches out to frame the blonde’s hips loosely in her hands as their foreheads come into contact. Faintly, she notes that Yelena must be standing on her tip-toes to do this, but she files the thought away to squeal about internally later (as she does every time it happens). Kate's eyes fall shut again as soft lips meet her own.
“You’re a moron, Kate Bishop,” Yelena whispers against her lips when they part slightly. The light vibration causes a shutter, and Kate can feel the widow smile, “I am hard to surprise, but sometimes you manage it. Why must it always be in this way?”
"I know, sorry."
Yelena snorts. She lowers herself to her regular height and winds her arms around Kate’s middle as she steps into a hug. Her next words are a little muffled by Kate’s shirt, but their significance is too loud to be silenced, “I was worried.”
“Sorry,” Kate murmurs again. She’s somewhat at a loss what to say next, so she simply wraps herself around Yelena like a blanket – like a comforter, if you will (shut up - Kate knows that's cheesy. She's a cheesy person; cheese is amazing). It must be the correct choice as Yelena sighs into her collar and melts further into her. Yelena’s relief is palpable, and Kate doesn’t need her to elaborate on it to understand where it’s coming from. Kate’s honestly a little ashamed than her initial panic warned her that Yelena was going to be mad. Her girlfriend has lost too much for one person. Of course, she’s going to be upset coming home to a house full of smoke. She was probably expecting to find Kate dead on the floor.
After a moment, Kate asks, “what can I do?”
“Just stay here.”
“Okay.”
So, they do. They remain entwined in their burnt-out kitchen for a long time. Kate’s not really how long, but eventually someone’s stomach rumbles and Yelena pulls back. The other woman reaches up and gently tucks several black strands of hair behind the archer’s ear as she whispers, “Первый блин комом.”
“What?” Kate blinks.
She’s been trying to learn Russian (Yelena's been helping), but languages just don’t come as easily to her as athletics.
“The first pancake comes out a lump.”
“But I… wasn’t making pancakes?” Kate says. “I was making fancy macaroni.”
Now, Kate’s feeling a little confused, but for whatever reason, her response triggers a sharp barking laugh from Yelena. The smile her girlfriend gives her now is little patronizing in its fondness that signals to Kate that she’s being laughed at even before she receives several condescending pats to the cheek. It doesn’t really matter though. Kate’s just happy that Yelena seems to have come back to herself again.
“We will work on this later,” Yelena says, gesturing to the scorched stove. Momentarily, Kate wonders if Yelena is referring to repairs or her culinary abilities, but the widow continues, “I’m starving. We’re going out. Go change – you smell like American barbeque.”
“You like American barbeque.”
“Yes, but I do not like my American barbequed.”
“Fair enough,” Kate answers. Before she steps away to follow the widow’s bidding, she tilts Yelena’s head and presses her lips against the soft skin of the woman’s temple in a silent apology. Kate didn’t torch the kitchen on purpose, but she’s still sorry for the upset. She likes to think she’s in the business of soothing Yelena’s inner turmoil, not agitating it unnecessarily.
'Happy anniversary', indeed.
She resolves to ask the waitstaff at whatever restaurant they end up at to bring them over something special. Flowers. A monster dessert. Maybe an equally beastly bottle of Russian vodka. As Kate walks off, she glances behind her and catches Yelena watching her. There's a particular emotion lingering in the widow's eyes, so Kate resolves to ask for all three.
(And to call a contractor about the kitchen – like, tomorrow. Because, seriously, it smells like burnt hair in here, somehow. If that's what Yelena thinks 'American barbeque' smells like, then Kate really needs to take her girlfriend to a better barbeque joint... and maybe a hotel for the night because - damn - Kate doesn't do things by halves. It's pretty rank in here.)