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It’s not like Kate Bishop sticks to Yelena’s mind like a magnet. She doesn’t think about her every day. It’s just that Yelena thinks about her sometimes, due to how odd she is. She is the daughter of one of the wealthiest women in NYC; she’s excelled in all kinds of martial arts from such an early age; and her grades from elementary until university proves her IQ to be above average.
And yet, of all the things for her to want, it’s to become a superhero. And not just any superhero, but to be the successor of Hawkeye.
If other people were put in their shoes, they’d either choose to seek justice in a more convenient way, like, say, use their parents’ money to hire someone to build them a rip-off of Iron Man’s suit. Or better yet, they’d choose not to seek justice at all, and instead seek pleasure in the form of shopping and clubbing and one-night-standing.
But not Kate Bishop. No, not her.
…
Yelena converses with a man in a purple tux in Italy, and thinks of how Kate Bishop would look wearing it. She fights a group of thugs with bows and arrows in Rome, and wonders whether Kate Bishop would criticize their bad form, or praise them for how well they’re doing considering the lack of formal training they’ve undergone. She watches a teen American show, and wonders which jokes Kate Bishop would laugh at. Then, she wonders how Kate Bishop’s laugh would sound. How Kate Bishop would look while she laughs. Is she a nose-scruncher, an eye-squinter? Is she the type to hide her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound, or is she the type to tip her head back and release it?
When Yelena catches sight of a beautifully-crafted spoon and knife in England—a display of sorts in a royal museum—she takes a picture and sends it to her, with the message: THIS is cutlery.
Kate Bishop’s response comes immediately: how did u get this number???
Yelena frowns. Does she really have to ask?
Another text comes in: o yea. international superspy. nvm.
Yelena smiles. Now that’s better.
…
They keep on texting, with Yelena switching from one new phone to another, for Widow-related reasons. Or, as Kate Bishop would put it, for “international superspy” reasons.
She discovers Kate Bishop’s new dog. Her favorite movie. How she prefers the train instead of biking to class despite the short distance because of how hard it is to ride a bike in her neighborhood. How people still don’t believe she’s the new Hawkeye. That last one, she gets a lot. And each time Kate Bishop tells her, even through text, Yelena can sense her anger. Her disappointment. Her fear.
She texts her, one night, leaning forward against a balcony in Paris, the city’s lights seemingly shining for the Eiffel Tower. They will know soon, Kate Bishop. Patience.
patience??? is the reply. its been A MONTH!!! She says it like a month is equal to a decade. Yelena smiles. Another text comes in: also u dont have to keep calling me kate bishop yknow. all of my friends call me kate.
Friends.
Is that what they are?
Something new blossoms in Yelena’s heart—warm but fragile.
Alright then, Kate, she texts back.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear again. Then: any plans for new years?
Not particularly, no.
wanna maybe hang out with me??
The warm and fragile thing in Yelena’s heart breaks, and Yelena ghosts her.
…
She thinks about Kate a lot. This time, it’s not with curiosity, but with an ache. Even now, she’s not sure why she did what she did. Kate is wonderful, and Yelena enjoys her awkwardness, her genuineness, the way she’s always floundering and fumbling. She’s like her dog, in that way.
Months pass.
And then a popular news article writes about Kate’s most recent accomplishment; tracking down the location of several drug dens, all run by the same man, as well as arresting that man as well.
Months become one year. One year becomes two.
Kate is called either “Hawkeye 2.0” or “Purpler Hawkeye” or, unfortunately “Hawkgirl”—but people are starting to recognise her.
As for Yelena, she’s doing fine as well, completing her life’s mission; freeing all of the Widow’s from captivity.
Which is why when all of the Widows are freed, she finds herself lost.
…
When Nick Fury calls her, telling her he needs her help, she wants to laugh, knowing where this is going. “Do you have something better to do?” he asks, and she purses her lips. He’s got a point there. “I’m assembling a team of—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”
She hangs up.
…
She expects Spider-Man. And the dimension-traveler. And someone she doesn’t recognise—a nobody calling himself Moon Knight, whatever that means.
But Kate?
Kate?
She should’ve, but she didn’t.
When their eyes meet, Kate’s face stays neutral, which is a shock to Yelena. Her greeting is professional—stiff, even—but Yelena takes it with stride.
Through the two years since the last time they spoke, Kate looks like she’s been aging five years. That’s what this line of work does to people, she supposes. But still. To see it on Kate, it tugs at Yelena’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. It’s as bad as seeing a kitten with a cut-off tail.
Yelena wants to run away. But then Nick Fury enters the room and briefs them on their mission, and there’s no time for petty emotions.
…
It takes courage, it takes pain, but they defeat the world-ending villain.
Afterwards, Spider-Man and Portal Girl propose they create a team. Kate—now officially known only as Hawkeye—nods enthusiastically. Yelena stays silent. When she relays this information to Nick Fury, he laughs. “You know, they’re better than they look. You might benefit from them.” Yes, she knows they’re good. Kate, especially. Even with nothing but a bow and a bunch of arrows, she can defeat as many thugs as Spider-Man. “You can still go solo if you want, for some type of missions—” he lowers his voice as he says it, knowing what those kinds of missions entail “—but for the flashier fights? Well…” He shrugs.
Yelena thinks it over.
She stays with the team. With the New Avengers.
…
Slowly, she and Kate form a new bond. It’s not like before, where they can talk about whatever they want, in whatever way they want. This new bond is curt, polite, forged through “workplace-related” reasons. They’re not friends; they’re colleagues.
That’s what Yelena tells herself, even if that bond grows and strengthens.
…
On one mission, she and Kate are separated from the rest of the team. They have to go against an army of powered-up soldiers in an underground, stifling, dark cave.
It is not a pleasant time.
And when one soldier aims his knife at Kate's blindspot, Yelena takes the hit.
She wakes up in an infirmary to Kate crying. “I have no one, you know!” she tells Yelena. “My mom’s still in jail, and my dad—” She looks away. “And all of my friends—they’re not really my friends. They’re just… We just hang out, that’s all. And yeah, our team’s great, but… you’re …”
She stands up; she leaves Yelena to ponder.
…
This whole time, Yelena’s never thought Kate to have her own sadness. She’s never believed Kate to be lonely. It’s hard to, with how outgoing and bubbly she is.
It’s part of why Yelena ghosted her.
She thinks back to the hesitance before Kate proposed they spend time together. The disappearance and reappearance of three little, bouncy dots on the screen of her phone.
It’s what led her to knocking on Kate’s apartment door in the middle of the night and, when Kate answers, holding up a plastic bag and saying, “I bought mac and cheese. Extra spicy, the way it’s meant to be eaten.”
…
They grow closer together. Closer. Closer. And on New Year’s, the team celebrates by getting drunk and throwing a mini-party for themselves.
Yelena wakes up in bed, naked, with Kate wide-eyed beside her.
No.
She throws the blankets aside, stands up.
“Yelena—”
No, no, no.
“Yelena, wait—”
She’s dressing herself, the action delayed when she sees how beautiful Kate is in the morning light.
“Yelena, please.”
She goes back to redressing herself, but it’s hard. The buttons on her plaid shirt refuse to get buttoned, and she doesn’t know why, but it’s frustrating because she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t have done what she did, she—
A pair of gentle hands grab Yelena’s shaking ones.
“Yelena, talk to me.”
Kate is searching her eyes, earnest and sad.
“I… We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why not?” Yelena purses her mouth. Kate leads them to sit down on the bed. Kate places her hand on Yelena’s shoulder, and Yelena looks down on her bare feet. “I mean, if it’s about us being teammates or whatever, then I get that, but. I have a feeling that’s not it.”
“... People leave, Kate.”
“I’m… not sure what you’re saying.”
Yelena closes her eyes. “First, it was my entire family, when I was only six. Then, the few friends I have during my time in the Red Room. I had no one for a long time. I thought I learned my lesson. But then my sister showed up again and…” She sighs. “Then she left, again. She did it for the right reason. She didn’t leave, really. She died in a line of duty. Died a hero’s death.” She stares out the window, gently streaming in the sun’s light. “People leave, Kate.”
You will too, she doesn’t need to say.
Kate’s hand leaves Yelena’s shoulder. It stays between them, resting on the mattress.
“People leave me too, Yelena,” she says. “My dad, my mom… you… It’s not something we can control, no matter how much we want to.” She falls back on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling. Yelena shifts to face her better. “You left me once. You’re probably gonna do it again, and honestly, after hearing you say all of that, I can’t even bring myself to get mad at you. I’m not sure there’s a reason to be mad at you. You have the right to cut me off, I just…”
Yelena takes Kate’s hand. “What?” she asks.
Kate takes a deep breath, her eyelashes fluttering. “People have hurt you, Yelena. I could tell, even from before. And no, not in like, the ass-kicking way, just… your heart’s gotten hurt. And, I don’t know… I… wanted to be the one who didn’t do it. The one who—well, I can’t take away your pain, but I can maybe… share it with you, if you’re willing.” She chuckles. “That was what I wanted back then, anyway.”
“Is it not what you want anymore?”
“Well, seeing as how you’re planning on leaving again…”
Yelena looks away. She should leave. She should.
And yet she stays, her hand still holding Kate’s.
“People will continue to leave you, Kate,” she says. “Just as they will continue to leave me.”
Kate swallows. “I know.”
Yelena tightens her hold on Kate’s hand, her thumb brushing against Kate’s knuckles. “I won’t, though.”
Kate pulls her hand away, sitting up, scooting away so their distance is bigger. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do, actually.”
Even when a large part of her is screaming, “What are you doing?! Don’t be a fool! This is not what you do! This is not who you are!”
“I want to stay for you, Kate,” she says, because it’s the truth. “I’ve always wanted to.” Kate’s head tilts to the side, her hair curtaining the side of her face. Yelena tucks the strands away, smiling. “People will leave us, Kate. But we won’t leave each other.”
Kate’s shoulder shakes, and her bottom lip trembles. Alarms blare in Yelena’s head. Has she said the wrong thing? Does Kate not want her to stay? It would make sense, seeing as how Yelena’s left her once.
Yelena’s thinking of leaving, when Kate buries her face in Yelena’s chest, hiccuping and sniffling. Her nails dig into Yelena’s half-buttoned plaid, her crying a beautifully forlorn sound. Yelena’s hands move on their own, wrapping themselves around Kate’s back to pull her in deeper, her hand cupping the back of Kate’s head and stroking her hair.
“Promise me,” whispers Kate, her voice faltering and cracking. “Promise me you won’t leave.”
“... I promise.”
And so she stays.