Chapter Text
“There’s five hostiles in the building, ten outside. All heavily armed and built like brick shithouses, most with prior arrests or on watchlists,” Natasha reads off the screen while Steve begins the Quinjet’s descent, “so far they’re complying with police, but only because their initial demands are being met.”
The jet rumbles as it lands on the rooftop. Far below, the lights of late night New York are like a second set of stars.
In the back of the vehicle, Yelena cracks her knuckles and stretches her neck one way and then the other.
“Whose wedding is it?” Yelena asks, checking her magazines are full and slotting knives into the sheaths at her side, “do you think they will mind my uniform? I know it is rude to wear white if you are not the bride.”
Natasha taps on the screen a couple of times before responding: “some billionaire’s kid is marrying a European royal. A lot of rich people at this thing.”
Yelena leans over her sister to look at a photo of the couple taken earlier that day, “I think she can do better, but that dress looks like it cost more than my apartment.”
“It was in the broadsheets this morning,” Steve says as he unclips the straps of the pilot seat, “half a million bucks on the wedding dress, and two thousand people are attending.”
He stands and stretches before starting down the length of the Quinjet, towards where his shield - and a small arsenal of other weapons - hang. Yelena holds a hand to his chest and he stops, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow at her.
Yelena smirks, “Two thousand and fifteen people are attending, flag boy.”
She pulls her hand back. Steve walks on.
“Soon to be two thousand and eighteen ,” Natasha says, leaning against the wall of the jet, “you gonna be okay on your own?”
The blonde wafts her hand in her sister’s direction, “yes of course. You worry too much. Stop forgetting that I am incredible.”
Natasha snorts, snapping on her Widow’s Bites.
As she attaches her own, Yelena adds: “you and Mr Star-Spangled just try not to need me to come out and rescue you, ладно?”
“Whatever you say, сестренка.” Natasha says, rolling her eyes.
Steve nods to the two widows before flicking the switch that opens the back of the jet.
“We appreciate your concern, Yelena, but I think we’ll be fine. We’ll take the exterior guard out quietly, if we can, so you have more time to deal with the hostiles inside without them being alerted and hurting the hostages.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Natasha nudges Yelena with her shoulder, throwing off her mock-salute.
“What?” Yelena asks, feigning offence, “he is a captain. You salute captains, да?”
Stepping out of the Quinjet, the trio stop at the roofs edge, looking down on the illuminated St Patrick’s Cathedral.
Steve straps a dark blue version of his shield to his forearm. Yelena twists the Widow’s Bites on her wrists, an impatient tick she’d developed since she started working with - but definitely not being a member of - the Avengers.
“It’s go-time, team.”
***
It’s usually easy to be stealthy in a building with a couple thousand people in it. Unfortunately, these people are neatly arranged into rows of pews, so Yelena is sure to stick out if any of the assailants spot her. Fortunately, it’s hard to keep two thousand hostages quiet - even less so when they’re all uptight rich people - and the general shuffling of all these trapped and panicking socialites is more than enough to hide the sound of Yelena’s footsteps as she ducks from behind one pillar to another.
Natasha’s report wasn’t lying, these men are armed to the teeth, and Yelena scowls as they brandish SMGs at their captives.
Four attackers are at the very end of the cathedral, on the raised platform with the high altar. One of the armed men kicks the priest over and watches as he scrambles along the floor to get away from the barrel of an uzi. The man who kicked him laughs. Once he starts, so do his comrades. Yelena’s fists tighten at her sides.
The wedding party are also on the platform, and the most exposed of the hostages. Though Yelena can’t make out their faces yet, their body language is easy enough to read. The groom and his groomsmen are pissed, and the bride is shaking - her hands flew to her mouth when the priest went down. The bridesmaids are all frozen still in matching purple dresses.
The only wedding guest who notices Yelena during her careful approach to the platform is a young girl at the end of one pew with blonde hair that matches her own. Crouching, Yelena raises a finger to her lips. The girl nods and grins. Yelena’s chest feels a little tighter. She smiles at the girl.
Now that she can see their faces clearly, it looks like the groomsmen are all brothers of the groom, and the bride and one of the bridesmaids have the same nose, so maybe there’s a relation there? Which one was the billionaire and which one was royalty, again?
Yelena shakes her head. This speculation is hardly going to help her.
One of the assailants is leant against a pillar that borders the platform. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from a side pocket of the matching black combat gear they’re all wearing, and tucks his gun under his arm as he pulls from the pack.
Yelena holds her breath, watching as the man fumbles in his pocket for his lighter. When he pulls it out, it’s a pristine zippo. The engraved metal glints in the lights of the cathedral. Yelena grinds her teeth as he flicks it open, crouching and readying as he leans forward, pulling the lighter up to the cigarette in his mouth and resting his thumb on the wheel.
Yelena is on him before the lighter sparks.
Diving forward, she knocks his temple with the butt of one pistol before firing at a second man with the other.
They’re down on the ground before anyone has time to react.
Screaming has started by the time Yelena has run at the next man. She knocks the gun from his hands with one kick, and whacks his throat with her elbow. He grunts and swings wildly as he stumbles back. Yelena swears as he manages to tear one of her Widow's Bites off her wrist and toss it away - the priest jumps back as it skids past him across the stone floor towards the bridesmaids. Yelena doesn’t have time to keep following it with her eyes, swearing under her breath before finally knocking down the third man with a blow to the back of the head.
She raises both guns at the final attacker on the platform just in time to see him grab one of the bridesmaids and wrap an arm around her neck, the barrel of his gun pushing into her dark hair.
“Drop your fucking weapons !” he shouts, as the other bridesmaids scream and pull away from him.
He has a dark buzzcut and a thick beard. Something in his stance and the way he secures the young woman makes Yelena think he’s former military. That will make this trickier.
“Drop the girl,” Yelena has to raise her voice to be heard over the panicking crowd and the wailing bride.
“Don’t test me, or her brains are splattering on the front row.”
Yelena’s fingers twitch at the triggers. The bridesmaid is doing well to stay calm and still - her features stern, not fearful as Yelena would have expected - so Yelena is confident she could get a good shot at the man without risking clipping her, but no amount of composure will protect the woman if he is able to let off a round into her skull before Yelena takes him out.
Yelena grunts, “my teammates are handling your comrades outside, there’s no point in-”
She feels cold metal press at the back of her neck.
The man holding the bridesmaid grins.
Cursing herself, Yelena counts the bodies. Three on the ground, one with a hostage. Steve said five men were inside. She was so close.
The gun at her neck shifts as the man rounds her, at the edge of her vision she makes out a five o’clock shadow and red hair. She swears under her breath.
The bearded man moves his gun until the barrel is under the chin of the black haired bridesmaid, who tilts her head up but doesn’t lose her scowl.
He wets his lips with his tongue. Even from here Yelena can see the sweat on his forehead.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he says. “Drop. Your. Weapons.”
Yelena is about to comply, her grip loosening on her pistols, when she is stopped in her tracks: did the bridesmaid - the captured bridesmaid with a gun to her head - just roll her eyes?
The bearded man suddenly shouts and jerks back, swinging the gun away from the bridesmaid, electricity crackling all over him.
Yelena takes advantage of the redhead’s shock at his buddy being taken out, ducking beneath his line of fire and slamming her shoulder up into his chest before jumping at him and wrestling him to the ground. She wraps her hands around his neck, pressing down on his windpipe until he’s unconscious.
Yelena looks over to where the bearded man lies, still writhing on the floor, and finds her gaze stopping on the bridesmaid who stands above him, a smirk on her face and Yelena’s missing Widow’s Bite on her wrist.
Blue eyes meet Yelena’s, and the woman says: “cool toy, mind if I keep it?”
Pressing her earpiece, Yelena radios Natasha and Steve.
“All clear inside,” she says, “five hostiles down. Nobody is injured.”
After a second, Natasha’s voice crackles in her ear, “Just two more to - oh. Nevermind, Steve got them. All clear out here, too. Good job, сестричка.”
Yelena frowns and marches over to the black haired bridesmaid. She’s helping up the bride, who had tripped on her trail and fallen during the commotion.
“That was stupid and reckless,” Yelena jabs a finger at the bridesmaid, who steps away from the bride, “You could have gotten yourself killed. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Someone had to rescue you.”
Grabbing the other woman’s arm, Yelena yanks the Widow’s Bite off her wrist.
“Hey!”
“No! No!” Yelena says, holding up the woman’s arm and shaking it, “there is no ‘hey!’ There is no ‘mind if i keep it?’ This is mine. Not yours. I am the professional and you are a civilian!”
The woman raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond.
Yelena releases the infuriating woman’s arm and turns away from her. She puts her finger to her earpiece.
“Exiting the building now. I’ll meet you at the jet.”
She glances back over her shoulder, forcing herself to look past the bridesmaid and to the bride herself.
“Congratulations, by the way. I am sorry to have interrupted your special day. The dress is beautiful.”
The bride shouts after Yelena as she walks away, her voice shrill, “oh! Yes. Well. Thank you so much!”
“Don’t bother to thank me or anything!” the bridesmaid calls out.
Yelena grinds her teeth. She snaps the Widow’s Bite back on her wrist. She doesn’t turn around again as she storms out of the cathedral, pushing past relieved guests finally able to leave their seats.
***
She finds Steve and Natasha waiting outside the Quinjet. Steve nods at her when she arrives.
“Belova.”
“Rogers.”
“Any trouble?” Natasha asks.
“Pfft, no,” Yelena replies, walking past them and up into the quinjet, “I am way too talented for that.”
Natasha and Steve follow her in. Yelena slides off her vest.
“That so?” says a voice from the bottom of the gangplank.
Natasha’s hand goes to the holster at her side and Steve raises his shield.
Yelena tilts her head back and groans.
“Not sure if that’s quite how I remember it, Belova ,” says the black haired bridesmaid, still in her shiny purple dress.
“Why are you here?” Yelena asks, unzipping her suit a little to let her neck breathe.
At Yelena’s reaction, Steve relaxes, and Natasha raises an eyebrow.
“Yelena. Сестричка. Did you make a friend?” Natasha teases, folding her arms.
“Absolutely not.”
“Well that breaks my heart,” says the interloper, purple high heels both held in one hand as she walks up the gangplank and steps into the quinjet like she owns it.
Steve smiles and shakes his head. It makes Yelena’s blood boil. He walks towards the cockpit.
The bridesmaid stops in front of Yelena, a bit too close.
“ Yelena , huh?” she says, like she’s seeing how the name feels on her tongue, “Yelena Belova ?”
“What is your problem?” Yelena throws her hands up in the air.
The bridesmaid smirks. Yelena decides she really hates this woman’s smirk.
Blue eyes flick up and down Yelena. She forces herself not to shiver.
“You’re really striking.”
Yelena’s mouth feels dry, “what?”
“Because you knocked those guys out. What did you think I meant?”
Natasha laughs, “I like her.”
The Bridesmaid beams.
“Take me with you,” she says.
“Why would we do that?” Yelena asks.
“I saved your ass out there.”
“You didn’t save my ass , you…” Yelena grimaces, feeling the heat of Natasha’s eyes on her, knowing the smug look she’d see if she turned to her, “you merely… created a diversion.”
The bridesmaid folds her arms.
From the pilot’s chair, Steve calls back to them, “We’ve got another call, some robots burst out of the sewer and are going haywire downtown.”
“Great, let’s go.” The bridesmaid walks past Yelena, “we’re burnin’ daylight, people.”
“No.” Yelena frowns, “сеструха, you cannot be okay with this.”
Natasha is watching them with her chin resting on her palm, “I’m willing to see where it goes.”
“She is a civilian!”
“A civilian who saved your life.”
“When are you going to let that go?”
“When you finally admit it.”
“If I do, will you leave?”
“Probably not,” the intruder says, pretending to think about it.
The bridesmaid gestures to the weapon rack.
“Obviously not touching the shield, that’d be breaking the bro code,” she says, saluting a bemused Steve, “but am I alright to help myself?”
Yelena glowers, “no. My guns.”
Natasha straps herself into the co-pilot chair next to Steve, “ my guns.”
“Fine. Our guns.” Yelena says, rolling her eyes, she turns back to the bridesmaid, “You would hurt yourself.”
The bridesmaid holds up her hands, “alright, I get it. No guns.”
Yelena breathes a sigh of relief.
The relief that lasts less than ten seconds.
“Now we’re talking!” the bridesmaid grins, tossing her shoes aside to pick up a bow Clint must have left behind, “you know, I was the best shot on my college archery team.”
Yelena puts her head in her hands.
“I also fence. If you’ve got a spare sword lying around,” the bridesmaid says, brandishing the bow.
“Versatile,” Natasha says, her voice mirthful.
Yelena throws herself into a seat and clicks the seatbelt on. This can’t be happening.
“You plan on fighting robots in that dress?” she challenges, crossing her arms.
The bridesmaid shrugs, reaching down to the hem of her almost floor length purple dress and ripping a vertical tear all the way up to her thigh, “yep.”
Yelena’s stare follows the split up the bridesmaid’s legs, but when she reaches the top she averts her gaze.
The entrance to the Quinjet clicks shut, and Yelena feels the vibrations of the engines powering on.
Looking back over his shoulder, Steve asks, “what’s your name, recruit?”
Smug and self-satisfied, the bridesmaid takes the seat opposite Yelena and clicks on her seatbelt.
“Kate. Kate Bishop.”