Chapter Text
Yelena is sitting on Kate’s couch, leaning against Kate’s pillow, next to Kate’s client.
That perfectly nice boy is experiencing a mix of emotions all plain on his face: discomfort, anxiety, relief that Kate’s here so he can excuse himself. As he starts to get up, Yelena, who was in no way close to him a moment before, has a death grip on his shoulder.
If Eddie thinks he is going through a lot right now, he should try to be in Kate’s head. Yelena is here. All ruffled blonde hair, dark red lips and hazel eyes crinkled by her grin. She cut her hair short in the past few months, and it’s slicked back, barely brushing against her shoulder. It looks suspiciously close to a mullet and unfairly attractive.
Kate can’t smile back. She can feel herself gaping. She is not proud of it, but she has no control over her face right now. Or rather, all of her control is going towards not looking at Yelena like a lovesick puppy, and she has none left to mask her surprise.
Yelena is smiling enough for both of them, though, like a shark tasting blood in water. “This guy tells me you got a job. I said, no way! Kate would never do that! But here you are. Tell me, do you work at the Starbucks? Can you give out friends and family discounts?”
Instead of pointing out that Yelena knows perfectly well that Kate is here as a private eye, that odds are she knows what Kate is investigating, or even that she is pushing her Russian accent for cheap laughs, Kate says: “Oh, so we’re friends now? Great. Awesome. Guess that I missed that text.”
Yelena tilts her head, keeping her fake cheer in place even as her eyes slide over Kate, calculating. “Come on, I drove all the way out here to have another one of our girl’s nights. I thought you’d be happy to see me. I mean,” Yelena shrugs and stage whispers, “you kind of begged me to.”
Though she knows that Yelena is doing it to get a rise out of her, Kate gasps. “Are you kidding me?”
Yelena leans back. “Not this time, no.” She snaps her head at Eddie, as if she forgot he was here. “You may go now.”
Eddie, bless his soul, looks to Kate for—well, she’s not quite sure. Approval? Permission? Signs that she wants him to stay, save her from this conversation? No point putting it off, though, so she nods at him, and he raises his eyebrows at Yelena, then at her, with a what-the-hell-is-going-on waggle.
Shit, Kate wishes she knew.
Still, he needs little more encouragement to leave. Kate promises to give him an explanation and an update tomorrow as she accompanies him to the door. She offers a slightly desperate handshake that Eddie turns into a comforting hug. Good kid.
To the Widow’s credit, she waits until he is out of the house before she turns back to Kate and says: “I don’t see why you are being so moody about it. Oh, no, Yelena, don’t come save me from my own mess, like I asked you to.” This is hardly a mess yet, and this sounds like a gross rewriting of what Kate actually texted her, both valid points she is about to point out when Yelena adds: “A SWORD coverup? A bit above your pay grade, isn’t it?”
Kate didn’t know that. “So? I knew that.”
Yelena scoffs, seeing through her. “Kate. It is pretty clear you are out of your depth on this one. Also, you hate New Jersey, you told me this many, many times. Just be cool and let me deal with this, okay? That way you can go home, check that your apartment is not on fire again.”
Kate is pretty sure she knows the answer to this, but she has to check. “You didn’t set my apartment on fire, did you?”
Yelena laughs. “Of course not! It’s a nice apartment. I was happy to see you listened to my advice and bought more forks.”
So she sneaked in before coming to Westview. Kate kind of expected that. “I didn’t do it for you,” she lies, not fooling anyone, from the way Yelena tilts her head with a smile.
“Sure, you didn’t.”
“See, that was condescending. And just so we’re on the same page, I don’t need your help now, either. I’m perfectly in my depth. This is a very calculated, orchestrated fall—no, jump, into a totally expected depth.”
Yelena pulls out her phone, unlocks it and reads out in a mocking yet annoyingly accurate imitation of Kate’s voice: “Hi Yelena, it’s Kate, can you call me back? Something weird happened. No pressure, but it’s kind of time sensitive. Alright, moderate pressure. Hey Yelena, I am begging you to call me back and save me because I am being an idiot with no self-preservation skills again—”
“I did not write that.”
“You called me four times, back-to-back, you might as well have.”
“Well, you didn’t answer, did you?” Kate goes on as Yelena opens her mouth to respond. “No, you didn’t. You left me on read, a bunch of times. Which is fine.” She laughs, feeling herself sound unhinged. “It’s great, actually. Now, I’m fine. I’m doing really good. I have leads. I have evidence. I don’t need you anymore. You may go.” She waves at the door before realizing she is pointing to the one to her bedroom and shifting to the front door.
For half a second, Yelena has the same look on her face as when Kate slapped her in the elevator. The expression is wiped clean before Kate can read it, widened eyes narrowing again. Yelena tilts her head and hums in pretend thought, as if she was considering leaving, then she shakes her head. “No, you know what, I don’t think I will.”
Kate splutters, words unable to express her frustration, until she finally says: “Fine! I can’t stop you. But you can find your own place.”
“I already checked in with your host and said I’d be here for a few days,” Yelena says, sounding bored. “If she asks, I’m your fiancée. We got engaged a few weeks ago in Central Park, where we had our third date. You made me a picnic and taught your dog to carry the ring box. So cute. You were very thoughtful.”
That is disturbing on many levels. One of them is that Lucky would sooner eat a ring box than bring it on demand. Another one is that even in Yelena’s made-up stories, Kate is pathetically pining after her. A third one is that Kate would never get engaged in Central Park, like some kind of tourist. “Well. I’m not unpacking all of that.”
Yelena raises her eyebrows, smirking.
“There’s only one bed, so you’re sleeping on the couch,” Kate says. “And I’m not letting you anywhere near my mission.”
Yelena’s laugh is cold and clipped. “That’s so cute. As if you could keep me away. I’m serious, Kate, you should join a comedy club. Do improv.”
“Improv?” Kate splutters, before taking a deep breath. Since Yelena keeps adding insult to injury, she decides to be the adult of this situation. She throws her hands in the air and, with an exasperated grunt, walks out of the room, slamming the door on her way.
“Hey, I paid for my share of the security deposit, you know!” Yelena yells, muffled.
Kate grabs her bow on the way out. She needs to shoot something.
She makes her evening call to Malcolm while walking the dogs—plural: Yelena brought Fanny with her. Usually, Kate would rejoice, since she has never seen Fanny outside of pictures and she is even more adorable in person. Due to her many grievances with Yelena, though, she finds cause for annoyance in Fanny’s perfect training and exceptional behavior, the way she obediently trots by Kate’s feet as Lucky tugs at his leash, excited to sniff a tree or greet a kid. Figures Yelena would even be better than Kate at owning a dog: one more way Kate is inadequate.
When she comes back, she sits on the bed, knees up to her chest, and hacks into local police servers from her laptop, thanks to the remnants of the Bishop Security database. All the while, she is deeply aware of Yelena sweet-talking the dogs, humming in the shower after her run, watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy in the living room. The physicality of Yelena's presence is strange. It reminds Kate of the first time they called, the rasp of Yelena's voice solid and real in ways text couldn’t be. The mere fact that they are breathing the same Jersey air freaks her out.
Yelena is here. She is standing in the next room, making tea. If Kate went out, she could touch her, grab her hand or kiss her lips or simply stand in her orbit. In spite of Kate’s resentment, the fantasy lingers. Built up over two years of messages, late night phone calls, and absence, it has lodged itself in a dedicated spot in her brain. Walking out, grabbing Yelena’s waist, kissing her against the fridge of that tiny kitchen. Yelena kissing her back, hands cupping her face, hard and searching.
It is just that, though: a fantasy.
Yelena feels so much further away now that Kate could step out and touch her, yet still doesn’t.
Dinner is tense. Neither of them talks to the other. While Kate works, Yelena makes macaroni for one, loudly complaining that she had to get groceries. Kate ignores her as she orders enough pizza to feed herself and Lucky. When Yelena isn’t looking, she gives Fanny a slice of bacon. She is very proud of herself when the dog keeps trailing after her owner afterwards, eagerly asking for more human food.
Yelena accuses Kate of doing it on purpose. She denies it, of course.
To escape the awkwardness, Kate goes to bed at eight to toss and turn. Even in her dreams, Yelena is cold, ignoring Kate’s pleas for help until she turns around for the first time and asks her to get out of her house before the guests arrive. Kate’s protests that they are in her apartment do nothing to ward her against being thrown out the door. Then her nightmares switch to the usual: a loop of the look on her mother’s face in the police car and the wobble in her voice at the trial plays until Kate manages to walk out of the witness stand. Then, on the steps outside of the courtroom, somehow back at the farm, Clint tells her how disappointed he is after she showed up to their last mission with a bow made of licorice.
Basic, everyday nightmares.
Still, it is an all-time low when even in Kate’s dreams, Yelena doesn’t want her there. Hence Kate waking up at five the next morning to change silently in her room, trying not to stumble onto any of the unfamiliar furniture, and sneak out the window.
Outside, the world is still dark, bare tree branches reaching out towards the sky as color slowly seeps back into it. With few windows lit, Westview is resolutely sleeping for a few minutes more. Kate breathes in the sharp winter air, the petrichor smell. The moment is almost peaceful.
She ducks when she gets to the living room windows to hide from Yelena, who should not be awake but might. Only when she is on safe ground does she stand up, heading to her car with a sense of vague annoyance when she remembers she had to park it all the way up the street yesterday. No matter: she gets to the car, unlocks it, and gets in with relief.
“Where are we going, Kate?” Yelena asks.
Kate isn’t proud of the way she yells, or that her first instinct is to try to stick an arrow between Yelena’s ribs. Luckily, Yelena parries with embarrassing ease, raising her eyebrows with a satisfied tilt of her lips.
If Kate was honest with herself, which she does not want to be, she would admit she missed a lot of things about Yelena the past two years, but that smug expression was not one of them.
“How—what—” Kate splutters at the sight of Yelena serenely sitting on the passenger seat of her car with a book in her hands and tea in the cup holder.
Yelena rolls her eyes. “Do you really need me to answer that? Come on.”
“But I was so careful. I woke up at five. I didn’t even have time to get coffee.”
Yelena taps her shoulder comfortingly. “I know, I know. Hey, you’ll sneak out better next time! Well, okay, probably not.”
“For the record, I don’t need you here,” Kate tells her.
Yelena’s face does that weird thing again. The corners of her lips drop and her eyes widen before she immediately goes back to nonchalance, pretending Kate hasn’t said anything. “It’s lucky you came in when you did, actually, because I just finished this chapter, and I’m kind of bored with this novel, now. Do you have book recommendations? I tried to check your Goodreads, but you haven't updated since 2019. I haven’t gotten to read anything in the past fifteen years, so I’m trying to catch up. I already read most of Chekhov, very depressing, and also the novels about the little boy with the daddy issues who can talk to fish.”
Kate almost asks if Yelena means Percy Jackson, but she refuses to take the bait.
Instead, she goes back to the house to let the dogs out in the backyard before they leave. She finds a pot of coffee already prepared in the kitchen. Annoyed at herself for finding it endearing, she pours herself a cup and chugs it as the dogs run back inside.
When she comes back, Yelena is sipping her tea, still looking smug. Kate puts the key in the ignition wordlessly and starts to get out of her parking spot.
After two minutes of that excruciating process, Yelena asks: “Do you want me to drive?”
“No,” Kate lets out through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t…” Deliberate pause. “Need help?”
Kate lets go of the brake too sharply and bumps into the car in front of them. “Fuck!”
“Woah, woah, woah. You swear a lot more now. You used to be all, heck! Fudge! I am starting to think this Jessica Jones is a bad influence on you, you know.”
“Okay, I never said fudge. Not once in my life did I ever say fudge.”
“Mmh. Agree to disagree, as the Americans say.”
Kate pulls out abruptly and steps on the gas until the tires squeak.
The sky is pink by the time she reaches the first spot on her list. She gets out of the car and starts walking along the line Billy Kaplan traced on his map, inspecting her surroundings. Yelena follows, watching her so intensely it is hard to focus on anything else, although Kate does her best to ignore her. The weight of Yelena’s attention is a thrill even when unwanted.
It takes a while to finds what she is looking for, by which she means: something weird.
She stands on her tiptoes to inspect the lamppost.
Alone amongst the others, the cast iron of the lamppost is arched with a distinct art deco bend to it and painted with red and white stripes, like a candy cane. It looks like an antique, but the type one would see in miniature Christmas villages rather than in any real location. Instead, in the middle of a regular suburban street, it is gaudy and out-of-place.
“What are we looking at?” Yelena asks. She got closer than Kate assumed, the warmth of her body at arm’s reach.
“Just getting some light sightseeing done. You know, admiring the city planning, breathing in the nice Jersey air, taking pictures of lamps,” Kate says, zooming in with her phone camera because she takes the shot.
Along the way, Kate finds other anachronisms. They include, among others, a wooden Victorian letter box with a crimson varnish, showing the name of a man who doesn’t live there; a half-torn poster advertising a brand of snacks called Yo Magic!; a small crater, like a tiny meteor crash site, where purple dust lingers. She writes the location of each anachronism down on the map of Westview she bought on arrival, until she finds herself tracing dotted lines that form a perfectly symmetrical hexagon, like the one in Billy’s notes. Unlike in his notes, though, she finds that another larger hexagon surrounds the first. The epicenter of both just happens to be, to nobody’s surprise, the empty lot on Sherwood Drive.
By the time she finishes her game of observation, Yelena is acting bored with it all, sipping from a cardboard coffee cup while she leans against the car and plays with her phone. The posture reveals a flash of skin in between her bomber jacket and her black cargo pants, stark in contrast with her clothes. Kate resolutely doesn't look at it, just like Yelena pretends not to look at her, as if Kate wasn’t incredibly aware of her every glance.
When Kate gets back in the car, Yelena follows suit without question. She only stirs once they get to Sherwood Drive. “Kate.”
“Yes?”
Kate kills the engine, turns and finds Yelena gazing at her. The sunlight hits her hazel eyes through the window, turning her face soft, the curve of her jaw sweet. Like this, unguarded, she looks so gentle it would be easy to forget she is anything but.
To cut the tension, Kate looks down at Yelena’s hands, the Widows’ bite masquerading as bracelets above her mittens, her bare fingers. It doesn’t help. Now, she is thinking about how easy it would be to reach out and hold them. She can’t seem to remember why this would be a bad idea.
“Don’t do it, okay?” Yelena says in a serious, business-like tone, before her voice mellows. "Please. Trust me."
Kate swallows with great difficulty, wondering for a paranoid moment if Yelena could tell what she was thinking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, I usually have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s worse than usual right now.”
Yelena rolls her eyes. “I meant don’t get in that house.”
“Oh.” That’s a relief. “Oh, right, sure. Well, no, I mean, I’m still gonna go in. That’s kind of why I’m here.”
“Look. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this—who am I kidding, you’re difficult about everything. But this is really dangerous, alright, Kate? Look at me,” Yelena says, tilting Kate’s chin up with one finger. Kate obeys on instinct and immediately regrets it as Yelena stares intensely at her. “You could actually get hurt, badly. And I can't—well, I can't swoop in and save the day, not for this. Not me, not Clint, not Jones. This is no Tracksuit Mafia. This is something a lot worse, and I know you have your little theories about what's going on, but—”
“Wanda Maximoff cast a spell over the town that originated from that place,” Kate says mechanically.
Yelena blinks and drops her hand, which leaves Kate less light-headed. “What?”
As if the source of her confusion was the location, Kate points to the empty lot at their left before continuing: “Oh, and that Harkness lady over here,” she points to the other house, “was involved with it somehow. It wasn’t hard to figure out or anything. Her neighbors are weirdly protective of her, and, you know, she is staying in a house that totally doesn’t belong to her, if you believe to the deed. So it sounds like she got hurt. Badly. Bad enough that she has been unwell since then.” Kate shrugs. “I mean, I haven't figured everything out yet. From context, it sounds like she’s dangerous. Because as far as I know, Wanda’s magic was very much not purple, and neither were Vision’s beams. So there must have been someone else with powers there. Also Billy Kaplan definitely went to see her before he disappeared, because he believes he’s the reincarnated soul of Wanda Maximoff’s made-up magic son.”
“You believe that?” Yelena scoffs.
Her guard is up again, taking the form of an expression of mildly intrigued disbelief. Of course, this could mean anything in between Kate’s theories being so absurd she should be committed and her theories being accurate enough that Yelena is trying to throw her off the scent.
“It definitely sounds kind of insane, even by weird magic standards, so I don’t know if the son thing is true or not, but there is clearly something going on with him.” Kate looks up, wondering what relevant details she forgot, before she continues: “I’m also about fifty percent sure the whole thing is related to four other missing persons case in the Eastview and Westview police database: Lilia Calderu, psychic; Sharon Davis, who lives down this street, actually; Jennifer Kale, the kale influencer girl; Alice Wu-Gulliver, Hot Topic mall cop. It’s a bit convenient that they just happened to disappear on the same day Billy did, right? I mean, do you know how much crime Westview and Eastview cops normally have to deal with? Pretty much zero crime. And…”
Yelena's look of polite skepticism doesn't change throughout Kate's speech, no sign of surprise slipping through her mask. Kate lets herself slump against her seat as something dawns on her.
“And", Kate adds, 'I just did that whole investigative work for nothing. I wasted two whole weeks. Because you already knew all that. Because I bet someone from SWORD wrote a ton of memos about it.”
“How would I even access those? You’re being—”
“You knew it before I even started investigating and found everything out. You got the records from SWORD somehow, most likely. Could have saved me the time it took to piece it together myself, but that’s not what I’m angry about.”
Yelena considers her shrewdly until she decides the clueless act will get her nowhere. “Obviously. You’ve been angry at me ever since that whole conversation when I was on the stakeout.”
“I mean, yes, also the fact that you can’t even call it what it was, but that’s actually not what I’m talking about right now,” Kate says with a clarity she lacked until ten seconds ago. “You’re the one who deleted the email from Eddie.”
Yelena is silent at that. Kate has finally told her something she doesn’t have an answer to. Finally she says: “Kate. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her tone of innocence offended is quite convincing: she isn't a Widow for nothing. Nonetheless, the lie is half-hearted at best. Kate knows she can do better. It is sort of insulting, that Yelena is not only lying to her, but also not putting in the effort to fool her properly. As if she believes Kate is so gullible she will swallow down anything Yelena tells her as long as she bats her eyelashes at her, acts worried enough, sweet enough.
Although Kate was never foolish enough to assume that Yelena didn't know about her crush, she didn't think Yelena would use it to get Kate to do what she wants. And while Kate also never presumed that Yelena thought of her as her equal, when they are in entirely different leagues, she imagined Yelena would at least trust her with some portion of the truth.
Yelena is wrong, by the way. Kate has gotten so much better at this since they last saw each other. She can do it. She doesn’t need a babysitter watching her every move, ready to step in when she screws up.
So she tries to take all the emotion out of her tone when she says: “You don’t want me involved in this, because you think I’m some bumbling idiot—” her voice wobbles, horrifyingly, and Yelena frowns in confusion, but Kate clears her throat and continues, “which, whatever, it’s fine, I don’t care, but you’re wrong, just so you know. I’m going to fix this, and I don’t need you, or Jessica, or Clint’s help, because that’s what I do. I help people. Not that you’d get it.”
Yelena opens and closes her mouth a couple times, speechless for the first time Kate has known her. “That’s so not what this is about.”
Kate tilts up her chin, defiant. “It is to me.”
Then she smoothly gets out of the car and locks it as Yelena moves to follow. “You break it, you pay for it!” she calls out, not waiting for an answer before she gets to the Harkness house. She decides she doesn’t have time to pick the lock discreetly and instead puts her fist in her sleeve and punches out the broken window, jumping inside easily once the gap widens.
She has no illusion over the fact that Yelena will get out, probably wrecking her car in the process. Whatever: it was about the gesture. She deserves one good exit.
The house is creepier than the Kaplans’ by far. In fact, it is decorated very much in haunted house chic, with rich wallpaper representing wilted white flowers on dark green leaves and furniture in dark cherry-wood that gleams red when hit by light. Items are strewn around haphazardly: a table lamp on its side, a broken chair, books and shattered plates on the ground. There is some weird contraption with a wheel strapped in front of a chair, which tells her the Harkness woman was, in fact, kooky in some way, or maybe a genius that Kate can’t understand.
Kate spots signs of a struggle, drops of blood on the hardwood floors. She kneels for a closer look, tries to map out what happened, what type of weapon would make that damage. Her best guess would be leftovers from a knife fight.
Upstairs is less strange, except for the guest bedroom, which is littered with dusty kids’ toys, although according to Kate’s research no child has ever lived there.
When she goes back downstairs, Yelena has gotten in as well. Kneeling on the floor, she is whispering to no one Kate can see. Kate hoped her tirade would dishearten her, but no dice. It seems she only insists on sticking with Kate when it inconveniences her—as opposed to when Kate makes herself available and vulnerable.
Yelena rises up and turns to Kate with a huge rabbit in one arm. Her free hand offers it a banana it eagerly nibbles at.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a bunny person,” Kate says dumbly.
Yelena frowns. This would usually be menacing, except the sight of her cradling a rabbit so fluffy it might as well be a stuffed animal is too adorable to take seriously. “I don’t think he’s eaten in a while. His hay feeder was empty, at least. Who does that? Skips town and forgets about their pet? That's sick.”
Kate blinks. “So, you literally kill people for a living, but you draw the line at animal cruelty?”
“Yes.”
“That checks out. No further question.”
Kate narrows her eyes at the rabbit. She gets closer to inspect it. What if…
“No,” Yelena says firmly.
“What? You have no idea what I was going to say!”
“I could hear you thinking very loudly.”
“No you can’t.”
“Kate. This admittedly very cute rabbit is not Billy Maximoff.”
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Kate lies.
Yelena gives her a look. She doesn’t insist, though they both know better. For a while, Kate looks around while Yelena returns to icy silence.
“I mean, she is a witch,” Kate says.
“Kate.”
“Witches turning kids into animals is like, fairytale 101.”
“No.”
“I’m just saying, maybe we shouldn’t be scraping that possibility right away. It wouldn’t be out of the question.”
Yelena doesn’t answer to her delightful banter. Kate wonders if Yelena is mad at her, then chides herself for worrying about it.
As Kate paced around the house, the anger faded. Now, she wills it back to the surface. So what if Yelena is annoyed? Kate had many valid reasons to tell her off. Yelena lied to her. She doesn't believe in Kate's ability to take care of herself.
Also, yes, she dropped out of Kate's life for weeks after they shared a moment instead of telling her she wasn’t interested like a mature adult. It isn't about Yelena not returning Kate's feelings: it was a silly idea, Kate realizes that now. She imagined a connection that wasn't there. That being said, she opened up and Yelena disappeared. Beyond all the rest, they were friends—Kate didn't make that up. So it sucks. Kate is inadequate enough in her day-to-day life without being openly unwanted by someone important to her.
Then, after that, for Yelena to stare at her like she cares, like she worries about Kate, like she returns her affection in some way, only to get her way about a case, all of this is callous and hurtful.
So Yelena doesn’t get to be angry at her now, for not welcoming her with open arms as soon as she steps back in her life. It is unfair that in that situation, Kate is still worried she hurt Yelena’s feelings.
Whatever. Nothing about this is worth thinking about.
“So, now that we’ve gone through the entire house, I guess the only thing left to do is go down to that creepy murder basement, uh,” Kate says once they have exhausted every other option.
Without a word, Yelena walks to the basement door, every step controlled. She opens it effortlessly despite how heavy it looks. They get down to see the usual murder house basement: wooden stairs with only one feeble light-bulb, a myriad of unused tools such as rope and a pitchfork. A bike stands unused, as well as a broken lamp. A shelf is filled with a dozen boxes, a transport cage for the rabbit, plant pots, fertilizer.
Neither Kate nor Yelena pays any attention to any of that, as they are focused on the wooden door on the ground, sickly blue light glowing through the cracks in between each plank.
“Oh, hey, it’s also a hexagon,” Kate points out.
“Sure. Cute. We’re getting out of here,” Yelena says.
Kate barely has time to protest before Yelena grabs her shoulder and physically hauls her out.