Chapter Text
Yelena has been convinced that this is a stupid idea from the start. Now there are curses exploding all around her, lighting up the night in flashes of green and blue, and she really wants to yell at each of her family members individually. Ducked behind a car, Yelena has a clear line of vision to Natasha, fending off two Widows at once a couple of feet to her right. Their parents are nowhere to be seen.
She grips her wand tighter, readies her body in anticipation of rejoining the fight. And freezes. Someone is behind her. Slowly, she turns her head and finds herself staring down the length of a wand that is pointed right at her face. She grinds her teeth, instantly annoyed at herself that someone got the drop on her because she was too busy looking out for Natasha. The car in her back and crouched on the floor, there is no way she can make a run for it and the Widow is standing too close for a counterspell. She squares her jaw and straightens her shoulders to at least look the witch in the eye who will be her end. Maybe she knows her. Maybe it’s Sonya or Ana and Yelena can tell them it’s not their fault before her life ends in a burst of green. But it’s neither Sonya nor Ana nor anyone else Yelena knows.
It’s a girl she has never seen before with piercing blue eyes that remind her of a mountain lake back home. She’s also much younger than Yelena but her wand hand is perfectly calm. Overall, she seems barely fazed by what is going on around them. A hex whips past her, tousling her long dark hair that she cares nothing for – her gaze remains fixed on Yelena. It’s the slight furrow of her brows which at last convinces Yelena that the stranger is not a Black Widow at all.
A beat passes between them. Yelena shakes her head. To her surprise, the girl lowers her wand. Only to rip it up again the next moment because a hex blasts across the hood of the car and straight at her. Under a shower of green and golden sparks, Yelena rolls to the right. Right on cue to save Natasha from being hit by a Bombarda spell.
“About time.” The grin she gives Yelena is strained and wisps of red hair are plastered to her forehead. “Did you stop to take a nap?”
“Oh, my sister is so funny,” Yelena laments through gritted teeth while throwing up a shield against the next set of curses.
The two Widows on the other side of the torn up street are relentless and as unbeknownst to Yelena as the blue-eyed stranger from before. They haul curse after curse against Yelena’s shield without any regard for their own exhaustion. And they must be exhausted because this whole stand-off has been going on for way too long. Yelena’s arms start shaking with the effort it takes to keep the shield up and sweat makes her robes cling to her uncomfortably. Despite her bravado Natasha must be running on fumes, too, is slower to react to each new attack and her counterspells are becoming weaker and weaker. Yelena knows they can’t hope to outlast their opponents. The Widows will fight them until they are ordered to retreat, or they’ll collapse. There is no in-between, no room that allows them to care for their own well-being – Yelena should know. She’s been one of them until not that long ago. Only thanks to Natasha she’s free and to some extent their parents. Which she still can’t see anywhere on the battlefield. Yelena’s eyes flicker across the damage they’ve caused, the cars strewn across the street like toys, broken windows of Muggle shops, bent streetlamps in the shape of a claw. It’s a fatal mistake. A curse gets past her shield and slices her arm clean open from wrist to elbow.
Yelena falls to her knees with a cry of pain. Her wand clatters to the pavement because she needs her hand to stop the blood gushing from the wound.
“Yelena!”
“The shield, idiot!” Yelena barks out weakly but it’s too late.
Natasha has dropped by her side, pale faced and eyes only for Yelena’s blood pouring onto the street while the Widows advance on them. Yelena let’s go of her arm to blindly search for her wand, but the street is dark, and the pain makes her dizzy. What a stupid way to die, she thinks and braces for the inevitable. Which doesn’t come.
“Protego!”
Two strangers have appeared before them who conjure a new shield. One is a woman with long hair just as red as Natasha’s and the other is a guy who wears a lot of green. More people Apparate onto the street and the night erupts anew in colorful sparks. Even through the numbing pain, Yelena realizes that the Widows are suddenly outnumbered, and she isn’t surprised when they start to Disapparate. Yelena sags sideways against Natasha’s chest, too exhausted to hold herself up and with just enough energy left to listen to the soft murmur of “Vulnera Sanentur…”
Through the fog of pain, Yelena can suddenly hear her father’s familiar booming voice. “Girls! Girls, are you alright?”
Alexei and Melina come running to flank them on either side, their wands raised against the strangers that surround them. Some of them have started repairing the damage done to the street and the closest buildings. Another three are obliviating a group of Muggles they have huddled at the corner of the next block. The rest have crowded around Yelena and her family and among them, towards the back, she spots a flash of piercing blue. The girl has some scrapes across her face but looks mostly unharmed. Not that Yelena cares. Neither does she care about the look of concern flashing through those blue eyes when they land on her arm. That Yelena turns away happens for the sole purpose that Natasha has better access to the wound that is slowly stitching itself back together.
Once she is done, a single man steps forward from the group. His short blonde hair looks almost grey under the few streetlights that are left, and he exudes the kind of energy of someone who is used to being in charge. A bit surprising given his tacky robes in red, white and blue.
Americans, Yelena scoffs inwardly.
His voice is calm but firm when he addresses them. “Now, who explains to me what four ex-members of the Red Room are doing raising hell in our beautiful New York City?”
An hour later they are sitting in the parlor of a three-story brownstone in another part of the city. Yelena is squished between Natasha and her father on a couch and really tries to follow the conversation. The success is debatable because her arm is itching up a storm and she’s so drained she could sleep for a whole day. Apart from the the blond guy who Yelena calls Captain America in her head, most of the other people who escorted them to the safe house have left. Only two other guys and the girl who held Yelena at wand-point remain. The guys keep a close eye on Natasha and Yelena can feel the unwavering gaze of the girl on her even though she hasn’t returned it at all since she sat down.
“So, to summarize,” Captain America says, “you have come all the way from Russia because you want to take down Antonin Dreykov and the Red Room.”
“Why don’t we drop all pretense, Mr. Rogers, and cut to the chase?” Natasha matches his tone perfectly and adds a smile that could cut glass. A crack appears in his soldier-like stoicism when he tilts his head in a frown, perhaps because he is not used to someone talking back.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Natasha continues, “you aren’t the only one who’s done his homework. You are Steve Rogers, the war hero who helped bring down Hydra and long-term leader of the Avengers Initiative – a secret group of Aurors within the Magical Congress of the USA. So, my question is, why exactly did you bring us here?”
By the window someone masks a chuckle as a cough. Quite poorly in Yelena’s opinion. It’s the guy with the longer and darker hair and much paler skin than the other one. In the warm glow of a nearby floor lamp his left hand shimmers in a dark, metallic blue. “I like that one, Steve.”
Rogers’ mouth briefly thins into a line of disapproval before he clears his throat. “Very well, Ms. Romanoff. You and your—”
“Family,” Natasha cuts it and puts a hand on Yelena’s knee.
Rogers stares at them and Yelena can basically hear his thoughts as he tries to piece together whether they are in fact related through blood. “You and your family then,” he concludes eventually with one last look at Yelena’s light hair. “You are not under arrest even after what you pulled in Brooklyn, but we must ask you to stay around for a while – meaning here, in this house – until we had time to corroborate your story.”
Yelena doesn’t like the turn this conversation takes. She doesn’t care for politics, never has and never will, not after she’s been used as a tool to shape it for so long. All she cares about are Sonya and Ana and her voice is steeped in accusation. “You are not arresting us but lock us up either way? Is that it, yes? While you let a psychopath who put hundreds of young women under the Imperius Curse run free?”
Suddenly, it’s very quiet in the room.
Rogers and the man with the prosthetic arm exchange a quick glance. Everyone else is staring at Yelena. She holds their gazes with ease, unwilling to let some American Auror tell her what to do while Sonya and Ana and all the others might be out there, trapped in their own minds and forced to do unspeakable things.
“How about a compromise? You give us one day and, in the meantime, you stay here and rest. If you want to leave the house, Mr. Barton or Kate will accompany you.”
At the mention of her name, the girl with the blue eyes – Kate – perks up and almost slides off the sideboard that she has been leaning against so far in fake nonchalance.
Next to her Natasha relaxes and finally takes her hand from Yelena’s knee. “Deal.”
It’s late by the time they are left alone with Barton and Kate who give them a quick tour of the house. On the ground floor is the parlor, of course. From the hallway in front of it the right door leads to a large room that combines the kitchen and dining area. On the left is a closed door that neither of their hosts deigns with an explanation. After Alexei disappears towards the kitchen in search for a drink and Barton follows him, the women are left to be shown the rest of the house. Kate talks a mile a minute while she shows them the doors of two smalls bedroom and a master bathroom on the first floor. Yelena pays little attention to her aside from the nagging thought how young she looks to be involved in all of this. Then she is too busy with clocking the fastest exits and how many charms prevent them from using said exists. Melina is doing the same albeit while doing a much better job at hiding it when Kate informs her that one of the rooms on this floor is for her and Alexei.
A narrow staircase with creaky boards leads up to a single large room that covers the whole top-floor. On the left, right after they enter, Yelena spots a second door that is slightly ajar, and which probably hides an en-suite. The most striking feature is the large windowpane in the shape of two huge triangles that fill out the whole gable and offer a view of the twinkling city lights even Yelena can’t deny is breathtaking. She is naturally drawn to the window just like Natasha and for a moment it’s easy to forget her itchy arm or how many Widows must be out there, waiting to be freed. The city spreads endlessly before them, an ocean of light peppered with darker spots that must be parks and far in the distance the river. Noises drift up toward the window from the Muggle World and Yelena can’t help but think, It really is the city that never sleeps. Her reverie is interrupted by a soft swishing sound behind her.
Kate hung back by the door and her cheeks pink when Yelena catches the movement of her wand which she tries to hide behind her robes. “Sorry for the mess,” she grins, a bit crooked and devastatingly charming. “Usually, this is my room, and I didn’t really expect guests today.”
“This is your house?” Natasha asks, both eyebrows raised. She side-steps right on time to not get hit by a sock that zips by her on its way to the dresser.
“It belongs to the family.” Kate shrugs. She turns away to direct her attention to some Quidditch equipment in a corner. It’s not fast enough to hide the shadow passing over her handsome face and it irks Yelena that she notices. “And it’s at the Avengers’ disposal as a safe house whenever they need it.”
Yelena scoffs without really meaning to.
“What, you don’t like it?” Kate looks quite alarmed at the possibility. “I’m sure I could talk to Clint… I mean Mr. Barton… to find you another place to stay. Then again this is my first time hosting any guests here and I really hoped you guys would stay because you are so cool, and I also don’t really know what to tell Mr. Rogers if you leave unsupervised.”
It all bursts out of Kate in a single sentence and so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t swallow her tongue. Something close to pity stirs in Yelena’s chest for this girl who tries so hard to impress her superiors and who doesn’t have the slightest idea what she’s gotten herself into. Yelena squashes that feeling before it can grow out of hand. She has no time to start caring for anything or anyone else than the mission. After all, they didn’t come to America to make new friends; they came here to free old ones from the grasp of a monster that has haunted all of them for way too long. By tomorrow evening Kate and her burning-bright eyes will be nothing but a memory. Which is perhaps why Yelena is most surprised when she hears herself say, “Stop to worry so much. You are like over-excited puppy dog. I just think it's a stupid name.”
Kate’s shoulders fall and she stops fidgeting with her wand, but a look of puzzlement remains on her face. “Stupid?”
“Avengers – very stupid.” Yelena rolls her eyes. “If you have to avenge something, it means you already failed to protect it, no?”
From someone so new to the initiative she expects a tantrum and a lot of defending or maybe some explanation for the name. What she doesn’t expect is Kate’s thoughtful expression and the tentative smile she offers after a moment. “I have never thought about it like that, but you do have a point.”
Yelena finds her easy admission strangely disarming. In her family rarely anyone ever agrees with her despite the fact that she is usually right about everything. It’s nice. As nice as Kate’s smile that she just can’t seem to look away from. The moment breaks when Natasha clears her throat from the right bed where she has sprawled on. “Say, Kate No-last-name, have you properly prepared for your first baby-sitting and can offer us a change of clothes?”
“It’s Bishop. Kate Bishop,” Kate says with a blinding smile that would usually cause Yelena’s skin to prickle in annoyance.
“Natasha Romanoff,” Natasha introduces herself and pulls Yelena into a one-arm-hug after having gotten off the bed. “This is my little sister Yelena, and I know what you’re thinking right now – we are not blood related but found family binds you stronger together than blood ever could, am I right?”
Yelena tries and fails to squirm out of Natasha’s hug. “Suka.”
The smile that spreads on Kate’s face is too bright, and she rocks on the balls of her feet a bit, giving the impression of an excited puppy all over again. “Though the circumstances are anything but, it’s very nice to meet you both.”
After the introductions are out of the way, Kate takes them downstairs to Melina and Alexei’s room. It’s much smaller, offering just enough space for a double-bed and two huge closets where fresh sheets and spare clothes are kept. Melina must have already joined the others in the kitchen because she is not there, but Natasha quickly finds some clothes to change into. Yelena has always been picky with her outfits ever since she’s been allowed to choose them for herself and sifts listlessly through several robes and blouses.
“You could wear something of mine,” Kate offers after Yelena went through the contents of both closets twice. She’s sitting on the windowsill, though due to her longs legs her feet touch the floor, and she’s still draped in her robes. It’s a modern cut in all black but earlier Yelena caught a glimpse of the vibrant purple lining and she is pretty sure the sweater she can spot behind Kate’s crossed arms is of the same color. It’s by far not her favorite and Kate must have noticed her hesitancy. “Only if you want, of course. We could also get you new clothes tomorrow, after all it’s okay that you leave as long as I come with you or maybe—”
“Thank you for the offer, Kate Bishop,” Yelena cuts into her ramble and lifts the arm where the curse of the Widow left her robes and everything underneath in tethers. “But I do think I would like a more immediate solution. Your clothes will do.”
Back upstairs, Yelena must realize that Kate owns a lot more purple clothes than she expected – shirts, sweaters and she must quickly avert her gaze from a lilac bra. While Yelena takes her time, Kate rummages through a shelf, effectively creating a new mess, and pulls out soft cotton pants and an over-sized shirt in emerald-green with bold, white letters on it.
“Go Fitchburg Finches?” Yelena raises a skeptical eyebrow at the shirt and the finch printed on it, catching a golden Snitch in mid-flight.
“Quidditch summer camp before my last year of school,” Kate explains and the pride glimmering in her eyes turns them clear as the sky. “I was a beater.”
Yelena has never had much interest in Quidditch. In the Red Room they were taught how to fly on a broom, of course, but the training never went beyond what was needed for their missions. Since she’s been freed, there just never had been enough time. Imagining Kate Bishop hitting things with a club for seven years comes easily, though. Yelena takes the pajamas from her and deposits them on the bed Natasha didn’t claim earlier.
“Were you any good?”
It comes out much more teasing than Yelena wants to. They will still leave this house and these people behind tomorrow and chances are that she will never see Kate Bishop again. It makes no sense to meet her soft smiles with smiles of her own or to engage in more conversation than strictly necessary aside from the fact that Yelena finds herself wanting to. Something draws her to Kate Bishop. Something that goes beyond her good looks. They just make it harder to ignore her. Like, the way she grins now as if nothing can shake her confidence.
“Some people call me the best beater in the world.”
A bemused smile plays around Yelena’s lips. “It does not count if you are some people, Kate Bishop.”
Fifteen minutes later, Yelena has finally settled on what to wear from Kate’s generous supply. Without any preamble she begins to tug her ruined robes off and pulls her shirt over her head. The Red Room has never bothered to teach them modesty and privacy was a luxury they very rarely got to taste. For a moment, she feels a heavy pair of eyes on her, then there’s a squeak and a slapping sound. Kate is bright red behind the hand covering her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… You can keep changing here, I won’t look again, promise. I’ll be in the bathroom when you’re done,” Kate squeaks out and forgets to breathe again. Instead of being annoyed, Yelena is hopelessly endeared.
Kate stumbles toward the ajar door of the bathroom, blindly, to protect Yelena’s honor where there isn’t any and stubs her toe twice on the way. It’s oddly sweet. Yelena shakes her head and turns back to the clothes. The simple cotton shirt and pants she chose smell freshly washed but the purple sweater she pulls on last carries a different scent. Something crisp and tangy like an expensive cologne. It’s a nice smell — Kate smells nice. Her abdomen contracts pleasantly from the realization and she snaps her eyes open in horror.
She is no stranger to attraction, can read it in other people’s expressions and their body language as if she invaded their minds with a charm. No charm is needed to figure out what is on Kate’s mind — it’s so obvious every time she looks at Yelena a bit too long to be considered polite. What has Yelena’s heart throb against her ribcage is that she usually remains unenthusiastic about that kind of attention. Attraction is and always has been a tool, not this slow building pleasure. Definitely nothing she cares about.
If Natasha could see you now, she’d be merciless, Yelena thinks and shakes her head again. Determined to not give anything away of her inner turmoil, she straightens her back, combs a hand through her long hair and moves to the bathroom. She knocks lightly against the door. “I am done changing, Kate Bishop.”
“Oh, great,” Kate’s voice comes from inside and the door swings open the rest of the way to reveal her sitting on the edge of a narrow bathtub. “Come in, I got something for you.”
Her gaze washes over Yelena briefly and her skin erupts in goosebumps. Yelena clears her throat. “What is it? More clothes?”
“No, I think uhm…” Kate bites her lip. Her eyes turn a new, darker shade. “Those fit you just fine.” She motions for Yelena to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. “It’s something for your arm, actually. I saw that your sister healed the wound, but I bet it’s itching like crazy.”
“I’m fine,” Yelena answers curtly.
Whatever it is that is currently making her insides feel like a bunch of pixies, it has to stop. Yelena keeps her distance to most people for a reason. After years under the Imperius Curse with no agency over her own body, trust doesn’t come easy to her. Most often it doesn’t come at all. She likes to keep others at arm’s length because like that they can’t hurt her. Not again. Not ever again. And Kate Bishop is not going to be the exception. Not even when she frowns and instant regret floods Yelena’s chest.
“It’s a salve to stop the urge to scratch and help the skin heal faster,” Kate holds up a small ceramic jar and regards Yelena’s arm with knit eyebrows and what might be real concern. After a moment, she drops her hand between her knees and says, “But you know your body best. I can leave it here in case you change your mind.”
She doesn’t seem upset that Yelena turned her offer down. Not in the slightest. She rises from the edge of the tub and deposits the jar along with a rolled up bandage by the sink, in plain view. It’s a choice, offered without any pressure or expectation and perhaps that is why Yelena caves. Though she tells herself and anyone who asks that her arm really is that itchy.
“It is pretty annoying,” she grumbles and rubs her arm through the soft fabric of Kate’s sweater.
Kate’s eyes briefly light up, but she doesn’t make a show of having Yelena persuaded. She motions with one hand again for Yelena to sit in her previous spot. She herself kneels on the floor and unscrews the jar. “Tell me about it. I once got so many scrapes that Clint jinxed all the bones from my fingers.”
“Sounds like an asshole,” she comments dryly.
Kate snorts softly. “Yeah, he kind of was. But it was for my own good otherwise I would be covered in scars and not the sexy kind. Which is why we’re going to put this on you now.”
Teasing words sit at the tip of her tongue about how scars could ever be sexy and why Kate wants to prevent her from collecting another one. Yelena clamps her teeth shut and keeps them inside. Nothing good can come from indulging Kate and she redirects both their attention by carefully rolling up her sleeve. As the angry reddish-pink skin comes into view, she can’t help but wonder the kind of injury Kate must have suffered from to cover her in wounds like that. Too young, she thinks not for the first time. She’s too young to have faced such horrors.
Kate inspects Natasha’s shoddy job of stitching her back together in thoughtful silence for a minute or two. The jagged line zigzags across Yelena’s skin like a cleft, the urgency with which the spell was cast clearly visible in the result. It’s not even the worst one she has which she wisely keeps to herself. She hates pity and she would hate it even more if it came from Kate. After another moment, Kate’s gaze flickers up. It’s infinitely patient and warm in the dim light of the bathroom.
“May I?”
There’s a bit of salve on the tips of her fingers and Yelena stiffens on instinct. She doesn’t like to be touched, can barely tolerate it from her family and if anyone else tries it, she breaks their arms. The impulse doesn’t come this time, just the quick beat of her heart, and she answers Kate’s question with a sharp nod.
“It might be a bit cold,” Kate informs her before gently spreading the salve over Yelena’s skin.
It’s a good excuse for the way she shivers and the goosebumps springing up everywhere. It certainly has nothing to do with how tender Kate is. Slowly she works the salve in, her touch always light and careful. Yelena can’t remember the last time someone has touched her like that, like they care that she allows it to happen, and she hates the way it makes her feel and craves it all the same.
“There,” Kate says once she is done and wipes her hands on a towel, “all taken care of. You should apply the salve for a week and I’m sure there won’t be any scarring.”
With a quick flick of her wand, she wraps the bandage around Yelena’s arm, not too tight and not too loose either, so it might come off. Yelena cradles her arm against her chest, already feeling the soothing effects of the crème.
“Thank you.”
Kate smiles at her but whatever she is about to say is interrupted by Alexei’s sudden booming voice.
“Girls! Get down here, dinner is ready!”
Kate blinks. “Wow, I need to learn that charm.”
Yelena rolls her eyes, more affectionately than anything else because she loves her father despite all his shortcomings. “I wish it was a charm.”
At dinner they crowd around the dining table on one side, ignoring the many empty chairs and talk mostly about Clint Barton’s career as a professional beater before Steve Rogers recruited him. It’s light conversation of long past glories to pass the time. Yelena listens more closely during the part where he shares how Kate became his protégé but mostly she keeps her focus on her food. Mostly she keeps avoiding the glances Kate Bishop shoots her all night. Of course, Natasha wouldn’t be Natasha if she didn’t mention it later when they are settled in bed and alone, the rest of the house quiet below them.
“So, that Bishop girl,” Natasha drawls from the opposite side of the room, “she likes you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Yelena grumbles.
When Natasha’s only response is a cackle Yelena makes her mouth disappear with a hex. She cannot dwell on the possibility that Natasha is right because she doesn’t care. Tomorrow by this time they will be gone, and that Yelena does sleep in Kate Bishop’s clothes and in Kate Bishops’ bed and dreams in shades of blue doesn’t matter.
Things in Yelena’s life only very rarely go the way they are supposed to. Instead of being born into a family, she is born into the Red Room. Instead of a childhood, she gets three years in Ohio full of lies. Instead of growing up, she gets abuse and violation and the Imperius Curse. So, it is not surprising at all that their visit in New York doesn’t go according to plan.
It starts with Kate Bishop’s smile the next morning, all sunshine and exuberant energy over the rim of her coffee mug. It’s too early to be that awake especially after how little Yelena slept. Natasha’s words bounced around in her head and she worried about Sonya and Ana and tossed and turned for hours. In this mood she is prone to jinx anyone who dares talking to her before she’s had her first coffee, but Kate doesn’t know that and ignores her surly mood.
“Morning,” Kate says, dimples in her cheeks, and slides a mug across the table. “How did you sleep?”
Yelena doesn’t hex her, instead she stirs a splash of creamer and two spoons of sugar into her coffee while ogling Kate’s arms that are partially covered by a white cotton shirt. It’s tight and the fabric stretches nicely over her biceps. She really is nice to look at in the pale morning light and in her not-quite-awake state Yelena finds herself giving into the simple temptation of sweeping her eyes from Kate’s wild, dark locks over her round face and the thick muscles that are packed around her shoulders. Yelena can’t remember another time when drinking in a witch or wizard ever caused such strong sensations inside her and now, staring at Kate’s handsome smile, she forgets how to stop. It’s the smell of the strong coffee that eventually pulls Yelena from her wallowing.
“Your pillow is lumpy,” she mutters into her mug.
Kate grins into her own mug like it was a compliment.
The rest of the day stretches before Yelena endlessly long. All the waiting around for Steve Rogers to come to a decision is making her antsy. Sitting around and eating scrambled eggs with toast seems wrong while her friends are cursed, and they are nowhere closer to freeing them or to figuring out what Dreykov wants in America. Being cooped up in the house isn’t good for her either, robbed of the choice to leave whenever she wants is making her skin crawl. She even tries to Disapparate once, after she showered, which doesn’t work. Unsurprisingly. While the Avengers might have a stupid name, they aren’t stupid people.
She contemplates hiding in the room upstairs, but brooding has only ever made things worse, and the worst would be that Natasha finds her and needles her about Kate again. There are books in the parlor she is too tightly wound to read and discussing their next steps with her family while Kate and Barton are around would be unwise. So, she wanders around the house aimlessly. Eventually, she finds herself in front of the mysterious door on the ground floor. Her curiosity has gotten her into plenty of trouble in the past and the door isn’t locked. Naturally, she opens it.
Yelena isn’t quite sure what she expected to find. A secret potions lab perhaps or a secret prison chamber for less welcomed guests than herself. At the very least something secret, not a rather ordinary looking office. The air inside is stale, and Yelena expects dust on the surfaces where there is none. Those being large bookshelves and a wooden desk that dominates the space in front of the single, three-pane window. Nothing of interest catches her attention on the desk, except for a picture frame. She doesn’t dare lift it up and it’s not necessary to figure out who the picture shows.
“Everyone always says how much I look like him.”
Yelena startles — something she never does — and turns to the door. Kate is standing there, right on the threshold, a somber look in her eyes and a chessboard tucked under her arm.
“You do,” Yelena says and lets her gaze drift back to the picture of a much younger version of Kate Bishop, standing between her parents, “but you have your mother’s eyes.”
“I suppose.”
Kate’s smile is wry, her shoulders tense and Yelena doesn’t like that she probably is the cause of that distress. With a couple of steps, she is by Kate’s side, leaving the office to its sleeplike state. “What happened to them?”
“My dad died in the war against Hydra. Saved a lot of people from an Inferi attack,” Kate answers and Yelena watches the emotions flicker across her face — pride, undoubtedly, that is chased by a heavy sadness. “I’m not an orphan, though, or anything. You haven’t met my mom yet not because she’s dead but because she’s busy running one of the biggest companies in the country.”
It explains a lot about Kate’s desire to proof herself. Yelena wonders how much of it is her own and how much is born from the expectations of others. She knows how crushing they can be as the former best child-assassin in the world. She’s curious if that is all there is to Kate – a thirst for approval and nothing else. “The daughter of a war-hero,” she says slowly. “That is why you’re here, yes? Why you want to be an Avenger?”
A part of Yelena hopes that Kate says yes, that she is exactly the kind of person that is rich and power-hungry and thinks the world is only there for her taking. It would be enough to lose all interest in her. To stop caring about her. It would be for the best. But if Yelena has learned one thing in the very short time, they know each other, it is that Kate Bishop is full of surprises.
Now her brows crinkle together, and she cuffs the tip of her boot against the floor like she’s embarrassed by her desire to make her dead father proud. “Maybe that is why I’m an overachiever, but I am here because I want to help people.” She lifts her chin and meets Yelena’s gaze with a fierce intensity. “People like you and your friends.”
Yelena’s heart sinks. Kate is so good, so hopeful in her believe that she can really make a change as an Auror. She will throw herself into this fight just because she thinks it’s the right thing to do and the Widows will eat her alive. Yelena is about to say something along those lines, something cruel that would push Kate far away where she would be safe. But before Yelena can decide how to best insult her, Kate pulls the chessboard from under her arm and her pretty eyes still shine with hope as she smiles crookedly.
“Would it be awfully presumptuous of me to ask if you play chess?”
Yelena knows better than to spend any more time with Kate Bishop. It will only end with her getting hurt either because of Yelena or because of the Widows and it’s a risk she can’t take. And yet there is something about Kate that makes Yelena ignore all the red flags.
“Yes.” She grins because it’s such a cliché about Russians and because it’s absolutely correct. “Yes, it would be.”
They end up playing on the small terrace that belongs to the room Kate shares with Barton. The weather is nice enough and Yelena enjoys the fresh air and being away from the others. If she had to hear one more story of either Barton or Natasha with which they attempt to one-up each other, she would have jinxed them. Out here it’s blissfully quiet and Yelena empties her mind of anxious worry and frustration to absorb herself in the game. The first two rounds, Yelena obliterates Kate in ten moves. Now Kate takes more time to think about her plays and Yelena’s mind has time to wander.
“So,” Kate starts and moves her knight to take one of Yelena’s pawns. “This Dreykov is a pretty bad guy, hm?”
It’s not surprising that Kate eventually asks about him and it’s not like Yelena thinks she should be coddled with lies or a change of topic. Her reluctancy stems from the fear that Kate will see her differently once she knows about the half-life Yelena has lived, about the trail of blood that follows her.
She makes her next move. “He is among the worst wizards of this age. The horrors he has executed in his name you cannot imagine.”
It's Kate’s turn but she is no longer staring at the board. Her gaze rests on Yelena, heavy and thoughtful. “Mr. Rogers said you and your family were all ex-members of the Red Room… Does that mean he hurt you, too?”
It’s not a story Yelena has ever told anyone and there is no reason to do so now. No reason except that Kate is kind and patient and so unlike anyone she has ever met before that Yelena wants to tell her everything. “Dreykov hurt everyone around him. My mother and sister are of a different generation, one raised on obedience rather than force. But after Natasha fled, he changed. Became paranoid. Desperate for control. He put me under the Imperius Curse for thirteen years.”
Kate doesn’t say anything for a while. Her face turns ghostly pale and Yelena fears that she’s done it now – revealed too much and shattered the picture Kate had of her, whatever it was. It’s not quite fair, she realizes a moment later when she notices Kate’s set jaw and the burning determination in her gaze. It leaves her wondering.
“Why do you care so much?” Why would anyone if it’s such rotten work, she thinks bitterly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe,” Kate admits then the hard lines in her face soften, and she regards Yelena with something akin to wonder, “but I want to. You’re the most interesting person I ever met.”
“What if you do not like the things you learn about me? The trail of blood that follows me could wrap around the whole world.”
“Wow… That was very Russian of you.” Kate blinks, her expression suspended between surprise and laughter, completely missing the point Yelena tried to make.
Neither of them brings up Dreykov again until the evening. In the end, Steve Rogers makes himself scarce and sends two Avengers in his stead: the redheaded witch and the wizard with the prosthetic arm. Wanda Maximoff moves slowly and speaks deliberately while she explains to them that Rogers approved their stay and help in their effort to bring Dreykov down. When Kate brings tea into the parlor Wanda thanks her by placing a hand on her arm in an almost motherly gesture but something about her ticks off all the alarm bells in Yelena’s head. Something lurks behind her calm green eyes that makes Yelena nervous, and she is glad that for now they seem to be on the same side. James Barnes – or Bucky, how he introduces himself – doesn’t speak much and keeps mostly to corners and windows like a watchdog.
“Our agents have found proof for your claim that Black Widows are active in the city,” Wanda begins from a spot on the couch next to Natasha who hangs on her every word.
With a wave of her hand, she pulls several files and pictures from a bag on the coffee table that line up neatly in mid-air for everyone to see. “It seems they are responsible for a series of break-ins, but nothing has been stolen. Do you have any idea what that could mean?”
Silence permeates the air. Yelena casts quick glances at her family – Alexei is eyeing a tasteful bar at the other side of the room; Natasha is eyeing Wanda Maximoff’s profile and only Melina is intently studying the pictures. Typical, it flits through Yelena’s mind, and she scowls.
To not be as useless as her father and sister, Yelena directs her attention to the files, too, but it becomes quickly apparent how little they actually reveal. The names of the places where the break-ins happened hold no meaning to Yelena and most of the pictures show Widows she doesn’t know. On one she thinks she might recognize Sonya’s dark complexion but that’s it. She is so focused on figuring out whether it really is a picture of her best friend that the sudden movement next to her is startling. Kate leans forward, her elbows balanced on her knees, and casts curious glances around the room.
“Do you have any idea what Dreykov could want at these specific places? Could they be the reason he came to America?”
“Dreykov’s reasoning can be hard to follow for the unacquainted,” Melina answers after a long pause with pursed lips. “It is highly unusual for him to leave the safety Mother Russia can provide him with and to act so out in the open. He has always been a man who kept to the shadows and that he now moves in the light can only mean that he is desperate for something.”
“Desperate for what?” Barton asks in that gruff voice of his.
“That is hard to tell,” Natasha chimes in who finally can tear her gaze away from Wanda long enough to participate in the conversation. “His power and influence reach people and places far beyond any of your expectation. He can topple entire governments without anyone knowing it was him.”
There, Natasha’s clear eyes dart to Yelena who has toppled more than one government for Dreykov during her curse. It’s an unwelcomed reminder that causes Yelena to sink back into the couch cushions and further into Kate’s orbit. Kate’s solid presence quells the bitterness in her chest and Yelena doesn’t dare to dwell on it. “Whatever it is he’s after,” she turns her gaze to the files in the hopes to elicit their hidden meaning, “I agree with my mother that it must be very valuable to him.”
Next to her, Kate makes a deep, scratchy sound in her throat.
“Is there anything you want to share, Kate?” Wanda asks.
Nothing indicates any second layer to the question or any private meaning to pass only between the two of them but still from this close Yelena can see how Kate’s cheeks pink. Something ugly wells up in Yelena with an intensity that catches her off-guard and she barely hears Kate’s answer through the rush of blood in her ears.
“What if this thing Dreykov is searching for is not only valuable to him?” After earning a round of uncomprehensive glances, Kate adds. “The places he broke into, I know them. They are private treasuries.”
“What is that?” Alexei at last decided to join in. “Tree-su-rees?”
“It’s like a bank,” Kate is quick to answer, the hurried quality of her voice transferring to her body as she jumps from the couch, “only for people who don’t trust banks. And for far more valuable things. Like… really rare and secret stuff. In those banks you might find the original Pukwudgie arrow or the Crown of Courage or a Relic or—”
“Okay, Katie Kate, we get it,” Barton gently interrupts her. Kate’s mouth snaps shut immediately even though she probably has to swallow the rest of her ramble uncomfortably. Her cheeks burn brighter than before, and Yelena feels compelled to assure her it’s sweet even though she has always hated people who don’t get to the point.
“Could any of those things be what Dreykov is after?” Wanda asks with raised eyebrows.
Melina’s lips purse again. Natasha shrugs. Alexei is back to making eyes at the expensive liquor.
“Dreykov’s only weakness is that he is getting old,” Yelena rubs her forehead in frustration. “Unless you know of some magical artifact that can make him immortal…”
“Well…” Kate squirms with nervous energy in her spot. “There’s always the Philosopher’s Stone.”