Work Text:
~~Wish I could synthesize a picture perfect guy.~~
Yelena Belova stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
She had just returned from a mission—another widow freed. This time, she had been with Sonya and Ana. Afterward, they stayed at Ana’s home, watching the blonde seamlessly move between her husband and child, warmth radiating from her in a way Yelena wasn’t sure she’d ever understand.
She didn’t want to admit it, but something shifted in her that night.
Romance had never been a priority. It wasn’t even a consideration. The Red Room had trained emotions out of her, drilled into her that they were a weakness. And yet, Yelena had never been able to fully detach. Even before the chemical subjugation, she felt. And once it wore off—once the floodgates opened—she felt everything.
She wasn’t the only one. Some of the freed widows struggled under the weight of it all. Some didn’t survive the guilt. Yelena understood. She always did. These women were her sisters, bound by pain, by survival, by the unspoken things none of them could ever fully put into words.
But now, she had watched them live. Ana was so gentle with her daughter, so effortless with her husband. She moved through her home with a quiet certainty, as if love had always been second nature to her.
Yelena wondered if she could be like that, too.
~~Where all the boys at with emotional stability?~~
Yelena thought about the people in her orbit, the ones she worked with now, the ones who—begrudgingly—had become her team.
John Walker was an immediate no. She could barely tolerate being in the same room as him, let alone anything else.
James “Bucky” Barnes, though—he was a possibility. Handsome. Strong. Kind, in that gruff, reluctant way. More importantly, he understood. He had gone through something similar, clawing his way out of someone else’s control, piecing himself back together with nothing but sheer will and whatever fragile connections he could find.
They could probably help each other when it got hard. He had taken so many steps to move past the Winter Soldier, fought tooth and nail to become something more. He had even saved her life once. She trusted him.
But no matter how much she reminded herself of who he was now, she still couldn’t shake the memory of who he had been.
The Winter Soldier had been a ghost story whispered in the Red Room, a nightmare lurking in the shadows. When she was a child—when she was helpless—he had been more than a man. He had been a force. A lesson. A warning.
She knew that wasn’t Bucky anymore. She knew he had been a prisoner in his own body, just like she had. And yet, when she looked at him, she still saw glimpses of that shadow. She couldn’t let herself be afraid of him. But she also couldn’t let herself get close.
~~Nice car, a CEO, and almost just as smart as me.~~
Her mind drifted—almost unwillingly—to Kate Bishop.
Kate, who had a garage full of expensive cars she barely drove. Kate, who technically ran one of the biggest security firms in the world, despite the fact that she spent most of her time dodging board meetings and crashing through windows instead of using the front door.
Kate, who was annoyingly smart. It wasn’t just the degrees from fancy schools or the business empire she had inherited. It was the way she saw patterns no one else did, the way her brain worked at full speed even in the middle of a fight. Photographic memory. Perfect aim. A relentless, almost reckless belief that she could make the impossible happen if she just tried hard enough.
Yelena had spent her life among assassins and spies, among people who knew how to analyze every possible outcome, every move.
Kate did the same thing—just at 100 miles per hour, often while throwing herself into danger without thinking twice.
It should have been frustrating. It was frustrating. So why the hell was Yelena smiling?
~~Where are the boys at with financial security? A doctor? A model? A man of possibility.~~
Yelena scoffed at her own thoughts. She didn’t need a man of possibility when Kate Bishop existed.
Kate was financial security. She had millions at her fingertips, and unlike most rich idiots, she actually used it—to buy ridiculous things, sure, but also to fund missions, to help people, to throw money at problems until they disappeared. Even before she took over Bishop Security, wealth had been second nature to her.
And honestly? Kate might as well be a model, too. She had the jawline, the confidence, the magazine spreads to prove it. Yelena had seen them—articles praising Kate as young, hot, and incredibly rich, all variations of the same thing. The prodigal daughter, the brilliant CEO, the unexpected genius.
And to be fair, the world wasn’t wrong. Kate was smart beyond her years. She had taken Bishop Security and made it hers, revolutionizing the company with her own coded programs, her custom-built security tech. She had turned something inherited into something undeniably Kate Bishop.
~~ They say expectations are too high. And you’ll never find a guy like that It’s driving you mad, honey ~~
Maybe they were right. Maybe Yelena’s standards were impossible. Maybe there wasn’t a perfect person out there— strong enough to match her, smart enough to challenge her, stable enough to anchor the chaos. Maybe she’d set herself up for disappointment, believing someone could check every box.
And yet—
Her phone buzzed.
Kate Bishop: you’re gonna be so mad at me but technically this one isn’t my fault
Yelena groaned.
Of course it was Kate.
She stared at the message for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Because maybe the person she thought she’d never find had been there all along. Just not in the form she expected.
~~ They say. That its just a waste of time. Get your head out of the sky. But why? ~~
Yelena had spent her life being told what wasn’t possible. Love wasn’t possible. Stability wasn’t possible. Happiness? That was for other people—people who hadn’t been sharpened into weapons. She learned to stop hoping.
And then—Kate.
Kate, who crashed into her life all bright eyes and relentless optimism. Who treated the impossible like a minor inconvenience.
Maybe Yelena wasn’t meant for soft things. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have something real.
But maybe she was done listening to the people who thought they knew what she could have.
~~ Oh I, wish I could synthesize. A picture perfect guy. Oh I, oh I. Six feet tall and super strong. We'd always get along. Alright, alright ~~
Yelena was not impressed easily. But she had to admit, seeing Kate Bishop come home, standing in front of her in a sleek black dress and very expensive heels—heels that brought her up to a solid six feet—was almost enough to catch her off guard.
Almost.
“Wow,” Yelena said flatly, arms crossed as she gave Kate a once-over. “You are very tall.”
Kate grinned. “I know, right? I feel so powerful.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Until you break your ankle.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Kate gestured to herself dramatically. “These heels? Perfectly balanced. I could fight crime in these.”
Yelena scoffed. “I would pay money to see you try.”
And then, before she could protest, Kate moved forward, wrapped her arms around Yelena’s waist, and—
Lifted her.
Completely off the ground.
Yelena let out a startled noise—not a squeak, definitely not a squeak—as Kate laughed, spinning them both slightly before setting her down again.
Kate grinned down at her. “See? Super strong.”
Yelena blinked. “You are going to sprain your ankle carrying me.”
Kate huffed, rolling her eyes before kicking off her heels entirely. They clattered to the floor, and suddenly, she was back to her normal height, beaming at Yelena like she’d just won an argument.
“There,” Kate said. “Now you can’t be mad.”
Yelena narrowed her eyes. She wanted to be mad. But somehow, looking at Kate—barefoot, smug, and entirely too pleased with herself—Yelena just sighed, shaking her head. “You are ridiculous,” she muttered.
Kate grinned. “But you’re still here.”
Yelena didn’t dignify that with a response. But she did let Kate take her hand.
~~ Ooh, he’d pick me up at eight. And not a minute late. ’Cause I don’t like to wait, no. ~~
Yelena was prepared to be annoyed.
She had spent the last ten minutes pacing their apartment, fully expecting to get a “ running a little late, don’t be mad ” text from Kate. Because that was what Kate did. She showed up five minutes late, hair slightly mussed, always with some excuse that made Yelena roll her eyes and mutter about how unprofessional she was.
But then, at exactly 8:00 PM, a sleek black car pulled up in front of the building.
Not a second early. Not a second late.
Yelena raised an eyebrow as she stepped outside. The driver’s side door opened, and Kate stepped out—dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, her hair effortlessly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it clear she knew she looked good.
Yelena had to fight the very real urge to stare.
Kate grinned, leaning casually against the car. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” Yelena crossed her arms. “And what is that?”
“That I’d be late.” Kate smirked. “That I’d show up all frazzled and ridiculous like I usually do.”
Yelena tilted her head, unimpressed. “You are usually ridiculous.”
Kate huffed, stepping closer. “Yeah, but not tonight. Tonight is different.”
Yelena narrowed her eyes, taking in the suit, the polished shoes, the actual punctuality. “Who are you, and what have you done with Kate Bishop?”
Kate grinned. “What can I say? When something’s important, I show up.”
Yelena hesitated. Just for a second.
Because Kate had shown up. Not just on time, not just prepared, but ready. Like she had planned this down to the last detail. Like she had thought about what Yelena would want, what would make her not roll her eyes, what would make her actually consider this wasn’t just another one of Kate’s impulsive decisions.
She hated waiting.
But Kate had never once made her.
~~ Kind and ain’t afraid to cry. Or treat his mama right That’s right, that’s what I like. ~~
For all her chaos, Kate Bishop had one defining trait that set her apart from the people Yelena had spent her life around: she cared.
Not just in the casual, surface-level way most people did. Not in the calculated, strategic way spies and assassins were trained to. Kate cared recklessly. Loudly. Without hesitation.
Yelena had seen her dive headfirst into fights she had no business being in just because someone needed help. She had seen her patch up Lucky’s paw with more care than most doctors had ever treated Yelena with.
She had seen her cry—actually cry—for people she barely knew.
Yelena didn’t understand that kind of softness. She had been trained to see it as a weakness.
And yet, when she thought about it—when she thought about Kate—it didn’t seem weak at all.
It seemed… strong.
Because despite everything, despite how often the world tried to break her, Kate never stopped caring. She loved hard. She fought even harder.
And maybe that was what made her dangerous. Not her wealth, not her talent, not her ability to drive Yelena insane on a daily basis.
But the way she always showed up. The way she never let the world turn her cold. And God help Yelena, but maybe that was exactly what she liked.
~~ I need a man who don’t get jealous ‘less I want him to .~~
Yelena had never had patience for jealousy. Possessiveness was exhausting. She had seen it too many times—men getting territorial, getting insecure, trying to stake a claim like that meant anything to her. She had no interest in that kind of weakness.
Kate Bishop, though?
Kate didn’t get jealous. At least, not in the way Yelena expected.
She didn’t hover. Didn’t sulk. Didn’t try to pull any ridiculous macho stunts. If Yelena flirted with someone in front of her, Kate would just raise an eyebrow, smirk, and say something like, “Oh, is that your type? Interesting. Good to know.”
Like it didn’t bother her at all. Like she knew Yelena would come back to her no matter what.
And sometimes Yelena wanted to get a rise out of her. She wanted to push, to see if she could knock that unwavering confidence off its axis, just once.
So she would flirt a little too obviously, lean in a little too close to someone else, just to see.
Kate would let it happen.
Then, later, when they were alone, she’d press Yelena against the nearest surface, lips brushing against her ear as she murmured, “Did you get what you wanted, moya lyubov’?”
Yelena hated how much she loved that.
Kate didn’t get jealous.
But when Yelena wanted her to—
She knew exactly how to play the game.
~~ A gentleman to take care of me in the bedroom ~~
Kate Bishop was many things. A disaster, a menace, a human golden retriever in expensive leather jackets. She was the kind of person who tripped over her own feet but still somehow made it look intentional. The kind of person who made a career out of not thinking things through, yet always—always—landed on her feet.
She was reckless in a fight, impulsive in every aspect of life, but somehow, when it came to this, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Kate never rushed. Never pushed too far, too fast.
She had patience, which was not something Yelena had ever associated with her. But here, in this, Kate was careful. She paid attention. She learned Yelena’s tells—the sharp hitch in her breath, the way her fingers curled against fabric, the subtle shifts in tension before she ever had to say a word.
Kate read her.
The same way she read trajectories, the same way she always knew exactly where to place an arrow to land the perfect shot.
At first, it annoyed Yelena. She was used to being unreadable, used to people getting frustrated with her silence. But Kate? Kate never got impatient. Never got frustrated when Yelena wasn’t ready to say things out loud. She just waited, like she had all the time in the world.
And that? That was dangerous.
She touched Yelena with a care that made her chest tighten, that made something inside her feel too big, too vulnerable. She whispered dumb, reassuring things into Yelena’s ear, kissed her like they had a lifetime of chances instead of just this one.
Here with Yelena, she slowed down.
Kate never rushed. Never pushed past what Yelena wasn’t ready to give.
She learned Yelena’s tells—the way her breathing shifted, the hesitation in her fingertips, the slight tension before surrender. She watched, waited, adjusted. Let Yelena set the pace without ever making her say it aloud.
It was maddening, how patient she was. How careful.
Yelena wasn’t used to being handled like that—like someone precious instead of something dangerous. She wasn’t used to anyone paying enough attention to know exactly when to pause, when to push a little deeper, when to pull back entirely.
Kate treated her like a puzzle she wanted to figure out, not break open.
It should have felt suffocating, that level of care.
Instead, it made Yelena ache.
Because Kate didn’t just know when to be soft—she made sure Yelena never had to ask for it.
~~ Romantic love but keep it rough .~~
Kate was an idiot. A romantic idiot.
She bought flowers randomly, left them on Yelena’s kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like Yelena wouldn’t stare at them after Kate left, fingers brushing against the petals, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with this kind of softness.
She dragged Yelena to rooftop picnics and called them “steak-outs” just to get her to sit still long enough to enjoy them. She made stupid, impulsive gestures—like showing up at Yelena’s door at midnight with takeout from a place three boroughs away because “you said you liked their dumplings once, so I had to go get them.”
She kissed Yelena like she meant it. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she wasn’t afraid of what this was. Of what it could be.
And at first, Yelena tried to brush it off. Tried to tell herself Kate was just like that, with everyone—too generous, too warm, too eager to love the whole damn world. But the more she tried to ignore it, the harder it became.
Because Kate didn’t do this with everyone. She didn’t touch people the way she touched Yelena, with fingers tracing the curve of her jaw like she was memorizing her. She didn’t look at anyone else like that, like she was waiting for Yelena to let her in, like she was willing to wait as long as it took.
She wasn’t just soft. And Yelena learned that quickly. Because just when she started thinking Kate was all warmth and patience—
Kate would press her against the nearest surface, pin her wrists effortlessly above her head, and remind her that just because she could be gentle didn’t mean she always would be.
That just because she was sweet didn’t mean she was soft. Kate Bishop knew how to fight. She loved Yelena like she fought. Fierce. Unrelenting. Full of confidence, like she had already won before the fight had even started. And somehow, despite every single reason she shouldn’t—
Yelena had let herself want this. Want her. And she didn’t think she wanted to stop.
~~ Am I asking too much? ~~
Yelena had spent her whole life being told what she couldn’t have. Love. Trust. A future. Those things were for other people—people who hadn’t been raised in the shadows, who hadn’t been trained to see attachments as weaknesses. She’d been taught to survive, not to want. Not to hope.
Every time she’d allowed herself to imagine something softer, something normal, reality came crashing back in. There was no space for dreams when your life was built on orders and bloodstains.
So she learned to live without. To not ask. To not expect.
And yet, here was Kate Bishop—stubborn, reckless, relentless—proving her wrong at every turn.
Kate didn’t flinch at Yelena’s sharp edges. She didn’t pull away when Yelena tried to push her. She stood her ground, smiled through the barbs, and refused to be shut out. She showed up. Over and over.
She made room for Yelena’s silence, her moods, her damage, without expecting her to fix it or soften it. She loved her without conditions, without caution, without ever making Yelena feel like she had to earn it.
It was terrifying.
It felt like standing on the edge of something too big, too much—something Yelena had been told she would never be allowed to have.But every time she thought about pulling back, about protecting herself, there was Kate.
Laughing. Waiting. Reaching for her without hesitation.
Maybe she was asking too much. To be seen, entirely. To be wanted, anyway. But maybe, for the first time—
She had finally found someone who could actually give it to her. And who would never make her feel like she had to apologize for wanting it.
~~ They say expectations are too high. And you’ll never find a guy like that. It’s driving you mad, honey. They say that it’s just a waste of time. Get your head out of the sky. But why? ~~
The words looped in Yelena’s mind, persistent and mocking.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard them before. From handlers, from teachers, from the shadows that raised her—every single one had made it clear: expecting more was foolish. Dangerous. Weak.
So she had stopped expecting. Stopped asking. Focused on what she could control—missions, outcomes, survival.
But now, in moments like this, when the world felt quieter, when she wasn’t running or fighting, she wondered if they had been wrong.
She sat on the fire escape outside their apartment, legs stretched out, the cool metal beneath her grounding her in the dark.
A soft thud behind her made her glance back. Kate, barefoot, carrying two mugs of tea like she hadn’t just climbed out a window to meet her.
Kate settled next to her, handing her one. No questions, no commentary. Just quiet company.
Yelena looked at her, at the messy hair, the easy grin, the way Kate’s shoulder pressed lightly against hers.
The words echoed again—expectations too high, head in the sky—but sitting here, she couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Because maybe it wasn’t too much to want this. To have someone who showed up without needing to be asked. Maybe the people who told her it was a waste of time had never met Kate Bishop. Maybe they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
~~ Oh I, wish I could synthesize. A picture perfect guy. Oh I, oh I, Six feet tall and super strong.We’d always get along. Alright, alright (alright, oh no no) ~~
Yelena tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, stuck in traffic she had no patience for. She hated being idle, boxed in, too many people surrounding her. Her mind wandered uninvited, drifting back to the impossible checklist she always seemed to run through in her head.
Six feet tall. Strong. Smart. Someone who wouldn’t crumble when things got hard. Someone she could actually stand to be around for more than a few minutes without wanting to bolt.
The kind of person who could match her pace and not get left behind. Someone steady, sharp.
Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat.
Kate Bishop: Bet you’re stuck in traffic and cursing at everyone. I’ll have food ready when you get here. Drive safe.
Yelena smirked despite herself. Of course she knew.
Another message came in immediately after.
Kate Bishop: Also, heads up, Lucky commandeered the couch again. No promises I’ll fight him for you.
Yelena shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. Perfect was supposed to be some unattainable ideal. Six feet tall, super strong, perfectly put together.
And yet here she was, realizing maybe it wasn’t about perfection at all.
Maybe it was about someone who knew exactly when to send a text like that. Someone who made room for her even when the world felt suffocating.
Someone like Kate.
~~ Ooh, he’d pick me up at eight.And not a minute late (no). ‘Cause I don’t like to wait, no.Kind and ain’t afraid to cry. Or treat his mama right. That’s right, that’s what I like. ~~
It was Yelena’s idea to leave the city for once. Kate hadn’t argued—just packed up a bag, threw Lucky and Fanny in the backseat, and drove them out to some nowhere town an hour away.
They walked aimlessly through quiet streets, the kind of place where no one looked twice at them. It felt strange, how still everything was.
Yelena glanced sideways at Kate as they passed a small playground. There was a group of kids running around, laughing too loudly, and a woman sitting on a bench with a toddler in her lap. Kate’s eyes softened as she watched them, her hand absently tugging Lucky’s leash as if grounding herself.
Yelena hadn’t known what to expect—probably something sarcastic, a joke about settling down—but Kate stayed quiet.
Later, they sat on the hood of Kate’s car eating gas station snacks, watching the sky fade. Neither of them talked much, letting the quiet stretch between them until Yelena finally broke it.
“Your mother,” Yelena said, voice low. “You still talk to her?”
Kate’s jaw tightened slightly. She shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s… complicated.”
She picked at the wrapper in her hands, glancing at Yelena. “She did a lot of things I don’t like. But she’s still my mom. I don’t know how to cut that off completely.”
Yelena nodded, her throat feeling tight. “Complicated. That’s one word for it.”
Kate tilted her head, waiting.
“My mama,” Yelena said slowly, like it physically hurt to pull the words out, “she handed me over to the Red Room. I think she thought she was doing the right thing. Maybe she thought she was saving me.”
Kate didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush to fill the space.
“I don’t remember her much. Just little things. Her singing in the kitchen. The way she braided my hair.” Yelena stared down at her hands.
Kate’s voice was soft but sure. “You’re allowed to miss that. Even if you two are doing better now.”
Yelena swallowed hard. “Yeah. Complicated.”
Kate nudged her shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a better mom than either of ours.”
Yelena didn’t respond right away. The words lingered between them, heavier than they seemed. She stared out at the horizon, the fading light painting the sky in soft oranges and purples, and tried to ignore how much that one sentence unraveled something deep inside her.
She hadn’t thought about a future like that—not seriously. Not one where she was anything more than what the Red Room had made her. Anything more than a weapon.
But Kate had said it so casually, like it was obvious. Like she could see something in Yelena that Yelena had never dared to imagine for herself. A life beyond the next mission. A life with Kate. A life where they built something better together.
Yelena swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe past the ache that bloomed in her chest. Maybe it wasn’t about finding perfection. Maybe it was about being seen, exactly as she was, and having someone believe in her anyway.
She glanced at Kate, who was already watching her, soft and steady. “Yeah?” Yelena asked, voice quieter than usual.
Kate smiled, leaning back on her hands. “Yeah.”
And for the first time, Yelena let herself picture it—the impossible, terrifying possibility of a future. And she didn’t immediately pull away.
~~ I’ve been looking high and low. For a man who’s just right. And treats me mighty fine. So come on, baby. Show me what you got. ~~
Yelena watched from the sidelines of the training gym, arms folded, unimpressed—or at least pretending to be.
Kate was on the mat, sparring with one of their teammates. She wasn’t trying particularly hard, Yelena could tell. She was holding back, letting the other guy think he had a chance, all easy smirks and sharp pivots.
Show-off.
The session wrapped up, and Kate jogged over, wiping sweat from her face, still grinning like she owned the place.
“Impressed?” Kate asked, catching Yelena’s eye.
Yelena arched an eyebrow. “Please. I’ve seen you fall off a fire escape.”
Kate laughed. “Once.”
Yelena leaned in, lowering her voice just enough. “I’ve been looking for someone who’s actually worth my time, Kate Bishop. Someone who can keep up.”
Kate’s smile flickered, her gaze sharpening. “Oh, I can keep up.”
“Prove it,” Yelena said, already stepping onto the mat.
Kate’s grin spread wider. “What, right now?”
Yelena shrugged, playful but serious. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
Kate dropped into position without hesitation, and Yelena felt the familiar rush of adrenaline—except this time, it wasn’t just about the fight.
It was about the person standing across from her.
~~ Oh I, wish I could synthesize. A picture perfect guy. Oh I, oh I (hey). Six feet tall and super strong (hey). We’d always get along. Alright, alright (alright)~ ~
Yelena stood in the middle of Kate’s workshop, hands in her pockets, taking in the organized chaos. Blueprints taped to the walls, half-assembled tech scattered across the worktables, a pile of arrows in one corner that definitely didn’t look regulation.
Kate emerged from under one of the tables, grease smudged across her cheek, wearing a backwards baseball cap and an oversized hoodie.
“Didn’t know you’d drop by,” Kate said, wiping her hands on her pants. “Need something?”
Yelena shrugged. “Just seeing what you’re building now.”
Kate flashed her a grin, gesturing to the mess. “Something strong enough to stop an armored convoy, but discreet enough to pack in a duffel.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow. “That sounds irresponsible.”
Kate’s grin widened. “That’s what makes it fun.”
Yelena walked over, tapping one of the blueprints. “You always have something half-finished, Kate Bishop.”
Kate glanced up at her, smile softening. “Yeah, well. Maybe not everything has to be perfect. Sometimes it’s about building something piece by piece. Seeing how it holds up.”
Yelena studied her for a moment, then smirked. “As long as it doesn’t explode in my face.”
Kate laughed. “Come on. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”
And standing there, surrounded by wires, plans, and chaos, Yelena realized—maybe she didn’t need to synthesize anything. Maybe what she wanted was already right in front of her. Messy. Imperfect. Strong.
~~ Ooh, he’d pick me up at eight. And not a minute late (no). ‘Cause I don’t like to wait, no. Kind and ain’t afraid to cry (ain’t afraid to cry) Or treat his mama right (that’s right). That’s right (that’s right). That’s what I like (that’s what I like) ~~
Yelena checked the clock. Seven fifty-nine. Her door opened, perfectly on cue.
Kate Bishop was standing there—not in a suit, not in heels, not dressed up at all. Just jeans, sneakers, and that ridiculous worn leather jacket Yelena secretly loved.
Kate held up two takeout bags and a bottle of wine. “Told you I wouldn’t be late.”
Yelena smirked, stepping aside to let her in. “You are unusually punctual.”
Kate set the food down, turning back with a grin. “I figured you’d like that.”
They ate on the couch, Lucky and Fanny curled up at their feet, the city noise fading to a distant hum. It felt easy. Normal. Something Yelena hadn’t known she wanted until now.
Halfway through the meal, Kate mentioned offhandedly that she’d checked in on one of the widows Yelena had helped. Said the woman was doing well—getting her life back together.
Yelena blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Kate shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “You care about them. So I do too.”
Later, when the credits rolled on whatever movie they hadn’t really been paying attention to, Yelena glanced sideways. Kate was quiet, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on Yelena’s arm.
“You’re not afraid to care,” Yelena murmured.
Kate’s eyes met hers, steady. “Never been afraid of you.”
They sat like that for a while—quiet, close, no need to fill the space. Yelena let her gaze drift down to the sight in front of her: Lucky sprawled lazily at their feet, Fanny snoring softly by the window, the empty takeout containers scattered carelessly across the coffee table.
It was simple. Messy. Comfortable.
For a second, she thought of Ana again—how effortlessly she moved between her husband and child, how she filled her home with warmth.
Yelena glanced back at Kate, who was still drawing gentle circles on her skin, perfectly at ease in her orbit.
Maybe she didn’t need to wonder if she could ever have that life.
Maybe she already did.