Chapter Text
Kate Bishop has a problem.
You see… She has a habit of inviting various bumps and scrapes from her shenanigans and, as a result, almost always has a bandage of some sort slapped across her face. It’s just the name of the game with archery and martial arts and general tinkering on gadgets and gizmos in between work and her classes. To be quite honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
It does cause her grief sometimes, though.
Right now, her gait is a bit wonky, her forearm is torn to shit, and there’s a small bruise on her neck from a recent mishap with her Boomerang Arrow (patent pending) that snapped the string...
It’s a whole thing.
Not important.
What is important are all the reactions and presumptuous looks she’s been receiving from her newest bruise. People seem to think she got lucky recently. And the thing is— Kate hasn’t, sadly. She’s been straight missing lately in the realm of romantic endeavors.
Her internship at Bishop Security has ratcheted up. And her gremlin count has doubled at the local YMCA archery program. And her teachers haven’t had any mercy in the frequency and length of assignment papers the past month or so.
And she’s getting ready to test for her black belt in jiujitsu which is super rad but also taking up the very little free time she might normally have.
Shocking to believe folks don’t want someone that can only spare a measly hour in the week (that, honestly, usually goes to a hard nap most of the time).
“You get attacked by some leeches, Kate? Or a single leech named Eli, perhaps?”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious, Franny.” She scoffs, twirling the straw wrapper in her hand before she shovels more food into her mouth. “A real riot,” tumbles out around bites of burger to the disgust of her two friends.
Greer, with a frown and knitted eyebrows, throws her arm on the back of the booth seat as she looks around the diner. “You’re not still messing around with that guy, right, Kate?” She waves down the waitress and orders a round of chocolate shakes. “He’s such a drag.”
“I haven’t seen Eli in like…three months, guys. You know I’m in my healing era. Men ain’t shit and all that jazz.”
Her friends scoff.
“It’s not a healing era if it’s not self-imposed, Katie Kate.” Franny sighs, perking up as she spots one of their teachers on the other side of the diner, and waving at him. He just averts his gaze and buries his head back in his book. “Rude.”
Kate chuckles, “He’s well within his rights to ignore you, Fran. You’ve been sidestepping that report on the history of the Cold War for weeks.”
The woman’s mouth drops open, but Greer pipes up before she can respond. “So. Who’s the hickey from then?” She takes a sip of her coffee, an eyebrow quirked and a small grin on her face. “Jonathan? That hot blond guy you’ve been eyeing in CompSci? Oh, that soccer dude that face planted last week? He’s cute.”
“It’s not a hi—” Kate drops the remainder of her burger, her hands suspended above the table and dripping with condiments. “You know what, even if it was and it was from one of those dudes or any other guy, really, I don’t owe you two any explanation. I’m a grown woman and I can do damn well whatever I please. So.”
She rolls her shoulders back as she plucks out a few new napkins and sets about cleaning her hands, and Franny and Greer slowly start to smile. She huffs and looks over to see the waitress approaching with their shakes.
Huzzah!
They thank the woman who scurries off to her next table and they let the silence stretch on for a few moments as they enjoy their dessert. The diner is pleasantly buzzing with energy; the Saturday crowd is subdued, many of whom appear to be tapping away on laptops or enjoying a nice book.
Kate smiles as she sees a little girl wriggling impatiently in the booth a few tables down.
She gets it. A few sips of the shake and she's about to crawl out of her skin.
She takes a quick sip of her lukewarm coffee then winces, setting the mug back down and sliding it away.
She probably shouldn’t partake in both at the same time.
She looks up and sees her friends bickering about the apartment cleaning schedule and backtracks as her head starts to ache when the topic of laundry comes up. She snags the cup before Franny can co-opt it and downs the last of her lukewarm coffee, giving her friend a teasing wiggle of her fingers.
She ignores the responding grumble as the front door opens with the jingle of a bell and her mind goes blank. Some coffee dribbles down her chin when her bottom lip drops open, her eyebrows slowly creeping up her forehead as she stares at the new customer.
The Hot Blonde that just walked in is wearing a workout tank and some slouchy joggers, headphones in her pierced ears as her head bobs a bit at the music she’s listening to. She strides up to the counter and takes them out to start chatting happily with the man cooking in the back. Her elbow settles on the counter as their waitress breezes by and sets a to-go cup in front of her. She gives the waitress a dazzling grin, holding the cup up in thanks, before continuing her conversation with the rowdy cook.
She doesn’t catch what the two are talking about because her brain just starts echoing with the woman’s silky Russian lilt, and her vision is fuzzy around the edges where her gaze is fixed on the infuriatingly hot septum piercing and her frayed ‘I love NY’ hat (the heart is rainbow) before they slide down to the spider tattoo on her shoulder blade.
It’s entirely new for Kate to gawk at a woman, but really—what does the universe expect her to do when the tattoo is just fucking taunting her from under the woman’s tank top strap?
She hears someone snapping from across the booth and her mind lags as she brings her eyes back to her friends. They share Cheshire grins, Greer’s hand still hovering close to her face.
She clears her throat and swats the hand away.
“Sorry— What was that?”
It’s still a bit too squeaky, so she clears her throat a second time before wrapping her lips around the milkshake straw and taking a few noisy sips.
She pointedly keeps her eyes on the two, to make a show of her ability to do so and to perhaps bask in how they don't bat an eye at her new fixation.
She’s totally not hoping they look away so she can catch another eyeful of the woman.
Nope.
“You are incorrigible.” Franny ignores Kate’s haughty, “such a big word for a Saturday morning,” and continues in a whisper shout, leaning haphazardly over the table to peer more directly in the brunette’s eyes, “I thought you were in your healing era.”
Kate, ever the mature, responsible adult and Bishop heir and whatever whatever, sticks her tongue out at her friend.
“Didn’t know you swing that way, Bishop.”
She looks hard at Greer and swallows more milkshake. Because, well—she’s not wrong. This is definitely a first.
But…
She sneaks a quick look back over.
She’s not upset about it. Not with the woman looking like that.
Her eyebrows rise as her gaze slides down to the blonde’s backside before the woman sits on the stool next to her. She frowns at the loss.
Why hide such a perfect ass?
Her eyes move back up and Kate startles visibly when she catches bright green eyes crinkled at the corners, (probably) a hint of a smirk below them, as the blonde looks over her shoulder.
Right.
At.
Her.
She yelps and loses hold of her shake, and it clatters to the table with a dull thump, thankfully landing upright somehow.
Her friends burst out into giggles and her cheeks are burning and she can’t breathe quite right because now Hot Blonde is standing up and walking over. She sinks in her seat, trying to melt into the grimy diner floor or the stiff red plastic of the seat or perhaps right into what’s left of her melting shake.
Greer kicks at her foot under the table and she throws her straw wrapper at her friend’s forehead in relation. Then Franny manages a solid kick to her shin, and she’s forced to sit up taller, gasping at the fleeting pain and holding her mangled leg, and she opens her mouth to give her a piece of her m—
“Cinnamon rolls?”
Kate’s mouth snaps shut, and she looks over, getting a bit dizzy from the double take she can’t help. The blonde is even more gorgeous up close and she’s holding up a plate of the offered pastries, a grin on her face.
“I’m on a diet.”
Kate.
Katherine Fucking Bishop.
What?
To the blonde’s credit, her nose just crinkles adorably as her grin stays in place, and she lifts an eyebrow at the shakes in their hands and the remnants of burgers and French toast littering the table.
Kate sighs and hangs her head.
“I’m— I’m not. I don’t know why I just said that.” She raises her eyebrows and shifts in her seat, ignoring the burning eyes of her friends and the scorching gaze of Hot Blonde. “Um. Sure, I’ll take two.”
She clears her throat.
To her shock, the woman sits down in the booth next to her and sets the plate down in the center of the table. She does manage to scooch over to give the newcomer some more space and the waitress appears from nowhere to clear the other stuff away, a small smile on her face that the blonde returns brightly.
The four thank the waitress quietly, their eyes not knowing exactly where to settle now.
Well.
She sneaks a quick look to her right.
The blonde’s eyes are steady on her as her elbow is propped up on the table, her chin resting on her fist. Her smile is lazy, and it grows when she catches Kate’s gaze.
She really needs to get her shit together and look away, but she’s stuck.
Utterly and incredibly stuck.
There’s a blaze across her face and up the back of her neck and on the tips of her ears, and she feels her friends’ eyes ping-ponging between her and the stranger. They offer her no support whatsoever and she makes a mental note to hide some foghorn traps around the apartment for revenge.
She looks briefly up at the ceiling and settles once more with her gaze on the blonde.
“Uh.” She scratches her cheek and tries—and, sadly, fails—at an easy smile. It’s probably more of a grimace instead. “So… Are waitresses here allowed to sit with their customers now?”
Franny and Greer groan, but Kate and the other woman don’t pay them any mind.
The blonde’s head shifts but remains on her fist as she lets out a beautiful, hoarse laugh. “Nyet. I don’t work here.” Her eyes are sparkling as she continues to peer at Kate. “I just know the owner and a few of the employees. Usually, I would crush these all on my own after rugby practice, but you three looked like you would enjoy some.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah. That makes sense.” She hums, her hands drumming on the counter and her eyes flick all over the lovely face still turned toward her. “I mean, I wouldn’t complain if they could. Not—” She coughs, trying to drown out the snickers across the booth. “Not that I would want to sit with any of the waitresses here. Wait, no—shit. Not that they aren’t great and beautiful and probably super wonderful…”
The blonde’s grin is unwieldy at this point and her eye crinkles are endearingly stronger and her brain is struggling even more now.
Greer. Blessed Greer.
She steps in, thank gods.
“What Katherine Elizabeth Bishop here means…” Her friend pipes up, grinning and leaning onto the table with a glint in her eyes. “She’s not chasing any tails at this fine establishment, but she wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Franny gives Kate a shit-eating grin, her eyes alight with mischief and buffoonery as she too leans forward and looks at the newcomer.
“Or maybe…one tail in particular.” Her friend takes a last sip of her shake and pops some cinnamon roll into her mouth, swallowing quickly. “That’s totally not a hickey on Kate’s neck, by the way. Just so you know.”
Her friends giggle, shoving at one another as the blonde finally looks at them with a chuckle.
“No? No one to worry about if I ask one Katherine Elizabeth Bishop out, then?”
They immediately squeal and snatch up their cinnamon rolls, sliding out of the booth with bullshit excuses about Cold War homework and a dog that they certainly don’t have at home and episodes of Love is Blind that are suddenly calling their names.
Kate can’t manage more than a startled splutter and open mouth before they’re out the door. The bell dings and her brain works harder than it ever has to slow back down, her eyes fixed on the now empty bench on the other side of the table.
In the sudden silence, the blonde turns back to Kate. She looks over with a sharp intake of breath at the sly grin she finds as she shuffles as discreetly as she can to try to put even the slightest bit more of space between her and Hot Blonde.
The woman chuckles lowly as her eyes sweep down the part of Kate that she can see and she wordlessly slides onto the bench on the other side of the booth.
Maybe she’s taking pity on the clear lack of control and attraction and sudden spur of bi panic radiating from Kate.
(Is she bi? Like, officially now? How does that work? Does she trade in her ally card or something?)
And if she thought that the space on her bench would help matters…
Turns out, it doesn’t.
Because now she’s staring straight into those bright eyes and at her small smirk and her numerous piercings and her full lips and her chopped hair hiding under the gay-as-fuck backwards hat and a glimpse of another tattoo is peeking out from the top of her tank on her upper chest.
The light is hitting this human-shaped angel just right that her bleached hair appears to be glowing and the waitress has been suspiciously absent since the woman sat down at their table.
Fucking hell.
“You okay there, Katherine Elizabeth Bishop?”
“It’s just Kate,” she rasps out, her eyebrows knitted. She takes another deep breath. “Uh. You can call me Kate.”
The woman hums and snags a piece of cinnamon roll, holding it near her chin as she peers over. “Okay, Kate Bishop.” She pops it into her mouth and chews slowly.
Her mind catches on the way her accented voice continues to wrap around the syllables of her name and the way her jaw works as she chews. She shakes her head after a few moments when the sound and images finally fade enough for her to roll her shoulders.
She’s got this. She has game.
She does, dammit.
It’s totally new territory for her in this particular instance, but she can vibe.
“And you?”
Kate grabs some pastry for herself and chews for a few seconds as Hot Blonde’s eyebrows lift teasingly, her eyes flitting down to the brunette’s lips. They trail down to her throat as she swallows.
The corners of Kate’s mouth lift and her chest flutters.
There’s a clanging that has the blonde’s eyes jerking back up to hers and Kate fights the urge to glance over and see where it came from. It doesn’t sound like anything broke or that the waiters need help picking stuff up, so it’s fine.
Totally fine.
“Yelena Belova.”
Gods, her voice is so smooth but also a tad rough and she could listen to her talk all fucking day. (Maybe in a few other, incredibly more private, settings too.) The blonde’s head tilts.
“No middle name, so that’s the full govie—as I’ve been told the kids say.”
She lets out a surprised snort, but it bubbles into a full laugh at the pleased and equally amused smile that grows on Yelena’s face at the sound.
“As the kids say? Okay, boomer.”
Yelena chuckles quietly, playing with the edges of a sugar packet that she plucks from the container on the edge of the table. She takes another and tosses it playfully into Kate’s lap.
“I’m not a boomer.” The brunette’s smile grows at the measured way in which Yelena appears to be forced to pronounce the word. “I’m just not very up to date with all the interweb slang. My sestra is always giving me shit about it.”
Subtle lore drop?
You really do still have it, Bishop.
Kate tempers her smile as best she can as she leans forward and picks up the packet from her lap. She’s about to inquire further—try to nail Yelena’s age down further—before a redhead strolls up and stands next to the table with her hand on her hip.
She’s wearing the same tank top as the blonde, a little red hourglass icon in the corner that Kate totally didn’t miss in her initial purview of Yelena.
Ahem.
Anyway, the redhead’s eyes are just as startingly green as her new friend’s and they’re narrowed a bit as they land on Kate’s. She gulps.
This isn’t a stilted girlfriend or anything, right?
She’s not so good with those.
She lets out a shaky breath as the woman slides her eyes back to Yelena and says, “Lena, I’m heading out.” She holds up a plastic bag. “Maria is going to rip me a new one if I don’t bring her some waffles ASAP.”
Yelena sits up taller and grins. “Don’t keep your lady waiting, Tasha.” Her eyes cut over to Kate who looks away hurriedly, dropping the packet on the table in favor of playing with the frayed hole in her jeans. “I’ll catch ya later. We still on for drinks at Hank’s later?”
The second pair of green eyes land on Kate and her cheeks burn under the pressure so she keeps her gaze directed at the table and sugar packet.
She hears a snarky, “I won’t hold my breath, sis,” before the woman starts to walk away. She looks up to see the blonde nail her sister in the back with the packet in her hands.
“Watch it, Belova!” The packet comes sailing back a moment later, hitting the blonde in the forehead before falling to her lap. “I know where you live.”
Yelena lets out a “ha!” and rolls her eyes but says nothing further as the redhead walks out.
She’s looking at Kate again and, for a split second, she internally gawks at the precision of the throws. They weren’t exactly trick shots, but she appreciates the athleticism.
Her eyes slide down when Yelena’s arm muscles flex as the blonde fusses with the sugar packet once more. That adorable wrinkle reappears in her nose as she smiles at Kate.
Yeah.
The athleticism.
Her mouth is dry, and she takes the last gulp of her now chocolate milk before setting it on the edge of the table. It (unsurprisingly) doesn’t help, so she clears her throat and settles once more with her forearms on the table.
“So… You mentioned a date or something?”
Her lips quirk and so do Yelena’s. They sit for a moment, just looking at one another. Finally, the blonde sets the sugar packet back into the container and hums.
“Indeed, I did,” the blonde (honest to gods and Kate will shout it across all of the rooftops right after she leaves this diner and at the altar when she inevitably marries this total smoke show that is somehow interested in her) purrs.
That damn smirk is back, and Kate is entirely powerless to stop the responding grin of her own. The flush is back too, but she’s happy to see that it’s mirrored on Yelena’s face. The blonde scribbles something on a clean napkin and slides it over to her across the table, her hand lingering on top for a few seconds.
With her own smirk still in place, Kate lays her hand on top for a moment before Yelena pulls her hand away slowly. The blonde is still smirking when she slides out of the booth, grabbing her own plastic to-go bag and paper coffee cup with a wink.
“Call me.”
And Kate just watches dumbly as Yelena saunters out of the diner, that telltale bell ringing once again as she does. Her mouth is slightly agape as she turns her gaze back to the napkin and she sees 10 digits in a neat scrawl across it.
She picks it up with a grin and a dorky fist bump and she nearly drops her phone to the ground as she pulls it from her back pocket to send out a quick text to Franny and Greer about what just went down. About her newfound queerness, as it would appear.
Just before she hits send, she pauses and huffs.
No.
They still deserve foghorn traps, those traitors.
She lifts a hand to the side of her neck to cover the bruise on her neck before she starts to gather her things. Her era of healing is decidedly over, she thinks as she pays and walks out into the early morning chill and sunlight. There’s a bit of a pep in her step as she sets about her day and forces herself not to text Yelena until the late afternoon.
She’ll just tell them in person.
With Franny and Greer’s help crafting the perfect text as they project her phone screen to the TV and have popcorn, of course. She’s not inept when it comes to texting guys for a hookup or date or whatever, but this feels startlingly different.
Bigger, maybe.
Certainly groundbreaking in terms of what she thought was her steadfast sexuality.