Chapter Text
Yelena stares thoughtfully at the centerpiece of the museum's art gallery Interpol has charged her with protecting. She was charged with the security of the entire event but this statue is the crown jewel of the entire museum and the entire reason for the event in the first place. Hailed as a modern masterpiece the statue is meant to be a reimagining of the Ancient Greek hero Perseus slaying Medusa. Instead of looking triumphant Perseus instead has an expression of pity and sadness. It's worth millions of dollars and museums across the world are vying to be included in its world tour.
Yelena hates it. It was carved into marble but that's really the only similarity to the style it is supposedly trying to emulate. It is discordant where it should be elegant, the details are sloppy, and the whole thing is off putting in a way the artist clearly didn't intend. Medusa is still depicted as a monster, her decapitated head twisted into an inhuman snarl, and Perseus' supposed compassion comes off as condescending and surface level. The piece doesn't welcome the viewer to have compassion for Medusa, as the artist once claimed was his intent, but instead asks the audience to sympathize with the man who killed her but feels bad about it. His pity does nobody any good except for himself.
As much as Yelena hates it, it's still her job to ensure that it does not get stolen, as the anonymous tip given to her agency indicates is the intention of somebody here tonight. Given the high priority of the assignment, Interpol decided to send none other than Agent Belova. She has always been one of the most talented of the field agents but ever since her sister, along with her partner, left Interpol to become world class thieves Yelena's zeal for catching criminals has increased tenfold. Then after Natasha died while on a job ("Went missing" Yelena always insists. "Her body still hasn't been found so we can't know that she's died) Yelena's zeal has nearly become something more akin to an obsession. She can't help but feel as though every criminal she catches brings her one step closer to bringing in the man responsible for taking Yelena's sister away twice. Natasha's partner at Interpol turned partner in crime, Clint Barton. She almost had him at Tasha's funeral, but he managed to slip through her fingers and has continued to do so ever since.
Yelena doesn't find it likely that anyone would actually try to steal the 4.5 meter tall Perseus' Lament in both the literal and metaphorical middle of a party with a truly ridiculous amount of security measures protecting it, but if anyone had the balls to try and the sheer dumb luck to actually pull it off, it'd be Barton's crew. But it's also nothing at all like their usual targets so Yelena doesn't think it's likely that if their tip was actually accurate that Barton's crew would be involved. If it weren't for the fact that stealing this statue would piss off a bunch of entitled rich people, which always seemed to be Tasha and Barton's highest priority, then Yelena would be tempted to say that this would be the last piece in this entire museum that Barton would target. Yet she still can't quite get rid of the feeling in her gut that she needs to be here.
A flash of purple enters Yelena's peripheral vision and she hears a British access admire the overrated statue. "Wow." Yelena briefly glances over and sees a beautiful woman with shiny dark hair tumbling elegantly past her shoulders. She's wearing a purple backless dress that shows off how toned she is with cut outs at her hips. The woman is shiny and beautiful but this room is filled with shiny and beautiful people. And just like the rest of them she carries herself like someone who knows that nothing she wants is out of her reach. "This is what everyone's here to see? It's kind of underwhelming."
Yelena's head snaps back towards the woman. Perhaps she isn't as much like everyone else in the room as the Interpol agent originally assumed.
"I mean, don't get me wrong." The woman continued, "I think anyone who's able to sculpt anything out of marble has some talent and dedication, but is this really what everyone's been buzzing about? Not exactly a masterpiece, is it? It doesn't hold a candle to the vast majority of this museum."
"My thoughts exactly." Yelena responds. The woman finally brings her gaze to Yelena. Her clear blue eyes darken and her cheeks flush as her mouth falls open just slightly. She eyes Yelena up and down before her face breaks out into a wide grin.
"Speaking of masterpieces," she begins and Yelena braces herself for whatever awful come on is about to come out of the entitled woman's mouth, "does that have pockets?"
Yelena blinks before looking down at her stylish black jumpsuit and chic white jacket she's wearing to conceal her gun and looks back up. "Yes it does." Not able to tamp down the swelling sense of pride, Yelena sticks her hands in her pockets to show them off. "It came with pockets but they were not very good so I had to sew better."
The woman's grin grows impossibly wider. "Impressive."
"Yes. I am, aren't I?"
A pleasant and sincere chuckle finds its way to Yelena's ears. "I'm Ethel Deveroux." Her accent is particularly prim and proper as she introduces herself. The name doesn't suit the charismatic woman standing in front of her, with her carefree smile and easy laughter. The sentiment must show in her face because Ethel continues speaking. "I know, it's a little stuffy. Most people call me El, Ms…" She trails off at the end.
The Interpol agent quickly thinks of the list of guests she had memorized before the event and does recall an Ethel Deveroux being a last minute addition. She's some kind of minor duchess or something whose family has a history of donating to the museum. El's either gone to ridiculous lengths to secure a top notch fake identity or she's who she says she is. "Belova. Yelena Belova."
El leans in conspiratorially. "Are you a secret agent?" The kind of secret agent reels back in confusion. "You know." El adopts what Yelena hopes is not her best impersonation of Sean Connery. "Bond. James Bond." She then playfully points a finger gun at Yelena.
Yelena smiles in spite of herself. What kind of strange company has she found for herself tonight? "If I told you, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you." Yelena tilts her head towards El's finger gun. "Better put that away, El. Security's supposed to be tight tonight."
"Only because you asked so nicely." El solemnly mimes holstering her weapon. "Also, I never said you could call me that."
"What? El?"
"Precisely."
"You are the one who told me that most people call you El."
"I get the feeling that you're not most people. At least, I don't want you to be."
"What should I call you then?"
El hums thoughtfully, her head tilting in such a manner that Yelena can't help but think of her dog, Fanny. "I don't know. Maybe we can spend more time together and then you can tell me what name you think suits me." Yelena scoffs and rolls her eyes as El holds out her hand. "Care to dance?"
She shouldn't. The chances of somebody trying anything tonight is low but not zero and El is distracting. If Walker and Ava come back from patrolling and see their leader dancing in the middle of an assignment they'd never let her hear the end of it. It's a miracle that Bob, who's supposed to be listening in on comms, hasn't said anything yet.
And yet, this woman's eyes have a spark of intelligence, her mouth is twisted up with just a hint of playful mischievousness, and she's made Yelena laugh. She hasn't done much of that since Natasha went over the edge of that cliff. The Interpol agent finds herself placing her hand in El's without conscious thought. As soon as Yelena's hand comes into contact with El's warm and lightly calloused one, she finds herself swept onto the dance floor.
El leads Yelena with an unexpected amount of grace given her dorky finger guns earlier. "You are a good dancer." She tries to keep the surprise out of her voice as she tilts her head up towards the taller woman.
El smirks cockily. "What? Are you the only one allowed to be impressive?"
"I did not say I was impressed, Ms Deveroux. I said that you are a good dancer."
"Well, I guess I'll just have to try harder then." In spite it not matching the pace or intensity of the music at all, El spins Yelena before bringing her into a brief dip and then pulling her back in even closer to her solid, steady frame than before. Caught by surprise and feeling strangely exhilarated, the Interpol agent laughs freely.
"Also," El almost whispers once Yelena has collected herself, "is 'Ms Deveroux' really what you want to be calling me all night?"
Yelena hums thoughtfully. "No. I suppose that it isn't."
A comfortable silence settles over them. The warmth of El's bare shoulders seeps into Yelena's perpetually cold hands as they both lose themselves in the music. Though, El doesn't allow the quiet to last long.
"So if you're not a fan of tonight's guest of honor," she indicates with her head towards Perseus' Lament, "what in this museum do you like."
Yelena thinks for a moment before responding. "I've always enjoyed the impressionists."
"Van Gogh?"
"Who doesn't? But I must admit my favorite is Monét. I like how the impressionists present you with reality but leave it blurred around the edges so that you can fill in the gaps yourself."
"I get it. It's like a…meeting point between your reality and the artist's."
"Something like that. And you? What here captures your attention?"
"You mean besides you?" Yelena punches her dance partner lightly in the shoulder who just chuckles in response and continues leading. "You're kind of mean, you know that?"
"You do not sound too broken up about it."
"I'm not. In fact, one could even say that I kind of like it."
"I'll be sure to remember that. Are you going to answer my question now?"
"What question was that again?"
Yelena rolls her eyes. "What in this museum do you enjoy?"
El's face grows serious as she thinks about the question. "I'm fascinated by learning about other cultures. This museum has an impressive collection of artifacts from Africa specifically."
"Didn't the museum recently receive a sizable donation of African artifacts?" Yelena asks.
An odd look darkens the other woman's face but is gone again so quickly that the Interpol agent almost dismisses it as a trick of the light. "Technically it's a loan and the collection is still owned by August D'Angelo. And they're Wakandan artifacts, specifically. Supposedly many of them are still used in various ceremonies and religious practices to this day."
Yelena hums thoughtfully, her brows furrowed. It is true that Wakanda has become much more open to other nations and have even been sharing their advanced technological and medical advancements in recent years, but they are still notoriously protective of their culture. What kind of dirty deals did the CEO of Roxxon Oil have to cut to get his hands on Wakandan artifacts for his own personal collection? As the Interpol agent ponders on this, she doesn't notice as her hands slip from the taller woman's shoulders to being looped around the back of her neck, where her fingers idly play with El's soft hair. Nor does she notice how the other woman experiences full body shivers at her actions. She's pulled out of her thoughts when someone jostles against her, knocking her just a half a step further into El's space. Yelena looks up into her blue eyes after she's steady again, and doesn't step away.
Yelena's team checks in to give her the all clear, their boredom more than apparent. Except for Bob in the van outside who is being strangely quiet. Though he does occasionally fall near silent while out on assignment when there isn't much for him to do so Yelena's not too worried. They continue to dance for several minutes, with the occasional back and forth when El suddenly turns her head to the side as if she is listening to something. Or someone.
She turns her head back and to Yelena's surprise, speaks in an American accent. "I'm sorry about this." She has a small, sad smile. "Now. Do it now."
Before the Interpol agent has time to react, two things happen at once. Piercing feedback from her earpiece drills into her skull, causing her to double over in surprise and pain, and the lights go out. Around her, people scream and begin to jostle each other. Yelena's pulled right up against El's strong frame.
"Since you never decided what to call me," the taller woman husks into Yelena's ear, again with an American accent, "you can just call me Hawkeye." Yelena's heart stops beating. That was Barton's old nickname. Is this woman working for Barton or is she just some kind of well-informed wannabe copycat? "I hope you enjoy your parting gift."
Yelena tries to stop this woman, this menace, Hawkeye, from escaping but she slips right out of her grip and the near pitch black darkness swallows her up and she disappears.
"Walker! Starr! Can you hear me? Bob? Come in Bob!" Yelena tries her comm but whatever that feedback was seems to have rendered them useless. Yelena picks a direction and starts moving towards it, not even sure herself if she's going for the statue she's been charged with protecting, her team, or 'Hawkeye'. Either way she doesn't get very far before the lights are turned back on, temporarily blinding everyone in the room.
When Yelena recovers, what she sees shocks her. At the foot of Perseus' Lament, which has not moved a single inch, his suit disheveled, his wrists and feet bound, and his mouth duct taped is none other than August D'Angelo.
"Interpol, stand back! Stand back and let me through." Yelena commands the crowd with a clear and authoritative voice. She goes to the bound CEO and rips the duct tape from his mouth. "Who did this to you? What happened?"
The man is unable to respond to her questions and is instead a blubbering mess. Yelena works on undoing his restraints as he eventually collects himself to string together almost cohesive sentences.
"Please don't, please don't. Take me in please! Put me in protective custody. I'll give you anything. Everything. Just don't let him kill me!"
"Who?" Yelena demands. "Who is trying to kill you?"
"Klaue. Ulysses Klaue. We've been working together for years. Smuggling. Selling weapons. We had a plan. A plan. We had a plan to-to start digging for oil on Wakandan soil. But now the money's gone. The money is all gone and now Klaue is going to kill me! You have to protect me!"
Yelena's dimly aware of Ava and John reaching her side, but her mind is a million miles away. Wakanda. Yelena stands abruptly, ignoring the sobbing mess of a man on the floor. "Ava, you stay here and handle this. Walker, you're with me."
Yelena runs to the nearest security access door, it's faster than going through the museum itself. She goes to pull her security access badge from the pocket in the inner lining of her jacket but comes up empty. Yelena checks her gun and is relieved to find it still right where she left it. "Walker." Yelena indicates to the door. He, for once, doesn't question her and opens the door without another word.
They sprint as fast as they can to the opposite end of the museum, to the exhibit that usually has the tightest security. Impossible to steal from on any night except for tonight. How could Yelena have been so stupid? Blinded by this new Hawkeye and her jokes and her dorky charms and her manipulations and her lies. And of all the stupid names she could have chosen, she chose the one belonging to Clint Barton. The reason why her sister is no longer in her life and her family dissolved out from under her. Yelena will not rest until she has hunted both the Hawkeyes down and brought them to justice.
When they get to the Wakandan collection, Yelena is not surprised to see that every single artifact has disappeared without a trace. As if they were never there in the first place.
They find Bob in the van, curled up under a blanket with a pillow under his head. A trip to the hospital visit will later confirm that he was dosed with a mild but quick acting sedative. It could've been much worse, all things considered, but Yelena still worries that this could send him into another relapse.
A crowd of news cameras and people with smartphones are clamoring at the police barriers as Yelena and her team walk a handcuffed August D'Angelo to the car. There's a moment where D'Angelo looks out into the crowd and his face becomes ghostly pale. Yelena follows his gaze and sees her. Hawkeye. Her smug smile that was so magnetic to Yelena earlier tonight now fills her with boiling rage. She's gloating. After everything she's done she comes back to the scene of the crime to gloat. As quickly as she appears, Hawkeye disappears back into the crowd, leaving nothing but memories of a blurred reality.
Kate and her team stand proudly before the Wakandan royal family as people are unloading the recovered relics from the plane.
"We cannot thank you enough." King T'Challa says. "You have both my personal gratitude as well as the gratitude of my people."
"We were happy to help." Kate responds. And it's true. She always has fun on cons and taking down the scum of the earth is the cherry on top. The rich and powerful are just as much thieves and con men are as her team and have no qualms about throwing their weight around to take advantage of the most vulnerable. Nothing brings Kate more joy than helping vulnerable people while causing some havoc in the process.
It doesn't hurt that Roxxon Oil has ties to Bishop Security as well as several other shady companies. No, it doesn't hurt at all.
"He didn't think you could do it." Princess Shuri says. Riri apparently knows her personally which is how they found out about their team. "He is a chronic worrier, my brother. But I assured him that we could trust you and I was right."
Their cousin, Erik Killmonger, breaks his silence for the first time during this meeting to laugh with the princess at the king. King T'Challah rolls his eyes. "I am so glad to see that you have your priorities in order, sister."
"Hey, if you ever need anything," Killmonger says, reaching out his hand. "I owe you one."
Kate's about to tell him that that isn't necessary when she's interrupted by Kamala. "I'd certainly never turn down an offer like that. We'll be in touch."
They bid their farewells. Riri and Shuri share some kind of science joke that makes Peter laugh but goes right over Kate's head, and they all get on the plane to head home.
As they fly, Kate finds her mind wandering back to the beautiful, blonde, Interpol Agent. Agent Yelena Belova. It's a nice name. And she's fun. Not just to dance and flirt with, but also to match wits with. It should have been a breeze to get past the museum security, especially with Cassie having been embedded with the security team for weeks, but then Agent Belova comes in and nearly throws the whole plan off without even knowing her opponent or their true target. They'd be in trouble if they ever ran into her again. The idea excites Kate much more than it should. Yelena had a strange reaction to the name 'Hawkeye' now that she's thinking about it. Maybe Clint's run into her before, she'll have to disturb his retirement to ask him about it.
Remembering Clint's retirement and the reason for it sobers Kate up a bit. It's been hard seeing Natasha laid up in a hospital bed in a coma for the past couple of months. Clint's constantly going between the farm with his family, to Nat's hotel room. Riri and Peter created the most air tight identity for her while she's recovering that they've ever made to keep her safe from all the law enforcement agencies, corrupt politicians, and rich assholes she's pissed off over the years. The whole thing's been hard on everyone.
Not wanting to think about it anymore, Kate turns her mind back to more pleasant trains of thought. Like how Yelena's short hair looks perfect to run fingers through. Or how her smile lights up her face. Or how cute she is when she's annoyed. Or her throaty laugh at Kate's dumb jokes. Kate sleeps most of the rest of the way home with the ghost sensation of Yelena playing with her hair as they danced constantly at the edge of her consciousness. She knows that they kind of screwed the Interpol agent over, but Kate hopes that giving her D'Angelo makes up for it.