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“Come on, kotyonok, try again.”
Jemma pulls herself off the ground, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I’m not a kitten.”
Natasha smirks. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you fight.”
“I’m learning,” Jemma stresses.
“Of course, zaika.”
Jemma thinks for a moment. “’Bunny’, right? That’s not better.”
Natasha waves her closer. “Then you earn something better. Until then you are small, soft creatures. Come, try again.”
Jemma steels herself before running at the older girl with a shout, three punches blocked with Natasha’s mitts before she’s tossed to the ground again, the breath leaving her in a whoosh.
“Okay, what did you do wrong that time?”
Jemma lets herself stay on the padded floor. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
“Lay off her, Tasha,” Clint calls from the other side of the room, where he’s spotting Bobbi. “She’s getting better. At the shouting, at least.”
Bobbi sets the bar in its rack and sits up, panting lightly, face flushed from exertion. Jemma tries not to stare. “Remember what I told you last time?”
“Elbows?”
“You need to keep them tucked. Here.” Bobbi comes over and helps Jemma off the floor, and then stands behind her, grabbing her hands and balling them into fists, warm against Jemma’s back. Bobbi’s hands slide down to Jemma’s elbows, and she pulls them away from her sides, which is probably difficult considering how rigid Jemma’s body has gone. “When you keep your elbows out here, you lose power in the punch, and it’s harder to defend your core.” Bobbi pushes her elbows back towards her sides, positioning her fists in front of her face. “Here you’re more protected, and it’s easier to ride out the movement of your hips. Do you want to go through it again?”
“No,” Jemma says, trying not to squeak.
Natasha’s grin is absolutely wicked.
“Okay. Try again, I’ll watch this time.” Bobbi pulls away from her, which Jemma is about half glad for, and backs up to the edge of the mat with Clint.
Jemma turns to Natasha, tries to focus again as she approaches, but at the last second she glances away and ends up flat on her back.
Natasha hovers over her, eyes glinting. “You didn’t even throw a punch that time, kotyonok. Distracted by something?”
Jemma holds her gaze. “No.”
“No? You try again, then? Keep that wandering eye in check?”
“I don’t have a wandering eye,” Jemma gripes, pushing herself up.
Natasha nods sharply, the teasing in her voice slipping away. “Better hope for your sake you don’t.”
Jemma isn’t really sure what they’re talking about anymore, if this is still about the fighting or about … that other thing (because of course Natasha knows, Natasha always knows, which is why Jemma hates her, just a little bit, because she probably knew before Jemma even properly knew herself, and oh god, what if she tells? Jemma kind of wants to sink through the floor), so she stands and puts her hands up in front of her face, palms out, fingers spread, just like May taught her.
“You’ve got her this time,” Bobbi says, and Jemma wills herself not to glance over.
Clint claps a few times. “Yeah, come on Jems, take her down.”
Jemma darts in, getting in close, before twisting her hip forward and her hand into a fist, letting the motion carry her until her fist collides with the mitt in a satisfying thump. The other arm comes in as she pulls the first back, aiming not for the mitt but driving the punch all the way through, as if to go through the hand itself, scooting herself closer with each punch, until Natasha is forced to take a step back, and then another. She knows Natasha is going easy on her, but it feels good nonetheless.
This time she can feel when she’s given Natasha her opening, and sure enough just a moment later she’s down on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
“You’re too fast,” she says, “the physics just don’t add up.”
Natasha’s face appears in her vision, red hair falling in curls around her face. “Russian super technology.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I’m all retrofitted. That’s why they brought me to America, you know, decked me out to assassinate the president.”
“No one is assassinating the president,” Steve says, shouldering his way into the crowded workout room with a tray full of drinks and snacks, sounding like this is maybe a thing he’s had to say before.
Natasha smirks. “Well I didn’t go through with it.”
“Can’t not go through with something you were never going to do. And that’s not something to joke about, anyway.” He balances the tray on top of the weight rack, cracking open a bottle of gatorade. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s getting better,” Bobbi says, sounding pleased, which in turn pleases Jemma. “Still having trouble with the elbows.”
“She figure out how to yell, yet?”
“I am right here,” Jemma huffs.
“Sorry.” Steve smiles, and sits down the bottle so he can help her up. “How are you?”
“Getting my arse kicked.”
He shrugs. “Sometimes you have to practice that part, too. Take a break and have something to drink, I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”
“With the amount of water I’ve drank today, it would take about two more hours of physical activity for dehydration to start setting in.”
Steve chuckles. “Well, drink anyway, just to make me feel better.”
She takes the bottle he offers and brings it up to her lips when Natasha interrupts.
“She can take a break when she improves her stance.”
“No,” Steve says, a bit of edge to his tone, “she can take a break now.”
Clint whistles, nudging Bobbi. “Tasha better back off, that’s his mama bear voice.”
Bobbi grins. “Come on Natasha, give the kid a break, she deserves it. And I could use one too, frankly.”
Natasha crosses her arms.
Steve crosses his right back. “If you push her too hard and she injures herself, Coulson isn’t going to let you use the room anymore.”
“Yeah,” Clint agrees, “and May will like, probably kill you.”
“Is not my fault she’s puny,” Natasha says.
Jemma shoves her drink into Steve’s hands, marching up to Natasha. “I’m not puny.”
Natasha pinches her arm, and Jemma jerks back. “You have no meat, kotyonok, you look like Steve.”
“Okay,” Bobbi says, a little louder than necessary, “break time. Everyone chill, or I’ll put you all in time out.”
“You can’t put me in time out,” Steve says, “I’m older than you.”
“And I’m bigger than you,” Clint adds.
“Yeah, and I’m a babysitter. It gives me super powers. So try to stop me.” She waves them off. “Break time. Jemma, come sit with me.”
Jemma grabs a blue gatorade and a pack of peanut butter crackers for Bobbi and follows her to the bench in the corner, handing the items over shyly. Bobbi takes them with a smile that makes Jemma’s chest feel warm, and takes a long sip before speaking.
“So I noticed you’ve been spending more time with that Will kid.”
“Baker?” Clint asks.
“No, Daniels.”
“What about it?” Jemma asks cautiously.
Bobbi gives a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know, just wondering if anything was happening there.”
Natasha snickers from where she’s lying down on the mat, and Jemma gives her a hard stare before answering. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you have a crush on him?”
Natasha laughs a little louder, and Jemma huffs. “No, I don’t have a crush on him.”
“You sure?”
Natasha sits up. “Believe me, that’s not who she has a crush on.”
“Natasha!” Jemma hisses.
Natasha’s face softens into something almost sympathetic. “She deserves to know, sestra.”
Jemma’s heart is starting to beat harder than when she was doing the punching. “Why do you get to decide that?”
“Because I’ve been on the other side, and it sucked. Just tell her.”
Bobbi holds up her hands. “Okay, I’m a little confused.”
“Me too,” Steve agrees. “What’s going on here?”
Suddenly everyone is looking at her, and Jemma stands, fists clenching at her sides. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now.”
She darts out of the room, her feet bringing her to the kitchen for whatever reason, but it’s too open, and she can hear Coulson typing on his laptop from the family room, so she turns around and wanders down the hall until she finds the coat closet, and she squeezes herself in, shutting the door behind her. It’s small and musty and a good place to gather her thoughts and try to stop the racing of her heart. She knows her ribs are healed now, but sometimes when she’s nervous it still feels like they’re broken.
It isn’t too long until there’s a knock on the door, and she lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry, sestra,” Natasha says, and Jemma wishes she could crawl back further in the closet. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“Yes you did, Natasha.” Jemma accuses.
There’s a pause. “Maybe.” The door creaks like Natasha is leaning back against it. “I’m not very good at this stuff. Fighting, yes. Not so much anything else.”
Jemma slides down the wall, pushing her feet against the wall opposite. “Did Steve send you?”
“No. I hadn’t come he probably would have, but I came on my own.”
That makes Jemma feel slightly better. Marginally. “You’re good at dancing.”
“What?”
“You said just fighting. But you’re good at dancing too.”
“Just a different kind of fighting, sestra.” She imagines that Natasha has a sad smile.
“I’m not good at talking, either.”
Natasha sighs. “You need to talk to Bobbi, though.”
“Why? I’m not hurting anyone. No one needs to know.”
“She’s six years older than you. It might seem harmless, but someone is going to get hurt if you try to hide it, and I don’t want it to be either of you.”
Jemma is quiet for long enough that Natasha starts poking her finger in the gap under the door, and Jemma almost laughs at the wriggling finger with the red, sparkly polish. “Yeah, okay.”
“You’ll talk to her?”
“If I have to.”
“Well, it’s either that or sit in this closet until Phil notices and calls your mom, da?”
May would be cool about it, Jemma knows, but that is definitely not a conversation Jemma wants to have. “Do I have to come out?”
“You want to talk to her from in there?”
“Well- Well, it’s just easier. When I can see her I end up not saying things right, or talking too much.”
Natasha chuckles. “Whatever makes it easier. I’ll get her.”
“Natasha,” Jemma calls, before Natasha can leave. She hears her stop moving. “If this goes poorly, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair. But it won’t.”
Natasha goes, and Jemma only has a few minutes to start working herself into a state before Bobbi is the one on the other side of the door, leaning against it with a sigh.
“What’s up, kid?”
“Um-“ Jemma shuffles. Even with the door, this was easier in theory. Her whole body feels like it’s on pins and needles. “Natasha said I should talk to you.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“I’m not sure how to say it.”
“Then can I say it for you?” When Jemma doesn’t object, Bobbi continues. “You’ve got a crush on me, yeah?”
Jemma bites her tongue, trying not to cry, suddenly wishing that May or Fitz were there, but also not wanting them to witness this. “How’d you know?”
“I put the pieces together.”
Her thumbs rub back and forth over her clenched fingers, trying to soothe herself, but it doesn’t really work. “Are you mad?”
“Mad? No, not at all. Why would I be? I think it’s sweet.”
Jemma sniffles without meaning to.
“Can you please open the door? I don’t want to have to talk like this.”
After a few moment’s hesitation, Jemma reaches up and turns the handle. The door isn’t even fully opened before Bobbi is pulling her out into the hallway and into a hug, both of them still on the floor. Jemma clutches back desperately. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. All of it.”
Bobbi shakes her head, smoothing a hand over Jemma’s hair. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“But you’re my friend.”
“So?”
“So I shouldn’t have gotten a crush on you. I’ll mess things up.”
Bobbi shrugs. “Sometimes friends crush on friends. That’s the way the world works, it keeps it turning. It’s nothing to get upset over.”
Jemma scoots closer, a few tears leaking out onto Bobbi’s shirt.
“Look, I never want you to feel like you can’t tell me something. You can come to me with anything.”
“It’s just awkward.”
“Yeah, well. We can handle awkward, we’re stronger than that.” Bobbi squeezes her. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
“You’re just a little young for me, that’s all.”
Jemma chuckles wetly, even though this whole conversation kind of hurts. “And you like Clint.”
Bobbi hums. “Mm. Kinda.”
“Does he know?”
Bobbi hums a little louder. “Mmm. Kinda.”
Jemma pulls back, wiping her cheeks. “You should tell him.”
Bobbi’s head nods back and forth. “We’ll see. I kind of want to focus on you right now.”
Jemma waves her off. “Nothing to focus on, I’m fine. It’s just- just neurotransmitters and things, it doesn’t mean anything.”
Bobbi pokes her in the side. “Just because you can explain it doesn’t mean it’s not worth paying attention to. You’re still feeling it, that means something.”
“Even if I don’t want to be feeling it?”
“Especially then.”
Jemma nods glumly, and then looks off down the hallway to where the workout room is. “Is it going to be weird when we go back in?”
“Maybe. Steve is probably done reaming out Natasha by now.”
“Ugh, he doesn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, but it’s Steve. He cares about you. We all do.”
Jemma risks a glance up at her. “I care about you guys, too.”
“Look at us, one big happy family,” Natasha calls, stepping into the hallway.
Bobbi glares. “Were you listening in?”
Natasha holds up her hands. “Just caught the end, I swear. And yes, Steve is done ‘reaming me out’.”
Jemma huffs and stands, hastily wiping any residual wetness from her cheeks.
“Your mom has taught you how to kick, sestra?”
Jemma nods. “Some.”
“Then you show me what you know. And you’ll do, what do you and mishka call them? Atomic drills? Get you out of your head some. That sound so bad?”
Jemma considers, as Bobbi hauls herself to standing next to her. “That sounds okay.”
“And I stop being mean, Steve made me promise. I would have promised anyway, had he not made me, but he did.”
Bobbi holds out a finger. “I’m going to keep you to that. Can’t go messing with my girl here.”
Jemma smiles.
Natasha reaches out a hand, waggling her fingers, and Jemma walks forward and grabs it.
“I’m glad I talked to her,” Jemma whispers.
“Yeah? Thought you might be,” Natasha whispers back, and leans over to press a kiss against her hairline. “But anyways, you come now, kick me as hard as you can, it makes up for everything.”
Jemma laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.”