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Yelena likes to think she understands people better than they understand themselves. She can’t help it; it was part of her skills training in the Red Room. Reading micro-expressions, subtle shifts in posture, emotional giveaways, fun shit like that.
And honestly, it isn’t that difficult when her current group of assholes consists of John being (annoyingly) loud, Alexei being larger than necessary (which never is), Bob being… Bob (always a delight, never done a wrong thing in his life), and Bucky Barnes, busily pretending he isn’t hopelessly in love with the sole quantum anomaly in their team.
The last one catches Yelena completely off-guard. Not because she didn’t think it would or could happen. No. It’s just surprising in a way that, once she actually realized what was happening, it was hard to ignore the signs from then on.
Signs that Bucky himself is emitting - consciously or not.
The very same things that Ava completely fails to notice, or misinterprets, or steamrolls past because she thinks Bucky is like this with everyone (fun fact: he is very much not - case in point: John).
Idiots, Yelena thinks - completely and utterly fond of said idiots.
It’s going to be a disaster.
But a fun one at that.
She doesn’t mean to spy.
Okay, so that’s a lie. She absolutely does, but only when it’s entertaining.
Also? Because observing other people’s romantic incompetence has become her daily spiritual and psychosocial enrichment.
Like right now.
They’re on the Quinjet, returning from a mission that was technically a success but spiritually a disaster - a win-win, in her book. John’s complaining about stupid shit (typical), Alexei’s loudly eating something that absolutely wasn’t food (gross), Bob’s standing awkwardly by her like he’s waiting for permission to sit (precious), and Ava—
Ava’s asleep. Curled up in one of the seats in the corner, head tipped to the side, hair falling messily into her face in a way that makes Yelena want to walk over and swat it away because she knows just how uncomfortable that can be.
That? Not remarkable by itself.
But what is remarkable is the man currently sitting beside her.
Barnes. Winter Soldier. The Grumpiest Avenger.
Sitting. Completely still.
And even more remarkable? He’s draped his jacket over Ava’s shoulders. Carefully, precisely, like placing a blanket over a skittish animal, without managing to wake her.
Something completely unnecessary by the way, considering a) the Quinjet has an adjustable thermostat, b) it isn’t that cold, and c) Ava runs hot anyway.
Yelena’s spy eyes narrow. She elbows Bob, who squeaks like a frightened mouse.
“Do you see that?” she hisses at him.
Bob blinks. “…see what?”
Yelena points aggressively forward with two fingers. “That! A developing softness. Disgusting.”
Bob follows her pointing hand. Sees Bucky. Sees Ava. Sees Bucky attempting to pretend he isn’t watching Ava breathe.
“Oh,” Bob whispers. “Yeah. He’s… uh… being nice?”
Yelena gasps like he’d offended her personally. “He is more than ‘being nice,’ my good man. He gave her a jacket. His jacket.”
Bob frowns. “…I don’t get it. Was he supposed to give her someone else’s jacket or–”
“No, no.” Yelena shakes her head. A pity. She’d have to train Bob to be better at espionage, then. “But it’s fine that you don’t get it. They don’t get it either. And until then–”
Yelena shuts up.
Because she sees Ava stirring a little in her sleep, hair falling even more messily to cover most of her face, before shifting toward Bucky.
Who then freezes, eyes wide, like a deer caught mid-traffic. His metal hand hovers - just hovers - like he wants to tuck her hair behind her ear but is fighting every instinct he has to actually do it.
Yelena clutches Bob’s forearm, nearly vibrating in excitement.
“Bob. Bob. Bob. He is malfunctioning.”
Bucky clears his throat, face stiffening back into neutral, and very slowly - very carefully, even - adjusts his jacket downward so it covers more of Ava’s (already covered by her suit in case you didn’t notice, Barnes) knees.
“That is sweet,” Yelena comments. “That is disgusting. I’m going to vomit.”
“--oh.” Bob looks at her in alarm. “Do you need a barf bag or–”
And she scoffs at him. “No. I’m not going to actually vomit. Yet.”
“Um. Okay…?”
A long beat.
Then Bucky—still frozen—glances around like he’s worried someone noticed his gentle jacket moment.
His eyes land on Yelena.
She wiggles her eyebrows, gives him a thumbs-up sign.
He turns away so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t snap his own neck.
Yelena smirks, victorious.
“Lena,” Bob says, noticing the exchange. “Maybe you should just… leave them alone?”
She gawks at him. “Are you implying I have plans?”
“--Yes?”
Yelena pats his arm kindly. “Smart man. Because yes, I do.”
Bob looks at her like she’s just told him she has ideations of conquering the world.
So she shakes her head and says, “But don’t worry, my plans are not… destructive. More… observant. I'll be like a wildlife photographer of emotionally stunted elephants. I will not interfere with their feelings and stupidity.”
“Because you might be wrong?”
Yelena grins at him, smug. “Oh, Bob. You should know that you’re very lucky I find you funny and precious. Also? I’m never wrong.”
So the New Avengers’ Master Spy continues her observations.
For example:
Bucky is not the most patient man. Ever. Not in their missions, not in their debriefings, and definitely not when John (unnecessarily) opens his mouth.
Yet the moment Ava steps into his orbit, he somehow transforms into the gentlest version of himself.
Quiet voice. Soft eyes. That weird little tilt of his shoulders like he’s actively trying to look less intimidating for her.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s downright atrocious and delightful.
Yelena takes note with barely contained glee.
Then there’s the little things. Handing Ava tea or coffee, depending on what time of day it was - and who even tracks someone’s caffeine schedule like that? The fuck?
Or when she’s rambling about encrypted data and quantum interference, and Bucky nods along like she’s reciting poetry instead of technobabble that makes everyone else want to lie down. Or possibly die.
Bucky shrugs like it’s nothing, except he’s doing the soft shrug - the one with the slightly lifted eyebrows. The shrug that says I’d do anything for you, actually.
Because even the dreaded Winter Soldier has tells like that.
And unlucky for him, Yelena notices every. Single. One.
Even more unlucky: she's decided to do him a kindness (no, not really) by confronting him about it.
It happens after training.
Ava’s already wandered off to the showers. John’s ranting to Alexei about “upper-body dominance” or whatever the fuck he meant by that as they leave the room. Bob remains behind, quietly folding towels to the side like an anxious chipmunk.
Bucky is packing away the training knives, jaw clenched, back very determinedly turned toward the world.
Yelena strolls up beside him and casually tosses a throwing star that lands point-down in the rack, right in his line of vision.
He glances at it. Then at her. Narrowly. “…what.”
See? Not even an iota of the softness he regularly displays for their resident Ghost.
What an asshole.
“Hello. You are very obvious, in case you are unaware,” Yelena announces.
Bucky stiffens. “About what?”
She snorts. “Please. I have better odds teaching John about history of Russia than believing you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
He stares at her. Silence. A very long one.
“…but I don’t know what you’re talking about," he lies. Terribly.
Oh. So he wants to play that way, does he? She can humor him.
Yelena steps closer, pokes his bicep. “You’ve gone soft. Like grumpy marshmallow.”
“I have not.” Pause. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“You are soft,” she emphasizes, delighted. “You did the jacket thing back there at the Quinjet. You know I saw it.”
His whole face goes tense. “…she was cold.”
“No she wasn’t,” Yelena says. “She runs at the temperature of small sun. Only Bob runs hotter than her; everyone knows that.”
He doesn’t respond.
"Then there's the tea thing, the debriefing thing, the not-so-obvious I'd-die-for-you thing..."
Still, Bucky doesn't speak.
It's not fun if he doesn't participate. So Yelena folds her arms, goes for a more direct approach. “Bucky. James. Buchanan. It is okay. I am not judging you.”
Bucky side-eyes her. “Except it feels like you do.”
Yelena shrugs, not even bothering to hide it. “Sorry. It is my nature. I judge everyone. But I am not mocking. Least of all the way you look at her like she is gravity and you are a man who keeps falling.”
He looks away. Deeply, painfully flustered.
“…she never notices,” he mutters. Like it’s a truth he’s already made peace with, even if it stings.
“Of course she doesn't.” Yelena pats his arm. “She is smart, but has no sense about these things. I am smart. I have sense. That’s why I see.”
He takes one of the knives from the container, casually flips it open and inspects it. “It’s better that way,” he says, voice low.
Yelena raises her brows at him.
“She doesn’t need–”
She hums, loudly and obnoxiously. “Oh, so you’re deciding what she needs now?”
Bucky’s jaw flexes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It is exactly what you meant,” she counters cheerfully. “You think you are… how do I say this. Bad for her. Too dangerous. Too complicated. Too tragic.” She flicks his forehead. “Bo-ring.”
He scowls - not at the flick, but at how easily she read him. “It’s not boring. It’s just true.”
“Oh my God.” Yelena drags both hands down her face like he’s personally killing her. “You are doing the Sad Boy Martyr Routine. I hate that one. It never works well in television or movies. It just makes actors look like idiots.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she insists, poking his arm again. “Look at you. You get this little wrinkle in your eyebrows when you think you’re protecting someone by being emotionally constipated.”
His brows pull together — proving her point.
So Yelena takes pity on him.
Well… pity adjacent.
“Bucky,” she says more quietly. “You are not dangerous. Least of all, to her.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”
“I know that Ava isn’t helpless. I know she’s more capable than you’re giving her credit for.” Yelena crosses her arms. “Are you going to stand there and tell me I’m wrong about that?”
“Yelena–” He drags his metal hand down his face. “Can we not– this whole conversation is–”
“--disgusting?” she supplies. Helpfully.
He glares at her. “Uncomfortable.”
“Ah. Well. Feelings do tend to become that, yes.”
“Because you’re such an expert at them,” he snipes.
“Better than you, at any rate,” Yelena replies. “Because between the two of us, I’m not the emotionally constipated one.”
And Bucky just. Sighs.
End of conversation, then.
“Anyway,” she tells him, “that’s all I wanted to tell you.”
“That you’re actively spying on me?”
“Well, yes,” she says brightly. “I can’t help it. You make it especially entertaining. So thank you for that.”
A vein twitches near his eyebrow. “We’re done here.”
Yelena nods. “Yes. Go. Be broody elsewhere. I have more surveillance to conduct. And remember: I am always watching.”
He gives her another narrow-eyed look - like he’s trying to think of a legal way to erase her memory without committing an actual crime (HA!) - before storming off toward the door, likely to hide the fact that the tips of his ears are absurdly pink.
Another adorable tell.
Soon, Bob approaches her cautiously, like he’s afraid he’ll step into a live landmine. “Um… is he okay?”
“Of course,” she says proudly. “After all, I am guiding him toward emotional maturity.”
“Emotional–” Then Bob blinks. “I thought you said you weren’t going to interfere?”
“I’m not. I’m nudging. Gently.” She taps his nose. “Very different things.”
“I don’t know if it is…” Bob whispers, uncertain.
Yelena just. Sighs at him.
“Bob. What it is about me that you should know?”
He thinks about that for a second. “That I'm lucky you find me precious and funny?”
“And?”
Bob sighs. Deeply. Like it's coming from the depths of his soul. “That you’re never wrong.”
Yelena beams at him. “Exactly.”
Just as she’s not wrong about the fun disaster that is Ava and Bucky.