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The first thing Yelena becomes aware of is how boring the medbay ceiling looks from her perspective.
The second is the sharp throb in her lower back. It’s the kind that, unfortunately, screams you were thrown through a wall again, and the wall won. Congratulations!
The third? Voices.
Not loud.
Not exactly arguing.
But they’re tight. Low. Contained. The kind that says we could be fighting, but we’re trying very hard not to.
Her brain, ever the opportunist, goes: Well, well, well. What drama do we have here?
She keeps her breathing steady. And she doesn’t open her eyes all the way.
Because she knows those voices well. She also knows that the moment she shows any sign of consciousness, the very riveting conversation will cease to exist.
And call her crazy, but no, she doesn’t want it to.
Yelena knows she’s going to be stuck in the medbay for most of the day anyway. The least she could be provided here with was some form of entertainment.
And this? Is prime content. Premium subscription. The kind she would absolutely kill to get.
The only thing missing now was Bob with a tub of popcorn, and it would have been the Best Day Ever.
As it stands, Yelena’s on the cot next to Ava’s - close enough that if she opened her eyes, she’d actually be staring at the cracked tile between their beds. And who’s the one predictably near Ava’s side? Bucky Barnes, that’s who. Yelena can hear the faint scuff of his boots, the way he paces in short, clipped lines beside her like he’s wound too tight. She can very easily imagine him looking like somebody left him to marinate in frustration for hours - like a super-serumed prune.
“I’m fine, Bucky,” Ava says, sounding irritated and tired. Not exactly angry angry, but still strained around the edges. “How many times do I have to say it?”
Yelena very carefully does not react, because no. Ava is very much not fine, if Yelena remembers the earlier events correctly. Deep shrapnel gouges to the lower ribs tend to do that to a person.
As if hearing Yelena’s thoughts, Bucky answers tersely, “Didn’t look fine out there.”
Ava huffs a breath, the very one that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t for her injuries. “That’s how missions go. Especially ones where we’re fed wrong intel and to a hundred mercs.”
Bucky’s boots stop moving.
“Ava.”
Just her name.
But it’s heavy with all the things he likes to pretend aren’t there.
Yelena almost cracks an eyelid open because she really wants to see Buck’s face, but nope. The key to successful eavesdropping is absolute stillness, you see. So she stubbornly arranges her face in the universal expression of ‘unconscious but still unfairly pretty’ and continues to listen.
For science.
And so she can recount everything to Bob later.
“What? You’re gonna tell me I’m wrong?” Ava shifts on the cot, the fabric rustling noisily. Not giving him a chance to reply, she barrels on, “Also, I’ve been wanting to say this for quite a while now, but I really don’t need you pulling me back every time things get messy.”
Ooof. Harsh. There Ava was, directly addressing the ‘Danger Proximity’ part of Yelena’s Bucky Behavioral Report. She wonders if Ava somehow actually got hold of her paper, even before Yelena got to shove it in Bucky’s face. That would have been tragic.
For Bucky.
He’s not moving now, from the sound of it. But Bucky does answer in that low, steady tone he uses when he’s obviously choosing every word very, very carefully, “I wasn’t pulling you back. I was covering angles.”
Ava gives a short, disbelieving breath. “I don’t think angles require you grabbing my arm and shoving me behind you.”
“That wall was rigged.”
“It didn’t go off.”
“Only because I moved you at the last second. That’s why you didn’t trip it.”
“Oh, so you don’t think I might have noticed that fact myself? And won’t trip it either way?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, actually, it does.”
Wow. They are really not being subtle here. Absolutely no thoughts spared about their stupid noises possibly waking poor, vulnerable, and concussed Yelena Belova up.
She should be offended. A part of her is.
But she’s having too much fun at their expense to care, so.
“Sorry if my priority was keeping you in one piece,” he tells her.
Ava scoffs. A quiet, wounded sound that Yelena almost never hears from her. “See? That. That thing right there.”
Bucky asks, “What thing?”
“That tone of yours,” she replies testily. “It’s like you’re telling me I can’t handle myself. Like you–”
Her voice falters. Not anger now. Just… something more fragile underneath.
“--don’t trust me to do my job well.”
Yelena freezes on the cot.
Ohhhhhh shit.
Oh, she absolutely knows this type of drama. It’s the juicy misunderstanding trope. Her favorite type of miscommunication issue between two characters - which, in this case, are two emotionally constipated soldiers.
She feels her heart rate jump, but not from injury.
But from pure, nosy glee.
Yelena can’t help it; she opens one eye, just in time to see Bucky looking like someone just hit him in the face with a live grenade.
“What?” he repeats, quieter. “Ava, that’s not– no. That’s not what’s happening.”
Ava’s gaze drops to the blanket on her lap. “Because it certainly feels like it. This mission, the last one, the one in Warsaw before that… every time something goes wrong, you’re yanking me out of the way like I’m a nuisance, or something.”
Yelena slowly shifts her blanket so she can better see without blowing her cover. Are her actions morally dubious? Probably. Is this conversation any of her business? No. Is she going to stop listening to it? Absolutely not.
“I don’t ever think of you as a nuisance. I don’t know where you even got that idea,” Bucky says. With Great Feeling. “I just—”
He stops. His face screws up, like he’s wrestling with words he didn’t even know he could form, let alone say.
Ava folds her arms, waiting, hurt simmering under the surface.
“What?” she asks.
Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs a hand over his face. Looks everywhere but at her.
And Yelena realizes: he honestly doesn’t know why he’s doing it in the first place.
Oh, that is absolutely delicious.
Because she’d already clocked it, by the way: he’s suffering from a chronic case of Ava-Related Softness Syndrome (ARSS). Explains every sort of symptom he has. She really ought to give him a copy of her report so he’d be enlightened. With science.
Finally, Bucky mutters, “I guess I just… react. Around you. I don’t really think about it.”
Ava flinches like that answer cuts worse than any shrapnel could.
“Exactly,” she whispers. “You don’t think. Because it’s instinct. Because you expect me to need saving.”
“What? That’s not—” he starts.
She raises a hand to stop him from continuing. “I’m not angry that you care if your teammates get hurt, Buck. I get it, we’re a team. Well, most of the time, anyway. But you don’t go charging at Walker to protect him. You don’t bulldoze Yelena out of the line of fire–”
Yelena’s eyebrows try to rise - because he actually does that to her and SO MUCH WORSE - but she forces them down through sheer willpower.
Unconscious people do not express opinions, after all.
“--and don’t get me started on Alexei.”
“I don’t do anything to Alexei!”
“Exactly! And I need you to start treating me the same way.”
What.
Even Yelena’s confused at this point.
“You want me to treat you like Alexei?” Bucky asks outright.
And out loud like that? It sounds even more ridiculous.
Ava lets out a breath. Shoulders sagging. Walls going up. “I mean, I need you to treat me like I’m capable. Not someone you have to manage on the field. In case you didnt’t notice, I know how to stay alive. Been doing so for decades now, thank you.”
“You almost died earlier,” he points out. Very helpful there, Barnes.
“Yeah, well, I’ve almost died before. So have you. So did the rest of us. Part of the job and all that shit.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable,” he snaps.
Oooh. A Barnes snap. Very rare, especially directed at Ava, of all people. Bad sign, yes. But Very Good Entertainment material, as well.
Ava, of course, ignores it. “If you want to sideline me in missions, just say it to my face.”
Bucky actually recoils. Subtle, almost nothing, but Yelena notices it in his body language all the same.
Because she’s good like that.
“Don’t do that. Don’t twist it,” he tells her quietly, shaking his head.
“Then what is the reason for it, if not that?” she demands.
He hesitates. Again. Bucky just stands there, looking like a man who’d stepped on an emotional landmine he doesn’t even remember planting.
Yelena would feel bad for him if she weren’t, you know, pretending to be unconscious right now.
Ava watches him. Expecting an answer. Even bracing for one.
But Bucky doesn’t give her anything.
Except a very stupid, very soft, “I don’t know.”
Yelena almost scoffs, catching herself just in time before any sound comes out of her mouth. That is absolutely not an answer, James.
Ava, though? She just looks away, starts fidgeting with the edge of the bandage on her torso. “Well. Figure it out, then.”
Bucky breathes in. Slow. Heavy.
She starts leaning back on the cot, shutting her eyes. “Because if you don’t, then it’s going to keep happening. And–” Ava pauses, swallows, and says, “--I don’t need any of it. Not from anyone. Not from you, especially.”
She wasn’t yelling.
Or shaking.
Just stating a truth that cost her something to say.
Yelena holds her breath.
Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long while. During that time, nothing in the room moves - especially not Yelena, who’s entirely committed to acting like she’s dead to the world, gossip running in her veins in place of oxygen.
Then, “I’ll work on it,” he says. Gruffly. Like he doesn’t want to, but for Ava, he sure as hell will try.
Because that’s what she wants.
Ava doesn’t say anything back. Just presses her lips together and nods once, sharp and tired and hurting in too many ways for Yelena to list.
Eventually - like he can’t help himself - Bucky adjusts the edges of Ava’s blanket over her before stepping back. “Get some rest,” he says, his voice low.
“Thanks,” she responds in practically the same tone, before turning her face toward the wall.
Bucky lingers anyway.
Two heartbeats. Three.
Then he leaves. Footsteps fading down the hallway, the medbay door hissing shut behind him.
Silence settles like dust for a few seconds.
Ava lets out a long, shaky breath - the kind a person only lets themselves expel when they think they’re alone. “Fuck,” she whispers under it. “That wasn’t… oh, that was bloody stupid.”
Yelena finally decides to open her eyes fully. “Y’know, as far as arguments go, it really was.”
The other woman practically jumps off the cot. “Yelena? You– wait– how long–?”
“Was I awake?” she responds, moving to lie down on her side so she can smirk at Ava properly. “Some time between you telling Bucky you’re fine and him going, ‘Didn’t look fine, though.’” She even lowers her tone to mimic Bucky’s voice, because. Acting.
Ava presses her palm to her face. “So, what. You were just… listening? To us talk?”
“Very actively, yes.”
“Oh my god.”
If Yelena could pat her back, she would’ve. “For the record, though? I think you were right to say all of that.”
Ava peeks at her from under her palm. Vulnerability, raw and uneasy, flickers on her face. “Really?”
Yelena shrugs. “You’re easily the deadliest of us. I think it’s good to remind him of that every once in a while. Even if he doesn’t want to accept it most days.” Only because he doesn’t want to see her ever get hurt - but Yelena doesn’t say that part out loud.
Ava goes silent, staring at the ceiling like she’s trying to burn a hole straight through it.
“That’s not–” she mutters after a moment. “I mean. It’s not like I’m trying to make him feel like shit.”
“Oh, you absolutely made him feel shitty,” Yelena points out helpfully. “But sometimes? Necessary. To get your point across.”
Ava groans into her hand.
Yelena grins at her. “He’ll live. He always does. But he’ll think about what you said, which is what you need to happen.”
Then Yelena makes a mistake of trying to sit up - except her lower back tells her nope, lie the fuck back down.
So she does.
Still, she asks, “You think it’s really that bad, though? Having a super soldier with protective instincts watching your back all the time?”
Ava glances at her - then looks away just as quickly. “It’s just–” Then she falls silent.
“Just what?” Yelena prompts her, trying hard not to feel impatient about everything.
“I don’t want to develop any sort of dependence,” she replies finally. “To him. Or any of you.”
And Yelena just frowns at her. “What does that even mean?”
“Means any of us could die any day,” Ava elaborates, looking up at the ceiling again. “And I want to know I can still look after my own arse if the worst thing happens, and you all–”
–die.
Which, unfortunately, is very much a possibility in their line of work.
And Yelena does what she does best in the face of emotional vulnerability:
She scoffs at it.
“So? None of us die. Simple as that. Problem solved.”
Ava sighs obnoxiously loud. “That’s not–”
“Look,” Yelena cuts in. “You don’t need to depend on him. Or us. But letting someone like Bucky give a shit about you? That’s not you being weak. That’s… sharing the weight of the mission. Which you’re absolutely allowed to do, by the way. At the very least, it keeps you from dying way quicker. Which is what you want to happen, yes?”
Ava doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring upward like the ceiling might blink first if she stared at it hard enough.
Yelena watches her for a moment, then exhales and settles on her own cot. “Anyway. You can relax now. Drama’s over, Barnes is gone, and I’m too injured to judge you further than I already have.”
She pauses, then adds, “Oh, and if Bucky returns while I’m actually asleep, tell him I don’t appreciate not being fussed over by him. Not that I want him to, because disgusting, but it’s the thought that counts.”
Ava scoffs. “I don’t think he’s coming back here, though.”
And Yelena stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “You’re injured,” she points out. “He’s absolutely coming back to check on you at least once today. And every day for as long as you’re stuck here.”
“You sound so sure about that,” Ava comments, frowning.
She scoffs, waving one limp hand. “Please. The man hovers over you like a very muscly, very broody drone. Give it less than an hour. He’ll be back pretending he forgot something here. Like a jacket, his emotional stability, his beating heart, who knows.”
Ava actually snorts. “Jesus. Go to sleep. You’re starting to talk nonsense.”
“Gladly,” Yelena replies, settling in, smug and satisfied. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when Barnes returns with that stupid worried face of his.”
Ava doesn’t answer.
Not verbally, anyway.
But when the medbay door hisses open again - less than twenty minutes later - Yelena doesn’t so much as twitch.
She just smiles into her pillow.
Predictable idiots.