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There are a lot of things Kate Bishop isn’t good at.
Like, putting on a fitted sheet, for one. She’s watched YouTube tutorials— the ones where a serene woman wearing beige linen calmly tucks each corner of her sheet down and under her mattress in less than thirty seconds. Kate tries to mimic her movements, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth as she tucks one corner and tiptoes to the other, praying to God it doesn’t come off again.
The elastic snaps back and hits her square in the face, like it’s personally offended by Kate.
Then, there’s the toaster. Because, of course, her bread never comes out perfectly golden-brown like how it’s supposed to look in the movies. Is ‘3’ for ‘lightly-tanned’ or ‘actual, literal obsidian’? There isn’t an in-between. And so, the annoyingly-shrill shriek of the smoke alarm has become the unofficial soundtrack to her Tuesday mornings.
And then there is the matter of her attention span. Unless there is a high-speed chase, a complicated heist, or at least one middle-aged man being thrown out a window, Kate’s brain begins to pack it up after the ninety-minute mark of any film.
She tries. She really does. She’ll buy the expensive popcorn, dim the lights, and lean into Yelena’s side, determined to appreciate the ‘cinematic pacing’ of some art house film. But by the halfway-mark, her head is lolling, her mouth is slightly open, and she’s dreaming about her pup and the concept of a confetti arrow.
But nothing— absolutely nothing —comes close to how catastrophically bad she is at comforting people.
It’s not that Kate is emotionally unavailable. If anything, Kate is too available. Her feelings show up early and immediately get to unpacking. The problem is that when it’s time to communicate them, her brain panics, hits the big red ‘ABORT’ button and reroutes all communication through… chaos.
She once tried to cheer Clint up after a particularly bad mission by Googling ‘uplifting quotes’. Kate had spent thirty minutes crafting what she thought was an inspiring, soul-stirring text about resilience and persevering.
One Siri glitch, a pair of shaky hands, and a dozen typos later, the message Clint actually received read:
‘u r strong like lion from Motivational Youtube. rise up King’
Clint screenshots it. He sends it to Laura. Laura prints it out and leaves it up on the fridge.
They never let Kate live it down.
But all of this? This is fine, because Yelena Belova, her girlfriend of nearly three years, is the calm one.
Yelena is the kind of person who moves through the world like she expects it to test her, and is quietly disappointed when it doesn't try harder. She’s survived quite literally every possible situation under the sun. She drinks bad coffee without complaint. She parallel parks flawlessly on streets Kate refuses to even attempt.
When they first started dating, Kate had joked that Yelena felt like a lighthouse.
Yelena had told her that lighthouses existed because ships crashed.
Kate stopped making that joke.
So, when Yelena walks into their NYC apartment at exactly 8:37pm on a Thursday, drops her keys into the bowl by the door, and immediately collapses face-first onto the couch without saying a word, Kate freezes mid-slice of a bell pepper.
She blinks.
Then blinks again.
“...Hi?” Kate tries, poking her head around the corner from the kitchen like a very confused meerkat. This isn’t normal. Yelena usually announces herself. Sometimes with sarcasm, sometimes by kissing Kate’s cheek and stealing whatever snack she has in her hand. She always says something.
Yelena makes a sound after a while. It’s muffled, pained, and vaguely resembles the death groan of a medieval peasant. Then, she rolls over onto her back and drapes an arm over her eyes, one boot kicked halfway off like she doesn’t have the energy to finish the job.
That’s when Kate knows.
Something is wrong.
“Babe?” she asks gently, coming closer. “Did you… get attacked by a subway rat or something? I heard they’re like a whole organisation now. Or did you witness tax fraud? You look like you aged five years.”
“Hah.” Yelena doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even flinch. “Bad day.”
Two words.
That’s it.
Kate’s stomach drops.
She’s seen Yelena bleeding and still cracking the most ridiculous jokes known to man. She’s watched her walk off injuries that would put Kate on bed rest for a month.
Now, a bad day for Yelena is never small.
Kate could ask questions. She could press for details, insist on knowing who or what dared to upset her girlfriend.
But Kate knows better. So, she nods slowly, bites her lip and mentally activates Operation Comfort Girlfriend.
It can’t be that hard, right?
…Right?
Step 1: Nourishment
“Do you want a bagel?” Kate asks. “There’s one left. It’s kind of squished, because I may or may not have crushed it at the bottom of my bag.”
Yelena doesn’t move.
Okay. That is a no.
Or maybe it was a yes, but she was too tired to reply?
Kate hesitates, then creeps to the kitchen. She carefully takes the bagel out of the bag and places it on a plate.
She returns and kneels by the couch like a medieval squire offering tribute.
“Here,” she says softly. “Bagel of peace. Maaaaaybe a bribe.”
Yelena slowly peeks out from under her arm and gives the bagel this tragic, near-the-edge of tears look.
“I’m not hungry,” she whispers.
Kate feels the tiniest crack form in her heart.
“Okay!” she says, a little too spritely. “That’s fine! Bagel will wait. Bagel is patient. Like me. Who is veeeeery calm and composed right now. Yes.”
Yelena doesn’t respond.
Step 2: Rage
Kate sits cross-legged beside the couch, studying Yelena’s face like the answer might be written there. She notices things she normally wouldn’t: the faint crease between her brows, the way her fingers curl into fists, and the way she sniffles.
“Okay,” Kate says carefully. “I can… insult someone for you. Want me to roast Val? I’ll start with her. And then capitalism. And then billionaires? I’m very anti-billionaire. It’s kind of my brand.”
Yelena makes a sound that could be a laugh. Or a sigh.
Encouraged, Kate launches into a rant: “Val is a piece of shit with no understanding of how to treat a human being. Fuck capitalism, I think we should eat the rich. Be gay, do crimes.”
Still, no smile.
Kate’s getting desperate.
Step 3: Humor
“Okay, how about a joke?” Kate asks. “What do you call a fish— wait. No. It’s a horse. A horse walks into a bar. Or was it a cow? Crap, I forgot the punchline. Okay, never mind— wait. Why did the chicken cross the— actually I think I hate that one. It feels aggressive. Okay, okay—”
She stops herself, hands flailing uselessly.
Yelena doesn’t even open her eyes this time. Just rolls onto her side with her back facing Kate.
Kate stares at her, defeated.
This isn’t working. None of it.
The idea of Yelena hurting like this —Yelena who always made sure Kate had a jacket on before heading out, who remembered to refill the coffee machine, who bought her weird snack combos without judgement— was enough to make Kate feel like she was standing on a frozen lake about to crack.
So, Kate does the only thing left in her chaotic arsenal.
Step 4: Desperate Yo-yo Performance
Kate jumps up and rushes to her gear closet. Buried beneath arrows, old training equipment and a pile of things Clint has told her not to touch is a neon green yo-yo.
The yo-yo was a casualty of a late-night bodega run three years ago.
“Yo-yos are fun,” Kate says defensively, leaning against a shelf.
Yelena squints at her. “Oookay.”
“I’m good at them!” Kate insists. “Like, actually good. I once won an inter-school yo-yo competition.” She folds her arms snugly and nods to herself. “Fifth grade. Crushed it.”
Yelena studies her for a long moment, then nods once. “Okay. But I bet you cannot perform even one trick.”
Kate scoffs. “Please. I’m basically a yo-yo expert.”
So they buy it. Two bags of chips, a soda, and the stupid green yo-yo that costs $4.99 and Kate’s dignity.
Back home, Kate spends six full hours trying to land a single trick she insists was her specialty back in fifth grade. At one point she hits herself in the face. Twice.
Yelena watches from the couch, munching on chips and offering unhelpful commentary.
“You know you can stop,” she says calmly.
“I cannot,” Kate says, rubbing her nose. “I have a reputation.”
She never lands the trick.
Now? It’s time for redemption.
Kate marches back into the living room, stands right in front of Yelena, and announces, “Prepare to be dazzled.”
Yelena doesn’t move.
Kate throws the yo-yo. It drops, spins, and immediately tangles around her fingers.
She tries again. It veers sideways and somehow shoots under the coffee table.
Third try. She attempts the infamous “all around the world” move and smacks herself in the shoulder.
“...Ow,” she mutters, staring at the limp string. “Okay. That was not dazzling. But's it okay. I’m not done yet!”
Yelena doesn’t move, but Kate swears she sees the corner of her mouth twitch. Maybe. Hopefully.
Stage 5: …Words
Kate Bishop is now officially out of tricks.
All that’s left is the thing she’s worst at: saying exactly what she feels, without corny jokes or punchlines to soften the blow.
She sits back down and gently takes Yelena’s hand.
“I know I’m bad at this,” Kate starts quietly. “Feelings are like… slippery fish. And I keep trying to catch them with… baseball gloves on.”
Yelena’s fingers twitch.
“But I care, a lot. Too much, probably, a-ha. And I hate when you’re sad. I would fix it if I could. I would fight for you.”
A pause.
Then, softer. “I would fight... a goose.”
That does it.
Yelena’s shoulders shake.
This time, it’s laughter. Small. Real. The kind that sneaks out before you can stop it.
Kate looks up to see her girlfriend turning back towards her, eyes still tired but warm now. A crooked smile breaks through.
“I hate geese,” Kate adds quickly. “They’re aggressive. But I would square up for you. Anything for you.”
“You are ridiculous,” Yelena murmurs, voice hoarse but loving.
Kate grins. “Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous.”
The quiet that follows is soft and gentle. Yelena’s smile lingers as she settles back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed but no longer in defeat. Kate, still kneeling beside her like a devoted court jester, keeps holding her hand like it’s the only solid thing keeping her grounded.
And maybe it is.
Silence settles in their apartment, only occasionally broken by the soft hum of the fridge from the kitchen or the faint city noise filtering through their windows. For once, Kate doesn’t try to fill the silence with lame jokes or commentary about how capitalism has personally offended her again.
Yelena sighs quietly.
“...Thank you.” she murmurs.
Kate blinks incredulously. “For what? I… literally did nothing but call out geese and flail around with my yo-yo.”
Yelena chuckles softly. “Exactly.”
Eventually, Kate helps Yelena up. Peels her suit off for her, hangs it on the back of a chair like she’s seen Yelena do a hundred times before.
Kate brings water, helps her girlfriend into one of her oversized shirts (which, by the way, Kate has claimed for herself three months ago), and fluffs Yelena’s pillows for her.
Kate isn’t the most graceful. She trips over a slipper. Knocks her knee on the nightstand. Puts Yelena’s water on the wrong side of the bed and has to awkwardly jog over to the other side to switch it.
But through all of that, Yelena watches her with nothing but quiet and tender amusement in her eyes.
Once they are both in bed, Kate tucked under the covers like a burrito and Yelena on top of them, staring at the ceiling like she’s decompressing from her exhaustion, Kate turns on her side to face her girlfriend.
She wants to say something again. Maybe do a little check-in. But she’s already used up all her “Good Words” for the night.
Then, she has a thought.
“Yelena, do you want a lullaby?”
Yelena turns to face her, eyebrow lifting.
“See, I don’t know any, but I think I can try.” Kate adds quickly. “I mean, unless you want me to freestyle. I could do a rap for you. I could do a dramatic reading of a book. I could—”
“Lullaby.” Yelena smiles.
Kate clears her throat. “Okay, here goes.”
“Little golden circles,
floating in the white,
heart-healthy something...
they’re good, alright—”
Kate hesitates, frowns, then keeps going anyway.
“Turn off the light,
It’s late tonight,
pour them in the bowl and—
um— sleep... tight?”
Kate pauses after a beat, then: “Wait. Did I just improv a Cheerios commercial?”
Yelena is fully shaking now, laughing into her pillow. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably talented, that’s what.” Kate mimes a mic drop and curls up beside Yelena, letting out a slow, satisfied sigh.
Kate doesn’t say anything else. She simply reaches for Yelena under the covers and links their fingers together. Yelena squeezes back.
Because sometimes, all you need at the end of a bad day is a lopsided lullaby and the certainty that someone is staying through it all.