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Because the universe loves her, Yelena is there the moment everything starts.
They’ve barely stumbled back alive into the Watchtower from a mission that went south the moment they landed. As a result, everyone’s wonderfully banged up in some pathetic way: John’s swearing about a cracked rib, Alexei is yelling something dramatic in Russian about gashes on his leg, and Yelena’s bearing some painfully ugly lacerations along both her arms and on her thigh.
Ava, though? She’s fine.
Physically, anyway.
Emotionally?
She is furious.
She hasn’t said much since the mission ended, but Yelena can see how coiled she is: tight shoulders, clenched jaw, hands trembling slightly from barely-contained adrenaline with nowhere to go.
Because Bucky thoughtlessly took an attack meant for her.
Saw a blade coming for Ava and didn’t even think. Didn’t push her from the side. Didn’t dodge as easily as he could have.
He just turned. Shielded her with his non-metal body. Exposed his back. Ribs all fleshy and vulnerable.
So? The blade sank into him, instead. And he just grunted like a sharp knife tearing into his body was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
And Yelena thought, well, okay, that’s heroic.
Stupidly dramatic and completely unnecessary, but also heroic.
Pretty sure Ava’s thinking along the same lines, but with 1000% more anger and frustration.
Now in the common room, she stands in front of him, arms crossed and seething as he goes to sit on the couch like he’s planning to watch TV and pretend he’s not rudely leaking bodily fluids everywhere.
“You definitely should go to the medbay,” she says - continuing a conversation they’ve been having since stepping off the Quinjet.
“No, I don’t,” Bucky replies calmly. Way too calmly for a temporary human faucet.
“Yes, you do. You need to have that wound looked at, at the very least.”
“No. I’m fine.”
Her eye twitches.
“So fine you’re still bleeding?” she snipes. “Last I checked, even super soldiers need medical attention. Both Walker and Alexei have already–”
“You worry too much,” he mutters, which is absolutely the wrong response right now. “I’ve suffered things worse than this.”
Ava takes a slow, thorough breath through her nose. “I don’t care. You almost got gutted today. We all saw it.”
“Yet I wasn’t,” he shrugs. "It was at the back--"
“I said you almost did.”
Bucky just waves that away. “‘Almost’ never counts on the field. Either I was, or wasn’t, and I wasn’t.”
He sounds maddeningly calm. Ava looks like she wants to shake him.
Yelena just wants to shove them both in a room and lock it, just to see what happens.
“Okay,” Ava says, perhaps sensing that she can’t convince him this way. “Fine. If you won’t go to medbay for your wound—”
He looks up at her, ready to argue further. Yelena can see the defiance shining brightly in his eyes.
“--Then I’m cleaning the damn thing myself.”
Oh. That’s new. Yelena raises a brow at them.
Bucky frowns. “Ava—”
“I’m not asking, by the way. I’m telling you.” She pauses. “And you’re not going anywhere until I’m done.”
He opens his mouth.
She steps closer, her expression just as fierce and defiant as his had been.
And then Bucky Barnes does something Yelena never imagined he would do:
He loses.
Willingly. The fight finally draining out of him in one rough exhale.
“Fine,” he says quietly. “Do what you want to me, then.”
And just like that, everything shifts.
Now they’re here. Yelena’s on the far end of the couch, cleaning her own shallow wounds with wet wipes and disinfectant. She’s very aware she could leave, by the way. Go to the medbay herself. Shower. Clean up. Except she does none of those things, because there’s no way she was going to miss what was happening in front of her:
The slow, methodical dismantling of James Buchanan Barnes at the hands of Ava Starr.
He sits on the couch like a sulking statue, back ramrod straight, dog tags resting on his sternum, metal arm braced awkwardly against his thigh. Also? Shirt off - Ava had torn it off of him earlier.
Two very important pieces of information.
There is a thick, angry knife wound slashing his upper back, just under the shoulder blade. It’s not life-threatening, but it is seeping and deep enough that any sensible person would already be in the medbay by now.
Except Bucky, because Bucky is not at all sensible when it comes to himself.
Or Ava.
Well, mostly Ava.
Who’s now standing behind him, close enough that her knees brush his back whenever she leans forward. Close enough that her breath moves the short hairs at his nape whenever she exhales.
And suddenly, Bucky’s watching the wall across from him very, very intently.
Yelena’s mouth curves upwards. Her position on the couch offers her prime viewing pleasure, and these two idiots were too involved in their own little world to even notice her presence.
Rude, but she’ll endure.
For now.
Ava wears medical gloves, but they don’t help temper Bucky’s awareness of her at all. Despite his stab wound, his expression isn’t pained; Yelena fully knows what that looks like on his face. This is something else. This is leaning more towards… restraint.
Containment.
Very, very interesting.
Ava places one hand flat against his shoulder blade, steadying him, fingers spreading instinctively across his skin, while the other hand lifts the cloth she’ll use to clean the wound.
“Tell me if it hurts, all right?” she tells him.
Bucky looks back at her and nods once. “It’s fine. You’re– you’re fine.”
And Yelena watches his jaw tighten even before the cloth ever touches his back.
Ava moves carefully, methodically. Cleans around the wound first, then closer, then the edges.
“Shit’s deep, Buck,” she sighs, mouth pursing now. “You should’ve said something earlier.”
“I did say something,” he protests mildly. “I said I was fine.”
“Very helpful there.” Her free hand shifts to his side, keeping him steady as she works. “But that’s not what I meant.”
He doesn’t reply, but his metal hand curls into his thigh anyway. His shoulders draw up, then, slowly, lower again.
She notices, and quietly notes, “Don’t tense up on me now, Barnes.”
“I’m not,” he says, a little too quickly. A little too defensively.
Yelena nearly snorts, then reaches for her own bottle of antiseptic to clean her wound. Yeah, right.
Ava doesn’t argue. But she pauses for a second, fingers trailing along his spine for only God knows what reason.
Bucky closes his eyes.
And Yelena sees it. The way his lashes lower. The way he surrenders. The way his mouth presses into a thin line like he’s holding something crucial in.
Ava rinses the cloth and returns, this time using her fingers to spread antiseptic with deliberate care. Her palm stays firm against his shoulder, anchoring him. Like she expected him to bolt out on her any second now.
Yelena knows the chances of that happening are exactly zero.
Then Ava says, in a quiet tone, “Not to sound completely ungrateful, but I thought I made it clear that I don’t need you to save me?”
He huffs a breath, looks back at her again. “You were about to get stabbed.”
“So you volunteered, instead?”
“It was either that or–”
“Or I phase. Which you seem fond of forgetting I can do.”
Bucky grunts and says, “You were distracted. I made sure you got out of that encounter alive. It was my call to make as your Field Leader.”
Ava exhales. “Bucky–”
“I would’ve done that for anyone in the team.” He pauses. “Don’t think too much of it.”
Ha! Yelena thinks - then winces as she puts too much antiseptic on her own wounds.
Ava nods from behind him, seemingly accepting his words. “All right, then,” she says. “So long as we’re clear.”
“Very,” Bucky says. “Next time, I’ll be sure to let you get stabbed, if you want.”
She snorts out a laugh. “That’ll be the day.” Then Ava resumes cleaning the wound - gentler than before.
Bucky leans back into her touch before he can stop himself.
When Ava reaches for gauze, tape, and pads, her knuckles briefly brush his shoulder. Bucky’s breath stutters, traitorous and unmistakable. She doesn’t notice, however, too locked into the task to think of anything else. Ava presses a fresh pad against the wound, firmer now.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, but doesn’t pull away.
Then she tapes the gauze in place from behind him, fingers smoothing across his skin to secure it. She lingers there, hand resting briefly at the center of his back, like she’s making sure the tape is well-placed before severing all forms of contact between them.
“There,” she says softly, expression mildly triumphant. “All done.”
Bucky straightens, composure snapping back into place with great effort. He clears his throat. “Thanks.”
And for a moment, neither of them moves.
Yelena watches Ava hesitate to step away from him. Watches Bucky’s shoulders tense, like he’s bracing for cold air after her warmth.
Then Ava snappily, noisily removes her gloves before placing a bare hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to get you some water. And painkillers. Don’t argue.”
He doesn’t. Just murmurs, almost fondly, “Yes, ma’am.”
His eyes never leave her back as she exits the common room.
And the moment Ava disappears from his view, Yelena pounces.
Because she’s considerate like that.
“You know,” Yelena says casually, wrapping a bandage around her arm, “most people at least pretend they are not falling apart under gentle care. I especially liked the part where you seemingly forgot how breathing works.”
It’s funny how she can clearly see him go rigid the very second her voice registers in his brain. “Yelena.”
“Mm. Last time I checked, that is my name, yes. Thank you for remembering I exist. For a moment there, I didn’t think either of you did. Rude, by the way.”
He glares. “Why are you here.”
“Fate put me here, that’s why.” Yelena grins, wholly unapologetic. “I have to say, this whole situation with Ava is way better than witnessing you stitch yourself up with just fishing line, vodka, and Russian prayer. Which, unfortunately, I’ve seen you do. Twice.”
Bucky reaches for his torn shirt, as if contemplating wearing it just so he won’t be naked in her presence, despite its obviously sorry state. “And I would have done it again today, except–”
“--you’ve experienced the touch of a specific woman, and would like to have more of it?”
He shoots her a look that could peel paint. Never mind that his ears have gone completely red. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am thriving,” she corrects. “We all got hurt in that mission, and that is why I am allowed this one tiny joy. Even if it is at expense of your dignity. No, actually, that just makes it more fun for me.”
He scoffs. “One of these days, I’m going to get back at you. See if I don’t." He pauses. Then adds, "And I’m going to make it uncomfortable.”
Ah. Vague emotional threats. Yelena loves eating those for breakfast.
“You’re certainly very welcome to try, Mr. Naked-and-Melting-Winter–”
And, before Yelena can come up with anything else deeply unhelpful, Ava comes back with a glass of water and some painkillers in her palm.
Yelena shuts up instantly, because she’s not deliberately cruel.
Well, to Ava, anyway.
Ava stops short when she sees the two of them mid-standoff. Her eyes flick from Yelena’s easy, charming grin to Bucky’s irritated expression.
“What did I miss?” she asks carefully.
Bucky rolls his eyes, hands on his hips.
And Yelena tells her slyly, “Oh, nothing. Not a damn thing.”