Work Text:
Hello, journal.
Bob bought me this journal for Christmas. It was very sweet of him.
I do not know how to use you, however. I’ve never been big on writing down what I am thinking - go figure. I believe I introduce myself, and say… things.
Well, I am Yelena Belova, and… I woke up feeling pretty crappy today. Just one of those days, I suppose…
But, I am no longer the version of myself that would just lie in bed on my phone all day. At least, I am trying to not be that version, so I am going to make a list of things to do today to feel productive. Maybe that would help.
So, here is what I am going to attempt to do today:
~0~
“Get some fresh air”
Yelena Belova’s idea of ‘fresh air’ does not typically consist of a leisurely stroll or a visit to a local park.
When she pulls herself away from her desk, leaving the blue leather-bound journal closed with the matching blue gel pen on top, her feet don’t pad back over to her very comfortable king-size mattress, no matter how tempting it would be to just rot all day on this overcast Tuesday.
Instead, she heads for her walk-in closet.
It’s not a true walk-in, but she can stand comfortably, and even twirl with her arms bent at the elbow, so to her, it counts as a walk-in closet. As a little girl, she would have loved a closet at all; all the changing rooms in the Red Room were so public and cramped. Girls and women were forced to see each other for the horrors they had been turned into.
Here, it’s quiet.
There’s nothing coming to hurt her here.
She slides the Poor Man’s Poison t-shirt above her head and tosses it into the hamper. Then, she reaches for a New Avengers long sleeve that she was lucky enough to find on sale while incognito at a Hot Topic. She didn’t even know they had a brand deal with Hot Topic before that, she had just wanted to look at the cute Disney backpacks.
Yelena turns to her pants, finding the ripped jeans that she had in fact ripped herself, but in such a way that looked like she paid extra for the ripped style. Very chic, she understands - all the magazines her dad insisted she read say so, anyhow.
They slide on with ease. Even her belt feels like it isn’t constricting her waist anymore…
Yelena hums softly, a tiny smile pointing her lips upward.
“Laying off the alcohol does a lot of good, apparently,” she mutters. “Not that Daddy would understand…” She shakes her head, chuckling, wondering how it’s possible he gained weight since they started doing all of this.
Then comes the most important part of any outfit: the shoes.
Yelena crouches down to her shoe rack, which spans the entire right side wall of her closet, holding all the shoes you could possibly want as a woman - and every single one of them in either black or forest green. Just the way she likes it.
Though she settles for the boots she usually takes on rides through the city, another pair of shoes catches her eye, the silver bottoms twinkling back at her with a tempting, nearly lustful pull.
“Later,” Yelena decides, another smile coming to her lips, this one cheekier than the first.
Yelena reaches up onto the top shelf where all her valuables, weapons, and accessories go. She doesn’t reach for any of the guns, or any of the jewelry cases…
Instead, she pulls down her new motorcycle helmet.
When she discovered the dusty bike in the basement of the Watchtower, she initially thought it may have belonged to Natasha, and refused to touch it. If it really had been her sister’s bike, then she would treat it like a holy relic, and leave it exactly where it had been left.
Then, she found out it used to belong to none other than the second Captain America, Steve Rogers. (As her internet surfing had taught her, one Mr. Isaiah Bradley had come before him, and deserved his flowers just as much.)
A touch-up and inspection from Mel later (who is shockingly good with tools), and one Yelena Belova has herself a brand new motorcycle.
Her helmet slides on and squeezes her just enough to where she feels safe. Her phone briefly comes out to queue up her favorite riding music playlist - plenty of hard rock, a sprinkling of the world’s best tiny blonde Sabrina Carpenter, and the aforementioned Poor Man’s Poison to complete the rebellious nature of just about everything she engages in.
Already, the day feels better.
It’s a relatively short elevator ride to the basement, with no sudden stops along the way, which she is grateful for. It’s not that she wants to avoid everyone today, but she kinda wants to avoid everyone today.
Finally, she reaches the basement garage.
Her chariot awaits.
Yelena saunters with an extra sway in her hips that is not necessary at all but it is absolutely necessary, walking past her dad’s limousines, Bucky’s bike, John’s 2009 Honda Civic, and Bob’s Razor scooter, which she insisted on giving its own parking spot.
Then, her bike.
Formerly Steve Rogers’.
All hers now - he hasn’t come down from the moon to reclaim it, and until he does, in her possession it shall remain.
“Alright, sweetie,” she says, hopping on top and hugging the seat with her thighs, “help me have a better day, da?”
The engine roars to life, shaking the concrete garage and every vehicle inside it, as well as everything inside of her.
“Mmm, thanks,” Yelena says to her bike, giving it a little congratulatory rev.
She shakes her head to herself, incredulous - but happy. If self-talk and talking to inanimate objects helps her be happier, then why shouldn’t she keep it up? It keeps her up, after all.
The speakers in her helmet begin blaring music as the bike kicks into motion and she slowly moves towards the underground escape channel. Tony Stark may not always have been the most moral man, but he knew how to keep out of traffic, and for right now, that is all it takes for her to thank him in the back of her head.
Exactly seventeen seconds before she knows the channel ends, she presses a button on the side of her bike handle.
Her speed steadily increases.
Natural light flows in from a small distance away, around a half-turn, melting away the stale, antiseptic office lights that brighten the tunnel.
Her heart rate begins picking up - it never slows, no matter how many times she does this, and no matter what she’s doing it for. Picking up food, heading to class, going on a late night drive, or a mission: it all hits the same with this.
Then, in a flash, it spits her out into a back alley in the concrete jungle. She turns at the perfect angle, slotting herself between buildings and dumpsters and all of New York’s disgusting charm in the most parallel angle she’s ever hit.
“Not bad, Yelena.” She pats herself on the back, kicking the bike up and roaring back to life. “Not bad at all.”
The leader of the New Avengers heads for the exit, merging into the complex and ceaseless traffic, whirring in sync with the city that never sleeps.
~0~
“Eat at least one complete meal”
“I’ll have the chicken tenders with one hashbrown and one french fry, please. And, uh, that does come with buttered toast, yes?”
Okay, it isn’t the healthiest. Or sustainable long-term.
But she fights people on the hardest of drugs, lab experiments, and wannabe-terrorists for a living. In Yelena’s mind, that more than warrants a platter of fried food every now and then; especially if it makes her, as someone who believes this life is all there is, think that it tastes heaven.
“It sure does, my love,” the kind waitress says. “And what for your drink?”
“Pepsi, please.”
John can’t believe she prefers Pepsi over Coke. One time he said it was the cause of all her issues. She had to hold herself back from that. Thankfully, he didn’t ever question it again when Bob revealed Diet Pepsi was helping him stop his craving for drugs - as always, Bob Reynolds was coming in clutch for her.
“Alright, let me get that put in for you!”
The waitress’ shiny purple lips give Yelena the warmest smile she’s seen all week, and she tries to return it. It isn’t as hard as it once was, returning smiles of good souls. She thinks that’s a sign of progress.
Her phone pings in her pocket, but she doesn’t notice it at first. She’s looking over the shoulder of her booth in the small diner at the hot griddle where line cooks are preparing delicious food for everyone, all in front of their eyes.
It gives her a feeling of nostalgia for a time that never was.
What she wouldn’t give to take her sister here. They could talk about stupid things like boys, girls, death, and taxes, or whatever it is people discuss when they’re with the ones they love in a comfortable public setting.
Her phone pings again. This time, she looks at it.
It’s Bucky.
James Barnes - Care to grab a bag of plums on your way back? We’re all out. Twenty bucks for you sent with Siri
Yelena chuckles, shaking her head. The man’s addiction to the purple fruit comes back every few months, and it’s back with a vengeance this season.
Yelena Sure thing bestie
Ten seconds later, and her phone responds as her waitress brings her one of those cute, oddly textured diner glasses filled with soda that just feels right.
- Bob’s clearly your bestie, I don’t know why you keep doing this sent with Siri
Can I not have more than one bestie?
- Doesn’t that negate the purpose sent with Siri
Not to me it doesn’t:)
- Okay 👍 sent with Siri
Look at your goddamn texts James, stop relying on Siri
She puts her phone back down, mentally planning out her route back home through the marketplace as she sips on the fizzy drink. It lights up her taste buds, and her memory, instantly granting her the quickest route. And people try to say that soda is bad for you!
“Okay, here we go!” And, just like that, a platter of delicious fried food is being set down in front of her.
Yelena blinks, like it isn’t real and will vanish any second, despite the heavenly smell occupying the air around her. “That was quick.”
“We pride ourselves on speed,” the waitress winks at her. “And we had an extra couple of biscuits - on the house.”
“Oh, thank you,” Yelena smiles up at her pretty waitress. “That’s very kind.”
“Anytime, dear,” she smiles back. “Just let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”
“Will do.”
She taps her knuckles against her table, sauntering off to go take other orders and smile at people and do all the things Yelena assumes cute waitresses at cute diners do. Should she give up superhero life and go work in a diner? This woman looks like she has it all figured out. Maybe it would be a nice change of pace. She likes changing pace.
Yelena puts her thoughts away, a napkin on her lap, and ketchup on the side of her plate where it doesn’t touch any food. She swipes one of the chicken tenders through the condiment, then takes a bite…
…Okay.
She just moaned mentally.
Hopefully - very hopefully - not physically.
But, like.
That was the best chicken tender she’s ever had.
If anything, the mental reaction, however extreme, was an underreaction.
This spot has earned its place in her heart already.
~0~
“Take care of Cucumber”
Cucumber.
As in, Cucumber the guinea pig.
The man of the hour. The legend himself.
It’s a miracle the little bastard is still alive, honestly. She is horrible at caring for a houseplant; the few times she’s tried, they wither and die within a month. A pet is leagues above that.
Thankfully, Fanny is with Sonya and her family; she still sees her over FaceTime and once every few months when she visits. But that was a responsibility she couldn’t handle well enough while “Buffalo sober”, let alone the state she was in for so long there.
Then, she rescued her little guy from a lab in Malaysia. He’s still around seven months later.
So, it’s her duty to care for him.
Yelena tugs off her bike helmet upon reentry of her room, carrying a full belly and a slightly less heavy head, and immediately heads toward Cucumber’s enclosure. It sits next to her desk, right by the window with a perfect view of the concrete jungle she now called home.
“Hi there!” she coos, watching Cucumber as he emerges from underneath his little rock castle structure. “Oh, did you have a good sleep?”
She assumes he can understand her. He’s a very intelligent little critter.
Case number one, he immediately heads for the glass to press his little face up against it, his tiny breaths making little puffs of fog wisp then disappear almost immediately.
“That’s a good boy,” Yelena says excitedly, then reaching into the top drawer for his food box. “Do you want some food, my love? I just had some fantastic food… but you can’t have chicken tenders. I wish you could, though, they were delicious.”
She puts a few of the food pellets that Ava recommended in his enclosure, and the critter scampers over for them, clearly having not eaten in eons. Yelena shakes her head fondly at his typical meal time antics.
Then, she heads for her mini-fridge, where she always keeps leafy greens to help his diet even more.
“Do you feel up for some kale?” She’s already peeling him roughly his entire day’s worth of said vegetable, so if he was going to object, he should’ve done so earlier. “I think that would go nicely with your hay.”
Cucumber is drinking away at his little water tap, happy as can be. Sometimes, when Yelena crouches down in front of his little house, she can swear he’s smiling at her. She would hope so, at least - the little rodent has brought as much light into her life as anyone.
Yelena tugs at her belt, slipping out of her jeans and shimmying them away from herself. She grabs the oversized loose basketball shorts she left out on her bed, slipping them on.
What’s next on the agenda…
~0~
“Take a hot shower”
Mmm. That sounds nice.
Or…
Instead, she could…
~0~
“Do some exercise (make it fun!)”
Yelena knows exactly how to make exercise fun.
She is not declining a hot shower; rather, she will push it back by one item on the agenda. She’s allowed to do that! She doesn’t have to follow the arbitrary order she set herself when she first made this list in her bed. It does not make sense to shower before a workout…
Especially a fun workout like this one.
Yelena practically dives into her closest, giggling with a fresh sense of excitement. She heads for the shoe rack, knowing exactly what she’s after:
Her tap shoes.
It’s silly, she knows. She also does not give a fuck.
Ballet broke her during the Red Room, but she always loved the art of dance. When they were in Ohio, Melina put her and Natasha in a junior tap class - their one luxury. They did not even have tap shoes, and had to borrow some from the studio whenever they would go every other Wednesday. She loved - and still does love - the click-clack of joyous tap dancing.
And now that she is a superhero and has access to an evil Contessa’s credit card, well, what’s the harm in treating herself to a proper pair of tap shoes?
Her tap shoes.
Bloch Jason Samuel Smith’s tap shoes in patent leather black.
Perfect in every way. Perfect for her.
Yelena sits down and slides the first shoe on, tying the lace in the lock pattern she learned from her burner TikTok account to secure them on extra tight. One shoe goes on perfectly, and she taps the metal against her laminated closet floor, clicking those perfect clicks. Perfect, literally.
She repeats this with the other shoe, then hops to her feet, making a satisfying loud clunk as her entire body weight comes down on the taps. She waltzes out of her closet, sufficiently louder than when she walked in, and heads for her bed, bending over to reach underneath.
Yelena pulls out a 3x3 square of wood with padding underneath. It’s cobbled together from parts on opposite sides of the Home Depot, but it gets the job done as an acceptable floor for tap dancing. She could just kick back the rug in the center of her room and tap there, and no one would be any wiser to it, but there’s something about having her own space dedicated to dancing, even if it is this small plank…
Plus, she won’t mess up her floors from tap dancing on them. The hallways and the living room, however…
Yelena puts on her headphones and flicks them into aware mode, still able to hear her music but not loud enough to shut out the taps.
Right before she can tap, however, she click-clacks over to her bedroom door and double locks it. Everyone in the Tower will likely be out for her head when she hasn’t stopped tapping for however long, so this will ensure that none of them can do anything about it. (Besides, if Bob wants to come join her, he can just phase through. One of his little quirks.)
Of course, to complete the picture, she needs some proper music to tap to…
“Play ‘Espresso’ by Sabrina Carpenter.”
The soothing intro begins banging her eardrums just right as Yelena stamps onto her board, feeling the day that wrapped her in its arms too tightly to begin with slowly washing completely away and out of her body.
All good things end. All bad things end too, no?
Today was good.
That’s the funny thing about everything. It all ends, doesn’t it?
But, a couple of things seem to remain constant, if she looks out for them. Good food, a cute pet, and tap shoes that will never let her down.
She rewards them with a series of quick paradiddles as Sabrina begins penetrating her brain.
Dig-spank-toe-heel. Dig-spank-toe-heel. Dig-spank-toe-heel. Dig-spank-toe-heel.
Now, double time!
Digspank-toeheel. Digspank-toeheel. Digspank-toeheel. Digspank-toeheel.
Faster!!
Digspanktoeheel. Digspanktoeheel. Digspanktoeheel. Digspanktoeheel.
Single time, double paradiddle…
Dig-spank-dig-spank-shuffle-toe-heel. Dig-spank-dig-spank-shuffle-toe-heel. Dig-spank-dig-spank-shuffle-toe-heel. Dig-spank-dig-spank-shuffle-toe-heel.
“I think I have a paradiddle addiction,” Yelena mutters, barely able to hear herself over the beautiful girly pop that she once thought was beneath her, and the sounds of her tapping feet that calm part of her soul she thought would never allow her to sleep peacefully again.
So, she keeps tap dancing, and Sabrina keeps singing about her boy problems, and life doesn’t feel as hard as it did when she wrote that first journal entry.
~0~
“Take a hot shower” (actually)
Yes, she is going to fulfill that part of her checklist.
The main indicator to her that she should stop tapping is the sun being gone when she finally exits the flow state.
“Oh… oh…” She puts her hands on her hips, bending over, panting heavily. “Fuck… that was nice… Mmmph.”
Yelena clicks off of her board, still heavily out of breath, and heads for her bathroom. It’s smaller than a lot of the other bathrooms in the tower - John called dibs on the room that apparently once belonged to Thor, which contained a tub big enough to fit a basketball team - but she enjoys the water pressure of the head, which is, to her, the most important part of a good shower.
The tap (heh) is switched on, and Yelena starts taking off her sweaty clothes.
Shirt… shorts… underwear…
“Alright,” Yelena mutters, freshly naked. “Time to-”
Then, she looks down at her feet.
She’s still wearing her tap shoes.
Yelena stares.
And keeps staring.
Then, she throws her head back, letting out a loud, rumbly, low laugh that is slowly becoming more and more common.
Because genuinely: how does one do that??? Get naked for a shower and forget your shoes are still on - your tap shoes. God, she’s so weird.
Yelena reluctantly unlaces the shoes, and instead of throwing them across the floor or something, she trots back over to her bed and gingerly places them down on the mattress. They deserve better than the far less lovely clothes she was just faffing about in.
Yelena heads back to the bathroom and steps into the shower, sliding the mist-covered door closed and feeling the warm water cascade down her head, shoulders, and chest.
“Mmmm…” she hums, squeezing a healthy handful of her favorite shampoo onto her fingers and massaging her scalp.
This feels…
Good.
She doesn’t feel scared.
She doesn’t feel a pair of eyes watching her from an angle just out of her sight.
She doesn’t feel the need to hide her butt or her boobs behind her deadly hands. There’s no one that is going to invade her sacred space, and not one person in the tower would dare even try.
She has good friends.
She has a family.
And, she does have a really nice butt. And even nicer boobs.
Yelena grabs her boobs, pressing the body wash deep into her sensitive flesh.
“Merrrph.” Yelena makes the weirdest noise of her life, shimmying them in her hands. “Fuck if I know what this is, but it is fun.”
And really, isn’t that what life is all about?