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The biting chill of the cold pack that Kate pulls straight out of the freezer and presses to her rapidly-bruising face makes her groan. It staves off the pain as she shuffles back to her room, collapsing into bed. She can feel the condensation droplets tracing a path through the blood and grime caking the side of her face, making her feel marginally cleaner than before.
She’s still in her suit, which is covered in soot and gunpowder and dust from their mission. Her ribs are aching where she had been kicked, her back and arms are sore from archery, she can feel every beat of her heart pulsing slickly through her head, leaving more blood to slowly ooze out of the cut along her hairline, which is also stinging from sweat. She should probably clean that up before it gets infected.
The mission was a disaster before it could even begin. Kate and Eli had one of their usual silly spats about something or another—she honestly couldn’t even remember what—a few hours before they were set to recon a warehouse that reportedly was a front for an undercover drug operation. Fury had emphasised during the briefing, with a pointed look, that it was recon only. They were working with little information, which was precisely why it was recon only. Go in, gather whatever data they need, and get out. Piece of cake, right?
Apparently not.
There had been an unanticipated variable. A woman, dressed in all black, wearing a belt with a very distinct red symbol that screamed danger, stalking around the premises. Someone had been too careless, made a little too much noise, and suddenly they were compromised.
They, who were very abruptly thrusted into combat with a whole gang of surprised drug dealers, and one black widow assassin.
Kate, undeniably, had a role to play in this whole mission going to absolute shit, considering she was the one who instructed the team to engage. However, before she could formulate a plan that wouldn’t end with one of them getting killed by a trained assassin, Eli—as usual—had ignored Kate completely and rushed out from his cover, throwing himself right into the waiting arms of the bad guys.
Everyone else, left with no other choice, jumped into the fray as well. While they could probably handle the gang members on their own pretty well, a black widow was a whole ‘nother story.
Needless to say, that was how Peter had ended up in an electric straightjacket, Cassie with a sprained elbow, and Kate with all her various injuries. Which was already incredibly lucky, all things considered.
It was a good thing Yelena had given Kate a few vials of that anti-mind-control powder thing, in case a situation like this ever arose, which, evidently, it did.
Fortunately, everyone made it back to HQ in one piece, and after a debrief from an extremely, astronomically pissed off Fury, the team—thoroughly chastised and with bruised egos to match their aching bodies—decided to call it a night.
After dealing an additional ass-whooping to Kate, as the leader, Fury released her to stagger off to her room.
Now that all the adrenaline has worn off, Kate doesn’t have the strength to do anything else but carelessly kick her boots off, crawl into bed and immediately fall asleep.
//
To say that Kate feels like shit when she wakes up is the understatement of the century. A nightmare scares her awake and she’s disoriented for a few seconds too long when she first opens her eyes, the world spinning blurrily. That pulsing ache is still hammering her skull, worse now that the cold pack has gone room temperature, thrown off somewhere among her blankets in her sleep. She’s sticky from dried-up sweat, and probably smelling like a dump truck passed through her room. She doesn’t attempt to move any more than lifting her eyes to check the time from the clock on her bedside table. Even reading the neon numbers hurts. She does gather that it’s the middle of the fucking night, and, unable to think any further, closes her eyes to go back to sleep.
“Kate Bishop?”
Kate would have been surprised—and delighted—but all she can muster is a weak moan, face pressed into her pillow.
Yelena’s voice is far too loud for the time of night and state of mind that Kate’s in. She manages another pained, incoherent grumble. She hears Yelena click her tongue, footsteps crossing the tiled floor of her room lightly. The bed dips next to her, and she feels the warmth of Yelena’s body radiating into her side. A strong hand flips her onto her back, and she’s like a dead fish, flopping over pliantly. She opens her eyes a smidge, just enough that it doesn’t worsen her pounding headache.
There’s a deep frown etched into Yelena’s pretty features, her short blonde locks falling into her face as she leans down to examine Kate. The moonlight filtering through the blinds bathes her in a melancholic blue, dulling the emerald in her eyes into a softer greyish green. She’s so beautiful. Is the only thought playing through Kate’s mind on repeat. Her fingers trace over the open wound on Kate’s forehead and she hisses at the startling pain that shoots from it. Yelena shoots her a disappointed look, and Kate still has the presence of mind to frown childishly. With a heavy sigh, Yelena manually hooks Kate’s arms over her shoulders and hoists her so she’s sitting up.
“‘Mm fine,” Kate manages to mumble, leaning all her weight against Yelena’s very soft, very warm front. She closes her eyes, forehead against Yelena’s shoulder, breathing in her scent. She smells like citrus. Or vanilla. Is that Kate’s shampoo?
Kate vaguely registers the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and the feeling of her suit being slid down her arms. Yelena manoeuvres her until she’s down to her bra, the top half of her suit around her waist.
“Buy me dinner first, or something,” Kate jokes, though she’s not quite sure if all the words make it out in that exact order. They seem to though, judging by the quiet, exasperated huff Yelena lets out. A win is a win.
Yelena lays her back down gently, and Kate obediently raises her hips so she can slide the rest of her suit off. The coolness of the room graciously kisses her heated skin, and Kate sighs in relief. She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of Yelena’s footsteps across the tiled floor, pattering from the room to the en-suite bathroom. She hears the tap turn on, and water running. The water goes off, and Yelena comes back into the room. She sighs, and then Kate feels a cool cloth being run over her face. She winces when it hits the open wounds, and Yelena murmurs soft apologies and assurances in russian. If she were more conscious, Kate could’ve probably understood some of it, but for now she’s content to soak in the affectionate words, letting them cover her like a warm blanket.
After Yelena is done wiping her down, Kate feels more human again. Sure, her bones still simultaneously feel like they’re made of lead and also jello, but she’s able to open her eyes to fully appreciate the gorgeous sight that is her girlfriend and not feel like she’s getting a lobotomy without anesthetic. A thought suddenly pops into her mind and she blurts it out without thinking.
“Is she okay?”
Woah, okay, Kate’s voice sounds like she smoked ten packs of cigarettes and then ran her vocal cords through an industrial wood grinder.
Yelena makes an inquisitive sound, moving back into the bathroom to wash the cloth.
“The widow. Is she alright?”
Yelena is silent for a moment, not giving a response as she wrings the cloth out and hangs it up to dry. Kate follows her with her eyes as she walks back over to the bed, stripping off her outer layers and crawling under the covers next to Kate. Kate shifts to accommodate her, smiling at the feeling of soft skin against hers. Yelena rests her face against her shoulder, using her arm almost like a pillow.
“Yes, she’s alright, thanks to you. Just a little confused. It always takes them a while to get used to it, but once they do…” Yelena trails off, draping her arm across Kate’s middle, tracing the edges of the bruise forming on her ribs, “Thank you for calling me.” Kate hums in understanding. A kiss is pressed to her neck. “And thank you for freeing her.”
“Of course, it was the right thing to do. You gave me those anti-serum thingies for a reason.”
Kate feels Yelena shift away, and she tilts her head to look at her. Yelena’s expression is hard, calculative. It was a look Kate once knew to associate with her putting up her walls, like she’d suddenly realised she’d let her guard slip and was desperately trying to pick it back up. Now, Kate knows she’s the one being studied, read like an open book. She keeps her expression honest and open—not that she’d be able to lie to Yelena even if she tried—and eventually, she must find what she's looking for because Yelena’s face relaxes and she lays back down.
“You are so good, Kate Bishop.” It’s said a little wistfully, almost in a disbelieving tone.
Kate chuckles, a little embarrassed. “I try my best.”
“No, I don’t think you get it,” Yelena insists, though Kate can feel the smile on her lips against her skin, “No one outside of my family and the other widows even knows about the existence of this anti-serum. This responsibility, this burden of freeing them… It’s heavy, sometimes. But it’s reassuring to know that I can trust you with this too.”
Suddenly, there’s a lump forming in Kate’s throat and tears welling up in her eyes. She fervently blinks them away, swallowing.
“Thank you for trusting me.” She means those words with every fibre of her being. She knows Yelena understands the deeper meaning behind that sentence. Another kiss is pressed to her neck, just below her jaw.
“Go to sleep, маленький ястреб, you’ve done enough Avengering for today.”
Kate laughs, placing a kiss to the crown of Yelena’s head.
“Goodnight, ‘Lena. Love you.”
“I love you too, mой дорогой.”
Sleep finds Kate easily after that, and although Avengering is hard pretty much all the time, she’s still loved by the most beautiful woman in the world. If Kate could accomplish that, what were a few gang members and trained child assassins, right?