Chapter Text
“Yelena, talk to me. You still have eyes on him?”
Yelena shifted her weight, shoulders pressed against the cool wall, and unceremoniously stabbed a toothpick into one of the fancy cheeses on the silver platter. She popped it into her mouth like it was a gas station snack, not something that probably cost more than she’d ever have the humor to buy.
Well, unless it was on the company’s card.
“Relax, Bucky,” she murmured into her earpiece. “Our royal liability is fine. Same as five minutes ago when you asked. Same as fifteen minutes ago when you asked again. I know you can see him just fine on your twelve little security feeds. If he so much as sneezes, you and Bob will get the live-action replay before I do.”
Though truthfully, their noble obligation was so well guarded that it seemed like a waste of taxpayers’ dollars to have them here. Though, knowing Valentina, this wasn’t about his safety in actuality but leverage. About making sure the prince remembered exactly who had saved his life, and who he could “trust” when it came time to owe favors.
And also raising their public views, polishing up the “new Avengers” image so the world stopped seeing them as a downgrade and started seeing them as necessary. Something which, if you asked Yelena, was hilarious, considering how much of a mess they still were.
“Can you try sounding a little more professional?” Bucky’s voice crackled in her ear.
She speared another cube of cheese from the tray she was given.
So bossy.
“I have eyes on him,” she repeated, clearer this time while she crossed the room, glancing at him for a moment. “He’s talking to the foreign affairs committee chair and a bunch of people who look allergic to fun. Like you. Speaking of fun, when’s the last time you had some? In the 1940s?”
“Yelena.”
The sound of Bob’s incredulity at her name on the other line almost made her smile. She knew he was trying hard not to laugh, and without even meaning to, she was already thinking about what sort of movie she would force Bob to watch with her tonight because it's Friday. It's a thing they did two months ago when they caught each other roaming the Watchtower because neither of them could sleep.
“What? I’m just trying to make some conversation with Bucky,” she said innocently, weaving between servers with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a dozen missions ago under far worse conditions.
“I’m working,” Bucky ground out. “So are you.”
“Exactly,” Yelena murmured. “I’m multitasking. Guarding a prince of a small country, eating overpriced cheese. Anyway, I heard coworkers usually get together once a week for drinks. Is that a thing we should think about since we all moved in together six months ago? Or is that too soon?”
There was a snort at the other end.
“We barely know how to work together without killing each other. Maybe save the social calendar for after we get through tonight without an incident,” Ava chimed in. Yelena spared a glance at the rooftop where she was perched, sniper rifle resting easy in her hands.
“Speak for yourself. If anything happens to the Prince, I’ll be the first on the scene.”
Ava and Yelena groaned loudly at Walker’s presumptuous comment, perfectly synchronized.
“Why is he here again?” Yelena grumbled, right before smoothing her expression into something pleasant and forgettable.
One of the gala’s heavy-hitters drifted past—a donor type in a suit that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe—plucking a pair of tiny canapés off her platter without really looking at her.
No surprise, as far as anyone here was concerned, she was just another server in a plain black uniform. A face to glance past, a body to ignore, and that’s exactly how she liked it if she could last through the night without punching some entitled rich asshole who decided the staff were part of the entertainment package.
She dipped her head, the perfect unobtrusive server, while her eyes never left the prince.
The Crown Prince of Ticust, Bastien Kamau Naserian.
Standing near the center of the room like he’d been placed there on purpose, a living centerpiece. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a perfectly tailored white suit that made everyone else’s tuxes look cheap.
Dark curls fell in soft waves over his forehead, the artfully messy that screamed expensive stylist, and his eyes were wide and bright, catching the light every time he laughed at something one of the diplomats said.
He was a natural charmer; Yelena had to give him that.
The high collar of his shirt framed his throat, drawing the eye up to his face—open, animated, almost painfully earnest as he leaned in to listen, hands moving as he spoke. There was a softness to him that didn’t belong in a room full of sharks: warm smile, flushed cheeks, the easy way he lit up when someone addressed him directly.
Harmless.
Just another sheltered royal with good hair and better posture. As a matter of fact, he looked exactly like the type of man the world loved to put on magazine covers and stamp on commemorative coins.
Plus, he was young and attractive; even she could see it.
Yet not the same as—
“It was either him or your father,” Ava quipped, jolting Yelena back to the present.
“Yeah, and you guys voted against him for Captain America Lite here,” Yelena huffed.
She didn’t even want to think about Alexei’s tantrum that lasted up until a sportswear brand reached out wanting to “collaborate with the marvelous and glorious Red Guardian.” The second there was talk of photo shoots and limited-edition merch, he forgot all about being passed over and started practicing poses instead.
“I’m serious,” Walker went on. Sometimes, Yelena wondered if he had a stop button somewhere. “PR’s already a nightmare. If the prince so much as trips while we’re on watch, Val’s gonna have our asses on a silver platter.”
“Ha! I’d like to see her try,” Yelena snorted. “We own her now, remember?”
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable with that idea,” Ava cut in. “She still signs our checks.”
“Mm, yes, but we sign her death warrant if she wants to play with us at any time,” Yelena countered lightly, shifting the platter to her other hand. “Mutually assured destruction. Very healthy work dynamic if you ask me.”
Walker scoffed. “You really think she won’t bury us first if she has to?”
“She technically did try to bury us, with a giant disintegrator at the Vault,” Yelena reminded him.
Ava hummed. “She’s right. If Val goes public, we go public. Nobody walks away clean.”
“Exactly. She exposes us, we expose her. Everyone cries and gets canceled. Very dramatic.”
“That’s less of a strategy and more of a threat,” Bucky said, exasperated.
“Go Thunderbolts,” Yelena replied. “Threats are all we have.”
Walker was still grumbling like a whiny child trapped forever in an adult body pumped with the super-soldier serum. “Look, I’m just saying, I don’t like betting my future on ‘if we go down, we’re taking her with us.’”
“Oh, relax,” Yelena started, shifting her weight as she swept another look toward the prince. “The only thing you need to worry about tonight is—”
The rest of the sentence died on her tongue as a sharp, unmistakable sound cut through the orchestra’s soft swell.
Gunfire.
The sound split the room in half.
For a fraction of a second, nobody moved as the echo hung in the air, too sharp and wrong to belong to an expensive, extravagant ballroom. Glass chimed, a violin hit a wrong note and choked off, and then the second shot cracked through the air, and the crowd detonated.
People screamed and ran in every direction.
People dropped their expensive glasses of wine; crystal shattered across the marble. The orchestra scattered like spooked birds, and Yelena was instantly on the move. She should have known the universe wouldn’t let her have an easy night.
“Shots fired, main hall,” Walker’s voice snapped in her ear, hard and sharp.
“Eyes on the prince, now—”
“Already on it,” Yelena hissed, cutting Bucky off.
The platter left her hand first, a flash of silver and wasted canapés as she flung it toward the sound. It collided with a man in a suit halfway through drawing a gun from under his jacket, the edge catching him in the wrist. He cursed, weapon jerking wide as the third shot went wild into the chandelier.
“Top balcony, northeast,” Ava barked. “I’ve got one on the scope. Taking the shot.”
The prince disappeared behind a wall of panicking bodies just as the suppressed crack of Ava’s rifle cut through the chaos. A spray of stone dust burst from the balcony rail; the man up there dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
“There’s a-another a few feet away,” Bob’s voice cut in over comms, tight with urgency from where he was watching back at the Watchtower. “West side of the balcony, dark suit, going for his jacket. He’s got a clear angle on the prince—”
“I got it,” Ava cut in.
“Move people!” Walker shouted, somewhere across the room from where he was staking out.
“Clear the floor—get them out—”
Yelena didn’t listen to whatever her teammates were barking.
She was already shoving through the crush of guests, shoulder-checking anyone too slow, using the pandemonium like camouflage. Her focus tunneled, honed to one figure in a white suit she’d just seen standing near the center of the room.
“Yelena, I lost visual on him!” Bucky’s voice hitched with static and anger. “Talk to me—”
“I see him,” she snapped, reaching for her gun tucked into the back of her suit pants.
Ублюдок!
For one terrible heartbeat, the prince stood exposed in a pocket of open space, turning in confusion while his security detail tried and failed to punch through the stampede to reach him. His eyes were wide, searching, and for a stupid, suicidal second, he didn’t duck just as someone raised a gun to him.
“Down!” Yelena roared, and Prince Naserian’s eyes snapped towards her just as the shooter’s gunshot rang out. Without thinking, she launched herself, three-inch red-bottom heel skidding on polished marble as she slammed into him with enough force to knock the air from both their lungs.
They hit the floor hard.
Yelena took the impact on her shoulder, twisting at the last second so his head didn’t crack against the ground. Pain flared down her side, but she barely registered it as she rolled, dragging him under her, using her body as a shield.
“W-what—”
“Stay down,” she snarled into his ear, quickly spinning and managing to shoot the man in the head. The prince sucked in a shocked breath beneath her, fingers bunching in the fabric of her suit jacket on instinct.
“Yelena, report!” Bucky shouted. “Is he hit? Is he hit?”
She lifted her head just enough to scan him.
No blood, no obvious wound, just a stunned, flushed face and eyes blown wide.
“He’s good,” she growled, adrenaline flooding her veins.
Another shot cracked from above, punctuated a heartbeat later by Ava’s calm voice: “Target on the balcony is down. One more on the west side, moving. Walker, cut him off before he escapes.”
“I’m on it!” Walker yelled, already charging through the rows of overturned chairs.
Someone screamed near the doors.
Security finally began herding guests toward the exits in messy currents, the room devolving into frantic motion. Yelena stayed where she was, body hunched over the prince, one knee braced against the floor, gun drawn in case there were other unknown threats.
Under her palm, pressed flat against his chest, she could feel his heart hammering—fast, wild, like a trapped bird. It was no surprise, given how sheltered he was; from what she’d been briefed, the Crown Prince of Ticust had barely stepped outside his palaces before this little diplomatic tour.
After tonight, she doubted he’d ever set foot in America again if he could help it.
Valentina’s going to be pissed if he gets a fucking panic attack under her watch.
“Breathe,” she ordered without looking at him, eyes sweeping the chaos for angles, for muzzle flashes, for anything out of place. “You need to breathe, Prince Naserian. In. Out. Very simple. Even you can do it.”
He actually listened.
He dragged in a shaky breath, then another. The grip on her jacket tightened. She felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t even bother returning it. Her attention stayed on the room: on the jittery security line forming up, on the last stragglers being shoved toward the exits, on the too-still corners where someone might be waiting for a clean shot.
It wasn’t until Bucky’s voice finally came through the other line that she let herself breathe, too.
“We’re clear.”
Thank fuck.
Yelena finally risked a glance down.
The prince was still staring up at her, dazed and focused all at once, like his brain hadn’t quite caught up but his heart was still pounding wildly. Yelena clicked her tongue and shifted her weight off his chest, careful and efficient.
“Okay, Your Highness,” she said. “Time to get up.”
Yelena pushed herself to her feet in one smooth motion, joints protesting, shoulder burning where she’d taken the hit for him. She holstered her gun in the same movement and brushed the dust and shattered glass off the front of her suit with sharp, efficient swipes, like she was scraping the whole incident off her skin.
The prince’s security finally surged in properly, a wall of dark suits and earpieces closing around him a half-second too late. They crowded him with frantic hands and overlapping questions—
“Your Highness, are you hurt?”
“Sir, we need to move you—”
None of which Yelena had the patience to stay and listen.
She stepped back just enough to let them swarm, eyes already sweeping the room again.
A faint ripple in the air to her left drew her attention. Ava phased into the space with her rifle already slung across her back, pressing a control that pulled back her mesh white mask, her eyes cool and assessing as they swept the chaos.
“Coast is clear,” Ava announced, voice low but certain.
“I guess the tip-off was legitimate,” Walker said, joining them seconds later.
Yelena snorted, shaking a tiny shard of glass out of her hair.
“Yeah, well,” she said, glancing once at the prince only to make sure he was still upright and breathing and not her problem after this night. “Next time, I’d like a tip-off that doesn’t involve me eating marble for dinner. Bucky, we done?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a few minutes to wrap things up on our behalf.”
“Great, we’ll meet you back at the tower then,” Yelena remarked, practically ripping the earpiece from her ears before Bucky could change his mind. It seemed Ava and Walker had the same idea by how quickly they moved. Yelena stretched, already turned to leave. At that point, she had already thought of three movies she wanted to see with Bob and was ready to relax and let him pick. “Well, we’re done here. Should we order Chinese before—”
“Wait!”
All three of them turned at once.
The prince was on his feet now, surrounded by his own guards, but his eyes were fixed on her as if none of them existed. There was glass in his hair, his suit was wrinkled and soiled, and he still somehow managed to look like he’d stepped out of a glossy magazine spread about “royals under pressure.”
Typical.
Yelena arched a brow. “Yes?”
For a second, he just stared at her like his brain had buffered and was struggling to reload. Then color rushed to his cheeks, a warm, embarrassed flush that didn’t fit with what had just gone on around them.
“You… saved my life,” he said, the words soft and almost disbelieving, as if saying them out loud made them more real. Yelena shrugged one shoulder, already over it. She’s already cataloging in her head all the bruises she’d have by morning and which joints needed ice first tonight. Bob would probably fuss while helping her, which means she needed to downplay how much pain she actually was.
She hated to see the look of concern on his face, really.
“It’s nothing, Prince Naserian. Just doing my job.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Your… job?”
Right.
Royalty who thought heroes just fell from the sky because the universe liked them.
She sighed.
“We were hired to look after you,” she explained, tone clipped but patient enough. “There was a credible tipoff that someone would try to assassinate you tonight. The CIA brought us in to make sure that didn’t happen.”
“You all?” he repeated, finally looking at each of them.
“We’re the Avengers,” Walker introduced proudly. “Pending a possible ‘z’ instead of ‘s.’”
Both women snickered, because, of course, he picked that moment to care about branding.
Prince Naserian’s gaze moved between them, confusion flickering into something like dawning recognition.
“Avengers,” he echoed slowly. “You mean… you are those Avengers?”
“If you’re talking about the ones before us, definitely bloody not,” Ava quipped dryly. “We’re the recall batch.”
“Don’t say that,” Walker protested.
“Would you rather we go with disposable delinquents?” she disputed.
Yelena only sighed, shaking her head at their bickering. “Point is, we were just doing our job to protect you. People want you dead, and we stop it, nothing more than that. Very simple explanation, yes?”
A flicker of something passed through his expression—gratitude, relief, and something a little too close to awe for her comfort. She’s still not used to awe being pointed directly at her instead of disgust, hate, disappointment, and suspicion.
Even after six months, she still wasn’t used to people looking at her like that—like she was something heroic and untouchable—after years of being a ghost in the shadows, a weapon aimed and fired and forgotten. Respect, admiration, gratitude… those things slid off her skin the same way blood and dirt used to.
She didn’t quite know what to do with them, so she chose the easiest option.
Brushing it off like it’s nothing.
“It is not simple,” he insisted quietly. “Not what you did.”
Behind her, Walker made a faint choking sound for some reason that Yelena didn’t like.
On the side, Ava folded her arms, watching with open curiosity.
“Mm, well, this is another Tuesday for us. But I’m happy that you’re not dead,” she articulated. “Which means we did what we were paid to do. Congratulations, Your Highness. You survived your big American party.”
His mouth curved, small but genuine. “Because of you.”
She rolled her eyes, already turning away.
“Because of us,” she corrected. “Team effort, even if they are all very annoying. Now, if no one else is planning to shoot at you, we’re done for the day. Stay safe, Prince Naserian, and have a good night.”
“Wait, what’s your name?”
This time, she didn’t even turn or pause in her stride as she answered, voice flat and automatic.
“Yelena Belova.”
Just like that, it should have been an open-and-shut mission.
If only she knew that in that very moment, it was the start of all her headaches.
And Bob’s as well, without him even realizing it.
“Do you have to put that rodent on the kitchen counter?”
Of the many things Bob still had trouble getting used to, living in a shared communal space with other people was one. He had shared spaces with others before, but he didn’t think those really counted—not the shelter, not the bench, not the handful of half-remembered nights on the street curled up with strangers who were too tired or too high or too broken to care where anyone else slept.
This was different because it was warm and loud in a way that suggested life instead of survival.
Right across from him, Yelena’s mouth dropped, brows knitted together and looking offended on behalf of said guinea pig who couldn’t even understand he was being insulted. He was happily munching away, paying no mind to the commotion.
“Cucumber is not just a rodent! He’s family,” she declared.
Walker scoffed while reaching for his mug to pour himself some coffee. “Since when?”
Bob glanced down at the tiny animal perched just next to him.
“He’s actually the team’s unofficial mascot,” he clarified.
“See? Even more important. You don’t see me complaining about you being here, Walker,” she retorted right before going back to her Wheaties cereal that they still had a few dozen boxes to get through, all thanks to Alexei.
Walker snorted.
“That’s because you’d lose,” he muttered, sipping his black coffee.
Yelena gave him a bland look. “You wish.”
Walker didn’t look exactly thrilled, but he did drag out the chair across from them and drop into it like the decision had been made against his will. It was another thing Bob had noticed about their team.
All of them would rather swallow a cactus than admit they enjoyed each other’s company.
Even just a little bit.
“So what’s the agenda today?” he asked, reaching for the cereal box as if that would make the answer less annoying. Both of them tried not to make a face and failed miserably when Walker dumped it right into his black coffee and started using his mixing spoon like that was a perfectly normal breakfast choice.
Yelena stared at him in open disgust. “You are a monster.”
Walker looked up, completely unbothered. “What? It’s the same as eating from a bowl.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
Bob, despite himself, let out a small breath that was almost a laugh.
He couldn’t tell whether Walker was doing it on purpose just to be irritating or if he genuinely thought this was acceptable. Either way, the expression on Yelena’s face made it clear she had already decided to fight him over it if necessary.
Bob raised his hand a little, as if he were still getting used to the idea that he was allowed to answer at all.
“I’m on comms,” he offered.
“I think that’s a given that you’ll always on com—motherfucker!”
He didn’t get to finish when Yelena kicked him hard under the table with her boot.
Walker jolted so violently that his chair scraped backward, coffee sloshing dangerously near the rim of his mug. He glared at Yelena, who only smiled back brightly, unapologetic and entirely too pleased with herself.
“Say something about it again,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll kick harder until I break your legs.”
“Please,” he snorted. “That's going to be impossible.”
“Your dick then,” she deadpanned.
Walker’s face scrunched as he turned to Bob, clearly choosing survival by way of humor.
“How does anyone find her attractive with a mouth like that?”
Bob stared at him, taken aback and not sure what he should say because…
Well, if he was being honest, her blunt, unremorseful honesty was what he liked about her.
Not just liked, really.
That was the problem.
Yelena didn’t wait around for anyone to hand her approval, didn’t soften herself to make other people comfortable, didn’t apologize for taking up space. She said exactly what she meant, and somehow that made everything about her feel brighter and impossible to ignore.
Just like when she had come to his shame room and brought him back out.
Being near her made him feel…lighter.
Warmer.
Bob found that both terrifying and, in a way that he was very much trying not to examine too closely, deeply attractive. The fact that she had even defended him when no one had ever done that before? Even now when everyone knew he was practically an unyielding god who could handle his own fights?
It made his heart almost soar up his throat and right into her hands!
When he realized he was silent for a bit too long and it was growing suspicious, he cleared his throat and decided to play it safe.
“I mean,” he said carefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “People have different…uh, tastes.”
“But her?”
“I mean, Olivia liked you enough to have a kid with you, and you have rocks for a brain,” Yelena threw back before leaning back into her chair, arms folded, looking entirely unimpressed. “For the record, I don’t care if you find me attractive or not.”
“Good,” Walker said, munching his coffee-soaked cereal. “Because I don’t.”
“And for your information, I’m on watch duty today,” Yelena said, eyes narrowed as she stabbed at the air with her spoon. “So I guess it’s going to be a very busy day for you because I’m going to be sending your ass on every task you hate.”
“Fuck me,” he groaned.
“No thank you,” she replied with a grin.
And because Walker was petty and couldn't help himself, he grabbed a handful of Wheaties and chucked them at Yelena, who promptly moved with lethal speed. Yelena’s hand flashed to the knife tucked at her side, the blade appearing in her grip so fast it was almost a trick of the light.
She lunged across the table, going straight for Walker’s throat with a look that promised absolute murder. Walker reacted on instinct, chair scraping hard across the floor as he caught her wrist just in time, the knife freezing inches from his neck.
“Are we really going to have to file another attempted murder form?”
Bob almost sighed in relief when Bucky came rounding the corner, looking completely unbothered and equally done with them at the same time. In his mechanical hand was a packet that he no doubt stayed all night reading, and the other was his cup of coffee.
Apparently, he had his own coffee machine in his room.
“She tried to stab me,” Walker hissed.
“He started it!”
“Yeah, but I was throwing food at you! You tried to actually end me!”
“Scared, Walker?”
“In your—”
“Well, aren’t you all chummy this morning?”
Bob should have known that shortly after Bucky was awake, everyone else would have followed suit. Ava phased right out of thin air in long sleeves and pants with her expression already full of amusement when she took a look at them.
“No, no, we’re supposed to be a team! Why are we fighting, Lena?” Alexei’s voice boomed. Yelena scowled, retreating because even if she wouldn’t admit it, Bob knew she cared about what her father thought.
“I hate mornings here,” Yelena grumbled, going right back to eating her cereal.
“Right,” Bucky said, ignoring the chaos with the tired patience of a man who had given up on civilization years ago. He dragged a chair back with his foot and set the packet on the table like it contained the only thing holding the morning together. “Since apparently no one can survive breakfast without trying to commit a felony, let’s do this now.”
Walker leaned on the counter, still rubbing at his wrist.
“Again, she started it.”
Bucky gave him a look over the rim of his mug. “You must’ve said something to upset her.”
“He did,” Yelena proudly tattled.
“Typical,” Ava snorted into her coffee, and Alexei, who had clearly been drawn in by the noise from the moment he heard the word fight, took the last available chair and folded his huge arms over his chest.
“Family does not stab each other before breakfast.”
Yelena glared at him. “You’re next if you keep that up, Alexei.”
Bob should have been listening, really. He knew that.
Bucky always started the day like this now: half briefing, half damage assessment, with everyone pretending to complain while quietly paying attention. It was the closest thing this place had to structure, and Bob had gotten used to it faster than he’d expected. Maybe because structure meant he knew where he stood.
Maybe because it meant no one looked at him as if he were trespassing.
Still, his attention kept drifting back to Yelena.
She had gone from feral to sulking in under ten seconds, cereal bowl in hand, expression pulled into that sharp, annoyed mask she wore when she didn’t want anyone to notice she’d been embarrassed.
Bob knew that look well enough by now. He also knew what came after it: a tiny flicker in her eyes when she forgot to hide it, a quick mouth twitch when something amused her, the brief softening that made him feel entirely too warm for absolutely no reason.
He was looking at her too long.
He knew he was.
And unfortunately, that only made it worse when she glanced up and caught him.
For one awful second, he was sure she was going to call him out on it. Instead, her expression changed into something smaller, quieter, almost private. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for him to feel it like a punch straight through the ribs.
Bob looked away immediately, suddenly fascinated by the edge of the table.
He tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding and the heat creeping up to his face. He supposed it wasn’t a shock he would have developed feelings for the woman who pulled him back into the light, but he hoped it wouldn’t be this obvious.
Bob was still staring at the table when a voice from the entrance, calm and faintly entertained, cut clean through the overlap of morning noise.
“Oh, good. You’re all here.”
The words were enough to make something in Bob’s shoulders lock up before he even looked up. The large A-logo panel in their communal area slid open, and the room seemed to shift around the person standing there.
He could feel Yelena go still beside him, could hear Ava and Walker mutter something under their breath that sounded a lot like a curse, and somewhere farther down the table Alexei made a noise of recognition that was too cheerful to be trusted. Bucky didn’t move at all, which somehow made everything worse.
The woman in the doorway stepped in with the easy confidence of someone who had never once wondered whether she belonged in a room. Valentina’s gaze swept over all of them, lingering just long enough to make the silence feel deliberate, and behind her was Mel, looking equally mousy like Bob.
“What are you doing here, Val?” Yelena asked, voice gone flat.
Valentina smiled as if she’d expected nothing less.
“Relax, Ms. Belova. Is this the way you should be greeting your boss?”
“I think you’re forgetting who's the one really in charge,” Ava quipped.
Valentina’s smile only deepened, perfectly unbothered. “I forgot you’re all not morning people.”
“Correction,” Ava said, voice dry as dust, “we’re just not Valentina people.”
That earned a soft, amused exhale from somewhere near the table, though nobody volunteered to admit it was funny. Valentina clasped a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How hurtful. And here I thought we were building a professional relationship.”
“We’re building a tolerance to stand your ass,” Walker muttered.
“What do you want, Valentina?” Bucky asked once more on everyone’s behalf.
“Since everyone’s so eager, I’ll get to the point.”
Yelena threw her arms up in the air. “I guess miracles do happen.”
Valentina let the silence hang for one infuriating beat, then stepped aside with a flourish.
“Mel,” she said, all business now, “bring him in.”
Him?
Every head in the room turned.
Mel startled like she’d been waiting for that exact command and still wasn’t ready for it.
“Right—yes. Okay.”
She hurried back toward the panel, nearly tripping over herself in her rush. Walker sat up straighter. Ava’s brows knit. Alexei looked thrilled in the way only Alexei could, like chaos had just been served for breakfast. Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but Bob could feel the shift in the air beside him, everyone bracing for whatever Valentina had just decided to unleash on them.
The panel slid open.
At first, Bob only saw a silhouette and then—
Yelena was the first to react.
She shot up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor, the sound sharp enough to cut through the room. Bob barely had time to register the movement before she was already staring at the doorway with her mouth half-open in stunned disbelief.
“Prince Naserian?” she blurted.
The man in the doorway brightened immediately, all hesitation vanishing from his face.
“Yelena! I’m so glad you still remembered me!”
Bob didn’t like the glitter in the prince’s eye one bit because it looked far too much like interest. Not politeness, not courtesy, not even the harmless kind of admiration people gave Yelena when they realized how courageous and selfless she really was.
This was different.
This was the look of someone who had just decided he wanted something.
And Bob, who had spent entirely too long pretending he wasn’t aware of Yelena at all, felt a sharp, unwelcome twist in his chest.
Jealousy, probably.
Which was ridiculous. He had no claim on her. None at all. They were not together, were not even close to being together, and yet the prince was standing there looking at her like she’d just stepped out of a story meant for him alone.
Bob didn’t like it, not one bit.
Ava frowned, looking between them with growing confusion.
“Why the hell is the Crown Prince of Ticust doing here?”
Valentina looked far too pleased with herself as she clapped her hands together, friendly smile still plastered on her face. “Yes, the Crown Prince himself. Can you imagine my surprise when he requested to meet with me shortly after your achievement of keeping him safe that night?”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Why? Did something happen at the event a few days ago?”
The prince gave a low laugh. “Actually, something did.”
Bob immediately didn’t like the sound of that.
He liked it even less when Prince Naserian crossed the room with sudden purpose, took Yelena’s hand, and bent to kiss it like they were in some old-fashioned court drama instead of a cramped communal kitchen in New York with everyone in their pajamas still.
Everyone but Bob—who was still stunned—noticed the way Yelena’s face scrunched in disgust.
“What the hell is going on?” Walker murmured.
Bob stared, and he could feel the room getting smaller and smaller when the prince straightened, still holding Yelena’s hand like he had every right to. “I’ve come because I have a very imperative job for you, Ms. Belova!”
Yelena blinked. “Mm. Which is…?”
“I want you to become my personal guard during the rest of my stay here in New York.”
The room went dead silent.
“What?” Ava said at nearly the same time Bob did, only his came out much smaller.
Was it just him, or was the room spinning?
Yelena yanked her hand back and stared at him as if he’d just spoken a different language.
“Uh... why the hell would you want that?” she asked, almost insulted.
Valentina let out a laugh that sounded practiced to the point of artificiality.
“I think Ms. Belova meant that she would love that very much!”
Yelena gave her a flat look and then looked back at the prince. “Mm, no. I meant really, why? You’re a prince; you have your own national security guard who has all the resources. Compared to you, we’re like small baby potatoes, little stuff.”
Prince Naserian laughed, and now Bob really, truly hated where this was going.
“Isn’t it clear what my intentions are?” Prince Naserian asked, taking her hand again, and everyone in the room was holding their breath because had it been anyone else, Yelena would have already twisted their hand and popped their shoulder off. “For one, I trust you more than my guards, especially in a foreign and eccentric city like New York.”
Yelena nodded. “Uh-huh…”
That’s when the prince looked bashfully shy, chuckling.
“If I’m being transparent with you, I want us to get to know each other better,” he professed, his other hand placed right over his heart, as if sheer sincerity could smooth over how absolutely insane this sounded.
“Know each other better,” she echoed stoically.
And that’s when the prince decided to drop the bomb.
“And if I win your heart, perhaps you’ll go back to my country and become my queen.”
The entire kitchen exploded at once.
“What?!” Walker barked with Ava’s mouth hanging open.
“My Lena?” Alexei choked out while Bucky sighed.
Bob stared in complete disbelief. “What?”
Yelena, meanwhile, looked like she was one second away from either laughing, strangling someone, or both. And Bob—quiet, startled Bob, who had not been prepared for any of this—found himself staring at the prince, then at Yelena, and then very firmly anywhere else because whatever this was, it was absolutely not a thing he was going to be calm about.
The room was still erupting when the lights suddenly flickered a few times.
Then the room started to rumble, the structure creaking ever so lightly, but with the silence, it was enough to make every head snap toward the sound. For a heartbeat, nobody spoke. When Bob looked up slowly, he was aware of every eye turning in his direction, and immediately wished they hadn’t.
Bob’s face went hot immediately.
He knew exactly why the lights had flickered. He knew exactly why the floor had given that low, uneasy shudder. And he definitely knew exactly why every single person in the room was now looking at him like he’d started the apocalypse over…
Well, whatever the hell was going on.
He did not, however, know how to explain any of it without sounding insane because he didn’t have the right to be bitter and possessive. Yelena wasn’t his, and he certainly didn’t deserve someone as sweet as her.
“Bob?” Yelena finally asked. “You okay?”
“Uh...y-yeah. I’m fine,” he answered, even managing a shaky smile. “I didn’t mean to.”
Except deep down, he did, didn’t he?
He wanted to scare him off, even if he’d never unconsciously acknowledge it.
Prince Naserian turned back to Yelena with an easy grin, apparently not bothered in the slightest by the strange flicker in the room or the tension still hanging in the air.
“See?” he said, as if they were still discussing something perfectly ordinary. “This is why you’d be perfect, Yelena! Since you’re an Avenger, you already know how to protect people, how to handle danger, how to stay calm under pressure.”
Bob took a deep breath, trying his hardest to stay very still.
That should not have bothered him as much as it did. It was reasonable. It was flattering, even. It was the kind of thing someone like the prince would say to make an offer sound grander than it was.
And yet Bob felt the irritation curl in his chest all over again, hot and sharp, because the prince was looking at her like she belonged in his future already. Yelena blinked, then gave him a look that was almost insulted by the sheer audacity of it.
“You are basing this on me being good at my job?”
“Well, that, and the fact that you are clearly the most capable person in the room,” the prince said, still smiling. That made Walker bark out a laugh under his breath, but Bob didn’t find it funny.
The prince went on, undeterred.
“You have strength, discipline, and a presence that commands respect. And I think,” he added, softer now, “that you would make a remarkable queen. If you’re willing to give me a chance, of course.”
Bob’s jaw tightened before he could stop it.
The room had gone quieter again, everyone waiting to see what Yelena would do next.
Bob wanted to look away, wanted to stop watching, but he couldn’t. He kept his eyes on her face because he needed to know what her expression would be when someone said something like that to her.
She looked unimpressed.
That should have been enough to ease the tightness in his chest, but it didn’t.
He looked down before anyone could catch the way his hands had curled at his sides. He told himself to breathe, to stop making this worse in his head. It was just a conversation. Just a ridiculous, impossible conversation. Nothing about it meant anything.
Except the part where it did.
Yet before Yelena could say anything, Valentina decided to answer on her behalf.
“Oh, I’m sure Ms. Belova would be delighted!”
The words landed as a match dropped into gasoline.
Yelena turned slowly, and if looks could kill, Valentina would have already dropped dead.
“Excuse me?”
Valentina gave her a bright, practiced smile that was somehow even more infuriating because it looked polished enough to pass for kindness. “Think about it. A prince, an extended stay in New York, a very generous offer, and an excellent public image opportunity. It would be a shame not to explore it.”
Exploit, she means.
Bob felt his stomach drop.
He looked from Valentina to Yelena, then back again, horrified by the ease with which Valentina was steamrolling right over her. Yelena’s expression had gone very still in a way that Bob knew meant trouble. The kind that came right before someone regretted speaking.
“I’m sorry,” Yelena said, voice dangerously calm, “did I ask for your opinion?”
Valentina tilted her head. “You didn’t have to.”
“Valentina,” Bucky warned flatly.
But Valentina didn’t even glance at him. She kept her attention fixed on Yelena, as if she were doing her a favor. “You’re a capable woman, Ms. Belova. This could be beneficial for everyone involved, especially swaying public opinion and international affairs.”
“I promise it’ll be fun!” Prince Naserian piped up. “Think of it like a change of scenery. Just for a week!”
Yelena paused.
It was only for a second, but Bob felt it like a held breath across the whole room.
He could almost see the calculations flickering behind her eyes. The obvious insult of it. The public angle. The diplomacy. The fact that Valentina, infuriating as she was, wasn’t entirely wrong about the optics. And Bob—quiet, uselessly hopeful Bob—found himself staring at Yelena like he might be able to will the answer out of her.
Say no, he thought. Please say no.
Though it’s not like he had any right to ask of such a thing.
Even if he hated the prince’s intentions, it wasn't as if they were dating.
Even though he didn’t trust the way the prince was looking at her. Even though he didn’t trust Valentina’s smile. Because the whole thing felt like someone trying to package Yelena into something shiny and profitable, and that made his skin crawl.
Yelena’s jaw tightened. She looked at Valentina, then at the prince, and for one impossible moment Bob thought she might actually shut it down. Then her expression shifted ever so slightly.
Not softer. Never softer but more…resigned.
Bob’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.
He knew that look by now without even trying. The one she wore when she’d already seen the trap a few miles ahead and was deciding whether she could outmaneuver it later. It was the look of someone swallowing a complaint because the situation was larger than her pride.
And that was exactly what Valentina had counted on.
Bob hated that too.
Yelena gave a small, sharp exhale through her nose. “Fine.”
Bile almost rose to his throat before he worked it down, his fingers curling hard enough to ache, and tried to remind himself that Yelena wasn’t his to keep from anything. She would make her own choice. She always did.
Still, when she glanced briefly in his direction, he felt the answer in his chest before she’d even said it. She was going to do what was practical. And Bob hated how much that disappointed him that he couldn’t do anything.
Useless, hopeless Bob.
Artwork that inspired this story (by TowokoG on Twitter/X and translation):
