Work Text:
“This is way below my pay grade,” Yelena Belova grumbles as she ducks behind a car to avoid a mutant monster arm lunging at her. “You are lucky I was bored, Spiderboy.”
“Oh, the small potatoes you were talking about, right?” Peter quips, swinging from a high balcony and pinning down half the monster with a mass of webs. It holds the foe for approximately fifteen seconds; it’s going to take some work to tire this thing out. “This looks pretty big.” Some wannabe supervillain experimenting on himself in a basement lab—never ends well. Always ends with a big fight and a failed monster.
“Is still small,” Yelena argues, though she peeks over the car to watch the monster with narrowed eyes. “But different. Change of pace from big potato things. I like it.”
She must like it more than she’ll admit, because she’s been helping him on operations for several months now in secret. At first strictly intel, sending info from her “office” or answering his video calls with varying levels of irritation or enthusiasm (depends on the day). Knowing someone with this much experience is more than helpful for Peter, used to doing things alone by now.
But some things Yelena couldn’t explain properly, or matter-of-factly told him he wasn’t prepared for a task.
“You will fail,” she said bluntly before their first job together, before requesting his coordinates and meeting him there a half hour later. They handled a rogue monster together, and she seemed to like the simplicity of it, the open-and-shut nature. So she started helping him every so often, every week, and Peter doesn’t mind the company. Needs it, really. Yelena is concerned about his friendships and personal life and making sure he is “not sad” all the time, or at least not alone while sad. He suspects she has experience with these, and she’s always sincere when she asks, even in teasing, how the lonely Spiderboy is doing.
Yelena also helped him track down Jean and check on her; it’s clear she has a soft spot for the girl. When Yelena found out that the sister Jean was searching for had died, she grew somber and quiet. Her face had the ashen quality of a person who could truly empathize with Jean, and Peter remembered that Natasha Romanoff was Yelena’s sister. Also gone.
“New Avengers stuff too boring and bureaucratic?” Peter asks now, dodging a shot from one of the monster’s goons. It’s creating quite a ruckus at midnight in the Bronx, tearing up a good part of the street.
Yelena scoffs. “You have no idea. Our boss is terrible. Being face of New Avengers—lot of pressure. It’s nice to get away from it.”
“You seem tired, though,” Peter says, hoping it’s not rude to say so. Yelena is good at hiding everything under her Black Widow facade; in her case, it’s a casual, funny personality that switches like lightning to serious and deadly. There’s not a lot of space to read between the lines. But she’s seemed strained, busy, these last few weeks. Not that she fights any different, but her eyes are shadowed and she sounds mildly stressed anytime he calls.
“Ha,” Yelena says. “Yes. Too much work. I like work, but…it’s a lot. Now, stop bothering me about it. This is not a therapy session, like some of my teammates are required to attend.”
Peter’s also incredibly curious about the other New Avengers, which he gains tidbits of as he gets to know Yelena. Well, he doesn’t know her, and he thinks the blonde would laugh if he called them friends. But they are colleagues at least, and she tolerates him, and he likes working with someone else. It gets lonely taking out endless bad guys without anyone watching his back.
Things are going a little too well until he lets his guard down, gets (maybe) a litte too confident. He shoots a web that sends him flying upward, aiming to get a new angle of the situation as the monster tires, and at that exact second, the thing lashes out, slamming into Yelena and tossing her across the street. She hits the glass windows of a storefront and they shatter, her listless form disappearing over the brick sill.
“Yelena!” Peter slams down into the creature, his arachnid hormones skyrocketing as anger and desperation overtake him. He webs the monster over and over again, trapping it in its half-human, hybrid form. Counting on the cops and local agencies to handle arrest and cleanup, he rushes to the storefront and vaults inside, heart pounding.
The Black Widow is crumpled in the broken glass, groaning. It sounds like the wind’s been knocked out of her in addition to the pain, and he kneels beside her as he tries not to panic.
“Yelena! Are you okay?”
“That fucking hurt,” she gasps, blinking hard up at him. A nasty gash cuts across her temple and forehead, her hairline sticky with blood. He reminds himself that head wounds bleed a lot, but he’s concerned with how hard the impact was.
“That’s a bad cut,” Peter says, kneeling next to her. Her eyes are hazy, frowning as she works to focus on him. “Could be a concussion.”
“I will be…fine,” Yelena grunts, sitting up with great effort. She winces, touching her ribs. “Ouch. What about the target?”
Right on cue, sirens begin to blare as cops approach. “Took care of it. We’re good to go.” He takes stock of the store she’s been thrown into like a rag doll, rummaging through the shelves to find something to staunch the blood. He procures a rag and hands it to her, hoping it’s just a scratch. He already feels guilty enough asking for help—now he’s gone and gotten her hurt on his watch because he was too slow taking out the target.
She sighs, pinching her nose as she wards off the pounding in her head. The blood in her scalp stands out against her blonde hair, and his stomach turns. “Okay, let me make sure you get home okay.”
Yelena’s disoriented enough that escorting her back to the Watchtower makes Peter feel much better. Her eyes are glassy and her face is pale, but she is aware enough to request that he not drop and kill her when he transports them via his web swings. She sways on her feet from the motion, and he loops an arm around her shoulders so she doesn’t topple over.
“That was insane,” Yelena comments, grinning as they land in front of the gigantic tower the New Avengers inhabit. Then she turns and vomits in the bushes. “Ah, fuck. Bucky’s gonna kill me if I have another concussion.”
“Your team seems close,” Peter says, and Yelena shrugs. He’s always curious about Bucky Barnes, having interacted with him at a distance and fought him occasionally. Maybe he and Yelena are close; from what he knows, they both lead the team together. “I think they’ll just be glad to see you.”
The lobby is large and looming, with an unmanned check-in desk and an elevator. Peter shuffles to it, pushing the button uncertainly. How does one get into the most fortified building in the city? He would land on the roof, but he’s not sure what the tower’s defense systems would do and he really doesn’t want to get shot out of the sky.
The screen next to the elevator button lights up and a curly-haired, pale man in his pajamas and stifling a yawn pops into frame. He peers into the camera, not looking particularly Avenger-like, but Peter figures he has some crazy hidden powers or something. He looks to be in his early or mid-30s, very civilian.
“Um, hi?” The man says. “Spiderman? I’m not supposed to let anyone—is that Yelena?”
“Bob! Hiii,” Yelena sings. “Did you miss me?” Peter’s unsure if this is the head trauma or Yelena’s legitimate greeting.
“She’s okay, just hit her head,” Peter rushes to assure him, though the sight of him carrying this man’s half-conscious teammate is not assuring whatsoever. “Can you let us up?”
“Yes, yeah, of course,” the man says, rushing to hit some buttons. The elevator opens and allows them entry, sending them so high up into the skyline that his ears pop.
The man’s waiting when the doors open, wide eyes and a concerned frown as he stutters. “What—what happened?”
Yelena blinks groggily as Peter helps deposit her on the couch, wondering who at the tower does the team’s medical care. He is not very experienced, but surely they have a medical staff? “Is fine, Bob. I’m fine.”
“Wow, this place is nice,” Peter comments, taking it all in. The kitchen is enormous, the living room is furnished with stuff so expensive he doesn’t know what the pieces are even called, and everything has a brand-new, sparkling clean feel to it. It’s also high-tech and probably bombproof. A veritable lair, headquarters, hideout…all things he is fascinated by. “Um, here, let’s stop the bleeding.” He grabs an expensive-looking—napkin? Table accent? No clue—piece of fabric and offers it to Yelena. She holds it to her temple with a grimace.
“Why were you out so late?” Bob asks, puzzled. “We don’t have any missions this week. And with Spiderman…”
“Wait,” Peter says, raising an eyebrow at Yelena. “Did you not tell anyone you were helping me? That we’re working together?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “We are not working together, Spiderboy. We are merely—Bob, could you be a dear and get me an ice pack? This hurts like a bitch.”
“Better get a whole first aid kit,” Bob chuckles nervously, hurrying to grab the items. “Wow, working with Spiderman? I thought we weren’t supposed to—”
A sharp, low voice from down the hall cuts through Bob’s ramblings. “Working with who?”
Peter isn’t prepared for Bucky Barnes to storm into the common room, eyes flashing murderously as he takes in the scene before him. Alarm, dark and seething, simmers in his gaze. “What the hell?”
Yelena perks up, a bit more alert at the sound of his voice. “Privyet,” she greets, unfazed by his anger but looking sheepish, like she’s been caught sneaking out.
Which, Peter, realizes, is exactly what’s happening. Yelena’s been helping him without anyone’s knowledge, probably because the New Avengers have enough on their plate and she’s one of their leaders.
Bucky takes one look at Yelena, disheveled and nearly dripping blood on the couch, and hurries to examine her. He kneels beside the couch with a closeness that seems comfortable for them both, bringing a hand softly to her hairline.
“I am fine,” Yelena says petulantly, patting him on the shoulder. “Friendly neighborhood spider and I’s job got a little out of hand.”
Bucky scans her for another moment, jaw flexing, and rounds on Peter with an intensity that makes him recoil.
“Would you care to explain why you are here with my concussed girlfriend at one in the morning?” Bucky asks, the question all but a growl. Jeez, the guy is prickly.
Wait—
“Uh,” Peter gulps, faced with the former Winter Soldier’s wrath, before doing a double take. “Sorry…your girlfriend?”
Yelena groans and covers her face with her hands. “Barnes, now Spiderboy knows. He is not supposed to know.”
“Technically no one is, but we all figured it out pretty quickly,” adds Bob.
“That’s beside the point!” Bucky barks. “What were you doing out on an unsanctioned job in the middle of the night?”
“Unsanctioned job, oh no,” Yelena echoes, using her hand to make blah blah blah talking motions. “I am helping a friend.”
“Yelena’s been a great help since the whole incident with the DODC recently,” Peter adds.
“This wasn’t a one-time thing?” Bucky snaps, and Peter winces. Really put his foot in his mouth with that one.
“I am just helping with some jobs,” Yelena shrugs. “Get out of the tower, fresh air, take a break.”
“This is not taking a break,” Bucky says, motioning to her beat-up face. “You have been working yourself to death this year and this is the last thing you need.”
Now Peter feels guilty. There’s got to be an insane amount of work involved in leading a team of superpeople, not just going solo like he does. The amount of pressure the group is under, both in the public eye and against security threats, is immense. He’s merely been adding to Yelena’s burden, to her exhaustion, by asking for her help. He should have never dragged her into it all.
“It’s my fault,” Peter says hurriedly.
“No,” Yelena scolds. “I wanted to help. When New Avengers work is done, what is the harm in helping?”
Bucky looks like he’s going to blow a fuse. “The harm? You could’ve been killed, and no one here even knew you were gone. Anything could have happened, and you did not communicate.”
“Ah, yes, we are working on communication,” Yelena tells Peter seriously. “We are not very good at this yet.”
“That’s what they say relationships are all about,” Peter confirms, and Yelena winks at him. “Always room for improvement.”
“None of us are working with this kid,” Bucky says, glaring at Peter. “Can’t you see there’s more important things going on than stopping bank robberies in Queens?”
“Actually, this was a monster,” Yelena corrects unhelpfully. “Very ugly. Huge. Threw me into a building.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, rounding on Peter again, and he’s worried he might have to duke it out with the Winter Soldier when Yelena’s hand shoots out, catching his wrist.
“James,” she says quietly, and Peter looks around, expecting someone else, but it appears she’s still talking to Bucky. “I’m fine. It is not Spiderman’s fault, and he helped me get back. Can we discuss this later?”
Peter watches with fascination as Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and one of the most dangerous people he’s ever met, melts under Yelena Belova’s imploring look. The frustration drains out of his frame and he grabs the first aid kit, sliding next to her on the couch to evaluate her forehead. The tension doesn’t disappear, but Peter recognizes it now as intense worry over Yelena and not anger at her. At Peter, sure, he deserves that. But it’s abundantly clear that Barnes is hooked around her finger.
He’s struck with a pang of longing for MJ, for the security of having a person, his person, who knows him and understands him and can through to him even in the worst of situations. He recognizes it, now, that this is Yelena’s person. He hasn’t known her for long, nor the other Avengers, but he knows this for sure. They are the most unlikely couple he’s seen, but also fit perfectly. There’s an intense gentleness to the way Barnes cleans her forehead, wiping blood from her hair and stitching the wound efficiently. When she hisses in pain, he pauses to give her a breather, to squeeze her thigh encouragingly. Even as Peter talks to Bob, who is surprisingly nice and welcoming despite his shyness, he’s watching Bucky and Yelena, captivated by their dynamic. Two trained killers, unspeakably soft with each other.
“Guess what else I did, Bob,” Yelena says mischievously, after her stitches are done and the pain’s passed somewhat. “I flew. You know how Spiderman does his—what do you call it?” She makes a whooshing noise, indicating leaping with webs to travel.
Peter shrugs. “Web travel?”
“Web travel,” she echoes with a grin. “He carried me and we flew by webs. Like giant weird spiders. It was crazy. And then I threw up.”
Bucky frowns in disapproval as Bob chuckles. “That sounds fun! But not good for people afraid of heights.”
“Have you ever dropped anyone?” Yelena asks, arching a brow at Peter. She grimaces as Bucky presses a hand to her side, feeling for broken ribs.
“I don’t want to know that,” Bucky mutters.
“No,” Peter says confidently, hoping it makes Barnes feel better. “Hundred percent success rate.”
“Ha!” Yelena laughs, then curses. “Ow. That hurts.”
“Just bruised,” Bucky says decisively, scanning the rest of her body. “Anything else?”
“No, Mr. Worrypants,” Yelena teases, patting his cheek affectionately. “Am fine. But you are quite rude to my new friend.”
Bucky sighs, half-glaring at Peter. “Thanks for the help. In the future, just…I don’t know. Ask us all for help. Whoever is available can pitch in, but these nighttime runs aren’t safe if we don’t know they’re happening.”
“And Yelena needs, like, a two-month vacation,” Bob says.
“Ack, I like working,” Yelena retorts.
“Tell you what,” Peter offers, nervous when all attention shifts again to him, “I’ll wait at least a month before asking for any help. And will communicate clearly with everyone. I, uh, don’t have your contact information, but I’m sure we can get it. I’m sorry for the mess, and the misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.”
“See, milyy, he is nice spider,” Yelena says, leaning her head against Barnes’ shoulder.
Bucky gives Peter a short nod. “Sounds good. I think it’s time everyone calls it a night.”
“Mm, I am tired,” Yelena agrees, linking her hand in Bucky’s as he rises. “This was fun, Spiderguy. Until next time!”
“Not too soon,” Bucky warns, but he reluctantly shakes Peter’s hand as he rises to leave. Then Bucky scoops Yelena up from the couch in one fluid motion, carrying her out of the living room despite her protests.
“You are embarrassing me, Barnes,” she says as they disappear into the corridor, but Peter can hear the fondness in her tone.
He thinks about them as he says goodbye to Bob and heads back outside, no longer certain of his previous assertions regarding the New Avengers. They aren’t all that scary, at least the ones he knows. And their existence contradicts the mantra that Peter’s absorbed since gaining his powers: that he is destined to be alone, that he cannot have anyone for fear of hurting them.
People like us, we’re always alone. Jean’s words, circling in his head like vultures. But Yelena’s not alone.
If superheroes as deadly and expert as the New Avengers could form a family, could be no longer alone, then maybe there’s still hope for Peter. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone, either. He just has to think of the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier, two killers-turned-heroes who have managed to be together, to feel a little better about his prospects. Being alone might not be his destiny.