Chapter Text
It starts with a game.
(Most stories in Kate Bishop’s life seem to start this way, come to think of it, and maybe that’s the reason for so many of her problems. Interesting hypothesis. More to come, probably.)
In reality, it starts a little before that, on the rooftop of her upper east-side apartment, when a windblown blonde with switch blades in her hands and a pistol strapped to her thigh swings down from the heavens and lands crouched in front of her with hardly a sound.
Just another Thursday, am I right?
“Woah—“
Kate pulls on her bow and takes a giant step backward, bracing for the shot. It’s a reflex, almost as natural as breathing. And it would have landed, too, had she not forgotten about the raised platform of the floor that she insisted on installing (more official for target practice, go fucking figure).
It happens slowly. Her foot steps awkwardly, her ankle twists, and bam.
Instead of facing the threat head-on with an arrow, she promptly falls on her ass.
It is, admittedly, not her smoothest moment.
The dangerous stranger tilts her head and watches the spectacle, a wry smile cresting across her lips. She’s dressed in all black save for the golden halo of blonde hair framing her face, the majority of it pulled tightly into a braid. A few wisps escape around her temples, light and feathery in the wind. She shifts slightly, a phantom of Kate’s wildest imagination, blending with the shadows.
The woman in front of her looks lethal as she strides forward with a solemn gaze that seems already in mourning — presumably for the carnage she’s about to leave behind. Kate scoots backward slightly. This is definitely not an ideal guest to be sharing a rooftop with while she’s weaponless and flat on the ground. Her hands scramble for purchase, her fingers grasping at pebbles, as if they’re going to have any impact against this intimidating woman in black.
It would appear, upon further inspection, that Kate is really screwed.
“Kate Bishop,” the woman says abruptly, her voice carrying a rich accent with a husky overtone. Kate’s entire body goes rigid at the sound of her own name coming from the stranger’s lips. It shouldn’t be such a pleasant voice, but she has no idea what she was expecting. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman continues, a tilt of amusement in her tone. She doesn’t offer her a hand up, choosing instead to continue watching her like she’s an exhibit at the circus.
“Um—“ Kate starts, baffled. She eyes the woman’s outfit — tactical, fitted— the anchor thrown over her wall — metal, precise— and the intimidating-looking bracelets on the woman’s wrists— questionable, deadly? She scrambles back to standing and snatches her bow.
“So you just look like a bank robber… for fun?”
The woman’s smile widens as she shrugs. “I did not know if you would be hostile.”
“Oh, sure,” Kate says, heart racing in her ears. “Of course.” The woman seems extraordinarily calm given the very intense circumstances and Kate swallows heavily. “Do I—do I know you?”
“No, no,” the woman says jovially, chuckling as she takes a step closer. Kate wonders why that’s funny but doesn’t ask. The woman’s expression changes on a dime, darkening to serious. “But I know a lot about you.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Kate tries to joke. She doesn’t know why she says it. She rambles and makes really weird jokes when she’s nervous. And she’s pretty sure this qualifies as a time to be nervous.
The intimidating woman’s eyebrow raises as if she’s thinking the same thing, momentarily gawking at Kate’s odd behavior . She starts to walk around the roof, casually surveying the property. It leaves Kate no choice but to awkwardly follow in order to keep eyes on her. ‘Never turn your back on a killer’ and all that. She makes a mental note to tell Clint that sometimes she listens when he talks.
He’ll be thrilled to hear his training is coming in handy.
“I mean, you probably—“ Kate clears her throat, wincing. “Your sources are probably terribly accurate.”
The woman scrunches her nose in a strangely adorable way as she grins, and Kate doesn’t know how to feel. Her new acquaintance is somehow charming, enchanting and terrifying, which is a combination not many people possess. It’s either a really good sign or a really bad one.
“You should be careful how much you use the tweets, you know,” the woman scolds as she turns to face her. “It is not a good look.”
“Twitter? You mean Twitter,” Kate supplies. Then, because she’s clearly asking for it, “I’ll keep that in mind, mom.”
The woman frowns at her harshly. “That is what I said. It is stupid, the Twitter, but not surprising you are on it.” She busies herself by looking over the edge of the roof, contemplating the distance to the street. Or that’s what Kate assumes, flinching as she thinks about it. The woman turns back toward her. “I barely had to search your name and I know your school, your favorite foods, your strangely opinionated rants about television—“
“Okay, well, the Game of Thrones finale was out of character but I didn’t break into your house to yell at you about it, so—“
“You did though. Your tweets go everywhere,” the woman says. “They are useless noise.”
“They are not useless. I have like, 5k followers—“
“Anyway,” the woman says, voice raising enough to cut Kate’s rant off at the beginning, “with a little more digging, I learned all the other details. You are Katherine Bishop, nickname Kate. Your mother is Eleanor Bishop of 41st and Park, current CEO of Bishop Security. Your father was Derek Bishop, now deceased, very sad. You are also a national fencing champion, which is very impressive, my congratulations on that.” The woman recites facts like she’s reading off a checklist and Kate holds up her hand.
“You did your research, got it, thanks,” she says. It’s creepy, right? It’s a little creepy. Flattering, sure, because that’s a lot of effort to spend on researching someone. But, still pretty creepy. “I really have a lot to catch up on here.”
“What catch up?”
“On you—“ Kate gestures over her. “I don’t know anything. You got like, a whole Google head start.”
“You say the weirdest things, Kate Bishop,” the woman says, frowning slightly. Her hand flutters in front of her face. “Anyway, I am here because I heard there was a new hawk now, training with the old. Which is good news for me. I am not much a fan of the original,” she says, her lip curling slightly as she scoffs. She gestures over Kate. “So I come to meet you officially.”
“Hawk?” Kate frowns, trying to parse together what the actual fuck this lady is going on about. But then the woman gestures at her bow and all the lightbulbs go off. “Oh! Hawkeye! Hawkeye, yes. I mean, not officially. Like yes, I’m kind of Avenger-adjacent, and I help Clint sometimes but—“ Kate huffs a breath. Her mind is reeling at the fact that this person has heard of her as Hawkeye. That must mean something. And no, she didn’t even tweet about it. “Clint’s not so bad! He’s— I mean, he’s cool,” Kate tries to stop ramble-gushing, but even though she’s friends with him now, he’s still her idol. You can’t just turn that off overnight.
Or over weeks.
The whole thing is super exciting, and this stranger would know that if she had any semblance of a soul.
“Relax, Kate Bishop, I am already familiar with the way you idolize,” the woman snorts. “You are his fan girl.”
“No, ew, what?”
The woman chuckles. She gracefully bends and picks up one of her arrows, twirling it in her fingers. Kate is transfixed and a little scared by the entire display, her stomach coiling with more than simple dread.
“Who— are you?”
“My name is Yelena,” the woman says simply, as if it answers the question. It does, but only technically.
“Cool,” Kate replies, not appeased, but she’ll take it. She isn’t used to being on a first name basis with her enemies. “Nice to meet you, Yelena.” Kate shuffles awkwardly. “And you’re—“ she squints at her, once again noting all the weapons and tactical gear. “An assassin?”
“Former,” Yelena says quietly. It isn’t much to go on, and her outfit suggests she is very much still something deadly, but Kate drops it. Yelena avoids her eyes, instead focusing on the target positioned across from them.
“Cool, great. I mean, tough job, obviously. Weird hours. Not great…benefits…”
Yelena studies the end of the arrow, poking it once with the tip of her finger. She nods once to herself.
“Are—are you going to kill me?”
“You do not listen very well, Kate Bishop,” Yelena admonishes. “I said I was not going to hurt you.”
“Well, yeah, but I mean if you wanted to kill me, you could make it painless. You seem— talented,” Kate gestures over her and she swears Yelena’s lip curves into a half-smile before returning to neutral. Compliment the rival, works every time. Kate is also very well-versed in mind games and technicalities, so she’s not going to let the assurance of an assassin lull her into comfort.
“You make good points,” Yelena concedes. “But no. I am not here to kill you.”
“Are you going to kill Clint, then?”
“Kill him, what kill him? That is dramatic, even for me,” Yelena says as she turns around to face her. She casually discards the arrow and shrugs. “No, my sister would not allow that, unfortunately.” She says it with a sly smile and there’s just something about it that has Kate leaning a little closer. “I come here for information, that is all. I promise.”
“Your sister—“
“Natasha Romanoff.”
“Oh woah,” Kate exclaims. “You’re joking!”
“Why would I joke?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Kate says deadpan. “Obviously.”
Yelena eyes her for what seems like a lifetime before she produces an iPad seemingly out of nowhere. She slides her finger across the screen a few times and turns it to Kate. “Do you know this man?”
On the screen is the hulking mass of one Mr. Wilson Fisk leaning over and whispering into the ear of one Ms. Eleanor Bishop. Her mother.
Kate grimaces. Wilson Fisk has always been a shady, intimidating character, one she would rather not associate with if she could help it. But it’s one of those things. Or, rather, it’s “family business”, as her mother would say. Still, she feels like deep down, there’s something bad happening right under her nose, and Wilson Fisk is the mastermind. He has more power than Kate can quantify and a really interesting habit of making people ‘disappear’. It’s all very mafia. Kate stays out of it.
Mostly.
“Wilson Fisk. He’s a family friend. Or, I mean, a distant family friend, I don’t know him, per se…” Kate drifts. She doesn’t know how much to tell, but aligning herself with Wilson Fisk is probably a bad play. Although, with the way Yelena is staring at her, she’s sure this is all information she probably already dug up beforehand. Kate sighs. “They work together, sort of, him and my mother. I don’t really know what he has to do with my family’s security business, but, yeah. Yes. I know him.“
Yelena smiles, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief. Kate wonders if she thought she was going to have to beat the information out of her. She steels herself at the idea. “No that is more than helpful,” Yelena replies. “And he knows you, right? Enough to recognize you? You go to family reunions, that kind of thing?”
“Yes, he would know me,” Kate says. “I mean, like, socially. Not family reunions, that’d be weird. Do people still do those?”
“I would not know.”
Kate chuckles, “Okay, well, me neither. But yes, he would know me.”
Yelena clicks her tongue. “Good.”
“Can you tell me why you’re after him?”
“I need something from him,” Yelena says gruffly through clenched teeth as she pockets the iPad. Kate watches the way the muscles along her jaw ripple and she decides that’s a good enough answer for her. Yelena follows up her non-explanation with an easy toss of her knife, sending it straight into the center of the bullseye. She stares at it for a second before all the tension seems to disappear in her body. She grins at Kate. “Not bad for no warm up,” she says suddenly cheerful, her eyes bright and teasing.
Kate’s knees go weak. She’s not sure what it is about Yelena, but she might be a little in love with her.
(Absolutely terrified of her, for sure. But weirdly attracted all the same. She never claimed to make good choices.)
Without preamble, she loads her bow and follows with a dead-on bullseye shot of her own. It seems important to be able to show what she can do. It lands with a satisfying thwack and she looks at Yelena with smug triumph.
Yelena studies her with a scrutinizing gaze before silently retrieving her knife and tucking it back into the concealed pocket on her outer thigh. Her expression doesn’t betray any of her emotions — if she’s impressed, she doesn’t let it show. What a great poker face.
She turns and studies Kate like she’s preparing for an exam, and Kate mostly withstands the piercing lasers of her gaze before she finally turns on her heel. Kate watches her head for the door on the far side of the roof.
The door that goes straight into Kate’s apartment.
“You coming?” Yelena asks over her shoulder impatiently. She opens the door and pauses.
“Oh, you’re—“ Kate gestures. “You want to come inside?”
Yelena shakes her head, almost annoyed. “Well, yes, Kate Bishop. It is freezing out here and I would prefer to sit down a moment. May I?”
“Y-yeah, sure, duh, of course,” Kate chuckles. She has a strange suspicion that this isn’t the first time Yelena’s been here. Her stomach flutters with nerves. “Let’s go.”
It isn’t every day Kate gets a surprise visit from an assassin. It also isn’t every day that said assassin makes herself at home at Kate’s kitchen table.
Can lightning strike twice?
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Yelena comments, and Kate isn’t sure if she’s being genuinely nice or extremely sarcastic, but she doesn’t push.
Her crappy IKEA furniture and her shabby hand-me-down couch (is it enough to call it a hand-me-down when it’s this old? It’s like, 4th generation at least and has its own genealogy) stare sadly back at her.
“Thanks,” she says tentatively, accepting it as a compliment after all, and that seems to please Yelena just fine.
Before she sits at the table, Yelena starts to disrobe, but in a total “assassin getting comfortable” kind of way and not in a “super hot woman presuming things” kind of way. She starts by unzipping several discretely placed pockets on her legs and placing a variety of lethal paraphernalia in front of her. Knives, razors, a hand gun, her bracelets, and something that sort of resembles a jack from the children’s game that Kate assumes can probably be used as a weapon six different ways. It seems to go on forever and Kate is impressed by how many weapons one person can keep concealed.
Just as the strip tease is happening, Lucky bounds in the room, skidding to a stop at Yelena’s feet.
“Ah! Pizza Dog!” Yelena chirps, grinning from ear to ear.
“How—" Kate’s mouth hangs open. “How did you know—“
“The twitter,” Yelena says. “I told you this.”
“It’s just Twitter—you know what, never mind.”
Yelena reaches for the front pocket of her vest to unzip it and Kate flinches out of habit. But then she realizes Yelena is holding a perfectly innocent dog biscuit. Lucky’s tail pounds against the side of the chair with a desperate thump and Yelena pets him behind his ears.
“Yes, there you go, who is the best boy?” Yelena coos. He takes his treat and prances happily over to the couch where he promptly curls up and gets cozy.
Kate is still reeling over the fact that Yelena carries dog biscuits in her tactical vest, but okay, that seems fine.
“Your suit is like a Mary Poppins purse,” Kate says as Yelena finally sits down, pushing her weapons collection aside.
Yelena frowns.
“You know—“ Kate pantomimes pulling out a lamp. “You carry a lot of stuff.”
“Oh, yes, well, you can never have enough pockets.”
“And the dog treats?”
“For dogs,” Yelena replies. “Obviously.”
She gestures in front of her for Kate to sit down, but something keeps her rooted to the spot. She glances over at the impressive (and terrifying) pile of weapons.
“Kate, for the last time, I am not going to hurt you.”
“I know, I heard you, it’s just—“ Kate points to the weapons. “You have a lot of sharp objects that say otherwise.”
“These are not for you,” Yelena says. Something about the way she says it, her face stoic and eyes sincere seems to convince Kate she might be telling the truth. “Sit. We play. Have you played War?”
“I went to college, so, yeah,” Kate replies sarcastically. Yelena’s face is blank in response and Kate chuckles. She kind of likes the way Yelena doesn’t react to her jokes. It only makes her want to keep trying. “Let’s just play.”
“Do you always wear that?” Kate asks as Yelena deals the cards for another round. She mimics moving her arms against the tight leather “It just seems— uncomfortable.”
“It gets the job done.”
Kate gulps. She has no idea what that means, but she has a feeling she’ll find out soon enough.
They split games of War and chat about nothing of particular substance. Kate doesn’t know why they’re playing, but she’s not about to ask. It’s fine. Just a cozy game of cards with her friendly neighborhood assassin (who may or may not kill her). No big deal.
Yelena laughs when she wins, and looks at her with a calculating expression whenever Kate does.
“Do you—“ Kate hesitates as she glances at her cards. “Do you live around here?”
Yelena flips her card quickly and Kate is too slow to react. Yelena grins.
“It is actually my first time in New York,” she says happily. “I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s—that’s great.”
“You grew up here,” Yelena states, and Kate forgets that this woman has a literal Wikipedia page on Kate Bishop facts. It’s still creepy. “You can give me recommendations.”
“Sure.”
“Too slow!” Yelena exclaims, slamming her card down and winning again. She grins at Kate with such pure joy that Kate can’t even be mad about it.
“So… not that I don’t love having you here—“ Kate starts as she shuffles the card for the next round. “But—“
“You want to know why I barge in here, make myself at home, play games?” Yelena asks, her lips twisting slightly.
“N-not how I would have put it, but just… curious…”
Yelena kicks back in her chair, watching her with an amused expression. She crosses her arms and Kate’s heart sits firmly in her throat. “It is like this, Kate Bishop. Life is short, would you agree?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“It is short and weird and unpredictable. And I — I do not like wasting my time,” Yelena explains, waving her hands randomly as she talks. Kate is sort of following her explanation, except, what are they doing now besides wasting time? “I know what you are thinking. Yelena, you think, you are crazy! This is wasting time!”
Yelena smiles and Kate chuckles in spite of herself, the nervous jitters manifesting into awkward laughter.
“But it goes like this. I do not like to work with others. I am what you call a lone wolf,” Yelena says, watching as Kate deals the cards. “So when I have need to work with someone else, I like to make sure they are worthwhile. Someone I can stand being around, have a beer, a few laughs, you know what I’m saying?”
“That seems…understandable,” Kate says as she flips her cards over. “Is this like… a test?”
“A test! Kate Bishop, so serious,” Yelena says laughing. Kate doesn’t know why, but something about her laugh is intoxicating. Yelena pauses, her eyes narrowing as she seems to think about it. “A test. You know, you may be right.”
“Okay,” Kate says, trying hard to pretend her teeth aren’t chattering. She doesn’t ask what happens if she fails. Instead, she flips the cards over. “Ready?”
Yelena smiles.
They play for several more rounds, and Kate has to admit, Yelena is a very good card companion. Besides the mountain of weapons on the corner of her kitchen table, she can almost pretend this is normal.
After Kate wins the final game, Yelena finally pushes her chair back.
“Well, it has been good to finally meet you, Kate Bishop. This was fun,” Yelena says simply, as if Kate invited her over for a friendly game of cards and conversation. She climbs the stairs and dangles from the window before turning back to Kate. “I’ll be in touch soon. Then we’ll play for real.”
“Oh, great, yeah, nice to meet—“ Kate stumbles, watching as Yelena literally swan dives out the window. “B-bye?”
Kate blinks her eyes several times trying to rationalize what the actual fuck just happened for the better part of an hour. Is it possible she made up the entire thing? Former assassins don’t just drop down from the sky in the middle of the night, do they? She knows she’s new to this Avenger thing, but it seems like a stretch, even for them.
Just as she’s about to settle on that as the conclusion, and commit to getting more sleep, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small pin with an indecipherable logo. She turns it over in her fingers, trying to figure out how it even got there, but she already knows the answer. Yelena is the only explanation, which makes her heart beat faster. How she managed to slip it into her pocket unnoticed is— incredibly startling and clearly professional. Kate scoffs to herself.
Of course this is real. It’s too outrageous not to be.
As she climbs into bed, she wonders how long it will be until she sees the blonde-haired assassin again. She’s sure this isn’t a one time thing, and she’s also pretty sure Yelena isn’t simply shopping around for a new buddy to play cards with.
Okay, Kate. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?
It takes 3 weeks for Yelena to find her again, this time on an unassuming Wednesday evening at a bar on the lower east side. Kate presumes this is on purpose, and not due to any technical difficulties in tracking her down, but per usual, Yelena is a little vague on details.
And by vague, Kate really means non-existent. She learns quickly that Yelena only divulges what is absolutely necessary at the time and not a single iota more. For example, her schedule, personal life and whereabouts sit firmly on the “do not tell” list. Kate makes it her own special mission to break through that wall, but that’s the long game. She has to be patient.
“Steady, little hawk. You wouldn’t want to miss,” Yelena says, low and rumbling into Kate’s ear as she’s facing the dart board. Kate jolts involuntarily as Yelena chuckles against her neck.
“Yelena!” she yelps, her stomach swan diving down through to the Earth’s core. This is apparently Yelena’s thing, sneaking up on unsuspecting strangers for fun. Kate didn’t even hear her come in, which shouldn’t be surprising, but she’s still getting used to having an assassin as an acquaintance.“I’m holding a sharp dart! I could have hurt you!”
“Ha— hurt me? Your sense of humor is incredible!” Yelena laughs, full and throaty, as if the idea is a simple delight. “I must say, I am enjoying you already, Kate Bishop.”
Kate’s cheeks flush crimson at the unexpected compliment, even though she isn’t sure it really counts as one. Yelena eyes her playfully. Kate notices she’s wearing more reasonable clothing tonight —a crop top, oversized jeans and a yellow and black checker-patterned coat. Much better suited for the bar than the full-on tactical garb she sported a few weeks ago. The combat boots, however, remain. It’s a tiny indicator of her previous (or still current) life. Kate grins to herself. Something about it is reassuring, like Yelena really exists, or is telling the truth, or something equally as ridiculous that shouldn’t create a warm feeling in Kate’s stomach whatsoever. (But, of course, it does).
Yelena’s hair is down tonight, resting in blonde waves on her shoulders, and Kate realizes (not for the first time) how effortlessly lovely she is.
“Where have you been?” Kate asks, trying to keep her voice casual and not give off the impression that she’s been waiting for Yelena to pop up again. She totally hasn’t.
(She hasn’t slept in 3 weeks).
Yelena ignores the question and picks up her own darts. She tosses 3 casual bullseyes, one after the other in rapid succession. Her eyes never leave Kate’s.
“Around.”
“Wow.”
Yelena smiles smugly, then gestures for Kate to go.
“Excuse me,” Kate says, stepping around Yelena who is still very much in her way. Yelena chuckles and then exaggerates giving her more space. “Thank you,” Kate says in return.
She positions herself carefully and aims, following Yelena’s impressive shots with 3 bullseyes of her own all while keeping her eyes trained on the middle distance over Yelena’s shoulder. To keep eye contact with her would be a little too dangerous, but she gets the job done. She glances at the target and smiles at her success.
“You have precision,” Yelena acquiesces after Kate’s turn. “That is useful.”
She waltzes over to the board and dislodges the darts in a flourish. “Let’s play for real now,” Yelena declares. Kate wasn’t aware they weren’t playing for real, but she doesn’t let her surprise slip.
Yelena likes to dominate the conversation and the setting, Kate notices, so she tries her best to make it known that she isn’t a pushover. A rookie Avenger, maybe, but definitely not a pushover.
“If I win, you have to tell me what you’re doing here,” Kate declares as they split the darts amongst themselves. “What you’re really doing.”
“Kate—“ Yelena warns. “What I am doing— it is not a game.”
“I know that,” Kate rolls her eyes. She doesn’t though, not really. She has no idea what Yelena’s involved in, or what she’s playing at — or not playing at. So yeah, she’s a little nervous, and has every right to be, but she can’t let Yelena know. Yelena has to think she’s tough, serious. A competent informant.
“Yes, if you win, I will tell you,” Yelena relents. With a sparkle in her eye she adds, “And when I win, you will give me what I want.”
Yelena’s easy confidence is disarming. Kate gulps and forces a neutral expression on her face.
Game on.
Yelena eventually wins, but only on a technicality.
(She’s a freaking smooth operator and Kate is sure she cheated but can’t quite prove it.)
In the end, one of Kate’s darts bounces uncharacteristically off the board despite the dead-on accuracy. She pouts, and Yelena simply shrugs.
“Maybe next time, Kate Bishop,” Yelena says sweetly. Then she gestures over to some stools.“That is enough games. Sit, I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, okay, great,” Kate agrees, swallowing. She’s not sure how she became friends or partners or whatever with Yelena but she’s in too deep now to question it. “How do you know I’m not busy? I could be meeting someone here, you know.”
At this, Yelena bursts out laughing, her eyes sparkling with literal tears.
“Kate, the jokes, you’re going to give me a stomachache,” Yelena says, the laughter strong and solid from her core.
“It’s not that funny,” Kate grumbles. Should she be offended? She’s a little offended. Maybe her brand really does need work. She can’t be that big of a loser to have this relative stranger laughing at the idea of her coming to the bar for a date.
“Actually—“ Kate frowns. “How did you know I’d be here at all?”
Yelena stares at her, bored. “Really, Kate? This is what you waste time asking me?”
“N-no,” Kate backtracks. “Just thought it would be a good ice-breaker.”
They sit across from each other at a high top table. Kate fishes in her pocket for the pin she received last time they met and places it in front of them. The red logo shines brightly under the bar lights.
“You left this the other night,” she says, curious what Yelena will do when she sees it. If the rest of their interaction is any indication, she will probably neither confirm nor deny it as hers, so Kate isn’t sure why she continues to try. But here they are, caught up in a delicate dance: Kate stays desperate for any scrap she can gather, and Yelena easily parlays her attempts with witty comments.
True to form, Yelena gives nothing away with her eyes. Instead, she simply smiles. “You got my gift.”
“I—“ Kate fumbles, taken aback. A gift? “Yeah, I— how did you do it? You weren’t even close enough to slip it in my pocket.”
“Do you really think I will reveal my secrets so eagerly?” Yelena scolds, shaking her head. “It is only second meeting.”
“No, I guess not,” Kate replies.
“You keep it,” Yelena says with a smile.
Kate doesn’t know why, but the thought of having a token from Yelena seems valuable, like proof that she is real. She puts the pin back in her pocket without complaint.
In the time it takes to do that, Yelena has procured a small Smith & Wesson switchblade with a gleaming tip. She flips it casually, like it isn’t an actual weapon, and Kate eyes her warily.
There’s nothing like sitting down to a conversation with an assassin who is flipping a switchblade like a straw wrapper and staring at you with unreadable eyes. To say Kate’s a little on edge would be… an understatement.
Yelena sits in practiced quiet and Kate looks awkwardly around, shifting in her seat. The silence is deafening, so she blurts the first thing that comes to mind.
“So, where is Natasha?”
Yelena’s eyes soften slightly. “She thinks she is an astronaut now, in space with that Captain Marvel,” she replies simply, gesturing to the heavens. It feels like she’s sharing a lame math equation the way her eyes stay trained on the table, her voice an even monotone. Which is crazy, because it’s actually the best piece of news Kate has heard in like, decades.
“Oh, wow!” Kate exclaims, and she wants so badly to be cool about it, but they’re in a bar, casually talking about the Black Widow and Captain Freaking Marvel personally, so, sorry if she’s a little excited. “God, that’s so—“ Kate shakes her head as Yelena watches her with slight amusement. “Captain Marvel. Wow. She’s like, never on Earth. What is your sister doing? Are they on an Avenger mission? Is it secret? Did Natasha tell you?”
“Yes, we sit around and braid each other’s hair and she tells me everything about her work,” Yelena says sarcastically. Kate knows she’s struck a nerve but—
“They named the whole initiative after her. Carol, I mean. It’s—“ Kate tries to slow her breathing as Yelena watches her. “Sorry. I’m just— a big fan. Of both of them.”
“There’s an Avenger you like more than Clint? He will be so hurt,”Yelena says, mimicking a pout.
“Oh, no, I mean, Clint is my idol,” Kate quickly corrects. “But Carol’s like— the original! Don’t—“ Kate winces. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“No promises,” Yelena replies easily. “He gets too big for his britches, Barton. I like to have leverage.”
“Fair enough,” Kate replies. Then, remembering who she’s talking to she adds, “And Natasha, I mean, she’s incredible —“
“It is fine, Kate, we do not need to talk about my sister,” Yelena says, cutting her off. “We have other business to discuss.”
“Right,” Kate says, sitting back in her seat. “Sure.”
“So, this is what I need from you,” Yelena finally says, pivoting the conversation. She jams her knife into the wood of the table, and Kate is pretty sure that’s not allowed, but she’s not going to be the one to tell Yelena that. “There is a party in two weeks time. Big, expensive affair. Wilson Fisk is one of the big donors. It is his event.”
“Yeah, it’s some charity thing,” Kate nods knowingly. She can’t remember the name, exactly, but she suspects that piece isn’t important. It’s some swanky gala affair at the Met. Or maybe it’s at the Plaza. She honestly can’t ever keep them straight. Her mother was just bugging her the other day about what outfit she was going to wear, as if that was some critical life-altering decision and not the most boring thing in the world. Kate always gets dragged to these parties and it’s a typical first-world problem but she really hates rubbing elbows with the rich and snobby, even if they’re in her family’s social circle. Blah blah blah social obligation, blah blah blah clout. It’s annoying and not her style.
Yelena pulls out her phone and starts reading the guest list. “Armand Duquesne III, Eleanor Bishop, Plus one, Jack Duquesne,” she says, her tone even. She glances up as she continues reading, catching Kate’s eye. “Katherine Bishop.”
“Okay—" Kate says, uncomprehending.
Yelena’s eyes lock on hers over her screen. She smiles wickedly. “You are going to get me an invitation to this party.”
For all intents and purposes, it’s a benign thing, to ask for an invitation to a stuffy charity event. Of all the things Yelena could have come to her with, Kate is getting off pretty easy. She excuses herself from their table and goes to the bar, muttering something about getting them some drinks.
Really, she just needs some space away from the switchblade and Yelena’s captivating eyes to figure out how the fuck she’s going to get her added to the guest list. She can’t very well go to her mother and ask to bring an assassin to Mr. Fisk’s party for funsies. She’s also blithely aware that saying no is not an option.
Maybe she can hack the database and get the list and make some edits—
As she waits at the bar, she becomes acutely aware of a looming presence creeping by her right shoulder. She knows it’s not Yelena — she’s already weirdly familiar with the blonde’s stealthy quiet vibe, which is something to contemplate later, for sure. But this is much more abrupt, almost heavy and aggressive. The man sidles up closer and immediately tries to strike up a conversation, which makes the night infinitely more complicated.
Kate is good with romantic advances, but she’s preoccupied and a little frazzled, and this is just not the time. So, naturally, it would happen right now.
“Can I buy you a drink?” The man asks, leaning against the bar and taking up more space than necessary. His shoulder touches Kate’s as he shifts closer. He looks like a finance type, young, analyst level, probably. Plays golf and thinks a 401k is a personality trait. His dress shirt is rumpled and he already smells like stale beer and Axe. After awhile, it all blurs together. The same people, the same boring conversations.
New York is a huge city and even it can seem claustrophobic.
“Oh that’s—“ Kate hesitates, avoiding his gaze. “That’s super nice, but I’m all set.”
“One drink,” the stranger counters, somehow finding more space to take over. “You look like you could use one.”
“I’m really fine—“
Suddenly, Kate feels a strong arm slide protectively around her waist. She smells Yelena’s perfume — a floral hint of citrus and vanilla — and she flinches slightly, unsure if she’s about to get stabbed to death.
“Sorry that took so long, my love,” Yelena husks near Kate’s ear. Okay, so maybe not a death threat, unless this is a really weird kink. But her mind pretty much blacks out after that, because Yelena’s pressed against her side, and the entire situation is intoxicating. Just when Kate thinks she might pass out, Yelena’s soft lips gently touch her cheek.
“That’s um,” Kate hesitates. What is happening right now? “That’s okay.” Kate leans against her as if to test the fact that they’re really doing this. She’s pretty sure she gets what’s happening, so—
“And you are—?” Yelena asks, turning to the man with a lethal glare. Her hand gently strokes Kate’s upper arm, and it shouldn’t send a jolt down her spine, it shouldn’t—
“Ah—no one,” the man replies, shaking his head. “I was just leaving.”
They watch him walk away before Kate turns questioningly to Yelena. She watches Yelena’s gaze stay trained on the stranger a few seconds longer, as if contemplating what to do with him, before she turns and meets Kate’s eyes. She raises her eyebrows then detangles herself, stepping out of Kate’s space easily, like the whole thing is the most natural thing in the world. Kate, for her part, immediately misses the warmth of Yelena’s body. Her legs are a puddle and her mind a jumbled mess thanks to the whole surprise stunt. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it, because she does, but holy shit — she did not expect that.
“I— thanks?” She tries, but Yelena waves her off.
“Don’t mention it. Sleazy bar, what do you expect?” Yelena doesn’t look back at her, instead paying attention to the bottles in front of them. She snaps her fingers and the bartender immediately appears as if by magic. She orders two beers and a shot, then looks pointedly at Kate. “We go?”
Kate’s eyes widen with realization.
“I know how we’re going to get you an invitation to the party!” she blurts out. Yelena tilts her head in curiosity. Kate is nodding her head almost violently.
“Kate, you look like you are bobbing for the apples. What is it?”
“You will be my plus-one!”
Yelena blinks, uncomprehending.
“Like my date,” Kate clarifies. “You and I will just pretend we’re in a relationship and no one will suspect a thing. It’s genius!”
“This relationship ruse is for— what exactly?” Yelena asks, hesitant. The bartender returns with the drinks and Yelena downs the shot of vodka without so much as a grimace. Kate swallows heavily, feeling like the alcohol is burning her own throat. “Can you not just add my name to the list?”
“Oh, sure, sure,”Kate says, scoffing. “I’d love to answer Eleanor’s 20 questions about who you are and why you’re coming. It will be a full-on interrogation. At least if she thinks we’re dating, the interrogation will come after— and you’ll already have what you need. Plus—“ Kate grins, “you’ll be doing me a huge favor. I hate going to these things alone. Someone is always trying to talk to me just like that guy was trying to.” Kate shivers. “Oh! Like last time, Armand literally made me talk to his nephew or grandson or…whoever that kid was. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter, the kid was like, 10. It was mortifying.”
“I —“ Yelena is literally speechless and Kate is delighted to have turned the tables for once. It’s hilarious to disarm an assassin with words. “I don’t think this is necessary.”
“It so is. You can’t just sneak around a party like this and hope to get what you want.”
“I have done more with less,” Yelena argues.
“No, this is going to be like, way better. We’ll be undercover! But he won’t even realize we’re undercover. We’ll be hiding in plain sight,” Kate says. She sees the way Yelena’s eyes narrow as she considers it. “This gives you a reason to be there at the party, front and center, without having to hide.”
“I prefer the shadows,” Yelena grumbles, but even Kate can tell it’s half-hearted.
“They have really good appetizers,” Kate counters. “And I’m a really good date. I promise.”
Yelena gives her a playful once-over. Her smirk is scalding. “I do not doubt it.”
Kate ignores the butterflies erupting in her stomach, because really, how completely dramatic. She forces a smile. “So you’ll do it?!”
“You will stay out of my way if things get dicey?”
Kate hesitates. But with a strong glare from Yelena, she reconsiders. “‘Course. Yeah. Scout’s honor.”
“I do not know these scouts,” Yelena frowns to herself. She pauses, then nods once, her eyes serious. “Okay. We do it.”
She had a plan, and this was not it.
It all seemed so simple in her head: study Kate Bishop (easy), learn her habits (also easy, thanks to the Twitter), memorize her daily routines (made easy by placing a tracking pin in her pocket), know her family history (hack the company her mother runs and learn their details while exposing the flaws in their own cybersecurity, still easy), find a way to get intel on Wilson Fisk (easy, with Kate’s penchant for oversharing) and finally, earn an invitation to Fisk’s own party, also care of one Ms. Kate Bishop (possibly the easiest part of the whole operation).
It wasn’t even a challenge, really. All parts of her plan were executed flawlessly.
Until now.
Now, she’s playing with fire. She knew Kate Bishop was a loose cannon, unpredictable in her anonymity, but what she hadn’t counted on was Kate’s insufferable charm and contagious, effervescent personality. She hadn’t counted on Kate being pleasant, or actually joining her in this pursuit. Everything about Kate Bishop is a breath of fresh air and exactly the opposite of what Yelena expects or needs. Where she thought she’d be getting another calloused and jaded hero, she got optimistic and fearless. Where she thought she’d get surly and hostile, she got fun and competitive. Everything about Kate seems to needle and prod at every soft part in Yelena’s soul, drawing her in more fully than she ever prepared for.
She needs simple and precise. She needs an informant who will stay out of the way.
She doesn’t need complications or friendships. She doesn’t need to care.
It was true what she said at Kate’s house — if she has to work with someone, she doesn’t want them to be a terrible person. But to have it be anything more — Yelena grits her teeth.
But that’s exactly what this has turned into and she can’t ignore it. As soon as they locked eyes on the roof, she felt it. There was a strange chemistry flowing between them, an interest piqued, a connection tugging annoyingly at Yelena’s core. It throws her chaotically into Kate’s path and completely off her own in the name of something soft and special and hers. The more she researches, the more they talk, the more endearing Kate becomes. Yelena doesn’t share much about herself in their interactions, but it doesn’t seem to matter. She has this burning desire to learn everything she can about this newly named Hawkeye, even if it has nothing to do with the mission. It’s so uncharacteristic for someone in her position, but no matter what she does, Yelena can’t seem to stop it.
She wants to know her. She wants to protect her.
It took her 3 whole weeks to try to gather the strength to face Kate again, to confidently be able to keep her at a safe distance while working her angle. Stick to the mission, Yelena. How many times had she heard that? She had to go and handle another job before returning to New York City just to get her head on right. A lot of good that did, though. The second Kate got in a sticky situation — was it even a situation? Did she want that man to buy her a drink? — Yelena was already pouncing on it. Now she’s gone and made a mess of things by agreeing to pretend to date Kate Bishop, of all the absurd things.
Kate is right to some extent, in that Yelena needs to be at the party in the middle of the action, not lurking in the background. She needs to get close to Fisk and find a way to figure out what he knows. It’s the only way she’s going to be able to track down where the rest of the Widows are.
But does she have to risk everything to do it?
She’s been through worse, she knows. It’s not that. She’s mentally capable and will survive whatever…this is. But she wishes it could be different. She wishes it didn’t have to come to using someone like Kate to get what she wants. She wishes she didn’t have to feel the unnecessary pain that she knows will inevitably come when they’re done.
She hopes she can protect Kate well enough that only one of them will feel the brunt of this bad decision. She hopes she’s the only one suffering as part of the collateral damage.
There’s a deeper reason why this precarious arrangement between them feels like such a bad idea. Something familiar and painful aches just below Yelena’s ribs when she thinks about her life before. Every form of affection she ever received as a child was also under the pretense of a mission, and here she is, putting herself in the exact same situation. This time, with higher stakes.
What can she say? She’s a glutton for punishment.
But then there’s Kate, with her deep dark puppy dog eyes, her genuine enthusiasm and her over-eagerness to prove herself. Yelena already knows she’s going to say yes to whatever she suggests, despite the repercussions.
It will be good to have help, Yelena tries to reason. It is only temporary.
Kate should have known you can’t just suggest fake dating to a world-class “former” assassin and think that’ll be the end of it, because they will take the role very, very seriously.
But she finds out a week later just how serious Yelena is when she shows up (always unannounced!) with a bottle of vodka, a box of macaroni and cheese and a list of questions that all hide behind a cheeky smile. It’s the strangest combination Kate has ever seen: a beautiful woman who could kill her with a snap of her fingers, medicinal grade alcohol in a bottle bigger than her head and her favorite hangover food.
What’s a girl to do?
“Yelena!” Kate chirps when Yelena drops down from her window. The box of pizza on her lap drops to the floor. “I have a door, you know. Also, a cell phone. You can text me literally any time—“
“Texting, so impersonal,” Yelena tuts, shaking her head. She looks around the apartment, and Kate follows her eyes, tracing over her discarded pizza box and empty soda cans. A heavy feeling of shame forms in the pit of her stomach. Yelena glances at her, a little tentative. “Is now not a good time?”
Kate is on the couch lounging in old sweats, her TV blaring with reruns. It’s her usual Saturday night routine, that is, until her new best friend decided to drop in and check on her.
Apparently, life with Yelena means things have gotten a lot more interesting.
“N-no,” Kate stumbles. “I was just—“ she gestures vaguely at the TV. She drops her arm lazily on her lap. “I’m glad you came.”
“I thought we could have a proper girl’s night,” Yelena explains, satisfied, already taking it upon herself to commandeer Kate’s kitchen. She discards her coat, hanging it by the door (so she does see that there’s a door) and Kate notices she’s wearing another crop top t-shirt and the same loose-fitting jeans from the bar. She looks easy and comfortable, and the thought makes Kate feel inexplicably warm. Yelena breezes around the cupboards with ease and pauses at the fridge. The taut muscles in her back flex slightly, visible under her clothes as she moves. Kate swallows heavily and pretends to focus on something else while Yelena opens the fridge and frowns. “We have much to discuss.”
“Okay,” Kate agrees, still unsure what else they need to cover. The plan for the party, she assumes. But, as usual, Yelena is in no rush to reveal her intentions. She opens a drawer and rummages briefly before pulling out a solitary fork.
“I am pretending to date someone with one fork?” Yelena asks, exasperated. “This is a strike, Kate Bishop.”
Kate laughs, more out of surprise than anything, but she also makes a note to get more forks immediately. She doesn’t want to find out what happens with Yelena when she accumulates multiple strikes.
“I never go in to a mission unprepared,” Yelena explains later as she brings the finished pot of macaroni over to the couch. She settles in, offering Kate her own fork and taking a random packaged plastic one for herself from some takeout Kate can’t recall ordering. “Consider this a scouting mission.”
Kate follows along, sort of. “Oookay,” she says slowly. “So like, recon? On— me?”
“On us,” Yelena says shrugging. She takes a big bite of the macaroni, her eyes closing happily as she does. Then she seems to remember they’re in the middle of a conversation, so she opens her eyes and finishes swallowing. “We are dating now,” she says simply. “Tell me what I need to know.”
Kate ignores the eruption in her chest at the way Yelena says they’re dating with such nonchalance. She tries (and fails) to keep her face neutral. Yelena looks at her with confusion. “What, I say something wrong?”
“No,” Kate says, her cheeks still blazing. Yelena’s accent is so fucking endearing it can hardly be considered fair. “No, you’re— you’re right on. We should know things about each other.”
“Good.”
And so it begins.
The first thing Kate discovers is Yelena has a weird obsession with hot sauce, as she drowns the rest of the macaroni in it to the point where Kate can’t even eat it. Which is fine, because she’s not about to get in between Yelena and food, anyway. She doesn’t have a death wish. Her stale pizza is just fine.
They talk about high level things, topics that are “safe” but probably important to know about a significant other. They cover favorite movies and shows, with Yelena already rattling off Kate’s preferences (thanks, of course, to the Twitter). But Kate manages to learn that Yelena has a soft spot for certain Disney movies (Lion King, Toy Story), she likes happy sitcoms from the 90s (Full House, Saved by the Bell) and once mastered an over-the-top Jersey accent by watching the Real Housewives. She thankfully does not flip the coffee table while doing an impression of Teresa Giudice, but Kate is pretty sure it takes a lot of restraint.
She isn’t sure if Yelena is telling the truth about any of this, or if this is a character she’s playing, but she doesn’t have the heart to ask. Yelena’s smile is so bright, and she talks animatedly with her hands like she’s actually excited about what she’s saying. So Kate takes that and quietly pretends for her own peace of mind that this is all real, and that Yelena is being as open and honest as Kate is. She smiles widely as she listens to Yelena talk about old sitcoms Kate has barely heard of, ones that Yelena says she used to watch with her sister.
“Cheers?” Kate wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that like— old?”
Yelena’s mouth hangs open, offended. “It is from the ‘80s, use the Google.”
“Okay, but what about the Office?” Kate asks. Yelena frowns, shaking her head. Kate is appalled. “We are definitely starting that next time you come over. It’s a classic.”
Yelena hesitates, like Kate has surprised her, but then she shrugs. “Next time,” she confirms with a small nod. “Okay, but also Cheers.”
“Deal.”
Somehow, all these harmless little facts just make Kate more curious about the woman sitting next to her, the lethal killer in the body of a young woman, who carries more weapons than Kate can even see, yet who has laugh lines around her mouth and a sparkle in her eye when she smiles. She’s a walking contradiction, a complicated story that has Kate completely enchanted.
(This is probably not an ideal thing to be feeling toward someone you’re only pretending to date, but we sort of barreled right through that particular boundary, didn’t we?)
Oh. Boundaries. That’s definitely something they should discuss, isn’t it?
“We should also talk boundaries, right? Like, logistics. I want to make sure those are… clear,” Kate finally says as they’re beginning to scramble for other “favorites” to cover. Once you get to the point where you know someone’s favorite vegetable (they both settle on green beans, which is sort of like aligning star charts but with the food pyramid), it’s probably gone beyond the necessary facts for a mission.
And the whole boundaries idea is something Kate has been worried about ever since she came up with this scheme. She knows how this goes. She’s read enough fanfic to understand how tricky fake dating can be.
But Yelena is a professional. This is a job. They will be perfectly rational and smart about this entire endeavor.
What could go wrong?
“Okay, sure,” Yelena says easily, nodding in agreement.
“So like—“ Kate grabs a pillow and hugs it. At this point she’s facing Yelena on the couch and she needs something to do besides stare at her very pleasant looking face. She studies the fabric of the pillow (it’s significantly less pleasant). “Holding hands? Are you good with that?”
“Holding hands, she says.” Yelena laughs lightly. “Kate, even married couples stand six feet apart sometimes. Why do you overthink this? No one is going to care if we’re wrapped around each other in the corner or if we barely look in the other’s direction.”
That first one is…an image, for sure. Kate isn’t going to forget that anytime soon, so thanks for that, Yelena. She pretends it doesn’t make a difference and mimics Yelena’s easy chuckle. “I just want to make sure we’re— clear,” she tries. “In case another rescue needs to happen.”
Yelena stares at her, incredulous. Then, “Yes, okay, fine. Hold hands, it’s good.”
“Great,” Kate nods. “Um, and like, general touching of arms and shoulders, that kind of thing, right?”
“Kate Bishop, I am not going to throw you off me, okay? You do what you need to sell it, I am giving you permission right here.
“Right,” Kate says, her cheeks blazing. “No, right, that makes total sense. I’m also down for whatever. Whatever the moment calls for. Totallyyyy fine. I’m just making sure you’re comfortable.”
“I am,” Yelena says confidently. “Also, I apologize for my actions at the bar since clearly we did not discuss the boundaries yet.”
“Oh, yeah, no, totally, you saved me, really,” Kate assures her. “You were acting in the moment, it was good. I knew you were helping me.”
“I was,” Yelena says, a soft, timid smile on her face. Kate is immediately enraptured. “I am good in the moment.”
“I can be good in the moment,” Kate promises.
“You are lucky those moments will probably call for less talking,” Yelena teases. Kate looks at her wide-eyed and Yelena’s eyebrows knit together. “The mission. This was, after all, your idea,” she reminds her, unaware of the implications of her comment.
“No, I know, and it’s a good one. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay,” Yelena shrugs. “Then I have one more rule.”
“Shoot,” Kate says quickly. Then, realizing the fact that Yelena probably has a very real gun on her person, she rethinks that particular sentiment. “Er—“
Yelena rolls her eyes. “No real feelings,” she says, her voice direct. “This is business. This is the mission. We do not fall in love.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Kate says, her heart rate skyrocketing. Her brain completely short-circuits at the way Yelena says it, the word ‘love’ falling from her tongue like something sacred. “Psh— you don’t have to worry about that. No feelings from me. I am a zero feelings kind of girl.”
“Kate—“ Yelena warns.
“No I know, I promise.”
“Good, then we have an agreement.”
And that should have been the end of it. That should have been where the evening ended and they parted ways. That should have been the agreement. They should have honored the agreement.
Kate has always been terrible at honoring agreements.
So of course, that’s not what happens. Weeks later, when Kate is replaying the entire situation from the start, it’s probably going to be this moment where she pauses, wondering if this is where things started to turn.
Then again, was this ever only about business?
“How did we meet?” Kate asks instead, stupidly, impossibly. The question fills the easy silence between them, extending Yelena’s stay for an undetermined amount of time. Which isn’t the goal at all. She’s just trying to be…thorough.
Like Yelena said — they can’t go into the mission unprepared.
Yelena is lounging on her couch, drowsily watching the TV, like this is an ordinary night in their ordinary lives in their ordinary apartment. Kate can’t help but notice the way the strange hole in her chest seems to close, like she’s suddenly perfectly…content. Like she has… something.
The voice in the back of her head starts to chirp, and she promptly shuts it up. This is all fine.
“On the rooftop of your apartment,” Yelena eventually says, her voice low and easy. Kate stares at her, unconvinced, and Yelena rolls her head lazily to the side to face her. “What? No good?”
“Yelena, we need a story,” Kate insists, suddenly more awake. She sits up straighter. “Every couple has a story. It won’t be convincing if you say you stalked me and threatened me for information.”
“What threaten? Who?” Yelena’s eyes widen and Kate rolls her eyes. “You do not know what threaten means. I was friendly!”
“Friendly is using the front door,” Kate reminds her.
“Rooftop is more familiar.”
“Intimidating.”
“Direct.”
They stare at each other in determined, stubborn silence. Kate can see slight flecks of gold in Yelena’s eyes, and it’s almost enough for her to give up and give in—
“Okay, fine, a story,” Yelena says, blinking away from Kate’s gaze. A victory, Kate thinks, congratulating herself while Yelena pauses and thinks. Then, her eyes brighten. “Ok, we met on the subway in New York City. Very romantic.”
Kate wrinkles her nose.
“You missed your stop and got off at the Union Square,” Yelena explains, undeterred by Kate’s reaction. “You were distraught and having a panic—“
“I do not panic—“
“You were having a panic,” Yelena overrules her with a wicked grin. “I was on the platform on the other side and tried to calm you down. Turns out, we were going to the same place,” Yelena continues. “You had a job interview and I was very helpful.”
Kate giggles. “How were you helpful?”
“It was fate—“ Yelena pauses. She snaps her fingers. “I was the one doing the interview!”
Kate full on laughs. “Did I get the job?”
“No,” Yelena scoffs, laughing lightly as if the idea of hiring Kate Bishop is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard of. Her nose scrunches in that way she has and Kate has to bite her lip to keep from doing something ridiculous, like commenting on it—
“I asked you to coffee instead,” Yelena says, oblivious to Kate’s distraction. She shrugs and flips her hair with dramatic emphasis. “I was very charming and attractive.”
Kate swallows heavily. No arguments there. “I said yes to coffee, thinking it was maybe part of the interview,” Kate tries, playing along.
“But after we ordered the same thing—“
“Double mocha latte, extra whip?” Kate tries.
Yelena frowns. “That is a stretch for me, but ok, double shot mocha thingy. You got whipped cream on your lip.”
“I did not!”
Yelena laughs her genuine laugh, a familiar husky sound that Kate is starting to memorize. “You did,” she insists. Then she reaches, pretending to wipe it away. Kate stiffens, nervous, as her face blazes under Yelena’s thumb. ”We locked eyes,” Yelena says, her voice quieter now, her eyes hooded and dark.
Before Kate realizes it, they’re staring at each other again, a charged electrical current pulsing between them. Kate inhales softly, afraid to break the spell. She doesn’t know what this is, but she knows she needs it more than air. Yelena doesn’t sound like she’s breathing at all.
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Yelena finally husks as she drops her hand from Kate’s face, her voice barely audible despite her face being only a few inches away.
Kate doesn’t know what’s happening but it’s so much she can’t even process. Yelena, golden Yelena, sitting across from her with that easy, intoxicating smile, her eyes endless and bright — so much so that Kate is already lost in them. Where did she come from?
Then: oh, this is bad.
Kate clears her throat, which seems to snap them back to reality. Yelena pulls back and seems to center herself while Kate tries to shake the cobwebs from her brain.
“And that is how we met,” Yelena finishes, a tentative smile on her face, like she’s waiting for something.
“So you declined me for a job so we could date,” Kate says, trying to bring them back to lighthearted territory. She ignores the way her entire body seems to be lit up from within.
“Yes,” Yelena says, smiling and unbothered. “Good, right?”
Kate matches her smile while her heart pounds in her chest. “It’s perfect.”
And it is. Kate doesn’t think she’s being dramatic by saying so. Everything about it — their fake meeting and their fake relationship and their fake flirting — all of it is perfect. So perfect she doesn’t want it to end, not after the mission, not really ever.
What did she tell Yelena? I’m a zero feelings girl.
Yeah, okay, Kate.
The thing is, this is all technically fair game. She’s just going to be really, really convincing at this dating thing. And she’s not going to do something stupid, like act on it. She’s drawn to Yelena, which will only help them in the mission. And if this small little thing is going to provide some temporary joy, well, then, what’s the harm in leaning into it a little?
(She knows the answer and she’s choosing to ignore it, thank you).
They spend the rest of the night genuinely talking and forgetting about the illusion they’re supposed to be creating. Yelena listens to Kate ramble about college and her friends and she takes particular delight in the time she knocked down an entire bell tower with a really well-placed arrow. Kate feels sort of proud, despite the fact that her mother had to foot the bill for a replacement. They banter over snacks (Yelena insists Kate stock up on hot Cheetos for their next sleepover, which sounds like a gastrointestinal assault, but Kate begrudgingly agrees, because there’s a promise of next time).
And then somehow it’s 3AM and they’re both struggling to stop yawning.
“You need to sleep,” Yelena says when Kate yawns for the second time in so many minutes. “I’ve kept you up way too long as it is.”
“Nah,” Kate says, waving her off. “I liked it. I really had fun hanging out with you.”
Yelena pauses awkwardly, and Kate is afraid she may have overstepped. But then, blessedly, Yelena smiles. “Me too, Kate Bishop. Who knew you would be such good company?”
“I told you I’m a good date,” Kate says, adamant. She straightens up a little. “I think this means I passed your test.”
“So you did,” Yelena agrees, and the look in her eye seems to contain a hint of awe.
When she gracefully dips out the window a few minutes later, it’s with a tiny wave and an offhanded comment about texting to coordinate outfits for the big night.
And then she’s gone into the wintery city— disappearing as suddenly as she came.