Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The scrape across her forehead is oozing a bit.

She hates the word. Oozing. An ugly English word, and yet the perfect descriptor for the abrasion jarring across the skin on her right brow.

Bucky is making the rounds handing out the first-aid supplies, stumbling slightly into Walker as the jet dips slightly to the left, the two jerk apart with scowls, Walker’s hand coming up to push the former Winter Soldier away as though the two hadn’t practically done a ring dance together less than an hour ago, taking down numerous assailants with their metaphorical arms interlocked.

Their target? Former HYDRA operatives attempting to revive yet another bad dose of super serum in yet another old, dilapidated warehouse in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. And honestly? The schtick was getting old. Predictable.  

The betadine Bucky had handed her stung on the graze, and she offered a pitifully whingy “oww” upon its application, to which her father, or the closest thing she had to one at least, leaned over cooing to her in dripping Russian sweetness. She had longed for the sentiments back when she was abandoned to the Red Rooms, the ones he’d practically hand delivered her and Natasha to, back when the illusion of their quiet American life was still a reality snatched cruelly away from her.

She batted his hand away as he attempted to probe the graze with a piece of damp gauze.

“I’m fine,” she drawled out, slumping back in her seat and wincing at the twinge in her shoulder, knowing she was currently blooming in mottled purples and blues. “I’ve had worse.”

“You’re getting worse,” Ava muttered from her own seat, dark sunglasses on and reclined. Yelena threw a ball of gauze at her, the clump of matter passing through casually as she phased that Yelena couldn’t help but be impressed.

“So cool,” Yelena sighed, throwing another ball lazily at her.

Ava caught that one instead, “I know.”

Bucky sat down in his own seat, folding his arms, unfolding them, turning around to look at them, turning back before clearing his throat.  

“Barnes,” Walker groaned, throwing up his hands, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bucky insisted quickly, throwing the man a glare, “I just- I just wanted to say,” he cleared his throat, “Well done.”

Yelena leant forward, cupping one ear with a hand, “I’m sorry Sergeant you’ll have to speak up, the engine is awfully loud back here.”

“I said,” Bucky frowned looking back at her and at the grin lifting her lips, over to Ava’s cool smirk, Alexei’s proud beam and Walker’s amused bravado, “You fucking heard what I said.”

“No,” Ava answered in a coo, drawling it out, “We did hear you mumble something half-heartedly though.”

“You should say it again!” Alexei announced, shifting excitedly in his chair that squeaked under him, “Ava and Lena did not hear! It is good for team morale, yes?”

Bucky stared a bit longer at Alexei, but nodded in acceptance with a loaded sigh, “Well done team.”

“Aww,” Yelena shrugged, waving a hand in a shooing motion, “It is no worry. We found the bad guys, fought the bad guys-,”

“Maimed the bad guys,” Walker finished reclining back in his own chair, “Not worry about the ones who managed to get away-”

“Ahh, another adventure for another day,” Alexei said with a happy, determined nod. “Another good deed done by the Thunderbolts.”

“Da-ad, we’re the Avengers now-,”

“The New Avengers,” Ava amended lightly, “The less-liked Avengers.”

And the statement was true enough, the public, upon Valentina’s impulsive conference, had not exactly gone wild and star-eyed upon announcing the rag-tag team of for-hire assassins and ex-mercenaries as the world’s newest, mightiest heroes.

Not only did it underwhelm the masses, with the team being fronted by two formerly brainwashed assassins, one who had just recently stepped down from his role as Brooklyn’s congressman, and the other not even an American citizen (seriously?) The pale imitation of Captain America, a woman who is, again, not an American citizen, and another Russian. (Seriously, the American public had a big issue against the lack of actual American identities in their team, but apparently if you’re a god from out of space it is okay???)

The people missed the heydays, the days of Ironmen and Hulks and Captain Americas who weren’t caught on camera beheading men with shields, of Asgardian Gods who swung numerous tools about and Hawkeyes and Black Widows… They just paled in comparison to their predecessors.

As Walker had once said, when being handed the heavy mantle the first time, “Big shoes to fill.”

And she was a size too large for her sister’s old boots.

The naming of their team also led to much confusion, as simultaneously, another team under the real Captain America, Sam Wilson, was currently in formation and so far, were claiming that they were the actual Avengers through passive aggressive comments spinning the media.

And that wasn’t to mention whatever the hell Nick Fury was up to…

Bucky had taken this the hardest, the instant refusal of Valentina’s proclamation, the many phone calls to Sam Wilson which sounded much like a married couple going through a rough divorce, not that Yelena was listening. The Watchtower (formerly Avengers Tower- formerly Stark Tower) had thin walls. Whoever Valentina had contracted was doing a shoddy job, and that wasn’t Yelena’s fault.

Whatever Sam was saying to his former teammate had done the opposite, instead of Barnes disbanding from them, it had only forced him to take on the mantle of responsibility, something that still obviously concerned him to this day. The alligator carrying the young within its jaws.

He was a shit politician but did an ok job of keeping them all in check.

He liaised with Valentina the most, passed on the messages and insight, though the woman had begun encroaching on their spaces more as time went on, the audacity flowing back into her with a practiced air of performance.

Yelena leaned back in her chair again, letting the turbulence of the jet become white noise, thinking on every little step that had led here.

From Valentina’s first contact, to arriving in America and hunting down Clint Barton, to throwing herself into every mission to ignore the feeling of absolute dread building every single day since her return from the Blip and discovering Natasha had sacrificed herself to bring them all back. To thinking about Malaysia and the lab she’d blown up, then to the O.X.E vault where they had all almost met a fiery death…

Meeting Bob.

Valentina could claim all she wanted that she had been the one to bring them together.

Yelena would always pinpoint their formation on saving Bob.

The glue that kept them together.

As though reading her mind Walker piped up, breaking through the white noise, “Wonder how Bob’s going.”

They didn’t usually go off on their expeditions without Bob, firmly refusing to leave him behind in the tower for several obvious reasons. Often on these missions he would wait in the jet, or else navigate their course through earpieces, be the one to hand out the gauze and ointments upon their return, or else the getaway car after many lessons in piloting from Bucky.

He was never on the frontline, but he was always within reach.

For Yelena, it was because she was worried where his mind would wander if left alone for too long. And for the others? She knew it was probably because he could intervene as Sentry were the worst to happen. A worst-case scenario kind of situation. She hated to think about it, and truthfully it probably drove her to exceed in expectations when out in the field.

If she could handle the situation herself, then there would be no need to drive the Sentry out, and consecutively, deal with the possibility of the Void. The looming prospect was a good incentive to do well.

At Walker’s musing, she wondered if she wasn’t the only one who missed Bob’s presence on the flight home.

In their three months of living together they had seen glimpses of both Sentry and Void in Bob’s behaviour. He had his good and bad days, the ones where he fell into a mania were followed in swift succession by the ones where he was low. Golden flashes across his irises when he felt cornered or upset, overwhelmed or anxious, it set them all on edge, walking on eggshells and wondering when the next crash would come.
 
He hadn’t completely Voided out, and yet the possibility that he could was in the back of all their minds, tentatively waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bob had recently been having some bad days, refusing to join them upon this mission despite their gentle insistence, remaining huddled up in his bed as he had been the day before, mumbling through his quilt that he didn’t feel well enough and wouldn’t be of any help for them in this state.

In the first week together he had been made aware of exactly what had happened when he had Voided out last time, his memory loss reaching back to somewhere just before Valentina had paraded him out in front of them with newly bleached hair. Bits and pieces came back to him eventually, but not his time as the Void, nor his shame rooms and what they had done to pull him out again.
 
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bucky replied after a quiet, thought-fuelled moment between the lot of them, though he didn’t sound very confident. “He just needs some rest is all.”

They remained uncharacteristically silent after that, all apprehensive of what awaited them back at the Watchtower if rest was not all that Bob had needed.  

It was a long hour before they landed, Yelena practically flying out of her seat to open the release hatch of the jet and jumping the small flight of stairs before they had fully docked.

As soon as she entered the interior of The Watchtower, she knew something was off, the skin on her arms breaking out in small bumps, the hair on the back of her neck sticking up as all the lights in the tower flickered around her.

“Shit,” Ava said as she entered behind her, both her and Yelena’s duffel bag over one shoulder. “Do you want me to run ahead?”

“No,” Yelena replied as the rest joined them, wearing similar faces of concern as they took in the faulty lighting, “I’ll head down first and scope out the situation. Be on standby, yes?”  

“Don’t hesitate to contact us,” Bucky called after her as she dashed for the fire-exit.

The lights around her kept flickering in and out, light and dark as she leapt multiple flights at a time, all the way to the floor that Bob had set up home in, along with the very few possessions he owned. They’d gone shopping together multiple times, for clothing mostly, and small things that lit up the light in Bob’s eyes whenever they landed on another luxurious product, like the Nintendo Switch currently discarded on his couch, or the collection of old comics stashed in a drawer near the small study, or the framed poster of The Cure above a dying fiddle-leaf fig in dire need of sunlight.

He wasn’t cocooned up in his bed like she’d hoped he’d be, the bed a mess and warm to the touch, a good sign he’d only vacated it recently. She slowed her movements, the pressure of her footsteps noiseless on the soft carpet as she slinked over to the open glass doors leading out to the balcony.

She stepped quietly out on the tile, pausing as she caught sight of the still figure standing with its back towards her, seemingly gazing out into the busy, bright hive that was New York City.

Bob being on the balcony was not particularly worrying in theory, however, the fact that he was currently standing up on the ledge made her heartrate pick up, the toes of his bare feet not even bothering to grip the edge, his arms hanging down loosely at his sides.  

“Bob,” she called out cautiously as she approached, quietly enough to not spook him. She needn’t have worried; Bob made no sign that he was even aware of her presence or approach. She moved quickly to his side, reaching out to grab a hold of his hand, the other pulling at his pant leg to urge him backwards. He stumbled slightly, letting himself drop back into her arms and away from the ledge.

She grunted under his weight as he drooped against her like a wilted flower, legs folding under her as she dropped down onto the cold tile, his dark curls brushing against her chin. She positioned him further once settled, looking down into his face fully, still vacant in expression, his body moving at her adjustments like a lifeless doll. His eyes were glazed over, barely opened into slits, but she still managed to spy the flashes of gold flickering across them like the haywire lights inside.

“Bob,” she called out to him again, now observing and noting the darkness spreading out of his chest, the green of his loose jumper getting lost in nothingness, she petted his cheek urgently, “Alright Bob, it’s time to wake up now I think.”

Bob’s head lolled slightly to one side, a small dent forming between his eyebrows as she jostled him further, “You’re dreaming,” she coaxed, “It’s just a bad dream Bob. We’re home now.”

The young man blinked, frowning further, the golden glints disappearing and the crawling black on his chest suddenly withdrawing. The last of it cleared up upon Bob looking up at her, the frown easing away and being replaced just as quickly with an easy, tired smile, “Yelena?”

She nodded and hummed, the quiet panic leaving her like an ebbing wave, “That’s me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, confusion starting to spread across his face as he took in his position currently sprawled across her lap. “Where-,”

“Home. On your balcony to be exact,” she told him as he eased himself into a seated position next to her, the warmth of his back leaving her lap cold. He stayed seated next to her, taking in said balcony with even more confusion and thoughtful musing. “Come on, let’s go inside, it’s cold out here.”

She got up quickly, reaching down to pull him up by her offered hand, his feet stumbling a bit on the cold tile as he shuffled towards the door under her herding, leading him towards the bed and making him sit before taking the mussed doona and wrapping it around him like a bulky cloak.

“Wow,” Bob mumbled under her attentions. “That’s- Thank you?”

“And now I make tea,” she announced, pointing a finger straight in his face, “Do not go anywhere.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that,” she called back at him as she made her way to his small kitchenette, finding the kettle stashed away in the cupboard above the sink and filling it with water.

“You get them all?” Came Bob’s muffled voice from the bedroom.

“What?” she yelled back, taking out her phone to message the group-chat and getting a bunch of thumbs-up emojis in response, and a GIF from Alexei displaying a looping image of Bugs Bunny wiping the sweat from his ears.

“The bad guys,” Bob replied, appearing in the alcove leading to his bedroom, still wrapped up in his doona like a particularly bad Jabba the Hutt costume. She couldn’t tamper down the smile pulling at her lips at the sight of him, face peeking out within soft cotton.

“I told you not to move,” she scolded gently, grabbing some mugs and a couple of teabags from the drawer, “And it went well.”

Bob shuffled over to the couch opposite and plonked down on it, before pointing at his forehead, “You’re oozing.”

Yelena groaned, “I hate that word. So ugly.”

“Sorry,” Bob mused thoughtfully, “Can’t believe they got a hit in on you is all. Were they supered?”

“Sadly no,” she bit out with a frown as she poured out the freshly boiled water, “They just got lucky, I was distracted, there was like fifty-,” Five, there were five, “-of them, and besides it is just a graze, they did not cause me bodily harm.” She moved across to him with the two mugs, tea bag strings dangling out on the sides, “And anyhow, you should see them,” He couldn’t, they were currently smouldering in the fire left behind from a clumsy lab explosion courtesy of Ava, not that she would ever admit that it had been unintentional.  

“Sorry I wasn’t there,” Bob murmured with a quiet thanks as he took the mug and sipped despite her protests to let it steep for just a few minutes longer. “Whatever I was going through has passed now though, I feel much better.”

“Yeah?” She asked settling beside him, letting her own mug cool on the table. She pulled her legs up, propping her arm on the back of the couch, resting her cheek on a balled fist to study him, watching his cheeks flush under her examination, eyes flicking to her and back to the mug in his hands in quick succession.

He croaked out a “Yeah.”

“Did you know you were sleepwalking?”

“What?” Bob sputtered out looking at her fully, eyes wide like a spooked owl.  

She hummed, “Have you ever done that before?”

“I- I don’t know,” he answered her truthfully. “I don’t think so. Or, at least, no one has really been around to tell me otherwise.”

“I found you on the balcony,” she told him kindly, nodding her head towards the glass doors leading back to it, “One step away from being pancake batter on ground.”

Bob blinked, “Oh.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

He shifted, doona rustling with him, frowning further to recall whatever was bothering him whilst toeing the edge of a large drop, he shrugged.

“I don’t remember. Really,” he tacked on at her raised eyebrow, “I swear I don’t.” 

“It is all good,” she told him, with her own shrug, “Just don’t do it again yeah? You frightened me.”

“I’ll try,” he replied with a small smile now edging on misery. “Sorry.”

She poked his thigh with her booted foot, “Don’t be sorry, it is not something you can help.”

He spared her another small quirk of lips, sipping at his drink again, “I never used to drink tea, wasn’t really the beverage of choice in Sarasota.”

“That is because you American’s microwave your tea,” Yelena laughed, knowing the change of topic was needed to lift him back out again, “Throw it in and hope for best, add spoons of sugar to make it palatable enough.”

She managed to get a real smile out of him, it changed his whole face into something she wished to see more of, and only too proud she was the one to put it there.

And as she gave him the rundown of what had happened in that dilapidated warehouse in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, the smile lingered on for just that little bit longer.

 
After nearly dozing off on the couch opposite Bob, who also yawned tiredly, the dark bags under his eyes all but begging for his pillow, she left with heavy, dragging footsteps towards the elevator, pressing the button to take her back up to the communal floor where no doubt the others awaited her, ready to be briefed and ask the questions she didn’t yet have any idea how to answer.

They sat on the long-curved couch, Alexei at the island separating kitchen from living space, shovelling left over pasta into his mouth with gusto, Bucky near the windows and arguing into his phone again. Ava and Walker were quietly bickering over something that had John turning red in the face and Ava’s lips curling up upon him taking the bait she had carefully laid out for him, again.

Bucky hung up on whoever he was on the phone with upon her arrival, scowl dissipating to something she assumed was his take on concern, “Everything alright?”

She shrugged, sitting heavily next to Walker, “Nightmares.”

“Great,” Walker drawled, “So now he can go catatonic is his sleep?”

Ava frowned, “Since when?”

“Something must’ve been bothering him deeply,” Alexei said around a mouthful of cheesy pasta, “Did you ask?”

She rolled her eyes, “Obviously.”

Walker tutted, “Disrupted sleep is not a good sign for bipolar disorder, could lead to an episode.”

They all turned to him with raised eyebrows, Ava’s scrutiny palpable with the way she looked him up and down. Walker frowned, “Oh come on, I can’t be the only one who did my research.”

“Oh, we have,” Ava replied cooly, “We just didn’t think you would.”

“What? That’s-,” he broke off with a scowl, folding his arms and refusing to swallow the hook, “We’re living under the same roof and need to be prepared for the worst, don’t we? I mean, I like the guy, but I’m not going to pretend that he’s not a ticking timebomb.”

Yelena frowned, “He’s not a bomb-,”

“If you say so,” Walker cut in.

“Don’t- ugh,” she threw up her hands, “It’s fine, I handled it. You’re welcome.”

“We saw,” Bucky said, pointing towards a tablet on the round table in front of them, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Good job.”

She leant forward to snatch the tablet from the table, the image on its screen showing Bob currently curled up, fast asleep again in his bed, “Why do we have cameras around his bed?”

“We have cameras around everyone’s bed,” Bucky told her with a sigh, pointing around the room errantly, “There are cameras everywhere. We’re probably under one right now.”

“It’s how we know who’s been hogging all the cinnamon Pop-Tarts,” Ava chimed in.  

Alexei dropped his fork, eyes wide, “Oh, you know about that?”

“He’s voiding in his sleep?” Bucky wondered aloud, tiredly rubbing a hand down his face.

“Yep,” Yelena popped out, waving a hand across her chest, “Black nothingness seeping out here. Eyes all glittery,” At the worried look everyone shared she puffed up a bit, “It’s fine. He is fine. I handled it.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, “And if you’re not around to sing him lullabies? What then?”

“Then one of you can fucking do it,” Yelena snapped back, hackles raised and making sure to look each and every one of them in the eyes, “Unless you’re scared? No?”

“Oh no,” Walker sighed, “I just love reliving past trauma personally. I’ll warm up the vocal cords, shall I?” He raised a hand to stop her from biting his head off,  “Obviously we’ll step in when needed Yelena, but in case you forgot, we tend to all get called out to the same missions, kind of like tonight and Bob was here, all alone, and we were very very far away.”

“Then we make sure he comes with us next time as usual,” Alexei piped in optimistically. “Crisis averted by power of comrades.”  

“And if we can’t?” Ava asked.

“That’s not-,” Yelena began but was cut off by Bucky who moved closer to the group, Alexei shuffling away from the kitchen island to stand next to him and nod agreeably before Bucky had even really begun to say anything.  

“Guys,” he began, sparing a baffled look at Alexei’s sudden closeness before locking back in, “I think we need to come to terms with the fact that Bob is not getting better, and while it was handled tonight, yes,” he rose his mechanical hand as she made to cut in, “Thank you Yelena. We are obviously out of our depths in handling his-,” he paused trying to catch the word and settling on, “Predicament.”

“That’s a nice word,” Alexei consoled him with a companiable slap on his back. “Predicament. Less horrible than issues, no?”

“He needs therapy,” Bucky went on, ignoring the former Red Guardian’s obvious attempts to motivate him. “Help from someone who is, well-,” another sigh on the rougher side of meek, “A professional?”

Yelena snorted disdainfully, but Walker was the first to respond, “It’s not a bad idea,” she slapped him on the arm, “What?”

“If he needs therapy,” she said to group at large, spinning one finger around to encompass them all, “Then we all need therapy.”

Bucky frowned, “I’ve already been to therapy.”

“Oh yeah?” Yelena snorted, “And how did that work out for you? Like we didn’t just see you go all,” she seized up dramatically and dropped, “at the HYDRA flag-”

“That’s not-,”

“So it would be very hypocritical to send him off to therapy when we are all messed up,” she concluded as Bucky huffed, Alexei petting him consolingly on the shoulder again.

“Then maybe,” the former Winter Soldier said, cutting himself off and pressing his lips together thinly with a loud exhale as they watched him fight with himself, “Maybe, that’s… what we do.”

He winced as they all began to protest.

Ava laughed, “I am not telling a stranger my-,”

“-Oh yes, I’m sure they’d love hearing about all the bodies we’ve wracked up under-,” Yelena was saying, staring up at ceiling and shaking her head.

“Been there, done that,” Walker told all them loudly, smugly.

Alexei thoughtfully cut in, “I could go to therapy.”

“You don’t need therapy papa,” Yelena sighed, shooting him a tired look. “You are probably the last person in here who needs it, actually.”

The man frowned, “I have many stories and grievances I’m sure they would like to hear, including that one time, after being ordained as the Red Guardian, I had broken into the nearest hospital under less than honorary orders and suff-,”

Bucky, their saviour, stepped in, “Alright, enough! Alexei we’ve already heard that story,” he held up a hand as Alexei began to protest, “It’s a good story. Look, obviously we’re not the most stable sub-humans out there-”

“Sub-human?” Walker guffawed.

“- but sooner or later the world is going to figure out what Bob is,” the silence in the room washed over them like storm clouds gathering, the dread of the unknown shrouding them.

Bucky soldiered on, “Whether by accident or force, I don’t know, I’ll- I’m handling that,” he broke off for a moment, “The point is, we might not be able to protect him from it. Or worse, we won’t be able to protect him from them. Or- Or him from them, look,” he moved to the couch and sat down, elbows digging into his thighs as he leant forward, “I don’t want to force the issue. This is a group decision, and if we are in disagreement then I’ll fold to that, however,” he drawled out slowly, looking at each and every one of them pointedly, landing on Yelena last who shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, “If we’re really worried about Bob’s best interests, like I’d like to think we all are, then we’ll actually put an effort into thinking about what comes next,” he spread out his hands imploringly, “Please?”

The lot of them averted theirs eyes, nodding pointedly or else (Ava) picking non-existent lint from her sleeve with a small hum of agreement. Yelena struggled to agree for a moment, the old soldier having some good points about Bob’s welfare, but despite her own conflicting feelings on it she did care about Bob, and if therapy was something he needed well… Why not trauma dump all their shit on whatever unsuspecting specialist they threw at them?

Bucky waited for her, watching, and after an agonising moment pinned under his blue eyes, she confirmed her own agreement to consider the potential of it, going forward.

“Good,” Bucky said standing up, gesturing a hand at them all in obvious dismissal, “Now go take showers, you all look like shit.” 

Chapter Text

It was always the same.

Yelena is running.

Dense wood would deter at every stride, feet sinking into the dirt, deep scratches marring her face, but it wouldn’t stop her. It couldn’t.

Yelena always ran to her, and she, in turn, would always wait, standing on the precipice of a cliff and its fatal drop, her back turned towards her and red hair burning like a flaming crown against the setting of a dozen alien suns.

Yelena knows she died elsewhere. Nowhere on earth and millions of lightyears away and an indeterminable amount of time and years already gone past, somewhere impossible for her to reach.

There had been no body to bury.

Natasha would smile at her with the coy lift of her lips, turning slightly to greet Yelena’s appearance as she stumbled out of the woods, gentle humour in her eyes as she pressed her lips together to whistle, but the sound gets lost in the wind and Yelena can’t hear it.

She reached out to grab, to pull her back away from the edge.

But Natasha always falls.

There had been no body to bury.

The only thing that stops her from her quick descent is Yelena’s hand around her wrist, and then she’s swinging down below her and looking back up, all humour on her face lost in those short few moments. She looks scared and young- far too young to die.

Her face is saddened, and Yelena struggles to keep a hold of her, her grip slipping no matter how hard she tries to keep a hold.

“Yelena,” Natasha would always say, her voice but a whisper and a loving thing against Yelena’s ears, “Cестра, it’s okay. You can let go.”

“No,” Yelena croaked out, her face wet and her tears are blinding but she can do it this time, she can save her. “Never. I’ve got you, please, hold on I can-”  

Natasha would smile a small, broken thing, “I-,”

And then she’s gone, swallowed up by the darkness below, and Yelena has failed again and suddenly she’s the one falling, down, down, down…

“No!” Yelena sat up and her eyes flew open, her breathing coming fast and hard as she takes in her surroundings, on the white walls of her room, of the soft morning light creating golden shadows across them.

 She’s no longer lying over pointed rocks, clinging on to her sister in another effort to save her.

She’s home.

And her sister is still dead.

Her heartbeat slowly settled back into a bearable rhythm before she gave in and threw herself back down onto the pillows, rubbing at her bleary eyes and unsurprised to find her cheeks still wet, the taste of salt on her lips.

As she calmed herself, a large weight proceeded to move up on the bed, mattress dipping tellingly as a large, wet nose reached her hand with loud snuffling noises. Yelena’s hand quickly found the soft head, her fingers scratching idly through the soft fur and up behind familiar triangular ears as Fanny began to whine, settling herself beside her owner, chin propped up upon her chest, hot breath brushing at Yelena’s face.

“Ugh,” Yelena moaned, eyes opening to the site of big, searching, brown eyes looking back at her adoringly. Fanny whined again and Yelena sighed, scratching again at her pointed ears, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Fanny’s company was always welcome, especially after the dreams.

It grounded her, made her remember that there were still things to live for outside of Natasha, even when she forgot about them, or when she was too caught up in the flux of the emotions concerning her long period of loneliness or else the monotonous routine she’d fallen into.

She hated the dreams.

More so because she had never been there in the first place, and yet the moment haunted her.

Clint Barton was the only one to be there in her sister’s final moments and, if he was to be believed, he had done everything he could to save her. Natasha had always been stubborn, self-sacrificing, ever since she was a child. It chafed at Yelena constantly to know that her sister acted accordingly to her very predictable nature.  

And that’s why Natasha would always tell her to let go.

A hundred times over.

The words as clear as day.

And Yelena wasn’t ready.

Fanny rushed out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, almost knocking Yelena over with her eagerness.

After an hour spent staring up at her bedroom ceiling, Yelena finally found the energy to drag herself out of bed and down to the communal area, still in her sleepwear that consisted of a worn, baggy jumper and soft trackpants that were in the same condition.

Her hair remained unbrushed, although she’d had the mind to wash her face, her red cheeks fading away under the cool, damp cloth and then all she could think about was making it to the expensive coffee machine. To the roasted grounds and freshly frothed milk, and the simple fantasy of a proper cappuccino cupped between her hands that would surely breathe some semblance of life back into her.  

She padded into the open space after her dog, walking in to the sight of Bob already on the lounge with a small lump of fur in one hand and a piece of celery in the other, eyes glued on the large screen opposite him which showed a suited man pointing to a map and pronouncing far too happily “…and it appears rain is on its way!”

Upon entering the space Bob turned to look over at her curiously, warm morning light like a halo around him, small smile lifting at his soft features. Pavel sat in his hand chewing on a celery leaf, Bob moving him out of reach as Fanny bounded over to them, jumping up at his face in greeting and, no doubt, a long, wet kiss.

“Oof,” Bob released in a huff, the hound all but knocking him out with her pointy nose until he dropped the celery to the couch to give her a proper pat with his free hand, “Yes, good morning to you to.”

Yelena moved to the kitchen as Fanny molested Bob on the couch and straight to the coffee machine to begin her morning ritual, grabbing up all the materials necessary to make a decent cup of solid ambrosia.

Fanny grew bored with Bob quickly, nabbing the forgotten celery stalk and running off as Bob tried, and failed, to take it back from her. She trotted to the dog bed by the tall windows and sat there with the stalk daintily between her paws, loud crunching sounds breaking through the news anchors “-we’ll be right back with the latest in sports!”

The first advertisement to pop up, just as the valves began to spit dark, fragrant liquid into her mug, was (unfortunately) the one her dad had recently filmed for Wheaties.

The advert started with the bearded Red Guardian crashing in on an unsuspecting family in the middle of breakfast, launching in on terrorising the mother for not giving the son something more substantial. “Champions are not born,” Alexei announced enthusiastically, dumping a box of Wheaties on the table, “They are made!” The kids cheered, the mother cried, and Alexei picked up the table-,

“Ugh, change the channel,” Yelena groaned loudly, face going hot as she slumped down across the counter to hide her face, “I can’t bear it. Is he gone?”

“Yep,” Bob laughed, quickly picking up the remote and switching to a different program, one without her father making a spectacle of himself. “Better?”

She raised her face to spy a familiar cartoon now rolling across the screen, “For a seven-year-old? Sure,” she shrugged, but backtracked as Bob made to change the channel again, “No, keep it on, I like this episode.”

Bob nodded, dropping the remote back to the couch and moving Pavel onto his lap, the guinea pig still chewing the last of his celery leaf before taking the stick of carrot Bob offered from his pocket instead. Yelena smiled, charmed by the imagery of Bob, hair mussed just as much as hers was, his baggy sleepwear swamping his body and ensconced with the other lab-rat she had managed to acquire currently being hand-fed vegetables, all while watching morning cartoons.

She finished making her cup and joined them on the couch, folding her legs under her and sipping at her cappuccino with a happy hum that made Bob smile knowingly. They sat together, Pavel on his lap and Fanny on her back, legs up in the air, dozing by the window. An old episode of Ren and Stimpy rolled over the screen, and she wondered how many more mornings like this she would be allowed to have. She would have them every day if she could, just like this.
 
She settled further into the sofa, letting the antics of the animation wash over her, Bob’s gentle murmurs and Pavel’s small jaw working, pausing, before working again.  

“I used to watch this with my sister,” she told the room suddenly, continuing at Bob’s quiet, inquisitive attention, “Back in Ohio. Back when- It’s hard to believe there was a time I willingly woke up on a weekend before seven and yet-,” she laughed gently, “We just couldn’t miss the adventures of a talking chihuahua and the stupid cat.”

“Is that what they are?” Bob asked, genuinely surprised as he turned to watch said likenesses on the screen, “Huh.”

Yelena grinned, “Well yeah, what did you think they were?”

He looked thoughtful, shrugged, “Guess I never really questioned it. I did the same though,” he looked back at her, small smile lifting his lips as he stroked Pavel along his back with a hum, “The mornings were quiet. I just… I had to keep the volume low so it wouldn’t – wake them.”

Yelena nodded, the urge to grab at his face and pull at his cheeks overtaking her suddenly, she focused her attention on the guinea pig instead, little face pausing in its chewing upon her inspection. 

“You spoil him.”

Bob laughed, nodded back, “Maybe, but I mean, look at him,” He lifted the small creature up to Yelena’s face, its unblinking, dark, beady eyes unfocused, somehow looking both ways at the same time, his jaw working overtime on the last morsel of carrot. She couldn’t fault it for being cute. Bob pulled it away to also inspect its face, “You don’t think he’s lonely, do you?”

Yelena laughed at the suddenness of the question, “What? No-,”

“Switzerland passed a law making it illegal to own only one guinea pig,” Ava chimed in from the kitchen, making both Bob and Yelena startle violently on the sofa, Pavel releasing a little chirrup at the sudden movement.

Yelena scowled, peering around the room for any other silent newcomers, “When did you-,”

“Why?” Bob cut in over her annoyance, just as Ava sipped at her newly brewed cup.  

The woman shrugged effortlessly, rolling it over her shoulders, “Social animals, live in large groups in the wild, negative effects on well-being if left alone,” she paused at Yelena’s warning glare, recalibrated quickly, perked back in an octave higher, “Oh! But I’m sure Pavel is different, of course.”

But the damage was done, Bob’s eyes were wide as he stared down at the small being in his grasp, looked to Yelena who schooled her face quickly while turning away from Ava, “Are we… abusing him?”

“Whaaat?” Yelena replied quickly, too sweetly, taking the cavy from his hands and pointing it’s face back towards Bob, “You look at this face and tell me he is not getting the upmost care.”

But it was obvious Bob remained unconvinced, his lips turning thin and downturned, heavy furrow between his brows even as Pavel continued to look nonplussed by the whole situation.

Yelena sighed, dropped him back to her lap, “Alright, get dressed. We’re going out.”

“We are?” Bob asked in thinly veiled dismay and surprise, looking down at his state of undress and back at her. “Right now?”

“Yep,” she replied simply, pushing at his shoulder to urge him into movement, “To the shelter. Pavel needs a friend.”

The dark cloud over Bob’s head began to disperse, a light entering his features again, “Yeah? Okay, yeah, outside sure,” he sprung up from the couch, “I’ll just, go and,” he pointed back at the elevator before rushing over and disappearing into it quickly.  

Yelena dragged both hands down her face, glaring between her fingers at Ava as she cautiously approached looking thoroughly apologetic, settling slowly on the couch next to Yelena and pulling Pavel onto her lap instead with a quick hushing sound as he wheeked.

“Yeah that’s on me, sorry,” the woman said, scratching Pavel behind his little pink ears and blowing out a breath, “Didn’t realise there were so many parallels between a fucking cavy and the guy who can go nuclear at any given moment.”

The resemblance had not been lost on Yelena, not with how she had acquired both Pavel and Bob, if inadvertently, as test subjects from the same lab she’d blown apart, nor how she had a soft spot for homeless things.

It was something both Alexei and Melina had come to learn about their false daughter when she had once returned home after school with scratches on her face, a struggling raccoon in her grasp and a plea on her lips to keep it. Or the time she had found a baby bird fallen from its nest and Natasha had scaled the large ash tree to place it back, despite her little sister’s protests that she could be the better parent to it.

“Bucky’s going to kill me for bringing home another lost thing,” Yelena mumbled, slumping down on the couch and letting her head rest on the back of it so she stared up at the ceiling, again.

Ava hummed thoughtfully in response, shrugged, “You get to go on a cute little date though.”

Yelena hit her on the shoulder, hard, “It’s not-,”

“Oh, what!?” Walker announced loudly as he walked in, jumping over the couch and making them both frown over at him as he settled in, “I love this show.”

Yelena sighed, lifting herself from the couch and preceded to leave, throwing the bird over at shoulder as Ava sweetly called after her to, “Have fun.”

The last thing she heard as she entered the lift was Walker asking, “She didn’t leave because of me did she?” and Ava replying bluntly with a, “Yes.”

 
The local shelter made them wait in the lobby until one of their staff was made available to assist with their query. Yelena had to fill out a survey, realising that the address she would be listing as home, for the very first time, would now be the one she shared with the New Avengers.

There was a noticeable reaction when she had rocked up to the counter, despite her very undercover look of oversized hoodie and sunglasses, Bob standing behind her in his own similar getup minus the sunglasses. The receptionist had stuttered out a greeting before offering them the form to fill out.

“Someone will be out shortly,” she was told, before being offered a seat to wait, plastic creaking under them as they sat. An old Dr Phil rerun was playing on the clunky screen tucked high in the corner.

Yelena eyed Bob in her peripheral, his left leg bouncing restlessly as they waited.

It had been a few weeks since the incident, since pulling him away from a sudden drop. The discussion that had followed with the rest of the team still lingered between them all, the elephant in the room, that unspoken but known thing.

It was easy to brush it aside when Bob was like this, when he seemed content and easy in his everyday motions, in his relaxed smiles and taking part in the soft ribbing and teasing between the rest of the Watchtower’s members.

He had joined them on one of their extractions just the other week, had waited dutifully in the jet and came when called, lowering the vehicle to the skyscraper at an angle so he could lower the ropes for a speedy getaway from the imploding building on the outskirts of Austin.

He was there with snacks and a well-stocked first aid kit he’d gone around and delegated materials to each of them. An ice pack at hand for the egg-sized lump forming on Walker’s forehead, stitching the skin on Bucky’s left shoulder back up with practiced movements, or else, in this instance, assisting Alexei’s dislocated shoulder by helping pop it back into its socket.

While everyone else was tending to their wounds and longing for their beds, Bob was always buzzing at the end of each trip. She could almost swear he enjoyed it more when they actually had injuries to attend to. He wanted- longed to be helpful, even if it was just making sure they all had a bottle of water to cling onto on the way home.

All thoughts of the potential therapeutical treatment were pushed to the back of her mind, but the notion remained in reach whenever she caught Bob staring off into space, or else becoming too quiet within the racket they would create over petty injustices. The indications of him slipping again were there, the dark entity inside of him attempting to reign its hold.

She wondered what conversations happened between them, or how much of them Bob believed. She only grew all the more frustrated for her lack of assistance in relieving him of whatever insecurities and dark thoughts he was harbouring. She couldn’t use her fists, nor her guns to shoot down the intangible things Bob was silently nursing.

But she could try. She could try to keep him with her, in these moments and away from- from them. His alter egos who clamoured desperately for their time. The metaphorical devil and… other devil upon his shoulders, whispering nonsense into his too willing ears.          

“How are you?” She asked suddenly, the question making the man startle slightly, his leg pausing mid bounce.

“Umm, good?” he replied hesitantly, lips quirking up on one side, canine visible in his amusement. “How are you?”

She huffed a laugh, “I meant, how have you been getting on? Are you sleeping well?”

“Oh, oh yeah,” Bob blinked catching on with a nod. “Sleep in my bed, wake up in my bed,” he shrugged, shot her another smaller, sincere smile. “No nighttime wandering excursions.””

“Good,” Yelena nodded back, quiet relief eeking out and reached out to touch his hand lightly, “That’s good.”

Bob let her grip his hand gently, smile upon his face turning soft as she let it stay there, “Thanks.” She shot him a questioning look to which he shrugged, “For caring?”

“I’m a caring person,” she told him seriously, for lack of anything else to say that wouldn’t come off as condescending, or else infantilising. He didn’t want pity, nor the coddling. He just needed a good foundation to lean on when it was crumbling down around him. They all did.

Caring about Bob came naturally.

She wanted to say more, was about to, but suddenly there was a young person in front of them with a short purple haircut and a polite smile, directing them to follow back through the wide doors that led into an area where they housed the smaller animals.     

They were led to a small outside area with a bunch of fenced in enclosures with several rabbit hutches and greenery, and at least twenty dozen guinea pigs.

“Wow,” Bob said in awe, looking down at the small critters scurrying around below them, all making chutting, bubbling and wheeking noises at different frequencies, “I didn’t think there’d be so many.”

Yelena laughed lightly at the look on his eyes, “We’re only getting one so don’t get too attached.”

“People usually get them thinking they’ll be easy pets for kids,” the shelter attendant explained, disappointment lacing their tone, “They don’t realise that such small animals still mean a huge responsibility that often the parents overlook and then have to pick up for themselves. They think small means child friendly,” they sighed irritably, “Ergo, an influx of homeless guinea pigs. You said you have one already and you’re just looking for a friend?”

The two of them nodded back quickly, a bit intimidated by the attendants tone and vent, but they calmed considerably at their response, “Then you’re already being ten times more responsible than most owners, a lot of these guys come here alone and they’re better off in small groups.”

“Did everyone get a guinea pig memo or-,” Yelena mumbled under her breath.

“Yes, that’s why we thought it was time to- you know,” Bob cleared his throat, looking between her and the many many guinea pigs running amok. “Adopt?”

The purple maned attendant nodded, pushing thick rimmed glasses up their nose, “Do you know what gender you have?”

“Mozeltoff!” Yelena replied brightly, sighing dejectedly when she was met with blank, confused looks. “It’s a boy.”

“Ha,” The attendant had the decency to respond with, “Well then, maybe another male? Or we have some desexed females too. These things breed like mice, so if you don’t want to be overrun suddenly by baby pigs then-,” they drifted off, heavy insinuation that this was not at all what they wanted lingering obviously on the air. They were then told to take their time looking and they’d be back in a few minutes to see what they thought and arrange the meet and greet.

Yelena sighed airily upon their departure, perusing the first enclosure of males, “Well? Boyfriend or Girlfriend?”

“What?” Bob blinked over at her owlishly, stammering out a, “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t want to assume Pavel’s identity…”

“How considerate of you,” Yelena laughed, waving her hand towards the unneutered female pen, “I think we will pass on the females who can spawn, no?”

“Yeah, don’t want a tribble situation,” Bob said, looking disappointed when it was Yelena’s turn to blink at him blankly, “Star Trek? Live long and… Oh, I’m sorry,” he shook his head apologetically, lips crooking up in a barely concealed smirk, “I mistook you for someone cultured.”

Yelena slapped his shoulder, “Hey! That’s a good one,” she told him jovially, spinning away to peruse the guineas and shooting a serious sounding, “You’ll pay for it later though,” over her shoulder.

They fell into a companiable silence as they looked over the rodent-esque creatures going about their business, they split up with Yelena watching the neutered females and Bob the males, switching up after a few moments. They were all thoroughly adorable, but there could only be the best for single child Pavel.

Her thoughts wandered to remembering how she picked up Fanny, driving down open country roads in Lithuania and seeing the sign for a free dog. It was in between her time going around to free each Red Room graduate from Melina’s creation and Dreykov’s machinations.

Fanny had been tied up to a post in the front yard, no water bowl in sight when Yelena had driven down their driveway. She took one look at the too skinny dog and had simply taken her.

Pavel had been one of many unknown test subjects and knowing that Bob had suffered immensely upon his own experimental trials, she could only imagine what the little tuft of hair would have gone through if not for her intervention.

What she herself had gone through whilst in the Red Rooms.

Her eyes focused in on a guinea sitting in the corner of the pen, its shaggy, dark brown hair falling over its rotund body. Its blue eyes were glazed as it chewed on a piece of straw, pink ears twitching neurotically. She bit her lip.

“This one, it looks like you,” she announced unable to keep the laughter from spilling, pointing out the guinea that had attracted her attention. Bob wandered over to see the culprit she pointed out.

“Umm, sure?” he said, looking bemused and not at all like he believed her, “If you say so.”

“I do,” she responded happily, grinning harder when the guinea in question jerked and spun around upon another guinea entering its space.  

“Okay, well,” Bob’s eyes roamed over the numerous cavies running about and stopped on one with a triumphant, “Aha!” and pointed out one individual in particular, “Then that one looks like you.”

Yelena was greeted to a blonde, tufted creature whose hair fell over its eyes and was currently  making quick, erratic movements before bulldozing headfirst into another grazing guinea. If it had the ability to do a backflip it would be bouncing off the wall.  

 “See?” Bob said proudly, smile wide and jokingly said, “It’s spunky.”

Yelena hummed in thought, lips pulling thoughtfully before she turned on him with a dangerous, knowing glint in her eyes, “You think I’m spunky?”

“Oh, oh no,” Bob backtracked quickly, eyes wide, “I mean, maybe?” And then, apologetically, “Do you hate it?”

Watching Bob worry about her feelings, embarrassed by his own words, was a thrill Yelena took great pleasure in watching play out, but she threw him a bone and shrugged.

“Natasha used to say that” Yelena told him, smiling gently enough to dissuade any notion she was offended. “Said I was full of spunk, and a bad attitude,” she paused, thinking back on the arguments between children, on the apologetic offer of the last popsicle left in the freezer. “It was a very American term when we moved here.”

It was all she knew for a while. They’d taught her Russian of course, only spoke it in the home. Natasha sounding out the words for her, switching easily between the two as Yelena stumbled over the consonants. To Alexei playing the doting father, reading her a bedtime story after begging to hear about the Velveteen Rabbit, for the thousandth time, pleading to be made real and being granted that wish by a beautiful fairy. He would read it to her in both English and Russian, and Natasha would stay for the duration of each retelling curled up next to her until she drifted off.

She had been a carefree thing during those few short years, she had been a child in its truest form, wild and young and rambunctious, while having the ability to be considerate when the moment called for it, embarrassed of a bad scrape when tripping over her own feet, loud when her favourite song would be played on the small cassette player in the car.

That little family in Ohio had crafted her perfectly.

And then it was taken away.

 “I wasn’t a quiet child,” she told Bob with a good-humoured shrug, “I learnt to be though.”

There was a shared moment between them, the diffused terrors of their past childhoods weighing them down, but shared, nonetheless. Just different kinds of horrors.

“You’ve been bringing her up a lot today,” Bob said then, unnecessarily adding, “Natasha.”

Night after night she had to watch her fall, all over again.

“Yeah,” Yelena replied, resting her chin on her crossed arms atop the barricade separating them from the guinea pig pen. “Some days are just going to be harder.”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed quietly, barely a whisper.  

“Any luck?”

They both jumped. The attendant was back and looking at them both in a mixture of caution and amusement.

Bob blinked at them, frowned, “Umm…”

“We’ll take these two,” Yelena announced, pointing out both the Bob lookalike, as well as the spunky creature who was currently attempting to defy physics and attempt to backflip off another.  

They had made a stop at the local pet store where Yelena made further use of the company (business?) card to make some expensive choices in the form of a new home and many enrichment activities for their new cohort of animals.

Setting up the portable pen in the middle of the communal area in the Watchtower, Ava and Alexei joined them in sitting around and watching the two newest members be introduced to their new brother. The room was filled with excited chutting and whirring sounds before settling in companionably to eat some kale Bob threw in.

They watched as Pavel’s bit of kale was stolen by the Yelena variant, literally stealing it right out of his mouth, Pavel looking dumbfounded at the sudden disappearance of his meal and announcing the lack of leafy green with some angry wheeking noises.  

“See?” Bob grinned, gesturing enthusiastically down to the small tufts of fur currently causing mayhem in their expanded enclosure. “Full of spunk.”

Ava released a short sound, covering her mouth as though the small show of humour was beyond her control, she coughed lightly and refrained, “You know that means something else now, right? At least, in other parts of the world.”

“What?” Bob blinked as Ava leant over and whispered something quickly in his ear, his look of confusion quickly turning into one of mortification, blinking rapidly between the guinea pigs, to Yelena, back to Ava in open shock, “Oh, oh no. No not- Not like that,” he shook his head, swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be using that word again.”

Alexie frowned, “Why what does it mean?” Ava eagerly moving to cup her hand against his ear and whisper out the truth, Alexei’s eyes growing wider, mouth gaping openly and looking to his daughter, “Oh, Lena she means-,”

“Yes,” Yelena cut him off quickly with an irritable sigh directed entirely at their resident Ghost who was getting far too much enjoyment from the delicate senses both men were displaying, “I get the idea.”

Walker swaggered in halfway as they were deliberating and bickering over new names, eyebrow ticking up at the sight of them all huddled on the floor encircling the small group of cavies with growing amusement.

“They’re multiplying,” he announced observantly, cocking his head slightly and tacking on, “Like tribbles.”

Bob looked over at Yelena smugly, she rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Walker is not the standard you want to set for cultured.”

“Huh?” John frowned, looking between them as he moved to the kitchen. “Did I miss something?”

“Always,” Ava sighed, leaning back on her arms and staring up at the ceiling.

After grabbing a shredded bag of cheese from the fridge and settling between Alexei and Yelena, he piped in with his own name recommendations, all of them awful.

Alexei wished to continue the Russian tradition of naming, throwing out his own into the mix, whereas John was naming out a bunch of standard, boring, white-boy names and Ava chiming in with, “Chlamydia is kind of pretty if you take away the meaning of it” and Bob’s reply of, “Yeah, but that sounds more like a girl name and these are both boys,” to Yelena’s scowl of, “We are not naming one after a STI.” Which then just devolved into a round of STI themed names with Syphilis being a solid contender.

Upon the new bickering that occurred over John insisting Herpes was the better name, James Buchanan Barnes came storming in from the elevator with heavy steps.    

“Incoming,” he told them, voice laced in pointed agitation, doing a doubletake upon them seated around the pen, to the pens occupants before pinning Yelena with a look of silent admonishment that she returned boldly with a smile.  

The agitation that engulfed the former Winter Soldier came swiftly after him in the form of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

The woman was dressed in another smart, tailored pant suit matched by her personal assistant Melissa Gold standing both beside and behind her, the younger woman raising an awkward hand at them all with an uneasy smile. The pair of them were also flocked by a small group with large suitcases in hand and many garment bags hanging off a rolling rack which rattled out of the elevator.  

“Good afternoon team,” Valentina greeted, clapping her hands together once before dropping them onto her hips, “Okay, now that the pleasantries are out of the way I have some rather exciting news.”

The team in question spared Bucky a sidelong look, and if the man had been gifted wings, his feathers would have bristled uncomfortably under their dagger lined glances. The term exciting, where Valentina was concerned, was never going to entail a good thing for them.

“I’ve just secured you all invitations to a very, very prestigious gala filled with all the types of people that will generously fill our pockets and keep your cupboards stocked,” the CIA Director continued with a flourish of her hand around the space they currently resided in, pausing and blinking down at the three guinea pigs currently running around their pen, “Are those- You know what?” she shook her head, “Never mind.”

“Your new mission?” She continued, with falsely exaggerated exuberance, “Go charm their socks off, rub shoulders, rub other things if so inclined-,” Ava was halfway through a vulgar expletive just as de Fontaine cut her off with raised hands, “Just a suggestion. The point is kids,” she looked down at them still sitting cross legged, or else in relaxed ease on the floor around the chirruping critters, much like a class of kindergarteners, “We need money. The government isn’t backing our horse as much as I’d have liked, and we’re in desperate need of stakeholders, unless one of you inherited the Stark fortune?” She asked, looking around at Bucky with mocking speculation. “No? Shame.”

Bucky glowered darkly, lips thinning and mechanical hand flexing.

“When is this?” Yelena asked dryly.

“Tonight,” Valentina replied, beckoning the small entourage behind her into action. “Alright get to work, just make them look-,” she paused, eyes drifting down to the baggy sweater Yelena wore, “-Sellable.”

What she wouldn’t give to throw the woman through the window.

“Yes ma’am,” the supposed head of the stylist crew said before delivering instructions out to the small group and personal assignments, their small sanctuary suddenly a bustling hub of movement.

While John, Alexei and Bucky were being fitted for their suits, Yelena and Ava were forced into chairs and brushes forced into their faces. Yelena watched as Ava phased in and out, smirk growing sharply whenever the artist attempted to dab her face with foundation, the artist designated to her erupting into curses after the tenth attempt to paint her cheek was met with Ava disappearing.

Bob had moved the guinea pigs into the enclosed hutches by the windows before moving to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, watching the action happening by the sidelines in easy amusement.

He already had his suit, a nondescript thing to fit in with Mel as another P.A. Simple enough so he wouldn’t stand out like his teammates, a decision that had been made together in an effort to hinder any media curiosity or probing.

Bob was a member of their team, that was something they all agreed on, he just wasn’t an active member. They weren’t about to tell the media circus this and allow them to rip him apart. They’d already begun filming and releasing documentaries about each individual and whatever information they could find out about their pasts, which were now being broadcast to the world in HD.

What they would possibly do to Robert Reynolds was… concerning.

If the world realised who the Void was.

Or just how powerful Bob is, and how dangerous he could be.

How interesting he could be to the wrong people.

One of the stylists pinched at her earlobe with its multiple studs and hoops, tutting out in distain at their appearance, Yelena’s hand snapped upwards and gripped his wrist tightly.

“You touch me again you lose a hand,” she told him sharply, releasing him roughly and throwing his hand away, the stylist huffing and hugging his wrist close to his chest. She ignored him, looking back to where Bob stood behind the kitchen island and tensing upon Valentina’s approach.

She tuned everything else to listen in on whatever interaction was to follow, ready to leap off her chair at any moment to intervene.    

“Hello Robert,” Valentina greeted him softly, almost too soft for Yelena to pick up on, momentarily glad that lip-reading was also a skill forced onto her whilst trapped in the Red Rooms.    

“Hi,” Bob replied easily enough, only a hint of trepidation noticeable upon her approach.

“And how are you feeling lately?” Valentina asked as motherly as she could, which was admittedly, not a strong trait of hers, “Oh, but we haven’t spoken in an age, have we?”

“Err,” Bob scratched the back of his head, “I’m doing fine? Yeah. How are you?”

Valentina’s too bright smile stayed locked in, “Good Robert, I’m good,” she cleared her throat, suddenly pivoting into, “Well then, any powers showing themselves without you going all-,” the woman gestured at her head and began spinning her finger just as Yelena leapt from her chair and out of the clutches of her stylists.

“Alright, good chat as always Valentina,” she cut in brutally quick, hooking Bob by the arm and turning him away from the clutches of the harpy he was currently ensnared by, just as he was trying to find an answer, “ Catch up is over.”

She didn’t bother to look Valentina’s way as she frogmarched Bob back to the seat she had vacated, as well as the foot tapping, frustrated stylists with make-up brushes in hand.

“Ignore her,” Yelena told him, making him sit close by on the couch. “She never says anything worth being said anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed after a moment, sparing her a quick smile before settling back into the sofa with crossed arms, his eyes glazing over as he began to stare into space again, whatever his mind was now warring with due to Valentina’s short-lived interrogation made Yelena wish she’d just thrown the woman out the window the first chance she’d gotten.

She looked across the room to Bucky, who was also watching Bob, concern obvious behind the frown on his lips. She looked away just as Bucky looked to her, attempting to send a silent message across at her by way of his usual, penetrating stare.

“You’re not crazy,” Yelena said to Bob, who snapped out of his daze and looked back over at her wide-eyed, “Crazy people iron their jeans and vacuum twice a day, or they wear leopard print and sandals in the winter. Or the ones who can’t hold a tune and still go on American Idol and get surprised when Simon Cowell stones them on public TV.”

Bob blinked, lips lifting at the corner upon her definition of crazy, “Simon Cowell isn’t a judge anymore. I don’t think he’s been one for well over a decade.”

“And name one American Idol winner since then,” Yelena decreed, with a shrug. “I’m just saying the pieces of the puzzle are all there.”

Bob grinned, shaking his head, “Thanks.”

Yelena cocked her head, which made the person doing her hair hiss out in annoyance, “For what?”

“Distracting me,” he replied with a shrug, averting his gaze from hers as his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “You always know how to bring me out.”

“Oh, I’m great at distractions,” Yelena supplied, noting Bucky’s gaze softening and turning away as he was handed his garment bag. Crisis averted.

She only hoped she could always be around to keep him distracted.

She smiled, “What’s Kelly Clarkson up to nowadays anyway?”