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The default alarm at the new Avengers compound is bird song. It starts quietly, with long breaks between the chirping and then slowly builds and swarms until you are awake. The thought was that the lives of those in the compound are stressful enough, so their sleeping quarters should be as soothing as possible.
Yelena turned that shit off the first chance she got. She got rid of the mirror and peeled the memory foam mattress topper from the bed. The thick duvet went too; she can manage in a thin sheet. The blackout curtains are never fully opened - and it was worth the 30 minutes of arguing with the compound A.I. that it took to get it that way.
She needs a loud screeching to wake her up, the nature crap just makes her skin crawl and sets her fight or flight off the longer it goes on. Sinking into the bed has her feeling trapped, like she can’t easily get up and out like she can with a stiffer and firmer mattress. She doesn’t need to be swaddled like a babe in a blanket, just protected enough from any breeze that blows through her ajar window. One night, before she had made the change, Yelena woke underneath the impossibly bulky sheets and thought for a moment that its embrace was Natasha, holding her tightly to fend off nightmares like she had done when they were children in Ohio.
The duvet went out the window and Yelena didn’t leave her quarters until evening.
And who needs to see themselves in the mornings, anyway? If her hair is giving her trouble, she’ll just prop up her phone and use the front camera. That’s far better than turning around just to see her reflection watching her. Her body is hers again, but that doesn’t mean she wants to know what it looks like. It looks like something that can kill and tear and break - like it can bend and snap and crush - like a weapon made for twisting necks and taking hits, for making every part of her a machine, like every muscle is practiced in one act, like a thing with a purpose –
Kate Bishop is completely different. She loves it all. The archer got a second mirror and asked the computer to vary the bird species’ tweeting to her every morning, to make each sunrise feel a bit more special.
Kate Bishop is built for softer things. Yelena is not.
Given that their rooms are across from each other - much to Yelena’s constant complaints - she often finds herself hearing a stray chirp in the mornings, long after she has smacked silent her own alarm. That feels more natural, like the noises of life are a corridor away. Safe from her.
This morning, no noises from Bishop’s “soothing waking experience” filter through. Yelena makes a point to note has no strong opinions about it. Maybe the other woman wanted to sleep in.
She scrubs her face with cold water and a worn cloth. That perks her up, too. Harder to be alert if you’re surrounded by warmth.
Once dressed, she pushes out into the hall. Kate Bishop’s door is ajar and the lights are off. Yelena considers looking inside, but doesn’t.
Maybe Kate didn’t sleep at the compound last night, after all. Yelena shakes her head before her mind can wander.
After two hours in the gym - working up a sweat until her whole body is red and sore - with no sign of Kate, who usually trickles in after Yelena most mornings - she confirms to herself that the archer did indeed spend the night elsewhere. She also decides that she doesn’t care.
Sam’s the only one in the break room. He’s eating cheerios. Bucky’s cheerios, if the name on the box is to be believed.
“Mornin’, Belova,” he greets.
“Samuel. Good morning.”
He rolls his eyes, “how many times have I told you, don’t–”
She slams a cupboard open. Mixed in with her scowl, it makes her point, and he trails off.
The only sound for several minutes is of the kettle boiling and the crunching of iron-rich breakfast cereals. Then, the boiling ends and there’s the rhythmic scraping of her spoon as she stirs the instant coffee.
Yelena has her first sip before it’s quite cooled. So much better than the overproduced freshly-ground crap the machine further down the counter makes.
Sam’s watching her, but when she goes to meet his gaze he looks away.
She sighs.
“No sign of our little bird today?” she asks, biting her cheek for not letting it lie.
He frowns and raises an eyebrow at her, “who?”
Yelena groans and wafts the air dismissively, “you know… Hawkeye? Bow and arrow, annoying quips and one-liners. Affinity for ridiculous trick arrows.”
Finishing his cereal, Sam clicks open the dishwasher and puts his bowl and spoon inside.
“Clint’s at the farm. With his family. Still retired.” He replies dryly.
She doesn’t have time for his jokes.
“Fine,” she says, starting back to her room where a cold shower awaits her, “I don’t give a shit where she is. I just need that debrief done.”
“Whatever you say, Yelena,” Sam says.
He waits until she’s at the doorway with her half-drunk coffee before his final remark.
“Oh, before I forget: Red gets back from Madripoor this evening. She’ll want to see you.”
Yelena shrugs and keeps on walking.
She has no idea why Wanda would want to see her. Frankly, Yelena thought she was dead.
Ah well, she thinks to herself, these superhero-types never stay dead for long.
Once showered and dressed in some loose sweatpants and an oversized shirt with an image of some rock band that Alexei is fanatical about, Yelena makes her way to the operations room to finish her report.
A fleet of screens cover every wall and desk, and wash the windowless room in a pale blue glow. There were no assigned seats and computers, but Yelena favours one in the far corner with a broken chair. She slides into it and taps the screen. It squeaks under her weight.
All the technology in the compound runs too cold for Yelena’s liking. A device should exert itself and get warm, just like a person.
The mission had been easy. Her and Kate extracted the hostages while Rhodes and Wilson caused a distraction - and what a distraction it had been - at the front gates.
Her gun automatically logs how many times it has been fired, but she refuses to let any of her more electronics-inclined comrades near her Widow’s Bites, so she will have to enter those uses manually.
She finds the mission file from yesterday. She double checks the coordinates and timecodes, never quite trusting the compound’s smooth-talking machines.
It all checks out.
She’s halfway-through writing when she notices that the mission parameters only have three names attached.
“‘Undertaken by Yelena Belova, James Rhodes, and Sam Wilson’” she reads aloud.
Not giving credit where it is due is a grievous mistake Yelena would rather avoid, even if Kate’s desire to show off one of her new arrows had nearly jeopardised the whole thing.
It should be simple enough to correct. She scrolls down the list of profiles on the computer, and frowns when it jumps from Banner, Barnes, Barton to Hill without interruption.
“Computer!” she shouts.
“How may I assist you, Yelena Belova?” the computerised voice replies.
“Where is the Hawkeye profile?”
“Loading the Hawkeye profile on your screen, now,” it says.
There’s a Beep! before a picture of Clint pops up on her monitor - an old picture , Yelena thinks, he hasn’t looked this good in at least a decade.
“No, no.” She says, “Computer -”
“My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
“Mhm. Computer, this is the wrong file,” Yelena says.
“This is the file for the Avenger known as Hawkeye.”
Yelena rolls her eyes. Useless robots.
“No. I want the profile for the new Hawkeye.”
After a pause: “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, Ms Belova.”
“Bring up the profile for Kate Bishop! She has been excluded from this report! It may not have been her best performance, but it was certainly not her worst, and cutting her out like this is not cool. ”
Another pause.
Yelena considers swearing at her nearest speaker and whether that would speed up processes.
“There is no operative by that name in our system,” the computer recites, “would you like me to create a new profile for an external ally?”
Yelena tugs on the end of one of her braids.
“Show me the profile for Katherine Elizabeth Bishop! I know you have it!” she didn’t anticipate getting this irritated, but her voice is raised and she feels her volume increasing with each word.
There is a series of beeps and blips. Even away from her alarm clock, Yelena cannot escape inane chirping.
“Here is a generated profile for Katherine Bishop, CEO of Bishop Security. Is this your intended target?”
Yelena’s mouth is dry. She wets her lips.
Skimming the generated profile, Yelena sees no mention of Hawkeye, heroism, or archery. She’s not surprised. Seeing the image attached was enough to make the back of her neck feel cold.
At first, she thought it was of a young man – an unmentioned brother, perhaps – but on closer inspection it’s definitely Kate. The arms are less defined, and the shoulder’s less muscled and hanging lower than she’s used to seeing. In the computer’s photo of ‘the CEO of Bishop Security’, there’s a pallor that Yelena never saw in her teammate’s face. The cheeks are less rounded, the jawbone sharper. The strongest difference is that in this photo, Kate’s long black hair has been all cut away, leaving it similar to the Parker boy’s – although she’s styled it with an intentional messiness that Peter could never pull off.
“Computer!”
“My name is F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I am sorry?”
“This photo, these words. Not a single mention of her time as Hawkeye. Is this a joke? Did that little man - Lang - did he put you up to this?”
“No, Ms Belova. This profile is 100% factual. As of 2 minutes and 13 seconds ago.”
Yelena exhales. She pushes back from the desk and her chair tilts dangerously to one side. She swears and hops to her feet.
Running out the operations room, Yelena finds herself feeling followed by Kate Bishop’s eyes in the photo the A.I. had shown. Still blue, but icier than Yelena had ever known. There was something behind them that she had never seen within Kate before. She shivers.
She finds Sam outside, reclined on the grass in the mid-morning sun with one of those historical romance novels he pretends not to love.
“You!” she shouts.
“Me?” he says, closing ‘The Fishwife’s Affair’ and placing it on the ground.
“Are you fucking with me?” she shouts as she powers across the lawn.
She’s glaring and more than a little red in the face. When Sam notices that she isn’t slowing down, he scrambles backwards and up to his feet, holding his hands out in front of him.
“Hey hey hey!” he yells, “what is this all about, Goldilocks?”
Yelena stops. She clenches her fists at her side. She forces her voice steady.
“Are. You. Fucking. With. Me?”
“About what, Belova?”
“Kate Bishop. Do you know her?”
The defensive stance drops as Sam tilts his head at her.
“... The billionaire?” Sam jumps when he sees on her face how little she liked that answer, “y-yeah I’ve heard of her. What of it? You looking to invest in private security? I always thought we did pretty well around here.”
“Who is Hawkeye?”
Sam stops looking at her like she’s dangerous and starts looking at her like she has a screw loose.
“Clint? Barton. And he’s at his farm with his family, like he always is, like I said early.”
“And the new Hawkeye?”
“This a test? There’s no ‘new Hawkeye’.”
“Дерьмо!”
Turning on her heels, she heads back inside, leaving a confused Captain America to return to his bodice-ripper.
Once back in the compound, she rounds a corner so that Sam’s eyes cannot follow her, and leans against the wall. She takes a deep breath.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Yelana says, “prep a quinjet. I’m going to New York City.”
“Right away, Ms Belova.”
***
Wakandan engineering means it will be a blessedly short flight.
“Katherine Bishop. ‘The billionaire’. Tell me about her.” Yelena says.
“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop - reportedly known as ‘Kit’ to her friends -”
Yelena gags, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. continues.
“Born in 2002 in New Jersey, current CEO of Bishop Security, graduate of Harvard Business school -”
“No, no, no. That’s wrong. This is all wrong! Stop saying these things!”
“I’m sorry, Ms Belova. Would you like to see footage of one of Ms Bishop’s recent speeches?”
Yelena pauses, leaning back in her chair.
“Yes.”
A video projects in front of her, featuring an unfamiliar Bishop visage matching the one Yelena had seen in the Operations room. Kate - or ‘Kit’, ugh - is addressing a crowd.
“When I was 17 years old, both my mother and father vanished in the blip,” her voice is lower, more coarse, than Yelena knows it to be, with a subtle New Jersey twang the real Kate had never picked up, “I was barely old enough to drive. Let alone drive well . And I’d only just started drinking!”
There’s a wry smile from Kate as the crowd laughs, but she clears her throat and takes on a more serious tone.
“I had lost my parents in an instant, and Bishop Security had lost its founders and CEOs. It was only with the help and guidance of a treasured friend of my father’s that I was able to forge a path ahead, push past my grief, and move forward into this new world . It was a brand new day. Both for myself and for Bishop Security. I put in the work. I put in the time. I became the person that I, this company, and this city, needed. And then, the impossible happened again, and my parents returned to me. I had tried for five years to act in a way that would make them proud, and now I had a chance to make them even prouder, by showing Derek and Eleanor that everything they had built - everything they had fought for - was in safe hands. They were overjoyed - and more than happy to accept an early retirement when offered –” laughter again, “– All of this to say: I would be lost, and so would Bishop Security, and so would my family’s legacy, if it weren’t for the help of one man . The man we are here to celebrate today –”
“Shut it off,” Yelena says, “I’ve seen enough.”
The video vanishes.
She wants to throw up. She goes to take a deep breath, but it’s harder with this uneasy tightening around her throat.
“We have arrived in New York City. Where would you like to land?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says.
***
There are guards at the entrance to Bishop security. They’re more well-armed than Yelena expected, and as she looks past them through the glass doors, she wonders if the company recently renovated, as the foyer is looking more opulent than it has previously, with expensive-looking art on the walls, and a glass chandelier she definitely doesn’t remember last time.
“Fucking rich people,” Yelena mutters as she approaches the entrance.
“Can we help you, Miss?” says one of the guards, managing to force the words past the gum he’s chewing.
They’re both much taller than her, and she despises having to crane her neck.
“I’m here to see Ms Bishop.”
One of the guards looks her up and down. Her skin crawls.
“Oh yeah,” he smirks, “I’ll bet you are.”
The guards look at each other and laugh.
Plastering on a fake smile that makes her cheeks ache, she says: “If you contact Miss Bishop and tell her Yelena wants to speak to her, I am certain she will tell you to let me through. And be very upset that you have delayed my progress.”
“That so?”
They laugh again.
She scowls at them. Yelena’s been told she has a good scowl. It gets her things when she wants them. This time, it isn’t so effective.
“Spin around and go home, darlin’, you’ll have no luck here,” the guard says.
She could shatter his kneecap with one well placed strike and catch his neck with a Widow’s Bite before he even registers the break. Taking out his partner would be even easier once she had the man’s gun in hand.
Someone pushes past her and shows an identification card on a lanyard. The guards part and let him through.
Yelena exhales and walks away.
Time for Plan B.
Plan B, also known as ‘going through the fifth floor window’ is a roaring success. Yelena congratulates herself.
She slides the window shut behind her and she steps down onto the floor of an empty meeting room. Thankful for her over-preparedness, she was able to exchange her current clothes for something more office-appropriate stored in the quinjet - a white shirt, a dark green blazer and matching skirt, and a number of rings which are equipped to double as tasers if need be.
Confident in her disguise, she doesn’t slink down the corridor or make any effort to hide. That could only get her so far; one person spots her sneaking, and she’s a goner. Much better to make people think she is a fellow employee they don’t recognise than someone who is where they shouldn’t be. She walks through the halls like it’s the most normal thing in the world, like this is exactly where she should be. And with something wrong with Kate Bishop, it is .
It’s mid-morning at this point. The office is full but no one is even thinking about taking a lunch break yet, so she passes few people. She picks a keycard from a middle-aged woman’s pocket as she walks by. It’s as easy as breathing. If anyone asks, Yelena’s name is Maggie and she works in the IT team and has medium-level access.
She is just wondering how to ask where Kate Bishop’s office is without raising suspicion when she emerges into a wider room of bullpens, ringing phones and stressed faces typing furiously at computers.
A laugh draws her attention. It’s far too genuine for the oppressive setting.
It’s a young woman, maybe twenty years old - ginger hair in a bun, a blue blouse and a black skirt - who has turned away from her screen to twirl her hair and chat to the person in a dark purple suit leant against the bullpen barrier, grinning.
Kate Bishop’s new hair is even shorter than it had looked in the photo and video. Without knowing where it comes from, Yelena has the urge to run her hand across the back of the other woman’s head, to feel the short hairs prick against her palm.
She shakes her head to rid herself of the thought. It mostly works.
Even as she makes her way closer to Kate - now without anything resembling a plan - she struggles to overhear what is being whispered to the ginger woman in low tones.
“...No… I’m completely serious… You should come see it with me next time I fly out…” is all Yelena can make out. It’s enough to make her forehead feel hot. She can feel the blood pumping in her ears.
“Kate Bishop.” Yelena says once she is close enough.
Kate’s attention drifts her way. She doesn’t quite look at Yelena.
She says “that’s me. What’s up?” before she turns back to the redhead.
“We need to talk.” Yelena forces herself to loosen her fists
Kate looks back at her, and her eyes flick over Yelena’s features, the stern expression they’re contorted into, and her eyes widen.
“Right,” Kate says seriously, standing fully, “Yes. I think we do.”
Yelena’s jaw unclenches.
Kate grabs Yelena’s wrist and her breath catches.
No one - aside from the annoyed redhead - watches them go.
Yelena lets Kate pull her into a stairwell. There’s no noise of anyone above or below them.
Yelena finds herself wanting to squirm when she sees Kate watching her intensely.
When Kate smiles, it’s more of a lopsided grin than Yelena expects.
“You know,” Kate says, “it’s really good to see you again.”
“It is good to see you too, Kate Bishop,” Yelena says, her eyes darting from Kate’s face to the collection of silver piercings on one ear that the archer definitely didn’t have yesterday.
Kate laughs: “please, call me Kit.”
“Absolutely not.”
Kate laughs louder, “alright then.”
Putting a hand on Kate’s shoulder, Yelena says, “what is happening Kate Bishop? Where did you go? What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to leave you high and dry. I was just… busy.”
Kate’s voice has an unfamiliar rasp to it, like she’s been shouting. Or spent the last decade failing to kick a nicotine addiction. She places her hand over Yelena’s.
Yelena suddenly has the urge to wipe the sweat from her palms on her skirt. Her voice falters.
“Too busy to tell me you were leaving? Something is clearly going on here!”
“I had meetings,” Kate tilts her head back and leans against the wall, “maybe I should set one up with you, so we can sort this whole thing out, huh?”
“You are teasing me, Kate Bishop.” Yelena pulls her hand back, “I am trying to be serious.”
“A little bit. And you don’t have to worry about something ‘going on’, that girl back there? Just a new intern I’m helping get settled during her first week.”
Frowning, Yelena says, “that girl? What about her? Is she dangerous?”
Kate’s eyes go wide. She opens her mouth and closes it again.
“Wait a minute.” Kate says, an eyebrow raised “... have we slept together?”
Yelena physically recoils/
“What!?”
“Oh.” Kate says, “That’s definitely a ‘no’, yeah?”
“It is absolutely a no! What are you talking about?”
Kate scratches the back of her neck.
At the worst moment possible, the door creaks open and a man in his late 50s enters into the stairwell.
“Hi Kit,” he waves.
“Hey David,” ‘Kit’ waves back.
The man makes his way up the stairs.
Yelena glares at Kate while they listen to his footsteps echoing from above.
They hear a door open and close. They’re alone again.
Yelena explodes, “What the hell was that!? You think we slept together? ”
The other woman won’t meet her gaze.
“I mean… kinda?”
When Yelena spins and starts to storm off, Kate follows her.
“Wait wait wait! Was I meant to think? You track me down, interrupt me when I’m flirting with someone - and look capital-p pissed about that, by the way - and say that we ‘need to talk’. Plus, you’re exactly my type.”
“That doesn’t mean that - I - what? I am?” Yelena turns back around, and is kicking herself for picking up on that last detail the moment the question escapes her mouth.
“You know. Short. Blonde. Hot. Wearing nice clothes I’m certain you’ll look better out of.”
Yelena almost retches and ignores the heat in her cheeks. “That is disgusting. Am I meant to be swooning?”
Shrugging, Kate says “it works more than you’d think.”
“Дерьмо!”
There’s a pause.
“So…” Kate fiddles absentmindedly with one of her earrings, “if we haven’t fucked–”
“You should know who you have and haven’t had sex with, Kate Bishop.”
“I’m a busy woman! Things slip my mind! But. If we haven’t – and I’m not certain of that fact, because this reaction is… a lot – who are you? Do you even work here? Who let you in?”
There’s a question Yelena has been dreading asking.
“Kate Bishop. Do you know who I am?”
Kate frowns, “should I?”
Yelena feels nauseous.
“My name is Yelena Belova. I work with the Avengers. I work with you .”
“Uhh, you definitely don’t work with me,” blue eyes flick up and down Yelena’s body, they stop on her legs, “I think I’d remember.”
For the good of Yelena’s psyche, and to prevent any violence, Yelena pretends not to have heard that remark.
Kate sighs, “wait. Hang on. I think I know someone who can help.”
“What? Who?”
“You’ll see. Follow me.”
Kate shoves her hands in her pockets and starts down the stairs. Her pace is decidedly unurgent.
Yelena stays still, weighing up how much easier it would be to just tase Kate Bishop and drag her to the quinjet.
Halfway down the first set of stairs Kate looks back, “You coming?”
“Fine.”
This woman doesn’t look at Yelena as frequently as Kate usually does. Yelena tries to ignore the fact she hates that most of all. She’s used to the archer sneaking glances at her when Kate thinks she isn’t looking.
“So. you’re an Avenger?”
“I work with the Avengers. I would never join their silly little team.”
Kate snorts.
“How’d you get the gig?”
“My sister.”
Kate doesn’t say anything in response.
“Natasha Romanoff,” Yelena elaborates.
“Holy shit,” Kate says, “Your sister is the Black Widow?”
“My sister was the Black Widow.”
Kate runs a hand through her hair.
“So you’re… what, a spy?”
“Former assassin.”
“That’s kinda hot. What’s the difference?”
“ I have my martini stirred, not shaken.”
Throwing her head back, Kate barks a laugh up to the floors above them. It sets off a fluttering in the base of Yelena’s stomach.
When they reach the ground floor, Yelena follows Kate out through a door and ends up back in the foyer. Kate gestures to a man with a buzzcut and wide shoulders in a guard uniform. He wanders over.
“Yelena Belova, this is Hank Corbett. He’s one of the heads of our security team.”
“Hi,” says Hank, his voice baritone, squinting at her.
Yelena nods to him.
Kate continues, “Yelena is unwell and very distressed, please escort her off of the premises and ensure she gets to her car.”
Hank nods, and Kate turns to go.
“Wait, what?” Yelena starts as Hank grabs her forearm, “what are you doing?”
Kate looks back at her blankly.
She reaches into her blazer pocket and pulls out a pair of purple aviators, flicks them open, and puts them on.
“Me? I’m going back to flirt with that redhead. You’ve wasted enough prime courting time as it is. Without this interruption, I could have convinced her to come back to my office by now. Or the broom closet, at least.”
Her mouth hanging open, Yelena lets Hank drag her several steps towards the door before breaking out of his hold to make after Kate.
“Kate Bishop! This isn’t right! And sunglasses inside are not cool! You look like an asshole!”
Bishop stops in the doorway.
“I don’t know you. And the only thing I know about Avengers business – if I can even be bothered to believe that tall tale – is that it’s none of my business. And stop referring to me by full name - it’s wayyyy too formal, and getting on my nerves. Don’t let her back in the building, Hank.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
Yelena swears. She swears again. She only feels marginally better. She wants to scream but she settles for stamping a foot on the ground in frustration and breaking Hank’s hand in several places when goes to grab her again.
“I’ll see myself out,” she growls, ignoring the looks from Bishop Security employees as she leaves the building.
***
“Greetings, Ms Belova,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says when Yelena steps back into the quinjet, “were you successful in your mission?”
Yelena grumbles.
“What was that, Ms Belova? I did not catch that.”
“I was not successful. Kate is… wrong. In every way. I need to talk to her again.”
“Is that wise?”
“Can you download the building plan of Bishop Security? I need to know which window leads to Kate Bishop’s office.”
“Of course, Ms Belova.”
Yelena reviews the map F.R.I.D.A.Y. projects. After a testing prod, she learns she can rotate the hologram with a motion of her hand.
“Ms Belova.”
“Yes?”
“I have a piece of information you may find pertinent.”
“Not now, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
“It is about why Ms Bishop may be acting different than you expected.”
Yelena freezes in her examination of the building map. She tugs on the end of her braid and scratches beneath her chin.
“Go on.”
“Several Stark Industries sensors around the globe detected a spike in energy reminiscent of the signature given out by erupting Pym Particles.”
“Pym particles? Like bug boy senior? What could that mean?” Yelena asks.
“This heavily theoretical, but it could indicate that someone altered the timestream.”
“Ебать!” Yelena shouts.
***
“Bishop. We need to talk,” Yelena says, poking through the window frame of Kate Bishop’s office in her combat gear.
“Jesus Christ!” the ginger woman from earlier says, jumping up from Kate’s lap.
She smoothes out her hair with both hands and pulls down the hem of her skirt, straightening it.
Kate sighs. Yelena steps into the office.
“You again? I hope you’re here to pay Hank’s hospital bill. The man will never bowl again. Well, he will, but he’s going to have a much harder time beating his old high score.”
“Do you want me to go?” the redhead asks.
“No,” says Kate.
“Yes,” says Yelena at the exact same time.
The woman gulps, nods, picks her top off the floor, and slinks out of the office.
Pushing up from her desk chair, Kate crosses the room towards a cabinet of alcohol.
“Very nice. Very smooth Agent Belova. You’re really something else, you know that, blondie?” she takes down two whiskey tumblers, “can I tempt you with a glass?”
“I don’t drink on the job,” Yelena says.
It’s a complete lie, but she wants to make sure that this wrong Kate Bishop doesn’t get too comfortable.
“This is all wrong,” Yelena says.
“You’re telling me,” Kate mutters, sipping her whiskey and staring out the window, “although seeing you climb through a window on the eighth floor makes me think again about doubting your ‘former assassin’ story.”
“Someone has altered history.”
“Is that a political statement? Metaphorical? ‘History is written by the victors’ and all that?”
“You are not meant to be the CEO of Bishop Security,” Yelena says, keeping firm, and considering switching on her Widow’s Bites in a show of force.
Kate sniffs, “that’s not what Forbes 30 under 30 said.”
“No. Kate Bishop. You are not understanding.”
“I thought I told you to quit it with the full name crap. I’m really getting tired of it.”
“You could be more than this -“
“-I object to that remark-“ Kate scoffs.
“-you are a hero . You were - are meant to be the new Hawkeye.”
Kate laughs. Usually, it’s a sound Yelena loves to hear, but this isn’t the friendly giggling she expects from Kate, that starts small and quiet but gets louder and louder - the one that makes the base of her skull fuzz with static - this laugh is mocking and cruel.
“The bow and arrow guy? The bow and arrow guy. If you were trying to con me, you could’ve at least said I was the new Captain Marvel,” Kate runs a hand through her hair before finishing her glass and going to leave, “Hank’s in the hospital, but I’ll ring Lenny and Marcus to help your way to the exit. Permanently, this time.”
“You were so annoying about it, too.” Yelena follows her, stepping in front of Kate and blocking her exit, “you told me once that you were the world’s best archer.”
“Wow. Sounds like this ‘Hawkeye’ of yours has an ego on her,” Kate sounds bored, already looking past Yelena.
“She does,” Yelena says, trying to disguise the fondness in her voice, “and the skills to back it up.”
Kate looks at her blankly. After a moment, she rolls her eyes.
“I… may have done some archery in college, but I quit years ago.”
Yelena frowns.
“You quit? Why?”
She shrugs, “I had better things to do.”
Kate goes to push her out of the way, but Yelena grabs her wrist.
“No.” Yelena says, scowling at the other woman, “not yet.”
Some thought flashes across Kate’s face and she smirks.
“This isn’t some weird sexual fantasy of yours, is it?” Kate asks.
“What?”
“No, I get it, really. I’m ‘Hawkeye’. It would explain your reaction to me asking if we’ve slept together. You’ve got the hots for your sister’s best friend and are looking for some roleplay. Nothing wrong with wanting an older man, princess.”
Whatever expression of disgust Yelena makes in response to that statement, it starts Kate laughing again.
“Or maybe…” Kate says, taking a step closer, pushing into Yelena’s space, “you came all this way because you just want a rich woman to buy you something nice. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Kate’s hand cups Yelena’s face. Yelena feels burning where the other woman’s thumb gently brushes her cheek.
“Kate Bishop…”
“Shhh. First name or last name, blondie, pick one and stick with it.”
“Bishop…” Yelena’s voice wavers.
“I would, you know,” Kate adds, her voice low and her eyes darkening.
“You would what?” Yelena can’t be certain - refuses to believe it - but she thinks she might be trembling.
Kate takes a deep breath, and her eyes flick up and down Yelena’s body again. It causes a prickling beneath the blonde’s skin
Kate bends forward, her mouth right at Yelena’s ear when she whispers, “… buy you something nice. You’re beautiful.”
Even though her legs are starting to feel like jelly, Yelena forces herself to move back and slap Kate’s hand away.
“No! I - you - we never - stop, Kate! You are better than this.”
Kate steps away, leaning on the table.
“That’s the thing, beautiful,” Kate shoves her hands in her pockets , “I don’t know if I am.”
“I know you are.”
Kate stares at her. Yelena wonders if she is looking for something in her face, some sign that this is delusion or deception.
“There’s something about you, Agent Belova. I can’t explain it. You’re giving me a migraine, certainly, but the more you say, the more I want to hear you out.”
Yelena breathes a sigh of relief.
Withdrawing a black wallet from her blazer, Bishop takes out a business card, and scribbles something on it before handing it to Yelena.
“This restaurant. Tomorrow. 7pm. Wear something nice. Classy. Not that you don’t rock the G.I. Joe look, but it’s just not that kind of restaurant.”
Cautiously, Yelena takes the card, “you’re inviting me out to dinner?”
Bishop nods.
“I think I’ll enjoy listening to whatever it is you have to say while drinking expensive wine. And when it isn’t happening right after you break into the security company I own without setting off a single alarm. Twice.”
“Can I trust you to stay true to your word, Bishop?” Yelena says, hating how she is almost thankful for the opportunity to escape this moment.
Shrugging, Kate puts her hands back in her pockets and says, “probably not.”
For some reason, this admission pushes Yelena the closest to the breaking point. But Dreykov taught her to never cry in front of the enemy.
***
“That’s right, Ms Belova. This tachyon disruption could have altered the timelines of any number of individuals and events.”
“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Yelena says as she steps out of quinjet and back onto the Avengers Compound, “is there any reason that I would be the only one to remember the old one? To remember the real Kate Bishop?”
“Not that my readings have indicated, but I will update you with any new findings.”
“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
Yelena is out of the hangar and in an elevator down to the residential floor. There was no mission scheduled, and no alerts on her communicator, so that’s where she expects most of her comrades to be.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”
“Yes, Ms Belova?” says a speaker above the elevator buttons.
“Can you keep this between us, for now? I do not want to set off any alarm bells in those overblown Avengers-egos before we know exactly what is going on and how to change things back to the way they should be.”
“Understood, Ms Belova.”
“Иисус, F.R.I.D.A.Y., we have had a long day together, no? We are friends now. You may call me Yelena.”
“As you wish, Yelena.”
Walking through the compound is like a blur. Yelena runs the events of the past few hours through her head, and hardly registers anything she’s seeing until she zeroes in on the man she wanted to speak to.
Rhodes is in the gym - unfortunately not alone - sweating by dumbbells.
“Hey! Iron-War-Patriot-Machine!” Yelena shouts, “I was looking for you.”
“Yelena,” he says, setting down the weights in his hands, “to what do I owe the pleasure.”
“I have a nomination. A new member of the Avengers initiative.”
He squints at her, “That’s not how that –”
Whatever remark he was going to make is interrupted by a voice Yelena never thought she’d hear again.
“What’s this? Did Yelena make a friend?”
There’s ice in Yelena’s veins. A tightness in her chest.
Her head starts to turn towards the source of the voice, but Yelena stops it, not willing to risk the heartbreak of being wrong.
“You alright, cестра?” the voice asks.
Yelena turns. “Natasha?
“Seriously, Yelena, are you alright?” says Natasha Romanoff sounding more serious now, full flesh and blood standing in the middle of the gym like it isn’t earth shattering, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Natasha…” Yelena repeats, her voice weak and waning, tears forming in her eyes, “you’re alive?”