Hold On

The wind bit at Kate’s skin as she stood on the balcony’s edge, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, fingers curled tight. The night air was sharp, cold enough to numb, but not enough to quiet the thoughts racing in her mind. Below, the city pulsed with life, a glittering illusion of normality.

People moved about their nights, laughing, celebrating, living as though the world hadn’t shifted, as though her world hadn’t collapsed entirely. She watched them, detached, as though she was separate from it all, standing on the outskirts of something she could never quite reach. It felt unfair, how easily life continued for everyone else, how time didn’t care about broken people.

She wondered when it all started to feel like this, when breathing became exhausting. When waking up stopped being a natural routine and started feeling like a punishment. If she had to pinpoint a moment, she’d say The Battle of New York. The day the Chitauri invaded. The day her father died. 

She remembered the panic, the smoke, the sky splitting open, but more than anything, she remembered the hollow feeling in her chest when she realised her dad wasn’t coming back. That was when the hole inside her first tore open: jagged, raw, impossible to fill. At first, she thought she could be strong, that she had to be. She had spent years smoothing over the edges, patching the cracks with determination and training and a carefully curated image of strength. She convinced herself she could be okay, that she could become something more than the grief threatening to swallow her whole. Her mother buried herself in work, and Kate buried herself in becoming a version of herself that wouldn’t need anyone.

But then December 2024 happened.

She exhaled, her breath clouding in the air, body rigid as she let the memories crash over her. The first memory, the moment she should have known she was doomed…the night she climbed up to that roof and shot the bell tower. It had started off as just another reckless, thoughtless thing, a challenge thrown her way by Franny and Greer. They had dared her to hit it with an arrow, and Kate, never one to back down from a dare, had taken the shot without hesitation. She even went for a second, because why not? Because it was fun, because it made them laugh, because she was Kate Bishop and she could hit anything.

And then the whole damn thing collapsed.

She can still hear the metal groaning, still feel the moment her stomach dropped when she realised she had just committed full-scale destruction of property. And worse? She got caught. Red-handed. On the roof, no escape, no clever excuse to talk her way out of it. Her mother had to pay a hefty sum to keep her out of jail, and even now, Kate can still feel the quiet, simmering disappointment. 

That had been the first crack in the illusion, the first warning sign that maybe she wasn’t as untouchable as she thought.

But that had only been the start. Then came the gala and the underground auction. Jack—her too-perfect, too-suspicious soon-to-be stepfather—grinning like he hadn’t just bid on black-market items. She had already known something was off, but then The Tracksuit Mafia stormed in, tearing through security, demanding what wasn’t theirs. And Kate? Kate had done what she always did. She had jumped into action.

That was the night she found the Ronin suit. The moment she pulled it on, something in the universe shifted. It was like a loaded gun finally going off, a chain reaction set in motion that she couldn’t stop even if she tried.

Everything got so much worse after that.

And yet, there were pieces of that night she wouldn’t trade. She had saved Lucky, her beautiful, one-eyed golden retriever, pulling him from the street just before he could be hit by a car. He needed her, and it felt good to be needed.

And then there was Clint Barton. Meeting the Hawkeye should have been the best thing to ever happen to her. And for a moment, it was. For a moment, she was just a kid again, looking up at her hero, remembering why she picked up a bow in the first place. But that moment didn’t last, because the Tracksuits didn’t stop. They kept coming. Over and over, until they set her loft ablaze, until she was forced to run.

Then Clint got himself captured, and yeah, sure, he claimed it was on purpose, that he needed intel, but she still doesn’t buy that excuse. Because who the hell lets themselves get tied to a children’s ride for fun?

There was also Maya. Kate had liked Maya, despite the whole ‘threatening to kill them’ thing. She had presence. Strength. A fire Kate could respect, even if they were technically on opposite sides.

And of course, the car chase. That had been cool. Skidding through the streets, shooting trick arrows, proving to Clint that she wasn’t just some kid tagging along. That she was good. That she could keep up.

But the high didn’t last. Because the truth was waiting for her. Clint Barton, her hero, was The Ronin. That was a hard pill to swallow, but she understood it. She understood how grief could twist someone, turn them into something darker. He had lost everything. So he became something else. Something dangerous.

Her first mission was supposed to be a win. A success. A moment that proved she belonged in this world, that she wasn’t just some overconfident kid playing dress-up. And technically, it was. She got the watch Clint was looking for. That counted for something, right? She had pulled it off…more or less.

Until they triggered a silent alarm. Until everything spiralled so far out of control that she barely knew which way was up.

Maya had attacked first, relentless and brutal, moving with a level of precision that Kate knew she wasn’t prepared for. She had done everything she could to stay alive, every movement fueled by desperation, instinct, and the sheer refusal to let herself die in some dingy apartment trying to steal a watch. Clint had saved her, of course, like he always did, a perfectly placed zip-line arrow carrying her to safety. But that safety didn’t last.

She barely had time to catch her breath before something had hit her like a freight train, slamming her to the ground with a force that rattled her bones. The attacker moved like a ghost, slipping in and out of the shadows, impossibly quick and precise. The black tactical suit, the green night vision goggles, it all screamed danger, screamed professional. And then suddenly, Kate was fighting two opponents, Maya on one side, this new mystery assassin on the other, and all she could do was scramble to keep up, to stay standing, to survive.

And then she was airborne. She didn’t even have time to react before she was falling, the wind tearing the breath from her lungs, the city spinning beneath her in a blur of light and darkness. It happened so fast, her brain barely had time to process it. One second, she was fighting. The next, she was plummeting to her death.

For a split second, she had let herself accept it. That this was how she was going to go out, not in some grand heroic moment, not in a blaze of glory, but because she had gotten in over her head one too many times.

But then she had stopped falling. A wire, strapped to her, keeping her from hitting the pavement below.

Clint was still up there, still fighting, and well Kate was well…Kate, and she wasn’t about to let him die. She had climbed her way back up, forcing her body to move, forcing herself through the exhaustion and the terror and the sheer weight of knowing she wasn’t ready for this. 

And when she reached the rooftop again, she drew her bow, aimed her arrow, and set her sights directly on the figure. But then the woman had turned. And suddenly, everything inside her ground to a halt. The mask was gone and a woman with blonde hair, sharp green eyes, and features too striking to belong to someone who had just tried to kill her looked at her. For a moment, Kate simply stared, her breath catching in her throat, her brain struggling to keep up with what she was seeing.

The woman shook her head, a subtle warning. Don’t do this.

And for reasons Kate still doesn’t fully understand, she listened. She lowered her bow. She had let the woman go.

If the night had ended there, it still would have been one of the worst nights of Kate’s life (at that point). But it didn’t end there. She was already battered and bruised, her nerves already stretched so thin they were bound to snap, when she learned the truth. The woman in black, the person who had nearly killed her?

She was a Black Widow Assassin.

A very pretty Black Widow Assassin.

That alone was enough to leave Kate spiralling she had thought of Natasha Romanoff, the Avenger and Clint's best friend who died. But Clint, her hero, her partner had pushed her away. Not physically. That might have hurt less. Instead, he had dismissed her. Like she was just some dumb kid, like she had never belonged at his side in the first place. She wasn’t his partner, wasn’t someone worth trusting. She was in the way. A burden.

And maybe… maybe he wasn’t wrong. Because that’s all she ever seemed to be. A weight people had to carry. She had spent her whole life latching onto anyone who showed her the smallest ounce of attention, forcing her way into spaces she had no right to be in. Maybe Clint had just said what everyone else had been too polite to say out loud.

Kate had finally made it home, ready to lick her wounds, to let the weight of those few days settle into her bones. Every muscle in her body ached, bruises forming in places she hadn’t even realised had been hit, and her mind was a chaotic mess of everything that had gone wrong. All she had wanted was to crawl into bed, maybe ice her injuries if she could be bothered, and sleep for a week. 

But of course, life wasn’t that kind. Of course, things couldn’t just get better from there. That would be too easy. Because when she stepped into her apartment, expecting silence, expecting solitude, she instead found an intruder. A very familiar, very blonde, very pretty intruder, making mac and cheese like she belonged there.

Yelena. Black Widow Assassin. Murder for hire. And apparently, a fan of instant mac and cheese. Kate could do nothing but stare, her brain short-circuiting as she tried to reconcile the image of this deadly woman, this assassin who had thrown her off a building, now casually stirring a pot of pasta as if they were old friends. 

And Yelena? She had been entirely unbothered. Bold, sassy, infuriatingly nonchalant about the whole situation, flashing an easy smirk as if breaking into someone’s home and raiding their kitchen was just a normal Tuesday night for her. It should have been terrifying. It should have sent Kate into full fight-or-flight mode. But instead, she was... intrigued.

Even now, she can still hear Yelena’s voice in her head, that teasing lilt as she critiqued her apartment, her lack of cutlery, the way she acted as if this was some casual hangout instead of a home invasion. It had been the first moment in the whole disastrous night that didn’t feel entirely unbearable. 

But then she said the wrong thing. She had mentioned that Clint saved the world, and the second the words left her lips, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The playfulness had drained from Yelena’s expression like a switch had been flipped, replaced by something colder, something sharper. The warmth in her voice disappeared, and instead, there was a warning, “Kate Bishop, do not get in my way again”. 

She had made it out alive, though. That was something. A small victory. But whatever fragile sense of stability she had clung to crumbled the next day when Yelena dropped the real bombshell. Eleanor Bishop, her mother had been the one to hire her.

At first, Kate had almost laughed. Like it had to be some kind of mistake. Like Yelena was just screwing with her, testing her reactions, seeing how far she could push before Kate called her bluff. Because why the hell would her mother hire a Black Widow assassin? It didn’t make any sense. Eleanor Bishop had always been distant, emotionally unavailable, and more invested in Bishop Security than in her own daughter’s life, but this? This was something else entirely. 

Eleanor hadn’t done this to protect her. She hadn’t been forced into this. She had chosen this path. She had aligned herself with Wilson Fisk. The Wilson Fisk. And just like that, everything Kate thought she knew, everything she had built her world upon, everything she had trusted it all shattered, breaking into pieces too small to ever put back together.

But she barely had time to process any of it before she was fighting for her life. Again.

Yelena had fought her, relentless but controlled. Kate knew, even as she threw her own punches, even as she dodged and countered, that Yelena had been holding back. The Black Widow could have ended the fight in seconds if she wanted to, but instead, she let it play out, let Kate keep up. And somehow, against all logic, Kate actually enjoyed the fight. Between the blocks and the kicks and the expertly landed blows, they had bantered. Yelena was flirty, teasing, smirking even as she swung at her, and Kate, against all better judgment had found herself smirking and flirting back. For a moment, it didn’t feel like life and death. For a moment, it was just a fight, and Kate knew how to fight.

And then Yelena had jumped out of a window. And just like that, the moment was over.

Kate barely had time to catch her breath before the next wave of chaos had crashed into her. The Tracksuit Mafia. A never-ending flood of idiotic, tracksuit-clad men, each dumber than the last. It would have been funny if she wasn’t already exhausted, if her body wasn’t screaming at her to stop, if she wasn’t still running on pure adrenaline and the desperate need to survive the night. And just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, when she had already reached her breaking point, she found herself face to face with Wilson Fisk himself.

And she had to fight him. Alone. She had never felt a force like that before. Every punch destroyed her. Every impact rattled through her body, shaking her bones, and knocking the air from her lungs. She had hit the ground more times than she could count, struggled to get back up, only to be thrown back down like she was nothing. It wasn’t a fight. It was survival. And all the while, through the pain, through the exhaustion, through the sheer hopelessness of it all, her mother just watched.

She won, by sheer luck, she won. And then came the worst moment of all. The moment she had to do the one thing she never imagined she’d ever have to do.

She got her own mother arrested.

On Christmas Eve.

Kate hadn’t even known how she was still standing after it was all over. She felt numb. Hollow. Like her body was still in fight mode but her mind had long since given up trying to keep up with the nightmare she had just lived through. The chaos had ended, the battle was over, and yet the damage was still there, carved into her like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Because the hardest part wasn’t fighting Fisk. It wasn’t taking down the Tracksuits or going toe-to-toe with a Black Widow assassin.

The hardest part was looking her mother in the eyes as she turned her in. As she made the choice to walk away.

The final stretch of that chaotic time, if she’s being honest, wasn’t all bad. Clint had managed to make peace with Yelena, no more bloodshed, no more grudges hanging heavy in the air. And Christmas with the Bartons? That had been nice. Comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. It was warm, filled with laughter and the kind of easy family dynamic she had never really known. It was safe. A bubble where, for a brief moment, she could pretend everything was okay.

But even in that safety, the weight of everything she had been through never truly faded. It followed her, lurking in the quiet moments, creeping in when the house grew still at night. The nightmares were relentless, dragging her back into fights she had barely survived, making her relive every punch, every fall, every moment she had thought she was going to die. 

Panic attacks came in waves, sudden and overwhelming, leaving her breathless when she least expected it. And the anger was worse than anything. It simmered beneath the surface, sharp and consuming, filling the spaces where grief and exhaustion weren’t already taking their toll.

She had survived. She knew that. But surviving wasn’t the same as being okay And now she was back home. And she was alone. Her mother is in jail. Her father is gone. Her friends are off carrying on with their lives as if the world hasn’t completely shifted beneath her feet. She's barely heard from anyone since her mom was arrested. She was totally and utterly alone.

She had no idea what to do. She knew she should take over Bishop Securities, that’s what’s expected of her. That’s what Eleanor had been grooming her for all her life. But the thought of stepping into her mother’s shoes made her stomach turn.

And the whole becoming an Avenger thing? She thought she wanted that. She should want that. But the thought of suiting up, of stepping into that world again, felt.... distant. Like something that belongs to another version of her, someone who still had hope, still had a purpose. But she doesn’t. Not anymore.

Which is why, at 2:00 AM on New Year’s Day, she’s standing on the roof of her penthouse, a half-empty bottle of tequila dangling loosely from her fingers, the bitter burn of it still lingering on her tongue. The city below is alive with celebration: streetlights glowing, crowds gathering, people waiting to count down the seconds until midnight. There’s music somewhere in the distance, laughter spilling into the streets, the kind of joy she used to be able to feel.

But up here? Up here, there’s just her and the cold. The biting wind cuts through her, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother to pull her coat tighter. She just stands there, swaying slightly, staring down at the streets far below.

Her eyes are raw, her cheeks stiff with the remnants of dried tears. She’s cried so much she’s gone numb, like her body finally gave up on trying to feel anything at all. 

And maybe that’s for the best. Because she’s tired. Tired of pretending she’s okay. Tired of waking up and going through the motions like she has a reason to. Tired of being the girl who always bounces back, the girl who makes jokes and smiles and keeps going no matter how much it hurts.

She grips the neck of the bottle tighter, then takes another long swig, but it doesn’t help. The tequila can’t drown out the ache in her chest, the sinking feeling pulling her down as she inches closer to the edge.

Maybe it was time.

“Kate Bishoooop.” The voice came from behind her, smooth and lilting, familiar in a way that cuts through the haze of alcohol fogging her brain. I know that voice.

But her thoughts were sluggish, weighed down by tequila and exhaustion and the endless loop of ‘just jump’ or ‘just let go’ from her unhelpful brain. Kate turned slowly, her movements unsteady, and when her gaze finally landed on the figure standing a few feet away, her breath caught in her throat. “Yelena…”

Yelena nodded, stepping closer, her eyes scanning Kate with an intensity that made her stomach twist. There was something unreadable in her expression, curiosity, maybe? Concern? Kate wasn’t sure, but right now, she doesn’t have the energy to figure it out.

Kate couldn’t help but stare at Yelena, drawn in despite herself. The city lights flickered in her sharp green eyes, making them shine with a depth that Kate found impossible to ignore. Her gaze traced the delicate slope of Yelena’s button nose, the fullness of her lips, and that smirk, the one that seemed to dance between teasing and knowing, like she held some secret only she was privy to. It sent a shiver down Kate’s spine, a feeling she quickly buried the moment Yelena spoke again, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“I’d have thought a rich girl like you would be at some fancy New Year’s party, or at least getting home from one,” Yelena said, her tone light, almost teasing. 

Kate scoffed, lifting the bottle to her lips again, the tequila burning its way down her throat. “Yeah, well… it’s not like my family name carries the weight it used to.” The bitterness dripped from her words, sharp and unfiltered. She tilted the bottle back again, swallowing another mouthful before muttering, “Eleanor made sure of that.”

Yelena exhaled sharply through her nose, a sound somewhere between amusement and something heavier. “I saw she went to jail.” Her voice is careful now, measured.

Kate let out a humourless laugh, the kind that felt like it might turn into a sob if she wasn’t careful. “Yeah,” she says, her grip tightening around the bottle. “I put her there.” 

For a second Yelena’s carefully crafted mask slipped. Kate saw it in the slight widening of her eyes, the subtle way her lips parted, like the words had caught her off guard. 

But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. Buried beneath her usual detached composure.

Still, Yelena hesitated before she spoke. “…Is that why you are about to jump?” Her voice is softer than Kate has ever heard it, the teasing edge she always carried nowhere to be found. Then, even quieter, almost like she didn’t want to say it out loud, “Because that would not be a cool way to die, Kate Bishop.”

Kate’s stomach twisted violently. Her pulse stuttered, panic flooding through her veins. No. No, she can’t know. She scrambled for an excuse, grasping at anything to turn this moment into something less than what it was. Something easier. Something that doesn’t feel like she’s standing here, exposed, on the edge of breaking apart.

“I…I’m not going to jump,” she stammered, her voice weak and unconvincing. She forced out a brittle laugh, lifting the bottle in a half-hearted toast to the night sky. “I was just… watching the celebrations.”

The lie fell flat between them, limp and fragile, dissolving into the cold night air. Even if Yelena weren’t a trained spy, she would have still seen through it.

Kate didn’t have to look at her to know she was being studied, dissected, every microexpression read with precision. Yelena stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until Kate could feel the weight of her presence in the space between them.

“You are drunk,” Yelena stated plainly, not unkind, just factual. She gestured at her with a small flick of her fingers, her gaze sharp. “You are alone. Your eyes are red, and your voice is hoarse.”

Kate swallowed hard, gripping the bottle so tightly that her fingers began to ache. Yelena didn’t look away. Didn’t back down.

“You are clearly hurting.” The words cut deeper than Kate expected, sliding under her ribs, and settling heavy in her chest.

Yelena exhaled, something shifting in her expression, not quite pity, not quite sympathy, but something softer than before. Something real. “You are not here to watch celebrations, Kate.”

The wind howled between them, cold and sharp, but Kate barely felt it. Because Yelena wasn’t done. “I can see the haunted look in your eyes. I know it.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a question. It’s a truth. A knowing. A weight that settled between them, thick and unspoken.

Kate huffed, the sound sharp and defensive, like she could push away the weight of Yelena’s words with just one breath. She knows Yelena has caught her. Knows that she sees the cracks, the bleeding parts of her that she can no longer put back together. But she digs her heels in, forcing herself to stand her ground.

“What does it matter?” she snapped, her voice bitter, like a protective shield she was clinging to even as it cracked apart. “What are you doing here anyways?”

Yelena didn't respond right away. Instead, she just looked at Kate, her gaze steady, unreadable for a moment, before she finally spoke, her voice calm, unbothered. “Well, I came to take you up on your offer of a drink. But it looks like you started without me.”

For just a second, a small, almost imperceptible smile flickered across Kate’s face. It’s the faintest curve of her lips, just a ghost of something that almost felt like her old self. But then the smile vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the biting self-loathing she wears like a second skin.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said, her tone sharp and dismissive as she swigged the rest of the tequila from the bottle, her eyes not meeting Yelena’s. “Though, I’m sure you can find someone else to spend the night with.” The words were a jarring mix of petulant and bitter, a thin veil for the ache she’s desperately trying to bury.

Yelena moved closer again, her voice laced with a sincerity that Kate couldn’t ignore. “But I want to spend it with you.”

The words hung between them, raw and unguarded, without a trace of sarcasm or teasing. Kate could only stare, heart stumbling over itself as she tried to process them. She couldn’t understand how could someone like Yelena, effortlessly cool, impossibly strong, so sharp and beautiful, want to spend time with her? It didn’t make sense. Yelena was everything: brilliant, capable, fearless, and Kate... Kate felt like nothing. Like she wasn’t worth the time Yelena so freely offered and that thought stung. 

She let out a bitter laugh, one that felt hollow and jagged. “And here I thought you were smart,” she muttered, her words cutting, but there was a faint edge of hurt beneath them. 

Kate stepped back, putting distance between herself and Yelena, moving closer to the edge of the roof. She stared out at the city below, the lights twinkling, the chaos of the world still going on as if none of this mattered.

“Kate…” Yelena warned, her voice laced with concern. But Kate didn’t turn around.

She just stared out over the edge, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “It’s so pretty,” she murmured, her voice distant, almost wistful. “When you aren’t stuck in the hustle and bustle, that is.”

Yelena’s worry deepened, her body tensing as she stepped forward again, her voice now tight with urgency. “Please step back, you’re drunk. You might trip.”

Kate shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling in a careless motion. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing,” she mumbled. “Not like I’ll be missed. Not like I do anything of worth.” She swayed slightly, the words coming out more fragile than she intended, cracking beneath the weight of all the pain she’d been carrying.

Yelena took another step closer, her voice barely above a whisper now, desperate. “Kate…”

“If I trip, it'll be good,” Kate continued, her voice hollow, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I came up here last night too, but I try to jump and I can't. I can't even kill myself right.”

The air between them went cold. Yelena froze, the gravity of Kate’s words slamming into her like a punch to the gut. She’s heard a lot of things in her life, but the rawness of this cuts deeper than anything she could have imagined.

Yelena’s eyes flickered, the weight of Kate’s pain slamming into her with full force, and for a moment, all she could do was take another step forward, her voice trembling as she pleaded. “Please, Kate Bishop. Please don’t say that.”

Kate didn’t turn around. She didn’t even look at Yelena. She just stared down at the city below, feeling the cold wind tear through her like it might rip her apart.

Yelena moved forward again, she didn’t know what she could say to fix this. To pull Kate back from the edge, physically or emotionally. But she has to try.

“Kate…” Yelena repeats once again as her voice cracks, the desperation seeping through her words. “You’re not alone. Please, don’t do this.”

Kate continued to just stand there, staring at the city, like everything she was feeling was reflected in the endless sea of lights and shadows.

Yelena’s voice shook, but she was louder this time, her words spilling out in a rushed, frantic plea. “Please, I don’t care what’s going on, I understand you are in pain. But you’re important.” She reached out, her hand trembling as it hovered just a few inches from Kate’s shoulder. “You matter, Kate. You matter. Please.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glassy, almost distant. The cold air seemed to bite deeper than before, but Kate didn’t seem to feel it. “Yeah?” Her voice is flat, emotionless, like she’s just reciting facts. “What if I don’t want to matter? What if I’m just... done?”

Yelena’s breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like her entire body was trying to hold itself together, like the world was collapsing around her. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her hand reached out again, more certain this time, grabbing onto Kate’s arm with a quiet urgency.

“No. No, you’re not done. You’re not." Yelena’s voice was raw, like it was tearing itself apart just to speak. "You’re stronger than this. Every single time you get up, every time you keep fighting, even when it’s harder than anything. That’s who you are. Not... not this.”

Kate’s laugh is hollow, like it’s just the bitter echo of something that’s long gone. She shrugged, the motion slow, like she was too tired to care anymore. 

“Fighting for what? For who? My mom’s gone, my dad’s dead, and the people I thought cared about me are barely around… they’ve all got their own lives. So, what’s the point?” Kate stared at the ground for a long moment, then up at the night sky, but it’s like there was no connection. No spark. She seems to have lost touch with everything.

Yelena’s heart ached, a physical pain, seeing Kate like this. She stepped closer, standing directly behind her now, her voice soft but unwavering.

“Because you’re worth more than all of that.” Yelena’s hand rests gently on Kate’s back, a steady, grounding presence. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this…this feeling you’re holding onto, it’s temporary. It will pass.”

Kate’s expression doesn’t change. It’s like the weight of everything in her life is too heavy for her to lift anymore. She sighed softly, a sigh that seemed to say it all.

“Yeah… well, right now it feels like I can’t even stand up straight without everything falling apart.” Kate’s voice is barely a whisper, like she’s saying the words to herself more than to Yelena. “And maybe that’s just who I am now. Just… someone broken.”

Yelena moved even closer, her hand sliding around Kate’s waist, pulling her back ever so slightly but not enough to make Kate feel like she was being forced off the edge. It is a move that tells Kate, without words, that she’s not alone. That someone is with her.

“You’re not broken,” Yelena stated firmly, her words like a steady anchor. “You’re just… hurting. And hurting doesn’t mean broken. It means you’re human. And I’m right here, Kate Bishop. Please, step back with me. Let me help you.”

Kate closed her eyes for a moment, as if she was weighing the option in her mind. Yelena’s grip on her is warm, solid…real.

And Kate can feel it. The steadiness. But it didn’t make the storm inside her any less violent. "Yelena, why do you care? We barely know each other." Kate’s voice is a fragile whisper, the words slipping out like a defeated sigh. 

She ran her hand over her face, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her shoulders. She couldn't quite understand why Yelena wouldn’t just let her go, why she was standing here at all when Kate felt like nothing but a hollow shell.

Yelena’s gaze softened, the usual sharpness in her features giving way to something quieter, something more unsteady. The problem with that question is that Yelena herself doesn’t know the answer.

She doesn’t know why this stubborn, reckless archer has wormed her way into her thoughts, why she feels a pull toward her that she can’t quite explain. She doesn’t know why protecting Kate feels more like instinct than obligation, why she wants to be around her, why she makes it feel like the world is a little lighter, a little less cold.

All she does know is that being near Kate makes her feel warm in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is quieter now. More earnest.

“Because, Kate.” She hesitates, like she’s trying to gather her thoughts, trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite make sense even to herself. Then, after a beat, she speaks again, this time with a rawness that shakes Kate, catching her completely off guard.

“I know you’re good,” Yelena says, the words careful, deliberate. “I know you don’t deserve this.” She swallows hard, as if she’s fighting with herself, as if what she’s about to say is something she’s never said before, probably because it is. And then, before she can stop herself, before she can take it back, the words spill out in a rush, clumsy, uncertain, but real. “And… well, I…I want you in my life. I think you are pretty cool, and I want you to be my friend.”

Yelena had never said those words before. Yelena has never really had a friend. Not since Ohio, and that was too long ago to even count. It was a different life. A life before she had to build walls around her emotions, before she learned how to lock away every vulnerable part of herself, burying it so deep it almost didn’t exist anymore. Before she understood that attachment could be dangerous. That caring about people only ever led to loss.

The other Widows, the ones she fought beside, the ones she helped free, they were family. Sisters, bonded not by choice, but by shared survival. They understood each other in ways no one else ever could, but it wasn’t the same. Their connection was forged in pain, built on necessity.

Kate blinked, the statement hitting her harder than she expected. Her breath caught in her throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she looked at Yelena as if she was really seeing her.

“You… what?” The words felt strange on her tongue, like she was hearing something impossible.

Yelena looked away for a second, a rare vulnerability cracking through her usual guarded exterior. Her voice faltered, but she pushed through it.

“After the whole thing with Barton, I came to find you that night,” Yelena admitted, her voice uncharacteristically shy, her gaze falling to the ground for a moment before meeting Kate’s again. “I wanted to see you. Wanted to check you were okay, but you weren’t there.”

Kate’s heart skipped a beat at the honesty in Yelena’s words. She had no idea that someone, let alone Yelena had been thinking about her after all the chaos, after everything that happened. 

Yelena continued, her voice low, almost hesitant. “I came here for a few nights, hoping to find you. But you never came back.” Her tone softened even more, regret lacing each word. “Then I had to go on an assignment, and I stopped coming. That’s when you must’ve come back. But even on my assignment, I kept thinking about you, something in me wanted to check on you.”

Kate’s chest tightened. This is more than she expected to hear. More than she thought she deserved. Yelena’s presence, her care, it was overwhelming.

“That’s why I came back today. I hoped you would be back.” Yelena’s voice was voice laced with guilt. “I’m so sorry I missed you on the first night you got back. Maybe, if I had been here, you wouldn’t have felt so alone.”

Kate stood frozen, her mind spinning, her emotions tangled in knots. She’s shocked, rattled to the core by Yelena’s words. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to do with this unexpected tenderness.

She stumbled slightly, her legs shaky as the full weight of what Yelena said crashed into her. And Yelena is right there, immediately tightening her grip around Kate’s waist, catching her before she could plummet.

The contact was grounding. Yelena’s grip is warm and insistent, like she was trying to hold her together when Kate felt like she was falling apart.

This was the moment when Yelena’s actions spoke louder than anything else. She didn’t let go. She didn’t pull back. Instead, she pulled Kate in closer, her hold tightened as she moved to stand behind her, shielding her from the edge.

Kate’s pulse quickened, her body acutely aware of Yelena’s warmth pressed against her own. The closeness wasn’t just physical, it was something deeper, something that tethered her to the moment, pulling her back from the edge in ways she hadn’t thought possible. The emptiness that weighed on her felt a little lighter, the loneliness not quite as suffocating.

Yelena’s voice is steady, determined now, as she held Kate against her, her words clear. “Please, Kate. I’m not letting you go.”

Kate didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t. The rush of emotions: surprise, relief, a flicker of hope were all too overwhelming. She didn’t know how to process it.

But Kate didn’t pull away either. Her heart was racing, her body trembling. Yelena’s grip around her waist was steady, warm, and she felt like it was the only thing holding her together. 

The edge of the roof no longer seemed quite as inviting, the city lights below no longer looked so beautiful from this angle. Instead, all she could focus on was Yelena’s arms around her, the way Yelena’s presence seemed to steady her in a way nothing else has.

Kate took a shaky breath, letting it out in a long exhale, and she let herself surrender to Yelena’s hold. Yelena’s scent surrounded her, something soft yet sharp, familiar yet intoxicating. She could feel the faint brush of Yelena’s breath against her skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt wanted. And God, that felt good.

“Thank you,” Kate whispered, her voice thick with emotion, not entirely sure what she was thanking Yelena for, holding her, being there, or simply not letting her fall. But the words felt right, even if they were just a whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Yelena said. Her words were soft, but there was a warmth in them that made Kate feel something stir in her chest. “You’re not alone, Kate. Not anymore. I’m with you, I promise.”

Kate’s heart beat faster, and the words lingered in her mind, in her chest, and for a moment, the emptiness she’d felt for so long was filled with something that felt like… hope. Then, with a gentle but firm pull, Yelena stepped back, her hand lightly resting on Kate’s arm, guiding her.

“Come on,” Yelena said softly. “Let’s get you inside. You’re not doing this, okay?”

Kate nodded, her legs were shaky, but she didn’t resist as Yelena gently led her back from the edge, back toward the warmth of the building. The cold night air seems less biting now, the city lights less distant. Yelena was by her side, steadying her, never letting go, and for the first time in a long time, Kate felt like she had someone to lean on.

As they make their way inside, Yelena’s arm still around her waist, Kate looked up at her, her eyes searching Yelena’s face, “how did you know I’d be at the penthouse?” Kate asked.

Yelena shrugged casually, as if it was no big deal. “Your loft burned down,” she said with an almost nonchalant air before a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “I can’t imagine a rich girl like you being able to stand such conditions. So it made sense you’d be here.” Her words were light, playful, but there’s something else in them, a touch of familiarity, a teasing warmth that softens the sharp edges of her delivery.

Kate huffed, her lips quirking despite herself. The jab lands, but there’s no malice in it, just Yelena’s way of pulling her out of the dark, even if just for a moment. 

They reach the main door, and Kate stumbles slightly as she fumbles with the security system, her fingers uncooperative, but after a few moments of struggle, she finally manages to get the door open.

Yelena stepped inside with her, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Kate is grateful to be home.

But when Yelena stepped through the door, expecting to hear the clatter of Lucky’s paws on the floor, there was nothing but silence.

Yelena paused, her eyes scanning the space, before she looked back at Kate, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Where’s Lucky?” she asked softly, guiding Kate toward the living room.

Kate paused at the question, and a sudden lump formed in her throat. She hadn’t expected the question, hadn’t anticipated that it would strike her this deeply. But she looked around the place, the emptiness in it more apparent now, and a part of her regrets her decision, but she knows it is for the best.

Yelena’s eyes are steady as she watches Kate, concern evident in her expression. She’s been patient, but now there’s something more in her gaze, a quiet, pressing worry that Kate had planned this before she even got home. That the dark thoughts have lingered for more than a couple of days.

When Kate doesn’t respond immediately, Yelena asks again, her voice firmer this time. “Where is Lucky, Kate Bishop?”

Kate’s gaze falls to the floor, avoiding Yelena’s searching eyes.  “I… I left him with Clint,” Kate murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the words a bitter weight on her tongue. “He’ll be better there. He’ll have someone to take care of him.”

Yelena’s heart clenched at the words, but Yelena didn’t react with judgment, didn’t say anything harsh. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice full of determination, “You’ll be here to take care of him, Kate.”

Her eyes don’t leave Kate’s face, as if she’s trying to reach through the walls Kate’s built around herself. The words are simple, but there’s so much unspoken in them, a promise, a hope, a quiet plea that Kate can’t bring herself to fully grasp just yet.

Kate simply shrugged, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she was carrying. “Yeah, sure. Will have to pick him up,” she said, her voice flat, empty. 

She spoke as though she was trying to convince herself, but there was no conviction behind the words, no spark in her tone. Her eyes are dim, clouded with exhaustion and something darker, a deep, invisible ache that she doesn’t know how to address.

Yelena watched her carefully, she could see the hollow look in Kate’s eyes, the way her spirit had dimmed. She knows that nothing will change overnight, that one conversation won’t make everything better. But it kills her to see Kate so… lifeless. She knows she can’t let her just slip away, not when she’s still here, still breathing, still alive.

With a firm yet gentle grip, Yelena reached out, taking Kate’s hand in hers. “Yes, we will have to pick him up,” Yelena said, her tone forcing itself to be light, to lift the heaviness in the air between them. “We could have a road trip! Barton said I could always visit.” She offered a smile, something playful, hoping it’d spark even the smallest hint of warmth in Kate.

But Kate only sighed, her voice drained of anything resembling enthusiasm. “I’ll speak to Clint and sort it out.” It’s not even an attempt at optimism. It’s simply a way to end the conversation, a way to placate Yelena, to make her go away. But Yelena knows it for what it is, an avoidance. A deflection. She knows that Kate has no real intention of following through.

“Don’t worry,” Yelena said, her voice firm, daring Kate to argue. “I’ll contact him and get it sorted out.”

Kate huffed, a dry, tired laugh slipping out before she turned her head just enough to meet Yelena’s gaze. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a quiet acknowledgement of whatever game Yelena was playing. “I see what you’re doing, Yelena.” 

Yelena smirked, her voice laced with something light, something even affectionate. “And I see what you’re doing, Kate Bishop.”

Without another word, she slipped an arm around Kate’s shoulders, pulling her in close, guiding her to rest against her shoulder. Kate didn’t resist. She let herself lean into the warmth, let herself take comfort in something she hadn’t even realised she needed.

“I’m not letting you go easy, you hear me?” Yelena murmured, her voice softer now, steadier. “We’re bringing Lucky home so you have a purpose. Then you’re going to get back into training.” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “And then, if you stop wanting to die, maybe you can follow Barton and be an Avenger like you always dreamed, hm?”

The second the words left her mouth, Kate stiffened. The shift was immediate, Yelena felt it before she even saw it. The way Kate pulled back from the embrace, retreating from her warmth, from the security of it. She turned her face away, looking anywhere but at Yelena, her shoulders tightening, her expression unreadable.

Yelena frowned, confusion knitting her brows. She hadn’t expected that reaction. She didn’t know what she had said that had caused Kate to withdraw so suddenly, but something had hit a nerve. “Kate?” she asked carefully, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. “What is it?”

Kate shrugged, but it wasn’t casual, it was defensive, like she was trying to make herself smaller, trying to deflect. “I don’t want to be an Avenger,” she muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t feel it anymore. The want, the love…it’s gone.”

Yelena exhaled slowly, studying her for a moment before shaking her head. “That is because you are depressed, Kate Bishop,” she said, no teasing in her tone now, no playful lilt to her words. Just honesty. Just certainty. “But I promise you, the spark will come back. We just need to get you through this.”

Kate just shrugged again, her fingers idly picking at the fabric of her sleeve. “I guess we’ll see,” she mumbled. “I just don’t know how interested I am in that stuff anymore.”

Yelena sat with that for a moment, thinking, watching Kate as she folded into herself, as she wrestled with whatever it was that had drained her of the ambition she once had.

And then, before she even thought about what she was saying, the words slipped out, unplanned, unfiltered. “Would you be interested in helping me free the other Widows?”

The second the question left her lips, Yelena froze. What the hell am I doing? She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t thought about this. She didn’t even know why she was offering it, only that there was a single thought pounding through her brain, one she couldn’t ignore. She will be close to me.

Kate’s head jerked up, her eyes wide with surprise. “You would let me come with you?” The question came out breathlessly, like it was a wild idea, a far-fetched dream. But for just a second, a small spark of excitement flickered in her eyes, a hope she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long.

That’s when Yelena knows she’s found the hook, the thing that will keep Kate here, keep her from slipping further into the abyss. She smiles softly, her eyes warm but determined.

“Yes,” Yelena said, and despite this all coming as a shock to herself too, her voice was full of quiet certainty. “You’re talented. You’re smart. You would be an asset. But not while you’re suicidal.”

The weight of those words hung in the air between them. Kate’s face faltered, the excitement fading slightly as the reality of what Yelena’s saying settled in. Kate wanted to fight, wanted to argue that she could handle it, that she could do it now, but the weight of the truth was too heavy to deny.

Yelena squeezed Kate’s hand, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve got a lot to fight for, Kate. You’ve got a purpose. And I’m not going to let you throw that away.”

Kate doesn’t know how to respond. The certainty in Yelena’s words catches her off guard, it’s almost too much to bear, the way Yelena speaks as though she believes in her, as though she’s already worth fighting for. 

Kate feels a flutter of something inside her, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by the reality of her own doubts.“I would likely just get in your way anyway,” she said, her voice low, almost apologetic. "I know you could've kicked my ass when we fought. You were pulling your punches.”

Yelena let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and knowing, not mocking. “Indeed, I was,” she admitted. “But with a bit more training, I genuinely think you could hold your own.”

Kate can’t help but laugh too, though it’s tinged with a bitterness she can’t shake. “A lot of training, you mean,” she said, the weight of her self-doubt seeping into her tone. “I’m good, I know that. But not mind controlled Black Widow good.” She smirked, trying to push away the heaviness in her chest.

Yelena’s face lit up, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes as she leaned in just slightly, her voice teasing but laced with sincerity. “Yes, we would train a lot,” she said, drawing out the words with a smirk. “I would want to make sure you were fully capable of taking down Widows before I let you come with me. Because I care about you,” she added, and for just a moment, the playfulness faded. Her gaze softened, something unspoken lingering in the air between them.  But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by an easy grin. “But I can make training fun, I promise!”

Kate let out a small chuckle, this one softer, more genuine than the ones before. It felt real, unforced, like for the first time in weeks, something inside her had lightened, if only for a second. “I used to love training. It was always fun,” she admitted, but there was something wistful in her tone, something longing. Like she was grasping for a piece of herself that had slipped away. “I just haven’t got the motivation at the moment.”

Yelena tilted her head, her playful smirk never fading, but there was a flicker of thoughtfulness behind her eyes. And then, before she even realised what she was doing, she blurted out, “Oh, I’m sure I can find some motivation for you.”

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. What the hell was that? It sounded way more flirtatious than she had meant. A sudden heat crept up her neck, warmth blooming across her cheeks. She never blushed, but here she was, sitting in Kate Bishop’s ridiculously large penthouse, blushing like an idiot.

And Kate? She choked. Full-on, gasping-for-air, wide-eyed choking. The teasing lilt in Yelena’s voice hit her like a truck, sending her brain into overdrive, and before she could even think, her face was on fire.

Yelena, trying desperately to regain control of herself, reached over and smacked Kate lightly on the back, her laugh bright and infectious. “Oh, relax, Kate Bishop. I did not mean it like that,” she teased, though the warmth on her face betrayed her just a little.

Kate, still coughing, wheezed out a dramatic, “Sure you didn’t.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips, but there was an undeniable fondness in the way she looked at Kate. “With that,” she said, standing up and stretching slightly, “I think it’s time you go to bed, huh?”

Kate blinked, still slightly dazed, her face still red from both the embarrassment and the leftover effects of alcohol. “Yes. Bedtime,” she declared, as if saying it aloud would somehow make her less flustered. She pushed herself up from the couch, only to realise that she was still very, very drunk.

The world tilted. Her stomach lurched. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered as the dizziness hit her like a wave, her body swaying dangerously.

Before she could even register what was happening, Yelena was there. Strong hands caught her effortlessly, steady and unyielding. One arm slipped around her waist, the other gripping her arm firmly, keeping her upright as Kate’s head lolled slightly forward. Everything felt heavy, spinning, but Yelena’s hold was solid, something grounding in the middle of the chaos.

Kate let herself sink into it, into the warmth, the security, the quiet reassurance in Yelena’s grip. Yelena didn’t say anything, didn’t tease or scold. She just moved, her grip shifting as she adjusted Kate’s weight against her own. And then, without hesitation, she lifted her.

Kate let out a muffled noise of protest, but it was half-hearted at best. She was tired, the alcohol dragging her further down, and the last thing she wanted was to argue with the only person making sure she didn’t crash to the floor.

Yelena carried her easily, effortlessly, as if it was second nature, her focus locked entirely on one thing, getting Kate safe. Making sure she was taken care of.

Because, for some reason she couldn’t quite name, the thought of letting Kate fall, of letting her hurt was something Yelena refused to allow.

When they reached the bed, Yelena gently tucked Kate in, her hands brushing the hair from her face with a tenderness that made Kate’s chest tighten. 

“I’ll keep you safe, Kate Bishop,” Yelena whispered, her voice full of something gentle and strong all at once as she settled on the floor next to Kate's bed.

Kate’s eyelids fluttered, the darkness threatening to pull her under, but Yelena’s words are a balm to the storm inside her. She lets herself believe in the possibility of safety, of being cared for, of not being alone.

And then, with the sound of Yelena’s steady breathing beside her, Kate finally gave in to the quiet, falling into the embrace of sleep.

---

Yelena sat beside Kate’s bed, her posture deceptively relaxed, but her eyes never strayed from the woman sleeping fitfully in front of her. She had watched her for hours, taking in every twitch of her fingers, every uneven breath, every shift beneath the covers. It was strange, this stillness. She was used to watching people, targets, threats, people she had to eliminate. 

But this was different. There was no mission, no orders to follow, no danger lurking in the shadows. It was just her and Kate, a quiet vigil kept in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. For the first time in a long time, Yelena felt at peace.

But peace never lasted. Kate stirred, a small, restless movement at first, no different from any other time someone shifted in their sleep. But then her breath hitched. Her fingers clenched around the sheets. Her shoulders tensed, body curling in on itself as if bracing for something. Yelena’s calm dissolved instantly, her body snapping to attention as she leaned in closer.

“Kate?” she called gently, voice lower than usual, softer. She didn’t want to startle her, just ease her back to the surface, pull her away from whatever hell her mind had trapped her in.

Kate didn’t respond, instead, she whimpered, a sound that made something deep in Yelena’s chest twist, sharp and unpleasant. Then the tears started. Silent at first, just streaks tracking down the sides of her face, but soon her breathing turned rapid, her chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, her entire body trembling under the weight of something Yelena couldn’t see.

Yelena stepped closer, heart hammering against her ribs. No. No, No. “Kate, wake up for me,” she tried again, more urgency creeping into her tone. Still, nothing. Kate was trapped, locked in a nightmare strong enough to make her body shudder even in sleep.

That was enough. Without hesitation, Yelena reached forward and gripped Kate’s shoulders, shaking her firmly, not violently, but just enough. Just enough to break whatever hold the dream had on her.

Kate shot up with a strangled gasp, her entire body jerking upright as a raw, desperate “No!” tore from her throat. Her hand moved before her brain could catch up, her instincts reacting to an attack that wasn’t real. Yelena easily dodged the wild, uncoordinated punch with ease, but she didn’t pull away. 

“Hey, hey,” she murmured, hands hovering just in case Kate needed to feel something steady, something real. “It is okay, Kate Bishop. It was just a dream.”

Kate’s chest was rising and falling like she had just run a marathon, her pupils blown wide, her entire body on edge. For a moment, Yelena wasn’t sure if she had truly woken up or if some part of her was still lost in the horror of whatever she had been dreaming. Then her gaze snapped to Yelena, her lips parting slightly, confusion flickering across her face like she had no idea why Yelena was even there.

“Yelena?” Her voice was small, hoarse from sleep and panic, barely more than a breath.

“Yes, Kate Bishop,” Yelena said softly, keeping her tone light despite the tightness in her chest. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements. “It is me. Go back to sleep. I am here.”

Kate blinked at her, still processing, still trying to ground herself in reality. But Yelena could see the moment something inside her let go. Could see the way her muscles, still tense with the remnants of fear, slowly released.

She didn’t argue. She didn’t question why Yelena was there or why she cared enough to be sitting in her room, watching over her like a damn guard dog. She simply nodded, almost imperceptibly, and let herself fall back onto the pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Yelena waited, listening as Kate’s breathing slowed, as her body gradually eased out of its fight-or-flight state. She could have left then. Could have slipped out quietly and let the night take its course. But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned back sitting back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, gaze locked onto Kate’s sleeping form. She wasn’t going anywhere.

---

Kate woke to the worst headache of her life. It wasn’t just a dull throb; it was a relentless, skull-splitting, mind-numbing pounding that made her groan the second she became conscious. Her mouth was dry, her limbs felt impossibly heavy, and every part of her body screamed in protest as she shifted beneath the covers. A wave of nausea rolled through her, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the spinning sensation.

Her mind was sluggish, wrapped in a thick fog of alcohol and exhaustion, making it nearly impossible to think. She tried to piece together fragments of the night before, but everything was disjointed, blurry around the edges. She remembered going up to the roof, staring out over the city, the distant hum of New Year’s Eve celebrations echoing in the streets below. She remembered the bottle in her hand, the weight in her chest, the numbness creeping into her limbs. But after that?

Nothing.

She let out a frustrated sigh, running a shaky hand over her face. She was still alive. That much was obvious. And now, as an added punishment, she had to deal with the aftermath, the hangover, the fatigue, the inescapable feeling of heaviness pressing down on her like a lead weight.

With great effort, she rolled onto her side, searching for her phone to check the time. But as her gaze landed on the bedside table, she froze.

A glass of water and two paracetamol.

Kate blinked at them, her brain struggling to process their existence. She knew for a fact that past Kate, reckless and self-destructive as she had been last night, had not thought ahead enough to prepare this for herself. Past-Kate had been too busy drowning in tequila and intrusive thoughts to care about future-Kate’s well-being. So, who the hell left me these?

Before she could come up with an answer, a faint clatter echoed from downstairs. It was distant, muted by the sheer size of the penthouse but definitely there. Kate’s entire body tensed, her pulse spiking with immediate paranoia. Of course something else was happening. My life can never be simple.

Forcing herself upright, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness slammed into her. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking slow breaths to fight back the nausea. It wasn’t until she had somewhat steadied herself that she realised something else.

She was still in yesterday’s clothes. Her brow furrowed. She not even changed before passing out. Something about the realisation made her feel even more disoriented. At least it saved her the trouble of getting dressed for this fight.

Pushing herself to her feet, she grabbed her bow, because she wasn’t taking any chances and moved cautiously through the penthouse. Her muscles protested with every step, her body aching from both the hangover and the remnants of whatever the hell had happened last night. She crept toward the source of the noise, her grip firm on the bowstring, arrow drawn, ready to confront whoever had dared break into her home.

As she reached the kitchen, she heard more sounds, a rhythmic series of small clatters, the unmistakable shuffle of movement.

And then she froze. Standing at the stove, back turned toward her, was Yelena. Kate hadn’t made a sound, but somehow, without missing a beat, Yelena spoke. 

“Good morning, Kate Bishop.” Her voice was light, casual, carrying that familiar teasing lilt as if nothing about this situation was strange. As if this, her standing in Kate’s kitchen, cooking God-knows-what, was just a normal part of their dynamic.

Kate opened her mouth, but absolutely nothing coherent came out. Her already fried brain, still sluggish and desperately trying to boot up properly, failed spectacularly at forming a single rational thought, especially when she actually looked at Yelena.

The woman was standing in her kitchen, wearing her clothes. The joggers, slightly too big, had been cuffed multiple times at the ankles, and the hoodie draped over her frame, hanging past her hips like it was swallowing her whole. It should have just been cute, and it was but the realisation hit Kate like a freight train that it was also hot. Yelena was in her clothes. In her kitchen. Looking comfortable, at ease, like she belonged there. And Kate liked it.

Why the hell do I like this? She is an assassin, in my home. She could kill me. She literally has a knife, in her hand. Gods, I am sick. 

Sure, she’d always known Yelena was pretty…hot, actually, undeniably so, but that didn’t explain why she was suddenly spiralling over it, especially when she didn’t even know why Yelena was there in the first place. She forced herself to get a grip, to form something resembling a response, but when she finally managed to speak, it came out as, “What… how… when… huh?” It was, without a doubt, the least articulate thing she had ever said in her life.

Yelena turned then, casting an amused glance over her shoulder before letting out a soft chuckle. “Sit, Kate,” she instructed, gesturing toward the kitchen island before pulling out a stool.

Kate, still functioning entirely on autopilot, obeyed without question. She lowered herself onto the stool, barely aware of what she was doing, her wide eyes still locked onto Yelena as if she were a hallucination.

Yelena, clearly entertained by her stunned silence, placed a plate in front of her before leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “What question would you like to ask first?” she asked, her smirk widening.

Kate blinked. Her thoughts were still colliding at full speed, her body still reeling from the hangover, and none of this was making any sense. Why is Yelena here? Why is she cooking? Did I invite her? Did Yelena invite herself? Why am I still alive?

Yelena, picking up on the sheer amount of confusion clouding Kate’s expression, arched an eyebrow. “You do not remember last night, do you?”

Kate groaned, rubbing a hand over her face, trying to think. She shook her head before finally speaking. “Uh… when did you get here?”

“Last night,” Yelena replied easily, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of her own food, completely at ease with the entire situation.

Kate just stared at her. “Last night?” she repeated dumbly, as if saying it again would somehow make it make more sense.

“Yes, Kate Bishop,” Yelena confirmed with a smirk, clearly enjoying herself.

Kate shook her head, willing her brain to work faster, but it wasn’t happening. “Okay, and why are you here?”

Yelena chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “I came to take you up on your offer for a drink.”

That response did not help. If anything, it only raised more questions. Kate squinted at her, her already-pounding head working overtime, trying to fit the pieces together. “Uhhh…” She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her tangled hair. “So… what exactly happened last night?”

“Well, Kate Bishop,” Yelena began, setting her fork down and looking at her carefully, measuring her words before continuing. “I got here last night and I found you…” She hesitated, inhaling deeply, as if saying it out loud would make it more real. “I found you standing on the edge of the roof. You were clearly very drunk. And very upset.”

She kept her voice even, but Kate could hear something deeper beneath the surface, something raw. Yelena hated remembering how she had looked on that rooftop, swaying in the cold, her eyes empty, her body teetering far too close to a final decision.

Kate felt her stomach sink. Fuck. Heat crept up her neck, her face burning as the embarrassment set in, mortification washing over her in full force. It was one thing to know she had failed, but to know Yelena had seen her like that? Had witnessed her at her absolute lowest? That was almost unbearable.

“I—” Kate swallowed hard, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” She barely managed to whisper the words.

Yelena shook her head instantly, her expression firm, unwavering. “I’m not,” she said simply. “I am glad I was there. I did not want you to fall.” 

Kate exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands over her face before mumbling, “So, I assume you brought me inside? Left me the water and painkillers?”

Yelena nodded, nudging another glass of water that she had given Kate with her food toward her as a reminder. “I knew you would feel terrible,” she said with a small smirk. “I stayed and kept an eye on you for most of the night. Eventually, I got hungry, and I knew you would need food. I was going to wake you up with breakfast in bed, but…” She gestured around them with a smirk. “Here we are instead.” She took another bite of her food, she was so relaxed despite the heaviness.

Kate stared at her, dumbfounded. The assassin was in her kitchen. Cooking. Caring for her. Staying. It didn’t make sense. “Why?” Kate finally asked, blinking as if trying to clear her foggy brain. “Why are you doing all of this?”

Yelena shrugged, still just as confused about this answer as she was the night before but she tried not to show it. “I would like us to be friends,” she said, her tone deliberately light, brushing past the weight of the moment. “And, well… you clearly need one.”

Kate let out a short chuckle, shaking her head. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly great company right now.” Her voice was flat and self-deprecating.

“Well, unfortunately for me, I am stuck with you for at least a few more days,” Yelena said, grinning slightly. “I spoke with Barton this morning. We are going to pick up Lucky later.”

Kate’s entire body tensed at that. “No, Lucky is living there now, he loves the farm,” she said carefully, trying to avoid giving anything away. Trying to avoid the conversation she had clearly forgotten that she had.

Yelena rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Tsk, you left him there because you planned to die. I know. No point lying now.” She said it so bluntly, like it was just another fact, nothing more than an observation. Kate’s stomach twisted at the ease of it. 

Before she could argue, Yelena continued, her voice softer now, but no less certain. “But last night, you agreed to come with me. You agreed to try. For a bit longer.”

Kate let out a dramatic groan, rolling her eyes. “I was drunk. That’s, like… entrapment or something.”

Yelena laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the sound warm and amused. “Maybe so,” she admitted, grinning. “But it worked. And now you are stuck with me, and we are going on a road trip.”

Kate wanted to scowl, wanted to push back against the idea, to insist that she hadn’t actually agreed to anything. But she couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto her lips.

She didn’t want to admit it but for the first time in weeks, she felt something. A spark. A flicker of something that wasn’t just exhaustion or numbness or crushing loneliness.

They finished breakfast quickly, and Kate dragged herself toward the bathroom, desperate for a shower, hoping that maybe washing off the remnants of the night before would help her feel more normal. 

---

Meanwhile, Yelena moved through the kitchen with practised ease, her hands working on instinct as she wiped down the counters, stacked the dishes, and restored order to the space. There was something almost meditative about it, the rhythmic motions grounding her in a way she wasn’t sure she needed. The efficiency of it, the familiarity, it was a task with a clear start and finish, something simple and manageable. 

As she set the last dish in place, she exhaled slowly, running a hand through her loose hair. Her mind, however, refused to still. It circled the same question over and over, a persistent, nagging ‘why’ that she couldn’t shake. Why do I care so much? Why does it matter that Kate is struggling? Why does that bother me more than anything? 

She had seen people suffer before, had been trained to be indifferent to it, had taught herself to ignore it entirely when it didn’t serve her purpose. But with Kate, it was different. The thought of her hurting, of her sinking deeper into whatever darkness had nearly consumed her on that rooftop, made something restless and uneasy twist inside Yelena, something she couldn’t explain.

And then there was this whole trip. She was willingly dragging herself to the Barton farm, a place where, realistically, she shouldn’t be welcome. Clint was friendly enough, understanding enough, but that didn’t change the fact that she had once tried to kill him, had hunted him. And yet, here she was, putting herself in that situation, going somewhere that made her uncomfortable, all for what? To see Kate smile when she was reunited with her dog? To be there for a moment that, logically, she had no reason to care about? It made no sense.

Yelena hated feelings. She had spent years without them, without the frustration of not knowing what they meant. And some days, when her emotions became too tangled, when they threatened to pull her under, she almost wished she had never gotten them back at all. At least then, she wouldn’t be standing in a stranger’s kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter as she tried to understand why the thought of Kate Bishop’s sadness affected her so deeply. Because even now, even with all the freedom she had clawed her way back to, she still couldn’t pin down what this was, what it meant, why she felt this way. And that infuriated her.

But despite all the confusion, despite not knowing why or what it meant, Yelena knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would never, ever allow herself to wake up one day and find that Kate, the stubborn, sweet, reckless archer who couldn’t resist getting herself into trouble and had an unrelenting obsession with purple and trick arrows, had thrown herself off her own damn rooftop because she thought she had no one left. She would never let Kate feel that loneliness, that hopelessness, that desperation again. Because Kate would never be alone. Not while Yelena was here. She would always have her, no matter what.

On the other hand, Kate knew exactly what she was feeling, and it terrified her. She’d never been confused about attraction. She had plenty of experience, relationships that lasted months, some that barely made it past a few weeks, and more than a handful of one-night stands when she started college. She knew what it meant to be attracted to someone, but this was different. This was Yelena. And she did not want to go there.

Even as the hot water pounded against her skin, her thoughts refused to settle. Her mind kept circling back to last night, and all she could feel was a mixture of embarrassment, guilt and frustration. Yelena had seen her at her lowest, at the precise moment she had planned to give in. She had planned everything out, from the moment she entered the Barton’s house at Christmas she began to consider every option and every scenario until she finally made her choice. Yes, she failed the night before, but last night she was ready, she drank enough that she wouldn’t hesitate. What she did not plan for was a pretty blonde assassin to turn up and save her, like some cruel cosmic joke.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was supposed to be there.

But Yelena was. And now, instead of being done, instead of finding whatever peace might exist beyond this world, she was stuck…alive, at least for the foreseeable future, because some stubborn woman refused to leave her side. And is taking her on a road trip? The absurdity of it all made her want to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

Her thoughts twisted, searching for reason. Why would Yelena do this? She wasn’t exactly known for acts of kindness. Hell, she’d tried to kill Clint. But… she had pulled her punches when fighting Kate. She had listened to reason. And if Kate was being honest, there was something in Yelena’s eyes this morning, something beyond obligation, beyond pity. It was concern. It was care. And that scared her more than anything.

Because if Yelena was kind, then what else was she? Kate knew she was funny, sassy, bold, impossibly smart. She was sarcastic, cocky…all things I definitely like in a woman, she thought before immediately scolding herself. Stop it.

But her mind betrayed her, conjuring up Yelena’s face with perfect clarity. Those sharp green eyes, the way they caught the light. That little smirk, the one that made Kate’s stomach flip. She really was a beauty. And the more Kate thought about it, the more she realised that what little she did know about Yelena, aside from the whole murderer thing was pretty damn great.

But then came the doubt, crashing over her like a wave. Why would someone like that be even remotely interested in me?

She was nothing. Depressed. Stagnant. No family, no real job, no degree in sight. Just existing, drifting, waiting for another chance to let go. Her heart clenched, and suddenly, the warmth of the shower wasn’t enough to fight the cold creeping into her bones.

What’s even the point?

And just like that, Yelena faded from her thoughts, replaced by the crushing weight of the truth, she was still here, but only because someone had stopped her. She was waiting, stuck on this earth until the next opportunity presented itself.