Sometimes, the city feels like a ghost, moving and shifting between shadows—always too full of secrets, too tangled in chaos. Kate has grown accustomed to it, her life a blend of soundtracked fights, quips, and the hum of arrows slicing through the air. She’s used to working with Clint, and sometimes, just sometimes, she can’t help but wish for something different, something quieter. Something like... her.
She doesn't know how to explain it. The way Yelena just... appears.
It happens like this: one moment, the room is silent. The night is thick with the kind of dark only the city could provide. Kate stirs in her sleep, tangled in sheets, the weight of the world heavy on her chest. When she opens her eyes, the room is still pitch black. But she’s there. Sitting still as a statue on the windowsill, her presence as sharp as the edge of a knife.
Kate can never explain it—she doesn’t hear the footsteps, doesn’t catch the sound of her breath. Yelena moves like a ghost, trained to be unseen, to remain unnoticed. But Kate always feels her, like the pull of gravity. A magnetic force between them. It’s as though she’s called to her, even if the Russian woman never says a word.
Kate always waits a few seconds, her heart racing like it does when she’s near the edge of something she can’t control. Then, with quiet urgency, she extends her hand, fingers brushing the cool air between them. It's almost an instinct, like breathing.
Sometimes, like last night, Yelena rises from her perch, her silhouette melting from the shadows. She moves with a fluidity that Kate admires, graceful despite the weight of the world she carries on her shoulders. She prowls, slowly, silently, until she reaches Kate’s side.
Yelena takes her hand like it’s a lifeline. No words. Nothing needed, only the heat of their fingers intertwined. Then she curls into Kate’s side, her body fitting perfectly against hers like it always does—like it’s where she’s meant to be, even if she doesn’t allow herself to believe it.
Kate sighs, the warmth of Yelena’s body anchoring her back to earth. For a moment, the fight, the chaos, the mission... all of it fades into nothing. It's just the two of them, wrapped in the softness of a bed, of a moment where nothing is required except their closeness.
But there are nights, more often than Kate cares to admit, where it isn’t that easy. Yelena will sit there, watching her from the ledge, those eyes glowing faintly in the dark, unreadable. Kate reaches for her, hoping for a moment of connection, but tonight, Yelena doesn’t move. She’s still, but there’s a tension in the air, an unsaid distance between them.
And sometimes, there are other things—things Kate can’t ignore. Bruises scattered across Yelena’s face, shadows of pain that stain her features, blood smudged against her jaw like war paint. The sight takes Kate’s breath away. She wants to reach out, to pull Yelena into her arms, and tell her it’ll be okay. But she knows better than to ask. Yelena doesn't want pity. She’s a fighter. She doesn’t want to be seen as weak. Tonight, like on those other nights, she doesn’t want to be touched.
So, Kate waits. She doesn’t push, just watches from the safety of the bed, her hand still reaching, fingers splayed, offering whatever comfort she can.
Yelena stays where she is, in the corner of the room, almost swallowed by the shadows. A silent sentinel. She feels the weight of Kate’s gaze, but doesn’t move closer. She can’t. It’s selfish, isn’t it? To need someone like this. To breathe in her space, in her warmth, and then leave again, like nothing ever happened.
But she always comes back.
It’s the only thing Kate can count on.
As the night presses on, Kate finally drifts back into sleep, her hand still stretched out in the dark. She doesn’t ask Yelena to stay. She knows she won’t. But there’s something comforting in knowing that, for a moment, she wasn’t alone.
And that’s enough.