Beginnings.
She was a girl, doing things women were expected to do.
She didn't like talking to them or touching them. She didn't like pretending their weird behavior was okay, or that their creepy jokes were funny.
She didn't like when he wrapped his arm around her waist, or how he pretended like his hand touching her ass was just an accident. Like she couldn't feel him moving his fingers lower and lower every chance he got. She didn't like how he looked or how he looked at her.
He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't handsome either. He had nice brown eyes, a full beard that itched against her skin, with leftover food and spit on its surface, and she tried not to grimace whenever it touched her. He had silky dark hair, swept back, and pale skin. A dust-red jacket that didn't quite fit him, brown patches staining his pant legs.
He wasn't nice. He was rude to everyone around him, turning to her as if she was supposed to laugh whenever he snapped at the waiters or felt special as he glared at others because she was on his arm instead of them.
She hated this.
But what else could she do?
She wasn't smart enough to go to college, unlike her sister, who was raised with books.
She was raised to get her hands dirty. Her father had her outside, helping him fix anything and everything. She remembered fixing the old tractor, mud, and dirt smeared across her skin, chasing after her sister who begged her not to touch her until she washed up.
She thought maybe she could have been an engineer if she was smarter. She thought she could have worked at Mr. Grant's farm like her father did.
Her father was the big farmer around, and she was just as good, if not better than him.
But many men didn't like that. So, she couldn't work on the farm or at the coal factory.
She was stuck with a part-time job at a diner in Brooklyn, pretending to like this man so he'd pay her bills when she couldn't. She was stuck acting like she enjoyed sex, his kisses, his suffocating arms.
She couldn't say she wished she could escape, because she wasn't in prison. She was free to leave, but she didn't want to be broke and alone.
So she stayed, trapped in the cuffs she had the keys to, unused, but never forgotten.
"Gotta piss, stay, doll, I'll be back." She fought back a grimace and hoped he tripped and croak while he was in there.
She swallowed, nodded, and plastered the best darling smile she had, "I got nowhere else to go."
Which was too close to the truth for her liking, and he grinned, then pressed a rough kiss against her cheek, before jogging off.
She scrunched her nose, wiping off her cheek roughly enough to peel skin as soon as he disappeared around the corner. His breath smelt like a rotten fish, and his lips were cracking, felt harsh on her skin.
She wanted to leave, she wanted to jump off this barstool and go home, hop in the shower, and scrub herself raw, it didn't matter if the lights were off, and she didn't have hot water anymore, so her showers were cold.
She just wanted to leave, and get from away from here, from him, but she couldn't, or she wouldn't.
It was too dark outside, she didn't have a car, so she didn't want to get robbed, and get whatever little she had taken away.
She was seconds away from saying fuck it and leaving when a bubbling laugh caught her attention. She turned her head to see a brown-haired male, staring at her, with amusement gleaming in his eyes.
"What?" Her voice was sharp, as she looked at him with narrow eyes.
His brows rose, and held up his arms, then backed away like she was going to attack. "Nothing. It's just..." He shook his head, "why do you stay with him if you're so disgusted by him."
She didn't know he was looking. She didn't like that he was watching closely enough to notice.
She frowned, "It's none of your business why I do something."
And ended there, she turned away, towards the multiple bottles of alcohol that legally she wasn't allowed to drink yet. He hummed, as she did. He doesn't leave her alone like she wants. "You're right, but can't fault me for being curious, right? A woman as beautiful as yourself with a man like that is off-putting."
Of course, beauty is the problem.
She rolled her eyes, "You don't know me or him, so I think you should keep your opinions to yourself."
He hummed again, and she tried not to get annoyed. "From what I can tell, he's one of the rudest, sexist, creepiest man I've seen." Finally, she looked back towards him.
He hadn't moved closer like she expected. He was still three seats away from her, instead of sitting, he was leaning against the bar. Holding a glass pod of brown liquid in his hand, maybe scotch or bourbon, she doesn't care enough to ask.
"And you seemed like you would rather burn him alive than to have his arms around you." He was on point, too on point.
She glared, "Don't you have better things to do than to watch two strangers."
He grinned, widely, and shook his head, "No, not really."
She sighed, then he winced.
"I'm sorry. I just..." The man's words died on his tongue, she frowned at his sudden silence. Her head turned to him, her brows furrowed, briefly, before seeing a gangly figure, walking through.
Rick comes back, buckling his pants. She scrunched her nose, turning away from him, because she didn't know why he couldn't do that in the bathroom. He approaches her and takes back his seat.
"What do you want?" He nodded towards the bar.
Yelena shook her head, "I can't drink, Rick."
He rolled his eyes, and she waited for him to say that it didn't matter, that she's done worse being her age, so what's a little alcohol?
She'd still say no, because she's seen what drinking does to people, to him, and she won't dare have herself doing it too.
Instead of doing that though, he surprised her. He brushed his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Well, how about this..." He trailed off, his fingers caressed her arm, and her body tensed from his touch. "Let's take this back to your place."
He wiggled his brows, and she knew what he meant by that. She swallowed because that was the last thing she wanted. She sighed and nodded. He grinned, he thought it was attractive, it could've been, if his teeth weren't stained yellow, and there wasn't a piece of food stuck between them.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up from her chair. Her arm stung from the tug but she tried not to show it on her face, as he pushed towards the exit, while too eager for her liking.
When they walked out of the door, a harsh breeze hit her face. The streets were almost empty, fog surrounded the area. She frowned, as the cold air dampened the excitement.
She shivered and looked at Rick, who tugged up his jacket, trying to warm himself up. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, he didn't even acknowledge her bare skin.
"Hey!" A voice shouted from behind them, her head snapped back in confusion, and Rick paused as well.
The man from the bar was jogging towards them. She frowned, as their eyes connected.
Rick moved in front of her, blocking her view. "What the hell are you doing? You following us?" He asked, aggressively, stepping up to the man who was a few inches taller than him, more muscular, Rick came to him like they were the same size.
The man narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.
"Relax, man, I'm just trying to give her jacket back," He said, raising his hand, presenting the dark leather jacket between his fingers.
"Oh."
Rick eased a bit and nodded. She frowned because he wasn't paying attention. If he had, he would've noticed that the jacket was a little too big for her. He would've known that she didn't even bring one.
His brows creased, and he shoved her forward, frowning, "What are you doing? Take the jacket."
She swallowed, turning to the man. His eyes darted between them, before settling on her, and in them, he searched. Maybe he thought she was in danger, she was in a situation that she couldn't get out of.
She smiled, "Thank you."
She took the jacket from his hands, and she ignored the disappointed look on his face, as he nodded.
He took a step back, "No problem."
Then he smiled. It was much nicer than Rick's, more gentle, less rough.
A hand wrapped around her forearm, tugging her away. She allowed herself to be led.
She looked at the jacket in her hands. He'd seen she was cold, shivering. Unlike Rick, who would have let her freeze, this stranger had given her his jacket.
She shrugged it on, immediate warmth coating her body.
She turned to Rick, who was talking his mouth off. His head falls back, and laughter belted out of his throat, so loudly. She didn't know he was cracking up about it, but she chuckled and tried to follow through.
She looked back and saw the man wasn't there anymore. And she tried to ignore this strange feeling in her chest, as Rick grabbed her hand, with his oddly soft fingers, tugging her forward.
She knows where he's taking her. What he's trying to do. She knows how disappointed he's going to be when he gets there. She knows how he isn't going to do anything until everything's fixed. So everything is going as planned.
So she allowed him.
Faked a giggle as he told one of his perverted jokes all until she got home.
He acted exactly like she expected. Said he didn't like having sex in the dark, because he had to see her face. Said, he couldn't take a cold shower because he only likes hot. So he fixed and fixed until he couldn't anymore.
Then he fucked her.
He gave rough and uncomfortable thrusts, fingers digging into her skin, marking her hips. It stings, but he didn't care, he didn't wait.
It doesn't matter if she liked it or didn't, what mattered is if he was satisfied. Never cared, so as soon as he came, and finished off with weak thrusts, and he rolled off of her.
Flopped on her bed, he'd lay there for a moment, with a smile on his lips, as if he had just done something. Usually, she would offer him compliments, and boost his ego.
She didn't feel it tonight, so she pretended like she was asleep, so he wouldn't ask her to join him in the shower. He shook her shoulder, but she didn't move, didn't wake up. He sighed, rumbling from the sheets, letting her know he was moving off of the bed.
She didn't move until his footsteps slapping against the wooden floor disappeared, the door slammed shut, and the shower turned on.
After he's done, he goes home, since he can't sleep in poverty, and can't get caught being here. She was thankful for his arrogance.
It allowed her time to lay in her bed, and repent. Tears streamed down her face, as she buried herself into the mattress. Each time will be the same, she'd hate herself for doing this, allowing this man to use her body for money, until she'd go into the kitchen turn on the lights, twist the knob on the sink, and feel the hot water coming through. Although she felt disgusted, she couldn't regret it.
After that, she'd clean. She would clean out the refrigerator, and take out the spoiled milk, rotten food, and moldy cheese. She tries not to gag, as she throws them in the garbage. She'd scrubbed every single thing in the house, the walls, the floors, tables.
Then she'd wash her body until her skin was red, and sting when she touched or moved too much.
She'd want to change the sheets, but wouldn't, because they are the only ones she had, and the laundry mat closes after nine. So she'd lay in those sticky sheets, with strong odors, and shut her eyes tightly.
Maybe, she doesn't regret doing what she has to, but she does regret being here.
She wanted to wish she never came, but her being away, wouldn't change anything.
Truthfully, she wished Natalia never did. Wished she stayed in Russia, never wanted to pursue greater education, never got accepted into Harvard, and was as dumb as the rest of them.
She wished she would've begged more, and didn't fall into Natalia's trap when she asked her to come with, instead convinced her that Russia was better, their farm was better.
She wished Natalia never met that girl, never fallen in love. If she didn't, she'd be alive, both of them would be.
She wished she could change everything. Wished she could see her parents. Her mother would hold her in her arms, and caress her hair. Her father sings their favorite song in that deep ragged voice. She missed them.
She just wished everything was so different.
•
Anger.
Everything sucked.
The war, jobs, people.
Especially this jackass at the farmer's market, who wouldn't let her pay for her food.
"You don't have enough."
"What?"
He rolled his eyes. "You don't have the money, you can't pay." He spoke slowly like she was an idiot.
"But it said ten cents!" she growled, frustrated. This was the third time he'd done this, even after she'd taken several items out of her basket. The line behind her was growing longer, and people were muttering about her taking so long.
He shrugged. "Taxes."
The economy. She grumbled and looked at him, defeated. "What can I get?"
He leaned down and picked up a long, orange vegetable. A carrot.
"Just that?"
He nodded.
"Just that."
A single, fucking carrot.
The man grinned, and it took everything inside of her, not to jump across that corner.
She sighed, ready to scream, and snatched the carrot from his hand. She turned and rushed out of the store, ignoring his call, "Please, come back again!"
Fuck him.
Fuck a 9-to-5 job that barely paid the bills. She rubbed the carrot against her shirt, removing the dust, before taking a harsh bite.
The carrot tasted bitter and slightly cracked. It had been harvested too early. But she'd bought it anyway. She grumbled, taking another bite, and chewing aggressively.
"Ma'am!"
She paused, briefly, before realizing the man wasn't talking to her. She started walking again.
"Blonde lady in the leather jacket!"
She froze, then looked down at herself, at the shiny leather jacket wrapped around her arms. He was talking to her.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned to see a short-haired man rushing towards her, a satchel in his hand.
"Can you hold this for me?" he asked.
She frowned. He hadn't even given her a chance to agree or refuse before thrusting the courier into her arms. She looked around the street. Noticing that he hadn't chosen her randomly from the crowd.
She studied his face. Her mother would have called him baby-faced, with his smooth skin and blue eyes. His brown hair was messy, and mud smudged his cheekbone. Perhaps he was a mechanic or a farmer.
Her nose wrinkled in jealousy.
He raised his head, and she raised an eyebrow at him. He smiled. A nice smile.
"Hey, I know you!" he exclaimed. She frowned, as his eyes lit up. "You're the blondie from the bar? With creepy guy."
She rolled her eyes, tugging the satchel up on her side. "His name is Rick."
He offered out an uninterested look at her answer. "I don't care for his name, sweetheart, but I do for yours."
She glared, "It's none of your business."
His eyes narrowed, as he shook his head, "So stubborn. I wonder who done you wrong." The world has.
The world made her a woman and took away everything she ever wanted.
Instead of saying that, she turned away, ignoring him. She had better things to do instead of standing there chatting with a stranger.
Because speaking of Rick, she hasn't seen him in a few weeks. He hasn't tried to contact or stop by her apartment, or come to her job unannounced, although she hates it when he does that, she still dislikes his sudden disappearance.
She was down on money this month and only had a nickel to her name. She had used all of her money on rent, her water was getting cut off in a week if she didn't pay, and she barely got anything for food.
The only reason she ate was because one of her coworkers, Kate, was kind enough to buy her lunch so she wouldn't starve. Selfishly, she was hoping he would come by, so she could seduce him into helping. She knows it's wrong, and so fucking disgust, but what else could she do?
Go home? That wasn't a choice and never will be again.
She turned the corner, and as soon as she thought she lost him, he jogged up beside her. "My name is James, beautiful."
She pressed the bag against her chest, and said, blankly, "I didn't ask."
She didn't look away from the street ahead and watched patiently as cars drove by. Children running across the road, laughing and playing without a care. She sighed, as he moved to her right side, blocking her sight of her view.
He shrugged his shoulders, "I know, I just wanted to give it."
She nodded, silently.
She looked over his shoulder, and as soon as the cars stopped, she began walking across the street. She listened to the footsteps behind, as he followed.
He doesn't say anything. Doesn't attempt to start a conversation, he just silently walks beside her. For this reason, always stays on her right side, near the street.
"Yelena." Thinking that maybe if she told him he'd leave.
His brows furrowed, and she watched as he took it in, as if she had just told the most mind-blowing information and not just her name.
"Ye-len-a." He tested on his tongue, then slowly grins, "I like it."
She shrugged her shoulders, "Good, because it's never changing." He chuckled at her words.
For the rest of the way, they walked in silence, as she approached the street of her apartment building.
He didn't leave her side until she stood in front of her door. As she turned to face it, her brow furrowed. The door was slightly ajar, a faint light illuminating the room within. A low murmur drifted out.
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
She swallowed nervously. "N-no."
A frown creased his brow as he moved closer, a sense of unease growing within him. Gently, he guided her behind him and reached for the doorknob.
As they entered, his gaze swept across the room. Her eyes, however, were fixed on her bedroom door, from which strange noises emanated. Her jaw clenched, and a look of determination replaced the fear.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered, her voice low and angry.
Confusion etched his features. "What—"
Before he could finish, she rushed towards her bedroom, leaving him to follow in her wake. The door swung open, revealing a dark-haired man and a brunette entangled in a compromising position.
James’s eyes widened in shock, as a wave of disgust washed over Yelena.
"Rick!" she exclaimed.
The couple froze, their eyes darting between her and the intruder. Rick, the dark-haired man, recognized James from the bar.
"What the hell? Aren't you the guy from the bar?" he asked, a mix of surprise and annoyance evident in his tone.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up! Don't act like you're not the one having sex on my bed."
Rick's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I always knew you were a whore, Yelena."
James couldn't contain his anger. "Don't call her that," he spat.
Both Rick and the blonde turned to him, surprised by his sudden outburst. Rick scoffed, dismissing James's threat. "Yeah, yeah, man. Look, Yelena, I'm sorry—"
She cut him off, her voice firm. "Get the hell out of my apartment."
His eyes widened in disbelief. "W-what?"
"Are you deaf? Get out!" she repeated, her voice rising. The brunette scrambled off the bed, gathering her belongings from the floor. Rick, still stunned, protested. "What are you doing? You can't kick me out."
She scoffed. "And why can't I? This isn't your house, Rick."
He glared at her, his jaw clenched. "It might as well be! I pay every bill in here, you bitch."
Before she could respond, James intervened. With a swift movement, he grabbed Rick and pinned him against the wall. Rick's eyes widened in fear as he realized the seriousness of the situation.
"Leave, Rick, or I'll forcefully remove you for her," James warned, his voice low and menacing.
Usually, Rick would test his limits, and taunt anyone who dared to touch him. But one look at James's eyes, and he knew he was serious.
Rick huffed, struggling to break free from James's grip. Finally, James let go, and Rick stumbled back.
Rick tugged on his pants, gathering his clothes. James moved closer to Yelena as Rick and the woman left the apartment.
"Fuck you, Yelena!" Rick yelled, slamming the door behind him.
She sighed, flipping on the lights. At least Rick had the decency to pay the bills before turning her apartment into his personal love nest.
"Thank you."
Yelena moved the satchel from her shoulders and placed it on the counter. James shrugged. "No need. I was just doing the right thing."
She hummed in agreement. "Still though..."
They fell silent, Yelena leaning against the table. His eyes glanced towards the door. "He isn't going to be a problem, is he?" James asked.
Yelena shook her head. "He's all bark, no bite."
James nodded, clearing his throat. "Well then, I'll be on my way."
Her brows rose. She didn't know why she was disappointed. She smiled. "Of course. Have a good day, James."
He smiled softly. "You too, Yelena."
She watched as he walked towards the door, nodding goodbye. He opened the door and slipped out, closing it softly behind him.
Her shoulders slumped.
She groaned, running her fingers through her hair. She might have made a mistake kicking Rick out. He probably wouldn't want her back now. On the one hand, it wasn't the worst thing, but on the other hand, it wasn't the best.
At least she had some time to save up for next month's rent.
She shook her head, looking towards her kitchen. A green satchel sat on the counter. Her eyes widened in surprise. He'd left it.
She rushed towards the door, hoping to catch him before he left. She looked outside her door. Her head turned left and right, searching for him, but he was already gone.
She sighed, closing the door. She looked back to the kitchen, wondering what to do with all his stuff.
She approached the bag, her eyes curious. It wouldn't hurt to look inside, right?
She uncurled the folds of the bag and opened it. Inside, she found a bunch of vegetables - cucumbers, celery, tomatoes. She frowned. There was more. Much more. As she dug deeper, her eyes widened in surprise. It was everything she'd tried to buy.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She looked up at her mattress, and ruined sheets, and thought about how much kinder this stranger, James, was than Rick had ever been.
She remembered how she'd met Rick. Natalia had warned her that he was a slob who didn't deserve her attention. Despite his rudeness and ignorance, she'd stayed.
She looked down at the bag, realizing she'd been the slob in this situation. The rude, ignorant one.
And despite that, he had still been kind.
She wondered why. Kindness didn't come for no reason.
•
Beauty.
"I want to show you something."
She hesitated. "In a forest?"
He smiled. "It'll be beautiful, I promise."
And he was right. The area was imperfect, the trees overgrown, the grass patchy. But that's what made it beautiful. The wildflowers blooming between the vines, the birdsong, the peacefulness of the place.
He held up his hand, smiling at her awestruck expression. "You know, you should start trusting me more."
She had no reason to trust him. He'd given her no reason to, but he'd also given her no reason not to. She rolled her eyes, taking his hand and carefully stepping off the rock. The long grass brushed against her skin. "Why? So you can walk me into the woods and stab me?"
He lets out a throaty chuckle.
She looked towards the many flowers in the grass, from dandelions, roses, and her favorite, lilies. She smiled, gently cupping the bright petals in her palm. "Why choose me? Don't you have many other girls to show this to?" Perhaps he already had.
"None of them are as beautiful as you," he replied.
She turned to him, a skeptical look on her face. "Charming," she muttered.
He shrugged. "I try my best."
She shook her head, her eyes wandering around the beautiful scene. A smile slowly spread across her lips.
"There's a lake, almost as beautiful as this, if not more," He told her.
She turned back to see him standing in the middle of the greenery, the sunlight illuminating his figure. He looked almost divine.
"Maybe you could take me there tomorrow," she suggested softly.
His eyes lit up. "I would love to..." He paused, his brow furrowing. "But we... I can't."
She frowned. "Why not?"
He swallowed. "I'm enlisting."
Her shoulders slumped. Of course, a man like him wouldn't stay behind while others fought for their country.
She nodded. "Oh."
He heard the disappointment in her voice, a disappointment she'd tried to hide. He frowned. "You wouldn't be alone, right? Do you have any friends? Family?" he asked, concerned.
She frowned. She had a nice lady at work, but she wouldn't call her a friend. And there was Rick, but he was long gone.
"No," she replied simply.
Then he stared, or waited, like he was expecting her to spill her guts, tell him, no, she doesn't have any friends because he's only the one who puts up with her nasty attitude. Or her parents weren't here, but countries away, and it was impossible for her to go to them without getting gunned down.
She doesn't want to tell him about her smart, amazing, wonderful, sister, who died a little too soon, who's the reason why she's here. She could, she doesn't. No, instead she clenched her jaw and blinked away the tear dust from her eyes.
And thankfully he doesn't ask further. He nodded.
"I have a brother."
Her brows rose, and he smiled.
He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a photo. Her brows furrowed, as he turned the picture to her. He pointed towards a little gangly figure. "His name is Steve. He's trying his damnest to fight in the war, right beside me."
Her brows furrowed at the photo between his fingers. Down to the short blond boy underneath James' arms, who isn't quite smiling as hard as the brunet, but his eyes still shined with happiness.
"But he's..." She paused, not allowing the mean words to slip from her lips. The boy was skinny, thinner like a twig, his skin was pale, and he looked weak, sickly. She swallowed, "—so small."
James doesn't look phased by it. He shrugged, and grinned, "Yeah, and he's mightier than any other soldier out there."
She hummed, disappointed by the news. But why would he stop on her count? He didn't know her.
A soft sigh escaped his lips. He reached down, plucking a blue lily from the grass. He placed it gently in her cupped palms, his fingers lingering on hers. She watched silently as he moved his hands beneath her own, his thumbs softly caressing her skin.
"Write to me?"
His voice was hushed and hesitant.
She wished he could stay.
She smiled softly.
"Of course."
•
Growing.
It had been three months of exchanging letters.
Sometimes, she wondered if she was annoying him with her constant writing. But then she'd receive a letter back, filled with the same excitement she felt.
He liked writing to her, getting to know her. He'd ask endless questions about her life, always eager to learn more.
She'd tell him about her job, how it was slowly improving, even if the pay was still terrible. At least she'd made a friend, Kate. A kind woman who would buy her food, and with whom Yelena didn't have to say much. Kate's endless chatter filled the silence, and Yelena was content with their dynamic.
James thought she should talk more, and she tried. But often, she'd fall silent as Kate rambled on about random topics.
Yelena found it worked for them.
Over the past few months, she'd fallen behind on her bills. It was a surprise Mr. Lawson hadn't come knocking on her door demanding rent. She knew soon she'd have to pay up or risk eviction.
The overdue bills ate up half her savings. Her water and gas would likely be cut off, but at least she'd have money for food, even if it was cold.
She shrugged on her courier bag, her eyes scanning the white building in front of her. She frowned, not exactly looking forward to seeing Mr. Lawson's grumpy face.
She shook her head and entered the building.
Luckily, the world seemed to be on her side today. Instead of Mr. Lawson, an elderly woman stood behind the counter, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she read something.
"Hello, Mary," Yelena greeted kindly, causing the woman to look up.
Mrs. Lawson, as Yelena knew her, smiled softly. She was much nicer than her husband, Yelena thinks she's only the reason, Mr. Lawson hasn't kicked her to the curb. "Hello, dearie. You look well. Haven't seen you in a couple of months."
Yelena winced. "Right, sorry about that." She pulled out an envelope of cash from her bag. "It's a bit short for the last few months, but I promise to pay the rest next..."
"There's no need," Mrs. Lawson interrupted, shaking her head.
Yelena's eyebrows furrowed. "And why's that?"
She sighed, pushing the envelope back toward Yelena. "Your bills have been paid, dear, as well as your utilities and the rest of the bills for the coming months."
Yelena's eyes widened. Her mind raced, she had a feeling of who might've done this. She nodded, stepping away. "Apologies then, Miss Lawson. I'll be on my way."
He couldn't have, could he? A knot tightened in her stomach. Why would he be so kind? Maybe he wanted something in return. Maybe he had ulterior motives.
No one was truly selfless.
"Yelena?"
Her head snapped towards the elderly woman. Yelena leaned against the doorknob, her eyebrows furrowed.
"It's Mary, remember?"
"Right..." Yelena swallowed. "Farewell, Mary."
Then she stepped out of the building, her mind racing with questions.
The first thing she did when she got home was grab a pen and paper. She sat at her table, beginning to write: "Dear Barnes..."
She kept it short and simple. Two weeks later, she received a reply.
After she retrieved it from her mailbox, she decided to read it on her break. She sat at her recently cleaned table, hesitating slightly as she peeled open the envelope.
She pulled out the letter and began to read. Slowly, the frown on her lips began to fade.
Dear, Yelena.
Ah, you've finally noticed.
No, you don't have to repay me. No, I don't want anything from you. All I ask is for you not to be angry. I have done this with kindness in my heart, there's no hidden goal, except your safety and happiness. I did not wish to come back and find you lost and homeless. I didn't wish for you to struggle. Honestly, I wish for you to find the success, the calling, you need. My dear Yelena, I wish for you to find out who you are. You have been lost for so long, I wanted more of you.
Now with the freedom from worrying about payments, I wish for you to go explore yourself, and find what you truly want to do, to be. I will not apologize for doing this. This is not pity, this is reinsurance, that someone is by your side despite your constant bullying of them.
Now, I believe I have said everything I needed to say, if I didn't, I know you will tell me in the next letter.
Sincerely, James B. Barnes.
Her brows creased. She hadn't mentioned it in her letter. She'd tried to, but she couldn't put her worries and fears into words. Somehow, he'd known.
"Was that him?"
Her head snapped up from the paper. Kate stood in front of her, staring at the letter.
She knew.
Of course, when Kate finally got her talking, she couldn't stop talking about him.
Yelena nodded.
"Yes."
Kate smiled. "You're smiling."
Yelena lifted a hand to her face, surprised to feel the curve of her lips. She hadn't noticed. Kate chuckled, shaking her head. Her eyes returned to the letter.
"Can I?" she asked.
She hesitated because it was personal, special, and something she didn't want to ruin. She looked at Kate, who stared at her patiently.
She trusted Kate.
Yelena nodded, and Kate carefully took the letter from her hands. She watched as Kate unfolded the paper, her eyes darting down the page. A small smile curved her lips as she read.
"He's so sweet!" Kate gushed, setting the letter down gently. Yelena smiled, knowing Kate understood her sentiment to it.
He was.
Maybe too sweet for her. She could be mean, and angsty, and despite all her flaws, he was still there. She didn't know why, but she was grateful.
She looked up to find Kate watching her.
"What?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
Kate smiled softly. "You like him."
Oh.
She didn't play dumb. She didn't twist her words like she would have a few weeks ago. Because she did. She thought she liked James, maybe a lot.
Yelena nodded. Kate grinned, taking Yelena's hands in hers. "That's wonderful!"
It really was.
•
Heartbreak.
Peace doesn't last very long.
She'd learned that early on.
She remembered days of playing in the snow in Russia, building snowmen, and making angels. Her parents would chase them, laughing and smiling. But then the harsh winter would end, the crops would be ruined, and Mr. Grant would yell at her father as if he could control the weather. She'd help her father, her muscles aching as she toiled in the fields.
She remembered the early days in America, the luxury of tasting new foods and wearing new clothes. It was so different from Russia, but then the war came, and people began to view her differently because of her accent. Her sister had to teach her how to let go of things that connected her to her homeland.
She'd learned that happiness was fleeting, especially for her.
So, she wasn't surprised when it happened. Or at least, she shouldn't have been.
She was at Stark Expo, her arm linked with Kate's, who was excitedly talking about Howard Stark's genius.
That's when she saw it.
She felt Kate's arm slip from hers, but she couldn't look away. A knot tightened in her stomach as she watched a brown-haired girl, smiling widely, leaning into a tall, brunet man in a military uniform. His strong jaw and dimpled chin were framed by a warm smile.
She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they were shining. It had to be because his eyes always shined when he smiled like that.
"Isn't that your James?" Her James. No.
Then Kate noticed the lady on his arm, "Oh. Maybe that's just a friend."
She blinked, harshly, finally forcing herself to look away. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter if she is or isn't. And he isn't my anything."
"Yelena..." Kate started, but Yelena shook her head, tugging her friend along.
She tried her hardest to ignore them, to not let her eyes wander towards the pair who were huddled together, whispering. She tried to ignore his smile, her kind eyes.
"You're shaking," Kate observed, concern evident in her voice.
Yelena lowered her head. She hadn't noticed. Kate's gaze drifted towards the couple, then back to Yelena. "We can leave if you like..." she suggested, starting towards the exit.
Yelena frowned and grabbed Kate's wrist. "Why? There's nothing wrong," she insisted, though her mind was screaming otherwise. She forced a smile. "You've been talking about this for weeks, so we're staying until he's done."
Kate's shoulders slumped. "Are you sure?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern.
Yelena nodded emphatically. "I'm sure."
Kate didn't look convinced, but Yelena didn't allow her to say another word. She grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the crowd that was gathering around the stage, where Howard Stark was about to present his latest invention.
As they waited, Kate rambled on about what she'd read about his experiences, about how she believed Howard Stark was going to change the world. Yelena listened intently, even asking questions, which made Kate smile and talk endlessly.
Howard Stark took the stage, presenting his latest invention: a flying car. The crowd was astonished, laughing and applauding. The prototype failed, but he assured everyone that with time, it would succeed.
The crowd erupted in applause. Kate clapped enthusiastically, and Yelena joined in, trying to match her friend's excitement.
"Flying cars! Who would have thought of that?" Kate exclaimed, and Yelena watched her with wide eyes as she began to explain the reasons why she thought it failed.
She laughed. "You're such a nerd, Kate Bishop."
Kate's cheeks turned pink. She shook her head, but Yelena could tell she was flattered. Just as she was about to tease her further, a body bumped into her. She stumbled, reaching out to steady herself. A brunette woman turned to her, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."
Yelena nodded. "It's fine, it's my—"
"Yelena?"
Yelena's eyes snapped towards the tall figure walking towards them. She watched as the girl's eyes lit up and a smile spread across his lips as he looked at Yelena.
He sounded surprised, but it wasn't a guilty surprise. It was more like, "I'm so glad to see you." She tried not to let herself fall into it.
He had no reason to feel guilty, and she shouldn't want him to. But she still couldn't stop the coldness creeping into her voice.
"Barnes."
His smile faltered.
His brows creased, and he frowned. He looked at her, then at the brunette at his side. His eyes widened in realization. He shook his head. "Wait, Yelena, this isn't what it looks like."
"What does it look like, Barnes?" she asked.
James opened and closed his mouth, his eyes darting between her and the brunette. A lump formed in her throat as she watched him struggle to explain. He looked defeated.
He had given her hope, only to crush it.
"Yelena..."
She didn't allow him to speak, instead, she turned and walked away.
She didn't know where she was going, but she just needed to get away from them. She moved through the crowd, ignoring the complaints as she pushed past people.
"Yelena!" James called after her.
She ignored him, continuing to walk. But he was persistent, catching up to her.
"Please," he begged.
She stopped, lowering her head. They were alone in an alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. She looked up at him, what hurt the most was that he hadn't told her. He hadn't even told her he was back.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.
"I wanted to surprise you!" he smiled, throwing up his arms.
If she hadn't seen him with her, she might have smiled back. She might have hugged him, maybe even kissed him.
Her jaw clenched, her face scrunched up. "Okay..." she muttered.
Confusion flickered in his eyes. His words hadn't changed anything, hadn't made her feel better.
She swallowed, shaking her head. Without another word, she turned and walked away. She closed her eyes, wishing the knot in her stomach and the lump in her throat would disappear. She refused to cry.
"I didn't like Connie," he said, stopping her.
She froze but didn't turn around. She listened as he continued.
"She's nice, beautiful, with gorgeous brown hair, a dazzling smile, and deep eyes. She’s perfect." His words were a dagger to her heart.
"None of that compared to the blonde with curly locks, sharp forest eyes, and many types of smiles that I love so deeply I can't even pick a favorite. She isn't nice, but she's impossible to describe as mean. I couldn't say she's pretty, beautiful, or gorgeous, because she's much more than that. Maybe she's all of it put together. She... isn't perfect, but maybe that's why I like her so much," he confessed, his voice filled with conviction.
She didn't know what to say, to do. She swallowed. "You... you don't have to explain yourself to me."
He didn't have to do anything.
"I know," he replied softly.
But he did. He did everything, and he wasn't obligated to. He did it because he cared.
She turned back and his eyes were sparkling. A misty glisten surrounded the softness in his kind gaze. And she was such a selfish girl who didn't deserve this. This care, trust, and...
"I'm sorry."
He furrowed his brow. "You're so annoyingly sweet, and I expect too much of you," she said, a smile playing on her lips.
He chuckled, and nodded, instead of rolling her eyes, she said,
"We're not together."
She ignored the flicker in his eyes, and the pain in her chest, as she continued.
"And when I saw you with her, I hated that because..." She swallowed, "I knew I could never be her, the one you held hands with, or kissed and—" Her breathing hitched, as her words were cut her off by strong hands cupping her cheek.
Her eyes widened, as she looked into those blue eyes.
His eyes drifted down to her lips, she watched as he licked his. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't kiss her, doesn't speak. He was waiting. Waiting for her.
She swallowed because this was the last thing she expected him to want. Despite the countless times she assumed, she never truly believed. Because it's odd to think a man like James Barnes wanted her.
But it was true, and he was waiting.
With his eyes closed, his pouty lips parted, patiently never moving closer, or begging.
She hesitated, as she moved her fingers to rest on his side. She leaned forward, for a moment, her lips hovered inches away, before she pressed her lips tenderly against his. A soft sigh escaped from his mouth, his lips curled, as his fingers moved to tangle in her hair.
He pulled her closer, and she thinks...
She thinks nothing.
Her mind goes blank.
•
Passion.
Rick was her first.
With him, it was never gentle, quick, and rough, never satisfying her, always about him.
It's what she expected from James, he was much stronger, taller than him, and he had much of the masculinity that Rick wanted, so she assumed he would be similar, maybe worse.
But she was so wrong.
Instead, James was patient.
His lips were as rough as Rick's, but he pressed them against hers with a gentleness that surprised her. His fingers tangled in her hair, not yanking so hard that she winced, and his kiss wasn't hard enough to bruise. Instead, his hand rested across her waist, above the area below. His lips were gentle as he pulled her closer.
Her fingers twisted in his shirt, and she...
She didn't know what to do. She never kissed Rick back, always standing stiffly as he touched and explored. She didn't want to do that with James; she wanted to feel him as much as he felt her.
He lowered his head to her neck, kissing her skin with a softness that made her eyes fill with tears.
Her hands moved down to his pants, fumbling with the belt. She almost had it when a hand stopped her.
"No," he whispered, firmly.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened her eyes, confusion evident. He looked down at her, a gentle smile on his face.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a press of his lips.
It was so different from Rick. He was...
His fingers were light on her skin. She inhaled sharply as he tugged up her shirt, her arms raised as she wiggled out of the fabric, which was tossed aside.
He didn't bite or tug, kissing her softly as he lowered his head to her chest. He kissed tenderly down to her breasts, waiting patiently as if taking it all in.
She whimpered. Rick never... he...
James's finger curled against the strap of her bra, tugging it down until her chest was bare. He kissed her breast, his tongue licking her skin, causing her to gasp in surprise and lust.
"James..." Her voice was low, airy. Her fingers moved through his hair, gripping tightly, urging him for more, to do something she wasn't quite sure of.
She felt his lips curl into a smile. She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead, she moaned as his tongue rolled against her nipple.
He wasn't rushing, he wasn't making it about him. It was about her, all her.
His head moved, lowered down to her stomach, she whimpered at the loss of contact until he pressed his lips against her.
His fingers curled into her pants, tugging on her waistline. She arched up, allowing him to pull it down her legs. He leaned up, and for a second he hovered over her. And just stared at her reddening face, his eyes moving down her nakedness.
"God... you're so beautiful, Yelena." He sounded breathless, amazed.
She swallowed, and then he smiled. He pressed his lips against hers, and her fingers went to his face, as she pulled him closer with eagerness.
His hand, rough and insistent, slid inside the soft fabric of her underwear. A gasp, a sharp intake of breath, escaped her lips as his fingers brushed against her core. Her eyes flew open, wide with surprise and a flicker of desire. He paused, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the humid air.
"'It's okay," he murmured, his head tilted, lips brushing against hers, "Relax..."
And she listens.
She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed.
A shiver ran through her as his fingers found her most sensitive spot. His touch was both gentle and demanding, sending ripples of pleasure through her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips traced the curve of her jaw.
He whispered words of comfort, but she was already lost in a haze of desire.
A sigh escaped her throat as she moaned, "James..."
She wished he would do more... she wished... Suddenly, his fingers touched the inside of her cunt. His fingers curled inside, pressing against her sensitive inner folds, a gentle but intense pleasure spreading throughout her.
His fingers danced across her sensitive core, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through her. She arched her back, her breath catching in her throat. His lips traced the curve of her ear, whispering words of comfort and desire. She was lost in the moment, her senses heightened, her body trembling with anticipation.
She wondered if this was what making love felt like, she hoped it was.
•
Love.
Her head laid on his chest.
Her fingers trailed down his abdomen, caressing his abs and the many scars from war, and probably childhood. His heart pounded against her ear.
She never did this with Rick. Never laid in his embrace, before or after sex. He never wanted to cuddle, never touched her softly instead of sexually.
His stubble brushed against her cheek as he leaned down, pressing his lips against her shoulder. "I want more for you," he murmured.
It wasn't the first time he'd said that. He'd written it many times in their letters.
"Do you ever imagine what life will be like after the war?" he asked. She had.
Many times, she imagined going back to Russia, seeing her parents, hugging them, telling them she was sorry she left, sorry they had to grieve for both of their daughters when they had only lost one.
She pressed her head against his throat, nodding under his chin. His fingers trailed up and down her arm mindlessly.
"I want to build you a house," he said.
Her eyebrows furrowed, her fingers pausing on his chest. "I want us to have a huge yard, maybe a ranch, so you can grow your crops." He grabbed her hand. "Get a dog, train it to help with the animals."
She chuckled. "You've thought about this a lot, huh?"
He pressed his lips against her fingers. She tried not to smile too widely as he said, "All together."
He thought about their future, while Yelena had only just realized they might have one.
"That sounds nice," she murmured.
She didn't think it was possible. She didn't tell him that because he didn't believe the impossible existed. She smiled as he leaned down to look her in the eyes.
His lips curled upwards. "Really?"
His voice was soft, his eyebrows furrowed. She reached up and wiped the crease between them.
"Really," she replied.
His soft smile turned into a huge grin. She giggled as he suddenly leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and she thought that, even if it never happened, it was nice to live in that fantasy.
Of having her own home, dressed in overalls, nails buried in dirt as she planted her crops. Of James a few miles away, commanding the horses and cows, as their dog raced around the animals, helping them move ahead.
She imagined being happy and at peace, being together without a war.
She thought it was nice, even if it was far from reality.
•
Grievance.
Reality sucked.
It wasn't perfect, had too many flaws and errors. Reality ruined lives because usually, it wasn't happy.
In real life, good endings don't exist.
No matter how good or bad a person is, they'll soon realize the world isn't a book or a movie, and that despite what they do, life is always going to be painful. Someone could be a hero, and save millions of lives, but sorrow will still follow behind.
It's cruel like that.
She isn't a good person, mediocre at best, nowhere near a hero. Maybe, that's why the world is so shitty to her because she wasn't trying to be good, to change things.
She was accepting the bad, unknowingly inviting more into her life.
"Is this Yelena Belova?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Colonel Philips." The smile slips from her face. "I am sorry to inform you, but Sergent James Barnes has sadly..." She didn't hear him, his voice faded away, as her grip loosened.
When things were going good, great even, the worst is always sneaking up behind, readying its attack.
Kate frowned, picking up the dangling phone, she pressed it against her ear and listened. Yelena ignored her widening eyes and strong inhale.
She was selfish, mean, and could be downright cruel. So maybe that's why the world chooses to take things from her.
A soft voice touched her ears, "I'm so sorry, Yelena." Yelena allowed Kate's arms to wrap around her, the world doesn't believe she deserves love or happiness.
Because they took him.
They took James Barnes away from her.
•
Rekindling.
She had grieved him for four days, and during that time, she realized there was no right way to grieve.
Whether she was alone or with someone, the pain would always linger.
She hadn't grieved for Natalia. She couldn't talk about her, couldn't share stories. No one would've understood anyway.
She didn't know how to grieve for James. A part of her refused to accept his death. It didn't feel real.
So, she spent days searching, looking for any sign that he was still alive. She needed something to make it feel real.
She failed miserably. No military man would listen to a penniless woman asking questions about a man she wasn't married to. No one cared about her doubts.
She had no proof, no answers, just a gut feeling that something wasn't right.
She refused to accept that he was truly gone.
If he was alive, she believed that once he was back in her arms, they would be together forever. They would build that house, have that farm, raise those animals.
She knew the war wasn't over, but she hoped the fear of it would change things.
And when that time came, she felt his presence, saw him in her dreams.
The knock at the door, his soft voice, confirmed her hope.
"Yelena?"
He was wounded, a scar marred his cheek, and a bruise darkened his forehead. His hair was short and disheveled. He looked dirty and broken.
He didn't wait. Like whenever he came back from wherever he'd been, he didn't wait to be cleaned or fed or clothed.
His jaw clenched, a small shiver running through his body. His blue eyes, filled with a mix of relief and exhaustion, met hers.
"Yelena..." he whispered, his voice shaky.
A tear rolled down his cheek, and without hesitation, she fell into his arms.
His arms wrapped around her, holding her steady, as she broke down. His lips pressed against her hair, as he whispered to her how sorry he was, how he missed her.
She felt his tears falling against her cheek, his fingers gripping her, as much as she held onto him.
She was right.
•
Acceptance.
But also wrong.
Despite his sorrows, he didn't stay.
"I leave again in a month," He told her, softly, his fingers caressing through her hair.
She frowned. He had just gotten back. She hadn't seen him in months. He'd been lost and tortured, but he wasn't staying. He sounded breathless, as the next words flew from his lips. "I'm going to follow Steve into battle. We're going to defeat HYDRA."
That changed everything. Because it was Steve. She knew it would always be about him. Instead of asking him to stay, she chuckled. "Defeat HYDRA? Impossible."
She waited for him to smile, to say something about how the world was changing, and the impossible wasn't seeming as impossible as it once was. Instead of joking, grinning.
He asked, "You don't believe in me?" His voice was low, confusion evident in his furrowed brows and wandering eyes. He wanted an answer. Not a shrug or a roll of her eyes, but a real, sensible answer.
And... she believed.
She believed he was strong, an idiot, but wise. She believed in his blind obedience to Steve, his trust, and his loyalty. She saw it, so she believed.
She knew that despite what she said or asked, even begged, he'd follow that man into the darkness, without a question. So, she didn't fight, but she wondered how deep they had to go for him to stop. He'd scream that he'd go to hell and back for the man in red, white, and blue, leaving everyone behind.
She believed he would fight until he couldn't, and even then, he'd try, until his dying breath.
It didn't matter if he win or losses. As long as he tried. It didn't even matter if she believed.
But as she looked into his eyes, his dazzling blue eyes that stared so hopelessly into hers, she wondered if it mattered more to him than she thought.
She swallowed. "I know you'll try your best." It was neither a yes nor a no. She didn't belittle him or praise him too much, fearing it might send him into battle with too much confidence, which could get him killed. She didn't call him stupid or smart. She didn't say she believed or didn't. That was all she could give him.
And he accepted it.
•
Patience.
She waits.
He warned her that he wouldn't be able to write or receive letters.
So she would wait, silently, his leather jacket draped over her arms. She would try her best to fulfill the promises she'd made to him.
She would try to find a new yearning, but all she ever wanted to do was farm. She would ask Mrs. Lawson if she could use their backyard to plant her seeds, to create beauty. Mr. Lawson would deny her request, but his wife would insist, arguing that they needed to add some life to their old house.
So, she would spend every morning tending to her plants, watching them with astonished eyes, marveling at the beauty she was creating.
Sometimes, children would stop by, asking questions or offering to help. She would allow them, teaching them the dos and don'ts of gardening, and answering their questions with enthusiasm. Their curiosity kept her engaged, giving her a sense of purpose.
It brought her peace.
But after the calm, there's always a storm.
She saw that when she opened the door to a tall, blond-haired man in a military uniform, hat perched at his side.
"Yelena, right?" he asked, his voice hesitant and nervous.
She recognized his face. She'd seen it on posters, dressed in a striped suit. She'd watched him perform in the circus. But most importantly, she'd seen him when he was small and thin, possessing courage beyond his years.
She nodded.
His shoulders shook as he let out a breath. "I'm sorry, Yelena. He's..." He paused, his eyes darting away. He straightened his back. "I'm sorry, Yelena, but Bucky is..." The words died on his lips.
She knew. She expected, she warned, prepared even, to hear those words.
But Steve couldn't say it, couldn't force the words out. He couldn't believe it. She swallowed.
"Steve."
His brows furrowed, and he looked at her.
"Would you like to come in?" she offered.
He nodded.
They sat at her table, holding mugs filled with tea. He fidgeted with his cup, the steam rising to his face as he hesitated to take a sip. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.
"He talked about you a lot," she said.
Steve looked up, frowning. She smiled. "His mighty brother, the one who was going to change the world."
He swallowed. "He spoke too highly of me."
She chuckled. "Not all the time. He thought you were an idiot, but he'd still follow you anywhere."
A small smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded. "Yelena, I'm..."
"What happened? Did you push him? Shoot him?" she interrupted, with rapid questions.
His eyes widened. "No, no. He fell. Bucky... he tried to protect me, and..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching.
She sighed. "You have no reason to apologize."
He shook his head. "Yelena, if I hadn't asked..."
"He would have followed you anyway," she finished.
He paused, knowing she was right. Despite everything, they would always follow each other.
Steve swallowed, setting his mug down. Suddenly his eyes widened, like he was remembering something, and her brows furrowed. He shifted in his seat, his hand delving into his pocket.
She frowned slightly, lifting her cup. The warmth of the steam caressed her face as she sipped. Her thumb traced the mug's side as he placed something on the table.
She set down her cup, her gaze drawn to the chain he slid towards her. "Bucky wanted you to have this."
It was his dog tags.
She picked them up with tender care as if they were fragile.
"He told me, that just in case one of us didn't make it, we should switch tags and..." He cleared his throat, "He would've given mine to Peggy, and his... well," He trailed off, nodding towards the tags in her hand.
She hummed, like always, James was thinking ahead. Her thumb caressed the metal, and traced the engraved name:
James B. Barnes
415168399
B NEG
Her heart warmed and ached. He wanted her to have this. Leaving it with her deepened what her heart already knew: he loved her. It also hinted at his fear, the premonition that something would go wrong.
So James trusted him to give it to her, and Steve trusted him to... Her brows creased, "Who's Peggy?"
She looked up at him. For the first time, she saw a genuine smile on his face, small and soft. She looked into his eyes, and she knew he was seeing her, his Peggy. Her hair, her smile. His eyes showed love.
"Do you love her?" She asked, his cheeks flushed, as he nodded. She chuckled, "Do you have a picture of her?"
His smile widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a locket. She held out her hand, and he gently placed it in her palm.
She slowly opened the locket, her gaze shifting from the clock to a beautiful woman in a military uniform, her lips curved in a gentle smile.
"She looks lovely," She stated, as she handed it back to him. He nodded, his eyes shining with endearment, "that she is."
She watched as he looked down at the photo with affection. She leaned forward, grabbing the chain. At least one of them still had their love.
"You're a very lucky man, Rogers," she said, pulling the necklace down, and letting the cold metal of his tags rest against her chest.
His eyes followed the tags, and he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I know it's probably hard..."
Immediately, Yelena shook her head, "it's fine, Steve, I asked, remember?"
He has a bad habit of being apologetic for things beyond his control. He nodded, then shrugged his shoulders, "still though."
She chuckled and leaned back. She didn't want the silence to fill the air, to create awkwardness between them. This was his best friend, his brother. She wanted to get to know him better.
She cleared her throat, capturing his attention. Arching an eyebrow, she asked, "Do you have any funny stories about him?"
A grin spread across his lips. "Many. There's one he'd never tell."
She smiled. "Well, he's not here to stop you."
Despite the underlying sadness in her words, Steve chuckled and began to share a story.
About the time James's swim trunks fell off at the lake, and a bee chased him around the yard, while he was naked as a jaybird. About the time he convinced James to relieve himself in his pants during a fun-filled indoor game.
She playfully scolded him for the last one, and he laughed it off, claiming James had done worse to him. And then he shared those stories too.
They recounted countless tales of fights, pranks, and James's protective nature. She told him about their first meeting, his unwavering support, and how he'd always been there for her.
For hours, they talked about him, sharing laughter and love. It felt good to have someone to remember him with.
The reality of his absence would hit her tomorrow. But for now, sharing these stories with Steve, she realized the power of shared memories.
They were keeping James alive, in a way.
•
Comfort.
It took three weeks for Steve to find HYDRA.
Two days later, he left. Before he went, he was worried about her. She assured him she'd be fine, and if she wasn't, she'd tell him when he got back.
A week later, a knock sounded at her door. A bark echoed behind, her head snapped towards the pup at her side. Her name was Fanny, a canine with a cloud of multi-shaded blonde fur. A while ago, Steve had rescued the puppy from one of HYDRA's bases, where it had been used as a test subject.
The blonde soothed Fanny with gentle scratches behind her black ears. She raised up, her brows creased, as another knock came through. Fanny perked up, her ears twitching. Yelena shook her head, and commanded, "Stay."
The dog huffed indignantly, her tail drooping. Slowly, Fanny sank to the floor.
Yelena turned towards the door, another knock echoing through the hallway. She rarely had visitors, especially with Kate out of town. She hadn't heard from Steve in a while.
So, as she leaned up to the peephole, she half-expected it to be him. Instead, she saw a woman with brown hair, rubbing her shoulders.
She pulled back, unlocking the door. It opens, as soon as the woman turns to leave.
"Can I help you?"
The woman paused, turning back. Her eyes narrowed at Yelena, who frowned.
"Yelena, right?"
Oh.
Here, it was all over again.
She nodded, her eyes meeting the woman's.
She saw the olive military uniform, the distant eyes, the tense shoulders. This wasn't a casual visitor; this was a soldier bearing bad news.
Yelena swallowed. "It's Steve, isn't it?"
The woman lowered her head, nodding slowly.
Yelena studied the woman with wavy brown hair, deep blue eyes, and angular features. She recognized that face. Steve had shown her a picture of her countless times, keeping it safe in his locket.
Her brows furrowed, "Peggy, right?"
She nodded once again, the struggle evident on her face. It was the same look she'd seen on Steve's face, the words caught in her throat, too painful to utter.
She widened the door. The brunette's brows furrowed, and she offered a soft smile. "Come in?"
The brunette didn't move.
"Please?"
Peggy hesitated, then stepped inside.
•
Hope.
Three weeks ago, he would have turned 97.
She knew he would have been right beside her, maybe in another trolley, or sitting beside her, holding her hand, pressing his lips against her skin. He would have tried his best to talk to her, to make her laugh, or at least smile.
Steve Rogers would have been 96. Well, she couldn't say "would have," could she? Since the man was never truly dead, merely frozen in time, only to return to a world vastly different from the one he left.
He hated it, he'd told her after their reunion. After he'd held her, apologized profusely for the things beyond his control.
She'd tell him to be patient, that with time, the differences would become less stark.
A little while later, she'd have a stroke. It didn’t kill her, but it left her weakened, unable to move or see. All she could do was listen to the beeping machines, the voices of doctors and nurses rushing in and out of the room.
She didn't get many visitors. Occasionally, she'd hear Peggy's raspy voice from a phone call.
Rarely, Steve would come. He'd talk about the movies he'd watched, the music he'd listened to, and all the strange new devices.
During these visits, she'd long to speak, to share her thoughts and feelings. She wanted to tell him she wasn't surprised he liked rock music, to laugh with Peggy as she shared stories about her grandchildren.
"Yelena..."
She was surprised to hear Steve's voice. He only visited twice a month, and his voice was usually filled with sadness and weariness. But today, there was an undercurrent of something else, something hopeful.
Suddenly, she felt rough fingers grasping her hand, a gentle squeeze.
"He's alive, Yelena."
Those words were the last she expected to hear from his lips. After all these years, her James was alive?
He chuckled, a bittersweet sound. "I saw him, actually, I fought him. And he..." He trailed off, the weight of the news heavy in the air. He sighed, "HYDRA took him, and... I'm sorry, he doesn't remember us."
Even if everything sounded perfect, it wasn't.
Steve's grasp tightened, "But I promise, he will. I'll make sure of that."
He promised.
She held onto his words.
•
Yearning.
"Oh, Yelena..."
It wasn't until three years later that she’d hear his voice.
She didn't know what day it was, but the coldness of the room was gone, replaced by a comforting warmth. Fingers traced her skin, a gentle touch that made her heart ache with longing. She wanted to smile, to cry.
"How long has she been like this?"
"Almost five years now."
"Can she hear us?"
Three voices echoed in the room.
The first was James's, a voice she knew intimately. It was so close, she could almost feel his hand on her cheek, his lips on her forehead.
The second was Steve's, stronger than she remembered. Yet, the same gentle undertones remained.
The third voice was unfamiliar, a woman's voice. It sounded familiar like she should know it, but she couldn't quite place it.
"I... I don't know," Steve admitted, his voice thick with emotion.
His words were their breaking point.
"Oh, my love..."
James sobbed, his hair brushing against her skin. She longed to turn her head, to bury her face in his hair. She wanted to scream, to cry, to reach out and touch him, hold him.
She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she wished things had turned out differently, that they'd had more time together.
She couldn't stop him from leaving.
She couldn't grab his hand and plead with him to stay, as she'd wanted to all those years ago. She wanted him to keep talking, but instead, she was left with the fading echo of his footsteps.
She couldn't stop herself from breaking down.
"Hello, Yelena..."
There she was again. The unknown woman's voice soothed her, a gentle balm to her troubled soul. She wished she could open her eyes and see her, see him.
She wished, she wanted.
•
Ending.
Two years later, Steve told her he'd lost him again. A blip, people disappearing. He apologized, but she knew there was nothing to apologize for.
Five years later, she heard James's voice again, but it was broken. He'd lost them—Steve and the girl. The girl who'd talked to her every day held her hand, caressed her hair, and told her she missed her. Yelena didn't know who that girl was, didn't remember her. She'd enjoyed her company, her touch, her gentle voice.
Her heart ached knowing that was gone.
Her heart ached for James, for herself. They'd lost and gained at the same time. She wished she could hold him, be there for him like Steve had been for her, like they had been for each other the first time they'd lost James.
She wanted to comfort him, to see him, to move.
It wasn't until she was 100 that she passed.
He wasn't there.
In her final moments, she opened her eyes, the harsh hospital lights blinding her. She wiggled her toes, feeling the cold metal of the bed.
In her last moments, he wasn't there. In the moments she could move, touch, and see, he wasn't there.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as her gaze fell upon the lilies and roses.
She wished he was there.