Chapter 25
Yelena wakes up in an unfamiliar bed and it takes a few moments for her to register that she’s someplace new. She jolts upright, half expecting to see Khonshu in the corner waiting to tell her that she was safe and explain where exactly he had piloted her body after she died.
The corners are empty, the shadows do not hide her God and the previous day starts to slowly come back in fragmented pieces.
Yelena remembers being stabbed by a God. She remembers bleeding out and then dying. She remembers her meltdown with the memory of her older sister as children.
She peers around the bedroom, her head still a little foggy. She presumes that she’s in Layla’s apartment, more specifically in her bedroom, but she can’t remember how she got there.
“Khonshu?” She can’t help but whisper, praying that the Gods had somehow figured out how to return Khonshu to her while she was dead. She knows she shouldn’t get her hopes up because her chest tightens uncomfortably when there is no response.
Yelena pushes the sheets off of her, slowly standing, and looks down at her outfit. She’s no longer wearing her suit, or the tank top and legging she usually wore underneath that. She assumes that she’s wearing something of Layla’s but she doesn’t remember changing or showering. She knows that she was covered in blood, she thinks she may have apologized for bleeding all over Layla. She really hopes that Layla didn’t see anything if she helped her. Then again, Yelena owes her for barreling into her life and making all these demands of her, bleeding on her, and now stealing her bed.
Yelena opens the door of the bedroom and shuffles into the bathroom, feeling like an intruder as she quietly creeps around. She peers at herself in the mirror, realizing that she was staring at herself for a while and she turns, half expecting to see Khonshu waiting to drop a towel over her head.
When Yelena leaves the bathroom, she finds Layla sitting at her desk, inspecting the notes that she had made on the relic. Yelena approaches her quietly, watching her work for a few moments as she debates about how to get her attention. She finally takes a deep breath and gets it over with. “Layla?”
Layla jumps, knocking over a stack of books with her elbow and Yelena sees her pull a knife and twist to wave it at her face. Instinct has Yelena snatching Layla’s wrist, twisting sharply. Even with fatigue dragging her down, Yelena easily disarms her and has Layla’s own knife at her throat in a matter of moments.
“Holy shit…” Layla breathes out and Yelena blinks before she realizes what she was doing and jerks away, dropping the knife.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Yelena apologizes, backing away and holding her hands up.
“No-- no, that was my fault,” Layla straightens up. “I didn’t expect you to be awake so soon. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She looked concerned.
“Hurt me?” Yelena echoes. Layla wouldn’t be able to hurt her unless she really tried. She shakes her head. “No. No, did I hurt you?” Yelena grabbed her hard and she can’t tell if she hurt Layla when she put the knife to her neck.
“No. But…” Layla peers down at her with a small smile. “You know, that was really cool.”
Yelena blinks at her. “...what?” she squints in confusion. “I had a knife to your neck.” She states as if Layla had forgotten.
“Yes. But the way that you disarmed me was really cool,” Layla gushes and Yelena stares at her in disbelief.
“You’re… you’re not mad?” Yelena questioned. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone who was so nonchalant about having a knife held to their neck and then not holding a grudge. “I could have killed you.”
“No. I’m not mad,” Layla shakes her head, finally reaching down to start picking up the books she knocked over. “But you have to show me how to do that.”
“You don’t know how to disarm someone?” Yelena frowned before she crouches down to help Layla collect the spilled books.
“Not like that,” Layla moves the books the collected back on the table again.
“But you said that you took down a human trafficking ring,” Yelena knew that there was always heavy security and weapons involved when it concerned trafficking. “Who taught you to fight?”
“I’ve mainly done taekwondo and karate. I took jiu-jitsu in middle school and then self-defense classes as a teenager. When Tawaret approached me, I started training,” Layla peers over at Yelena. “What about you?”
Yelena stares at her. “That’s all?” She can’t help but blurt before wishing she could take her words back when Layla eyes her, letting out a huff.
“What do you mean that’s all? I’m just a woman, Yelena. I don’t have superpowers,” Layla straightens the books on her table. “What kind of training do you have then if my training is so scoff-worthy.”
Yelena should have expected the question to be returned to her. She plucks at the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing, looking down at her bare feet. “Some…” She mumbled, not really wanting to delve into the Red Room.
“Where did you learn to disarm someone like that then?” Layla folds her arms, leaning against her desk to watch Yelena curiously.
“I learned when I was eight,” Yelena eyes a spot on the rug under her feet. “Mastered it when I was nine.” She remembers using it to slit a fellow Widow’s throat.
“Eight?” Layla repeats in disbelief. “Who the hell was teaching you to throw knives at eight?”
“Does it matter?” Yelena can’t help but snap at her, shrinking in on herself when Layla stares at her.
“I guess not,” She drops the subject. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. How long was I sleeping?” Yelena asked, trying not to reveal the fact that she barely remembered the previous day.
“Like twelve hours. I honestly expected you to sleep for days or something but then again I have no expertise when it comes to resurrection,” Layla’s face drops as she looks down at her feet before looking up at Yelena again. “You… shit, kid. You died in my arms.”
Yelena swallows hard, guilt pooling in her stomach. She had only ever died with Khonshu before. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Layla suddenly exclaimed, startling Yelena. “Don’t apologize for dying. The whole thing was really fucked up and not your fault.”
Yelena doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say if not apologize. She longs to feel Khonshu hover just over her shoulder like a protective shield wrapped around her, guiding her through what she should say or do. “Did… did they mention anything yesterday about Khonshu?”
Layla eyes her for a few moments. “How much do you remember?”
Yelena lets out a huff at the exact question she had been trying to avoid. “Not much.” She admits because she wants her God more than she wants to save herself from embarrassment. “I know that I died but everything after that is spotty.”
Layla nods her head. “That makes sense. Tawaret talked to me a little bit after you died about what it meant when your patron didn’t show up. They don’t know where he is. There…” She paused for a moment before she steeled herself. “There was talk about severing your bond with Khonshu.”
Yelena feels like a bucket of ice water was dumped over her, cold dread filling her. They couldn’t sever a bond between an avatar and a God without consent from both parties, could they? Yelena would have to say it was okay, right? They can’t just-- they can’t just take Khonshu away from her.
…can they?
Khonshu was the only person Yelena had. She wouldn’t know what to do without him. She needed him. He protected her. He was her family.
“Hey. Hey, look at me,” Layla is suddenly very close to her, her hands gripping Yelena’s shoulders gently. “Breathe, Yelena.”
Yelena wants Khonshu. She wants him to display hieroglyphs in front of her and she wants him to tap his staff against the ground in that pattern that never failed to soothe Yelena. Sometimes Khonshu’s rumbling voice was too much but the tapping of his staff at her feet never frightened her.
“Hey.” There are suddenly hands on her face and Yelena flinches, her eyes flickering to peer up at Layla. “There we go. You need to breathe, Yelena. C’mon kid.”
“Not a kid--” Yelena manages to get out between gasps.
“Of course not,” Layla hums, her grip on Yelena’s shoulders softening. “Come here.” She tugs Yelena forward and Yelena is much too tired to put up a protest.
Layla pulls Yelena against her shoulder, gripping her wrist and pulling her hand up to press against her chest.
“Feel my heartbeat. Feel the rise and fall of my chest. Can you try to match it?” Layla encourages and Yelena squeezed her eyes shut. She does her best, breathing in and out with Layla the best she can.
She shouldn’t have freaked out like that. But the thought of someone taking Khonshu away from her scared her, especially if they could do so without her even knowing. “Sorry…” She finally manages to breathe out.
“Shush,” Layla scolds and Yelena falls quiet. Layla squeezed her hand, swaying in place and Yelena really shouldn’t be so comfortable with leaning into the hold of someone she met nearly a week ago. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
Yelena squeezed her eyes shut. “I need him.” She wonders if the bond was severed if Khonshu would ever take her back or see her again. She knew she was just some human that could be easily replaced but she needed him, even if he only wanted her for her skills.
“I know,” Layla says. “Hey, why don’t we go to the grocery store and pick some comfort food.”
“Comfort food?” Yelena echoes, wrinkling her nose. “What is that?”
“Essentially what it says. Food that comforts you, maybe reminds you of a happy memory or makes you feel nice,” Layla shrugs her shoulder. “I like apple cinnamon oatmeal. Makes me think of my father.”
“I like macaroni and cheese,” Yelena said quietly and Layla lets out a soft laugh.
“Let’s go get some then.”
Natasha knew that there was something off about Layla El-Faouly. Something about the woman told Natasha that she couldn’t drop this. So Maria allowed Natasha to set up surveillance on the woman.
Layla and her niece Dina dropped off the cameras for two days before suddenly reappearing, Layla carrying her niece, the young girl injured.
Now, the duo is heading down the sidewalk, a hood pulled over Dina’s face as Layla keeps an arm around her, talking to her with a grin.
Clint is paired with Natasha and they follow them from a distance. Dina carries herself tersely, her head ducked down.
Layla and Dina head into a grocery store and the duo follows them in. Layla tugs Dina around the store and has to prompt her to even pick things up. Dina’s body language was off. To most, it would look like a grumpy teenager that just wanted to be left alone but Natasha catches Dina tensing up under each touch from Layla, her head tilting to eye each exit, and she purposefully avoids everyone else.
Natasha watches as Layla drags them to the aisle with pasta and they stand in front of the display, Layla whispering something into Dina’s ear. Dina finally reaches out to pick up a box of kraft macaroni and cheese and Natasha’s heart clenches when she remembers how Yelena adored that fake cheese sauce.
Her heart always hurt whenever she thought about her baby sister. She still holds a lot of regret about not being able to save her. Losing her sister is her biggest regret.
Clint grips her shoulder to get her attention and Natasha pulls herself out of her head to focus on the pair.
When Dina picks up a box of pop-tarts, Layla reaches out to ruffle her head, the hoodie moving under her hand and they get a view of Dina’s face.
Clint sucks in a sharp breath and Natasha drinks in the sight of the girl’s features before Dina slaps Layla’s hand away and adjusts the hood over her head.
“Shit, Nat. That’s her,” Clint breathes out and Natasha glances at him. “White Knight.”
The sketch artist didn’t get the features right. Dina, or rather White Knight, is not a young adult as Clint had estimated. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Clint inclines his head.
White Knight is a child no older than sixteen. A child soldier.
Dina’s head turns until she’s staring at them. She drops what she was holding in her hands and takes off right for them.
“Shit!” Clint grabs Natasha’s arm and yanks her toward the exit of the store. “C’mon!”
Natasha glances behind them at White Knight, watching the girl falter when their eyes connect before the girl picks up her pace.
“Hey!” Layla turns the corner, cutting them off. Clint slides to the left of her while Natasha slides to the right. To her surprise, Layla doesn’t try to stop them but rather snatches White Knight’s hoodie, yanking her back and wrapping her arms around her to keep her in place.
White Knight squirms, the hood falling from her head, and Natasha catches a glimpse of her unobscured face for the first time before Clint drags her away.
Maria is displeased when Clint updates her on the situation.
That night, Natasha dreams of her sweet baby sister as they swing on the playset in their backyard.
She desperately misses the little girl that she let get sent to the slaughter. She wasn’t quick enough to save her. But perhaps, she could save White Knight.