mustard yellow
When Yelena heads downstairs the next morning for breakfast, there is a small grocery bag on the table.
“That’s for you,” Laura tells Yelena from where she stood at the stove, bouncing Lila in one arm as Cooper played around with his toy cars at her feet.
“Where’s Clint?” Natasha questioned, eyeing the grocery bag suspiciously. Yelena knew that the sudden amount of gifts was a red flag in the Red Room. Things were given with the aim to bribe or buy their silence.
“Collecting some eggs from the chickens,” Laura says as Yelena approached the grocery bag.
Yelena peers inside, relieved to see that there was only one object inside of it. She pulls it out, turning the box in her hands to read the label.
It’s a nightlight.
Yelena opens the box, tapping the light into her hand. The plastic cover protecting the bulb is shaped like a star and pained a soft yellow. There are holes poked on the top of the case where the light shines through.
“What is it?” Natasha murmurs, sliding closer to Yelena. “A light?”
“A nightlight.” Yelena nods her head. Laura had mentioned how one had helped her. She glances up at Laura who was still standing at the stove. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Laura said, stirring something in a bowl. “Would one of you hold Lila for me? I need to finish this up.”
The sisters glance at each other before Natasha moves forward and hesitantly takes Lila from Laura. Yelena slides the nightlight back into the box, glancing at Natasha holding Lila before peering at Laura. “Can I do anything to help?”
“Would you go check on Clint and made sure he hasn’t been overtaken by chickens?” Laura chuckles, gesturing toward the backyard with her hand.
Yelena nods, slipping out the back door and moving toward the chicken coop. “Clint?”
It was quiet for a few moments before Clint’s hand pokes out the coop. “Hey!” He grins. “You ever wanted to learn how to grab fresh eggs?”
“No.” Yelena replies, scrunching her nose up. Never once had the thought crossed her mind.
“Well too bad, come here and hold the basket,” Clint says, not even glancing at her as he holds a wicker basket with a few eggs in it out.
Yelena hesitantly enters the enclosed area and shuffles toward Clint, taking the basket.
It was quiet and Yelena observes as Clint carefully collected eggs from the nest.
Clint finally turns toward her. “Woah!”
Yelena tenses up. “What?” She questioned, peering around for what could have caused that reaction.
“Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this shirt,” Clint says. Yelena looks down at the shirt she was wearing. She had picked it out because it was very soft between her fingers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone wear mustard yellow on purpose.”
Yelena shrugs slightly. “It’s soft.” She said quietly. Carol and Maria helped her pick it out. They hadn’t said anything about the color being wrong.
“I’ve just never seen anyone pair grey sweatpants with a mustard yellow sweatshirt, that’s all I’m saying,” Clint chuckles, setting two more eggs into the basket.
Yelena looks down at her shirt again. “I like it.” She said, grasping the basket just a little tighter.
“At least there’s no fashion police around here,” Clint snickers but the phrase is unfamiliar to Yelena. She doesn’t know what it means but based on the context she doesn’t think it’s a good thing.
Yelena shoves the wicker basket toward him. Clint jolts in surprise, scrambling to grab hold of the basket but it tips over and the eggs tumble out onto the ground.
“Oof,” Clint grunts, looking down at the pile of eggs on the ground. Some had broken while a few were still whole. “Yelena?”
Yelena hadn’t meant to break the eggs. Yelena reaches up to tug on her hair, letting out a frustrated huff.
It was just a comment about her shirt. Maybe Yelena shouldn’t wear it? Maybe it was wrong or bad?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Clint questioned, reaching toward her.
“Don’t touch me!” Yelena said sharply, slapping his hand away before twisting and quickly stepping back. “Stay away!”
Clint holds his hands up, rooted to his spot. “Okay. Okay, I’m right here. What’s wrong?”
Yelena clenches her jaw before she spins around and storms back into the house.
“Did Clint get the--” Laura cuts herself off as Yelena strides right through the kitchen.
“Yelena?” Natasha questioned but Yelena ignores her, marching upstairs and into the guest bedroom before she rips her shirt off and balls it up, throwing it against the wall as hard as she could.
Yelena had been allowed to pick out her own clothes and apparently she chose wrong. Yelena grabs her SHIELD-issued grey shirt and yanks it on before picking up the yellow sweatshirt and yanks on the fabric.
The door to the bedroom opened moments later. “Hey!” Natasha said sharply, moving toward her and grabbing the bottom of the shirt to try and wrestle it away from Yelena. “What are you doing?”
“Destroying it!” Yelena said, trying to rip the fabric with her hands.
“Stop it! You like this shirt, what happened?” Natasha grabs Yelena’s wrist to try and stop her, still tugging at the piece of fabric.
“It’s wrong! I chose wrong!” Yelena grits her teeth as tears fill her eyes. “I picked wrong! It’s all wrong! It’s wrong!”
Natasha grabs the back of Yelena’s neck and squeezed, finally ripping the shirt away from Yelena when the teenager falls limp against her. “You did not. What happened?”
“It’s wrong!” Yelena repeats, unable to utter anything but that. “I picked wrong.”
Natasha drops the shirt, pulling Yelena against her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. What happened? What did Clint say to you?”
Yelena shakes her head, burying her face into Natasha’s shoulder.
“Yelena, what did he say?” Natasha demands, pulling Yelena’s head out of where she hid it. “Look at me.”
Yelena sucks in lungfuls of air greedily, shaking her head. “I--”
“What did Clint say that made you try to destroy one of your favorite shirts?” Natasha demands, tugging on the SHIELD shirt Yelena had on. “You haven’t worn this outside of training since we went shopping.”
“He said nobody wears yellow,” Yelena replies, averting her eyes. “He mentioned something called fashion police… I broke the eggs… Laura’s gonna be mad at me--”
Natasha pulls away from Yelena and moves out of the room quickly. Yelena blinks a few times in surprise, reaching up to rub her face as she slowly follows.
Yelena witnesses Natasha shove Clint up against the wall.
“What’s going on?” Clint questioned calmly, his hands gripping Natasha’s wrists from where she had fistfuls of his shirt.
“Natalia?” Laura questioned, Lila in her arms once again.
“If you ever mention what my little sister wears like that again then I will hurt you,” Natasha said, staring him in the eyes.
“I didn’t mean for her to get upset,” Clint tells Natasha. “You know that. Maybe the joke about the fashion police was too far--”
“Fashion police? Clint!” Laura gasps and Clint shrinks in on himself slightly.
“That shirt was one of the first pieces of clothing Yelena ever picked out for herself,” Natasha leans closer to Clint’s face, her voice lowering. Yelena watches, unsure if she should stop her.
“What did she wear before SHIELD picked her up then?” Clint asked in confusion.
“Anything I picked up for her. We had to blend in so I grabbed the latest American fashion teenagers wore for her,” Natasha shakes her head. “She took two hours to pick that shirt out, she loves it, and I just caught her upstairs trying to destroy it.”
Clint shrinks in on himself, letting out a small sigh. “I didn’t mean it.” He murmurs.
“Why would you criticize her clothes?” Laura admonished him.
“It was a joke! Looking back, not a very good one. I didn’t mean to make her upset. I just--” Clint lets out a huff. “Sometimes she acts like a normal teen and I don’t censor myself.”
It’s probably the honest body language that stops Natasha from punching his lights out. She grits her teeth and shoves him back against the wall.
Yelena slips back upstairs, moving toward the nightstand with her phone. She picks it up, scrolling through the contacts and calling one.
“This is Hill,” Maria answered and Yelena lets out a long sigh of relief. “Yelena?”
“Maria.” Yelena murmurs. “Do you remember when we went shopping?”
“Yeah. Of course… are you okay?” Maria questioned, concern in her tone.
Yelena was quiet for a few moments. “I just got upset over something stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it made you upset,” Maria retorts. “What happened?”
Yelena lets out a huff. “It’s stupid.” She insists, whether it’s to herself or Maria, she doesn’t know.
“Yelena. Stop. It’s not stupid,” Maria rebukes.
“You don’t even know what it is!” Yelena slides down the wall to sit, glancing at the ball of yellow fabric on the floor.
“I know whatever it is made you upset. That’s not stupid.” Maria says. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re upset, hmm?”
“Clint told me that nobody wears mustard yellow on purpose and that I was lucky there weren’t any fashion police in the area,” Yelena murmurs, tucking her chin against her knees that she drew up to her chest.
“That doesn’t sound stupid.” Maria said after a few moments. “He made fun of what you were wearing. Did you take the shirt off?”
“Yeah.” Yelena mumbles, slightly ashamed at how violently she had reacted.
“Put it back on.” Maria tells her. “Go on.”
Yelena sets the phone down, moving forward and picking the sweatshirt back up. After a moment of staring at it, she pulls it back over her head. She picks the phone back up, retaking her seat. “Done.”
“Good. Don’t let people tell you how to dress, how to act, or what to like,” Maria’s voice softens. “You are a human. A person. You have thoughts and opinions and your choices matter.”
The collar on her shirt is stretched slightly but it’s still just as soft. “I don’t want to pick wrong.” She admits quietly.
“There is no ‘right’ way to live. From your favorite food to your favorite color, there are no wrong choices,” Maria reassures her. “Clint has no room to talk about fashion police, I’ve seen him wear a sparkly leotard for undercover work.”
Yelena lets out a small huff of laughter before quieting down. Maria was the Deputy Director and probably had a hundred other things more important than Yelena to worry about. “I’m sorry.”
“If you’re apologizing about calling or reacting the way that you did then don’t,” Maria says. “I told you to call me if you needed me.”
Yelena rubs the sleeve of her sweatshirt between two fingers. “Then thank you.”
“Of course.” Maria said.
There was a knock on the bedroom door and Yelena said her goodbyes to Maria so that she could answer it.
Clint’s standing on the other side, Natasha nowhere in sight. “Can we talk?”
“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Yelena tells him.
“Okay. That’s fine. Can you listen then?” Clint questioned. Yelena nods and Clint lets out a sigh.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a comment about what you wore. That was insensitive and mean of me. I don’t want you to change how you look or dress to please me, we can have different tastes,” Clint tells her, glancing at the shirt that she had put back on. “You look good in that shirt and it looks very soft. I was just being an insensitive asshole. I’m sorry.”
Yelena looks down at her sweatshirt. “We wore tac suits in the Red Room. Color wasn’t allowed except for red. The first question Coulson ever asked me was what my favorite color was and I didn’t know. I picked this out because it was soft and it was comfy, not because it was yellow. I couldn’t have soft things before.” Yelena smooths the wrinkles out with her hands, regretting trying to destroy it. “Your comment made me--” She hesitates before finishing her thought. “Sad.”
“Shit,” Clint runs a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna mess up sometimes but know that I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I know.” Clint never hurt her on purpose before.
“Is it okay if I give you a hug?” Clint opens his arms and after a moment of deliberation, Yelena steps closer.
Clint was the only man allowed to hug her.
“I’m sorry kiddo,” Clint said, rubbing her back. “Holy shit, this is soft. I might need one myself.”
Yelena lets out a small laugh, burrowing into his arms.
“Come on. Laura should be done with breakfast,” Clint tells her, giving her a reassuring squeeze before letting her go.
“I broke the eggs,” Yelena steps back, remembering the shove of the basket.
“You’re not the first person. Did Laura tell you that time one of the chickens attacked me? I dropped the whole basket and Laura says I screamed like a little girl,” Clint tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to walk with her down the hallway. “Chickens can be scary!”