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It seems ridiculous that after everything that has gone down in the last few hours, Kate still remembers one tiny, meaningless detail. Maybe it’s her brain’s way of filtering out all the overwhelming thoughts she can’t process yet, trying to spare her from a breakdown.
But as her mother is driven away in a police car, every inch of her body feels covered in bruises, even her bones hurt, and she can only think of the green coat left crumpled in the elevator.
Of course, the building is completely abandoned. It’s a mess of shattered glass and overturned furniture, a testament to the fight that only just ended. She’s the only one crazy enough to come back and collect anything. Still, there’s that nagging fear in the back of her mind that the coat will have disappeared, and Kate releases a breath of relief when she finds it there, just where she left it. The rich green fabric reminds her of a pair of eyes, one she wishes she could see again. She picks it up and remembers everything.
She remembers when Yelena stripped off the coat, shoved it into her arms, and swore at her with a withering glare. Reminding her, Kate’s body aches with the fresh bruises inflicted during the ensuing fight. But before that, she remembers the bolt of lightning that passed through her the first time on the rooftop. Every detail is engraved onto her eyelids, and all she has to do is close her eyes to see in vivid colour the moment when she first locked eyes with the assassin she was supposed to hate. Then, she looked like an angel of death, and she was the most dangerously beautiful thing Kate had ever seen. Kate had her enemy at the end of her arrow, and she went against all her better judgement and lowered her bow. Like a ghost, Yelena took her chance and disappeared into the night. Kate’s decision was stupid and reckless. She should have taken the shot when she had the chance, because god knows she would never get another one. Protecting herself and Clint should have been her top priority, terrifying gorgeous assassins be damned. But Kate had never doubted that she had done the right thing. She had let Yelena go, hoping against hope that she might come back to her someday, under different circumstances, and they could be different people.
Right now, holding the heavy coat to her chest, Kate hopes it’s not too soon to start over.
When Kate gets back to her empty apartment, she does two things she’s been dying to do. First, she gulps down an extra-strength Advil with a wince. Second, she pulls out her phone and sends a text.
- Kate Bishop to Unknown Number: I have something of yours.
She doesn’t bother with her address. Obviously Yelena already knows that. Kate still remembers the way her heart nearly stopped the first time the assassin ambushed her in her apartment. If she wants to, she’ll know exactly where to go. Kate doesn’t dare hope that Yelena will even pay attention to her text, let alone take her up on her offer. She doesn’t let her heart speed up when she hears small noises in the hallway, and she doesn’t let herself pace impatiently the way her feet are longing to, and she doesn’t let her eyes drift to the front door. An hour passes while she stews anxiously on the couch, trying to watch something trashy on TV but unable to tear her eyes from her phone sitting on the coffee table. The screen stays dark and no answer comes.
Just when Kate is ready to give up, go take a much-needed shower, and maybe donate that goddamn coat to Goodwill, she hears a noise outside the window that makes her heart stutter. She’s half convinced she’s imagined it. But then there’s a clatter, a frustrated grunt, and the window pops open like a soda can. Kate leaps up off the couch and catches her right hand reflexively reaching back to where her quiver would be if she were still wearing it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she curses herself mentally. But when she sees the face in the window, the thought vanishes like smoke.
“Kate Bishop! Good to see you again!” Kate’s heart squeezes when she hears her name roll off Yelena’s tongue in that infuriatingly attractive accent of hers, just like it always does. Yelena smiles, and Kate’s careening world slows down just a little. She can’t help smiling back.
Yelena enters the apartment the way she does everything else: with style and nonchalance. As if she didn’t just pry the window open with a crowbar, she slips through the gap and leaps down as casually as if she just strolled through the front door. She’s still wearing her sleek black suit from earlier, but her hair is freed from its elaborate braid and now falls into soft flaxen waves to her shoulders. Just like the first time they met in the apartment, Kate’s hands itch to run her fingers through it, but she keeps her hands tightly at her sides, trying not to let herself think about it. Seemingly oblivious, Yelena shakes it out of her face and sweeps it behind her shoulders.
“You seem to have a thing for dramatic entrances,” Kate points out.
“What can I say? It comes naturally,” Yelena says with a shrug.
Like an idiot, Kate just stands and stares. It seems like every time she’s seen Yelena, it’s always in the middle of some fight or crisis and there’s just never enough time to really look at her, not like she should be looking at her like that anyways. But now they stand across from each other unarmed - at least Kate thinks so, but you never know with assassins - they can finally see each other as they are. It feels so good that Kate wants the moment to stretch into infinity and last forever.
“You said you had something of mine?” Yelena’s eyes glint, and Kate can tell that she noticed the way she was staring.
Kate snaps out of her slack-jawed trance. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” Reluctantly, she turns away from Yelena and picks up the carefully folded bundle of green fabric resting on the table. The wool feels soft in her hands. “Here. I… kept your coat for you.”
Tentatively, Kate holds the jacket out to her, and it feels like a peace offering across a vast gulf. It takes a long time for Yelena to say anything. She just stares at it, and if Kate didn’t know better, she would say that she appears almost confused. Kate can feel her blood pressure ticking steadily upward, and it feels like she’s about to explode when Yelena finally breaks the silence.
“You went back for it?” Her voice is soft.
“I … thought you might want it back.” And you look so damn good in it, is the part that she thinks but doesn’t say out loud.
When Yelena finally reaches out to take it, her fingers brush against Kate’s, who has to focus all her energy on not leaping back like she’s been burned. Carefully, like she’s handling some ancient, priceless artifact, Yelena unfolds the coat and lets the long hem fall to the ground in all its glory. When she puts it on, it fits like it was made just for her. Kate doesn’t miss the satisfied shimmy of Yelena’s shoulders as she wraps it around herself like a layer of armour. When she finally looks back up at Kate, she sees something she doesn’t think she’s ever seen in the assassin’s eyes before: shining gratitude, and something else much softer.
“Thank you, Kate.”
The apartment is quiet, far too quiet for Kate’s racing heartbeat, which she’s sure Yelena must be able to hear. It feels wrong to say you’re welcome, because really Kate was only doing what made sense and there was no possibility of anything else. Besides, she had to pay Yelena back for, well, not killing her when she had the chance. Okay, many chances. Hurriedly, Kate changes the subject, though she’s almost afraid to ask.
“So, you and Clint… you’re good now?”
Yelena laughs drily, and Kate doesn’t miss the tight note of pain behind the sound. “Good? No. But I am not going to kill him anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Kate’s breath leaves her in a great whoosh of relief. “Good. Good. That’s… good.” God, she sounds so stupid right now. Say ‘good’ one more time, dumbass, she admonishes herself. But her head is buzzing with relief, tangling her thoughts and her tongue. Her world is upside down right now and everything has changed, but most important is this: the barrier that separates her from Yelena is starting to crumble. Kate wants to help it along, tear down every last brick with her bare hands if she has to. But to take the first step feels damn near impossible, and instead she just stands paralyzed and she hates herself for it.
Kate never expects Yelena to be the one to take the first step instead. The assassin is amiable, yes, but she’s also strange and sarcastic and fiercely proud and let’s not forget extremely dangerous. Whenever she’s around, Kate feels any semblance of control slipping through her fingers, and she can’t decide if she loves it or hates it. So when Yelena steps forward, Kate looks up like a deer caught in headlights. She’s even more startled when Yelena reaches out to take her hand. So startled, in fact, that her bones turn to jelly and she limply lets it happen. Dimly, she recalls that this is the first time Yelena has ever touched her in a way that isn’t meant to knock her on her ass. The other woman’s hand feels like a firebrand against her skin, and Kate is so busy staring that it takes her a while to look up and meet Yelena’s eyes.
“Kate, when we first met, I feel like we got off to kind of a rough start.”
“You could say that,” Kate agrees. A nervous laugh bubbles out of her throat.
“Do you want to try again? Much less fighting and killing this time.” Yelena tilts her head inquiringly, and her promise hangs in the air like wisps of smoke.
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Kate nods so hard that her already sore neck hurts even more, but the pain feels like a dim memory. Nothing is real except the woman in front of her.
“Good.”
Once again Kate is frozen, terrified to make one wrong move and shatter whatever this delicate thing is that’s connecting them. When Yelena brushes her lips over Kate’s, it’s so soft that she thinks she could have imagined it. But when Yelena’s hands cup her jaw and pull her gently but firmly downward, everything suddenly becomes real. Her lips are hot and seeking, and Kate answers eagerly. She tips her jaw down and kisses Yelena back like she’s starving and she had no idea until this moment. Her hands find Yelena’s hair on their own, and it feels just as soft as it looks. When she runs her fingers through it, Yelena hums deep in her chest and presses impossibly closer. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Her hand finds the small of Kate’s back, and the sensation sends a bolt of lightning along her nerves. She tries not to gasp, but Yelena notices and smiles against her lips. Smug bastard, Kate thinks dizzily. And she can’t get enough. Unfortunately, she eventually needs to breathe.
When Kate eventually breaks the kiss, she needs to wait a moment for the world to stop spinning. When she looks down at Yelena, her green eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown wide, and… is she blushing? By the burning in her face, Kate knows that her own cheeks are flaming red, and she’s grinning like an idiot. She doesn’t know what she did to deserve the beautiful woman in front of her, looking at her the way she is, but she’s not about to stop and ask any questions. For a moment, everything is still and utterly perfect.
Kate, being Kate, has to ruin it.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. What does сука mean?” Kate can tell by the twitch of Yelena’s lips that she’s absolutely butchered the pronunciation, and she winces apologetically.
Mercifully, the Russian doesn’t bring it up, and instead provides a chipper answer. “I called you a bitch.”
Kate scowls. “Well that’s not very nice.”
“Neither was slapping me in the face.”
Kate grimaces. “Sorry about that.” She's replayed that moment dozens of times in her head and she still doesn't know what possessed her to do that.
“Ah, it’s okay. It didn’t hurt,” Yelena says with a shrug.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Kate intends to keep her promise. This time, she’s the one to bring her lips to Yelena’s. She takes her time, slow and gentle, and that feels like the perfect way to start over.