Chapter Text
The wind is cold and sharp against her cheeks, reddened with both exertion and the fact that she has spent the past two hours outside, on horseback, with her hound right behind her. What is considered to still be a man’s sport has no gender in the Bishop household, even though her mother protests to this day against Kate being out with her father every Saturday, a makeshift bow and arrow on her back and a thrill vibrating through her chest.
They have come to an agreement over a decade ago, her mother and her; that Kate would be allowed to participate in the weekly fox chase, and in turn would still wear a skirt while doing it. She has considered it a win either way — bodices had no business in garments like these, and she could breathe , if only for several hours a week outside of her usual confines, and run and shout and laugh out loud — all things improper for a young, up-and-coming lady that her mother imagined her to be.
“We ought to make a turn and go back, darling. Your mother will wonder why we’re late for lunch.”
Kate hears her father Jack behind her just as she goes to pull an arrow (of her own making, thank you very much) from a tree trunk. Even though this sport is technically called a fox hunt , Kate has never once in her life hurt another living being, foxes included. Lucky, her adorable hound who has lost an eye somewhere in the vast forest behind the Bishop estate years ago, thought of foxes as friends too, so the two of them were quite a team.
Her father, moved by his daughter’s good will despite her ferociousness, proclaimed the sport a fox chase instead of a hunt when Kate was only twelve years old, and it has remained so ever since. Even her homemade bow and arrows are used for nothing else but the unmoving targets, X’s drawn on trees in the forested area they are in now, more of them added through the years, with different levels of difficulty that she needs to hit as she and her horse, Autumn, maneuver through them. Her father, in turn, doesn’t carry a rifle either, has not done so ever since he came back from the war a little after Kate turned two.
“By wonder you mean she will yell at you for keeping me away from my duties?” Kate replies, a twinkle in her eye and a wide grin on her face as she rips out the arrow and grumbles as it snaps in half — she will definitely need to find a better way to whittle them eventually.
“Either way, I think we also have guests today, and I’m afraid Eleanor would never forgive us for being late in welcoming our new neighbors.”
“Oh, that’s today?” She says, whistling for Lucky who has gone off to chase a stray squirrel just as they turned the horses around and rode back through the trees, the house visible in the distance but still ways away. The golden comes tumbling through the wet spring grass, tongue hanging and a playful bark as he bounds towards the house.
“Yes. I hear that the Belovs have a daughter close to your age too. She will inherit their business so they brought her with them from Alaska.”
“I forgot they’re from Alaska! They must have the most awe-spiring stories. I have to ask how they survive that cold up there.”
“They’re from mainland Russia originally, if I’m not mistaken.” Jack says, eyes trained on the house and narrowing, as if trying to remember. “But they moved to the American continent some twenty years ago with the fur trade business.”
Kate shudders at that. “Those poor bears, though.”
“Deer.” Jack corrects, looking over at her. “But I hear they gave that up when they decided to move. The lady of the house is now in the tailoring business as is the daughter, and her husband is away for months at a time, in California.”
“Gold recovery?”
“Indeed.”
“Better than hunting. Or war.” Kate mumbles.
“I do agree with you on that one, daughter.” Jack smiles, looking back at the house, and Kate mirrors it, excitement already settling deep in her stomach.
Being twenty-two, Kate’s circle of friends has narrowed greatly in the past couple of years, with most of the girls she has grown up with now married or worse, with children. It’s not like Kate actually minds the thought of marriage or of procreating, but she values her freedom and adventures most of all, much to her mother’s chagrin. She would rather go to New York and join the National Woman Suffrage Association, and petition against slavery and for women’s rights. All of these foreign concepts to her family, or rather ignored concepts, and Kate, not having worked a single day in her life thanks to her rich upbringing, cannot simply get up and leave. Even though she wants to, badly so.
But now – she will have a new friend to talk to, outside of the boring dinners her father, a Congress member, holds on occasion. It will definitely beat the family parties her married off friends throw once a month, and will certainly be more fun attending balls with another single woman. Kate can see it already, herself and the mysterious Russian neighbor, giggling over who gets asked for a dance with which man. Yes, she is independent but yes , she still cares for finding a husband who would love her and care for her… eventually. Her thoughts travel back to her new potential friend, and she wonders what she looks like — Kate has never met another Russian before, not properly at least, all of her friend circles having so far included the Western European descendants, boringly enough.
“Race to the house?” Kate asks of her father, suddenly finding the curiosity over the new family moving to the estate next to theirs unbearable, and before Jack can reply, she’s off, her laughter echoing through the wide backyard that could be compared to the size of a small soccer field as his protests are lost in a gust of wind far behind her.
The warmth and smell of a lunch cooking hits Kate as soon as she gets through the front door, Lucky bolting past her and towards his own food bowls in the kitchen. It has been a fight with her mother, a vicious one, when Lucky appeared at her door on her nineteenth birthday. It took everything under the sun to convince Eleanor Bishop to allow him to stay inside the house, but eventually he became a member of a family that everyone who ever met, loved endlessly.
“Katherine, love, is that you? Where is your father?”
“He’s just taking care of the horses! I’ll go change my shirt!”
“Please wear something appropriate, Kate–” Her mother calls from the kitchen again, even though Kate only half listens as she heads for the stairs. “The Belovs will be here at any moment!”
However, Kate is in no rush. Once she gets to the landing, she heads straight for the door at the end of the corridor, her bedroom nestled between two guest rooms and on the opposite side of her parents’ master one. The house itself is not as big as one would expect, considering the size of estate, but the Bishops never had intentions of having more than one child, rendering a bigger house useless. Instead, they have invested in their vast backyard, making a little artificial lake on one side with an orchard just across it, and kept the forested area on the other side, which has been Kate’s favorite place to spend time in, away from anyone’s curious eyes.
There’s dirt all over her face, and Kate’s thankful that her mother has not seen it, so she hurries to the basin in the furthest corner of her bedroom and rubs at her face when she pours the pitcher over a cloth, wetting it. She would have a proper bath later, it being a Saturday and all, but for now this will hopefully be enough. Shrugging out of her topmost layer of clothes, and still deciding against a bodice ( sorry, mother ), Kate opts for a high-collared button down shirtwaist and a floor-length purple skirt. Her hair is still braided up, and only several dark stray strands frame her face, and it will have to do. After all, she can already hear herself saying later, it’s not like I’m meeting a suitor, mother. Give it a rest.
There’s a bustle and a choir of voices on the floor below, and Kate knows that the new neighbors are there, she can hear their loud laughter and just as enthusiastic greeting of her father, and the polite response from her mother. She catches herself smiling at her own reflection, straightening the front of her blouse, picking at it nervously. There is nothing to be nervous about, everyone who ever meets her - loves her. Kind of like Lucky, really. This won’t be an exception, that much she’s confident about. Then again, Kate Bishop is confident about many things.
“Miss Kate?” Mary, the family maid, knocks on her door.
“Yes?” Kate calls back, kicking away her muddy boots and putting a new set on.
“The new neighbors just arrived.” Mary walks in, picking up Kate’s dirty outdoor clothes in an instant.
“Are they fun, Mary? Tell me they’re fun, please.” Kate asks, unable to stop herself. “What’s the girl like? Is she pretty? Is she odd looking? Tall?” Kate doesn’t know why, but she imagines her as tall, lean and redheaded. Not that she has any point of reference of what Russian women look like, but she imagines them to be much taller than Americans– even though Kate herself is quite tall by anyone’s standards.
Mary laughs as she goes about her business, used to Kate’s running mouth and Kate’s excitement over things. Being only eight years older than Kate, she has been her dear friend and confidante ever since her father hired her a decade ago.
“I think you’re going to like her.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Now be quick, before your mother notices you’re still up here.”
“I don’t care what my mother does or says.” A beat, as she checks herself in the mirror one last time. When she notices Mary shaking her head and smiling to herself as she heads towards the room with clothes in tow, Kate adds, “Fine, fine, I’m going.”
There is a big grin on Kate’s face as she comes down the stairs, hearing the voices coming from the dining room. The absence of dishes and cutlery clinking together must mean that they have been waiting for her, and she can already hear her mother’s reproachful tone even before she walks through the door.
“Looks like my daughter finally decided to join us.” And there it is, but Kate is way too taken in by three other figures to pay Eleanor any real mind.
The man’s name is Alexei, if she hears him correctly, and the woman’s Melina, and they do seem like a nice pair of people, with bright smiles, nice clothes and accents that Kate has never had the pleasure to hear in person.
Then there’s their daughter. Kate’s eyes have found her the moment she entered, immediately recognizing why Mary made the comment she did.
For one, she is not tall.
Even at a distance, Kate can see that she is as tiny as Mary is, with a thick golden braid falling down her shoulder and to her waist. Her shirt is decidedly not a woman’s, half covered with a vest that men usually wear when out and about, and it is coupled with striped pants. The first emotion Kate feels as she, undoubtedly, stares at this stranger is gut wrenching envy. The only time she has been allowed wearing garments like these have been plays she and her friends did for entertainment years ago (those have died down when most of them got married too), and yet here this girl was, in the middle of Eleanor Bishop’s dining room with hands in her pockets and a gaze that only met Kate’s when her parents approached Kate to introduce themselves.
Then her eyes– bright green like the lawn right outside, with golden flecks like wheat fields Kate has seen on a trip with her family once. There is something cold about them too, she notices when the girl approaches her, and only then does Kate realize that it is because the girl is not smiling, but studying her in the same way Kate has been studying her from the moment they saw each other.
“Yelena.” She says when their hands clasp together, and Kate can swear that it sounds like the buzz of a bumblebee, low and deep, coated in honey. Since when did she think in prose about other people, Kate wonders, and then realizes that she never met people interesting enough to think in prose about before. “Pleasure to meet you, Katherine.”
Her accent is not as harsh as both her parents’, but it is there nevertheless, and Kate notices that being called by her full first name has never sounded like… that.
“Kate, please.” She corrects anyway but gives her a smile that the other reciprocates with only a slight tug at the corner of her mouth. Kate looks intently at her upturned lips for a moment longer, wondering if the cold Alaskan wind was the culprit of the slight cracks in the skin there.
“Kate.” Perhaps her name was meant to be spoken in a Russian accent all this time.
Her mother breaks her out of the reverie and their hands let go of each other as she calls for them to sit down at the dining table, with Mary and Christine setting it up and bringing out the food.
Kate’s eyes stay on Yelena for the entire time as they get settled, seated opposite of each other, thinking about so many questions she has for her. For example, whether those clothes are something she just wears around, even on regular days, or had she talked her own mother into being more comfortable while they traveled to the East Coast? Melina Belov does not seem to be as scandalized by her daughter’s choices, having allowed her to come to lunch dressed this way, and her own mother tries not to look disapprovingly at the way Yelena pulls sleeves up her forearms when she sits down. It is a relief not being the only one under the scrutiny of Eleanor Bishop for once.
Then, Kate wants to ask her if she attends balls at all, and whether she dresses as a man or as a woman when and if she does. Her daydream from earlier, the two of them giggling about potential suitors, seems to fall and drown in water because Yelena does not look like she is capable of giggling.
When the blonde does laugh at something Kate’s father says some time later, Kate is surprised at how brash and loud it sounds, but finds heat climbing up her neck either way, especially when those green eyes look over at her.
“Kate darling, are you alright? You look a little flushed.”
All eyes turn on her right as she takes a big bite of the roasted meat, her cheeks full and now reddening even deeper , and she is certain that Yelena is just about to burst into that hoarse laughter again when her cold smile broadens.
“No mother, I’m— fine. Just warm, is all.” She can barely mumble around her full mouth, forgetting her manners. Her mother doesn’t forget though, giving her a well-known glare.
“I have to apologize for my daughter. She can be a little… odd. Sometimes I think she was raised by the wolves.”
At that, Melina laughs and Kate can feel herself straighten up in her chair a bit more, avoiding Yelena’s gaze that she sees boring into her from the other side of the table. Their fathers seem to be caught up in a conversation about the West Coast, and Kate wishes she could be closer to them and talk about anything else.
“Our Elena is the same way, but Alexei and I never mind. It is what makes her unique.”
“Yes, well, unique does not a lady of the house make.” Her mother replies, and Kate is already inhaling deeply.
A low chuckle comes from the blonde, prompting her to finally look her way. Wolf child, Kate could swear Yelena mouths at her and she chokes on another piece of meat, taking a long gulp of wine not to fall into a coughing fit. That has been enough of attention drawn to her at the table.
Once dessert in the form of chocolate cake has been wiped clean from all their plates, they all move to the living room, and Kate decides to stay as far away from her mother as she can, taking a seat at the wide window that looks out towards the forest. Maybe she should have stayed there the entire day, instead of being here with all of them. Yelena has taken her place by their fathers as they discuss hunting in Northern America, with hands deep in the pockets of her pants, and Kate had to consciously tear away her gaze from her and towards the window.
That was almost half an hour ago, and she is already considering excusing herself for the rest of the day and getting ready for a bath, when the voice shakes her from her thoughts, closer than she expected it to be.
“Your mother believes you should give me a tour of the house.”
Turning her head, Kate sees Yelena leaning casually on the window sill right in front of her, that smirk playing on her face once more. At this point, Kate finds it very irritating.
“I don’t care for what my mother believes .” Kate throws back, and sees Yelena’s smirk grow wider, rendering her dimples more prominent, and Kate thinks it is almost unfair for her beauty to be wasted away dressed in men’s clothing. What she ignores, however, is a part of her brain telling her that Yelena looks better in men’s clothing than many women do in even the most expensive dresses. That thought brings the point back to her original statement, though — it is unfair and she detests her.
“I thought that it would have more gravity than saying that I want to have a tour of your home, considering your eyes have been throwing daggers at me all lunch.” Yelena replies, and it’s the longest Kate has heard her speak so far. The way her lips move around a language that’s not native to her is very fascinating, and Kate wishes she could speak French as well as Yelena does English.
“Well, you were wrong.” Kate simply says, but can feel her frustration deflate, if only just a little.
“I admit my mistake.” Yelena says again, her one hand leaving the safety of her pocket to trail across the windowsill absentmindedly. “But I think us both will have more fun if we leave them now, no?”
Kate feels the warmth in her cheeks again, unsure why it’s there, and glances over at Eleanor and Melina laughing as they discuss the fabric of her mother’s dress, and their fathers seemed to be enjoying cigars in silence.
“Perhaps. Do you plan on calling me wolf girl again?” Kate lifts her chin inquisitively, her eyes meeting Yelena’s for the millionth time today.
“Wolf child. Only if you deserve it, Kate Bishop.”
Kate grunts disapprovingly when she slides down from the window, prompting another chuckle – she seems to be laughing at Kate much more than Kate laughs at herself, and that is saying a lot. Kate does not know if she really can be warmed up to this realization, and starts walking without looking back.
The blonde is at her side at once anyway, and they spend over half an hour going from one room to the next, and Kate decides that Yelena will have enough seeing only the house’s first floor. Yelena takes her time with the oddest of items too, mostly things her father has brought from different parts of the country during his travels. The comments make this tour almost somewhat less dreadful. Almost. She is also unwilling to show Yelena her own bedroom - that place is off limits to everyone but Mary, and Yelena is yet to move from the wrong end of Kate Bishop’s liking scale.
She does slide a little when she meets Lucky, dropping on her knees in the middle of the kitchen, Lucky’s favorite place in the world, ruffles his fur and leaves kisses all over his golden head. Kate can even allow a smile as she walks over to Christine who is making fresh croissants, and steals two as a peace offering for Yelena.
“Lucky is the true charmer of the house, is he not?” Christine comments as she covers the remaining pastries with a cloth to keep their warmth for tea afterward and Kate nods, watching as Yelena lies back on the stone floor, laughing loudly as Lucky attempts, over and over again, to lick her cheek.
“Incorrigible.” Kate mumbles around her croissant, holding Yelena’s wrapped in a cloth carefully.
“You are such a good boy. Yes you are. Very very beautiful.” Yelena coos from the floor and Kate comes to stand right next to them on the floor, throat clearing and an eyebrow arching.
“Do you want to see the study or are you staying here?”
“Do not be jealous, Kate Bishop.”, Yelena laughs from her spot, scratching Lucky behind the ears, and Kate still struggles to understand why her full name is being used like that. “You go, and I will catch up.”
With a roll of her eyes, Kate walks down the hallway to the study that is as large as the dining room and kitchen combined, and serves as a library and a recreational room all in one. Books line every inch of the walls, save for the one with large windows that look out on the lake, and there is a grand piano at the center that Jack inherited from his father and that no Bishops have used in a decade. Kate had tried to play it when she was young, but music definitely did not agree with her, despite lines of different teachers and their best efforts.
Yelena’s steps are quiet as she walks in behind her, and Kate winces when she hears a long, low whistle behind her.
“This might be my favorite room.” She hears Yelena say, and Kate turns around, offering the croissant to the woman who is still removing dog hair from her pants.
“It is absolutely my favorite room too.” Kate says with a smile as Yelena stuffs half of the croissant in her mouth – at least they are both similarly graceful when it comes to food – watching her eyes trail up and down endless shelves of books. “Whenever my mother leaves me to spend my afternoon in peace, I come here to read or knit. Father is very peculiar with silence, so we both sit here for hours on end, not talking. It can be nice.”
Yelena has turned her attention from books to Kate in the meantime, and is nodding here and there, and Kate notices a little pastry flake at the corner of her mouth that just hangs there as she finishes the whole croissant in two bites. She stuffs the cloth that Kate has given her in the front pocket of her pants and the gesture makes Kate happier than it has reasons to. Yelena’s entire existence goes against everything her own mother stands for, and Kate cannot help but appreciate that about the Russian, queer and infuriating as she seems to be.
“Silence is not valued enough. Back in Alaska, that was my favorite thing to do. Sit by the water in silence and read. You play?” She wipes at her mouth then, letting the flake from the corner of her mouth fall away, and points to the piano.
“I wish. No, I’m tragically bad at reading notes. Do you?”
Kate watches Yelena trail her fingers across the small dents in the old piano and hears her hum almost inaudibly.
“A little.”
“You must play it then, my father would love to see it being used for something other than a place to leave drinks on when he hosts gatherings.”
Yelena laughs at that, and for the first time Kate sees some form of a sparkle in Yelena’s eyes that has nothing to do with their color.
“No, no I couldn’t.”
“Oh come on Yelena, just a little something?”
Kate has come to stand next to her and only now does she notice how shorter the blonde is, in the way she has to crane her neck to look at Kate when they are this close. Yelena does not turn her down this time, her hand coming to rest right next to Kate’s on the wooden piano frame, and Kate can swear she sees a little hitch in her movements, as if considering something.
“Whatever are you two ladies up to?” Kate hears her father's voice and moves away from Yelena on an instinct she did not know she possessed, drawing a confused glance from the other. The smirk is back too, and Kate doubles down on her thoughts of finding her irritating immediately.
“I just learned that Yelena knows how to play the piano.”
“Ah yes, my daughter is veeery good with the piano. Self-taught too. Our neighbor at home had one, much smaller than this, and let her play every weekend. For years.” Alexei has joined them now too.
“Enough, papa.” Kate glances towards Yelena and sees her pale cheeks tint with a soft pink color, and realizes that it is the first time that she has seen Yelena blush the entire afternoon.
“Now you have to play.” She insists, taking a step towards her one more time, leaning her shoulder against Yelena’s just slightly in a playful nudge, satisfied to see that the other does not shy away from their reestablished proximity. “As a thank you for the tour this afternoon I just spent wasting away with you.”
That draws a hoarse chuckle from the blonde and she sighs deeply, taking her place on the piano bench, defeated.
“Okay, but only if you will get me another one of those flaky breads after.”
Kate nods at her with a grin on her face. “Alright.”
Both of their fathers share another cigar as they sit down in two armchairs by the window, facing towards them, but Kate stays in place, leaning on the piano and curious to see and hear it from up close.
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata fills the space, if Kate recalls her endless piano classes well, and she smiles at once when Yelena’s eyes close, getting lost in the music. Kate, in turn, feels warmth spreading through every nerve in her body in an odd rush of affection towards this stranger, and decides then and there that they could be friends after all. As prickly and cold as Yelena seems on the outside, and as much as she laughs at Kate at any given time, no one who feels music that deep within their bones can be evil, surely?
When she finishes the short piece, Yelena’s eyes find hers again while both their fathers erupt into applause and ‘ brava! ’s, and they smile at each other.
“That was beautiful.” Kate says, and she means it, and finds that Yelena, too, is striking like this, when a sincere smile lights up her face.
“Thank you, Kate Bishop. Now about that croissant.” She stands, and the little moment is gone, and Kate laughs breathlessly as they excuse themselves from Alexei and Jack.
“Will you play more piano for me if I feed you more Christine’s food?”
“There is only one way you can find out.”
