Archive of Our Own

The trouble with tracking someone that's all-powerful is that it is very difficult to sneak up on them. 

Now, finding him is fairly simple. He doesn’t make much of an effort to hide up in that vaunted tower of his, and when he’s out, well – everybody knows it. He’s battling some oh-so-dangerous foe, or… being fawned over by an adoring, if still somewhat wary, crowd. Yelena’s not exactly in a position where she can be in the midst of that sort of thing, these days. 

Valentina can’t call for a nationwide manhunt, not without revealing her hand, so Yelena isn’t officially wanted by anyone. But that woman has enough eyes and ears lurking about that it’s risky enough just stepping out of her erstwhile hideout. After all, Valentina’s got him. 

For now. 

But – whatever it was he was sent here to do seems to be finished. Yelena didn’t catch all the details from the broadcast; some man-made catastrophe, buildings collapsing. Right up his alley. The dust seems to have settled, and she watched him duck away from the main commotion. Or, as much as you can duck when gently levitating. 

Down one alley, then a side street, then another. She thinks she’s getting close, but –

Yelena is not used to being seen when she doesn’t want to be seen. Or being heard when she doesn’t want to be heard. But the usual tricks don’t work on him. And the secondary trouble with tracking someone all-powerful is that it is very annoying trying – and failing – to sneak up on them. 

A slight change in the breeze is the only warning she gets. The moment she tries to turn to investigate, she finds herself backing up into something solid – and a hand, firm but relatively gentle for all the strength it possesses, lands on her shoulder. 

Shit. 

She’s sure he can feel, if not hear, the way her pulse hitches in her surprise, which is annoying. And she’s also sure he catches the way she stiffens, before she forces her limbs to relax – at least, the faintest ghost of a laugh suggests so. Which is doubly annoying. 

Her thumb hovers over the activator for her widow bites, but she resists the urge to flick them on. They wouldn’t help, she knows that. She’s caught enough news programs to know that people have thrown much worse at him and he didn’t even flinch.

It’s not what she came here to do, anyway. This is a much different sort of mission. Because it’s still Bob, under it all. It has to be.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

In lieu of answering directly, Yelena twists in his grip to face him – a motion he allows by sliding his hand from her shoulder to her wrist as she turns. His grip isn’t tight, and it’s a loose sort of leash, but she doesn’t need to test the boundaries of it to know that he’d hold firm, if she actually tried to pull away.

Jesus, he’s really got to keep up the appearance of having caught her? Fine, whatever. 

“That’s cheating,” she says. 

And he – blinks, at this. 

“Cheating,” he repeats flatly. 

“Mmmyeah, I can’t exactly fly or move at the speed of sound, so… sneaking up on me like that is cheating, yes.”

She’s caught him in a good mood – or just caught him off guard – because she swears, swears that she sees the corner of lips pull up into the beginnings of a smile. 

Yes, there. Come back, Bob, drop all this Sentry business and clock Valentine right in her stupid face for what she’s done. 

But it fades.

“That’s what happens when you’re dealing with a real hero.”

The words sour in her stomach. 

“I won’t tell anyone I saw you here,” he says, and for a moment, her hopes soar. Stupid, useless, flighty hopes, because he finishes with, “this time. As a courtesy, you understand. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or… just save everyone the trouble and turn yourself in.”

Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

Bob – The Sentry – releases her and steps back, and she knows what happens next, how this ends – he flies away and out of her reach, again.

She’s reaching for him before she even realizes she’s raised her hand. 

“Bob, wait–”

Something hardens in his gaze. His irises, shot through with gold, seem to… shift, ever so slightly. 

“It’s The Sentry to you.”

He doesn’t bat her hand away, doesn’t even move a muscle, but the sudden coldness in his eyes makes her shrink back, her fingers curling to her palm on instinct. Her hand, however, remains outstretched. 

He angles his head, regarding her hand for a moment, and then his gaze slides slowly to hers.

“Go. You’ll have a minute’s head start.”

Shit. So much for not telling anyone.

Yelena is running before the sonic boom above her signals that he’s well and truly gone.

She makes it back fine, of course. If he’s not going to bring her in directly, none of Valentina’s other little lapdogs stand a chance. But it’s the principle of the thing. 

And it's only once she’s run through all her security protocols and slapped an ice pack on her aching calves from all that stupid running that she realizes he didn’t even use her name.

When she wakes that night, it is to the distinct feeling that she is not alone. Years of training kick in an instant, all vestiges of sleep falling away immediately – breath control to keep her steady as she scans each corner, each shadow, and reaches for the gun that’s never far from her hand. This room seems clear, but the feeling persists.

The next, then. 

Yelena moves soundlessly, each footstep careful, methodical, but… though she checks everywhere, she cannot find even the smallest trace that anything is out of place. Not in the halls, not at the entrance… all her security measures are just as they were before she went to bed.

And still, still, Yelena turns at nothing as though she is hearing someone there, the back of her neck prickling. She feels as though she’s fourteen again, about to be snatched up by the Madame for failing to rouse quickly enough, for missing the obvious threat after a week of sleep deprivation, made to undergo another round of punishment for her mistakes. But where, where–?

It takes until her fourth sweep to see it – the shadows in the corner of her erstwhile bedroom are… ever so slightly wrong. When she switches on a light in the hallway, that area should be illuminated – but it doesn’t change at all, though the rest of the room does. And as she approaches, they shift, not in tune with her own movements, but… as though completely independent. 

Yelena takes a step back even as she secures her hold on her gun. Another step, eyes never leaving that mass of shadows, then another, then another. They don’t shift again. 

But she realizes her mistake when she’s back in the center of the room. She’s been so focused on these shadows that she hadn’t noticed that her own has changed. 

There, cast against the far wall. It’s – taller? Yes, definitely too tall, even with the light coming in at an odd angle. And the shape of it… it’s not right.

Yelena takes another step away and reaches blindly behind her for a lamp, eyes locked on what should be her shadow but isn’t, switching it on and angling it until its light beams out directly behind her. Now it comes into focus, its features brought into sharp contrast. 

But they’re not her features, and it’s not her outline. 

It’s… his.

It looks like him, anyway. That mop of messy almost-curls, the broad slant of his shoulders. 

She reaches again for the lamp and brings it with her as she settles onto the floor, shifting it until the shape refocuses.

She tilts her head. It does not mirror her. She raises an arm. The shadow does not. 

Yelena watches it until dawn, when it begins to fade and look like her own once more. 

She does not attempt to sleep again. 

Valentina’s been busy. 

Granted, Valentina’s also been enmeshed in serious legal and ethical dilemmas, but the appearance of a golden guardian, Earth’s perfect protector, who's also sticking by her side, has thrown a wrench in the proceedings. Yelena watches the stalled impeachment efforts and the news reports, but she won’t pretend like she understands all the nuances. What she does know is: it’s not looking good. Not for Val’s opponents, anyway. Valentina seems to be getting everything she wants, or… she's at least delaying consequences long enough to give that appearance.

Yelena can’t stand it. Every smile, every simper, every attempt at humility and show of virtue – it all seems so patently, transparently, false to Yelena. 

But not to the world at large. Not enough of it, anyway. And when her critics seem to have found a chink in her armor, Val has a counter – which almost always comes in the form of her godlike protector.

Bob.

Or rather, The Sentry, showing up suddenly in another carefully arranged PR stunt. 

It works, she’ll give Valentina that credit. He rescues someone from a burning building, stops a bridge from collapsing, and everyone loses their minds. 

Rightfully so, but her heart aches to see it. Because – he’s the hero he wanted to be, but what can he really do when Val has him wearing blinders and a short leash? 

Yelena watches his interviews for signs of – contentment? Discontentment? Just being… Bob? He doesn’t smile, not really. A little bit, sure, but it’s contained. Careful. 

What do people really know about him, anyway? All those interviews, and yet, it’s not the real him. He makes vague references to an unfortunate past – wise, because it’s not long after his debut that his arrest records are dug up and headlining every tabloid in the area – but wanting to do better, be better, and Valentina giving him that chance. How grateful he is to be the hero the world needs, to have their safety in his hands. Canned, coached, rehearsed. Fake. 

There’s a part of her that knows this is – ridiculous to think. Does she really know him so much better, after a few hours spent escaping Valentina's death trap? And yet. Yes, she decides, she does. If only by a little. The him that she saw, that was real, that wasn’t filtered through hours of public relations training and practicing lines.

If he wants the world to know him and what he’s capable of, this is not the way to do it. This is just – more shoving it down. Something she’s beginning to think was a mistake.

…they do seem fond of him, though. The public at large. 

There are dissenting murmurs, those who question where he came from, whether he deserves to be where he is, what regulations keep him in check, what qualifies Valentina Allegra de Fontaine of all people to be involved at all, given her history – and yet he’s soon amassed quite a loyal bunch of fans that far outnumber the naysayers. 

And despite the legal questions involved in trying to establish him as a new Avenger, it only takes a few months for him to be – well – accepted. Now, The Sentry and his tower are a de facto part of New York, and more and more beyond that are coming around to him.

And she sees him everywhere. He’s on the front of her cereal box. He’s on merchandise. He’s on TV. He’s giving interviews. He’s saving people. He’s on posters, on billboards, on everything. 

Yelena can’t get away from him. 

She supposes it makes sense that she’d think she sees him even when he isn’t there; why her shadow seems to be more of a reflection of him than of her, these days, even in the daylight. Her mind is playing tricks on her, reflecting what she expects to see even when there’s no possible way she could. 

He’s just… well-marketed, that’s all. Hell, people love him so much that she even starts seeing unofficial merch, alongside what Valentina has pushed out. 

On one of the rare occasions she ventures out of her hideout without a strict purpose in mind, Yelena does consider nabbing herself one of those overstuffed plushes being sold at a stall along the street, just for fun.

That stupid, slicked-back, bleached blonde hair makes something twist in the pit of her stomach, though, and the dead plastic eyes are… unnerving. She feels watched enough as it is, these days. She moves to pass by without it, but – actually, maybe there’s some use to be found in them. Especially the backpack variations. 

“Shut up,” she mutters to her shadow as she leaves the row of plushies behind, $20 lighter and with an abomination of a backpack in hand. “I have my reasons.” The shadow remains, as always, silent.

Her next plan goes off without a hitch, and it’s not dramatic at all:

She blows up a building. 

A little building, mind you. And quite a small explosion, all things considered. 

But it ought to be enough to get his attention, even so. Everything about this stunt was decided specifically with him in mind. 

Though she’s anticipating him, she knows she has little time to react – and even less margin of error. She can’t really evade him; her muscles, tensed and primed to move, are prepared for one thing only – to lessen the inevitable impact to something she can manage. 

It must be a slow day, because he arrives before the wave of sirens. A glint in the sky and the faint whistle of air moving rapidly around him is the only warning she gets, but it’s still something she can work with – Yelena twists and dodges just enough that when he reaches her, she’s hoisted by the front of her sweatshirt into the air, instead of by an arm, or her neck, or any other parts of her body that she quite likes to keep intact. Woof, is this what flying feels like? She’s not a fan. 

Now, she is still pushed back into a wall with enough force to wind her, but that's fine, she's not going to let a little thing like that stop her. She’ll take the fact that both her arms are free and that she can talk readily as a victory. 

There’s an intensity to his expression that… shifts ever so slightly once they’re face-to-face.

“–you.”

“Hiiiii!” She aims a sunny smile his way, beaming up at him despite the vague nausea that rushing through the air so quickly and being suspended like this elicits. 

“I should have known it would be you. You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you? What were you even trying to–”

And then he glances down at the fabric that’s twisted in his grasp and he stops in his tracks. For a moment, he simply stares. “What are you wearing?”

Yelena grins. 

“Didn’t you know?” she asks breezily. “I'm your biggest fan. 

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Yelena…”

“What, you don’t think it’s cute?” She tries to ignore how the simple act of him saying her name after these long months makes her just a little giddy, and instead she plucks at the hem of her sweatshirt, the same golden yellow as his suit, with his face emblazoned in the center of it. “I dunno, I thought it looked pretty good on me. And the hat!” It’s got a slightly lopsided recreation of the symbol on his belt smack dab in the middle. Then she gasps. “Ohhhhh wait wait wait, you haven’t even seen the best part.”

She twists as much as she can while being suspended in the air – which is a surprising amount, honestly, the sweatshirt has a comfortable amount of give to it. In response, the arms of her terrible little backpack – much lighter now that it’s no longer packed with C4 – flop around with her. It’s… well, frankly, it’s even worse than the regular plushies. Just as overstuffed, and its little yellowy eyes don’t look any less dead, but the proportions are markedly off, like whoever designed the stationary Sentry plushies couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to properly modify it to not look uncanny as all hell when hollowed out.

Yelena kind of loves it a little bit, actually? It’s funny how fast it grew on her. 

It does not seem to have the same effect on him, though. 

His mouth presses into a line, entirely unamused. “Yelena, no more games. What are you here to do? Or did you blow that up just to get my attention?”

She shrugs. “You don’t call, you don’t write… what’s a girl to do when she needs to have a little chat?”

“And what exactly was so important that you had to risk public safety?”

But she snorts. “Oh, relax, I’m not an amateur. There was no one in that building. They’re fumigating today.” After they conveniently found a whole colony of little cockroaches, the day after she released a few hundred into their vents. “So no one got hurt. Well – maybe some roaches got blown up, but no people.”

“Mmh.” His expression does not soften, but he does not argue, and she knows she’s got him – at least for a little while. 

“And,” she adds, both index fingers raised into the air, “if you were to take a look inside, I’m sure you'd find some really really interesting things being worked on in there. Fun stuff – illicit experiments, surveillance… probably more, but I figure you can sort that out.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect anything, but it’s pretty easy to just take a look.” The majority of their data storage ought to still be intact. Probably. 

“And you’re doing this… why?”

“To… help?”

He scoffs. “You think you’re a hero now?”

Yelena blinks at that. The derision in his voice feels unearned. “…no,” she says, “I never claimed to be. That’s your thing now, anyway, right?”

“Right,” he says, “so you shouldn’t be getting involved. And yet, here you are.”

“Wellllll, it only seemed fitting to step in once I learned our old pal Val had been sniffing around. Felt like something we ought to be on the same page about, don’t you think?”

But instead of agreeing, he chuckles mirthlessly. “Of course,” he says. “You’re trying to make me turn on Valentina.”

“…I mean, yeah? She sucks. We’ll all be way better off once she can’t call the shots anymore.”

“Mmh. And you’re trying to bring her down out of the goodness of your heart – nothing to do with the fact that she has dirt on you that’d put you away for a long time, right?”

Yelena… doesn’t think it’s a good sign, the way his irises start to lighten.

“You think I don’t know just how many people you’ve killed? How many more you’ve hurt along the way? That parade in Kyiv, the hotel in Madrid, god, the charity event in Rio? Everywhere you go, you leave a trail of bodies.”

Images flash through her mind, surprisingly vivid; ones she hadn’t thought about in ages, ones she hadn’t really been able to, done when Dreykov had his hand on her brain stem and made her dance like a little puppet for his benefit. 

“I read your files,” he tells her, “I know what you’ve done. A red room assassin with a conscience? No.” He shakes his head. “Yelena, you are no hero. Whatever you’re trying to do here, it’s not help.”

She resists the urge to squirm under the force of his judgment, but the memories press upon her, and her pulse stutters. She remembers screaming, pleading, the agonized sound of someone begging as their lung started to collapse from a well-placed puncture; blood, always blood–

“You think,” she manages, through a throat tight with the beginning of a panic attack, “Valentina’s hands are any cleaner? She knew who I was, and she went looking for me. She may not have killed anyone personally, but she was happy enough to give the orders. And here you are, letting her call the shots. So what does that make you?”

His eyes narrow – and even so, she can see the color flicker, almost glow.

“...she is not,” he says, “in charge of me.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she says, overly-saccharine, “but she’s happy enough to manage everything, isn’t she? And you listen to her. You let her pick your outfit and bleach your hair and tell you what words are safe to say on TV, let her point you towards danger–”

“That’s enough.”

“–because it’s easier that way, right? Then you don’t have to think about it, or anything else, just about doing what’s right. Your duty.” Just like she did with Yelena. “And if you never stop to question her, what’s the difference?”

“That’s enough.” The word comes out in a snarl.

“Sure, fine, go back to letting her puppet you around. I mean, she did have you stuffed into a box and fed to an incinerator, and had a paramilitary organization try to feed a couple hundred bullets into your torso, but yeah, now that you’re powerful and useful, it’s all water under the bridge, right?” 

“And what would you know? You want me to trust the word of an assassin?”

All that shit those tabloids dredged up comes to mind, the things he did in pursuit of a high – and all those rumored accidents in the lab, too, after the experiments. Before she can stop herself, she finds herself spitting back, “oh, but a former meth addict gets grace? Don’t act like your record is clean, either; I know it’s not.”

She’d expected that to make him mad, even as she’d said it, and it does – but there’s something else, too, in the way the line of his mouth goes taut; a flash of hurt crosses his face, and she regrets her words immediately. 

“I didn’t – I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He says it through gritted teeth – but it’s insistent, too. Like he wants, desperately, for her to believe that. 

“...I know,” she says softly. She finds herself pressing gently at his hand with her thumbs, rubbing circles there in an attempt to soothe. As close to an apology as she can bring herself to give, right now. And for a moment – he feels like Bob again. Just Bob. “And I won’t, either. I’m trying to help you, Bob, just–”

All that vulnerability is gone in an instant, and there’s that flash of gold again. “Sentry.”

“...Sentry. If you could just–”

But he shakes his head. “We’re done here. I gave you a head start last time, out of consideration for how you helped me once before–”

“I didn’t want your consideration,” she interjects with a scowl. 

“This isn’t about what you want, Yelena,” he snaps. “This is about what needs to be done, and you are too dangerous to go free.”

There is a growing tension in the line of his body, and his grip tightens, like he’s about to jet away with the both of them.

Yelena places both of her hands over the one that’s holding her up, and bats away a fleeting thought that she wishes there wasn’t a glove in the way. When did he start wearing those, anyway? She’s pretty sure that wasn’t part of his original look. 

“–I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I get it. I’m not hero material, and it’d be stupid to overlook that. But you have to know that Valentina always has an ulterior motive. One that probably doesn’t have your best interests in mind. And if you won’t recognize that, and if you won’t let me do something about that – damn it, she’s going to use you until there’s nothing left.”

And he – looks at her, silently, for a long, long moment. 

When he speaks, his voice is soft. “What do you think you can do?”

Though it’s far from an expression of trust or faith in his abilities, she could almost sob with the sudden relief that some part of him is willing to listen a little longer. She suppresses the urge, of course. 

“Whatever it takes,” is her response. “I know how people like Valentina operate, and whatever proof you need that she’s the same as she’s always been, I know I can find it for you, if you let me.”

“You want me to let you go,” he says. “Again.”

“I’m good, but I’m not good enough to do that from a cell,” she says. “And… it’s not like I can really hide from you, anyway. Pretty sure you could hear a pin drop from a mile away. No way you couldn’t track me down, if you wanted to. So what harm could I do?”

“You could blow up another building,” he says flatly.

“Heh, yeah, I could do that.”

His eyes narrow.

“–but I won’t, I swear,” she amends hastily. “I won’t hurt anyone.”

He still seems doubtful, though. Yelena racks her brain for something, anything that might convince him. 

–ah, wait. 

“…here.” It takes a bit of fiddling, but before too long – off pop her widow’s bites. She scoops them up in one hand – quite a feat, and without dropping either of them, though he doesn’t seem the slightest bit impressed – and holds them out. 

He looks at them, then at her face, then back to them.

“...you don’t need these to be lethal,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly come with a whole arsenal, so this is the best I can do for now. It’s, I don’t know, symbolic? That I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Another moment of silent consideration, and then he says, “even Valentina.”

“...really?” At his look, she backtracks. “–alright yes, yes, fine, even her.” Damn it.

He slowly lowers them until her feet are touching the ground again. There’s a bit of disorientation that comes along with that, and it takes a second to find her bearings, but she manages. 

“If you do…”

“I know, I know, you’ll bring me in, or kill me where I stand, whatever. But you won’t have to. You can trust me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She frowns. He did trust her, once. But – he'll see. For now, it’s enough that he’s leaving her be a second time. She won’t take that for granted.

He tilts his head, and she hears it not long after – sirens. 

“That’s your cue, I take it?”

He nods. “Remember–”

“No hurting anyone, I know. Promise.”

This time, she does not run. She doesn’t have to; there’s no one out to get her today, and she looks like any other member of the teeming masses wondering what’s going on. 

It’s not until she’s back at her hideout that she allows herself to slump on her mattress and endure the rest of the panic attack she’s been saving off, and the memories he managed to dredge up stay with her far longer than that. 

But – 

Evidence. She can do that. It’s not like Valentina burned a mountain of secrets in an inferno already. But there must be more, she's sure of it. A woman like Valentina doesn’t start following the straight and narrow after almost getting caught, she just gets sneakier. 

Her searching would go faster if she didn’t have to be so damn surreptitious. And if she had a little more help. 

At least she has some, though. The bare minimum, but it’s more than nothing. Really, the only thing she has going for her is that Valentina has no fucking idea who Alexei is, so Yelena’s got someone to act as a go between, or get her a few things she needs, on the occasions that she isn’t able to do it herself. 

…sometimes. There’s still a risk in being spotted together, and the more often they’re in the same area, the higher those chances get. So it’s maybe once a month. Still, it means she has food more often than not, and she’s able to learn a little from him.

Valentina’s other snubbed agents are enacting their own efforts to oust her, to… about as much success as she's currently having.

Walker is insistent that Bucky Barnes, of all people, can help. She knows he’s a congressman now, but it feels like the once-dreaded Winter Soldier would be of more use here. Yelena doesn’t hear much about Walker from Alexei, but she also hasn’t caught his arrest on the news – or mention of him in the obituaries – so she assumes he’s meeting with some success. 

And Ava is – well – she’s doing a great job of living up to her codename. From what Alexei passed on, the very few times he’s been able to make contact with her, she’s been quite successful in evading all other attempts to find her thus far. Which seems to Yelena like it’s her main priority right now. Just… waiting it out until there’s less heat. Yelena can’t complain too much, though, because Ava does manage to pass along some pretty good intel. Phased through somewhere high-profile enough that she’s insistent she not be bothered for another favor for a long while – and to her credit, it’s starting to look like this might actually pan out. 

 …though it would be easier to follow up on this lead if Yelena wasn’t so damn tired all the time. 

Because that shadow doesn’t go away. Hardly a night passes that she doesn’t see it, and it’s beginning to creep into her waking hours more and more. She sleeps during the day sometimes, but… she needs those daylight hours, other times. Needs to be able to monitor who’s coming and going from various labs and research centers, needs to track things down. 

So, on occasion… she lets herself sleep under the watchful eye of his shadow, stretched across the wall. And when she does, she has terrible nightmares – Anya. Nat. She’s small and vulnerable and failing again. Sometimes, though rarer, she dreams of him, waving that gun around in his distraction attempt – and in her dreams, he lies still and cold and does not stand again. 

Sometimes, when she wakes from these nightmares, she… hears things. Whispers, just on the edge of consciousness, that feel familiar and yet so, so strange. She should probably be concerned at just how accustomed she’s becoming to that.

It’s hard to focus. And so it takes… a while to dig anything substantial up. Weeks of searching. Weeks of nights spent doggedly pretending not to notice the shadows elongate and twist around her. Weeks of daytime naps, interrupted by occasional nightmares. 

But she isn’t giving up on this. And she finds the lead she needs, in the end.

It’s not too difficult to connect Valentina to what is, at first glance, a rather run-down old building just past city limits. Particularly with Ava’s intel; she knows that whatever is going on inside is definitely not meant to come to light. 

So, naturally, Yelena’s next goal is to infiltrate it and do just that. 

This, too, is fairly simple, after she figures out what schedule the guards are on. They’re pretty regular, and they’re minimally staffed as well. Valentina must be banking on the unobtrusive nature of the building to dissuade interest in poking around, more than on force. Which works just as well for Yelena. 

Non-lethal, she reminds herself, taking out one after the other and leaving them in heaps on the floor. Of course, she didn’t exactly promise no injuries, and… their concussions are probably not severe enough to kill them. 

Probably. 

Ava comes in handy again when she gets to the server. Yelena’s not bad with ciphers, but having the code definitely saves her some time. She makes a mental note to thank the other woman – though, bringing down Valentina with this information might be thanks enough.

What she sees once she’s in is, predictably, incredibly incriminating. Several felonies worth of material. Oh, Valentina, you really can’t help yourself, can you? But she only skims these as she looks for anything to do with Bob – and what she finds gives her pause. 

Documentation of tests they're putting him through. Data collection. Like he’s a lab rat. And most damning of all – evidence of a kill switch. The very idea turns her stomach. 

Something planted in his head. A small thing, a little connection between his spine and the base of his brain they must have put in during his testing. And all Valentina has to do is press a little button and she turns him off, forever. 

Yelena wonders at first if this means Valentina is in his head the way Dreykov was in hers – but no, the files she meticulously scan mention nothing of the sort. There is perhaps the smallest bit of disappointment, but mostly just relief. His mind is his own. She just has to… change it. To make him see, somehow, what Valentina is up to.

There’s two; one which which Yelena assumes Valentina would keep on or near her, and a back-up somewhere, referenced as being near the target. So, in the Tower? Seems like a safe enough bet. 

– and this is when she learns that one of the guards isn’t quite as unconscious as she’d thought.

She hears his footsteps, the sudden shuffle of hurried movement, but as the man swings his nightstick towards her, habit has her reaching to activate her widow’s bites – which she is not wearing. An amateur’s mistake. 

He brings it down on her collarbone with a crack that she feels echoing through her whole body. 

She doesn’t pause, doesn’t even cry out, just arcs her leg out in a kick that sends him careening into a monitor – and then to the floor, out cold. Yelena resists the urge to kick him again, and just nudges him with her foot so that his mouth is no longer pressed to the floor. Assuming he’s still breathing, he won't suffocate, now, but the pain radiating out from her collarbone makes her disinclined to check. 

She prods at the area gently, wincing when the motion sends sharp pain radiating through her shoulder. 

Broken. Damn. 

If she was smart, her next move would be to lay low for a while, let that heal before straining it more. But she knows Val won’t let this rest, and if she gets paranoid enough to move the back up while Yelena is healing – or to actually use it – 

Yelena can't let that happen. She’ll just have to carry on, injury and all.

She copies the most relevant files to a flash drive that she tucks into her vest – and before she leaves, she picks up the man's nightstick and smashes the rest of the monitors and the server rack until they stop sparking. Try finding someone to restore that data now, Valentina. 

Her next stop is obvious – Valentina needs to be removed from that personal switch immediately. 

It's almost laughable how much plainclothes security she has around her place. Too many; they’re disorganized, too confident in the idea of safety through numbers, and it only takes a moment of lapsed concentration for her to slip by and access the roof. From there, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to Valentina’s room – a painful one, sure, but even if she is a touch clumsier with her injury, she’s still red room raised, and her footfalls remain silent. 

In fact, the hardest part is not reaching down and strangling Valentina in her sleep with her one good hand. She doesn’t need both to be functional for this, she could do it, easy. 

But. She promised Bob. 

With any luck, he’ll give her the go ahead to give Valentine exactly what she deserves once she presents him with all this evidence – but, one thing at a time. She slides open drawers, carefully, until she finds something that matches the blueprint in the files. It’s relatively small, easily handheld.

And with one press of that shiny button, it could bring Bob’s life to an end. 

She looks back towards the bed, towards Valentina and her shiny satin eye mask, snoring gently. 

…she could do it. Slit Valentina’s throat here and now. Let her die gasping for air, frightened, reaching out in the darkness for help that will never come. He wouldn’t have to know. She could cover it up. And it’s what she deserves.

But then there’s a shuffling noise outside, and Yelena knows she’s out of time. She darts towards the window and hoists herself up, one-handed, though the motion still puts some pressure on her other side, and off she goes. 

Last stop. 

They call it the Watchtower now, but thankfully, it isn’t watched by all that many. The darkness helps, too. Lets her slip in, fuck with some wiring – there’s still a few areas that are clearly under construction, months after dedicating the tower to him, and it makes accessing things behind the scenes a little simpler than it ought to be – and cut off the cameras.

There’s guards here, too, but mostly on the ground floor and a few of the lower levels, and she doesn’t even have to directly deal with many of them – just until she can get to a maintenance section. Crawling through ducts and vents is not her favorite activity with a fractured collarbone, and she’s… admittedly a touch less graceful about it than she would normally be. There’s a lot of sliding around, since crawling is too much. And falling. Controlled falls, but they still smart. It’s better than putting more pressure on the break, though. As it is, she can already tell that it’s worse than the initial impact left it. She dreads to imagine how long recovery will take. 

If she even gets that chance.

But there’s no use thinking about that. She’s aiming for a room just a little above the midpoint, where security and lock-up seems to be concentrated. Here, they’re in a tizzy about the disconnected cameras, and it seems some have already left to take a peek at the electrical system. A mistake, but one Yelena is happy to take advantage of. That means there’s only two skulls to crack. A few well-aimed swings later, and they’re sleeping soundly, courtesy of some minor brain swelling. 

It does take a bit of fiddling to get the door to lock-up open – it’s apparently meant to be done with two simultaneous key turns at once. But she’s flexible, and… well, the guard whose hand she jams into position isn’t awake enough to complain. 

Inside is… Jesus, a shitload of contraband. Much, much less than she imagines there would have been when the actual Avengers were in charge – back when Nat was here, she thinks with a pang – but there’s still some objects that must be left over from those days. Those don’t matter, though. What matters is the back-up kill switch. Thankfully, it’s out in plain sight. Easy access in case of an emergency, she guesses. Bastards.

She takes it with her, and doesn’t bother closing the heavy doors behind her.

Before she resumes her ascent, Yelena ducks into a side corridor to fuck with the switch, carefully teasing out and disconnecting the wires that allow it to function, just as she did with Valentina’s. Can’t risk activating it with an accidental bump or brush. Then she stows it away and up she goes.

She… doesn’t have a plan, exactly, for finding which floor he’s going to be on, just starts with the lowest one that could be considered his and… goes from there, searching in the dark. 

Yelena makes it up three floors like this before doubt creeps in. He might not be here. That’s… not the worst thing in the world; she has already robbed Valentina of both switches, and hopefully destroyed the blueprints for how to make another one, which should at least stall the process, but… she doesn’t love the idea that Val might be able to spin this, somehow. There’s about six more floors left to check when she starts entertaining the idea of turning back. The cameras won’t stay out forever, and someone will stumble across those unconscious security guards eventually, anyway. 

And even so, she continues her search.

Not here… not here… not here either… wait. Is that – 

The barest of noises, but she reacts on instinct, launching herself towards the source in a move that would normally end with her thighs cutting off someone’s airways and her weight pulling them down to the ground; it’s a move that relies primarily on the leg strength, but even so, the motion makes her ache.

It’s like slamming into a brick wall.

Because – the Sentry isn’t normal anymore, is he? So of course he doesn’t go down like a normal, mortal man would. 

He’s totally unmoved, he just reaches up and grabs her by the back of her suit and plucks her off of him. When he drops her, she doesn’t try to fight it at all, she just… falls. Rolls a little so that she doesn’t land on her bad side and to absorb the impact less awkwardly, but there isn’t a single part of her that wants to keep up this fight.

“Ouch. Hi, Bob.”

“…Yelena?”

There’s a mild touch of – is it outrage, in his voice? Irritation? But primarily, it’s confusion. She can work with that. 

“Sleep well?” She asks, dragging herself up into a crouch. Haha, fuck, even that hurts. She is really pushing this injury.

“Better before you threw yourself at my head.”

“Aw, I can’t hurt you, we both know that.” She waves a hand in the air, dismissing the idea. 

“Uh-huh. Care to tell me why you broke in to the Watchtower at… what is this, 3am?”

“Technically,” Yelena says, “I did not break in; someone left the first door open. It’s just entering if I didn’t have to force that first step.”

“Mmh. I’m sure that’ll look so much better on your record.”

“Won’t it?” She agrees genially. 

All the lights on the floor are off, but she can still see well enough, with the moonlight and the city lights outside filtering in through those massive windows that surround the top floors of the tower. 

Bob is – not in the suit. It’s the first time she’s seen him out of it in months. Since the vault, actually. 

Instead, he’s wearing… a slightly baggy, casual shirt and loose sweatpants. They might be Sentry-branded, but it’s hard to make out right now. His hair isn’t slicked-back, either; it looks freshly washed and a little bit sleep-mussed. 

He looks more like him than he has in a long time.

“Well?”

“–ah?”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Oh.” Right. Got a bit distracted with… him. She fishes around in her vest pocket and pulls out the flash drive, and the back-up kill switch. “Here, catch. Evidence.” She tosses them his way. 

He does catch them easily, of course. “And this is…?”

“The drive,” she says, “has files. Documents. Valentina’s been taking notes on you, you know. She’s got plans. Looks like she’s thinking about starting up with the serum again, and you get to be her little lab rat for refining the formula that made you you–”

“Valentina,” he says, voice carefully even, “did not make me me.”

“–noted, yes, but she’s so full of herself that you know she doesn’t see it that way. She thinks she can just… jab a syringe at someone and churn out another loyal super soldier, if you turn on her.”

His expression hardens when she says loyal. “She can’t hurt me. Why would she make plans for another serum?”

“About that,” Yelena says. “She sure can’t now, but she thought she could. That–” And now she gestures to the switch in his other hands. “–is a kill switch.”

And now his brow furrows, and he brings the switch closer to examine it. 

“Don’t worry, it’s safe for now, and so is the other–”

“The other?”

“Yeah, Valentina had a personal one. I nabbed that one first and smashed it to bits, you’re welcome.” After some very tense examination of the switch, and mentally rehearsing the steps to follow based on the blueprint.

“Mmh,” he says. “Convenient.”

“...come again?”

Now he looks back to her. 

“I’m supposed to believe that there’s – some switch that can just… kill me at the press of a button? And there’s two in existence, and you’ve brought me one of them. But I shouldn’t worry about it, oh no, because the other one is safe, because you said so.”

She stares at him. “What, you think I kept it in reserve? Bob, no, I want you to live, I broke the shit out of that thing as soon as I was sure I knew how to do it without activating it.”

“Sure.”

“You still don’t believe me?”

“Should I? It’s all – too perfectly arranged. Makes you look good, makes Valentina look bad. Like I said, convenient.”

Yelena’s mouth presses into a displeased line. “It’s not hard to make Valentina look bad,” she says, “and all the proof you need is on that drive.” She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t even need that, what she’s done already should be enough.”

She doesn’t get it. If this doesn’t convince him, what will?

…nothing, she realizes. The pieces are there, but he won’t fit them together because that isn’t what he wants. He wants so badly to be the hero that he’ll ignore all the warning signs. 

“You know what? Fine.” 

Yelena struggles to stand, and casts a glance around her. There’s a little sitting area off to the side, a table and some relatively cozy looking chairs. She heads for them, ignoring Bob and how he tenses a little as she passes him. 

She picks a chair with a decent view of the elevator, and slumps into it. 

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” she says. Her eyes slide close. God, she forgot how much more everything hurts when she’s tired, and she is so tired. She’s losing her touch. “‘m tired.”

“That’s it?” he asks. “You don’t have anything else up your sleeve, no other proof to offer?” 

“Nope,” she says, settling in. “You don’t believe me, I’m a big scary untrustworthy assassin, blah blah blah, I get it. Now shhh, everything hurts.”

It takes a moment for him to respond, and when he does, he sounds skeptical. 

“...you’re hurt?”

“A little. Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

He’s quiet once again, and she sneaks a glance at him. His gaze seems focused on her neck, where her vest ends. Right, the bruising from the break would probably extend up there, huh?

“You think that’s bad, you should see the rest of me.” And she lets her eyes slide closed again.

There’s a soft shuffle, and then – fingers at her neck. 

She jolts, moving to swat him away with her good hand – but of course, he is immovable.

“–that wasn’t an invitation,” she complains. 

“Too bad.”

He kneels down and pulls her collar back slightly. Though the motion is gentle, it still hurts like a bitch.

“Fuck,” she gasps, and pushes at his hand again. 

He frowns but continues peeling back the fabric to examine the damage.

It aches, but…

Well. It’s been a long time since she felt the touch of a human being that wasn’t actively trying to kill her, and she finds herself leaning into his touch – until he inadvertently presses on an area that makes her shoot bolt upright. 

“It’s broken, it’s broken, leave it alone,” Yelena grumbles. 

“What happened?” He asks, and then, sterner, “who did this?”

“One of Valentina’s security guards at the place I got the files from,” she says. “Got a lucky hit in on me. Woulda been a lot easier to push him off me if I’d had my widow’s bites, but…” She manages a one-shoulder shrug. “Non-lethal, minimum damage, remember? Don’t worry, I sure did.”

He makes a contemplative sound, but does not respond beyond that. 

His fingers pass over the area one more time, ghosting lightly enough that she can hardly feel it, then move down her arms, checking for further damage. Unable to find anything noteworthy, he passes his hand over her bloody knuckles – dried to scabs, now.

Only then does he pull back. 

“I’m not going to let you go a third time just because you’re hurt.” His words are soft. That doesn’t rob them of the sting they elicit. 

“Great, because I’m not asking you to,” she snaps. “The cameras will come back on, or someone will find an unconscious guard, or you’ll alert them, whichever comes first – they’ll come and try to detain me, which would normally be very stupid but which will work out for them this one time only, then they’ll alert Valentina, she’ll come here to gloat, it’ll be a whooooole thing.”

“You definitely won’t be able to walk out of here if Valentina sees you,” he says dryly.

“Yeah,” she says. “She’d pitch a fit – which’ll be perfect. You can watch Valentina panic when she sees you have that and maybe then you’ll believe me.”

“…you’re going to let yourself be caught?”

“Aren’t I already caught? You’re right here. I’m in your Watchtower.”

“Why?”

She wants to say something sarcastic, remind him that they’ve already gone over why she’s here, has he forgotten already? But… that’s too much effort. 

“Because you think this is bullshit,” she says, gesturing vaguely in the direction she assumes he set the kill switch. “And as long as you do, she can get to you. She can kill you if and when it pleases her. I don’t know what else I can do to make you understand that, so… here we are.”

“That’s… worth it, to you?” 

“Sure, why not?”

“No, not why not, just – why?”

“...you already sacrificed yourself for us once,” she says, letting herself slump down a little more in the chair. “I can’t watch you do it again. Don’t ask me to do that, because I won’t. I can’t.”

Yelena closes her eyes once more. She doesn’t want to see his face, doesn’t want to waste more time trying to decipher what each little furrow or frown means when it’s pointless. 

“Just… give her hell for me, yeah? Really fuck her up.”

There is silence for a good long moment. He is so still that she almost wonders if he’s left her and she just hasn’t noticed. That’d fuck up her plans, if Valentina throws her tantrum without him there to witness it. 

But then –

There’s a hand on her good shoulder, then his arm looping under it, and she is pulled into him.

“Hey, what–”

And then the world is a blur of movement, air rushing past so fast she cannot breathe, let alone speak.

She reaches for something to hold on to, anything to anchor herself, and ends up clutching at the fabric of his shirt, using that to press herself against him.

It’s over almost as soon as it began.

It takes a lot longer to orient herself than it did the last time he had her suspended in the air, and as the world slowly comes back into focus, she realizes that the streets around her are familiar.

“This is – near my hideout,” she says. “You did know where I was this whole time! And you made it sound like I could ever hide from you, you dick.”

But he says nothing. 

He’s still holding her, and she has to crane her neck to look up at him. 

“Bob?” And then, after he remains silent, she tries, “…Sentry?”

He looks at her at last. She’s… not quite sure how to read his expression. 

Slowly, he descends until he’s standing on solid ground, and he sets her down. His motions are gentle, and oh-so-careful. 

“...you alright?”

“Yyyeah,” she says, “a little dizzy, but otherwise no worse for wear than I was before.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, “good.” He opens his mouth again. Closes it. His gaze drifts down to her fractured collarbone and lingers there. 

“Yelena–” But he stops there, his striking face marred with a sudden frown. Instead of speaking, he reaches out and – cards his fingers through her hair, then rests his hand there. 

Without thinking about it, she leans up into his touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. 

Oh, she has missed him. Though the motion brings a twinge of pain with it, she raises her good hand and sets it on his, their fingers overlapping. 

“Yelena…” And once again, he does not finish this thought. Her turn, then, she supposes. 

“Why are we here?” she whispers. It feels like speaking any louder than this will – break some sort of spell. “Why did you bring me here? I thought – you didn’t trust me, so why…?”

“I…” His hand slides lower, cupping her cheek, and this, too, she leans into, appreciating his warmth. “I couldn’t just…”

And then something shutters in his gaze. He shakes his head and steps back, his body suddenly tensing, braced for movement. 

“Don’t – do this again,” he mutters.

“Do–?”

And then he’s gone, flying off into the night, back towards the tower. 

Ah. Great. Cryptic. 

…what the fuck was that? She can still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, in her hair – he sure made it sound like he thought she was bullshitting him, but then, why wouldn’t he turn her over to Valentina if that were the case?

And what is she supposed to do now?

He knows where she is. Which means she really should gather what few belongings she has, do a controlled burn, and strike out for someplace new. 

But… he’ll be able to find her anyway. Why bother?

So instead she just… slips inside, trudges to her mattress, and finally, finally sleeps. 

Alexei brings her supplies.

Painkillers; the good stuff, he says – “but not too good,” and he’d rapped his knuckles lightly on her temple. “You must be able to think still. To escape, if they come for you.”

A brace, which he has to help her into, a process that’s downright humiliating – except that she could weep with relief when it settles into place and some of the pain immediately lessens as the pressure shifts. Only a little, but it’s something.

And vodka. Lots of vodka. 

The brace stays on. She stops even trying to change her shirt after the second day, feeling her body scream at her in protest. So, she’ll be a little musty for a while. Whatever. Similarly, bathing is… too complex to tackle. She settles for wiping down as much of herself as she can reach with a damp washcloth, and just tries not to think about what a rats nest her hair is becoming. That’s far too complicated to handle right now.

The painkillers run out after about a week and a half, and she’s reduced to swallowing handfuls of ibuprofen, which does not do nearly enough. 

That’s when the vodka comes in handy.

And… that’s also when she starts examining the shadows more closely. 

The wariness has worn away by now, and seeing them begins to be something she expects. It begins to be… comforting. 

Comfort is something she has so little of, these days.

And one night, when the pain sets her teeth on edge, strong enough that the vodka can’t cut through it, she pulls herself from bed and flicks on that lamp again. Just as it did the first night, the shadow – his shadow – gains its form on the near wall. 

But this time, she approaches it. Slowly at first, making sure it doesn’t disappear, then more steadily. She sinks to her knees before it, and presses the tips of her fingers to the dark outline of his face. 

“I wish,” she murmurs to it, “I’d been back there with you. In the truck. I wish I’d seen what you were going to do, tried to stop you, keep you there with us. We should have taken our chances together. Driven straight through the checkpoint and not looked back. But you had to be so–” Stupid. Reckless. Brave. 

The shadow does not respond. It never does. But when she scoots closer, turns so that her back is to the wall, she can feel it. When she leans against it, it’s – different. Makes her shiver with a sudden wave of cold. 

“Always the hero, huh?” she mumbles.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, and… dozes there, tired enough to sleep with the light of the lamp in her eyes, surrounded by that shadow. 

Her nightmares that evening are awful, worse than they’ve been in months, but – but.

Yelena swears this time she hears him. More than just a faint echo, too. Swears that his murmur follows her through each of her dreams, low and soft and… him. His words are – not comforting; she awakes with the distinct feeling that she has wept in her sleep. And yet… to have him there, even for a moment… 

She’ll take it. 

From that point, she doesn’t have to do anything to seek it out, it’s just there. Each time she wakes, there’s a sense of –

Shame. Loathing. Hating herself. Like she can remember every flaw, every fault she’s ever had, and it’s dawning on her that she’ll never overcome them. It’s… a familiar feeling, and it’s easy to let it blanket her. 

Soothing, in a way. 

Once – only once – her dream of him is… different. 

He isn’t dead already, for one. No, in this dream, she stumbles into him.

One minute she’s running from now-familiar memories, leaves crunching underfoot, then hearing heels click on the polished staircase that led to the Madame’s room, and then – then she’s somewhere she doesn’t recognize at all. She supposes that’s how dreams often go, but it’s strange, when her dreams have been so regular for so long. 

So: she’s batting away coat sleeves that reach for her, knowing the Madame will soon find her, punish her, and then she’s falling backwards, out through the closet although she could swear the doors were on the other side, and landing on – him. 

She doesn’t even realize it at first, so disoriented by the fall, by her new surroundings. An old house? A bedroom? 

And then he shifts under her and she’s scrambling to stand. 

His eyes are bleary, puffy like he’s been crying, and he looks like he’s close to drowning in those oversized, teddy bear-print pajamas. She can’t judge much, though; she’s still wearing that stupid tutu. He swipes a sleeve over his eyes as though that will conceal the redness. 

“Yelena? What are you doing here? How are you here?”

Silly man, preoccupied with finding logic in a dream. 

She reaches up to cradle his face in both hands, grateful that she doesn’t carry the pain of outside into these dreams, just… the ones she gets in here. Her back still smarts from the earlier chastisements about positions she missed in class, how terribly wrong she angled her feet, how she squanders those ballet lessons – but in here, she can move her arms freely. 

“I knew I’d find you somewhere,” Yelena says. “At least, I’d hoped.”

Even in a dream, his hands are large and warm and soft when he returns the gesture, holding her face carefully, like he’s not sure she’s really there. 

“But how? This is – I thought–” He stares at her in wonder. 

“I think I’m always chasing after you,” she murmurs, “I just haven’t caught up with you in a while, that’s all. I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

All the things she wants to say to him bubble up inside her, and there is so much to say. 

“We never should have left you – I shouldn’t have left you – we should have stayed, and fought, and–”

She’s weeping – they both are – when things go sideways. Because they always go sideways, here. Any time she thinks there’s a moment of relief, a second to breathe, something chases it away. 

The house shakes under the weight of a fist pounding on the door, and the voice outside gets louder and louder until she can’t think; the walls start crumbling, the floor cracks and splits apart, and as it swallows her – 

Yelena wakes up. 

Sweating, panting, heart racing – and with a new ache, a sharp desire to find a release from the loneliness like those few moments gave her. 

The nightmares continue, and dreams like that one are rare. But she chases them, sleeping whenever she can, wishing this pain away – even if that means inviting in another kind of pain. 

And the days slip by in a blur.

She only leaves because she has to. There isn’t a single speck of food left in the hideout, and it’s starting to gnaw at her. The urge to subsist entirely on vodka is entirely too tempting, and she knows how that ends. 

Alexei has been by too recently, though. If her hideout is already known, she cannot have him by any more than she has to, and while wrangling her clothes until she looks somewhat decent is a task and a half, it is doable. So, out she goes. 

The walk there is… fine. It is a little demoralizing to look over her options with the knowledge that anything she gets, she’ll have to make last as long as possible but also be compact enough to feasibly be carried with just one arm. But this, too, she manages.

It’s the walk back that gets to her, a little. It’s been almost three weeks, and she’s not sure her collarbone is healing quite right. Even if it is, she’s likely to have a lot longer to go until it’s healed up completely, but if she’s put too much pressure on it, shifted too much in the night, and the bone is knitting back incorrectly… that’ll set her back to the beginning. Worse, even. But she’s not in a position to go to a hospital, so…

“Yelena.”

She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear his approach until he says her name. Fuck, she really is losing her touch. 

He looks – stupidly pretty. Put together. Television-ready, even. 

And she’s… in an oversized hoodie with a baseball cap shoved over her greasy hair, carrying a bounty of microwave meals and cereal boxes. 

“You couldn't have done this before I went out for groceries? Now they’re all going to go to waste.”

He glances over her bag with a half-grin already growing on his face. “Those poor TV dinners.”

Yelena scowls. “I’m injured,” she reminds him.

A flash of something like – guilt? Regret? – passes over his face, and for a moment, he glances away. “Right. How is that healing?”

“...’s fine,” she mutters. She doesn’t need to get into the details with him. Especially if he’s come here to tell her her time is up. “You didn’t just come to check in on me, did you, though?”

He shakes his head. “I did not.”

Yelena releases a slow breath, and tries to keep it steady. Well, she couldn’t dodge this forever. 

As she looks at him, she thinks about – how much more himself he looked that night in the tower. She thinks about those fleeting moments she’s seen him in dreams, or rather, her imagined version of him. And about that awful, haunting loneliness – if it’s this bad now, how much worse will it be when she doesn’t have the faint hope that he’ll come to his senses to cling to? …assuming Valentina doesn’t just have her incinerated again, which feels like a stretch. 

“...alright, look. If we’re going to do this, so be it, but – can I… do something first?”

‘So be it,’ he mouths, looking a bit puzzled, but he asks, “and when did you start asking permission?”

“...now?”

He huffs out a laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“First of all – stop floating when you’re talking to me, it makes you look like an asshole,” she says. 

“Not really the way to ask for a favor, is it?”

“This part isn’t a favor, this is basic decency. Get down here and look me in the eye.”

He descends, slowly, but chuckles a little as he does. “Not sure that’s going to help there, Yelena.”

“Ha, ha, height jokes, so funny.”

But even so, he is humoring her, instead of just hauling her off straight away. She’s not sure if that makes this better or worse. 

She approaches – slowly, cautiously, until he’s right in front of her.

“...lean down.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Come on, just lean down for me, we already know I can’t hurt you. I just need to… fix something.”

His eyebrows lift at that. “Vague, Yelena.”

“Yeah, well. Humor me a little more.”

So he does. And when he does, she combs her fingers through his hair, mussing it, fluffing it out. 

“There,” she says. “Better.”

When he begins to lift his head again – ah. They are… very close. 

An errant strand of hair falls across his forehead. She brushes it back, and watches how his eyelids flutter just a little in response to her touch. From here, the blue of his eyes, even through his eyelashes, is so clear, and she can see flecks of gold and brown through his irises. 

She repeats the motion just to see what he’ll do, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not, but it seems like his pupils dilate a little as her fingers sweep across his skin. His lips part, and –

“Is that it?”

“Not – quite,” she says. She’s distracted by the way his breath ghosts over her lips. “I… give me a minute,” she whispers. “Trust me for just that long.”

For the first time, something like uncertainty flickers in his eyes, and yet –

He nods. “...alright.”

So – Yelena moves even closer still and cups his face. After a moment, her fingers find his hair again, twirling around the locks idly.

She wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been faster, lighter on her feet, that she’d never sustained this stupid injury. But not for any practical reason, now; solely because she wishes she could touch him with both hands. 

His hand comes up to encircle her wrist, but his grip isn’t tight, just… there. It’s nice. She can feel his pulse, faintly, so she’s certain he must feel hers. Yelena leans up to rest her forehead against his and nearly sighs with how safe it feels, despite everything. She closes her eyes and –

Shivers at a sudden chill that passes over her skin. Strange. But stranger still is the voice that murmurs in her ear. 

“You’re empty, aren’t you? Purposeless. This is all you have – this fool's errand, trying to win him over. Otherwise you have – you are – nothing.”

His voice? But… not his voice? 

“Sounds kind of bleak when you put it like that,” she mutters. Not… wrong, necessarily; she’s accomplishing so little these days that it sure feels like that. But bleak, yes. 

“Are you content with that? Don’t you want better?” 

“Yelena?”

She blinks, like she’s waking up – though, wasn’t she awake before?

“Mmh?”

“You were mumbling.”

“Oh… couldn’t have been important.”

As she comes back to herself, her eyes meet his. They’re nose-to-nose and so, so close. It wouldn’t take much effort to just… close that gap. 

In fact – she starts to stretch up to do just that and he… laughs. 

“Is that what you wanted?” he asks. “Because your minute’s up.”

Ah. Mortifying. 

“...right.” Yelena takes a step back, letting her hand fall to her side and ignoring how much she misses his warmth already. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing this to have been enough to commit it to memory. “Alright, fine. That’s it. Bring me in, or whatever.”

But –

He chuckles, and she, confused, opens her eyes. 

He’s tilting his head. “Is that what you think is happening? 

“...is it not?”

And he grins.

“I didn’t come to take you in. I came because Valentina has something planned that I… disagree with. I want you to help me put an end to it.”

“Oh,” she says. “…you could have said that before.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance,” he says, and something wicked shifts in his eyes. “And you seemed so eager to get ahold of me.”

“Asshole,” she mutters.

She begins to move away, but he catches her good wrist and tugs her back, sudden enough that she stumbles a little into his chest. 

“Not disproving my point.”

The sound of his laugh, light and airy and more than a little smug, soothes the sting of it, though. “I do need an answer, Yelena. It’s happening tomorrow.”

She hesitates. “...much as I want to rock Valentina’s shit, and trust me, I really do, I don’t know that I’m in a state to do anything useful.” She can’t imagine how she’d be anything other than dead weight, right now, regardless of what he has planned. 

He shakes his head. “You won’t need to do much. I’ll take care of things. Just be there.” And then he tilts his head. “Though… I will need a favor from you when you get there.”

“What?”

But instead of answering, that smirk comes back. “Humor me,” he says, echoing her words from earlier. And then his expression softens, just a little, and he catches her hand in his. “Trust me until then.”

And she does.

“...alright.”

“Noon,” he says. “No later.” He rattles off a location – she doesn’t know the exact address, but she’s familiar with the cross streets. “Bring whatever you feel you need to, but I’ll take the lead.” And then, with a glint in his eye, “and… maybe shower first? Think ‘camera ready.’”

And before she can protest, he takes a step back and his feet lift off the ground – and off he goes, gone again. 

Oh, she could strangle him. 

Yelena scoops up her neglected, defrosting groceries and hurries back to her hideout. 

Foiling Valentina’s plans has to be good, no matter what the details are. That means – he’s finally recognizing what a piece of shit she is. But what part could she play in this? It feels strange no matter how she thinks about it. Getting him the initial information, sure, yeah, that’s something she can do. But he’s pretty much all-powerful; what else could he need from her? Her usefulness is pretty limited compared to him. 

And this fact is starkly on display as she tries, as he suggested, showering.

It’s… technically successful. But there’s no triumph in it.

Yelena can’t take off her brace one-handed, so she has to angle herself carefully and rub her back against the wall like a goddamn bear to get it to unlatch. 

Scrubbing is another problem; even with slow, careful movements, everything she does seems to pull at her injury. But eventually, it’s… done. As done as she can be, anyway, and then she lets herself… rest. Presses her forehead to the shower wall as the water runs over her, hoping for it to numb her. 

There’s something soothing in that, but the effort of getting here robs it of that – and getting re-dressed afterwards is absolutely miserable. 

She’s not able to get the brace on by herself, and she can't bear the thought of summoning Alexei’s help for something so utterly simple as this, so… she just goes without. Even so, it takes more than an hour of careful maneuvering to make herself decent again, and by the time she's finished, she’s already decided that this is what she’s wearing tomorrow. She cannot go through this process again so soon.

“Don’t you say a word,” she mutters to the shadow on the wall. It remains silent, but she swears she can feel it laughing at her.

And then – all too soon, it’s time. 

She can hardly sleep a wink. A mix of anxiety, anticipation, and the ache of not having her brace on anymore, is likely the culprit. In some ways, that might be good. Better to be sleep deprived than on edge from brutal nightmares.

She’s not completely sure what sort of ready he means, and she knows he said non-lethal before, but – if a confrontation with Val is in the works, she does not intend to show up unprepared. 

Yelena feels tense the whole way there, sure that this is going to end up being some cruel trick, an elaborate ploy just to get her hopes up and dash them to pieces. She feels this all the more keenly when she arrives at the location he specified, prepared to see nothing at all –

But no. He’s here. Not floating this time, just waiting at ground-level. 

His face breaks into a smile when he sees her, and she glances away to hide the fact that she’s doing the same. 

“Good, you’re finally here. Catch.”

And he tosses something her way. 

She grabs it midair with her good hand and looks down at it. 

Fabric, though the feeling of it is not quite like anything she’s ever felt before. It’s bright white, with a few yellow-gold accents on it, similar to his suit. 

As she unfolds it to take a better look at it, she says, “I thought you didn't like when I wore your brand?”

“I – never said that. But that’s not what this is.”

Oh. It really isn’t, is it? 

When it’s finally fully unfolded, Yelena can see that it’s a suit, not dissimilar to ones she’s worn before; it looks somewhat form-fitting, for ease of motion, but thick enough to provide some protection.

“This is–”

“Nice, right? Nanotech, high-quality. Practically bulletproof, and reflects back some energy.”

“–so visible,” she finishes. 

It seems to take the wind out of his sails. 

“...sure,” he says. “It is pretty visible.”

“Where did you even get this?

“It’s…” He shrugs, glancing askance. “Valentina was your boss long before I ever met her, why don’t you ask her? Maybe she intended to give this to you before it all went south.”

Yeah, sure, like she’d waste this kind of money on Yelena. Still, it had to come from somewhere, and expensive bribes disguised as practical presents does feel like something Val would do… there’s just one problem.

“...you know I can’t wear this, right?”

He frowns. “And why is that?”

Yelena gestures broadly to her left side. “You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all right now, but this? With the little… snaps and zippers? I can’t put this on.”

Relief smooths out the frown. “Oh, if that’s all – come here.”

“–what?”

“Come here,” he repeats.

“What, are you going to help me get dressed?”

And he nods. “Why not?”

“You can't be serious,” she says. “I'm – I don't need help to dress myself.”

“Except you just said that you do,” he says, “and we're on a time limit. So stop acting coy, and just come over here.”

“…not being coy,” she complains.

Irritation drives her first few steps towards him, and the refusal to back down drives the rest. She stops only when the tip of her shoe bumps his boot. “Well?” she challenges.

And he certainly does rise to that challenge.

Yelena has changed in front of others before, hell, she’s been stretched out nude and wounded on a table for strangers to prod at more times than she can count; such is the life of a Widow. This feels – strange, though, from the moment he grasps the hem of her sweatshirt and begins to tug it over her head. But why? Just because it’s him? 

She… settles into it, though. His motions are careful, particularly around her injury, bracing the area as best he can to avoid bumping against it, but… fairly perfunctory nonetheless. It helps that he’s able to actually fasten her brace, which she’d slid on but left loose, unable to properly fix it in place by herself. His fingers skim over the area, mapping the bruises that stretch across her back and shoulder – and then he moves on. 

By the time he’s shifting her to get her injured side into the suit, she can tell herself that there’s nothing strange about this at all; it’s practical, that’s it. Nothing more to it.

He helps her refit her gear as he goes, too – the grappling hook with its retractable line, the batons, everything finds its place here.

When it’s all bucked together and zipped to the top, his hand skims up her spine, and she has to suppress a shiver. Practical. That’s all.

He begins to move away, then stops. “Ah, wait,” he says, “one more thing.”

And he produces her widow’s bites and begins to secure them around her wrists. She has to look away when he does it, overcome with an odd sense of – attachment to how tender he’s being. He, on the other hand, cannot seem to stop looking at her. He’s in a fantastic mood, too, with an ever-present smile tugging up the corners of his lips. She supposes that the chance to fuck with Val will have that effect. 

Once done, he steps back. 

“There. We don’t have much time left now. Are you ready?”

“...maybe?” she says. “What exactly is she planning to do, and how are we supposed to stop it?” And kick her stupid teeth in.

“It’s a long story. Easier to show you.”

He spreads his arms, and she steps into them. After a moment’s consideration, she wraps her uninjured arm around his back. They begin to rise. 

“You sure you don’t want to share any of that long story on the flight there?”

“It’s not going to be a long journey, Yelena.”

“Oh, no, I’m going to be very sick once this is all over aren’t I…?”

He laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”

She wants to ask him just how often he expects her to fly with him, but he picks up speed from there and, as before, the rush of wind makes it hard to speak; she focuses instead on pulling in even breaths. 

It’s – a little less disorienting this time, but it's so fast that she's still left reeling.

They land in another alley, and she can already hear the buzz of something going on nearby, some event. He sets her down, and she sways a bit on her feet. 

“You doing alright?”

“I’ll live,” she says. The dizziness ought to fade soon. “So what’s the plan, what are we doing?”

“I am going on ahead. And you–” He places a hand on her good shoulder. “–are going to stay here.”

“…seriously?”

“I did say I’d be handling most of this.”

“Well, yeah, but – you dress me up like a doll and then just… leave me?”

He chuckles. Dick. 

“Just wait here. I won’t be long.”

Ugh. 

But – fine. It’s not like she has anything better to do, and she still doesn’t know what this is about. 

So she waits. 

And waits and waits and… waits. 

What is he doing? Where is he?

Once again that flicker of paranoia that this is all a set-up returns, but this is a pretty elaborate waste of time, and effort, and – materials, she thinks, looking down at her suit. 

She glances around, and catches a glimpse of herself in a tinted window. 

She looks… different. Not nearly as put together as him, of course. There was no way she was bothering with cosmetics when it was such a pain just to get dressed. But the suit is – fancy. Sleek. Not quite as many pockets as she likes, but some. And it feels sturdy. 

…there’s bruising visible at her collar, still, though. It isn't the dark purple that it was when the bone first broke, but that deep yellowish-green remains quite visible. Worse, when she shifts on her feet, it’s evident that something's not right, just from the way she carries herself. She’ll need to fix that. A visible injury is a sign of weakness.

What is she doing here? What can she even do, but… wait?

So she does. 

Until the faint sound of screams breaks through her thoughts. 

Oh, that’s not good – particularly as they're getting louder by the minute. Yelena creeps to the end of the alley and peeks out. 

She can't see what's happening, exactly, but she can see people running, panicked. 

Shit. 

Okay – if things have gone south, she can't just stay here, right? She has to find him, she has to see what's gone wrong, help if she can, though the idea is absurd. 

And so – out into the fray she goes. 

It’s an immediate struggle not to be overwhelmed, not helped by the fact that she's running to whatever everyone here is running from. People knock into her, sending sharp stabs of pain through her more than once, but she pushes through all the same.

Someone stumbles into her and careens to the side, off balance; she catches them on instinct and pulls them back upright. They murmur a thanks as they keep running.

It takes her another moment to locate what’s going on. Running, yes, but from what? 

Ah – there.

There are figures around them, dressed in dark outfits, their faces fully obscured by masks with large, bug-like goggles. They seem to be causing chaos indiscriminately, smashing buildings and snatching people up off the street without much rhyme or reason.

Where is he? This feels like the perfect time for the Sentry to come swooping in to play the savior. 

Well… she supposes they’ll just have to settle for her for now, until he’s finished with whatever’s got him tied up. She couldn’t look him in the eye if she let people get hurt in his absence. 

The way they move is… strange, and she can’t ignore that, but figuring that out also can't be her priority, not when there’s this crush of bodies wandering with no heed of where they're going. 

Yelena focuses on this, on diverting, on clearing paths where she’s able, on lifting up those who have fallen before they’re trampled underfoot. 

Someone shouts a warning and she looks up to see debris falling, a chunk of building that’s been sheared off – big enough that more of it is likely going to come toppling down, unstable as it’s becoming –

And there are people standing where it’s likely to fall, who… seem to be deep in the freeze response.

Yelena sprints in their direction, hoping to be fast enough to make a difference and not just join them under the rubble.

One, she pulls to her with that retractable line – it snags their clothes,  but she’ll bet they’d prefer a ruined outfit than being smashed to paste; another she’s close enough to grab and toss in a safer direction – might end up with some bruised knees or scraped palms, but they ought to be out of range, now. But the last –

The last is just out of reach, courtesy of the reduced range of motion, thanks to that broken collarbone. Her good arm is raised anyway, to grab? To push? To do anything that might help, though she knows as she runs that she will not make it in time – and yet, as their eyes lock on her, they go flying backwards, just before concrete and brick slams into the ground. 

Yelena reels back from the force of it, and as she looks around to see what on Earth that was, she catches a flash of golden yellow above her. 

Bob. The Sentry. Here at last, and just barely turning away to deal with… presumably, whatever the larger threat is. 

Did he–? Well, sure, that seems like the sort of thing he’d be able to do. No time to linger on that, anyway, the chaos is still raging around her. 

Again, she jumps into action, ignoring the ache of her muscles and the protests of the barely-healing bone. 

Slowly, slowly, it feels as though the screaming is getting fainter – the crowd is certainly thinning out, at last – and that they're pushing back the tide. That he’s pushing back the tide, rather; Yelena won’t fool herself into thinking this is her doing. 

But then, there –

One of those figures, hoisting a man into the air by the neck. 

She's lunging at it before she can give it a second thought, hoisting her weight onto its back, widow’s bites already sparking to life – and it rockets off into the air. 

Up, and up, and up, and up–

It reached dizzying heights astonishingly quickly. She amps up the power on the bites and goes again, and again, and again, pushing her weight onto it with both arms, though it is agony just to try, until it starts – sparking?

Yes, sparking, as the fabric burns away around its neck and wiring starts to melt. Huh. 

It judders, violently, and then its limbs all lock up at once –

And she falls. 

Oh. 

Well. 

There are worse ways to die, she supposes. Certainly less cool ones, though the splat she’ll make at the end will be pretty undignified. 

She closes her eyes and –

– lands a lot sooner than she’d expected, with arms around her, scooping her up.

Bob, curling an arm behind her back and bending the other under her knees, stable and solid and here.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he’s murmuring. 

She loops her good arm around his back and leans into his chest, shaking with adrenaline.

But then she cranes her neck, nearly-shouting to be heard over the wind that whips around them at these heights. 

“Bob, they're – robots, or something, they’re–”

“Androids, yes,” he says. “Security, supposedly.”

“So what, Val wanted to debut a new security force and they went rogue?”

“No, this was always the plan,” he says. “This was supposed to be a show of… superiority. And a marketing tactic.”

“Marketing… what? Shitty robots?”

“Me. As a… glorified security task force, all-in-one, ready for hire.” A muscle twitches in his jaw, the only sign that he’s deeply displeased with that idea, as he plasters on a picture-perfect smile as he begins his descent. 

“Well – how the hell was this foiling her plan? You beat the shit out of them!”

“You’ll see.”

“Now who’s being vague?” she mutters. 

“It was never a question of whether I was stronger than them, Yelena. That’s not the point. Just trust me.”

And… she does, is the thing. 

“Now… there’s some talking to do. Let me take the lead.” He tilts his head a little as he looks down at her. “You aren’t exactly… trained for giving interviews.”

She’d take more offense to that if her stomach didn’t drop out from under her as he picks up the pace, and lands –

– in the midst of a waiting camera crew? Damn, he wasn’t kidding. 

Yelena looks up at him, and watches the gold ringing his irises fade to blue, watches his features smooth over into a pleasant but authoritative expression. 

“What happened here was a barely averted tragedy.”

It’s pretty undignified being held like this in front of – however many are here, and however many more are watching this live, but she’s not really in a position to get down. Besides, it feels… better, being here with him. Safer. And it makes a nice little show of solidarity for Valentina, if she’s watching this. Yelena hopes she is. She hopes she’s seething.

With that pleasant image in mind, Yelena settles back and lets his voice wash over her. 

“Valentina Allegra de Fontaine has long presented herself to the world – to you, and to me – as a friend, an ally, someone who wants to protect you and shepherd you. Today’s events have revealed that she is anything but.” He gestures around them to the destruction. “It was her hand that set these events in motion, a play for prestige, for power.”

Oh, he is good at this. 

As he speaks, the pieces start to fall into place, the things he’s left unsaid slotting together in her mind – he knows all this because Valentina told him. Because she was expecting him to fall into line. What’s she going to do now that her favorite pawn refuses to march for her anymore?

And then he’s removing the arm that’s under Yelena’s knee and helping her to stand – sort of. They’re still mid-air, still suspended, and he’s still bearing all her weight like it's nothing, but she can’t help but notice how this shifts the focus onto her. She’d give the cameras a little wave, but that would involve letting go of him, and though she’s fairly sure he could still hold her aloft, she doesn’t feel like putting that to the test.

“And we have Yelena Belova, the White Widow–” The what? “–to thank for averting the worst of this, and discovering this subterfuge. She has been working tirelessly from the shadows to uncover this threat, like her sister before her, the Avenger’s own Black Widow.”

Yelena tries to hide the stab of pain that the mention of Nat brings. It certainly gets a reaction from the crowd, a chorus of gasps and murmurs even louder than anything else has garnered thus far.

But he continues.

“None of this would have been possible without her, and I’m glad the world will finally get to know her as I do. She has been a true hero, and… a loyal partner, trustworthy to the end.” 

Yelena barely suppresses a snort. Yeah, very heroic. He’s really laying it on thick.

And then –

His attention turns back to her. He dips his head and bumps her nose with his, urging her to angle her face up, and when she does – he kisses her. 

Oh. Oh, alright. 

It’s – soft. Warm. 

And over far too soon. Yelena finds herself trying to pull herself closer with the hand that's holding onto his suit, chasing after him as he pulls back, breathing him in, pulse racing. 

Someone whistles. Right, the crowd.

Yelena feels suddenly exposed, but she suppresses the urge to bury her face in his chest, aware that that will look worse.

“–and she's done it at great personal risk to herself, as you can see. So I’m trusting in the fine people of this city to look out for one another and assist fully with clean-up efforts; we are needed elsewhere.”

When he rises again, it’s to raucous applause. God, they really do love him, don’t they?

He doesn’t take her far – or, at least, it doesn't take long to get there. As she glances around, she realizes she's not familiar with the area at all, so this might actually be several blocks away from where they had been before. They land on a low rooftop, surrounded by other, taller buildings, that provide a modicum of privacy. At his prompting, she hops down, and when he sits, she follows, dangling her feet off the edge of the roof.

He looks at her. She looks at him – then down at the ground, far below. 

“…that was really good,” she mumbles. “You had them eating out of the palm of your hand.” All that media training has really done wonders. 

“Practice,” he says off-handedly. 

“Mm. You’ve had a lot of that lately.” She kicks her feet, calculating how long it would take to fall if she were to slip. Old habits. “…speaking of practice,” she says, “how’s… the other training? You, uh. Figure out new parts of those powers? Anything… different?”

Y’know, like shadow manipulation, dream visitations, anything to explain why she’s been seeing him absolutely everywhere? No way to ask that directly without sounding off her rocker if she’s wrong, though. 

“...perfect,” he says. When she glances over, he meets her eyes only briefly, then he swipes a hand through his hair and looks up at the sky. “It’s all going great and very much as expected.” 

“Mmh. Great.” 

He peeks back and then away again just as quickly, so – is it not? But then, having a bit of trouble with his training doesn’t necessarily mean months of nighttime shadow visitations, so she probably is just crazy. Good to know. 

Yelena looks back down. “...hey. You could’ve stopped all that before it started, couldn’t you?”

“Valentina had public favor on her side. Now she doesn’t. Sometimes that requires some risk. But no one got hurt.”

She gives him a look.

“Not seriously,” he amends. “A few bumps and scrapes are nothing compared to what might happen if Val goes on thinking she runs things.”

She’ll… concede that he may have a point. Her doubt must show on her face, though, because he catches her good hand in his. “Yelena, I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. You know that.”

She… does, she thinks? Or she did. This… new, Valentina-media-trained Bob, this requires-risks Bob, is… new. But she thinks he wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

“...alright,” she says. “But I don’t understand why bother with all that. Couldn’t you just… take Valentina out yourself?”

“I could,” he says, “if I wanted to deal with another round of Sokovia Accords.” Ah. “Besides, now the world knows you. Win-win, right?”

And that’s another thing. “Actually, hey, what was all that about, back there?”

“What? Introducing you?”

“No – well, yes, but not just that. The – you know.” Giving her a new suit, a new name, that’s one thing. Standard bullshit hero stuff. But after that. 

He tilts his head, an expression of utmost innocence on his face. “Do I? I’m not sure I do.”

Oh, the smug bastard. He does, he just wants her to say it.

“The kiss.”

“You didn’t like it? Or…” And the way that smirk creeps across his face makes her want to – shit, ‘grab him and hold him tight’ probably isn’t the right response, is it? “...did you want another?”

“No,” she scowls, and looks away. “…maybe. Not the point. I thought you – mmh.” None of this has gone quite how she thought it would go, and she finds it difficult to put into words. “That you… thought I was a dishonest assassin who left a trail of bodies in my wake. I didn’t think you… ugh.”

He gets what she means, right? 

He winces. “I may have been… harsh before. Yelena, my trust is…” He trails off, and starts again, stronger. “There are a lot of people whose lives depend on me. I can’t be reckless with who I trust.”

And yeah, sure. She’d just… thought she’d already had that trust, before. And it’s quite a jump to go from having each other’s backs, literally, to that total lack of trust, to – knowing what he tastes like. Finding out in front of the whole world.

“Alright.” He pushes off the ledge – and for a moment, her heart stutters, in the half-second before she remembers he can fly now. Right. No Bob-pancakes on the sidewalk today. He extends a hand to her. “Come on. You need a hospital. You haven’t been taking care of this the right way.”

Yelena huffs. “Whose fault is that, Mister ‘I’ll definitely be right back, you won’t have to do anything?’ …and it’s hard to manage it with one hand, anyway.”

“It’s a good thing you have mine, too, now.”

She places her hand in his, but hesitates. “...what then? You go back to your Watchtower, I go back to the shadows?”

“Oh, no.” His fingers entwine with hers. “Yelena, you stick with me now.”

It’s almost sickening how deeply that relieves her. 

There is so much more to say, to ask – but she’s tired, and she hurts, and when he holds her, all of that feels bearable.

“...I’m going to get used to this eventually, right?” she asks. 

“I did,” he says. “Just takes practice.”

And so she pushes off the ledge and falls into his arms.