#answers {yelena belova} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fratboykate · 2 months ago

Note

Wait papi what about the first time Yelena finally caved and fucked Kate? And was it their first kiss as well?

And then how long was it from that to like them actually figuring out they had feelings for each other

You already got the first time they kissed/fucked before. Here...BUT what about three times they ALMOST kissed right before her birthday? Here's 4.4k of pure sexual tension.

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11:52PM. On a Tuesday.

That particular shade of Tuesday night that only exists for people who don’t live normal lives. The air smells like city steam and late-night decisions. The streets are quiet but the tension’s loud. The kind of hour when sidewalks empty and everything sharpens. Streetlights smear gold across the pavement. A black Escalade hugs the curb.

Yelena paces beside it, hands deep in her coat pockets, boots beating the concrete, eyes scanning the area. Her breath fogs in the air. She’s been standing here too long, waiting. Not that she minds. She’s used to waiting. It’s part of the job.

Her phone buzzes.

DING. A text. From Kate.

“We’re coming out.”

Yelena exhales slowly, controlled. Slips behind the wheel, loops the SUV around the block. The headlights hit the restaurant’s main entrance just as the door swings open. Flawless timing.

Kate and Eleanor step out into the glow of the streetlamps. Both clearly overserved with their flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, wine-loose shoulders. Laughter edged with wine and weightlessness, like they don’t remember who’s watching. The paps haven’t left. Their lenses gleam like the eyes of predators.

Yelena clocks them all in half a second. Same group as when they arrived. Same angles. Same lenses. Lurking.

Shit.

She moves. With urgency. She’s up the stairs in three silent strides. Slides into Kate’s space breaking into their conversation by leaning in to murmur into her ear. Low. Her lips almost grazing Kate’s lobe.

“Cameras. At four o’clock.”

Kate nods. Tries to straighten. Fails and sways instead. She covers it by leaning into Yelena’s side. Casual. Yelena catches her. One hand on the small of her back, the other guiding. Yelena always guides. To anyone watching, it looks professional. Practiced. It’s neither.

The flashes explode as they hit the sidewalk. Yelena’s body shifts instinctively, always between Kate and chaos. Eleanor lingers, oblivious or indifferent. Kate turns to hug her.

“I’ll let you know what weekend I’m off when the schedule’s clearer. I got a two-bedroom this time.”

Eleanor cups her cheek. “Have fun. I love you.”

They hug again. Cameras snap. Blinding.

Eleanor climbs into the car the valet hands over. Yelena opens the passenger door. Helps Kate in. The door closes with a click.

Yelena rounds the front, slides in behind the wheel, starts the car. Drives. The paps follow.

Silence fills the car.

Kate leans her head back. Watches the rearview flashes die out as they gain distance.

“You know what’s wild?” Kate asks. Quieter. Rough-edged. Like she’s thinking out loud but too aware of the listener. “I can sell out Madison Square Garden, headline a billion-dollar franchise, and get mobbed in every continent…but I still can’t get my mother to admit she hated my last album.”

Yelena arches her brow, doesn’t answer right away.

“She said that?”

Kate scoffs.

“No. She just made that face. The one that says ‘I’m so proud of you, but also, I raised you better than to rhyme ecstasy with me.’”

Yelena almost smiles. But doesn’t. Not really. Her eyes stay on the road.

She doesn’t comment on Kate’s tone. Or overwhelming sadness emanating from Kate. Or the quiet hollow behind her eyes. Yelena knows what this is. Knows Kate’s deflection tactics better than anyone by now. Knows her brain is spinning because she’s been off-kilter since the late-night talk show interview earlier. Knows the weight of what the smug host said. She saw the way Kate’s face froze when he ran a montage reel of her exes and followed it up with the world’s most unoriginal question:

“So…who’s keeping your bed warm now?”

Kate had smiled on cue. Said something clever. Forgettable. Something that wouldn’t make headlines. She hadn’t looked at Yelena once since then. Now, here they are.

Now Kate does. A side glance. Long. Measured. Weighted with something she doesn’t yet dare say.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m working.” Yelena’s voice is clean. Flatline steady.

“Well I say you’re off the clock then.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still mine to worry about.”

Kate huffs and looks away. Back to the window. Much too histrionic. That hangs between them. Lingering. Unbearably loud even in the stillness. Something catches in her chest. Her expression shifts.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Yelena doesn’t argue with that statement. That would mean she cares. That would mean it’s real. The silence sprawls. Heavy. Brittle. Kate fills the silence again. She always does. This time, she cuts through it with a quiet spark of rebellion. “You ever think about how weird this is?”

“Define ‘this’.”

“All of it.” A vague wave of her hand. “This world. The way you ended up here. The way I…fuck it, I don’t know. I’m spiraling.”

“You’re tired.”

“I’m always tired.”

“That’s because you work yourself like a rented mule.”

Kate barks a laugh. Quick and involuntary.

“My mom used to say that.”

“Your mother is a smart woman.”

“She likes you. Thinks you’re good at this. Says I ‘listen’ to you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. A little.”

“You argue with me. All the time. About everything.”

Kate grins. But it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I like the way you argue.”

Yelena doesn’t take the bait. Kate studies her like she’s trying to memorize the things she’s not allowed to touch. She looks at Yelena the way you look at something you’re afraid of loving.

“You’re tense.”

“I’m Russian.”

Kate smiles. It’s real this time. At least for half a second.

“You were jealous.” It’s not a question.

“Of what?” Yelena’s fingers tighten on the wheel.

“The ex montage.”

Yelena takes her eyes off the road to look at her. Eyes unreadable.

“Why would I be?”

Kate tilts her head.

“Because I looked hot in all those clips.”

“You’re always fishing, Kate Bishop.”

“Because you never bite.”

There it is. The shift. The snap. The drop in oxygen. Something hangs suspended between them, electric and raw.

They stare at each other, something taut. A live wire dangling between them. Humming with every second that passes. Invisible but impossible to ignore. Ignored but continuously sparking. It’s always been there between them. Since the first day Yelena was assigned to her. Since later that afternoon, when Kate stepped onto a red carpet in that now-iconic silver gown and turned to find the woman in black standing just behind her, scanning the crowd like she already knew which face would be the threat. It had unnerved Kate. The steadiness. The way Yelena didn’t blink.

Kate cracked a joke, like she always does when feelings overwhelm.

“It’s not a real threat unless they have a podcast.”

Yelena had remained absolutely deadpan when she replied with: “You talk a lot.”

It should’ve been a dismissal. Instead, it was the beginning. Kate had smiled. And she hadn’t stopped since.

Now, months later…in this car, that same gravity pulls at them. Charged silence, hot and magnetic. Kate shifts. Her hand moves to the back of Yelena’s headrest. Fingers digging in. Close enough to graze.

“You’re doing it again,” Yelena says, eyes still on the road.

“Doing what?”

“Pushing.”

Kate leans back against her headrest, gaze locked on Yelena. Her smile curves slow. Dangerous.

“And you’re pulling. That’s the game, isn’t it? I push. You pull. We keep circling until one of us snaps.”

Yelena white-knuckles the wheel. Barely perceptible, but Kate notices. She always notices.

Neither one says what they both know: the snapping point is close. It always is when they’re alone. A near unbearable amount of emotional gasoline waiting to combust. The car keeps moving, but they’re not going anywhere. Not really. Not yet.

They turn into the driveway of Kate’s Los Angeles home. Yelena rolls down the window, nods at the guard. The gate swings open. Kate turns to look at her.

“You think you could handle me?”

No response. The car stops. Yelena gets out. Walks around. Opens Kate’s door like protocol dictates. Tonight, not a single damn thing happening inside Yelena is following protocol. Kate rolls her eyes and steps out, but doesn’t walk away.

They’re inches apart now. Closer than usual. Closer than allowed.

“I’m not scared of you.” Kate declares.

“You should be.” Yelena’s eyes darken.

“You’re not dangerous.”

“Yes. I am.” Yelena retorts.

Kate doesn’t back down. Steps forward instead.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I need you to go inside so I can go home.”

Kate lifts her hand. Not touching. Hovering beside Yelena’s cheek. Fingers twitch.

“You keep saying no with your mouth…but your eyes are begging to shut me up.”

Yelena’s jaw clenches. Breath hitches. Kate leans in. A hair from her lips. Just their breath now. Just the static hum of something inevitable.

“Tell me to stop.” Yelena doesn’t move. Kate doesn’t kiss her. Just brushes her nose against Yelena’s. A ghost of contact. A test of boundaries. “Tell me to stop.” Again. Softer. Meaner.

A heartbeat passes. Yelena’s lips part. The breath between them sharpens.

“Good night, Miss Bishop.”

Kate steps back. Smirks like she’s won anyway. Walks to the door. Doesn’t look back.

Not once.

Days Later.

They’re in Vancouver now. It’s the kind of grey day that seeps into your bones. Rain taps at the windows, a constant drumming, blurring the streetlights into a watercolor smear. Kate’s been filming nights…long, cold, brutal…so days dissolve into blackout curtains, crumpled scripts, and the occasional IV drip when she forgets to eat again. Her body is running on caffeine, protein bars, and whatever residual fury’s keeping her upright.

It’s another night shoot. Yelena yawns in a beat-up camping chair she dragged next to the trailer’s door. Her hoodie’s zipped halfway up, sleeves shoved past her elbows, a slim paperback in Russian balanced across her thigh. She hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

The trailer behind her is absurdly upscale. Leather seating, a gas fireplace Kate’s assistant decided to light for "vibe," granite counters no one touches, a stocked fridge no one opens. It smells like lavender cleaner. It’s unnervingly clean. And uncomfortably quiet.

The door creaks open. Kate pops out in leggings and a hoodie with the franchise’s logo plastered over her chest. Her hair’s scraped up. Her face bare. She looks real in a way she never does on set. She’s holding a script. Still warm from the printer.

“I need you.”

Yelena doesn’t even glance up from her book. “For?”

“Just…come in here.”

There’s something in Kate’s tone. Raw at the edge, quiet underneath. Yelena huffs, folds the corner of her page with military precision, and rises. She moves like she’s bracing for something. She always does when it’s Kate.

She steps inside the trailer. Closes the door behind her.

Kate’s pacing. Not performatively. Just kinetic. Restless in her own skin. A bomb in motion.

“I think the rewrites made it worse,” she mutters, half to herself, like she’s trying not to ask for validation out loud.

“I’m sure they did.” Yelena retorts, leaning against the door.

Kate stops mid-stride. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen what you’ve shot…”

“That’s very supportive.”

“I’m not here to be supportive. I’m here to keep people from kidnapping you.”

“Romantic.”

“You want romance, call that weird grip. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.”

Kate snorts. Heads to the fridge. Opens it. Stares. Closes it again. Too quick. She doesn’t actually want anything.

“Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“This.” She gestures, vague but loaded. “You’re always just… unbothered. Like none of it matters.”

“It doesn’t.”

Kate crosses her arms, leans against the counter. Eyes narrowing.

“You’re such a dick.”

“Correct.”

They fall quiet again. The air electrifies. Static in the space between them.

Kate watches her. Really watches her. The way her hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. The clean arches of her cheekbones. The way her hands are tucked just behind her, fingers flexing against the door handle. The gleam of raindrops on the fabric of her pants. And her…Yelena…impossibly still. Unmoved. Or pretending to be.

“I’m trying to decide if I like you,” Kate declares, deceptively playful. Dangerous, in the way someone leans too far off a ledge just to see if gravity will take them.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

It should end there. Another round of sparring. Just that thing they do. The usual edge-of-something banter they’re too proud to name. Just enough bite to keep the space charged, never enough to name it. But something’s changed. But Kate’s tired. Not tired like needs a nap. Tired like something raw’s been rubbed open too long.

Kate crosses the room. Swiftly. Stops in front of Yelena. Close. Closer than comfort allows. Yelena doesn't move an inch.

“You’re in my bubble,” Yelena utters, low.

“I don’t think I like not knowing what you think of me.”

“You already know.”

“No. I don’t. I think you maybe tolerate me. I think you want to push me away but can’t. I think you think this is a job.”

“It IS a job, Kate.”

Kate holds her gaze. Searching. Digging. The kind of look you don’t give someone you’re pretending not to want.

Yelena’s fingers flick the handle behind her, flips it open. Never taking her eyes off Kate. Kate leans forward. Pulls the door shut again. Yelena glares.

“You’ve never asked the real question,” Kate adds.

“What’s the real question?” Yelena’s voice drops a register. Gravel and hesitation.

“What do you want me to be?”

Yelena’s chest tightens. She straightens. Reflex. Posture as defense. An intimidation tactic. Unfortunately for her, even with her bare feet, Kate is still looking down at her. Still unyielding.

Hardly any space between them. The air shifts. Kate can smell her. Faint musk, clean linen, something sharp and green beneath it. Familiar. Unsafe. They’re chest to chest now. Neither backs away.

“You want me to say it? You want me to say I think about it?” Kate whispers. Yelena doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Her lungs stall. “Because I do. Every day. Every fucking day since the first time I heard you laugh.”

“I’m not one of your toys, Kate.”

“I don’t want you to be. I’ve never asked for that.”

“You’re reckless.”

Kate nods once. Firm.

“Maybe. But I’m not lying. Not now.”

“You’re shaking,” Yelena adds, nonchalant.

“So are you.”

They stare. Raw. Stripped. Both wild-eyed. Breath ragged.

“I need you to step back, Kate,” Yelena demands, but her voice betrays her. It wavers.

“I don’t care.”

“I do. I don’t play games. Whenever I do things, they mean something.”

“I want it to.”

A beat. Yelena opens the door again.

“I’m going back to my book.”

Kate’s heart stutters. Her lips part.

“Don’t run.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m going back to my book,” Yelena repeats, more firmly this time.

She turns. Moves down the steps without looking back.

Kate sees her sit back down on her little chair and open her book as the door swings closed. Exactly where she was before. In the chair. Face blank.

Through the little door window, Kate watches the page Yelena had folded is still dog-eared. But she’s not reading. Not really. Neither of them is doing what they’re supposed to.

They're both still there. Still stuck on the same sentence.

Five days later.

Yelena smokes. A rare indulgence. A reminder that she’s still human beneath the layers of discipline and duty. The other bodyguard beside her is ex-military. She guesses Air Force from the posture. They’re deep into some conversation only people who’ve fired the same rifle for over a decade can have. The kind that involves ballistics data and acronyms no civilian would recognize.

Yelena listens with half her attention, nodding occasionally, pretending not to scan the exit.

Then she hears it. The sharp, unmistakable click of expensive heels on marble. That particular rhythm…cocky, intoxicated, stubborn. She could recognize that exact gate even in a riot. It cuts through the drone of city noise like a metronome.

Yelena doesn’t turn. Doesn’t need to. Her body already knows.

She drops the cigarette. Grinds it out with the heel of her boot. Taps the other bodyguard once on the shoulder. A silent goodbye. Moves. No words. No warning. Just pivots on instinct and starts walking just as Kate emerges.

Yelena meets Kate at the top of the venue steps.

There’s a rustle. A half-trip. A muffled thud. Then Kate’s voice, pitched high and petulant. Whiny. Velveted with exhaustion.

“I’m firing Sam. Just so we’re clear.”

Yelena’s mouth twitches.

“Again?”

“Why the fuck would she say yes to this when she knows I had a fitting, then a full day on set? Who hates feet that much?” Kate grumbles as she leans against Yelena’s shoulder, one leg bent like a flamingo as she kicks off one shoe. Then the other. The sound of stilettos hitting concrete is weirdly intimate.

Without hesitation, Yelena bends down to pick the shoes. Then her free hand flies to Kate’s back, steadying her.

“You say that like it wasn’t your idea.”

“It’s her job to say no to my dumb ideas.”

“Yeah… that’s impossible.”

Yelena opens the car door with one hand, her other still at Kate’s waist. She gets her into the SUV with practiced ease.

Kate groans as she drops into the seat, melting into the leather like it might absorb the exhaustion out of her bones. She smells like champagne, sweat, smoke. Her lipstick’s smudged near her jaw. There’s glitter on her collarbone like a constellation.

Yelena gets in. Starts the car. Drives.

This has played out like so many other nights before. It’s muscle memory by now. This part is routine too. The post-event unravel. Kate Bishop, media-trained to a knife’s edge, peeling herself down to something real. The quiet shedding of performance. Yelena knows the rhythm of this Kate. Not the brand or the persona anymore. Just a human. Squishier around the edges, sharp when provoked, perilous only if you think you’re immune to her.

They don’t speak for the first few blocks. Kate’s halfway asleep, slouched, legs splayed, head tilted like she might tip over.

Yelena should be focusing on the road. She isn’t. Her eyes flick to Kate in the rearview. Then away. Again. Then away.

The tension’s been there for months. Brewing slow. Slipping through cracks and codes. It lives in the stolen glances that linger too long. In the silences that stretch just one beat past appropriate. In the places Kate touches Yelena. Wrist, waist, shoulder. Like she’s trying to figure out which part she’s not allowed to hold.

Tonight? Something’s different.

Maybe it’s the irresponsible amount of drinks Kate didn’t pace. Maybe it’s the way exhaustion is forcing Yelena’s own restraint to fray to the point it’s near impossible to pretend she doesn’t feel whatever the fuck this is too. Maybe it’s the way Yelena caught Kate brazenly staring down at her from one of the mansion’s balconies earlier. Kate was up there…in red silk, perched above the party, laughing at nothing, some guy at her elbow. Too close. Too eager.

Yelena had watched from the street. Fingers fisted as she fought the urge to rush up and throw the dude over the railing when he touched Kate’s waist. Kate didn’t smile. He kept moving in. She kept pushing him away. Not entirely playfully. Yelena had wanted to hurt him. Not because she’s Kate’s bodyguard. It was…something else. Something more primal.

But Yelena didn’t rush in. Because that’s not her place. Kate is inside, up there. Where she should be. And Yelena is outside. Where she belongs. Two very different lives. Two completely different realities.

Kate is in and out of sleep as they drive. Yelena pulls into the garage of the three-story mansion Kate’s rented for the duration of production.

Kate startles awake when Yelena’s door slams shut. Seconds later, her door swings open. Kate looks at Yelena, half-lidded, hazy eyes and a lazy drunk grin painted on her face.

“I’m hungry…I could eat an entire cow.” Kate announces.

Yelena helps Kate and her wobbly limbs out of the car and into the house. Doesn’t acknowledge the comment. Yelena gets her as far as the two steps past the door. The second Kate is through the threshold, Yelena turns around. Kate hears Yelena’s steps getting further. Turns to look at her. Confused.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s three in the morning, Kate. I’m going to my hotel to sleep.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Order something.”

“It’s three in the morning. Nothing’s open.”

“Call Sam. Make her figure it out.” Yelena keeps walking.

“Sam’s asleep.”

“Kate, what do you want from me?” Yelena stops and spins, aggravated.

Silence.

Then, small. “I’m hungry.” A beat. “…I want pasta.”

No movement. No sound. Just the two of them staring at each other, the echo of something unsaid hanging in the air.

“Fine. I’ll make it myself.” Kate walks away from the garage door. Leaves it wide open.

Yelena watches her go. Watches her sway down the hallway. Pathetic. Drunk. Barely standing. Her dress rides just enough with each step to flash skin. Her hair’s falling out of its pin. She looks like trouble. And it woul dbe irresponsible to let her go anywhere near an open flame.

“I need a fucking raise.” Yelena mutters. Then louder: “Do NOT go anywhere near that stove, Kate.”

She climbs the stairs two at a time. Finds Kate sprawled on the couch, silly drunk smile on her face.

“You’re making me pasta,” Kate slurs.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Kate rolls over. Now facing the ceiling. Her dress is wrecked. Her skin flushed. Hair messy. Dress wrinkled. The neckline has shifted just enough to reveal the edge of something see-through underneath. Lace, maybe. Very deliberately worn. Yelena doesn’t let her eyes linger.

“You always stand like that.”

“Like what?” Yelena asks, visibly annoyed while she collects things from cupboards and cabinets.

“Back straight. Feet flat. Like you’re waiting for an ambush.”

“I’m trained for one.”

“There’s no threat here.”

“That’s what everyone says before something goes wrong.”

Kate sits up. The alcohol haze is thinning. What’s left is heavier. Calmer. Hungrier. She studies Yelena. A beat. Then another. Her voice is quiet when she speaks again.

“You always this careful?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to with me.”

Yelena doesn’t answer. Kate stands. Bare feet on tile. There’s a flush rising to her cheeks, but it’s not from wine. She closes the distance slowly. Her presence fills the room like heat.

“You know you’re the only person in my life who doesn’t ask for anything?”

“I’m literally paid to be here.”

“You’re not paid to care.”

“And I don’t.”

“Liar.” Kate’s smile is utterly disarming.

Yelena opens the fridge. not because she needs anything from it right this second, but because it’s something to do with her hands. Just to put something between them. She grabs a Tupperware. Cheese. Grated.

Behind her: silence. Then more footsteps. Then the air thickens. Kate’s warmth, close. Her breath, closer.

“I watched you tonight. From the balcony.”

“I know.”

“You never look away anymore.” Yelena keeps working in silence. “I wore this dress for you.”

Yelena doesn’t turn around.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s backless.”

“I noticed.”

“Did you?”

Kate moves even closer. Yelena can feel her. Yelena spins on her heels. Kate is closer than she realized. She is…right there. One step and their eyelashes would touch. More bare skin than not. Pink lips, gap between them. The curve of her neck exposed like a dare. Kate smirks, too casual to be actually casual.

“Kate…”

“I’m not a kid.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You act like I am. Like I’m going to break if you touch me.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. Why?”

A silence sharp enough to cut.

“Because it’s not my job to touch you.”

“But you want to.”

It’s not a question. Yelena loathes when Kate does that. Assume. Like she knows her. It’s even more irritating because she’s never wrong.

Yelena breathes in. Exhales. Centers herself.

“Kate, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like my job. I need my job. Some of us actually have to look at our bank accounts. I’m not blowing it for some rich girl whim.”

Kate laughs. It’s short, tired, but not cruel.

“You think I’m reckless. Spoiled. Impulsive. Used to getting my way.”

“You said it, not me.”

Kate closes the last inch. Her fingers skim Yelena’s jacket.

“What if I told you I’ve thought about this longer than you have? What if I told you I’ve been waiting for you to catch up?” Kate whispers against Yelena’s lips.

Green eyes meet blue.

“You’re drunk.”

“I was. I’m not now.”

Yelena’s heart thunders in her chest. Loud enough she’s afraid Kate might be able to hear it.

“We can’t…”

Kate’s hands slip under the hem of Yelena’s jacket. Her palms rest against Yelena’s ribs. No pressure. Just heat. Intention.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn. Stop pretending you don’t want this.”

“It’s not about wanting.”

“Then what is it?”

“This is my job.”

“You think I don’t know that? But I also feel your eyes on me. All the time. On the carpet. On set. In the studio. You look at me when you think I’m asleep. I never am. You watch me and pretend you’re not memorizing every inch. You also say my name different than anyone else’s. Sometimes I call you just to see that look on your face when you walk into a room and find me. Tough guy goes all soft.”

Beat.

“You’re not the center of the universe, Kate.”

“No. But I am yours.”

“I’m not one of your little fans.”

“I don’t want you tobe. I just want you to stop pretending this isn’t killing us.”

There’s a pause. A silence that stretches. Then Yelena leans in. It almost feels like it’s going to happen. Kate braces for it.

Kate’s hands move. One slides up, brushing Yelena’s collarbone. Thumb at the base of her neck. She’s shaking. Just slightly. But Yelena feels it. All of it.

Then…Yelena whispers.

“Make your own pasta, Miss Bishop.”

And then she backs away, heads for the door without another word. Kate doesn’t move. The door closes. And for a long time, Kate just stands there. Heart pounding. Alone in a house full of heat. And no pasta.

#kate x yelena #bishova #bishlova #katelena #yelena belova #kate bishop #you sent this a while back #i have such a backlog of good prompts #im getting to y'all at some point #i promise #kybgau #kybgaup #anonymous #answers

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fratboykate · 1 month ago

Note

The cliffhanger with Kate in the bathroom - angsty perfection, I love it 👌

Can’t wait for the next update!

You didn't have to wait that long :) Here's 9.6k of pain lol. Again, heavy chapter blah blah. You know what you're signing up for at this point lol.

---

"Oh my god.” Yelena drops to her knees so fast she knows she’s bruised them. “Kate!” No response. “Kate, wake up!”

Nothing. Her hands shake. Her voice breaks.

“Call 911!” Yelena screams at her father.

Alexei is already moving. His voice bellows from the hallway, shouting into the receiver. Russian accent thicker than usual as he stumbles over the address and apartment number, voice rising with panic.

“Ambulance! I need ambulance!…My daughter, she…she is not…eyes closed. Not waking up. Please. Please.”

Yelena doesn't register him despite his volume. All she hears is Kate’s breathing. Her chest rises, but it’s uneven. Almost imperceptible. Shallow weak gasps that get fainter with each one. Rattling. Like something inside is broken. Her body’s slack. Heavy. Her lips are too pale. Edges turning blue. She leans over Kate, slaps her cheek hard. Once. Twice.

“Wake up! WAKE UP!”

Yelena grabs her jaw and tilts her face back, trying to expand her airway. No response. Yelena surveys the room. Sees the painted picture. The powder smeared across the counter. The residue under Kate’s nose. The layer of the same substance on a MetroCard. Her lungs constrict.

“What did you take?! What did you fucking take?!” Yelena shouts, voice almost unrecognizable.

There’s no response. Not even a hint of movement behind closed eyes.

“She is…yes. Not awake. We found her on floor.” Alexei barks into the phone, pacing now.

Melina rushes down the hallway, chasing after a runaway Maks who is sobbing while beelining for the bedroom. She clutches Sonny tight, shielding her eyes as she runs after the boy. Alexia pushes past her grandmother and yanks Maks back before he can fully get into the bedroom.

“Let me see Mommy! Let me see!”

Melina stands in front of them both, snaps.

“No! Stay back.” Melina hisses, blocking the hallway and turning them both around.

“Why is Mommy on the floor?! Why won’t she wake up?!” Maks screams while flailing against Melina’s arm, trying to run into the bedroom.

“Mama!” Sonny tugs on Melina’s jacket, wailing so loudly her tiny voice pierces through the chaos.

The commotion by the bedroom door steals Yelena’s attention. She catches a glimpse of Alexia hovering under the doorframe, face pale as chalk, eyes wide, locked on her mother’s body slumped on the floor. Melina pulls her back before she can take another step.

“What’s happening?” Alexia asks.

“Stay out there!” Yelena shouts. “Do NOT come in here!”

But it’s too late. Alexia’s already seen it. Her Mommy’s still body. Her Mama hovering over her.

Yelena turns back to Kate.

“Kate! Can you hear me?”

Kate doesn’t move.

“Is she breathing?!” Alexei yells before putting the dispatcher on speaker, phone trembling in his hand, voice shaking for the first time in Yelena’s life.

Yelena’s hand finds Kate’s neck. A pulse. It’s there. Somewhat.

“Barely!”Yelena shouts. Her fingers tremble as they press harder against Kate’s throat. She can’t feel anything solid. Nothing reliable. Just faint thumps that come too far apart. Irregular. Slowing.

The voice from the phone is calm. Terrifyingly calm.

“Ma’am, is her skin warm to the touch?” The dispatcher’s asks. Flat, clinical.

“Yes!” Yelena barks. Then she checks again. Touches her all over. And realizes... “No! She’s clammy. Cold.”

Then, like a curtain dropping mid-scene…a noise. Kate gurgles. Her chest heaves once. Shudders. Then…nothing. It stops moving.

“No.” Yelena’s voice is a whisper. Then louder: “No. No. No no no no. Kate!”

Yelena freezes. One second. Two. Her ears are ringing. Her hands go to Kate’s chest.

“She is not…She is not breathing!” Alexei roars.

The dispatcher’s voice comes sharp now.

“Ma’am, listen to me. You need to begin CPR. Is she on a flat surface?”

“Yes,” Yelena grits. “Yes. MOVE!” she barks at Alexei.

Alexei backs up. Yelena forces Kate fully flat onto her back. Tilts her head again. Seals her mouth over hers. Two breaths. Her hands go straight to Kate’s sternum.

Yelena positions her hands at the center of Kate’s chest. Starts pressing down. One. Two. Three. Four. She counts out loud. Her arms shake.

“Begin compressions. Put the heel of your hand on the center of her chest, right between the nipples. Other hand on top. Interlock your fingers. Push hard and fast. You need to compress two inches into her chest.”

“I know what I’m doing!” Yelena yells, frustrated. She's already doing it. One. Two. Three. Four. Her arms lock. Her shoulders drive downward.

Yelena’s vision blurs. Her hair is falling into her face. Kate’s ribs give under her palms with too much ease. The cracking sound they made a few compressions ago…Yelena knows what that means. And she’ll hear that sound for the rest of her fucking life.

“Keep compressing,” the dispatcher says. “Count out loud.” Yelena does. “Thirty compressions. Then two breaths. Tilt her head back, pinch the nose…”

“I KNOW!” Yelena snaps again, tears breaking loose as she leans down, presses her mouth to Kate’s. “Come on. Breathe. Come on.”

Still nothing. Kate’s chest doesn’t move on its own.

Another round. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty more. Yelena’s shaking. Her shoulders burn. Her knees are on fire. She doesn’t stop.

“Where's the ambulance?!” Yelena screams at no one.

Somewhere down the hall, Sonny is shrieking at full volume. Maks screams, asking a million questions a minute. Alexia says nothing. She’s sat on the floor, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight around herself.

Melina is trying to keep it together, but even she’s shouting at Alexei, asking how far the paramedics are.

The dispatcher says: “They’re en route, ma’am. You’re doing great. Keep going.”

“GET THE FUCKING AMBULANCE HERE. She’s DYING.” Yelena snarls. She leans in, breathes into Kate’s mouth. Once. Twice. Checks again. Nothing. "FUCK."

Kate is motionless. Pale. Beautiful and…so goddamn gone. Her arm twitches suddenly. For a second, Yelena thinks it’s something. Then it’s nothing again. Nerve misfire. Muscle memory. Her body tricking her.

Another thirty compressions.

“We have kids, you idiot. You don't get to do this. You don’t get to leave them…You don’t get to leave me.”

More compressions. Her palms slide. Sweat. Panic. Maybe blood. Doesn’t matter.

“Ma’am, can you feel a pulse?”

“No. She’s not breathing!”

The dispatcher finally changes tone. Pointed now.

“They’re nearly there. You need to keep her blood moving.”

“I got you,” Yelena whispers through gritted teeth. “I got you, you stupid fucking asshole. You don’t get to do this.”

“Make her wake up, Mama. Mama make her wake up.” Maks keeps repeating.

“You hear that? WAKE UP.” Yelena mutters. She’s sobbing now too. Doesn’t realize it until the tears start falling onto Kate’s skin.

Yelena doesn’t stop. Can’t. Every time she breathes into Kate’s mouth, it feels like breathing into a corpse.

Another round. She breathes again. Hard. The taste of vodka and something chemical hits the back of her throat.

Then…Boots. Voices. Radio squawks.

“EMS! Where is she?”

“Back here!” Melina shouts.

Two paramedics storm down the hall. Another follows, wheeling the stretcher. The room explodes into motion. Yelena never stops doing compressions.

“What happened?” the taller one asks.

“She overdosed. I think.” Yelena blurts out.

“Do you know what she took?”

Yelena shakes her head so hard her vision spins.

“Coke. I think. I’m not sure. But I don’t know…She was breathing. Then she wasn’t. I’ve been doing CPR…”

“Ma’am, step back.”

“I’m not…” Yelena doesn’t.

“Step back!” one of them orders as another physically pulls her back.

They move like they’ve done this a thousand times. One drops to his knees, takes over compressions. Another cuts Kate’s shirt open, slaps defib pads to her chest. A third pops the Narcan cap, sprays once, twice, up her nose.

“Pulse?”

“Still absent. Charge to two hundred.”

“CLEAR!”

Yelena’s back hits the wall. She can’t stand. She slides down, barely aware that she’s sitting on the floor.

Kate’s body jumps. No pulse.

Yelena can’t breathe. She stares at the tile. Her palms burn. Her eyes sting. Her arms feel like they’re going to fall off.

“Three hundred.”

“CLEAR!”

Another jolt. Still nothing. Another spray of Narcan.

Yelena finally breaks. She covers her mouth with both hands to stifle her sobs. Alexei is in the hallway, holding Maks and Alexia tight. Melina presses her lips to Sonny’s hair.

“CLEAR!”

Then…Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Got something. Weak. Holding.”

The beeping sound punches through the air like a miracle. Yelena almost collapses with it.

Then Kate coughs. Wet. Violent. She jerks forward, vomiting brownish bile onto the tile. One of the paramedics is already there, rolling her onto her side, sweeping her mouth with gloved fingers, making sure nothing blocks her airway.

“She’s trying to breathe. Reflexive. That’s good.”

For half a second, there’s something that almost feels like hope.

Then Kate's body spasms. First her foot kicks. Then her shoulder. Then everything at once. She seizes. Violently.

Yelena jumps back instinctively as Kate’s limbs whip outward. Her head knocks against the cabinet under the sink with a sickening thud.

“Seizure!” the medic closest to her barks.

“Roll her! Roll her. Secure the head!” The second paramedic catches Kate’s skull just before it cracks again, cradling it in one hand, keeping it from slamming the floor.

“Time it. How long has she been seizing?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“She’s tachy as hell,” another adds, already digging in the supply kit.

Kate’s body jerks uncontrollably. Her spine arches. Her legs kick out like she’s being electrocuted. Her jaw clenches tight. Froth builds at her lips.

“Bag her,” the lead medic orders.

The oxygen bag comes out. The mask is over her face before Yelena can blink. It’s breathing for her now.

“She’s hypoxic. O2 saturation’s in the tank.”

“Push midazolam?”

“No time.”

Her arm is yanked out. A needle goes in. IV solution flushes through the line. They're already hooking up a portable monitor, threading wires through the torn neckline of Kate’s shirt, sticky pads pressed to her ribs and collarbone.

“She’s peaking. Thirty seconds in.”

Kate's arms flail again, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles go white. Her eyes roll back. Nothing but white under fluttering lids. Yelena’s frozen. Helpless.

“MAMA!” Maks’ voice from the hallway.

Melina's yelling something about closing the door. Yelena doesn’t move.

“Ma’am, she can hear you. Talk to her.” One of the medics glances up.

Yelena crawls forward.

“Kate. Kate, come on. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Kate doesn’t react. Her back lifts off the floor again. She jerks so hard the medic has to grab her shoulders.

Then it stops. Abruptly. The shaking ends. Her body collapses, limp. The silence is deafening.

“She’s postictal. We’ve got about sixty seconds before her airway's gone again.”

“Load her.”

The gurney is pulled in. They lift her up. Quickly. Methodically. One tightens the restraints at her wrists and ankles while the other keeps the mask on.

“Get that bag secured. IV’s in. Monitor’s reading weak but present.”

One of the EMTs looks back at Yelena.

“Are you riding with us?”

“Yes.” Yelena stands so fast her knees crack.

They move.

As they pass the living room, Melina reappears. Sonny still in her arms, face red from crying. Alexei has a distraught Maks on his hip. Alexia stands silent, hands over her ears, trying to drown out the screaming.

“We’ve got them. Go.” Melina urges her.

Yelena doesn’t speak. She’s already running. The stretcher barrels out the door. Yelena follows, doesn’t look back.

Behind her, the sound of her children screeching and exclaiming gets fainter with each step.

Yelena climbs into the ambulance, knees throbbing from the tile, hands still shaking from the CPR. The medic slams the doors behind her. The whole rig jolts as they peel off from the curb, tires screaming against asphalt. Sirens on. Lights spinning. Red and blue strobe through the narrow cabin in hard, violent pulses.

Kate lies on the stretcher. Strapped down, oxygen mask fogging up with shallow breath. She's pale. Her skin has that gray undertone Yelena’s seen on bodies before. On morgue tables. In labs. Not on her wife.

Yelena swallows, trying to force the bile back down. Her whole body vibrates with adrenaline. She slides into the seat next to Kate’s head, clamps both hands around the rail. The medic sits across from her, eyes flicking between the portable monitor and the IV bags swinging above them.

Kate’s hand, what she can reach of it under the blanket, is gelid. Unnaturally so. Yelena grips it anyway. Because, for the first time in her life, she’s terrified she’s going to lose Kate for good.

Kate twitches once. A jerk. Barely noticeable. Then harder. Her body goes stiff, heels slamming against the stretcher's metal frame.

The monitor blips, then flatlines for a blink, then comes back. Irregular. Slow.

“Shit. She’s crashing again. BP’s dropping,” the medic says, snapping into motion.

“No, no, no…” Yelena whispers, blood icing over.

Kate convulses hard, body thrashing against the restraints. One leg kicks free. Slams the inside wall of the rig so hard it leaves a dent. Her teeth grind together. Her eyes flutter. Then roll back.

“Seizing again,” the other medic barks, already prepping a syringe. “Pushing two of naloxone.”

The needle plunges into the IV line. The medics brace her limbs. One hand to her head, keeping her from smashing her skull on the rail again. It’s efficient. Brutal. Controlled mayhem.

After what feels like an eternity, the seizure breaks. But so does everything else. Kate goes still. No twitch. No movement. The line flattens.

“Start compressions!”

The medic doesn't hesitate. She climbs onto the stretcher with practiced speed, straddling one knee beside Kate’s hip. Hands to her chest. Presses down with force. One. Two. Three. Four. They count. It’s clinical. Ruthless. Efficient.

To Yelena, it looks like brutality. Horror.

Kate’s already broken ribs cave under the pressure. Her head lolls. There’s a smear of blood slipping down her chin from where she bit the inside of her cheek.

The rig keeps speeding toward the hospital.

Yelena’s fingers dig into the seat rail.

“Pulse! Weak, but there.”

“Stabilizing. Keep the O2 high-flow.”

Yelena sways with the next turn, but she doesn’t let go of the rail. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes are locked on Kate’s face. A face that looks almost unfamiliar now. Too still. Too pale. Like the woman she’s loved for two decades is buried under someone else's skin. Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“…Is she gonna die?” Yelena whispers, voice raw.

The medic doesn’t sugarcoat it. Doesn’t lie.

“We’re doing everything we can.”

Yelena nods, throat burning. But her hand reaches for Kate’s again. Frigid, limp, and unresponsive beneath the thermal blanket.

Yelena grips it anyway, like she can warm Kate back to life through sheer willpower. And then, because silence feels more dangerous than noise, she speaks. Soft at first. Barely audible over the sirens and the beep of the monitor.

“I hate you so much right now. And I need you to wake up so I can tell you how fucking pissed off I am. We had a deal. No drugs. We agreed…you stupid, selfish, self-destructive asshole.” Yelena squeezes her hand. “You promised. We had a deal, Kate.”

Kate doesn’t move. Yelena leans forward, her forehead brushing Kate’s temple through the oxygen mask. Her own breath fogs the plastic.

“You better make it. Do you hear me?” Kate’s chest rises. Barely. “You better make it, Kate Bishop.”

The ambulance takes another harsh turn. The hospital is close now. The medic’s prep handoff notes. Calling vitals out to someone on the radio.

Yelena presses her mouth to Kate’s ear, voice trembling.

“You need to wake up because I’m not done yelling at you yet.”

And she’s not. Not by a long shot.

The instant the ambulance doors fly open, the noise multiplies. Voices shouting over one another, the hiss of oxygen, the screech of wheels over concrete. Yelena squints against the morning glare, still clinging to Kate’s hand as the paramedics roll her out.

“Female. Thirty nine. Overdose. Found unresponsive. CPR initiated on scene. Two rounds of naloxone. Seizure activity during transport. Vitals are unstable. Pulse weak and thready.” The lead medic barks to the trauma team as they race toward the ER doors.

They wheel Kate through automatic glass doors. Yelena follows, her heels slapping the tile floor. Nurses and doctors peel off to meet the gurney. One grabs the chart. Another adjusts the oxygen mask.

“Patient name?”

“Katherine Bishop,” Yelena rattles out, breathless.

“Relation?”

“I…” She swallows. “I’m her… I’m…” She doesn’t know what to say. Wife? Is she? Partner? Not really. “…Her emergency contact?…No. I’m her wife. Her wife.”

The trauma nurse barely glances at her.

“Date Of Birth?”

“October 16, 2002.”

“Is she allergic to anything?”

Yelena shakes her head.

“You’ll need to wait here.”

“No. No…Why?!”

“We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

Yelena’s hand is peeled off Kate’s. Just like that, the gurney disappears around the corner and through swinging doors marked “TRAUMA 1.”

Yelena stands there, alone in the fluorescent hallway, unable to move. Her body feels foreign. Her mouth dry. A smear of something….Kate’s blood? Her own sweat?…dries on her wrist.

Yelena looks around the room. The moment the silence settle sin, her legs buckle. She lowers herself into one of the bolted plastic chairs, numb and shaking.

It’s been less than an hour since she found Kate on the bathroom floor, not breathing. Her kids are probably still crying. Her parents probably haven’t stopped pacing. She left them with chaos and sprinted headfirst into more of it.

She rests her elbows on her knees and buries her face in her hands.

The taste of adrenaline is still in her tongue. The echo of compressions still in her arms. The image of Kate lying on the floor burned behind her eyelids.

A whimper escapes her. She reaches into her bag. Riffles through. Finds her phone. Her hands are shaking so hard she almost drops it. But she manages to dial a number and bring the phone to her ear.

“Hi.” Susan answers, cheery. “How’d it go? Please tell me that dumbass didn’t do something stupid in court again.”

Yelena swallows a sob.

“Is Josh with you?”

“No. He’s at work.” Susan catches up to the weirdness in Yelena’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“Suze…I’m…God…Maybe you should call Josh. Have him come home and then call me.” Yelena is holding back sobs.

“No. What happened?”

“I don’t want…Call Josh and then call me, okay?”

“Where’s my sister?”

Yelena regrets calling Susan. She’s too far along. She shouldn’t have called. She should’ve called Eleanor. Or Derek. Or…no one. But not Susan.

“Yelena…”

“She OD’d. She…”

“What?!”

“I found her…She…”

“Is she alive?! Tell me she’s alive.”

“Barely. I’m at the hospital with her and…”

“Where?”

“Presbyterian.”

“I’m coming.”

DAY ONE ER - Trauma

Yelena sits in a hard-backed chair in the ER waiting room, elbows on her knees, hands pressed against her mouth like they’re holding her face together.

Susan is beside her, motionless. Pale. One hand clutched to her belly, the other wrapped in a death grip around a paper coffee cup she hasn’t touched.

They made the mutual decision not to call Eleanor or Derek. It's not like Kate would want them here anyway. She doesn't have a relationship with Derek and the one with Eleanor is borderline non-existent. Kate would hate them if they brought anyone else into this, but especially her parents.

It takes over an hour after the ambulance arrives before anyone says a word.

A trauma physician steps in, stripped of coat and gloves, still in blood-smeared scrubs. He looks young. Too young. But his face is lined with something heavier than age.

“Family of Katherine Bishop?”

Both women stand so fast their chairs screech. Yelena’s voice is sandpaper.

“I’m her…We’re family. I’m her…I brought her in.”

The doctor nods once. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t offer hope too soon.

“She went into cardiac arrest in the trauma bay. Cocaine-induced myocardial infarction. That’s a heart attack caused by the overdose.”

Susan sways slightly. Yelena doesn’t move.

“We got her back.”

Yelena exhales. Labored. Loud. Like her lungs forgot how.

“She’s intubated and sedated. We’re giving her supportive ventilation. She aspirated when she was seizing. There’s fluid in the lungs so we’re also treating for pneumonia.”

Susan makes a strangled sound. Yelena leans back onto the wall behind her.

“Her vitals are fragile but holding. The CPR in the field…it cracked some ribs. That’s normal, but it’s painful. We’re managing her pain while she’s sedated.”

Yelena’s voice is low. Flat. Barely human.

“Is she going to wake up?”

“We’re monitoring brain activity,” he says gently. “We’ve done imaging. There’s no visible swelling or hemorrhage. That’s good. But with cardiac arrest, the first seventy-two hours are the most critical.”

Susan lets out a sob and covers it with the heel of her palm.

“Can we see her?” Yelena asks.

“Not yet. Let us stabilize her first.”

He leaves. Just like that.

The silence afterward is oppressive. Worse than sirens. Worse than crying. Just this…breathless, anticipatory nothing.

Yelena doesn’t sit again. She stares at the double doors, wondering if any of it had actually happened. Wondering if she was about to be told none of it mattered. That the brunette on the other side of that hallway…the one who’d broken her heart, and almost didn’t survive it…wasn’t going to open her eyes again.

DAY TWO ICU: Room 514

The machines are louder than Kate.

That’s the first thing Yelena notices when they finally let her in yesterday. She walked in expecting to hear something…anything…from the woman she loves, even if she pretends she doesn’t anymore. But all she got was the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitor beside her bed. Nothing has changed since.

Kate’s face is slack. Pale in a way that’s almost translucent. Tubes down her throat. A cannula taped to her cheek. The bruising from the CPR is already spreading across her chest. There’s a bag of fluids running into her IV. Three, actually. Antibiotics, pain meds, something else. One of the nurses tried to explain but Yelena didn’t hear most of it.

She takes the chair by the bed without asking. Pulls it close. Sits.

Kate doesn’t move. Yelena swallows around the lump in her throat and speaks.

“You look like shit.”

It’s the first thing she’s said out loud all morning. Her voice cracks in the middle of it.

No response, obviously.

There’s a bandage on Kate’s arm where they tried to start a line and missed. Another on the back of her hand. Her fingers twitch once in her sleep. Not enough to mean anything. Yelena watches machines help her breathe and wonders how the fuck they got here.

“How long were you doing it?” she asks the quiet room. “And when were you going to tell me?…I should've known. Should've seen it.”

No answer. Yelena can't help the tears that overwhelm her. They don't stop coming for a long time.

The nurse comes in around ten. Introduces herself. Changes the drip bag. Checks the monitors. Jots down a few things.

“She’s holding. Lungs are still wet, but she’s responding to the antibiotics. Fever’s low-grade.”

“Brain?”

“Too early to say. But there’s no sign of swelling. She flinched during her neuro check this morning. That’s something.”

Yelena nods. Watches her finish. Doesn’t ask anything else.

Susan shows up around noon with two coffees and a look on her face like she’s aged ten years overnight. She doesn’t ask how Kate is. Just sinks into the corner chair and presses the coffee into Yelena’s hands.

“She always said if she went out, it would be loud. But I didn’t think she meant like this.” Susan whispers after a while.

“She’s not out. Don’t say that.”

They don’t speak again for a long time.

Yelena doesn’t leave Kate’s side except to use the bathroom. Her parents are with the kids. Susan’s husband is on standby to take her home if she needs to lie down, but she won’t. They rotate shifts. Quiet, tired bodies in an ICU room. Waiting.

Waiting for the moment when the breathing tube comes out. Or the machines stop beeping. Whichever comes first.

DAY THREE ICU: Room 514

Kate’s fever breaks at 4:19 in the morning.

Yelena knows because she was still awake, curled like a question mark in the impossibly uncomfortable ICU chair, arms folded tight across her chest, watching the numbers cycle across the monitor. Thirty-seven-point-one. Down from forty earlier.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just stares at the new number like it might suddenly reverse itself, like Kate might spike again and all of this will start over. She only blinks when the nurse comes in, gives her a tired smile, and checks Kate’s vitals.

“Still stable. Good sign.” The nurse offers with a smile.

Yelena only nods. The nurse knows better than to push for conversation.

By sunrise, Susan’s back. Bleary-eyed and pale, hair pulled into the kind of bun that screams second day of not showering. She smells like hospital hallway coffee and the same sweatshirt from yesterday.

“Did she wake up?” Susan asks, eyes darting to the bed.

“No. Not yet.”

Susan exhales. Drops into the second chair.

They both sit there in silence for a long time. Then, eventually, quietly:

“You think she’s gonna be pissed when she wakes up and sees us sitting here like two haunted ex-wives?”

Yelena snorts despite herself. “One of us is the ex-wife.”

“Not yet. She made sure of that.”

"If she didn't want to go through with the divorce, she should've just said so. This was a bit much." Yelena tries levity. It works. Susan chuckles. “She’s gonna be pissed about the tube.”

“She’ll rip it out herself if no one beats her to it.”

“Would've already tried if she was awake.”

A beat. Then Susan says, “Do you think she remembers anything?”

“No.”Yelena says it too quickly. Too definitively. And then: “I hope not.”

Because if she remembers what happened before she hit the floor…if she remembers going down being aware that the kids were in the living room, the coke on the counter, the idea that she might be leaving them alone…then waking up might be worse than staying asleep.

—

The ICU attending comes in around noon.

“Brain activity’s normalizing. Scans were clean. That’s good.” She tells them, flipping through Kate’s chart.

“But?” Yelena asks.

The doctor glances up. “But she went without oxygen for a significant amount of time. More than once. She then had a heart attack. A major one. The aspiration pneumonia isn’t nothing either. She’s still in danger.”

“But she’s off the edge?” Yelena presses. Hopeful.

“She’s on the edge,” the doctor corrects. “But her vitals are holding. That’s a good sign.”

Susan crosses her arms.

“So when does she wake up?”

“Unclear yet. Her body’s still processing everything. And we’re keeping her sedated until her respiratory numbers improve.”

Yelena swallows. Her throat’s dry.

“When does the sedation stop?”

“If her numbers are steady, she might start to get weaned off this evening.”

Yelena nods. Doesn’t thank the doctor. Simply waits for the door to close.

—

That night, Yelena stays again. After the last round of vitals. After the last nurse checks the monitors and dims the lights. The sedation drip is low now. Tapered. If Kate’s body is ready, she’ll start to wake up on her own.

Yelena watches her. Inhales sharply. Then leans forward.

“You need to wake up.”

Silence. Yelena leans closer. Brushes a stray hair from Kate’s forehead. Her fingers tremble.

“You need to wake up because if I have to sit in this chair one more day smelling like dried tears and antiseptic, I will lose my mind.”

Still nothing.

“I’m so mad at you. But you don’t get to die and make me do this alone.”

She waits. Then…Kate’s brow twitches. Barely there. But it’s the first real sign of anything. Yelena straightens in the chair, blinking fast.

“Come on. Come on, Kate Bishop."

No response. Just the rhythmic beep-beep-beep and the hiss of the oxygen. But still…a twitch. It’s not much. But it’s enough.

DAY FOUR ICU, Room 514

It starts with a cough. Violent. Wet. From deep in her chest.

Yelena jerks upright, coffee sloshing out of the hospital cup in her lap. She’s halfway to the bed before she even knows she’s moved.

Kate is gagging around the tube. Her whole body arches, bucking against the restraints as she coughs again. A thick, brutal sound that rattles her ribcage. The monitor jumps.

Yelena slams the call button.

“She’s awake! She’s…I think she’s…fuck…Don't pull that tube, Kate."

Nurses burst in seconds later. One goes to the machines. The other leans over Kate, steadying her shoulders.

“She’s coming out of sedation. Vitals are up. Respiratory’s trying to compensate.”

Kate’s eyes are fluttering now. Not fully open, just darting back and forth under heavy lids. Her hands jerk against the restraints. Her face is tight with pain.

“She’s panicking,” Yelena sounds off, her voice catching in her throat.

“She’s trying to breathe on her own,” the nurse says, glancing at the oxygen levels. “Her lungs aren’t ready for that.”

“Then help her!”

“We are.”

Another nurse rushes in with a syringe.

“Fentanyl. Low dose.”

“She’ll stop fighting it in a second. Just stay close.” The first nurse says, gentle.

Yelena doesn’t leave the bedside. Doesn’t move as Kate’s body trembles under the sheets. Her eyes open for half a second, glazed and unfocused, then roll back. The meds hit fast.

The gagging eases. The coughing slows. Kate goes still again. But the tube stays in.

Yelena stays too. Hand on Kate’s wrist. Anchored. Shaking. Not out of fear anymore. Just sheer fucking relief.

—

She wakes up again at 4:11 p.m.

This time it’s slower. No panicked thrashing. Just a furrowed brow. Eyes moving under lids. Then… opening. Barely.

Kate blinks once. Then again. Her eyes are bloodshot. Her skin’s too dull. There’s dried blood around her nostrils and tape burn on her cheeks.

Her gaze lands on Yelena. It’s glassy. Drifting. But it lands. Yelena leans forward, heart in her throat.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Hi.”

Kate blinks again. Slow. Her hand tugs at the restraint. Weak. Uncoordinated.

“Don’t pull,” Yelena utters quickly, grabbing Kate’s fingers. “Don’t. Don’t try to talk, okay? You’ve still got the tube. You’re intubated. You…”

Kate’s eyes widen. Her hand jerks again. Panic rises behind her gaze like floodwater. Yelena tightens her grip.

“I know. I know it’s awful. Just hang on. They’re coming. Just hang on.”

The monitor beeps spike. The nurse returns seconds later. Glances at the screen. Then at Kate. Then at Yelena.

“She’s awake?”

“Just now.”

“Good. Page respiratory. She’s ready.” The nurse presses the intercom button above the bed.

“Can you take it out?” Yelena asks, barely hiding the shake in her voice.

“If she’s stable, yeah. We’ll prep now.”

Kate’s eyes are locked on Yelena. It’s not clarity. Not really. But it’s something. Her lips move. Around the tube. Nothing she can understand. But Yelena knows what she’s saying.

Please.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Yelena says, pressing her forehead to Kate’s.

—

The extubation is brutal.

There’s suction. Tape. A plastic yawn of tubing that pulls like it’s snagged on bone. Kate gags hard. Gasps. Coughs until she curls in on herself, writhing under the oxygen mask they strap on next.

She’s hardly coherent. Her voice is gone. Her throat’s shredded. But she’s breathing on her own now.

And she’s alive.

—

Later, when Susan comes in, hair wet from a shower, eyes puffy from crying, Yelena barely looks up from the chair.

“She’s awake,” she says.

Susan freezes. “What?”

“She’s still out of it. But she’s breathing. She’s…she’s going to be okay.”

Susan presses a hand to her face, dragging it down slowly. “Thank fuck.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“Can she?”

“Not really. But I think she knew it was me.”

Susan sits. Quiet for a long time.

“So what happens now?”

Yelena’s eyes stay fixed on Kate. On the mess of her. On the way she twitches and winces in her sleep.

“I don’t know,” Yelena says. But her voice is steady. Her voice, at least, still works.

DAY FIVE ICU, Room 514

Yelena knows Kate’s awake before she opens her eyes. It’s the tension. The stillness. Like a wire pulled too tight. Her fingers flex. Her jaw clenches. Her breathing changes.

Kate doesn’t speak. Not because she can’t anymore. Her voice is there, if raw, frayed at the edges. But because she’s not ready to hear herself. She’s not ready to be here.

Yelena says nothing. Just sits beside her. Hands wrapped around a hospital-grade paper cup of coffee that tastes like old socks. She’s been there since before sunrise. Only left for a quick shower and to lay eyes on the kids.

Kate opens her eyes.

They’re bloodshot. Ringed in gray. Her pupils are still blown, like her body’s not sure which drug to metabolize first. She looks at Yelena. Then turns her head and looks away.

Yelena swallows the lump in her throat. Doesn’t press. Doesn’t move. Just waits.

A few minutes later, a nurse comes in with vitals and pain meds. There’s a portable toilet chair in the corner now. Kate’s too weak to stand on her own yet, and her ribs scream if she breathes wrong.

“You’re due for acetaminophen, oxy, and your next dose of Levaquin,” the nurse says, checking the IV line. “Youre running a fever again. We’re managing it, but the pneumonia’s holding on.”

Kate doesn’t answer. Doesn’t nod. Barely flinches when the meds hit her vein.

Yelena watches the nurse go. Then leans back. Exhales slowly.

“Your lawyer called. The judge agreed to delay until after you're better.”

Kate doesn’t blink. Still nothing.

“Your parents don’t know,” Yelena adds, softer now. “We didn't think you’d want that.”

Kate shuts her eyes. Yelena finishes the coffee. Tosses the cup in the trash.

“Someone from Child Welfare came by earlier.”

That gets a reaction. Kate’s knuckles go white atop the blanket.

“They’re opening a review…Routine, they said. Anytime there’s an overdose in the home. Especially when the kids are present.”

Kate flinches. Like she’s been slapped. Yelena doesn’t soften.

“They’ll want to talk to you. When you’re lucid. You’re not right now. Not really. But they’ll come back.”

Still nothing. Yelena leans forward.

“And I’m not going to lie for you. Not about this.”

Kate’s lips part…maybe to argue, maybe to beg…but nothing comes out.

“You almost died. In front of our kids.”

Kate turns her head away. But Yelena doesn’t stop.

“Maks asked if you wanted to leave them.”

“I don’t,” Kate rasps. Her voice sounds like she gargled broken glass.

Yelena’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Then you better start acting like it.”

—

Yelena figured she should give the kids a normal night. Dinner, a movie, bedtime stories. So that night, Susan takes the shift.

Kate’s vitals are better. Still running a mild fever, but her heart’s steadied. Oxygen’s normalizing. The pneumonia’s not gone, but it’s improving.

Withdrawal, though, is hitting hard.

Kate’s skin itches. Her back aches. Her chest feels like it’s on fire. The oxy helps, but not enough. She sweats through her second hospital gown before midnight. Wakes up clawing at the sheets. Sometimes crying. Sometimes angry. Susan stays. Quiet. Unmoved.

Around 2:00 a.m., Kate jerks upright in bed, eyes wide and terrified.

“Where are they? Where are the kids?”

“Safe,” Susan declares.

“Where?”

“Not here.”

Kate’s breathing speeds. Susan gets up. Walks to the bed. Grabs her wrist.

“They’re okay. You’re not.”

Kate starts crying. Real crying. Ugly crying. Chest-heaving, soul-bending sobs that make her ribs throb and her face crumple. Susan sits beside her. Holds her. Lets her fall apart.

“You can’t see them yet. Not until psych clears you. Not our rules. CPS.”

Kate shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And you don’t get to bullshit your way through this.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You can lie to your wife, but not to me.” Susan’s voice is low. Not cruel. Just honest.

“I don't know if you went out of your way to die that day, but in the back of your mind you knew what the risk was. And you were okay with it. You meant every line. Every drink. Every time you didn’t call. Every lie. You meant all of that.”

Kate looks away, shame crawling up her throat. Susan doesn’t move.

“I know you’re in hell…But you built it. Even after seeing what it did to Deej. You went there. I don't know that I can forgive you for that.”

A long pause.

“I can get better.”

“Can you? I heard him say that too many times…And then I went to his funeral. I will never talk to you again if this happens even one more time. Its not a bluff. It’s a promise, Kate. I will not have my baby around this. Do you understand me?”

Kate nods. But Susan doesn’t believe her. Not yet. And she has no reason to.

DAY SIX ICU Step-Down Unit, Room 534

Kate’s body is quieter today. Less trembling. Less sweating. The fever’s low-grade now. Her pulse holds. The pneumonia still lingers in the corners of her lungs, but the antibiotics are doing their job.

The noise in her head is sharper than the pain.

No more adrenaline. No more coke. Just cold clarity, and the long, aching echo of what she did.

She’s alert enough now for the monitors to feel intrusive. The heart rate, the oxygen, the saline, the antibiotics. Every line into her body is a reminder that she can’t leave yet. That she’s not trusted to be left alone with herself.

At 9:42AM, a woman in a navy blazer and orthopedic shoes steps into her room. Clipboard. Polite but guarded smile. Her badge reads “Dr. Ellen Marks, PsyD – Acute Crisis Psychiatry Unit”.

“I’m here for your assessment.”

Kate nods. Her mouth is suddenly arid.

“You mean the part where you decide if I get to go home or get a vacation in a padded room?”

“Something like that.”

Dr. Marks pulls a chair closer, sits, crosses one leg over the other. Doesn’t open the clipboard yet.

“Tell me about the day before your overdose.”

Kate stares at the IV in her arm. “I don’t remember most of it.”

Dr. Marks waits.

“I had the kids. I gave them dinner. Put them to bed. Then I…got high. Hooked up with someone. I think. Very likely.”

“Do you remember who?”

“No.”

“Do you remember how much you used?”

“No. I wasn’t keeping track.”

Dr. Marks nods.

“Do you remember when you lost consciousness?”

“No.”

“When you last slept?”

“Not really. It was a blur.”

The doctor reads from her notes.

“You were resuscitated by your wife on your bathroom floor in front of your children. You had multiple seizures. Your heart stopped twice. Then you had a heart attack. You aspirated vomit. That caused pneumonia.” Kate flinches. “I’m not saying this to punish you,” Dr. Marks says. “I’m saying that so you understand how close you came to dying.”

Kate nods. Just barely. Her tongue feels like its covered in dust.

“What are you most afraid of right now?” the doctor asks.

Kate swallows. Her voice is paper.

“That I already fucked it all up too bad to fix.”

Dr. Marks finally writes something down. Then looks up again.

“Do you want to die?”

Kate doesn’t answer. Not at first. Then…

“No…I guess I just didn’t care if I lived.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s not.”

Dr. Marks clicks her pen shut.

“I’m recommending in-patient rehab. Twenty-eight days minimum. You need medical detox, and you need accountability. You’ll have to consent to a release plan involving social services. If you want to retain custody, that’s the path.”

Kate nods again.

“I’ll go,” she says.

And she means it.

—

Yelena comes that afternoon.

She doesn’t sit down right away. She stands by the door, arms crossed, looking at Kate like she’s trying to see the outline of the person she used to know.

“Child services came to the apartment this morning. They talked to the kids.”

Kate shuts her eyes.

“Alex didn’t say much. But Maks told them you stopped reading to them. That they were late to school sometimes. That you forgot to pick them up more than once. That your room smells funny and sometimes you talk funny…That there were lots of women coming in and out of the apartment. What the fuck, Kate?”

Kate looks like she’s trying not to throw up.

“They’ve assigned a caseworker. There will be follow-ups. There will be visits. And I told them the truth.”

“What? That I’m a bad mother?”

“No. I would never say that. Because that's not true. I told them you’re a mother who almost died. Who needs help.”

“Do they hate me?” Kate’s voice cracks.

“No. But I don't think they trust you right this second.”

Kate nods. Her mouth twists. She wipes at her eyes and winces. Cracked ribs still make it hurt to breathe.

Yelena finally sits. Stares at her for a long time.

“You’re going to rehab.” Kate nods. “Glad we agree. Because I’m not doing this again. I won’t.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do. Kate, I have never wanted to take them from you. Those kids adore you. But if this becomes a pattern I will do it. I will go to court.”

Kate looks at her. The smallest spark in her eyes.

“We already did.”

“It’s not funny.” Yelena doesn’t smile.

Kate’s hand trembles against the blanket.

“Do you hate me?” she asks.

“At this very moment? A little…But I love you more.” That might have been too much honesty, but its already out there. So Yelena will deal with it. She leans forward. “I also want you to get better. Because they need you to.”

“I don’t know if I can…Deej never could.”

Seems they're both being radically honest today.

“Then you better figure it out. Because you have one shot left.”

Yelena stands. Heads for the door. Stops.

"You have one thing he didn't have…Me. And you know how stubborn and annoying I can be." Yelena offers a hint of a smile. "I can't fight this for you, Kate. But I will be there if you let me…because if you don’t make it out of this clean then…They don't deserve that…I don't either."

Kate nods. Yelena walks out.

DAY SEVEN ICU Step-Down Unit, Room 534

The nurse checks her vitals at 5:48 a.m.

Kate’s awake before the cuff even tightens around her arm. The rhythm of the hospital has settled into her skin by now: the soft whir of monitors, the rustle of charts, the distant squeak of shoes against waxed tile. There's a kind of sterile intimacy to the routine. It's tyrannical. Ordinary.

She spent weeks in rooms like this when DJ was still alive.

Same IV drip. Same antiseptic smell. Same rhythmic beep of machines keeping broken things alive.

He used to joke about it. Called himself a science project. Told her that rehab was like prison with better lighting. He made her laugh even while dying. Until he didn’t.

Kate lies still, eyes on the ceiling, arm outstretched, plastic bracelet digging into her wrist.

KATHERINE BISHOP DOB: 10/16/2002 ALLERGIES: NKA STATUS: HOLD – PSYCH EVAL COMPLETE, ADMIT PENDING

The last line sits like a brick in her gut.

The shame takes longer to arrive this time. Not because it's gentler. Because it's oversized. Viscous. Like grief after the shock wears off.

She rolls onto her side, careful not to pull at the IV, and sees her phone sitting on the tray table. Powered off.

Kate hasn’t touched it. She doesn’t want to see what’s waiting inside it. The missed calls. The texts. The photos of her kids she hasn’t looked at in over a week. She’s not strong enough. Not yet.

The nurse leaves. Kate exhales. The pain in her chest is different now. Not just the cracked ribs. It’s the weight. Of everything. Of DJ.

She sees him now. Clearly. In the corner of the room, leaning against the sink like he used to when they were teenagers sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom.

“Not so high on that horse now, huh?” Kate imagines him saying. Same grin. Same hollow eyes.

“Fuck off,” she mutters.

But DJ doesn't fade. He’s in the rhythm of the heart monitor. He’s in the smell of bleach on her sheets. He’s in the way her hands shake when she tries to hold a cup of water. He’s in the way she remembers holding his cold fingers at the morgue while their mother wept so hard she retched. He's in the way Kate would kill for a line right now. Or a drink. Just one. Or a nameless girl. Just to settle the racket in her brain. And the jitters. And the headache.

Kate closes her eyes. She wonders if she looked like him. Laid out on the floor. Sickly. Unresponsive. With her daughter’s voice trying to reach her through the door.

Her fingers curl into fists. She wants to holler. But she doesn’t. She stays silent. Because screaming won’t fix anything. DJ screamed for help for years, and no one came fast enough.

She barely made it. DJ didn’t.

There’s a knock at the door. She flinches.

“Come in.”

It’s not Yelena. Or Susan.

It’s a social worker. Youthful. Polished. Kind eyes that don’t look away from the IV bruises or the bags under her eyes.

“Mrs. Bishop. I’m Gabriel. I’m here to go over some next steps before transfer.”

She nods. Doesn’t sit up. He walks in slowly, clipboard in hand.

“Your family has arranged intake for a residential facility. You’ll be transferred tomorrow morning. Forty-five minute drive upstate. Medical detox and a full psychiatric team.”

Kate exhales, her breath rattling in her throat. “That fast?”

“You were on a seventy-two-hour hold. That hold ends tonight. Given the situation, we all believe it’s best if…”

“I get it,” she cuts in. “I know what I did.”

"There will be an interview when you arrive tomorrow. You’ll meet your therapist, your attending physician, and the intake nurse.”

"Okay.”

Gabriel hesitates.

“There’s one other thing. You’ll have a call later today. With Child Protective Services. They’ll want to hear from you directly. Not just your lawyer.”

“Will I lose them?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer right away. Then:

“That depends on what you do next.” He smiles. Professional. “You’re still alive. That’s more than a lot of folks get.”

She nods. He leaves. The room is quiet again. DJ’s gone. But the echo of him is everywhere. She looks at the ceiling. And for the first time in seven days, she cries.

DAY EIGHT Family Services Office, 6th Floor

Yelena hasn’t slept. She probably won’t for a while. She sits stiff in the too-small chair, arms crossed, trying to ignore the kink in her spine.

The CPS conference room feels more like an interrogation box than a child welfare office. Cream walls. Fluorescent lights. Mismatched chairs pulled around a rectangular table, cluttered with legal pads, case files, and water bottles nobody’s touched.

Across from Yelena sits the caseworker assigned to Kate’s file. Early forties, maybe. Polished but not warm. Beside her is a supervisor, glasses perched low, scrolling through a tablet with one finger. Yelena’s lawyer is to her left, perfectly poised, scanning the folder in front of her. Kate’s lawyer is slumped in a corner chair like he’s already preparing to spin this uphill.

A red light blinks steadily on the recorder in the center of the table. The caseworker is the first to speak.

“Thank you for coming in, Ms. Belova. We know this isn’t an easy time. We appreciate you making yourself available.”

“I’m here to do whatever my kids need.” Yelena replies, dry.

The supervisor doesn’t look up. Just keeps scrolling as she speaks.

“Then let’s talk about what happened. On April fifth, your ex-wife…”

“Wife. Still wife. Technically not divorced yet.” Yelena corrects her for some reason.

“On April 5th, Katherine Bishop was found unresponsive at her residence. She was experiencing an overdose. Your three children were in the home at the time. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I was the one who found her. I started CPR. Paramedics took over when they arrived.”

The caseworker scribbles something into her notes, then looks up.

“Has Ms. Bishop ever exhibited behavior in the past that concerned you in regard to the children’s safety?”

Yelena’s answer is immediate.

“No. If I’d known…I would’ve done something sooner.”

There’s a pause. The supervisor speaks next, still without lifting her eyes.

“The purpose of this meeting is to determine whether the current custody arrangement continues to serve the children’s best interests. Given the circumstances…it’s our obligation to reassess that arrangement.”

The caseworker cuts in gently.

“To be clear, there’s no previous CPS record. No domestic disturbances. No history of neglect. That helps. But given the severity of the event…we’d understand if you were seeking a change of custody at this time.”

Yelena meets her gaze.

“I’m not. I think the agreement we have is fair.”

That surprises everyone in the room. Kate’s lawyer lifts his head. Even her own attorney pauses. The supervisor finally glances up.

“Ms. Belova, you understand you’d be within your rights to pursue full physical custody today. We would approve that immediately.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not.”

“No.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the buzzing lights.

“Can I ask why not?” The caseworker presses.

Yelena shifts. Her voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t waver. It just lands.

“Because Kate’s a good mom. This…this was a mistake. A really bad one. But she loves those kids. And they love her. She would never willingly hurt them. Ever. So I don’t think ripping her out of their lives is the answer. She’s agreed to go in-patient. I believe she means it. And I believe the best thing for everyone is to give her the opportunity to recover, without punishing her or the kids in the process.”

There’s another long pause. Yelena’s lawyer jumps in to catch the moment.

“What my client is proposing is a temporary shift. Primary custody with her while Ms. Bishop undergoes treatment. Supervised visitation post-release, assuming compliance. If and when her team and the agency determine it’s appropriate, they’d return to their previous shared arrangement.”

The supervisor studies Yelena for a beat longer than necessary. Then nods.

“That’s…generous.”

“It’s what’s fair,” Yelena retierates.

The caseworker tilts her head, then begins typing.

“We’ll need to formalize the temporary modification. A safety plan. We’ll want documentation from the treatment center. Proof of admission, progress reports. Randomized drug testing. Therapy participation. Parenting classes.”

Kate’s lawyer nods. “She’ll comply. My office will make sure you get all of that in a timely manner.”

“We’ll also need to do a home check,” the supervisor adds, tapping at her tablet again. “Nothing extensive. Just need to verify a safe, stable environment.”

“My home is…much smaller than Kate’s,” Yelena admits, almost embarrased. “But it’s clean. And they have what they need.”

“That’s all we’re looking for.”

“Given Ms. Belova’s cooperation and her willingness to provide consistent, stable care, we’re confident this satisfies the agency’s concerns in the interim, correct?” Yelena’s attorney formalizes the closing.

The supervisor finally sets the tablet aside and folds her hands.

“Alright. We’ll put it in writing. Monitor the situation closely. If Ms. Bishop fails to comply, this arrangement will be revisited.”

Yelena nods, shoulders loosening for the first time since she sat down. But deeper inside, something unknots. Just a little.

If Kate stays clean. If she fights for it. If she wants it. The kids don’t have to lose her.

Not like this.

Not like she lost DJ.

—

Discharge Suite, 3rd Floor

The room is quieter than the ICU. Less machines. Less beeping. But somehow more suffocating. Kate’s dressed now. Hospital-issued sweats and a fresh T-shirt that hangs too loose on her. Her ribs ache when she moves. Her throat is still raw from the intubation. And yet, what she feels most acutely is the weight in her chest. Guilt. Shame. Dread.

A nurse had come in twenty minutes ago and told her her things were on the way. Brought by her…wife.

Ex-wife. Kate corrects herself. Should already be. Soon to be.

The paperwork’s still sitting on someone’s desk. Waiting for signatures. Final stamps. She’ll have to come back from upstate before that stamp ever lands.

There’s a knock. Kate doesn’t move. She knows who it is before the door opens.

Yelena steps in, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looks tired. Not sleep-deprived. Kate knows that look. No, this is worse. This is emotionally drained but too strong to show it tired.

Behind her is Susan.

“Hey,” Yelena says first, quietly.

“Hey.”

Kate doesn’t know where to look. So she stares at the floor. At the space between Yelena’s shoes and Susan’s.

Yelena walks in slowly. Sets the bag down by the foot of the bed. “I packed what I could think of. Comfy stuff. Your chargers. Deodorant. That shampoo you love.”

“Thanks.”

Susan doesn’t move from the doorway. Kate finally glances at her.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Yes, I did.” Susan’s voice is steel.

Kate turns to Yelena. Her stomach turns.

“Did you talk to them too?…CPS?”

Yelena nods.

“This morning. So did your lawyer.”

“And?”

“They’re not pulling custody.”

Kate lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her knees wobble under the thin hospital blanket.

“But…its all conditional. You have to follow the plan. Rehab. Sober living. Check-ins. Random testing. You don’t miss one.”

“I won’t,” Kate lets out quickly.

Susan scoffs from the doorway.

“You better not.”

Yelena shoots her a glance. Susan shrugs like she couldn’t care less about being polite.

“What? I’m not sugarcoating shit anymore.”

Kate’s eyes dart to her sister. After a long beat, she looks at Yelena.

“Thanks for not bringing them. Not letting them see me like that.”

“You don’t thank people for cleaning up messes you made.” Susan adds.

Kate winces. Susan softens.

“I’m mad. But I’m still here. So don’t make me regret it.”

Kate nods. There’s a silence that follows. Not icy. Just full.

“I didn’t mean for it to get that bad,” Kate says, mostly to Yelena.

“I know.” Yelena adds.

Another beat.

“Is Alex okay? She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

“She’s…scared. Hurt.” Yelena shrugs. “My parents are taking them to the therapist twice a week now. Give her time. It'll pass.”

Kate swallows. Her ribs flare when she shifts in the bed.

“Can I write to her?”

“Of course! Kate, I'm not keeping them from you. Right now its just…too soon. I have a meeting with our therapist tomorrow. If she gives the okay, you can call them or FaceTime or write to them. Any time you want. As much as you want.”

“I won’t ask you to bring them up.”

“I wouldn’t anyway. Not yet.”

“Right.”

“But I’ll come. If you're okay with that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.”

“And I’ll make sure they know you're trying. That you’re safe. That you're getting better.”

“Thank you.”

A soft knock interrupts them. The transport nurse pokes her head in.

“We’re ready when you are.”

Kate nods. The nurse steps away. Yelena grabs the bag and hands it to her.

“It’s all there.”

Kate turns to Susan.

“Can we get a second?”

Susan nods, steps out. Tension rises. Silence stretches.

“Thanks,” Kate reiterates.

“I just packed a bag.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“I know.”

“How did it get this bad?”

“I’m not sure…I watched you die. More than once. I…was pressing so hard that I…I was the one who broke your ribs. I felt them give, Kate. I keep dreaming about it. Us. In that bathroom…We did many things in there. Never thought that would be one of them."

“I keep thinking…I could've died with you believing I hated you. I don't. I just needed you to know that.”

“I knew that.”

“Good.”

Yelena turns to go. Pauses at the door. Then looks back.

“Get better.”

Kate doesn’t speak. Yelena leaves.

Kate has a moment of silence before Susan walks back in. Holding something. She walks up to Kate, sets a folded piece of paper on the tray table. Kate looks at it for a long beat then opens it. An ultrasound photo. Kate’s breath catches.

“That’s your niece. You fuck this up and you don’t get to know her.”

Susan kisses her sister’s forehead. And walks out.

Kate is alone again. But this time, she doesn’t feel abandoned. She feels…accountable. And maybe, maybe that’s the first step.

#kate x yelena #bishova #bishlova #katelena #yelena belova #kate bishop #kyfbaup #kyfbau #answers #sezzys

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