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swiftdemise22 · 1 month ago

Note

Mom! AU pls

I was working on something else but it's not turning out how I wanted it to and it's irritating me so...I'm letting it be for now. And sooooo many of you keep asking for an MAU update. I checked and the last time I touched MAU was May 16, 2023. Almost exactly two years, so here's a quick like 2.5k of early relationship domestic fluff to break the rut.

---

Yelena is in the middle of folding a shirt that absolutely refuses to be folded when there’s a knock. Stupid, fast, and unmistakably tiny. Too eager to be serious. She already knows who it is. Still, she opens the door.

Yelena opens it the way she always does: suspicion first, then regret. Because Ereka is on the other side. Barefoot. Smug. Winded. Grinning like she just pulled off a heist. She’s holding a rolled-up piece of paper like a scroll.

“I escaped.”

“You what?”

“I escaped. She was cooking and I ran.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“I knocked. That makes it okay. Plus, my house smells like fish. Gross, right?”

Yelena cranes her neck, scanning the hallway behind her like Kate might storm down it at any second.

“Where’s your mother?”

“I made you this,” Ereka deflects, thrusting the scroll into Yelena’s hand. “And I needed to ask you a question.”

Yelena doesn’t take it. She crosses her arms instead, already bracing herself for whatever is about to happen next.

“What is it?”

“It’s you. Me. And Mommy. We’re holding hands.”

“Why?”

“Because. I drew you with eyebrows this time.”

Yelena sighs, drags a hand down her face.

“Go home, kid.”

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“No.”

“Okay. What if there was pasta and cheese involved?”

“Pasta and cheese…with fish?”

“She’s making it. Not me. And there’s bread. With the cheese from the little tub. Mommy says it’s for ‘when she’s trying but not trying.’ That’s tonight. She’s tired. You should come.”

“I’m not invited.”

“You’re always invited.”

“Still no.”

Ereka frowns. Stares at her. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t like cheese?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I was in the middle of something.”

Ereka pushes past Yelena and steps into the apartment before Yelena can stop her, scanning the room like she owns it.

“You can’t just walk into people’s apartments without being invited.”

“I knocked. You opened. That’s an invitation.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Yelena grumbles.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me what’s better than pasta and a movie.”

“Kid, I’m not coming over just because you want me to.”

“I’m not the only one who wants you to. Mommy does. She just doesn’t want to say it.”

Yelena snorts.

“Doubtful.”

“She hasn’t taken off her make-up off yet. She always does when she gets home. That means she was hoping someone would show up.”

Yelena chuckles, despite herself. “You’re making that up.”

“Nope. She also put on perfume. The one she uses when we go to grown-up restaurants.”

“She could be going somewhere.”

“She’s wearing sweatpants.”

“You’re…alarmingly perceptive. How old are you again?”

“Five and a quarter. Mommy says I’m precocious.”

“You should go home.”

“You cleaned.”

“I live here.”

“You didn’t last time. You had piles.”

“I was reorganizing.”

“You were brooding.”

“Big word for a five-year-old.”

“I read.”

“I know.”

Ereka perches on the armrest.

“So…are you coming or not?”

“I told you no.”

“You can still change your mind.”

“GO HOME, EREKA.”

“Fine. But you have to walk me back.” Yelena doesn’t move. “You don’t have to stay. You can just come over to return me. And then…if you wanted to sit for a minute, no one would stop you.”

“You came over alone. You can go back alone.”

“If something happens to me, it’s your fault.”

Ereka turns around. Heads for the door. Yelena narrows her eyes.

“Are you always this manipulative?”

“Only when I want something.”

Yelena groans and rolls her eyes while shaking her head.

“Let me get my keys.”

The first sign Ereka’s slipped out is the silence.

Kate drains the pasta, slams the strainer into the sink, and turns, scanning the room.

“Ereka. Back in here. Now.”

Silence. Kate frowns. Wipes her hands on the dish towel. Leans out of the kitchen.

“Ereka?”

Still nothing.

The wooden spoon clatters onto the counter. She strides down the hall, irritation rising with every step. The bedroom door…open. Bathroom…empty. Living room…abandoned. The coloring pages Kate left her with lie abandoned on the living room rug, the pink marker uncapped and bleeding into the fibers.

Kate’s stomach drops when she sees the front door. It’s ajar. Cool air hissing out into the hallway.

“Goddammit, Ri.”

Kate rushes to it. Yanks it open, ready to shout, but freezes when she sees Yelena walking up stiffly with a very smug, barefoot child in tow.

“Returning your fugitive. She’s fast.” Yelena tells her flatly.

“Welcome to my life.” Kate glares down at her daughter. “I will install a bolt you can’t reach. Don’t test me.” Kate looks at Yelena. “Thank you. You didn’t need to walk her.”

“Nothing to thank me for. She insisted. Practically guilted me into dropping her off. Apparently a lot of terrible things could happen in the ten steps between our doors.”

“Still. Thank you.”

Yelena releases Ereka like she’s handing over stolen property.

“I drew the three of us.” Ereka tells her mother, extending the drawing.

Kate takes it. Unfurls it. She glances at the crude scribble. Three figures holding hands, an enormous red blob of wine, and what might be popcorn or possibly clouds.

“It’s us. Having movie night.”

Kate doesn’t respond right away.

“You want food?” Kate finally asks, quiet.

“No.”

Kate tilts her head. “Not even pretending to be polite and thinking about it?”

“Politeness is low on my list of priorities.”

“I told her there was cheese. She still said no.” Ereka chimes in.

“Cacio e pepe. Real pepper. Halibut on the side. Not ‘White Girl Bland.’ Promise.” Kate tries again.

“Still no.”

Kate frowns. “Okay.”

A beat.

“You want wine?” Kate presses.

“No.”

“Cool. Monosyllabic stage again.”

“Apparently.” Yelena’s mouth twitches. “There. That was more than one syllable.”

Ereka wedges herself between them.

“You can come in for just a minute. Mommy made a salad too, which nobody likes, so it’ll disappear faster if you help me eat it.”

Yelena tries not to smile. Fails. Kate catches it.

“She’s gonna keep trying until I cave, isn’t she?”

“You could just stay. Pretend this isn’t weird.” Kate adds, softer. Yelena doesn’t answer. Kate relents. “I can handle her.” She looks down at her daughter. “Go inside. You and I are having a talk later.”

“If you don’t come in I’m going to be in trouble,” Ereka stage-whispers to Yelena.

“Ereka!” Kate warns, dragging her inside. Then, to Yelena: “You don’t have to come in. She’s in trouble either way.”

Yelena hovers at the threshold. Hesitates.

“I’ll stay ten minutes.”

Kate steps aside, trying…and failing…not to smile.

The apartment smells like olive oil and garlic and something citrusy. Yelena follows cautiously, like she’s entering enemy territory.

Dinner is barely ready by the time they sit down. Ereka pats the middle stool aggresively then sits on one end of the row of three. Yelena eyes her options. Either way, she’s sitting next to Kate.

Kate slides her a plate. The pasta glistens. The salad is aggressively overdressed. She’s already pouring a second glass of wine.

“Sit. Eat. Or don’t. I’m not begging.” Yelena lowers herself onto the middle stool. Prods the pasta with her fork. “I even did the cheese right. Grated, not shredded.”

“Impressive.”

“That as nice as you get?” Kate arches an eyebrow.

“Unclear.”

Ereka starts demolishing her pasta like a tiny animal who hasn’t been fed in days.

“I’m gonna be Paddington for Halloween. The second one. Not the first one. What’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t know. Don’t really have one.”

“How can you not have a favorite movie?”

“Just don’t.”

“Well, we gotta find you a favorite movie. You can pick what we watch next time.”

“I don’t think there is going to be a next time, kid.”

“There will. Mommy was talking about you earlier, by the way,” Ereka blurts out, casually. Kate glares at her.

“Yeah?” Yelena glances up at Kate with a smirk.

A pause.

“I was not.”

“I’m going to believe the kid on this one.”

Yelena smirks and chuckles. Kate shrugs.

“You’re funny when you’re not angry.” Kate mumbles.

“I’m funny while I’m angry.” Another silence. Then Yelena speaks…low, like she’s testing the room. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

“I know,” Kate replies, not looking up.

“I’m not…used to…” Yelena deflects. “…kids.”

Kate hums. Not prodding.

“You don’t have to stay forever. Just until the movie’s over,” Ereka interjects.

“I never agreed to a movie.” Yelena raises a brow.

“Saturday is movie night…Today is Saturday.”

“It’s not a law,” Kate says.

“It’s our rule.”

“You don’t have to stay.” Kate tells Yelena.

“…What movie?”

“The Parent Trap!” Ereka announces.

“No idea what that is.”

“There’s twins and a British butler and a mean step mom.”

“Solid film. You might relate to the mean one.” Kate nods with a grin before taking another sip.

“You should watch it with us.”

Yelena eyes Kate, who shrugs.

“Your call.” Kate does her best to play it off.

Yelena chews slowly, then nods.

“Ten minutes.”

“You can’t watch ten minutes of a movie,” Ereka scoffs. “That makes no sense.” Ereka adds with a chuckle and a full mouth.

“Ereka, honestly….manners.” Kate says through gritted teeth.

“Her manners seem fine to me.” Yelena playfully adds with her mouth full too.

Ereka cackles. Kate shakes her head.

“Don’t be a bad influence.”

“It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

For some reason, that makes Kate blush and her stomach to coil. She tries to hide it by standing and turning to the fridge.

“Anything to drink?”

Dinner is loud. Ereka narrates her entire meal like she’s on a cooking show. Yelena eats slowly, methodically. Forking one bow tie at a time as if the plate might detonate if she rushes. Kate drinks her wine. Quiet, sharp-eyed. Half in the room, half not.

Ereka’s drawing is now pinned to the fridge now…already wrinkled, already cherished. Both Kate and Yelena’s eyes keep drifting to it. Trying to decipher how they feel about the image staring back at them.

When they move to the couch, it’s with the choreography of people trying not to acknowledge what this is. Kate settles on one end, wine in hand. Ereka flops between them, already holding a juice box. Yelena perches on the opposite end like someone expecting to be asked to leave at any second.

There are stuffed animals everywhere. It’s a plush minefield. Ereka kicks most aside to make space, then climbs directly into Yelena’s lap like she belongs there.

Yelena stiffens. Looks at Kate, wide-eyed.

“Is this…okay?”

Kate doesn’t even glance over.

“She kind of does what she wants.”

“I gathered.”

Paddington, not Parent Trap, wins out because Ereka is horrified Yelena hasn’t seen it. They make it twenty minutes in before Ereka starts to drift, half-sprawled across Yelena’s body like a cat who’s claimed a new surface. Kate reaches to move her, but Yelena gently shakes her head.

“She’s fine.”

Kate pauses. Takes the two blondes in.

“You sure?”

Yelena looks down at the little tangle of limbs.

“She’s warm. It’s…nice.”

Kate watches the way Yelena’s hand rests gently on the girl’s back. Her posture softens.

“She really likes you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She doesn’t care. She decides what she wants and then acts like it’s always been true.”

“Dangerous skill.”

“Terrifying,” Kate agrees softly.

They fall into silence again, but this one is not entirely uncomfortable. Yelena’s eyes are glued on the screen.

Paddington has just escaped prison with a team of reformed convicts in pastel jumpsuits.

“This is absurd,” Yelena grumbles.

“And yet you haven’t moved in twenty minutes.”

“It’s the bear’s tiny hat. It hypnotizes you.”

“You love it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Same thing.”

Silence.

“Thank you,” Yelena murmurs.

“For what?”

“Feeding me.”

Kate shrugs.

“Didn’t do it for you.”

“Right.” Beat. “I’m still saying thank you.”

Kate nods, quiet. She follows Yelena’s gaze down to Ereka. Her tiny foot has ended up kicked across Kate’s thigh. There’s a smear of cheese on her cheek.

“She’s not like other kids,” Yelena studies the little blonde’s features.

Kate nods.

“She doesn’t let people stay strangers for long.”

“She’s going to get her heart broken a lot.”

“She already has.”

Yelena doesn’t answer that. She doesn’t have to. Kate tilts her wine glass. Drinks.

“You better start thinking about your movie pick for next week. She’s not forgetting.”

“She’s persistent. I’ll give her that.” Kate chuckles. Yelena thinks. “Is John Wick a kid’s movie?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?! There’s a dog. It has a moral center.”

“You are not showing John Wick to my five-year-old.”

“Fine. Paddington 3.”

“You didn’t even know Paddington 2 existed an hour ago.”

“I learn fast.”

Kate looks at her. Really looks at her. And for once, Yelena doesn’t look away. A long silence.

“Where’s her dad?”

Kate doesn’t flinch.

“Where he needs to be.”

“And where’s that?”

Kate meets Yelena’s eyes.

“Not here.”

That’s the end of it. No elaboration. Just a simple fact.

The movie keeps playing. Kate sips her wine. Yelena adjusts her arm around the sleeping child. Neither of them says it…but something clicks into place. Ten minutes become twenty. Then thirty. Then they’re halfway through the movie and no one moves.

Outside, the city hums. Inside, Paddington triumphs and the credits roll. The glow of the TV softens the room. Yelena brushes a piece of hair back from Ereka’s forehead without thinking. Kate watches her do it.

Eventually, Yelena speaks.

“Should I carry her to bed?”

Kate nods.

Yelena rises with surprising ease, the child curled into her shoulder like she’s done this a thousand times.

Kate leads the way to Ereka’s room. She pulls the covers back. Yelena lays the girl down. They sneak out. Close the door.

Back in the living room, they both hover by the couch. Waiting. The silence stretches. After a long, awkward moment Kate tests the waters.

“Do you want to stay?” Yelena shrugs. “Close enough.”

Kate sits first. Leaves space. Yelena lowers herself onto the other end of the couch.

“You want to watch something else?”

Yelena shrugs again.

“I prefer it when you at least give me single syllables.” Kate mutters, half a smile tugging at her lips.

Yelena smirks.

“We can watch something.”

Kate exhales.

“Look at you. Full sentences. Highly evolved. I’m impressed.”

Yelena leans back into the cushions. She glances over. Kate’s watching her again.

Whatever this is…it’s shifting. Becoming something they don’t have words for yet. But they don’t have to figure it out tonight. Not yet.

40 notes · View notes

swiftdemise22 · 1 month 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.

---

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.

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