Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

—

Was it better? I was younger
Different problems, different names
Was it perfect? Was it simple?
Was it more or less the same?
How did it change?
How did I change?

—

On the last Friday in April, Yelena finds herself with an unexpectedly open schedule. Reading Period has started at Brown, and though she'd been completely unaware of the pause to (most) classes, she takes advantage by sleeping in with the dogs and enjoying a lazy morning. Like with most things, it would be better with Kate, but Kate's Russian professor had not been one of those to opt in to the week and a half of preparation for a rapidly approaching stretch of finals. This (on top of the fact it's a stupid day in a stupid month) leaves Yelena irritable, mercurial, and weirdly lonely, enough so that she abandons further plans of doing nothing and invites Amita and Max over to prepare for their final presentation in their Memory, Commemoration, and Testimony class.

It's a pointless invitation; Amita had finished with the whole thing over a week ago, Yelena's fairly positive. But no one mentions this in their group chat — Amita going so far as to claim they could stand to 'polish' the presentation further — and Yelena's too grateful for the distraction to question the lie, even when they both arrive not an hour later with questionably few school supplies on their person.

"I can't believe you have a house," Max tells her, like he hadn't just pulled up in a hundred thousand dollar car.

"A big house," Amita echoes, and the two share a look that Yelena ignores (and has gotten used to ignoring).

"I am renting it, and only for the semester. I knew the owners," she adds (a lie), "and they felt bad for me; finding housing mid-year was not easy. Not easy at all!"

"You live a weird life, Yelena." Amita sounds delighted by this, rather than disturbed, looking around the completely ordinary home with a sharp eye that could probably be dangerous, if Yelena allowed it to continue wandering.

"Not as weird as the girl from our class with the bad bangs — "

"Casey? I know you're deflecting, but I don't even care. She rushed out of class so fast on Wednesday."

"And, later, I saw that she was meeting that boy with the big, round glasses — "

"Carter? No!"

"Yes," Yelena insists. "They were on the Quad. With a picnic basket."

"I thought she was dating that — what's his name, Max? He's in your frat."

"Elijah?" Max asks, loitering in the hallway, even as Amita and Yelena settle onto the couch. "Yeah, no, they are. I think all three of them are. Like, throuple stuff. Yel, do you have any more of that candy your friend sent you from … wherever? The marshmallow-y ones?"

(The friend in question — Sonya, of course — had sent them from Sweden during her latest contract. Yelena had been correct to fear a friendship between her and Kate, because the Nate marshmallow story from Spring Break had somehow made its way to Sonya, and then, inevitably, to the rest of the Widows. Even Antonia had mentioned the snack during their last conversion, though Yelena still couldn't be sure if maybe Antonia really did just like marshmallows enough to randomly bring them up.)

"They're in the pantry; around the corner and at the back of the kitchen." When Max doesn't move (only makes his eyes wide and pathetic) Yelena waves him in the direction. "You can go get them. And bring them back here."

"And then you can explain why you didn't tell me about the throuple!" Amita calls after him. "Max, honey, that's prime gossip. Why were we talking about Gavin and his high-fastening pants on the way here?"

Needless to say, they do not return to any topics related to their upcoming final, though it could be argued that memory, commemoration, and testimony are all covered in Max's surprisingly well-informed recap of the history of a relationship between three people that Yelena does not care about at all. (A fact that should be contrary to how closely she listens, but isn't.) Max stretches out on the floor so that he can 'maximally' pet both Lucky and Fanny, Amita makes a half dozen (admittedly funny) references to Lucky being at Yelena's house at all, and Yelena finds herself enjoying the whole of it, fairly unexpectedly. There's none of the stress she expects from inviting relative strangers into her home, and this probably has something to do with the fact that Kate's been doing it with her own friends since Lucky had moved in.

It's always strange to take a closer look at some newfound happiness and find Kate somewhere unexpected: in the burst of satisfaction from Amita complimenting Yelena's checked skirt (something Yelena would not have worn at Brown before Kate's not-so-subtle push); in her being at Brown at all (her presence the direct result of following the thread that was Kate Bishop); and, now, in having friends in her home, eating her snacks (because Kate had — nearly literally — cracked the door open).

One day, it will stop surprising Yelena. Maybe. (Though she hopes not.)

It ends up being a distracting enough experience that Yelena loses track of the time, only catching the slide into 1:00 because of the burst of the cuckoo clock on the far wall. It's garish and bright green; Yelena's latest find from her and Kate's periodic thrift store hunt.

"That thing is genuinely hideous. But why do I kind of love that?" Amita asks, to seemingly no one in particular, and Yelena doesn't get a word into her response before Kate Bishop bursts through the front door.

"Yelena! I can't believe you didn't tell me that — "

It takes Kate an extended moment to realize that Yelena is not, in fact, alone. This is not so much Kate's fault as it is a consequence of her dramatic entrance. The sheer force of her jamming the key into the lock — while also shoving the door open — is apparently harder to undo than cause; she spends the whole of that extended moment trying to wrestle the key back out. Once she manages the feat — and gains a bit more awareness of her surroundings — she cuts herself off, blinking at the two unexpected people in Yelena's living room.

"Amita! Max!" She closes the door behind her, and then forgets — and then remembers — to lock the door. "Hi!"

Yelena had paid Max and Amita little mind during the awkward greeting, focused on Kate as intently as ever. But she glances towards Amita now, and finds amusement present on her face as she watches Kate take another three steps in, abandoning her bag in the foyer. It's an emotion echoed within Yelena as well, though it takes a backseat to genuine affection: the always-present jump of pleasure whenever Kate smashes back into her life, no matter how long it's been since she's seen her last.

Amusement is a little easier, though, and less inclined to result in Amita teasing her for the remainder of their friendship (graduation a fairly effective terminus, though Yelena finds herself wishing otherwise).

"Did you not notice the fancy car outside, Kate Bishop?" she asks, and doesn't quite manage to temper her affection all that much, after all; it seeps into the question.

"I… definitely didn't. I was kind of distracted."

Ignoring the obvious question in front of her (what had distracted Kate, perhaps, or what Yelena apparently hadn't told her), Amita unleashes all of the teasing that she'd been preparing since Kate had first burst through the door.

"You have a key, huh, Kate?" she asks, without doing much asking. "I thought you were still living with Fran and Greer. But I guess it's true what they say."

"What do they say?" Yelena demands.

"You know; the whole lesbians U-Haul thing. I get it though," she continues, before either Kate or Yelena can protest (though they might be protesting different things). "You've got to lock it down when you've got it."

"Really?" It's Max who asks, and though he'd waved to Kate at her entrance, it's Amita who has his focus now. "You wouldn't want to… wait? Before moving in with someone? If you just started — y'know — hanging out? And stuff."

A strange little staring contest follows, one that has Kate and her exchanging a quick glance. Yelena had suspected for some time that her classmates were skirting around something awkward, but — despite their own interferences with Yelena's relationship with Kate — she'd stayed out of it. (She'd learned her lesson after the Abe debacle.)

"Depends on the person," Amita declares finally. "But I'll be living alone in San Fran. Got a job lined up there," she adds, towards Kate.

"Data science, right?" Kate asks, which is the first Yelena's hearing of it, but Amita nods.

"How do you remember this shit?" It's a rhetorical question though, because Amita stands, and Max scrambles to do the same, pushing himself off the floor. "But anyways. We should probably go; it sounds like Yelena's in trouble. What didn't she tell you, Kate?"

"Oh! Um, nothing! Just — dinner stuff. She's always saying, 'Kate Bishop, I don't care what we eat!' but then there's always an actually right answer. She just won't tell me. For some reason."

It's a poor lie, but Yelena doesn't waste any time in telling Kate so, even after Max and Amita depart (Max with general cheer, and Amita with a pointed look that means she'll have more questions about all of this when she sees Yelena next).

"Why are you so bad at lying sometimes?" Yelena asks, but only after tugging Kate in close enough to kiss: a soft press of her lips to the underside of Kate's jaw.

"I feel bad doing it to people I actually like," Kate murmurs, unbothered by the insult. "I'm getting better at my Yelena imitation though, right? That was pretty spot on. Must be all the Russian I'm getting in… Every single day... Even during Reading Period."

"Mmm, which you got home from fast. Very fast. You had something to tell me?"

Pulling back just enough to take off her shoes, Kate's nod comes mid-motion. It's a lot more subdued than her earlier attempt to broach the topic, as though the pause caused by the presence of Max and Amita has given her a moment to reconsider her approach.

"Yeah, it was actually — just something weird from class. I guess the professor was trying to make up for forcing us to show up today by doing this fun bit about Russian names and what ours might be."

"What a good use of your time," Yelena grumbles, but then puts a few pieces together very quickly, re-contextualizing the conversation with a start.

"He's normally a pretty by-the-book guy," Kate says, almost casual when she stands and moves into the kitchen. Yelena follows her, watching carefully as she starts to root around in the fridge. "So this was his idea of a treat. Have you ever thought about it? What my name might be in Russian?"

"Екатерина? Катерина? Катя? Катюша?" she asks, rapid-fire, and mostly to see Kate's fond little eye roll as she emerges from the fridge with a water bottle in hand.

"I was actually more interested in your translation of Bishop," she prompts, but Yelena waits, curious to see how far Kate's gotten on her own. "You know, since it could be 'Bishop' like the church guy or 'Bishop' like the chess piece. But then — through this whole conversation about names and me asking a bunch of questions — my professor was saying that it wouldn't actually be like the chess piece. Since the 'bishop' is actually called the 'elephant', in Russian, which is… what's the translation for that again?"

"I think you are trying to ask me something different, Kate Bishop," she murmurs, and doesn't blush when Kate steps close, but only with effort.

"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it. What's the bishop piece called in Russian, Yelena?"

Yelena waits again, but this time, Kate only raises a brow, lifting the bottle to her lips, as though to prove a point.

"Слон," Yelena finally says, but is obnoxious enough to wait until Kate has only just taken a drink, resulting in a noise of triumph that is muffled by a mouthful of water.

"Слон," Kate repeats, undeterred by the delay. "So, are you going to pretend now that you have no idea why this might be extremely interesting to me? Given that it obviously sounds exactly like 'Sloan'? Which would imply that three weeks after we met, you decided to take Bishop — or the extremely roundabout equivalent of it — as your fake last name?"

Kate loses her cool fairly quickly throughout this, voice pitching higher and higher until she makes it to the end, punctuating it with a sharp poke to Yelena's shoulder. Laughing probably isn't the response Kate's after, but Yelena does anyways, amusement bursting out and resulting in Kate's poke turning into a shove.

"You're such an asshole," Kate whines. "I thought you were making a joke about the Tracksuits, Yelena!"

"A joke about what?"

"Their stupid — you know! — their stupid shell company! For money laundering! Sloan Limited!

Yelena genuinely tries to place the name, but comes up short. She had done a quick dive into Fisk, the Tracksuits, and everything surrounding Barton at the time, but it's hard to remember all the side details of the mission, now. It'd been mostly boring before Kate had stepped into her view and then never walked out of it.

"No," she says, simply. "But I am surprised that you are not flattered by this revelation! Isn't it very nice to know now?"

"I guess," Kate grumbles, collapsing into a chair at the dining room table with a dramatic huff. "I just — I spent so much time agonizing over all this, trying to work through the whole complicated puzzle — especially at the beginning — and now it turns out that you were just like, straight up crafting a cover identity that had a nice, juicy corner piece, hidden in plain sight. How did I not learn the word for elephant until today? God. I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"Yes you can," Yelena argues, which worsens Kate's pout, and has her trying again. "Even if you had found out then — and even confronted me about it — you know I would not have admitted to it. I would have made a joke about you reading into things. And been very annoying about it, too. But I am sorry you agonized, бедняжка."

"I guess," Kate says again, frown retaining its severity, even as her focus flickers briefly towards translating the word. "Бедняжка. Like, бедняга? So… poor thing. Poor little thing."

Yelena takes advantage of the distraction, but only in the way of offering another: dropping into Kate's lap and lightly circling her arms around Kate's neck. Perhaps it's instinct, the way Kate draws her closer, but it's hard to mind when the end result is an obvious abatement in Kate's sulking.

"Yes. Very good," she murmurs, gently tugging on a strand of Kate's hair. "Don't be upset, Kate Bishop. It's only that… a lot of things are about you, for me. This cover identity — the last name — it was one of many. Of so many."

Kate sighs — loud, but not upset — and drops her head into the crook of Yelena's neck.

"That's another annoying thing you do," she grumbles, but only allows enough time for Yelena to release a short, wordless protest before she continues. "You're so romantic. And pretty. And hard to stay mad at. And you should have told me."

"I should have told you," Yelena agrees. "But now you can be smug about this for a very long time! That is a bright side for you, because I know you will be telling all sorts of people about it. And I promise to not complain when you do. Too much."

"Plus," Kate begins, lifting her head with an expression that means trouble, "this whole thing makes the always-tricky question of last names post-marriage a little easier. Yelena Bishop has a nice ring to it, actually. Don't you think?"

Kate is teasing. Probably. Almost certainly. The self-satisfied little smile she flashes says as much: that this particular comment is her own small form of revenge. But despite Yelena's confidence over this fact, this time, she completely fails to contain her flush.

"See? You're annoying too," she mumbles, and Kate (finally) laughs.

"Okay, you're definitely not allowed to say that for a while. Or anything else rude. Not until you make all this 'Sloan' business up to me. I'm thinking at least two more days of groveling."

"Two?" Yelena repeats, aghast. "This is a one day offense, maximum! Because… I will also teach you a counter to that rolling kneebar that you have been losing to so often in our sparring matches. Deal?"

Kate brightens immediately. Unlike Yelena, she is the best kind of capricious: quick to fall back into a good mood, and never afraid to show it.

"And that swirling, helicopter thing with the legs?" she adds, but then doesn't wait for confirmation. "Deal."

—

It's a good deal, but not as good of one as Yelena had first supposed when she'd suggested it.

Kate is a fast learner, aided by a lack of shame in failing to get something right at first and her uncanny ability to not be deterred (in the slightest) by said failures. It means she's always willing to go again. And again. And again. Until she (inevitably) gets it right.

And she very nearly gets it right this time.

(Thankfully only nearly.)

"You should never let a Widow get her legs around you, Kate Bishop. It means you are dead."

The statement is delivered breezily, which is something of a lie in itself, because it takes a tremendous amount of effort to manage it. It's instinct kicking in: never show an opponent an opening. (Not even an opponent who is currently flat on the mat, recently — but only barely — defeated.) It takes her a moment to realize that this line of thinking doesn't need to be applied to Kate, mainly because it takes a moment to pull herself out of the fight.

(Kate had shifted posture so quickly: from hip toss to… something else. A variation of the rolling kneebar Yelena had taught her earlier in their session, but something different too. Yelena hadn't been expecting it; hadn't been ready for Kate's swift rotation, for the way she'd used her height to throw Yelena to the ground, for the tight lock Kate had pulled her leg into. Kate could have broken it, then, if she'd wanted to. Easily. Instead, Yelena had reversed the hold, but only just.)

"As opposed to letting a Widow do… anything else?" Kate's breath does not come easily, but she flips up from the ground (from defeat) with her usual grin. "Pretty sure letting one of you get within fifty feet of me means I'm dead. Good thing none of the ones who regularly get that close want to kill me, huh?"

This is not Kate selling herself short. Compared to any Widow, Kate lacks experience. But this is a deficient she has slowly started to make up for, with both a fairly nontraditional approach and sheer endurance. Yelena had gotten (somewhat) used to the former, but after four cushy months as a college student, she's most definitely feeling the limiting affects of the latter. While her own training had severely diminished during that time, Kate's had not: early runs and visits to the gym and a series of regular training sessions that had tested Kate's abilities far more than Yelena's, at least at the start.

She's never used full extent of her capabilities with Kate: not on the rooftop where they met, not across the dozen or so office rooms they'd partially destroyed, and not in any of these more recent training sessions. But a gradual increase in force had been required to stay ahead: from thirty to fifty to seventy percent. Today, though — today, there'd been a burst of one hundred, just to force her way out of the hold Kate had managed to grapple her into.

This is a good thing, rather than a bad one.

(And this is something Yelena tells herself once more before continuing, fighting persistent and old instincts.)

"I think you could almost take Lerato," she says, padding towards Kate, her footfalls light on the mat. "At least from fifty feet away. What did you do with your right arm? At the start of that take down?"

"Shit, is that what fucked it?" Kate releases an annoyed little breath, face contorting into a grimace that she physically shakes herself out of. "I was trying to like — I dunno — combine the kneebar with a chokehold? I thought I could set up some kind of half-guillotine choke-thing and then roll into both that and the kneebar. But then — "

"You could not do both, and your grip suffered," Yelena finishes, nodding. "This is how I was able to begin a counter before the start of your roll. Did you feel how my leg shifted? Here?"

She's close enough to touch now and does, tapping her foot against Kate's ankle.

"Yeah," Kate sighs. "Damn, okay. Should have just gone for the vanilla version. I get it."

"Mmm, no," Yelena disagrees, brushing her fingers along Kate's side: comforting rather than instructive. "I think you are onto something with this. It… surprised me. That is good thing. If you had been a bit quicker, or a bit more forceful. If you broke the leg, maybe. Or found a grip that could still hold, even one-handed. Then this could work. Even with these flaws, you nearly had me. Truly."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Kate laughs, but then blinks, as though surprised to find Yelena still serious after the assumed punchline. "Seriously?"

"Is it so surprising that after training all these months, you might be close to being able to best me once? In practice, of course," she adds, finally flashing a grin.

"Against you? Uh, yeah. It's surprising in any context. I'd been aiming for once a year, and honestly? I figured I'd probably have to cheat just to manage that."

"You should cheat!" Yelena exclaims, fingers curling into the fabric of Kate's tank top. "What have I been telling you this whole time if not that? You do best when you are not following the rules, I think. All your regulation martial arts are telling you where to grab or how hard to hit or where you can hit, but it's in the improvisation where you thrive, Kate. There is no 'cheating' in a real fight. You need to win in the only way that matters."

"You say that now, but I can perfectly picture your complaints if I cheated in a match. It'd be an asterisk that you would totally bring up every time I happened to mention beating you — "

"Which would happen very often. So often."

" — And I can't have any asterisks bringing me down from that high, so. That's why I've decided: it's gotta be fair and square for our sparring matches." Kate tilts her head, letting her smile spread. "Unless the cheating involves using my feminine wiles, because that'd be something worth bragging about, if it worked."

"We both know this would backfire on you. Do not pretend otherwise." Kate shrugs, grin unaffected, at least not until Yelena tugs on her shirt, pulling her close while also taking another step in and widening her own stance. "But show me what you were going for. With the chokehold-kneebar-rolling thing you were inventing on the spot. Let's see if we can correct it, mmm?"

Kate's recovered enough from sparring that the renewed flush that seeps into her skin (her cheeks, ears, neck, chest) can't be from anything other than Yelena's closeness, which is funny, given that they've spent the last couple hours on top of each other.

"Ah, see?" Yelena continues, with a laugh. "Focus, Kate Bishop. Learning these things was part of our deal."

"Let it be known that I'm happy to renegotiate," Kate breathes. "Besides, I don't know how you expect me to focus when you're this close and telling me how awesome I'm doing while also touching me all instructively."

"You are so slow to adapt," she teases, which is wildly hypocritical, but funny. "You should be used to this by now."

"Pretty sure I won't ever be," Kate says, a joke, except not so much of one: there's far too much affection in her attempt at a cheeky grin. "But hey, it's good motivation, right?"

"For the wrong thing, in this instance." Not that Yelena minds, really, given that Kate — instead of moving into the proper stance for a takedown — only lifts her hand to Yelena's hip. "But you do not want to stop sparring now, I don't think. Not when you're so close to getting it right."

"Uh. No. I do," Kate corrects, with a wide grin (and curling fingers). "If that's you giving me the option, then I really do, actually."

"Mm-mmm," Yelena disagrees, with a slight shake of her head. Still, she lifts up on to her toes, and presses further into Kate's chest. It has Kate's cheeky smile disappearing in an exhale. "No. It will be better if you get it right. This, I know about you. And me. Imagine the rush you will feel after getting it to work."

"And… we'll already be on the ground at that point," Kate agrees, in a murmur. "Convenient, usually."

Despite the apparent accord, Kate's disinclined to pull away, which means Yelena should be grateful for the buzz of her phone: an alarm that indicated the perimeter of the house has been breached. One that, lately, she'd come to find as an annoyance rather than a concern.

"Someone's here," she groans, stepping back and waving Kate towards the source of the sound. "Probably one of your fangirls. Or a sad child who needs you to rescue their бабушка from the mines. Check before we go again."

It should terrify her that Kate's watched her enough to be able to enter the alphanumeric code that unlocks her phone (hardly un-crackable, but certainly not common information). Instead, she invites Kate in, watches her type it out with only a brief pause (end of her tongue sticking out, just so, for the duration), and only feels a strange pride.

Every day, she finds more ways to be stupid about Kate Bishop.

It's hard to regret that, just now.

"Uh, no. It's — I dunno who it is. Some woman who is — I'm going to be honest, here — almost suspiciously hot. Like, holy shit. Oh, and also some weird guy with a ugly ass beard. And I'm praying to God — seriously — that he is not her husband. And that's not even for me, obviously, but, like, for the good of the universe, because the disparity in their relative levels of attractiveness would be — hey!"

Right then, though — when Yelena snatches the phone out of Kate's hand to find Melina and Alexei quickly approaching her front porch — she regrets almost everything.

"Shit," she swears, and then swears a little bit more, but only while in motion, grabbing her sweatshirt from the floor and starting towards the stairs, just as the bell rings. "You know, Kate, I think that you have some kind of perverted problem when it comes to the women of my family and I am not enjoying it! I am really not enjoying it at all."

"Are you serious? Like, seriously, you've got to be — I said suspiciously! I literally said suspiciously hot." Kate scrambles after her, forgoing (Yelena notices) both shoes and jacket, which means that Kate Bishop is currently wearing little more than a tight tank top and a very tight pair of shorts. "That's your mom? Are you freaking kidding me? That's — that's not even fair! Every woman in your family is a Black Widow! Of course they're hot! What am I supposed to — your mom? Oh my god; just kill me."

"Melina may," she says seriously, and then stops, just past the top of the stairs, to weigh her options. This is not at all helped by both Lucky and Fanny rushing through the doggy dog and nearly barreling over her in their haste to reach the front door. "You should escape out the back. Jump over the fence, run home, and — to be safe — do not contact me for several days."

Kate laughs, but the smile dies when Yelena turns to face her, expression serious.

"You don't want me to meet them?" she asks, lip turning out in a light pout.

"You do not want to meet them, Kate. Trust me."

Whatever Kate might have to say next is interrupted by Yelena's phone, this time without the shrillness of an alarm, but something potentially far worse: Melina's voice.

"Yelena, it is admirable that you have taken your precautions. This little camera is very good. I am assuming you have also been smart enough to wire your front door with explosives, so we will continue to wait. But your father — "

"YELENA!" Alexei yells, loud enough to come from both the front of the house and Yelena's phone. "Are you home? It is your father! And mother. Your truck is in driveway, Lena!"

Yelena shuts her eyes, and wishes she were anywhere else.

"I do, though," Kate says — slicing through all the noise with three words— and sounds strange enough that Yelena needs to look.

(She finds Kate her usual kaleidoscope of emotions: bashful and earnest and scared. Quickly replaced by: reassuring and amused and careful, when Yelena swallows heavily instead of saying anything straight away.)

"Want to meet them, I mean," Kate clarifies, though there's no need.

"You can, then," Yelena murmurs.

"I am assuming you are not wishing for there to be a scene, here," Melina continues, coming in low and tinny from the speaker partially obstructed by Yelena's palm. "You are undercover. Even though you have used your first name and also given out information about your family living in Ohio. The university database is — clearly — not secure, so I am not sure why you have taken these risks, but presumably you will not want to take any more."

"Never mind," Yelena corrects, lips forming a pout. "You should run. And probably change your name. Maybe move to Greenland."

"That feels like a lot of work." Kate's settled once more, Yelena's initial permission enough to soothe the worries that'd plagued her (if not the ones that hadn't, but should have). It means that, when she speaks, it's soft again, and that she reaches to touch Yelena, lightly on the elbow. "I think I'll probably just stay here and meet them. Parents love me! Most of the time. Some of the time."

"You want to?" Yelena clarifies, over the sound of Alexei starting to bang on the door again.

"I want to," Kate says with a firm nod, though it gets stuck at the end. "Unless there's something I don't know — beyond the admittedly already scary stuff you've said about your mom — and you genuinely don't want me to meet them. But if it's just like — I dunno — you're worried they won't like me or you think your mom might threaten to kill me or you're scared they'll embarrass you… that's all just normal girlfriend stuff."

"Even the second one?"

"I mean probably? In certain circles."

"YELENA! I AM FEELING IN STOMACH THAT YOU ARE INJURED! I WILL BREAK DOWN DOOR TO RESCUE YOU! YOUR MOTHER IS TAKING SHELTER BECAUSE SHE THINKS THERE IS BOMB."

"Oh my god," Yelena sighs. "You see? This is what you want to deal with? Kate Bishop, there are limits to love."

She's teasing, mostly, but Kate takes her hand anyways, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know about that," she says, releasing Yelena's hand by the fingertips (waiting as long as she can, as though the extra second matters). "But you should probably stop your dad from breaking through your door."

"And break is the word, truly," Yelena grumbles, and then, louder. "I am COMING, Alexei! Do not try to run through the door; I will make you pay!"

It doesn't take her long to get down the hallway, past the dogs, and in front of the last remaining barrier between her and her parents. She allows herself no time to reconsider before throwing open the locks and then the door, only to be greeted by another burst of shouting.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!" Alexei cheers.

He's wearing a brightly colored, conical hat, which tilts to the side when he sets off a very sad and singular party popper. His grin does not fade, even so, though he takes a moment to brush the tiny bit of confetti from his stupid red motorcycle jacket, which he'd almost certainty had custom-made for an absurd amount of money. Yelena is annoyed enough by the mere sight of him — unexpectedly here, on her front porch — that she nearly fails to notice Melina. Which is, of course, probably exactly what Melina had planned. It's only the dogs that give her away: Fanny bursting through both Yelena and Alexei to greet her, and Lucky following along in eager curiosity. Melina bends down to give both a bit of attention, though her gaze remains on Yelena.

(Her hair is down, much like she'd worn it when she was younger. When Yelena was younger. She's wearing similar clothing too: soft denims and quiet pastels. It's purposeful and effective, which means the feelings it stirs should not be trusted, but it's hard not to want to lean in. Sometimes.)

"Wait, it's your — "

"No," Yelena sighs, interrupting a Kate Bishop who — at the mere mention of the (fake) event — had forgotten to be scared of the idiotic super soldier and the largely unsympathetic Black Widow who were also, coincidentally, kind of Yelena's parents. "It is my fake birthday."

The mere sight of Kate has thrown Alexei off his game. His eyes widen comically, as though he would have been just as surprised to have seen an alien standing behind Yelena, rather than a fairly normal-looking, college-aged girl.

Melina, of course, hasn't stopped staring at Kate since she'd come into view, and without a trace of the same shock.

"Is… still birthday! Why not have many?" He laughs. "And who is this? New Widow?"

"No," Yelena returns, shortly this time, and without any of the same patience. "And no. It is not 'still birthday'. And not a reason to show up on my porch with — "

She tsks, hard and obviously annoyed, which is better than something stupid (like touched). Biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything more, she steps back, swinging the door wide and inviting the two in: Alexei, pleased; Melina, owlish. When she closes the door behind them, she once again loses restraint.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, this time clearly at Melina, but Alexei answers anyways.

"It is your birthday! And your mother says you are doing normal things now!" He starts to count off his fingers, peering around the foyer with somehow both more intensity and less focus than Melina. "School, house, birthday, party. Normal, yes?"

"This 'birthday' is from when I was very small and very stupid," she bites, conscious of Kate at her elbow (of her concerned and terribly curious stare). "And I am surprised that you even remember. You haven't managed to remove these pointless things from your mind, yet?"

"I told you she would not like it," Melina says, with the disinterested tone of someone who had almost certainty orchestrated these events very easily. "We have interrupted her with your 'surprise'; Kate Bishop is here."

Melina's attention shifts again like a switch. (A camera? A laser? Yelena fails to find a comparison that means something very fast and very bad.) Kate notices, shoulders tightening instinctively. Melina will have noticed the flinch, but Kate still smiles, and the rest of her body follows suit.

"I'm here, but you're not interrupting." Kate's smile wavers, but only in that something more genuine bursts through. "You can call me Kate, though. Yelena's the only one who does the full name thing. But I guess this means you've done your research; like mother, like daughter. Or something."

Melina hums, and nods once, and Yelena tries not to groan audibly, both at Melina's examination of Kate (not unlike how she might observe something in a Petri dish) and at how little Kate seems to mind. Yelena doesn't doubt that Melina had pieced everything together before stepping foot in this room, but surely none of this had helped: Kate's eagerness to please, the closeness and familiarity on display, and — most especially, maybe — Kate's shorts: too tight to be anything other than what they absolutely were (a temptation, one for Yelena, specifically).

"I did do my research," Melina says, with a smile that's almost certainly insincere, but holds no trace of it. "I have heard you are taking Russian. Kate."

She tacks on the name at the end, a purposeful afterthought that sounds terribly wrong. But not quite as wrong as her saying Kate's full name.

"Well," Kate begins, briefly hesitant," yeah, I've taken about a semester of it now. So, I'm not going to put too much stock into how well four months of class has prepared me for the real world, but I think I'll probably do pretty good on my final, at least?"

"Good," Melina nods, and then smiles again. It's still vaguely eerie. "It is in exposure that we learn best, yes?"

"Oh. Well. Yeah! I think that's probably true."

"Good," Melina says again, and then immediately switches to Russian, head swiveling quickly enough that Yelena's completely caught off guard by finding herself in her mother's crosshairs. "Yelena. What is happening here?"

"Mama," Yelena groans, a whine that regresses her by at least 15 years. "Stop."

"She knows who are you are? You are taking her to retrieve Widows? She is living in your home? What do you know about this girl? You cannot know anything about this girl."

"And what business is it of yours?"

"Ah, Lena, answer your mother," Alexei interrupts. "And do not take this tone with her."

He's wandered into the living room, poking around her shelves without any finesse, clumsy hands knocking things this way and that. It's odd to be annoyed at his too-casual perusal, but items that would have little meaning to her usual visitors beyond 'random thrift store find' (a chipped but colorful bird whistle, a jar of fairy lights, a short row of Polly Pockets) might ping a memory in him, if he'd ever cared.

"Oh, so now we are a real family?" she returns, the Russian sour on her tongue. "When it is convenient for you to be nosy?"

"We are a real family whether it is convenient or not," Melina says, too calm and too sure. "Isn't that what you wanted, Yelena?"

(Yes, she wants to say, or maybe no. Or maybe yes, but not like this, but that isn't true either. Alexei picks up one of the old, beaten Polly Pockets and fiddles with the shell, closing and opening and closing the hard plastic with three quick snaps. Yelena's irritated by the sound, by the sight, by the situation, but mostly she's irritated at herself for wanting something so normal like this — like her parents coming to visit her at college, like her parents questioning her over a girl — and then still being dissatisfied.)

She takes a deep breath.

"I'm dating her," she says, eyes darting over towards Kate, who is silent, but the opposite of unfocused.

"Dating?" Melina repeats. "Romantically? The little Avenger?"

Melina has done something strange to the word: tacked on a Russian diminutive to the English. The series of truncated questions makes Kate's lip twitch, which isn't the first sign that she's been at least somewhat following along, but it is the first time that Melina seems to notice. Yelena decides to save them all a bit of trouble, and switches back to English.

"Yes." She crosses her arms, steeling herself. "I'm in love with her."

"You are — " For the first time she can remember, Melina looks speechless. It's almost funny, the way her mouth opens, except that it means Yelena has revealed something that Melina genuinely hadn't known; a new and terrifying prospect. "No. You have only met her recently. How can you — ?"

"Yelena," Alexei interrupts, again. He sounds so stricken, that even Melina falls silent, blinking as Alexei steps closer, his interest in Yelena's knickknacks seemingly vanished. Instead, his wide-eyed, stupid stare moves from Yelena to Kate, looking her over with new interest. Yelena knows she should head off whatever is about to emerge next from his mouth, but instead, she freezes (uselessly). "You are dating … Avenger?! This is WONDERFUL!"

She always forgets that Alexei is capable of moving quickly, which means that his hug nearly knocks her off her feet. It also means she's unable to prevent him from delivering the same overly familiar congratulations to Kate, right after.

"I was basically Russian Avenger," he brags, tucking Kate under his arm and then — with a sideways shuffle — doing the same to Yelena. She's too bewildered to do much about it, other than wrinkle her nose. "The Red Guarian! Did you meet Captain America? Did he tell you these stories? About his geopolitical adversary?"

"Oh! Um. No. I'm actually pretty new to the whole Avengering thing. And it's not official. And I've only met Hawkeye. We're kind of best friends. Or," she adds quickly, with a glance towards Yelena that's nearly completely blocked by Alexei's frame. "We're really good friends. I'm his best friend for sure."

"Hawkeye," Alexei repeats, and then looks down at Yelena, who shoves out of his arms before he can look for too long. "From Captain America musical? I saw this with Antonia, only two months ago!"

"You did not see it with Antonia," Yelena returns shortly, then slaps Alexei's forearm — still dangling around Kate's shoulder (and making her look comically small) — with the back of her hand. "And let go of her! Idiot."

"Lena, you are so grumpy. And on your birthday! What is matter? You have beautiful house. You have new Hawkeye girlfriend. Your family is here to celebrate you." He steps back and Kate stumbles, slightly, when he fully releases her. "And maybe we do so with good food? Maybe at fancy restaurant? Your mother already said she will pay; letting her makes me feminist, no?"

"Oh, okay. A fancy restaurant, sure. Right. Why are you here?" she asks again.

Once more, it's directed at Melina, who has long since composed herself. She'd busied herself with the dogs during Alexei's detour, lavishing Fanny with familiar pets and Lucky with achingly careful, hesitant strokes that'd quickly become more sure.

"It is as your father has said. We would like to take you to dinner." Melina pauses, as though with a heavy consideration (that she almost never needs). "Kate may come also."

"How long are you here?"

"For the weekend. We leave Sunday afternoon."

"Where are you staying?"

"At hotel. It is very nice."

"What kind of food do you want?"

"Whatever you would like. It is for your birthday, Yelena."

Yelena has no further questions ready to go, which leaves them in an awkward silence when she doesn't continue with further rapid-fire. As usual, Melina is unbothered as she waits, as though she'd happily answer a hundred more in the same mild tone, if only Yelena were better prepared. In the quiet, Kate shifts from one leg to the other, an uneven movement that brings her closer to Yelena; a comfort, always, but — under Melina's gaze — probably some kind of liability too.

"Okay," she finally says. "We will go to dinner. But we were sparring; we will need time to clean up."

"Ah, the sp — "

"We will wait." Melina's gaze cuts sharp to the left, saving them from whatever Alexei had been about to say. "There is no rush."

(What would Melina uncover in ten minutes? Twenty? She would be a danger even if she kept to the living room, which she would almost certainly not do. Yelena and Kate could take turns — one of them remaining downstairs at any given time — but it'd be a pointless indulgence in paranoia; whatever Melina would pull from Kate, unsupervised, would be far worse.)

"Okay," she says again, and then pauses (again), jaw clenching. "There is a bathroom in the basement. And water bottles. The couch in the living room is… the most comfortable."

She nearly says more. A whole rambling list of stupid things that would keep her in this room — with a too-soft Melina and an oblivious Alexei — where she desperately wants to remain, despite desperately wanting to leave. But Kate's fingers brush gently along her back, and so instead, she only nods and turns to go, running away with permission.

—

After four months of living in Providence, Yelena has come to realize that there are only so many restaurants. This is not true, strictly speaking, but there are only so many restaurants worth visiting more than once. She and Kate had quickly developed a decent rotation, and the very first restaurant Kate had taken her to had not once left it. Because of this, Umi doesn't look surprised to see them, at least not until Alexei lumbers in, still in the middle of an overly detailed recap of Rogers: The Musical that he'd started in the car.

"Want your usual spot?" Umi asks Kate, a greeting that'd gotten far less annoying the more they'd frequented the place (and after Umi had — very happily — found a boyfriend).

"Yeah, I think that'd be good." Kate leans in, making a face that only Umi and Yelena can see. "Meeting the parents, you know?"

Umi can't know the full extent of the danger contained within the statement, but she still lets out a sympathetic hiss, grabbing menus that Yelena and Kate typically didn't use.

"I'll make sure no one bothers you," she promises, then pastes a pleasant smile in place when she turns to Melina and Alexei. "This way, please."

Settling in at the table is a bumbling affair, mostly because of Alexei; after Melina nod her approval at the table choice, he attempts to pull out a chair for all three women: jerking Melina's out too hard and then hurriedly (and poorly) thwarting Yelena's attempts to sit down without his assistance.

"Just sit down," she hisses, pulling the waiting menus out of Umi's hands and smacking Alexei away. It sends Umi's eyebrows sky high and has Melina letting out a soft tsk, but it also means Yelena can actually sit, and Alexei follows shortly after (a pout forming beneath the beard that Yelena, stupidly, feels bad about).

"Thanks, Umi. We'll… walk them through the menu. Waters to start?"

"No ice, please," Melina says, her smile transmitting a certain level of warmth that her clipped accent might not. (She does not put on an American one, perhaps because Yelena had not.) "Thank you."

"So you liked it, then? Rogers: The Musical?" Kate asks Alexei, and Yelena nearly groans. "I honestly thought a lot of the backlash was silly. It's a musical, you know? What happened to genre awareness?"

"You saw it?" Yelena does groan, now. "Kate Bishop. Why?"

"Of course I saw it! When it first came out… on opening night. It's not a big deal, okay? It was fun."

"Yes!" Alexei agrees, enthusiasm returning in the face of someone asking him questions about himself (or, more frequently, him blindly assuming someone is). "So fun! Antonia bought one of the hats. With Captain America shield as 'O' in name. These musicals, they are not popular in Russian, but Red Guardian musical would maybe change this. It is missed opportunity."

"Kate does not know anything about Red Guardian," Yelena sighs, but stops short when Kate looks guilty, which means she's probably preparing to tell a lie. "Kate, no."

Yelena's fairly aghast, but Alexei's emotion (a peacock's level of pride) overpowers everything else at table, quite small relative to Alexei's size.

"Ha! You see, Lena? I am always telling you! The Avengers know of me."

"She is not an Avenger," Yelena spits, reflexively. But then, just as quickly, adds, "yet."

"You said your dad was a super soldier!" Kate cuts in, for once entirely unbothered by discussions about her future 'career'. "What was I supposed to do? Not look it up on the internet? Though, honestly, the videos I could find were a little shitty. Like 360p max."

Yelena laughs, loudly, and Kate smiles, eyes crinkling fully before she remembers her audience and turns back to Alexei, her expression apologetic. It's hardly necessary; Alexei doesn't look the slightest bit put out.

"The American government," he says, like it's an explanation (despite the lack of a question). "They still heavily monitor internet. I am threat to them! A sign of great power outside of their country."

Melina makes a small sound. (Yelena nearly jumps, despite the volume. It's terrifying, how quickly Melina could disappear, despite how aware Yelena always felt of her.) The soft hum is one that Alexei takes as a sign of agreement, puffing his chest out further.

"But I have DVD; I will show you. Since Yelena has spoke of me."

She doesn't expect the tone; buried beneath all the vanity is a curious hint of bashfulness (a thing never once before associated with Alexei, by anyone on the planet). It has Yelena swallowing back her initial response (a cutting retort), and Kate filling the resulting void in conversation right as it forms.

"Oh, well, yeah! She has about both of you. In mostly vague terms," Kate adds, when Melina's attention sharpens. "Since… we're… dating. Like Yelena said. Before."

"She has told us little of you, Kate," Melina slides in, pleasant and mild. (Yelena is reminded of a story she heard as a child: of a person turning the water in a pot hotter and hotter, with an unsuspecting frog inside.) "Though we heard today that you are a good student."

"Heard where?" Yelena asks.

"On campus. We wanted to see the school you are going to."

"Your mother says is very good school! We are proud you got in!"

"I did not get in. I paid someone to hack into their systems."

"If you are in, you are in," Alexei says with a shrug, but then loses interest in the conversation entirely when Umi arrives with waters and, more importantly, an order of Kate's favorite samosé.

"So you saw the school," Yelena reminds Melina, refocusing. "And you found someone who told you that Kate was good student? You ran into a friend of hers, mmm?"

"A professor. Of yours, too, Yelena. A Dr. Soto?" Melina waits, gauging reactions within a mask of pleasantries. "A very smart woman. Very interesting. A computational approach to neural mechanisms is an important part of the process. They are very behind here, though. In most places they are very behind."

"Yes. Probably all those annoying ethics holding them back," Yelena grumbles, but Melina barely spares her a glance. "You went looking for Dr. Soto?"

"This, I did not say."

Which is true, but it hardly means that Yelena's incorrect. She raises her eyebrows, and Melina (surprisingly) continues.

"I am interested in the class you are taking. I told you; it is good to see you appreciating science. What have you learned?"

"Nothing that you don't already know."

There is an anger simmering in her, just under the surface, and it steams up into her words: clipping the ends and thickening her English. She's never been able to hide it well (emotions in general, but anger — anguish — most of all), but she'd thought, somehow, that with enough effort, she might be able to push it down before it boiled over. But no matter how many deep breathes she takes, it clings to the edges of her mind, hot and irrational and stupid.

She'd wanted this, she keeps reminding herself. (Or. Had she?) She'd wanted something, certainly. Some kind of meaning to lay over her past; some kind of acknowledgement that she hadn't been the only one fooled. (Or, really, that she hadn't been fooled at all.) But now her past is here — undeniably tangible — and she's angry. And it has something to do with this calm, careful version of Melina asking her about her college classes, all while Kate Bishop sits at the table with them, tightly gripping a glass of water.

"I am not concerned with what I know," Melina says, suddenly (strangely?) speaking Russian. "I am interested in what you have learned."

"Why?"

Melina waits a moment, as though putting some effort into translating the thoughts she rarely bothers to share with other people.

"So I can understand you, Yelena. We are all only what we have learned."

"And what we feel," Yelena blurts, and then wishes she had not, up until the moment Melina answers with a question of her own.

"Is that what matters most to you? What a person feels?"

"And what we do."

Melina hums, not discounting, but still disagreeing.

"My feelings and what I have done have both been induced," she says, no hesitation (or emotion) in the declaration, delivered as cold fact. "I trust more in what I have learned. And what others have. That is why I ask."

Yelena takes another breath.

This one helps.

Her shoulders relax, and — almost in the same motion — Kate does too, releasing her glass of water and going for a samosa with a cheer that (as always) returns to her quickly. She seems relieved, but maybe mostly for snack-related reasons. (This is fair enough; throughout Yelena and Melina's standoff, Alexei had consumed most of the samosé, completely ignorant of the waxing and waning Cold War around him.)

"Our last lecture was on the motivation of learning," Yelena says, returning to a somehow safer English. "We looked at the ah — the anterior cingulate region of the prefrontal cortex and how it lit up like Christmas tree when this poor little mouse was trying to get some sugar water. Kate said this was Dr. Soto trying to teach us how to trick ourselves into learning better for the exam."

"I take a pretty literal approach, also using sugar water," Kate chimes in. "There's this soda that you can only find in South Jersey called Boost! that I was introduced to by a friend at summer camp, back in the day. It's become a crucial part of my exam prep process."

"It is disgusting," Yelena mumbles, and Kate grins, (correctly) interpreting the words as teasing. "'Concentrated blend of citrus fruit syrup'; this is what it says, right on the bottle. And it has no bubbles! What kind of soda has no bubbles?"

"A closed mind is the enemy of progress," Kate sniffs, her expression and tone stupidly haughty, and Yelena laughs, before she remembers where she is and finds Melina and Alexei both staring at her.

(Had Melina gained the understanding she'd been looking for in Yelena's answer? Or had it been found instead in the brief back-and-forth that'd followed? It's an equal mix of dread and exhilaration that fills her at the prospect of either, but she leans into the former: a laughably thin shell of protection.)

"Best soda is Russian: Tarkhun," Alexei declares. "After successful mission, they would pour it over me like shower. Like American football player with alligator drink. I will send some, Lena, to help with tests."

"You will send our daughter a drink with toxic dye?" Melina shakes her head sharply. "No. Natural coloring is best. A tea, perhaps. Or seltzer water, if the carbonation is an important factor. Both are healthier options than a sugar drink."

"Healthier," Yelena repeats in a scoff. "What, you think now I should be warned of these kinds of health issues? Like I will live long enough for diabetes and bad cholesterol? You are pushing the limits on the fake world your Mom outfit belongs to."

Once she's tugged at this annoyance, the rest unravels: a long thread of make believe sutured into the visit. She'd felt it under her skin — itchy and nearly impossible to ignore — and it's a relief to pick at it, even if it means ruining the smooth surface.

"Why do you look like this?" she continues, when another second passes and Melina says nothing. "The hair and the jeans and the clean, white sneakers?"

"You have constructed a background for the role you are playing here, yes? This is what I have gathered from your file; the home address in Ohio, the financial aid forms with a modest family income, the emergency contact for an adoptive mother." Yelena fights her flush at Melina's calm listing of facts, and sinks further into annoyance in order to manage it. "Is this not an acceptable appearance for these purposes? I have only followed your lead, Yelena."

"And what about him?" She nods towards Alexei, whose cheeks have puffed out with the amount of food he's packed in. "The flashy jacket and big beard? This is a role I have made up too?"

"What is wrong with jacket? With beard?" Alexei asks, but then — at Melina's disgusted expression — swallows before speaking further. "I do not look like dad?"

"I'm sure certain circles might call you something like that around here," Kate says, and her expression doesn't give anything away, but Melina blinks once and finds the hidden implication on her own.

"Ah, yes. Kate is saying that you look like a gay man. Like you are 'bear' that smaller gay men will call 'daddy'."

"Mama," Yelena whines at the same time Alexei gasps (and Kate fails to completely stifle a bark of laughter).

"Gay? How is leather motorcycle jacket gay? How is really cool beard gay?"

"Oh my god," Yelena groans, dropping her elbows to the table and burying her face in her hands. "No. Stop saying 'gay'."

It's a relief to remove the whole scene from her vision, if only for a moment, but the silence stretches on long enough that she grows suspicious. When she looks up, Kate's pressed her lips into a thin line, Melina has carefully folded one hand atop the other, and Alexei is readying himself with a deep breath that can't mean anything good.

"Yelena," he begins, eyes wide and horrifyingly wet. "I need you to know something. Even though in Russian it is bad for the gay people, and even though I have made jokes before that were funny — possibly the funniest — that does not mean that I, in my heart, do not —"

"Alexei," Yelena groans. "What are you — ?"

"No! I will say this. I must say this." He takes another steadying breath. "Ever since I have found out that Captain America was half-gay — "

"Sorry, what?" Kate asks, which is lucky, because Yelena's reaction is simply to drop her head into her heads again.

"Yes, in Captain America musical I learned that Captain America is liking both the men and the women."

"I don't… actually think that's in the musical," Kate says. "Unless they made some serious revisions after opening night. Which I would be all for, to be clear — "

"It is in musical," Alexei interrupts, with unearned confidence (as usual). "And ever since then, I have been thinking, because — you know — when were standing there with nuclear reactor between us — if Captain America had locked eyes with me in this one way, that possibly expressed our complicated rivalry and mutual understanding of true strength and deep — "

"Kate," Yelena interrupts, words muffled by her own hands, "there is a knife strapped to my right ankle. Could you bend down, take it out of the sheath, and then stab it right through the back of my neck? Make sure it is is a very hard, smooth thrust. I won't feel a thing; you will consider it a mercy killing, even — "

"Okay, okay! Le-na!" Alexei whines, and Yelena lifts her head to find him with hands together, pleading. "I am trying to tell story. To explain how your mother and I are accepting."

"No," she says, the word bursting out without thought, much like those that follow. "No, no, no. You do not get to be 'accepting'. You don't get to be anything. Look at you, making all of this all about you, as usual. And you — "

She turns with a tight jaw, and finds that Melina is watching her carefully, calmly, and curiously. There's little warmth or sympathy in the expression, but there is a singular focus, one that Yelena has so rarely had applied to her by her mother. It leaves her forcing her anger back down again, far from sated.

(She had wanted this. She thinks. She'd thought.)

"Yelena," Melina says, while Alexei falls into a sulk, "what is the problem?"

(The problem is she doesn't know. Not really. Or that she does know and it doesn't matter — shouldn't matter. Or that it matters, but in the wrong way, because she'd asked for this and — )

Under the table, Kate slides a hand onto her knee. It's surprisingly subtle for Kate, but Yelena thinks she wouldn't have minded Kate's typical boldness, either: if she'd taken Yelena's hand in plain view or wrapped an arm around her shoulder or stood up and started yelling, in the way Yelena felt like doing with her parents so much of the time. And maybe Kate had considered all of those things (and more), but the small smile she offers Yelena says exactly what she's feeling. (Whatever you want, she might as well say aloud, that's what we'll do.)

"I do not want roles," Yelena says, finally, working around the solid lump of feeling in her throat. "I do not want fake outfits or fake stories or fake birthdays. I do not want you to be here if — if this is just another box that you will check on a little list or another boring duty that you will complain about later. I don't — I don't want any of that. I want… the things in my life to be real. As real as they can be."

Kate's hand squeezes her knee, approval and reassurance baked into the gesture, both of which Yelena could use at the moment, because Melina merely stares (and Alexei merely frowns, lunkishly confused). Whatever internal calculation is currently going on in Melina's head is one Yelena wouldn't much like to think about; it seems equally likely that she might nod and stay, or simply stand up to leave, and never come back.

"Tomorrow, I would like to go with you both to all the libraries on campus," Melina finally says, without a trace of the smile she'd earlier plastered on unconvincingly. "There are five total; is this correct, Kate?"

"Oh. Um. Yes, ma'am."

Melina's expression barely changes, but there is a hint of amusement at the corner crinkle of her eyes. Yelena observes it warily, looking for signs of danger or falsehood, but finds neither, and strays back towards Kate, whose cheeks have lit with a fierce blush she's clearly trying to hide.

"There is no need for such forms of address," Melina says, curt but not unkind.

"Great," Kate breathes. "I really, really regretted it as soon as I said it. But yeah, there are five. And Yelena has been to — "

"Barely any of them," Yelena finishes. "But we'll go. If that is what you want."

"It is what I want. And what I would enjoy." Her hands steeple together under her chin. "After, we will go to lunch. At wherever is your favorite location for the meal, Yelena. And then I will talk to Kate. Most individuals are more relaxed after feeding; it is the same for pigs."

"You will have been talking to Kate a lot by then," Yelena drawls. "She does not need food to be relaxed enough to talk. About anything."

"This will be different. I will talk to Kate alone."

Yelena starts shaking her head before Melina finishes, before Kate can say anything at all.

"Mm-mmm. No."

"I had planned on fabricating a reason that would allow for this private dialogue to happen in a manner you might perceive as organic, but you have asked for no more of these deceptions. Even if," Melina adds, "they are a form of ruse that society both allows and encourages in most family units."

Caught between horror at the prospect of this particular one-on-one and Melina giving her exactly what she'd (foolishly?) asked for, Yelena freezes, fingers pressing into the chipped laminate of the tabletop.

"Why?" Kate asks, and it shouldn't be unexpected, but it is in Yelena's current state. "I mean, why do you want to talk to me alone? I don't hide anything from Yelena. And my answer to whatever questions you might have would be the same, whether Yelena is there or not."

Melina turns her attention to Kate and — to Kate's credit — she does not squirm under the intense gaze. As usual, Melina gives no indication as to what she's discerned from her observation, but Yelena does not bother with this same level of care; Kate's staunch determination sends a flash of warmth through her that must be obvious to everyone at the table.

"I am here for three main reasons," Melina begins, sounding so professorial that Yelena nearly makes a face. "To see Yelena and know that she is well, to reassure her that I am willing to participate in these normal family functions, and to determine if she is putting her trust in the right people."

"I am," Yelena says, infusing every bit of confidence she can muster, but Melina is apparently unmoved.

"That may be so. But I prefer to test this for myself. And I feel I will be most successful if I speak to Kate alone." She nods, just the once. "I will not harm her, Yelena. Nothing as sinister as you are apparently imagining. We will only talk. Kate, do you take issue with this?"

"Not as long as you don't mind me doing the same," Kate says, with a touch of something overly and obviously saccharine. "I'm pretty interested in Yelena trusting the right people too."

This time, when Melina smiles, it's genuine.

"Good," she says. "See, Yelena? It is fine. You are bothered about nothing."

"But why?"

It's a repeat of the same question, and if Yelena had any sense, she would stop asking it and stop thinking about it. Melina's soft tsk says as much, but still, she takes in a silent breath and tries again.

"Yelena," she sighs. "You have made it so that we care about each other. This is how I best know to care, without any of the subterfuge I might otherwise employ. What would you have me do?"

With nothing internal that she's sure she can trust, Yelena looks to Kate, who only shrugs.

(Like the request is nothing. Like Yelena could ask for a million things more — or the whole of the world — and it would be the same: a small shrug, a small smile, and endless love carried in each.)

"Okay," Yelena says, and doesn't cry. "Fine. Yes. We will do all that."

"I want to test Kate Bishop in trial of combat," Alexei declares, chest lifted once more.

"No." Yelena waves a hand at Umi, who has definitely been watching from across the room this whole time. "So now lets order food. Kate will pick out the best things."

No one disagrees and Kate starts making suggestions and Yelena's heart doesn't sink, so that's probably a good start.

—

After it's all done (after the dinner and the drive back and all of Alexei's exaggerations and all the strange ways she'd found herself under her mother's microscope), Yelena stands in the foyer of her home and lets out a long, loud sigh.

Kate watches her for a moment that doesn't last long, and then she's taking two large steps closer and engulfing Yelena in a hug.

It brings tears to Yelena's eyes, which is stupid, but Kate doesn't seem to notice (or, more likely, mind), only tucks her chin and tightens her grip. She murmurs something against the side of Yelena's head, none of it intelligible, but all of it comforting nevertheless. It's strange to think that the majority of the hugs she's had in her life have come from Kate, despite Kate presence filling such a small portion of it (based strictly on time).

"So did that go good or bad, because I honestly can't tell," Kate says (possibly again).

"I don't know," Yelena mumbles.

"You don't know?" A laugh bubbles up in Kate's throat, turning the words fond. "Okay, what about a sliding scale sort of thing?"

"Not the worst," Yelena allows, still pressed into the crook of Kate's neck. "But not the best."

"With 'the worst' being… what? Your mom poisons the both of us?"

"I think worst is her poisoning only you. And then I try to kill Melina, but I do not like my chances, there, I don't think. Her contingency plans are very thorough. She probably would not kill me, but maybe — I don't know — try to erase the memory of you? It is always hard to predict where Melina's logic will take her."

"Jesus," Kate says, and then pulls back, but not completely, one of her hands remaining curled around Yelena's hip. "Okay, I'm grateful for what we got, then. Zero complaints."

"You can have some complaints. It is a shit situation and you did not sign up for it."

"I kind of did, though. And what's a couple more potential danger areas in my life? It doesn't really make a difference, statistically, given my preferred career path. Honestly, the hardest part is seeing you with them. You're — " Mouth racing ahead of her thoughts, Kate draws out the word for an awkward length of time, trying to catch up. " — Kind of different around them."

"Different how?" Yelena demands, a frown tugging at her lips.

"Like, well — "

Kate's tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek, a sure sign she's considering her response carefully. In that care, Yelena finds the truth.

"Bitchier," she realizes with a sigh. "Yes."

Kate, for her part, looks relieved.

"Yeah. But I mean that lovingly!" she adds, hurriedly. "And also — can I just say? — you're well within your rights to be bitchy in this situation."

"This situation?"

"Yeah. It's like… shit, Yelena. I don't know. You haven't exactly told me everything, you know, but the whole thing is like fifty-years-of-therapy fucked. Whenever I feel bad about stuff with my mom I just kind of think, like, well at least it's not Yelena's situation."

"Wow," Yelena drawls. "Thank you, Kate. That feels really good, to hear that."

"Well — !" Kate begins, before she notices Yelena's smile, a curling thing at the corner of her mouth that's small, but genuine. Spotting it, Kate shakes her head, and pulls Yelena a little closer again, tugging gently on the lapel of the jean jacket that'd been pilfered from Kate's closet. "I'm just saying. It's kind of hard to figure out what you need from me here. Like, should I play it nice when your mom pulls me into a windowless, locked room with a single, precariously hanging light bulb? Or do you want me to just keep my mouth shut? Or… I dunno. I could storm into their hotel room and give them both a piece of my mind right now! Preemptive strike, you know?"

"Mmm, okay, yes. You should do that one. Bring your bow, just in case."

This time, when Kate pulls away, it's with a determined little pinch to her brow, and genuine intention. Yelena snags her by the wrist before she can make it too far, a laugh spilling out as she tugs her back in.

"You're ridiculous," she tells Kate, and means I love you. "You are already giving me what I need, Kate Bishop; you're here."

"Nothing else?" Kate murmurs, brushing a kiss to Yelena's temple. "That's making it way too easy."

"It is not easy for some." She sighs, realizing what her own words imply. "Alexei is a self-absorbed asshole and Melina is — ah, complicated? But they are both here. And they are trying. That is something, I think. Even Melina wanting to… talk to you. That is something too."

"Yeah, something terrifying." For the first time, Kate shows her true feelings on the matter, dropping her forehead onto Yelena's shoulder. "God. She really will kill me if I do anything that hurts you. Even if it's not even my fault!"

"She will not kill you," Yelena says, unconvincing even to her own ears. "Especially if it is not your fault! Melina is logical. To a fault."

"No, look; she definitely will. Definitely. Like — " Kate cuts herself off, stepping back to consider her next words, eyes lifting to the ceiling. "Okay, picture this: we're out doing cool hero — but non-Avenger! — stuff and some bad guy gets a lucky shot off that's going to hit you, and so I dramatically shove you out of the way to take the bullet myself. And it's not fatal or anything, but you blame yourself and then leave me and then fall into a deep depression — because you love me and also that kind of self-sacrificial bullshit never makes anyone feel better — and then your mom blames me for all of it, and kills me!"

"Wha — that's — " Yelena sputters at several points throughout Kate's sprawling and fatalistic fantasy, but it takes a couple tries before she can power through. "You are the one doing the self-sacrificial bullshit in this made-up scenario, Kate Bishop! And if you ever take a bullet for me I'll — "

She sucks in a breath.

(It ridiculous, but even contemplating the stupid scenario makes her stomach twist.)

Kate waits, brow raised.

" — Not leave you," Yelena finishes, annoyingly unconvincing once again. "But I will yell at you. A lot. And — and why are you even thinking about these things, anyways?"

"This is just what happens in my brain when I can't sleep," Kate says, with a wave of her hand. "But the point is, now we know that you dramatically leaving me in order to protect me would result in Melina killing me! Right? So, you would be doing the literal opposite of protecting me if you ever tried to do anything like that. Honestly, in a way it's good that your mom would definitely kill me, because it means we can skip that whole thing, if it ever comes up."

Yelena's head hurts, just a little.

And she's forgotten, somehow, what she'd been most worried about in all of these scenarios (both made up and very real). Kate is still very close, and her hand curls around Yelena again, and it's a little hard to be worried about any of them, any more.

"Maybe this makes it fair," Yelena concludes. "Your mom would probably also want to kill me, if I hurt you. Or maybe even if I didn't! It's a good thing she does not have the skills. Personally."

"Or the money to get someone to do it for her," Kate sighs. "Though, who knows, with all this Valentina stuff. Lerato still thinks Val's going to stall my mom's release all the way to graduation."

"I know. We have talked about it a little; we need to time the really loud construction right."

Kate laughs, fingers dancing up under Yelena's shirt, an absentminded and warming gesture.

"There's no way you can make that happen," she says, but then doesn't look especially confident about the statement when Yelena tilts her head. "No, come on. Be serious."

"I would not be so sure. With Antonia's skills and Sonya's money, they could turn any place into an investment. One that needs very loud construction work to occur for many months."

Kate laughs again, but far more softly, enough so that it wraps up in a sigh (something wistful, but not especially sad).

"We live interesting lives, huh?"

"Mmm. If we look at your sliding scales, though, it could be worse."

"Yeah, actually — " Kate shrugs, but her smile fills her face with what the gesture cannot convey. "That sliding scale has me coming out pretty good."

"Recently, I have been thinking the same," Yelena says, and as always, Kate's smile rewards her honesty.

—

Their Saturday is busy: breakfast (and a show: Kate and Alexei's surprisingly lively debate over bagel flavors), libraries (Kate as their tour guide, with an impressive internal encyclopedia of Brown's collections), Anthropology museum (an unexpected and apparently impromptu request from Melina), and lunch (Jo’s, for grilled cheese).

After they've finished (after an embarrassing incident of Alexei getting cheese stuck in his beard, and after Kate's been forced into another couple rounds of Brown University trivia ) Melina merely nods towards the door. Kate doesn't need a more obvious sign; she follows Melina out of the restaurant with an unconcerned wave over the shoulder, as though she hadn't been tossing and turning all night. (And eventually given up on sleep altogether, phone clutched in her hands as she'd browsed the Brown University website and various Wikipedia articles in preparation for their tour.)

Which leaves Yelena stressed and alone with Alexei, who is attempting (and failing) to pull an appropriate amount of napkins from the tabletop container.

"Жопа с ручкой," he swears (seemingly directly at the inanimate object) right before he gives up and yanks out a handful. He uses the entire wad to dab at his beard. "Well. I like her. Kate Bishop. I hope Melina does not kill her."

"She is not going to kill her, Alexei," she says firmly. "Why would she kill her now?"

"It is Melina! She could do any thing at any time. Like wild and sexy tiger."

Yelena puffs her cheeks with an exaggerated — but not entirely imaginary — bile. 

"Ugh, no. Alexei, stop talking."

Alexei ignores the request.

"When you were little girl — very little, with pigtails! — there was teacher who made you cry at school," he says, and Yelena sighs, slumping into her seat. "I do not remember what was reason. Maybe he was mean about bad grade. Maybe he did not let you play on playground. But when you came home? The tears! They did not stop. Not for hours and hours! I ended up putting little cotton balls in ears; it was so — "

"Yes, Alexei. It was a terrible experience. Everyone in the restaurant gets this now."

"Oh—kay. Fine. So impatient, Lena!" He grumbles over the interruption for another few moments, but — when Yelena only stares (with some of that same impatience) — he eventually moves on. "Anyway. You were crying, you were sad, the teacher was very mean, blah blah blah, and Melina says to me — I swear this — she says to me: we should take care of this teacher. And I laugh, you know? I thought she was making joke! We break our covers to go kill teacher who made our little girl cry? I laughed and laughed and went out to get you toy and everything is fine. But then, two days later? The teacher is poisoned."

"What?" Yelena asks. "No. The teacher was not poisoned."

"The teacher was poisoned," Alexei says again, slapping his hand on the table and falling into a laugh. "She sends basket of muffins to teacher and he eats a few and then — ahhh, krrrxx, thump! — he falls to floor and is taken to hospital. I say to Melina: how could you risk cover for this? And she denied, but I know the truth. They never found poisoner, see?"

"You are so stupid," Yelena sighs, rubbing her fingers into her forehead. "Melina did not poison my grade school teacher because he made me cry. She is… not so sentimental."

"Not sentimental," Alexei agrees. "Not most of the time. But always quietly vicious. Protective. Like roaring mama bear, but hidden behind layers, like onion. But! I think you are right; she will not kill Kate Bishop. Not unless she makes you cry. You will tell Kate to be careful around muffins."

"Mmhmm, yes, sure. Now let's go back to sitting here in silence," she decides, but Alexei only laughs.

"Lena, you joke! But I am serious; I do not want Kate Bishop to die! The light in you is bright now; like sun is shining in life. This is her, yes? Leading you towards glorious destiny! Like your sister's. Like your father's!"

She's nearly lulled into a smile, but as usual, Alexei ruins it: a sledgehammer to the chest that kills any bubbling feeling that he'd accidentally invoked.

"Dead or useless? This is my glorious destiny?" She blows out a loud breath, one that hides the ache she has to force down. "Okay, great. Good. Things to look forward to."

"No, no, Lena. Destiny as hero." In a rare moment, Alexei's expression turns serious, shoulders slumping with the effort. "You know, this is when I was happiest: saving civilians in streets, being cheered by crowd, adored like god. This is destiny. A higher calling. Becoming Avenger with girlfriend; this is your plan, no?"

"No," she says, too loud. "That is not plan. That isn't — I don't know why people keep — that is not me."

She shakes her head, once and then again, twice more. Stupid, to get so caught out by Alexei's words.

(Even more stupid, to want to hear more of them.)

"Yelena," he mumbles, surprisingly soft and surprisingly hesitant. "This is you. This has always been you. Do you — when you were little girl, you were goalie on soccer team — do you remember this?"

She does. She remembers it easily. But she still waits for a moment, fearful of showing too much of that which she has — up until fairly recently — always clung to with a pathetic desperation. (A kinder time, a better life. A kinder and better Yelena, too.)

"The Thunderbolts," she says. "Yes. We were bad. So bad. I think we lost every game."

"You did," Alexei confirms. "But it did not matter. You were happy. And — why you wanted to be goalie, do you remember this too?"

(She remembers: that it seemed easier, that she didn't like to run, that no one else wanted to do it. She remembers that the gloves were too big and the uniform was ugly and that she never cared about either of those things because the sun was bright and the grass was freshly cut and there was a whole team of people who thought she was one of them. She'd thought that she was one of them too.)

"Because I was lazy." She shakes her head, lifting one shoulder up and then dropping it back down. "I thought I would not have to run so much."

"Maybe this too. But, back then, you told me, 'I want to be the one everyone can rely on if they make a mistake'." Alexei smiles, a small thing that holds too much pride. "Is this not you, either?"

"It's — " She swallows the instinctive response, without letting herself think about what it might have been. (Had she said that? Or was Alexei lying, or misremembering. And did it even matter either way?) "That was a long time ago. And it was about peewee soccer; not saving the world."

"You are bigger now! The challenges are bigger too! But the heart is same." He taps his own chest, and Yelena would roll her eyes at the cheesy gesture if she weren't too busy trying to not be affected by it. "Strong! And brave! Heart of protector!"

She's on the verge of crying over a mostly eaten grilled cheese because of Alexei, so it's probably good that he continues, far more typically.

"And when you need help… you call Red Guardian." He leans back in his chair, smile annoyingly smug. "I do not need to be Avenger, but if people say, hey, there is Red Guardian who is always saving Avengers lives. Then that would be enough for me, you know? A fan club, maybe. My America debut… at daughter's side, yes?"

Most of the good will Alexei had built up over the past five minutes immediately disappears. But not quite all; Yelena holds herself to an eye roll as she lets Alexei fall into another series of tall tales about his own great successes. This time, though, it's within a collection of imagined situations where Yelena might be at his side. (And if this makes the typically droll experience any better, Yelena resolves not to say.)

—

"Clint's talk was way less scary," Kate tells her, an upsetting number of hours later.

After Kate had returned to Jo's — slightly pale but otherwise unharmed — they'd been whisked into a flurry of activity that made Yelena regret asking her parents to be unequivocally honest with her. Alexei wanted to spar, Melina wanted to get tea, Alexei wanted to see a movie, Melina wanted dinner. They'd filled the whole of the afternoon, making the most of their last one in town. (And throughout, Yelena had been torn between relief over the prospect of them leaving, and an annoying apprehension.) When they'd finally made it home, Kate had grabbed a family-sized bag of Cheetos and dropped onto the couch, both dogs assembling at her side, faithful in their pursuit of either lending comfort and/or licking the mildly off-putting Cheetos dust from Kate's fingers.

"Compared to Melina, Barton is a mewling kitten." Yelena wanders closer, until Kate lifts up her head just enough for Yelena to slide in underneath it. When Kate drops back down, it's with a content sigh, which makes it hard for Yelena to finish her thought with the amount of annoyance it deserves. "What did she do? What did she say?"

"A bunch of stuff," Kate murmurs, letting her eyes fall shut. It's an open invitation for Yelena to make progress with her open-ended quest to memorize each and every line of Kate's face, and Yelena doesn't waste the opportunity, despite the timing. "Honestly, she just asked a lot of questions. Like, what I loved about you. What your favorite color was. What I wanted to do with my life and how I planned on providing for myself. Oh, and — um — what I would do if a deadly asteroid was headed right for Earth and there was a spaceship available, but only enough fuel to carry one person — or something like that."

Yelena isn't sure she wants to hear Kate's answer, but Kate continues anyways.

"And I said that, by then, I'd for sure have a favor locked in from some kind of magic wizard, right? So I'd just have them teleport us somewhere. And then she said that wasn't within the parameters of the question and I said she hadn't established the parameters of the question, so, yeah. That went on for a little."

"Kate," Yelena sighs, so fondly that Kate's eyes open.

"But then she asked me what she should do. Like, in terms of making things good with you," Kate says, gentle in her abruptness. It lets Yelena reply with the same speed, avoiding any of the pitfalls that might come if she starts picking apart the thought process that'd led to Melina asking this particular question.

"And?"

"And I told that that asking questions like that was a shortcut that would undermine the necessary healing process." Kate nods. "So yeah, I think she'll probably kill me, one night."

"You are so obsessed with night killings! I've told you; in the daytime is just as easy."

"Baby," Kate sighs, and even though the whine is clearly teasing, Yelena immediately loses all will to do anything other than whatever Kate might ask for next. "You're not allowed to one-up me with your assassination knowledge right now. I'm fragile. And I've been so brave."

"You were so brave," she agrees, fingers sliding into Kate's hair and causing Kate's eyes to slip shut again.

"Genuinely knightly."

"Extremely brave and extremely knightly, Kate Bishop. Also very beautiful," she adds, nails scratching against Kate's scalp in the way she likes. "Very handsome. Very charming. And very capable. Alexei is already obsessed with you, and Melina — well — not too many people meet Melina and live."

Leaning into Yelena's touch, Kate cracks a smile, one punctuated by a soft, content hum.

"Kind of a low bar, but I'll take it. Along with all the ego-boosting." Kate reaches for her — blindly, as though she doesn't care which part of Yelena she reaches first — and finds Yelena's face, fingers brushing along the underside of her jaw. "But how are you feeling? You probably need these Cheetos more than I do."

"I'm okay," she says, and only realizes after that this is true. "It has been… not the worst on our sliding scale. Things are better with you; even the bad things, or the annoying ones. I am thinking you deserve some kind of reward, probably."

"Turn on some trash TV, keep running your hands through my hair, and that's reward enough." Kate cracks an eye open, humor shining through even then. "At least until after we check this place for bugs."

"That is a good instinct. That is a really good instinct."

She bends down to kiss Kate's forehead anyways (too much affection present to not need another outlet) before kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and happily settling into the request.

—

"So. This is goodbye."

Alexei sounds mournful at the prospect, normally boisterous volume reduced to something far more subdued. Yelena wouldn't mind — would even maybe enjoy it — if it were directed at her.

"For now," Kate says, patting his arm very gently. "But I'm sure — I mean, we'll see you around. Not here, probably, but somewhere. In the city, maybe?"

"And when you become full Avenger? You will call?"

"Definitely. Totally."

"And when you need Red Guardian for mission?"

"Oh, yeah!" Kate spares a quick glance at Yelena, almost apologetic. "Then too. For sure."

Yelena sighs as Alexei continues, throwing an arm around Kate's shoulder and launching into a series of fighting tips that did not — in any way — apply to someone without serum-induced super strength. (She will not admit it to anyone, and will barely admit it to herself, but the sight fills her with something warm.)

"You are different, Yelena," Melina says, suddenly.

She'd been quiet through the extended goodbyes on Yelena's small front porch, watching the proceedings rather than joining in on any of Alexei's sentimentality. Even now, she refrains from any show of emotion: curiosity at the forefront of her words rather than any form of sadness.

"In a bad way?" Yelena asks. "Or good way?"

"In a different way," Melina says, unhelpfully. "You are happier, certainly. And that is good; this is what matters most to you."

Yelena's instinct is to argue, to protest over some insult in the tone that isn't actually there. But instead she holds her tongue and looks for what is, actually, on display: Melina's very particular brand of care, held within a clinical interest.

"That matters to everyone, Mama. Your happiness just looks different from mine."

Melina makes a small sound that might be agreement, and lifts her hand to Yelena's cheek, patting it very gently. It should be belittling and maybe it is, a little, but Yelena still enjoys the feeling.

"That is true." Melina's eyes lift, as though to take in the sky, or maybe the whole of the world. If pressed, Yelena could not begin to guess what she might be feeling, but this fills her with less dread that it might have, even a year ago. When Melina's gaze returns, there's no particular change in the expression, but when she speaks, she keeps her words soft. "When you were young, you always felt so much. I thought you would lose that, but you have not. I am glad; love is — it is a good thing."

"Even when it makes things harder?" she asks, sensing a but. "Or more painful?"

"Ah, yes," Melina sighs. "But pain only makes you stronger. I have said this to you before, yes? It applies to many things, Дочка."

(Daughter, is what Melina is calling her, with the standard diminutive. It sits right on Melina's tongue, far more than anything more mawkish might. There's some kind of middle ground to be found in the gulf between them, Yelena knows then, and doesn't quite mind the prospect of the endless work that might be required to remain within it.)

"I'm glad you came." she says, and then glances towards Alexei, who pats Kate on the back hard enough to send her lurching back to Yelena's side. "Both of you."

And then, added awkwardly after, when no one says anything else at all:

"Thank you."

Another one of Alexei's hugs follows — just as awkward in execution — and then more goodbyes, cut short this time by Melina — for once wielding her exactness with kindness — hurrying Alexei towards the car.

It's not perfect, Yelena thinks, as they pull out, Alexei honking wildly all the while. But it is real.

As far as trade-offs go, it's a pretty good one.

—