Archive of Our Own

With two hands firmly rested upon the oiled, wooden work surface, Yelena Belova watched as the dregs of her coffee danced their way down the plug hole of the large porcelain sink. It was early still, but the Russian had been awake for quite some time. It had become a ritual of hers really, to wake early and greet the dawn from her balcony, to the chorus of muezzin with coffee in hand. If there was one thing in this world that was guaranteed to wake Yelena up, it was Turkish coffee, the rapturous melody of the morning call to prayer, and the prospect that at any moment, Kate Bishop would be knocking at her door. 

In all honesty, Yelena had expected the young Avenger to make an appearance quite some time earlier. It had been hours since she’d text Kate her Istanbul address and a taxi ride across the Bosphorus was a ten-minute hop, not a ten-hour slog. Had she gotten lost? The ex-assassin would have put good money on Kate Bishop pounding down her door pre-dawn chorus, but in true Kate Bishop style, the brunette had once again proved Yelena wrong.   

Was it too much to ask for a little company? Was it too much to ask to be dragged out of bed by a beautiful woman in the early hours of the morning? Clearly, the answer was yes, it was.  

Yelena glanced up at the clock that hung next to the fridge, it’s incessant ticking acted as a constant reminder of how fucking late Kate was. It was practically eight in the morning. EIGHT in the morning, and she was nowhere to be seen. The day had well and truly begun in fact, and Yelena could hear the quiet chatter of winter-sun tourists as they ambled the streets below on their way to the Galati Grand Bazaar. They were like bees to honey, on their way to barter and bargain. But of course, honey always made the best trap, no? 

A laboured stretch sent Yelena’s shoulder creaking and cracking. She groaned with grim satisfaction as her scapula crunched and released the tightness of a night spent in a less frequented bed. Another coffee would certainly be needed to face the day. Perhaps a third to face Kate Bishop if she really had been so indisposed for so long. Poor thing. She was going to be mad. Like, really, truly mad, and it was one hundred perfect the Russian’s fault. Yelena couldn’t help the mischievous smile that pulled at the corner of her lips. It was a smile that grew exponentially at the sound of an oddly familiar and rather insistent knocking upon her apartment door. 

The Russian returned the small, brass coffee pot to the work surface and threw an appraising glance across her apartment. It was certainly ready for company, as was she. She’d been expecting Kate all night, and Yelena was nothing if not prepared. The ex-assassin casually adjusted her sports bra, drew her unruly blonde hair back into a messy ponytail, and padded her way over to the front door. Another obnoxious rap against the it echoed through the apartment and Yelena’s joyful smile broke out into a full-blown grin. Kate Bishop was mad and that made Yelena Belova insatiably happy. For you see, Kate Bishop was incredibly beautiful when she was mad. Oh yes, incredibly beautiful indeed. Yelena would even go as far as to say that Kate was ‘cute’ when she was angry. But of course, the brunette had other tendencies also. Provoke her and she could be... ‘unpredictable’ was maybe the kind way of putting it. ‘Dumb’ would be a less kind way. Yelena really hoped that Kate was in a dumb mood, because there was one more thing that Kate Bishop was, when she was angry. Kate Bishop was fun. And so, not wanting to spend a moment more without the angered Avenger, Yelena loosened the deadbolt, wiped the smile from her face, in the way that only an international woman of mystery could, and swung open the door. 

“You’re a bitch,” Kate spat before she’d laid eyes on Yelena. Oh yes, this was going to be fun for sure. 

“Good morning to you also, Kate Bishop,” Yelena said coolly as she leaned lazily against the door frame.  

“It is not a good morning, not at all actually.” Kate shook her finger defiantly in Yelena’s direction and the Russian had an incredibly hard time keeping the smile from her face. Oh, this was peak angry Kate Bishop. Yelena’s plan had worked so well. “Do you know why it’s not a good morning, Yelena?” The brunette demanded, shrilly. There was something so delightful, hearing her name said with such unbridled frustration like that.  

Yelena stretched out sleepily and feigned a particularly convincing, body-shaking yawn. “Because you’re hammering on my door at eight am?” Little did Kate know that Yelena had been up since six, waiting.  

“No,” Kate said obstinately. Her nose crinkled rather adorably in exasperation and she crossed her arms to keep them from flailing hysterically. The young Avenger was having to work hard to keep her shit together, and Yelena understood why, she really did. “Because,” Kate continued with a face of thunder, “You tied me to a chair ten hours ago.” 

“Did I do that?” Yelena shrugged nonchalantly. Yes, she absolutely did do that. She tied Kate to a chair very, VERY tightly.  

“Did you do-?” Kate couldn’t finish her sentence, her exasperation had gotten the better of her, and all she could manage was a disbelieving shake of the dead. "You’re unbelievable! YES you did that. You were there! You tied me to a chair, stole the very thing I travelled five thousand miles for and left me there to die.” 

“To die? That is a little dramatic don’t you think?” 

“The janitor found me, Yelena. The janitor!” Kate’s voice almost broke with shame. “I’m supposed to be an Avenger,” Kate hissed and for a moment, Yelena thought she felt an unfamiliar tingle of regret. But no, it was just the coffee repeating on her. There was nothing to regret about this situation. It was all too good. 

“That must have been incredibly embarrassing for you.” Yelena allowed herself to smirk as she knew Kate would hate it. The young Avenger tugged awkwardly at the collar of her super-suit and stood up a little straighter in an attempt to regain some pride and composure.  

“He was actually super sweet and snuck me into the breakfast buffet, no questions asked.” Kate pulled awkwardly at her suit once more and Yelena knew instantly that the brunette had perhaps overindulged. “The feta was out of this world.”  

Now Yelena let herself smile, because yes, Kate Bishop had clearly indulged and yes, Yelena found it undeniably sweet. No judgement please. Food was probably one of the best things in life and woman who enjoys her food, a close second for sure.  

“It really is very good there. And the olives and fruit?” 

“Oh my god!” Kate clapped her hands together in delight, “The fruit was- don’t distract me.” Kate’s face dropped as she caught herself, delight making way for annoyance once more.  

“I’m not distracting-.” Yelena lied casually. It was very easy. 

“Yes, you are. You’re very distracting and you know it.” Kate hadn’t said what she meant to, that didn’t get away from the fact that it was true.  

“If that’s the case, then why are you here?” The blonde asked, already knowing the answer. Kate was there because Yelena had something she needed, something she couldn’t return to Avenger HQ without, and that was exactly why Yelena had taken it.  

“I need the artefact. I came a long way for it, the fate of the Universe is riding on it and I’m not leaving here without it.” Yelena couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped her. She knew that Kate Bishop was prone to a little hyperbole, but the Universe? That piece of shit? Okay darling, whatever you say.  

“So, if it really is so important, what are you going to do about it?” Yelena asked, a playful tone laced within her words. 

Kate set her jaw, and set Yelena firmly within her sights. “I’ll fight you for it.” There it was. The Russian had her right where she wanted her. It had been so easy.  

“Oh really?” Yelena raised an aloof eyebrow. Unlike Kate Bishop, she knew how to play it cool. “That’s interesting. How’d that go for you before? Fighting me?” 

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” The brunette shrugged only a little unconvincingly.  

“And there’s reason for that.” 

“Whatever,” Kate muttered defiantly, “I can hold my own and you know it.” Yelena did know it, she was counting on it, but giving Kate the credit she was looking for wouldn’t serve the Widow’s purposes. She needed her riled up. Angry Kate was fun Kate, remember? 

“Oh, you are capable, for sure, Kate Bishop. I do not doubt that. But this artefact, well, I’m really quite attached to it. It is very beautiful in fact.” Nope, it was a piece of shit. 

“It’s not beautiful. It’s dangerous.”  

“Can something not be both?” Yelena asked hoping beyond hope that Kate caught her meaning. The Russian was rewarded for her endeavour as Kate blinked not once, not twice but three awkward times. A blush crept from under Kate’s collar and spread like wildfire across her cheeks.  

“Umm- I er- aren’t you going to invite me in?” Kate asked, eager to change the subject by completely exacerbating her situation.  

“So, you can try and steal back what I stole?” 

“Yes,” Kate nodded matter-of-factly. 

Yelena smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”  

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a kid you know, I can handle myself.” 

“I am aware,” the Russian nodded curtly and opened the door to her apartment wide. She had nothing to go hide and besides, a Kate Bishop would look great in her apartment. “Would you like a coffee?” 

If it was possible, Kate’s eyes narrowed further. “Is that like... code for something?” 

Oh, they’d finally made it. Kate had transitioned from beautifully angry, to cute, to dumb. In fairness to the brunette, it had taken her longer than Yelena had anticipated but she’d gotten there. “No, it’s English, for would you like a coffee?” 

“Huh?” Kate blinked again in confusion. 

Yep, the brunette was dumb alright. And what made dumb Kate so endearing was the fact that Kate really wasn’t dumb at all. Kate Bishop was a star pupil, she pretty much topped every class. (There was a joke in there somewhere but it wouldn’t be appropriate until later). However, when Kate got emotional, you’d put money on her not being able to think straight. Yes, there was a joke there too. Yelena likes puns. They please her. Deal with it. 

“Look, it is not a trick,” This was probably the first truly honest thing Yelena had said all morning. “If we are going to fight this out, I am going to need more coffee first.” That was the second. “So... would you like one?” The Russian gestured inside her apartment and towards the kitchen. 

Kate craned her neck sceptically to look inside. Probably checking for traps, or bars on the windows. “Do you have oat milk?” The New Yorker asked, because of course she did. 

“No,” Yelena recoiled, disgusted, “We are in Turkey.” 

“Then I will say yes to coffee because you owe me,” The brunette ventured tentatively, “But nothing too strong, thank you.” 

Yelena had to resist the sudden urge to close the door in Kate’s face and call the whole thing off. Instead, she opted for a chiding, “Americans,” and beckoned Kate inside.  

The apartment ceilings were high, but no higher than what Kate was used to. The Bishop penthouse in New York City was much richer and much grander than the apartment they stood in now, but, in Yelena’s humble opinion, it wasn’t nearly as remarkable. 

“This apartment is beautiful, ” Kate gasped in genuine astonishment. Yelena smiled to herself with satisfaction. Clearly Kate shared her opinion. Who wouldn’t? The high ceilings made way for tall and expansive stucco walls that were adorned with hand woven carpets and tapestries, or framed Arabic art. Original wooden floors were generously covered with Anatolian rugs, and the living area played host to an exhibition’s worth of ottoman antiques and relics, and perhaps a few reproductions. A decrepit looking record player held court across the far side of the room, and generously cushioned, wooden loungers lined the walls. Even the kitchen was a work of art. Covered from head to foot with handmade tiles from a pottery just south of the city that worked in the traditional style; it was a blaze of azure, royal blue and white. The patterns were delicate, tessellating and intricate, the tiles themselves were tough mother fuckers. 

Yelena took the coffee pot and spooned some very finely ground coffee into the brassy vessel before she placed it upon the stove. “Thank you,” Yelena said appreciatively. “I like the Ottoman style, Iznik especially. It is like home, but different.” 

It was true. There was something comforting about Istanbul. It was always so alive, so vibrant, and there was always something undiscovered that lay just around the corner, waiting to be found, no matter how many months Yelena spent exploring its streets. But for all the new, it was a city that felt familiar too. Freedom felt like second nature here, whether Yelena was walking the historic streets of Galata, taking in the grand avenues of Taksim Square or tasting the coffee houses of Sultanahmet. Yelena didn’t feel like that in every city, especially in American cities.  

The Russian spared a glance for Kate Bishop. The young Avenger was wandering her apartment absentmindedly, stopping to appreciate a decorative vase or handmade lamp. Yelena smiled to herself knowingly because as she’d already attested to, Kate Bishop was not dumb. Kate Bishop was smart. So smart, she knew when to dumb. 

“You will not find it, Kate,” Yelena said softly. 

“I’m not- I just like the art,” The brunette stuttered as she pointed to a particularly large oil painting of the Golden Horn.  

“Mm hmm,” was Yelena’s amused yet wholly unconvinced response. The ex-assassin and ibrik coffee aficionado took the pot off the stove and poured the thick, brown, bubbling liquid into two small and highly decorated matching cups.  

“We need to lay a few ground rules,” the blonde explained as she closed the distance between herself and the brunette. 

“What?” The young Avenger’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“You’re going to fight me for the artefact, yes?” 

“Absolutely, yes.” Kate nodded enthusiastically as if it were the most natural thing in the world to physically fight your friend... rival... on-again-off-again partner for an artefact from outer-space. 

“Then we are going to need some rules.” Yelena handed Kate her coffee and the younger woman took it with both hands, a wrinkle still evident in her brow. 

“What is this?” Kate sniffed at the hot, caffeinated goodness clutched in her grasp. 

It was Yelena’s turn to blink. Goodness Kate Bishop was dumb, and cute, and dumb. It was true, the blonde was moronsexual and there was nothing that could be done about. “It’s coffee.” 

“It’s tiny.” 

“This isn’t fucking Starbucks.” 

“Yikes, okay. So, I’m just gonna sip it?” 

“I-I...” Yelena was a little lost for words. Why was she like this? “Do whatever you want,” the blonde sighed in dismissively, “Just don’t drink all the way to the bottom.” 

“Why?” Kate asked innocently. This was like pulling teeth, Yelena thought. No, actually, pulling teeth was easier.  

Yelena tried to arrange her face in such a way so that it looked neither frustrated nor duplicitous. “Just trust me.” Kate should absolutely not trust her for many reasons.  

“Ha,” Kate practically guffawed, “After the shit you pulled last night? You’re hilarious.” 

“It’s a gift,” Yelena smiled smugly. The brunette shook her head as an irresistible smile pulled at her lips. Being mad at Yelena Belova for an extended period of time was a difficult task, and Kate was not the goddess’ strongest soldier. It only went to make Kate even cuter and that status was confirmed as she tried and failed to hide the sweetest of nose crinkles as she sipped her bitter coffee with displeasure. There were no seasonal syrups to save Kate Bishop that morning. 

“Now, to the matter at hand. Rule one, no Robin Hood role play.” Kate immediately went to protest but Yelena shut her down with a withering look. The archer shrugged off her bow and quiver reluctantly and left them by the door. “Rule two,” Yelena continued, “Conservation. A lot of this art is priceless, Kate Bishop.” 

“So, you stole it.” 

“And it would pain me to see such beautiful pieces damaged or destroyed. Especially as a fight between us is such a foregone conclusion.”  

Yelena smirked, and it took a moment for Kate to understand her meaning. Once the penny dropped the brunette rolled her eyes disapprovingly. “Oh, fuck you.”  

“Now, now, Kate Bishop, do not get ahead of yourself.” 

“I- wait, what? That’s not fair.” 

“Now,” the blonde continued, skirting around her best laid plans, “Fortunately for the both of us, I have these post-its.” 

Kate frowned as her disdain quickly dissipated, only to be replaced with confusion. “Are we cramming for an exam or something?” 

“No,” Yelena scoffed disapprovingly. Sadly, cute Kate Bishop had devolved back into dumb Kate Bishop, and although endearing for the most part, it was not a good look. “We are putting the little post-its on the pieces I’d prefer you not to throw at me,” the blonde explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Because it was, right? RIGHT? 

“Oh," Kate said, quick with surprise as her eyebrows got lost somewhere high up within her hairline. It was sickeningly sweet and Yelena considered herself rewarded for her patience. “Oh, that actually makes sense.” 

“Right? So, like this plate, it’s thirteenth century so, it is a no-go item. The plate gets a post-it.” Kate pulled a face that said she would be going nowhere near said plate for fear of her life as Yelena pulled a green post-it from her stash and attached it to the very priceless piece of Ottoman heritage. “But this vase,” Yelena gestured to the Iznik style pottery that was sat nestled within some bookshelves, “This is a reproduction so, it is fair game.” 

“What I’m hearing is that I can throw that at you.” 

“Yes,” Yelena smiled happily; Kate was getting it. 

“Noted, what about the oil paintings?” The brunette pointed at two grand paintings that hung either side of the balcony window. 

“Oh no, no, no, no. No.” Yelena shook her head avidly. “These I actually bought. I killed like...five guys for these oil paintings," the blonde explained flippantly. It was easily done, because in reality, Yelena had killed no guys for the oil paintings, but it was fun to keep Kate Bishop on her toes. 

“Oh, good god.” 

“They were really mean guys,” Yelena shrugged. 

Pleading, violet eyes found Yelena’s and the blonde’s stomach lurched in a way that only Kate Bishop could make it do. “Do you promise?” The brunette asked, innocently. God, she was such an idealist, and god if it didn’t make Yelena love her that much more. 

Yelena fixed Kate with the most honest and most sincerest of looks, even though the story was a complete and utter fabrication, because Kate wanted to believe that Yelena was good, and weirdly Yelena also wanted that, more than anything in the world. “Yes, I promise,” she said warmly, "Besides, all guys are mean.” 

“Clint isn-” 

“ All guys are mean,” Yelena repeated, a little louder for those at the back. A moment later and Yelena had thrust a pack of post-its into Kate’s free hand and the two proceeded to walk the room. Kate would point at items and Yelena would nod, yey or ney, breakable or irreplaceable, and Kate would sip her coffee and pout and lament over how the seventeenth century, one of a kind sword that was completely and utterly off limits, would have made a really good weapon.  

Once they’d scoured the apartment, including the bedroom and the bathroom, because who knows where the fight would take them, they returned to the lounge, satisfied with their work. 

“Is that everything?” Kate asked as Yelena appraised the room. It was awash with post-its of ever colour, yellow, green, pink, orange, and Yelena’s favourite, purple. 

“I think so,” the blonde nodded, pleased with their handy work. 

“And you expect me to, mid-fight, adhere to these post-it boundaries?” The brunette raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Yelena responded plainly and raised a questioning eyebrow, “Do you consider it beyond your capabilities?” 

“No,” Kate responded, a little too defensively and Yelena knew she’d hit a nerve.  

Poking at Kate Bishop’s capabilities was practically sport for Yelena. If ever there was a world championship in pissing Kate Bishop off, Yelena would medal in every single event. She just had that Je ne c’est quoi; the ability to crawl under Kate’s skin and occupy space like no one else. Of course, Kate could do the same with her, with even less effort expended. For Yelena, Kate’s mere existence was affecting. 

“Well, then,” the Widow said as she appraised the coffee cup in her hand, “Are you ready?” 

“You’re going to throw that at me, aren’t you?” 

“I was thinking about it but…,” Yelena tutted to herself and shook her head thoughtfully before placing the small cup back onto the kitchen work surface. “I like it too much,” she concluded. And it was true. It was small, very effective at what it did, and had the most perfect companion. And besides, the other half of the matching pair would be so lonely without it, surely it wasn’t worth the rush of blood to the head.  

As Yelena turned her gaze back to Kate, however, she was met with the most mischievous of grins. Yelena gasped, surely she wasn’t thinking… “You wouldn’t,” Yelena was shocked. Not her darling coffee cups.  

“It doesn’t have a post-it on it.” Kate shrugged. The brunette’s logic was sound, and Yelena hated it. She’d laid down the rules of the game. They were her own, and she wound have to abide by them, but surely Kate could make an exception. By the look on Kate’s face, however, it was clear that the self proclaimed ‘best archer in the world’ had absolutely no intention of making any kind of exception. Kate Bishop had identified her first weapon, and it was armed and fully operational.  

Yelena’s eyes widened, “Don’t yo-,” but it was too late. Kate threw the cup with venom. As always Kate’s aim was true, but Yelena’s instincts were quicker. With an effortlessness that would make any member of the Bolshoi Ballet jealous, Yelena deftly plucked the cup from the air. “Cyka,” Yelena hissed in Kate’s direction.  

The brunette merely shrugged once more and smiled with an infuriating indifference. “You tied me to a chair.” 

“You enjoyed it,” Yelena bit back and Kate’s sly smile broke out into a completely unabashed and quite wicked grin. Yes, Yelena thought, delighting in the spark of energy that had ignited instantaneously between them. Kate was angry and she had so much to be angry about. So much more than the previous night. And when Kate Bishop was angry, Kate Bishop was fun and they were about to have a lot of fun.  

The blonde placed her prized coffee cup down next to its partner, took one final readying breath, and quickly closed the distance between herself and the brunette. Yelena was immediately on the attack. She struck quickly and decisively, but Kate was up the task. The jab and the hook were defiantly blocked, but they were merely the distraction. The body blow came next, hard and fast, but Kate anticipated it. She hopped backward and captured Yelena’s wrist in the tightest of grips. Something that only worked to her disadvantage however, as the Widow grabbed their bound hands with her spare and yanked hard to draw Kate to her. The younger woman wheezed as Yelena’s knee collided violently with her stomach, and the air within her lungs was forced out. She stumbled backward and with the most cynical of pushes, the blonde sent the Avenger tumbling into the coffee table.  

Coasters and a coffee table book on the History of the Persian Empire clattered to the floor, along with Kate Bishop herself. Was Yelena holding back? Perhaps. Was Kate holding back? Always. She always did. Even though Kate Bishop wanted nothing more than to beat Yelena in a fair fight, she could never quite deliver that decisive blow. But with the fate of the Universe riding on it, would she muster the courage? 

Yelena marched around the table, ready to mount a sprawled Kate, but the brunette spotted her coming. She needed to move, and move she did, as she sprung away from the oncoming Russian and was quickly back on her feet.  

A ceramic plate flew past Yelena’s ear and shattered loudly upon the tiled floor of the kitchen behind her. The next plate came closer but the ex-assassin deftly dodged it with the slightest of movements. The final plate, Yelena intercepted upon its path. Striking it at the height of its arc and obliterating it into a multiplicity of pieces. Did it hurt? Maybe. Was she bleeding? Most likely. Could she have ducked? There was a high probability. But did it look really cool? One hundred percent yes, and therefore it was one hundred percent worth it. 

Kate grabbed at the fourth and final plate to hurl in Yelena’s direction but cursed loudly as her eyes fell upon the offending article. “Fuck!” It had a post-it. Yelena smirked happily. Not only had Kate temporarily run out of projectiles, she’d also been mindful enough not to cost Yelena extreme financial hardship, because that plate was, what did the Americans say? Dollar.  

The archer returned the plate to its stand as quickly but as delicately as she could and once again, Yelena began to close the distance between them, striding menacingly across the lounge. Kate’s eyes darted around the room quickly in an attempt to identify any potential weapons that she could get her hands on quick. Her eyes lit up as she found her next weapon of choice.  

“Ooof,” Yelena exclaimed as a kilim cushion collided with her. “What was that?!”  

“What?” Kate retorted breathlessly, “It doesn’t have a post-it.” 

“I know but it’s a cush-oof,” another cushion hit Yelena square in the face. The force of it sent her stumbling backwards as the offending article tumbled to the floor. Yelena huffed in frustration. She was being sloppy and she was letting Kate’s unpredictability get the better of her. Yes, of course, she found it endearing, but it was no excuse. The one hot person in your life shouldn’t get a pass simply because they’re disarmingly adorable. Should they? But didn’t Kate always give Yelena a pass, in everything she did? There was the time in London, and then the time in Port Elizabeth, that one had been particularly messy. And then of course there had been Rome. Rome had been particularly messy, and Yelena wasn’t talking about vigilantism. Rome had been messy for other reasons, but yet, still... Yelena had got a pass.  

“Fair enough,” Yelena grumbled begrudgingly. Was that blood in her mouth that she tasted? The cushion had shed blood? The cushion?! Yelena Belova needed to up her game. This was unacceptable and Kate Bishop was going to pay. Oh yes. No pass, not pass this time. Yelena was aggrieved. She cracked her neck with frustration, re-focussed herself and kicked out at the bastard cushion. The down stuffed kilim flew in Kate’s direction and the Avenger was forced to parry it away.  

The distraction was enough. Yelena’s hands were on Kate and within moments, Kate’s head had played destruction derby with the record player in the far corner of the room. Sure, it was a pretty expensive piece of kit, but it was replaceable. Yelena’s pride on the other hand, you couldn’t put a price on it. 

Kate’s desperate hands found an uncased vinyl and shattered it over Yelena’s head. A second vinyl followed as Yelena refused to relinquish her grip on the young Avenger. Suddenly a brutal punch forced the air form her lungs and Kate’s hair slipped through her finger tips. A well-placed kick sealed the deal and sent the blonde staggering backwards.  

The brunette’s hands flew into action. Vinyls were de-sleeved and thrown like frisbees. They smashed against cupboards and walls and shelves. Kate rode her luck as a particularly off-piste vinyl sailed dangerously close to an intricately decorated tea set that had been drowned in post-its for emphasis. Kate’s eyes winded and she swallowed, hard, as the vinyl shattered against the silence.  

Yelena raised a scathing eyebrow. That was close. Too close. That tea set was nineteenth century! Sure, you could buy sets that were- the blonde’s eyes fell upon the empty vinyl sleeve that Kate still held within her hands. No, no, no.   

“Was that Ella Fitzgerald at the JATP?” Yelena snapped, panic evident in her voice.  

“I dunno,” Kate shrugged far too nonchalantly. “It didn’t have a post-it on it,” the brunette appealed as Yelena’s face grew stormier. “What was I supposed do? You left it on the side and, hey… don’t come at me.. don’t you… shit.”  

Books, coasters and reproduction pottery rained down on Kate as her body barrelled into the bookshelf to the right of the post-it adorned television. Sure, Yelena could replace a TV, but not in time for her Turkish soaps at two pm. She’d be furious if she could never find out what happened to the village’s local cat population upon the appearance of Erhan’s evil twin brother, Umit.   

Almost as furious as she became when Kate parried not one, not two, but three punches in quick succession. Yelena growled in frustration and Kate Bishop grinned. Blood stained her smile and a fervour for the fight danced in her eyes. Kate was enjoying herself immensely and Yelena’s heart stopped in its tracks. Kate was always finding was to surprise Yelena, most of them were dumb or sweet or kind. But sometimes they were like this. They stirred feelings within her that no one else could possibly illicit. Feelings that caused things to get messy. Like Rome messy. And seeing Kate look at her like that, a lust for the fight painted darkly across such gentle, beautiful features, well, Yelena got the distinct impression that Istanbul could become the new Rome. Which was ironic if you know your history.   

A brutal kick caught Yelena off guard. A second kick broke her defences, and the third sent her into the console to the left of the TV. A vase filled with the most beautiful of flowers tottered precariously for a moment and then smashed to the floor before Yelena could leap to save it. She groaned a little, as did Kate. No post-it but they were really nice flowers.  

A second later and brunette’s hands were in her hair. They tugged, hard, and under different circumstances Yelena might have asked Kate to pull even harder, but that morning Kate wasn’t pulling her hair in a fit of passion, oh no, she wanted Yelena to submit. For a moment the blonde had forgotten that Kate wasn’t fighting for fun like she was, Kate was fighting for a cause.  

The Russian’s head was driven down and Kate’s right arm was round her neck in an instant. She was trying to get Yelena into a headlock and it was going pretty well for the younger woman. Yelena could feel the pressure building on her pulse point which meant the blood-choke was almost locked in.  

The Black Widow was going to have to take extreme action and do something she really didn’t want to do. Sure, she was fighting for fun, but that didn’t mean she wanted to lose. Ever. Especially to Kate. And so, Yelena’s hands found Kate’s clasped ones and with regret prized her strong fingers back until the young Avenger yelped in pain and relinquished the choke.   

“Fuck! That really hurt,” Kate cried as she shook her hand in an attempt to shake away the pain in her digits.  

“I’m sorry,” Yelena breathed heavily, hands on her knees as she took a moment to regain her breath, “I couldn’t help it.” 

“You could have just let me win.” 

“In what universe do you think I would let that happen?” 

“Probably none but- woah!” Exclaimed Kate as she ducked an assaulting paper weight. “That could have brained me.” 

“Maybe,” Yelena said as she grabbed Kate by the lapels, “It would have knocked some sense into you.” The two staggered backwards together. They passed the broken coffee table, bounced off the door frame that lead into the sea-green tiled bathroom and bundled into the shower, tearing the curtain from its railing as they went.  

“Well, maybe,” Kate retorted as she wrestled with Yelena upon the mosaic floor of the shower, “Maybe you need to learn how to be a better loser.” 

Yelena gasped with shock. She was absolutely and utterly outraged. “I am a great loser.” 

“Says the woman - ooof- who claims - argh - to have never- ugh - ever - uff - lost a fight.” 

That was it. Kate had done it now. Yelena’s strong hands took hold of her, one in Kate’s hair and one around her belt, as the blonde hauled the brunette up off the ground and towards the toilet. Kate Bishop was getting dunked. Fuck Rome, fuck London, fuck Port Elizabeth. Fuck their dysfunctional and turbulent relationship.  

The brunette struggled as she sensed the inevitable. She twisted and turned but Yelena had a commanding grip. There was no escape as the toilet drew closer and closer. There was only one thing left for Kate to do, only one way out, and that was to beg.  

“Please, Yelena! Please, no, no, no, no.” But the blonde persevered with the struggling brunette locked in her grasp. And then Kate said it, a word that she knew would hit harder than any well placed blow. A word that was more effective than any strategy. More immediate than an arrow fired from Kate’s bow. And more off limits than any other word she knew.  

“Please, sweetheart.”  

Yelena’s grip loosened in an instant as her breath caught painfully in her throat. Kate’s soft hair fell through her fingers once more and just like that Yelena’s chest hurt. The brunette hadn’t meant it, Yelena knew that. It was a physical fight, not an emotional one and Kate’s words weren’t meant to cause pain. They’d just… come out. It was instinct with them, and that was their problem. Everything about them was instinct. Everything about them was so natural, so right. Their connection was instantaneous and no matter how hard they tried it was completely and unequivocally unshakable.  

This fight, this stupid dance that they always did, was avoidance. For Yelena, it was much easier to punch someone in the face, call it fun and apologise afterwards than fuck someone’s brain out and pretend it meant nothing. Especially when the fucking someone’s brains out came part of a buy one get one free deal with feelings. Feelings that neither of them had of course. There were no feelings here. None at all.  

An elbow connected painfully with Yelena’s nose and her head snapped back violently.  

Yelena scrambled backwards on the tiled floor and got to her feet as she glared darkly in Kate’s direction. Cyka. What an absolute bitch. To call her that… that word and then do that. That was a cheap shot and they both knew it.  

“That was not in the rules,” Yelena huffed as she checked her nose for blood.  

“Your nose doesn’t have a frickin’ post-it on it,” Kate retorted as she hauled herself to her feet.  

“That’s not what I-.” 

“How about we stay out of the bathroom, huh?”  

Yelena’s frown deepened. Kate wanted to ignore her slip. Fine. Yelena was about to take no prisoners.  

The blonde nodded her agreement. The bathroom was now a no go area. “I can work with that.” 

“Good.” Kate nodded.   

“Good.” Yelena bit back. The atmosphere had changed and Kate knew it. She swallowed in anticipation. “We go now?” Yelena asked, eyebrow raised. Oh she was ready to go alright.  

Kate set herself and her brow crinkled with apprehension. She knew she’d fucked up but she wasn’t going to admit it. “Sure.” 

And so they went again. Trading blows and kicks and throws. They stumbled into cushioned seating, landed punches in the kitchen and hurled each other into the bedroom and onto the bed. Kate used her long legs and strong arms to pin Yelena in place as the blonde twisted her hips and shoulders violently in an attempt to escape the young Avenger’s clutches.  

“I can smother you, right?”  

“Sure,” Yelena said through gritted teeth. “Until I tap.” 

“Cool, cool,” Kate nodded as she reached for one of the many pillows that lay scattered upon the bed.  

“Which I won’t,” the blonde spat and took her chance.  

The top sheet was around Kate’s neck quicker she ever could have ever thought possible. Driven by frustration, hurt and a determination to win, Yelena flipped Kate and began to apply pressure. The brunette’s hands clawed desperately at the sheet and then Yelena’s face, but it was all a distraction. Kate had managed to free her legs and moments later landed a painful blow to Yelena’s ribs. The Widow’s grip loosened, just enough, and Kate wriggled free.  

The fight continued back into the lounge. Both fighters were tired and their movements laboured. Kate slammed Yelena into the mammoth American-style fridge-freezer, sending the ice maker into overdrive. It spewed its guts across the tiled floor and the two women had to work doubly hard to avoid the miniature slip hazards.  

Yelena had to think twice about throwing Kate off the balcony but Kate showed no mercy as she wrapped her hands around the blonde’s neck and slammed her hard, through one of large oil painting that dominated the room.   

“Woah, woah, woah!” Yelena protested and Kate stopped in her tracks, her face marred with confusion.  

“What?” She asked breathlessly as she let go of the ex-assassin.  

“It has a fucking post-it on, that’s what!” Kate’s face dropped. “I don’t even know how much this is going to cost to fix.” 

“It’s a little post-it for such a big painting.” 

“You were there when I stuck it on!” 

“Can’t you just replace it?” 

“Right because there’s another.” Yelena’s voice was thick with sarcasm.  

“Exactly. Yeah.” Kate was breathing heavily and Yelena was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She must have hit her head because the stupidity she was currently demonstrating was beyond dumb.  

That painting was priceless. One of a kind. Irreplaceable. And Yelena was completely and utterly fucked. She’d have to replace it with a knock off and pray. In the meantime, she had an idiot archer to deal with. She would be punished and punished well.  

Kate didn’t stumble over the coffee table this time. Kate went through the coffee table. And there was no way Yelena was giving her the chance to recover. The Black Widow was on Kate in an instant. This fight over. It was going to be over, and Yelena was going to win. Then she would smile, laugh, and tend to Kate’s wounds, and maybe undress her a little and then she would put as much distance between herself and her archer as possible. Just like she always did. Until next time the distance got to much and she went in search of another Rome. Rome was messy, sure, but Rome was the happiest she’d been. When was she going to learn that kind of happiness was unattainable, unsustainable, for people like her? When was she going to stop chasing? 

Her knee drove Kate face first into the ground, her hands claimed Kate’s arm and her strength flipped the both of them onto their backs. It was over in seconds. Kate tapped.  

Submission was always Yelena’s method of choice for beating Kate. When she tapped, and she would tap, no one got hurt. Yelena couldn’t live with herself if Kate got hurt.  

“Are you okay?” Yelena asked through the most ragged of breaths as she lay next to a spent Kate upon the Anatolian rug.  

“Yeah…,” Kate nodded as she stared up at the ornate ceiling rose that adorned the ceiling. “You?” 

Kate wasn’t asking if Yelena was injured. Kate was asking about the other thing. The ‘sweetheart’ thing. The blonde sighed heavily in an attempt to exorcise the tightness within her chest.  

“Yes,” she said softly. It was only half a lie. She wasn’t angry. Not really. Not at Kate. It wasn’t Kate who ran. It wasn’t Kate who couldn’t vocalise the way she felt. It wasn’t Kate who sabotaged Yelena’s missions and left her tied to a chair in an Istanbul conference hotel because that was easier than saying, ‘hey, I kind of like you’.  Nope. That was Yelena.  

“I’m okay,” Yelena sighed but offered Kate the smallest of smiles. “My bank account, maybe not so much. But, I had fun.”  

“Me too, me too.” Kate offered Yelena a gentle smile in return and the blonde felt her defences falter. “I’ve missed this,” said Kate. It was practically a whisper and Yelena’s chest felt tight all over again.  

Her eyes searched the ceiling for some divine inspiration. For the words that would fix the fucking mess she’d created, that would somehow magically communicate everything she’d ever wished she could say to Kate Bishop. How exquisitely beautiful she was. How connected she felt. How seen she felt. How Kate was the only person who had ever made her feel anything and the only person she ever wanted to make her feel anything ever again. But instead, all she could say was, “Me too,” before she dragged her battered and bruised body up off the apartment floor and over to the TV stand to retrieved a post-ited vase. The Widow turned it upside down in her hands, and out fell a small keyring with a singular key attached. Yelena placed it delicately upon what was left of the coffee table.  

“There is a storage locker in the metro next to Hagia Sofia. You will find what you’re looking for there.” 

“What?” With great effort, Kate sat up, confusion etched across her face. “But... I -” 

“Lost? Yes, you did,” Yelena nodded matter-of-factly, “But I didn’t say you had to win.” 

Kate pushed herself to her feet. The brunette seemed a little unsteady and Yelena studied her closely, just in case. She might throw her through a coffee table but she would never let Kate fall. “I don’t understand,” she frowned.  

“I said you fight me for it, and you did. So there’s the key.” 

Kate’s frown deepened. “So…this was just a game?” 

“Isn’t it always?” Yelena shrugged, far too casually for Kate’s liking. Because for Kate, none of this was a game, it was simply something she accepted. If she wanted Yelena, this back and forth, this was how she could have her. Kate was just waiting patiently, until Yelena would let her really have her.  

“And the artefact, you’re just going to let me walk away with it?” Kate’s voice rose almost imperceptibly.  

“Yes,” Yelena nodded stoically causing a lightening strike of contempt to flash across Kate’s delicate features.  

“Did you ever care about it in the first place?”  

“No, not really,” the blonde folded her arms and leaned against the still stuttering fridge- freezer. “I just thought it might be fun, to take it from you, seeing as you wanted it so badly.” 

“Fun? FUN? You TIED me to a CHAIR.” 

“Sounds like fun to me,” Yelena quirked a playful eyebrow in hope that flirting might dig her out of this hole. It wouldn’t.  

“Do you know how close I was to peeing myself?”  

“Dangerously close, I imagine. You have very beautiful skin, Kate Bishop, so I am going to make the assumption that you are very well hydrated.” 

“Don’t compliment me when I’m angry at you!” Kate snatched at the keys that lay upon the coffee table angrily and turned away from Yelena’s unreadable, hazel eyes.  

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” 

“No, Yelena, no,” Kate spun upon her heel, marched across the apartment and jabbed Yelena angrily in the chest. She was seething. Truly seething and it didn’t bode well for either of them. Because sure, Kate was fun when she was angry, but this was something else. This was a woman who had run out of patience. This was rage. “You can help it. This isn’t a game. It’s a-.” 

“Case of multiversal security, I know, I know.” Yelena tried to sooth the younger woman, the woman she cared agonisingly deeply for, by gently capturing her hands within her own, but the brunette pulled away.   

“Yes, there’s big scary stuff at stake, but when we fight like this…,” Kate sighed a heavy sigh, laden with exasperation. “Yelena someone could get hurt, I could have hurt you.”  

Kate’s sentiment was sweet, wonderful and caring. It was everything she was. And of course, it was everything Yelena’s brain was trained to reject. Affection, love, empathy; and so she said something dumb like, “Bold of you to think that.” 

Kate laughed, a quiet cynical laugh. “Fine, whatever. You could have hurt me.”  

Yelena almost gasped. She wanted to reach for Kate once more but thought better of it. The brunette would only retreat from her further. “I would never hurt you,” Yelena said quietly. It was a lie of course. Yelena hurt Kate all the time.  

“You’d never hurt me?” Kate’s asked doubtingly. Her rage had dissipated now. It had been replaced with something more familiar. A sad acceptance that Yelena could never change.  

“No,” Yelena lied again and a familiar silence fell between the two women.  

“Do you realise how messed up this all is?” Kate asked despondently. She was tired, tired of the chase, tired of Yelena. Tired of loving her but not being allowed to admit it.   

“I’m messed up,” Yelena offered quietly. It was the only thing Yelena could say. It was her excuse that she hid behind. Her security for when things got too much. She could wrap herself up in it, protect herself from the damage a love that burned as brightly as Kate’s could do.   

When this whole thing started, Kate had tried to fight against Yelena’s instincts. She tried to convince Yelena they could work. She’d never told the ex-assassins how she loved her, because she didn’t have to, it was so obvious. Almost as obvious as Yelena’s love for Kate which is why Yelena always ran.  

“It’s in the locker?” Kate asked.  

“Yes,” Yelena nodded, “The number is on the key ring.” 

“2212…” Kate‘s eyes were suddenly upon her and violet met hazel. “The day we met.” She’d known instantly, of course she had. Yelena could have practically punched herself in the face. That was sloppy. So sloppy. And it gave Kate a lifeline.  

“Coincidence,” Yelena shrugged. She’d been doing a lot of that lately.  

Kate rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that teased at the corner of her lips. The date. The date had done it. “You’re a really bad liar.” 

“No, I’m not,” Yelena replied haughtily. Yelena was a fantastic liar. She was the fucking Picasso of lying, just not when it came to Kate Bishop.  

The brunette leant back against the kitchen work surface and let out a long, shuddering breath. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head once more. She was chastising herself for whatever thoughts she was thinking. They were hopeful thoughts, Yelena knew it.  

“Yelena, why don’t you just….” Kate caught herself mid sentence. Yelena’s brow crinkled. Why didn’t she just what? 

Kate chewed anxiously upon her lower lip and Yelena wanted nothing more but to draw Kate into her arms, capture her mouth with hers and bite down gently upon that lip. Instead she simply asked, “What?” 

The young Avenger released another ragged breath. Kate was trying to find the words, as well as the courage to say them and Yelena found herself wishing she couldn’t and wouldn’t. For Yelena would only let her down again. Kate would ask Yelena to join her, join her team of state-sanctioned vigilantes, and Yelena would say no and retreat into the night. Kate’s heart would be broken but she’d pretend that everything was fucking sunshine and rainbows, and she’d go back to doing the thing she was born to do. Saving the world. She didn’t need Yelena for that.  

Violet met hazel once again and Yelena knew it was coming and so before the words could fell fall from Kate’s mouth she tore her eyes away. “Come with me,” Kate pleaded. “Come back to New York. With me.” And there it was.  

“That is not my life, Katherine.”  

“And yet you do this every time, right? You show up, we fuck around, you disappear again.” Oh, the rage was back. Like properly back. It was like a switch had been flicked, the woman was practically shaking. “When are we going to stop fucking around, huh?”  

Yelena was speechless. Kate had never yelled at her like this before. She’d never fought for them like this before. It had always been gentle words, pleading eyes and soft kisses. But wow. Kate Bishop was furious.  

“I-we…” Really fucking furious. What the fuck do you do with that?  

“I don’t have time for your shit, Yelena.” Kate jabbed another angry finger in Yelena’s direction and the Russian actively recoiled in fright. What the fuck was happening? “I should be back in New York by now but instead I’m here, fighting you for something I should already have in my possession, something that could literally be the difference between the world ending or not ending, and you treat it like it’s a game. This is not a fucking game.” 

“Do you mean us or…” 

“Both goddammit!”  

Kate actually stamped her foot. Like properly. Stamped. Yelena was awestruck. Dumbfounded. Silenced. Weak. Completely and utterly in love. Fuck. She needed Kate to leave. Right now. Kate needed to leave before something happened. Something like Yelena tearing off Kate’s stupid purple suit.  

“You’re right, you’re totally right. Go to the locker. I promise what you’re looking for is in there. After that, you do not need to see me again.” It was the right thing to do. Yelena was maddening, she knew that, because she was the one who had to live with herself twenty-four-seven. She had to live knowing that she loved someone so desperately, it frightened her into complete and utter inaction. She had to live with the ache within her chest that never left her. She had to live knowing that she was hurting Kate in order to spare her a hurt much greater.  

Black Widows weren’t meant for love. They weren’t meant for life either.  

“Yelena, that’s not what I want.” Kate rubbed the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I just… I want this all the time. This special brand of crazy shit that’s just us, all the time, every day.” 

Why wasn’t she leaving? Why was she still there and saying these things? Yelena should have known this was going to happen. She should have known that one of these days she’d push Kate Bishop too far.  

“Aren’t you tired of this? This back and forth? Because I’m tired, Yelena. I’m tired of letting you walk away every time. You don’t get to decide that anymore.” 

Kate pushed herself from the work surface and willed her legs to carry her to the blonde. “No offence, sweetheart,” Yelena was done for. “But now I’m a proper Avenger, I deal with scarier shit than you on the daily.” 

“You sure don’t fight like it,” Yelena huffed, pride clearly a little sore.  

“Total bullshit,” Kate hissed angrily.  

“You were better than last time.” 

“Last time you cheated!” 

Yelena gasped. The accusation! The cheek of it. The cheek of this girl. “No I did not.” 

“You kissed me mid-fight! That’s cheating one-oh-one, you’re a cheater!” 

“Takes one to know o-.”  

Whether it was her aching body, the early start or the fact that Yelena secretly wanted Kate’s mouth somewhere on her body at all times, Yelena failed to evade Kate’s lips when they crashed against her own.  

She should have left. She should have run. As soon as angry Kate evolved into her new and perhaps final form, wrathful Kate, Yelena should have fled into the streets of Istanbul, never to be seen again. Because this kiss, this kiss said one thing and one thing only and that was that Yelena was Kate’s. Completely and utterly Kate’s. And she wasn’t going to accept any of Yelena’s bullshit excuses anymore. She was being claimed and Yelena felt weak and ravenous all at the same time. 

Hands closed around her biceps and pushed her back, hard, against the fridge-freezer. Claimed see?  

For one agonising moment their lips separated as Yelena’s head clattered against the fridge door, sending more ice cubes scattering across the kitchen floor. But no sooner had their lips parted did Kate capture them once more. The brunette’s tongue grazed the blonde’s bottom lip torturously before biting ever-so-gently, coaxing Yelena’s lips open to give her the access she wanted. The smaller woman couldn’t help but moan weakly into Kate’s kisses as the brunette’s tongue entered her mouth and met her own.  

Yelena fought gently against the grip that Kate had on her, Yelena wanted to run her finger tips through Kate’s hair and feel her palms against her flesh, but the younger woman refused to relent. It seemed as if their physical confrontation was yet to be over, as Kate held her fast against the fridge. “Stay,” she whispered forcefully against Yelena’s lips. It wasn’t a request. It was an instruction. And who was Yelena to disobey? 

Lips left hers, only to find her neck. Hot kisses trailed their way across the soft skin there as finger tips found their way beneath the hem of her sweatpants to grip the flesh of her hips and pull them flush with Kate’s. Fuck, Kate had never been like this with her before. Yelena had always been the instigator. Always. Because, it had always been Yelena who could end everything in a moment. Everything had been on her terms, in her control, and Kate had always acquiesced, but she was acquiescing no longer.  

Yelena gasped as Kate’s teeth grazed her skin and her nails marked her. She had never felt anything like this before, no one had like this with her before, because Kate had been the only one. She had been safe and patient and receptive. She’d moaned and gasped for Yelena, screamed for Yelena, cum for Yelena, and the blonde had simply watched in quiet eyed wonder as she did so.  

Kate was so beautiful. Her smile, her eyes, her grace and generosity. So generous that she’d never pushed Yelena, she’d never wrestled away control. For Yelena had been a dictator when it came to their love making. She’d written the script, dictated the action. She’d always know what was coming next, but now, now she had no idea what was coming. Where Kate would kiss her next, touch her next, take her next. And Yelena had never felt anything quite so exhilarating.  

Kate’s thigh took its place between her legs and all Yelena could do was bury her hands in Kate’s hair as the brunette gripped her hips, pulled them close and began to grind gently into her.  

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Kate hissed breathlessly against the sensitive skin that lay just below Yelena’s right ear. Her words sent an uncontrollable shiver down Yelena’s spine as a burning hot blush crept down the blonde’s neck and across her already heaving chest. Yelena didn’t know what she wanted more, to fuck or be fucked. What was happening? 

She’d only ever wanted Kate, ever. There had been no one else. After the Red Room Yelena’s desire for new experiences had never really extended as far as sex. There wasn’t any time. There was so much more to discover, and so she did. Every hit album, every cult-classic, every food of the nineties and every fashion mistake from the naughties. Never once had she been interested in sex, that was until Kate had come along. Their connection had been instant and inescapable.  

Of course, at first, Yelena had tried to run. Sparks were scary, especially when the person experiencing the spark had never experienced anything like it before. She hadn’t known what the tightness in her chest meant, where the butterflies in her stomach had come from or how to get rid of her heat that burned just a few inches below. But then, one night in London, she’d tasted it. She’d tried Kate, tasted her, felt the unrivalled warmth and love that she could give, and Yelena was condemned to love. And so she continued their cycle, this chase, this game that they played; by Yelena’s rules. Until now. These weren’t Yelena’s rules, these were Kate’s and they’d landed them in completely uncharted territory.  

With Kate’s hot breath upon Yelena’s neck, her strong, dictating finger-tips dug deep into her hips, and the excruciatingly good pressure from her very purposefully placed thigh – Kate was writing new rules of her own. It was a risk, a risk pushing Yelena too far. A risk to wrestle away control. But it was a risk that Kate was willing to take as it was now or never. Kate was done, enough was enough, and so this was her final roll of the dice. Kate’s final challenge to the Russian. This was how Kate felt, these are her wants, her needs and her desires. Accept them, covet them, honour them and protect them all, or walk away.  

Yelena gasped as the friction began to burn brightly and beautifully between her legs. Kate was making it really hard to walk away. 

Hands relinquished their grip upon Yelena’s hips as the two women fell easily into an unspoken and inevitable rhythm. As Kate’s lips found Yelena’s once more, her finger-tips ghosted across the smooth skin of Yelena’s stomach, danced over her ribs and then grazed lazily across the thin material of her sports bra. The blonde moaned against Kate’s lips as the brunette’s thumbs traced insistent patterns across her breasts and her short nails scratched just painfully enough against her nipples. Yelena’s body responded and her hips fought to maintain their rhythm. Every kiss, every touch, every bite sent jolts of electricity through the blonde’s body. With every kiss, Yelena felt Kate’s love. Every touch, her tenderness. Every bite, her desire for Yelena. It was almost too much to bear. It was consuming her in a way that she’d never expected. And she was discovering that she wanted nothing more than to be consumed by Kate Bishop.  

Yelena’s moans of pleasure turned to groans of discontent as Kate’s hands abandoned her breasts. But Yelena’s groans were quickly replaced by a yelp of surprise as Kate stooped down, hooked her hands behind Yelena’s knees and lifted her into the air with ease.  

“What are you doing?” Yelena asked breathlessly. This had happened never before. Ever. But Kate’s smile said everything it needed to. Yelena was allowing Kate to love her, and Kate had noticed.  

“You,” Kate whispered determinedly. The taller woman’s pupils were dilated and her skin flushed. Yelena could practically feel the exhilaration radiating from the other woman. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.  

The blonde secured her arms around Kate’s neck and allowed the taller woman to carry her from the kitchen, through the vinyl graveyard, past the flattened coffee table and over to kilim couches that lined the far walls of the lounge, trading kisses as they went.  

“So strong,” Yelena whispered teasingly against Kate’s lips. She was reward as she felt the brunette smile into their kiss.  

“I’ve been working out,” Kate boasted as she deposited Yelena gently down upon the couch and settled snuggly between her legs. The blonde hands went to Kate’s hips in an instant, urging her to continue her rather wonderful work.  

“I should hope. You have many universes to save.” 

“I think you’ll find it’s multiverses actually.” 

“Are you saying I’m wrong?” Yelena asked as she threw Kate her best ‘now is not the time to fuck with me’ eyes.  

Kate allowed herself to smile wider and she shook her head gently, “I would never dream of it.” The brunette sealed the promise with a kiss before her fingers-tips found their way under Yelena’s T-shirt once more. This time, to do away with it.  

Lips trailed torturously slowly down Yelena’s stomach. They paused to pay close and loving attention to the freckles or small scars that adorned Yelena’s body. They skirted across the tops of her hips where Kate’s teeth nipped at the skin there, much to Yelena’s delight. All of this was new and all of it felt so oddly exciting. It was lust, love and curiosity all bundled together into one heady concoction and Yelena wanted to drown in it.  

With the gentlest of looks from Kate, Yelena knew to lift her hips and let the archer drag the waist band of her sweatpants down. The feel of Kate’s rough knuckles against the tops of her thighs was enough to make Yelena want to scream. It was never like this, never slow like this. Yelena would always undress Kate, and by now she knew how to get the Avenger out of her super-suit faster than you could say ‘there’d been a catastrophic shift in our multi-versal timey-wimey’. She’d take Kate’s clothes off, she’d stamp off whatever suit she was wearing and they’d fall into bed. This was different, this just as exciting but… it was something else. It was intimate. Intimacy. The thing that scared Yelena most. Because intimacy wasn’t just about physical closeness. Sexual closeness. Intimacy was about honesty. It was knowing someone deeply, and being open to let them know you. To let them know the ghosts of your past that haunt your present, to let them know everything you want for your future and the obstacles you fear will put that all at risk. Intimacy was trust. It was trusting someone with all of that shit, and not worrying they’ll run. Kate was asking to be trusted and Yelena was trying desperately not to worry.  

Super-suits, T-shirts, sweatpants and sports bras laid discarded on the antique rug as hot lips peppered even hotter kisses across her chest, and teasing teeth captured her nipples as Yelena gasped for air and lost her hands in Kate’s thick dark hair.  

Soon those very same lips were leaving hot, flushed skin in their wake as they descended across Yelena’s toned stomach, into the dip of her waist and the feminine curve of her hips. Finally they rounded upon their destination of choice. It wasn’t where Yelena wanted them most but at that moment it was exactly where Yelena needed her. Kate smiled widely as she pressed her lips against the inside of Yelena’s thighs and the blonde could only watch in awe.  

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she was beautiful. And naked. And beautiful. Kate Bishop was practically perfect in every way. Her figure athletic and yet so gently curved and soft and kissable and biteable. Her ivory skin that flushed whenever Yelena did all of the above. Her expressive eyes, her warm smile. Her lips that at that very moment were so soft against her thighs and yet her finger tips that were so very rough. Yelena thought she was going to lose her mind, or what was left of it.  

Violet eyes found hazel just as assertive fingers found the waistband of the only item of clothing that still separated them. Yelena’s boxer briefs. Simple, practical, efficient. Kate’s lips pressed against her inner thighs once more as her eyes sought permission.  

This was Yelena’s last chance. Last chance to turn back. Last chance to throw up those walls. Last chance to continue the cycle. It was also Yelena’s last chance at true happiness. Happiness like she felt in Rome for those precious moments they’d spent together, spent and exhausted in that hotel room. Moments before Yelena’s fear had got the better of her. Fear of getting hurt, fear that she would and could hurt.  

No. Istanbul wasn’t going to be the new Rome. History wouldn’t repeat itself. Istanbul was going to be Istanbul. The line in the sand. The place where everything changed. Yelena wanted to be intimate. She wanted to give herself up to Kate. And so, with the most imperceptible of nods, a nod that only Kate ever could and would decipher, she did.   

Within moments Yelena’s briefs had joined the rest of the clothes on the rug. Her chest heaved in anticipation as Kate kissed closer and closer to where she needed her. Kate had never touched her like this. She’d never been touched like this before by anyone. She’d always been the one on top, always in control and never at someone else’s mercy. But that’s what she was, as soon as Kate’s mouth was on her, that’s what she was. She was at Kate’s mercy.  

Yelena couldn’t control herself. She gasped as Kate’s tongue tasted her for the first time. Kate’s grip upon Yelena’s thighs intensified as lust tightened its grip upon the Avenger. The brunette’s tongue grazed gently over the tight bundle of nerves that were begging for her attention and the blonde’s hips bucked as a dizzying concoction of agony and pleasure swept her body. It was sharp and tight and deep and hot and everything pleasure and pain should be.  

The blonde’s finger tips pulled firmly at Kate’s dark brown hair, she needed her closer, she needed more of her. The brunette moaned against her and the sensation stimulated inside her was unreal.  It only encouraged Yelena to pull harder as she grasped and thrashed against Kate’s tongue, against her teeth and against her lips. It drove Yelena that much crazier.  

With a look that would have killed lesser women and a desperate nod of agreement from Yelena, Kate’s strong fingers joined her cause and within moments they were inside of Yelena.   

Quite quickly and quite suddenly everything became too much but in the most wonderful of ways. Yelena hadn’t known what it would be like, to feel someone inside of her like this. Hadn’t known if she’d like it like they say you should. Now she knew, when it was Kate Bishop, she more than liked it, she needed it.  

Kate worked her fingers so unbelievably deep, Yelena felt fit to burst. She was already so close. That was a feeling she was certainly familiar with, and as much as she didn’t ever want Kate’s mouth to stop whatever it was doing down there, she also didn’t want to cum anywhere else but in Kate’s arms.  

With a tender hand, Yelena captured Kate’s chin and gently turned the brunette’s violet eyes to meet hers. For the briefest of moments Yelena found worry there. Had Kate fucked up? Had she gone too far? Was it not good? But a wanting look from Yelena quelled any worries Kate had. With a soft tug of her finger-tips underneath Kate’s chin, Yelena coaxed her back up the length of her body. Kate left hot kisses against Yelena’s wanting skin as she ascended, until finally she captured Yelena’s lips with her own. The blonde kissed the women she loved fiercely and ferociously. She breathed her in so desperately as if she wanted to fill her lungs with Yelena. As if she wanted to fill her veins with Yelena as Kate worked inside of her.  

Yelena could taste herself upon Kate’s lips. It was probably the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced and she wouldn’t have wanted to experience it with anyone else. The more she clung to Kate, the more their lips crashed together, the more the tightness inside of her grew and the less she found herself caring about where she ended and Kate began.  

“Can you cum like this?” Kate whispered raggedly against Yelena’s lips. She was breathless and yet Yelena knew Kate would go forever if that’s what it took.  

Yelena knew she needed to communicate but she’d found herself at a point where using words had drifted beyond her capabilities. She’d always been pretty loquacious but Kate Bishop had finally found a way to shut her up. She had no smart ass comment or retort. All she could do was press her lips to Kate’s and nod desperately. Yes, she could cum like this. In Kate’s arms, her lips against Yelena’s and Kate’s smooth voice in her ear offering her the softest words of encouragement.   

“Good”. Kate smiled broadly against Yelena’s lips before setting out to explore the blonde’s mouth with her tongue once more. The brunette’s expedition then took her south, to explore the softness of Yelena’s neck, the beauty in her collarbone, the suppleness of her breasts and the hardness of her nipples, as Yelena’s finger-tips dug into the flesh of Kate’s shoulders, clinging on for her dead life.  

As the irresistibly tight heat grew within the pit of her stomach Yelena’s thoughts seemed to gain clarity. A single-mindedness she’d not benefited from for what felt like forever.  

This was intimacy. The closeness, the tenderness, the rough and the soft. This was intimacy. As Kate rested her forehead against Yelena’s, as she mumbled words of praise and encouragement, as words rolled off her tongue like ‘love’ and ‘beautiful’, as she begged Yelena to cum for her. This was intimacy. When Yelena fell apart in Kate’s arms for the very first time, with Kate’s name on her lips and with Kate’s skin under her nails. This was intimacy. When Kate brought her to the brink again and sent her crashing over the edge once more. When they rode out Yelena’s orgasms together. When Kate held her close and kissed her deeply as Yelena’s chest heaved and her breathing slowly returned to normal. When Kate rested her hand upon her chest, just above Yelena’s heart and tapped out its disheveled tattoo. When Kate looked at her like there was no one else in the entire world, and there never would be ever again. This was intimacy.   

Both women rested contentedly in each other’s arms. The sound from the now busy city floated through the balcony from the street below. There was tourist chatter, insistent beeping from a moped navigating the crowd and calls from the street sellers. A popular Turkish love song rang out from the radio of an idling car. Yelena had heard it before but couldn’t remember who it was by. Inside, however, inside was still. It was them. And Yelena revelled in the feel of it as Kate’s thumb played lazily across her kiss-swollen lips. It traced the dips and curves, and Yelena couldn’t resist the urge to capture it within her mouth to suck and bite down gently. She grinned wickedly with Kate’s thumb between her teeth as she noticed the brunette’s breath catch in her throat at the sight of it.  

Yelena captured Kate’s hand and pressed a firm kiss against her palm as their fingers intertwined. Goodness, did Yelena adore this woman. The feel of her skin against her own. The subtle sound of her breathing at the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The warmth in her smile, silent wonder in her eyes. Kate must have been wondering if all this was real, if she’d really managed to achieve the impossible after all this time. Yelena in her arms, to keep and to hold. To love and to be loved by.  

“Can I go?” Yelena asked quietly, her voice even more hoarse than it usually was. She must have been calling Kate’s name a little louder than she’d realised. Prayers for the street vendors.  

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Go? You don’t normally ask permission.” 

“Yes,” Yelena nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “As in, my turn.” 

“Oh, so you want to stay? Is that what I’m hearing?” Kate asked teasingly. Of course, it wasn’t actually a tease when Yelena had left so many times before. Kate was making a point.  

“Yes,” Yelena answered earnestly as she searched for Kate’s eyes and gripped her hand tight. “I want to stay.”  

“Okay….” Their eyes met and Kate’s violet orbs were filled with apprehension. This was the moment. The moment where Kate had to relinquish her dominance. The moment it went back to the way it had always been. The moment Kate risked letting go of Yelena only to watch her leave. But Yelena had a plan. Yelena always had the best plans.  

“Why don’t you…,” she said as she rose to her knees and very gently coaxed Kate down and into the pillows, “Tell me exactly what you want, hmm?” The blonde dragged her finger-tips across Kate’s chest. Across her breasts, her nipples, and then down to scratch teasingly across her abs. Yelena could see Kate squirm under her touch and instantly her mouth went dry. If she thought not being in charge whilst receiving was hard, well this was going to be a stark wake up call.  

“I can?” Kate asked, quite suddenly a little breathless at the possibility.  

“Yes.” Yelena placed a knee either side of Kate’s hips and settled into her lap. Kate’s hands immediately went to Yelena’s thighs and the brunette’s grip tightened possessively. The blonde could tell that Kate’s mind was racing. What did she want and what could she ask, and what did it all mean? “Tell me what you want. I’m yours.”  

Kate’s eyes flashed. That’s what it meant. Yelena was hers. After all this time, after all the pushing and all the pulling, after Yelena had walked away so many times. Kate searched her eyes for a shred of uncertainly or apprehension but the brunette found none. There was no reason to doubt.  

“Okay,” Kate nodded in agreement as the most beautiful smile spread across her most beautiful features. “You go,” she urged.  

Yelena grinned. “Okay, I go,” she whispered softly, and then she stayed. Just like Kate had told her to. She stayed as Kate pulled her mouth to hers and then ordered her lower. She stayed as she felt Kate’s walls tighten irresistibly around her fingers and she stayed as Kate gasped her name and pulled roughly at her thick blonde hair for Yelena to quicken the pace. She stayed as Kate arched her back and thrashed her hips and came hard against her mouth, and she stayed as Kate demanded her lips upon hers, demanded her thigh against her clit, demanded the second and third orgasm that Yelena was desperate to give her. She stayed when Kate pulled her close and tightened her arms around her. She stayed on that Anatolian rug, the one with the blues and the reds and the greens, the one they’d some how ended back down upon, breathing ragged but hearts happy. And she stayed because that’s where she belonged. Next to Kate Bishop, the woman who loved her. The woman she loved.  

“Kate…”  

“Yeah…”  

“I am getting a really weird sense of déjà vu. How about you?”  

Kate laughed. It was hearty and loud and hoarse and so so happy and Yelena felt herself grinning like an idiot.  

“You’re an idiot,” Kate chided. See? An idiot.  

“A very talented idiot,” Yelena countered as she kissed the brunette’s love marked skin and let her fingers slide leisurely against the most satiated part of her.  

“Very talented,” Kate whispered as she pressed lightly against the back of Yelena’s hand to add to the much welcome pressure. “So… does this mean I’m telling Carol I’m bringing home a plus one this time?” 

“We engage in some very vigorous make up sex and I’m your plus one now?” 

“Are you not?” Kate raised a ‘I’m ready to kill if you say otherwise’ eyebrow.  

“I have always been your plus one, Kate Bishop,” Yelena soothed with her fingers as much as she did with her words.   

“That is bullshit and you know it,” Kate retorted. And she had a point but so did Yelena. She just needed to make it.  

“Not any more,” she said sincerely. It was quite the statement for three words, but Yelena meant each and every one of them. “Stay with me tonight.” 

“The artefact-.” 

“Is safe where it is. I promise you that. Tomorrow, we retrieve it and return it together. Tonight? Well, I could take you to dinner…?” 

Kate tried desperately to stifle the gasp that escaped her as Yelena’s fingers began to work in slow, languid circles. “Like… like a date?” 

“Yes,” Yelena nodded with a smile, “Like a date. After all this, I am going to need to eat. And I mean like, EAT.” 

Yelena had given Kate everything she had ever hoped for, all within the space of just a few hours. An actual date. Like actual couples did. In a romantic city, with incredible sites and even more incredible food. It was everything Rome should have been. 

Kate drew Yelena too her. She kissed her and breathed her in and it was the only answer Yelena needed.   

“But er, before we go any further,” Yelena mumbled against Kate’s lips, “We should probably move this to the bedroom. Just in case. I’m not sure you can dry clean antique rugs.” 

Kate’s brow crinkled. “Right now?” She asked, clearly enjoying the feel of Yelena’s rough finger-tips as they dipped inside of her. 

“Remember when you said I was a bad liar? And I disagreed?” 

“You are a bad liar,” Kate’s frown deepened.  

“Well, Kate, I was right and you were wrong.” 

“I-I don’t understand,” Worry crept into voice and so Yelena pulled her reassuringly close and looked her dead in the eye.  

“Kate Bishop, darling, I love you, but this is not my apartment.” 

“What?!” 

“Those are not my oil paintings.” 

“But you-.” 

“And this is not my rug.”