Chapter Text
Kate takes a kick hard to her abdomen, it pushes her back, and sends her into a particularly nasty coughing fit.
Holy shit.
They’re only 9 minutes into this sparring session, but it's been close calls every second, and all of Kate's muscles burn with exertion.
Kate catches her breath, just barely rolling out of the way, when she spots Natasha coming in close with another kick.
The Black Widow chuckles. And yes, Kate knows she is so out of her league right now, but damn it.
How is it that Natasha hasn’t even broken a sweat?
Kate sneaks a glance at the digital clock mounted on the wall, it reads 13 minutes now, and the clock only keeps counting.
Kate can’t help but feel like it's been hours.
Her task, her goal, was to land a solid, tough and clean hit on Natasha before 10 minutes passed. Obviously, she’s failed, and a little something like humiliation washes over Kate.
Natasha bursts forward with the speed only a Black Widow could possess, and strikes her fist in a motion that Kate knows is going to bruise like a bitch when all this is over.
Natasha's uppercut lands square on Kate's chin, Clint shrieks from where he sits on the benches.
“Nat! Go a little easy on her!” His voice booms across the gym.
Kate’s eyes blur, her body is burning, she’s not sure if her ears were always ringing, or if the ringing just began.
Kate blinks, slow and slurred and her focus breaks for just a second. She barely dodges Natasha’s next jab, stumbling back as she regains her footing.
Kate's chest is burning too, now. Along with every other part of her body. Kate's pretty sure it's a mixture of the exertion of the fight, the humiliation of failure, and the embarrassment of Clint's plea to Natasha.
She scoffs internally.
Go easy on her?
Kate wasn’t some, some… some charity case!
She was Hawkeye, goddamnit.
Kate huffs, anger and shame crawl up her spine, igniting something fierce in her chest.
Natasha's still smug, god, she's always smug and Kate hates it.
No way was Kate going to let everybody think that she couldn’t keep up, that she couldn’t fight back.
Kate refocuses, and by following Natasha’s movements with laser precision, she blocks a nasty kick aimed at her head with the outside of her arm. The impact stings as if her skin had been lit on fire but Kate grits her teeth and seizes the opening she's given, lunging forward with all her might.
Kate’s fist doesn't even get close.
Natasha moves like a shadow, like the Widow she is. She moves too fast, and too deadly for Kate to put up a proper fight.
Before she can even react, Natasha uses a move straight out of a movie and the Black Widow’s leg whips around in a perfect arc. Kate's eyes blur once more, and she just barely registers the sharp pain in her temple before the world tilts.
Everything slows. All movement in the gym, Clint’s voice shouting something unintelligible, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. As she falls, Kate catches a glimpse of Natasha’s smirk, which is smug, untouchable. Then her gaze drops to Natasha’s knees, her shows, and finally, everything goes dark.
Kate blacks out before she even hits the mat.
———
Kate’s eyes flutter open.
Fuck.
It feels like someone's been using her skull as target practice.
A dull, throbbing ache pulses behind her temples, and Kate's vision blurs as she tries to focus on the sterile white lights above her.
She groans, shifting slightly.
Bad idea.
Her head pulses painfully, and Kate can only grimace as the pain slowly subsides. She reaches for her head, only to feel bandages, wrapped tight around her temple.
A familiar chuckle comes from her left. “Glad to see you’re awake, Hawkeye.”
Kate turns her head.
Again, bad idea, given the sharp spike of pain it triggers, to see Clint leaning casually against the doorframe.
Her surroundings begin to come into focus.
Kate stares at blinding stark white walls, the faint hum of machinery.
Great, the med bay.
Kate slowly, and gently lowers her head onto her pillow with a sigh.
“Hey, Hawkeye,” she rasps, her voice dry as sandpaper.
Clint chuckles again, but the humour doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s giving her that look. The one Kate dreads, and hates, but is seeing more and more of these days.
Clint pushes off the doorframe and moves to sit on the edge of her bed. His sigh is heavy, and Kate frowns, familiar unease bubbling in her chest.
“What happened?” she asks, her words slow and slurred. “I, uh… my memory’s kinda foggy.”
The guilt on Clint’s face deepens, and Kate immediately regrets asking. She never is particularly good at saying the right thing.
Clint stares at his shoes for a long moment before answering, his voice unusually soft. “Uh.” He pauses, “Natasha, y’know, kicked you in the head. You’ve got a nasty concussion.”
“Oh,” Kate murmurs. She winces as her memories trickle back.
God, she's humiliated.
Kate absolutely got her ass beat, didn’t she?
Training with the Avengers is usually one of the highlights of her day. Morning runs with Steve, sharpshooting practice with Clint, brainstorming new trick arrows with Tony, it’s challenging but rewarding.
It makes Kate feel welcome. Like she actually belongs.
But training with Natasha? That’s another story entirely.
The very first time, only 2 years ago now, Natasha broke her wrist.
The second time? Her nose.
And now, a concussion.
Kate’s stomach churns, and she huffs.
God, she really hates to admit it, they aren’t middle schoolers, but it’s becoming increasingly clear.
Natasha Romanoff, is…
Ugh.
She's… well….
Kate is pretty sure that Natasha Romanoff is bullying her.
-----
Kate is rudely awakened by relentless knocking on her door. She groans, burying her face deeper into her pillow.
Her head still sort of feels like it’s been run over by a semi-truck.
Thanks, Natasha.
“Go away!” she yells, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Instead of going away, the familiar Russian accent, sharp and unyielding calls out from the other side of the door, “Kate Bishop,” Yelena calls, “I have so many gifts to give, but you must open the door.”
Kate groans louder but drags herself out of bed. She shuffles to the door, wrenching it open to reveal Yelena, standing there with arms crossed and a steaming bag of something in her hands.
“What are you doing here?” Kate croaks, squinting at her.
Sue her for acting crappy, but her head hurts goddamnit.
Yelena doesn’t answer right away. She steps past Kate into the room, her movements brisk and decisive, like she owns the place. “You looked like death yesterday,” she says simply, setting the bag on Kate’s desk. “So, I made soup.”
Kate blinks, still half-asleep. “You… made me soup?”
“Of course. It is very good soup,” Yelena replies matter-of-factly. “My mama used to make it for me when I got hurt, and you get hurt a lot.”
Kate doesn’t know whether to be touched or offended. “Gee, thanks.”
“Sit,” Yelena orders, already unpacking the container.
Kate complies, sinking onto the edge of her bed. She watches, bewildered, as Yelena fusses over her, arranging the soup and spoon like a doting partner.
It’s… nice. Strange, but nice.
“You know,” Kate says cautiously, “you’re being weirdly nice to me right now.”
Yelena stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop what she’s doing. “What? I am always nice. You just do not notice because you are too busy getting concussions.”
Kate snorts, accepting the soup. “Well, thanks. This is… really sweet of you Yelena.”
Yelena shrugs, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “Do not get used to it, Kate Bishop. Next time, you are on your own.”
Kate chuckles, and she feels almost light.
Which is probably, no, definitely the soup.
----
Yelena stays for a while after, and only leaves when the sun begins to set, and Kate's eyes begin to droop.
As Yelena leaves, with a soft smile on her face, she takes the empty bowl, used utensils, and much of Kate's worries away with her.
The door closes lightly, and a part of Kate wishes Yelena had stayed a bit longer.
The sun's fully set now, and as she begins to settle in bed, exhausted and satisfied, Kate’s cheerfully surprised that for the first time in a long time, her head doesn’t hurt.
Not even a little bit.
----
Natasha sits across from Clint, nursing a cup of coffee. Clint is giving her the look.
“What?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re too hard on Kate,” Clint says bluntly.
Natasha sips her coffee, unfazed. “So? She can handle it.”
Clint scoffs, eyebrows drawn, “Nat, come on! You’ve broken her wrist, her nose, and now she has a concussion. She thinks you hate her!”
Natasha’s smirk widens. “And? What if I do hate her, huh?”
Clint sighs, "Natasha." He says tightly.
Natasha’s jaw tightens. She doesn't understand why Clint cares so much for Kate. She's reckless! Overconfident! And Natasha wants to, needs to, break her of those habits before they get her killed.
And…
Well, if Natasha is honest with herself, there’s another reason.
Her gaze flicks to the ceiling. She sees in her peripheral vision that Clint is staring at her curiously, but she doesn't dignify him with an answer.
Yelena has been spending a lot of time with Kate lately. Too much time. Natasha isn’t blind; she sees the way Yelena looks at her, the way her sister’s normally cold demeanour softens when Kate is around.
Clint’s smirk breaks through her thoughts. “Oh, I get it now.”
“Get what?” Natasha snaps, her tone sharp.
She’s now facing Clint, and he meets her gaze knowingly.
“You’re being hard on Kate because of Yelena.” He declares.
Natasha scowls, breaking eye contact with Clint, and internally cursing him out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She replies.
Clint just laughs, shaking his head. “Sure you don’t.”