Chapter Text
-PART I-
Chapter One: The Day The World Stood Still
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
It’s a question that most adults would ask children, and something that Kate grew up hearing all the time. Her classmates would answer with practical things like, doctor or fireman or teacher. Kate would always be shy when asked, not having an answer because - who thought that far ahead anyway? She was ten. All that mattered to her was coloring and playing video games and make believe in her room. She made stories of superheroes saving princesses and witches dueling monsters until the sun fell from the sky and nighttime came.
She would later admit that she had a lonely childhood, since her mother and father were always working and she had a sitter looking after her.
It was the winter of 2014 when Kate first saw commercials for the Olympics, and she was drawn in by all the bright colors, costumes, and people. The sport that she was drawn to the most was figure skating.
She always liked going skating in Rockefeller center on Christmas Eve with her dad. Once she found out it was something a person could choose to professionally, that was it for Kate. She found her niche.
Then, moments later, she found her muse.
Yelena Belova was the youngest prodigy to come out of Russia, and into the skating scene. Kate didn’t understand competitively how scoring worked, not yet, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen as the blonde teen danced and flew across the ice gracefully. The crowd was erupting in cheers at each jump, each move, that Kate wondered if the blonde before her was even human.
“Kate, don’t put your face so close to the screen. You’ll hurt your eyes.” Eleanor Bishop grumbled into her coffee.
“Mom!” Kate explained, bolting upright. “I want a pair of skates!”
And so, it began.
0o0o0o0o0o
November 2023, Grand Prix Final
The flashing lights and noise overwhelms Kate, as she stumbles out of the rink and is held upright by her coach, Clint Barton.
Loud.
Kate held her head, trying to keep herself from vomiting all over her skates.
“You did your best, Kate,” Clint said, well meaning yet firm. “The best scoring they could give you is a high on technical, or composition. Your transitions were off kilter today, they might take points off for that fall. I told you, no surprise axels, they fuck you over.”
“I know, Clint.”
“If you know, then how come you never listen?”
“Whatever.” Kate snipped.
The coach sighed.
The young prodigy has been preparing for the 2023 Grand Prix series for about two years with Clint, a coach that her mother found through her many connections. He was… all right. Knew his stuff, but Kate felt that she didn’t need a coach to teach her new things. She could learn on her own. Kate was a newbie on the competitive scene, coming out on top in local competitions across New York, her original skating grounds, and quickly becoming somewhat of a media star online. People loved her for her new techniques and various compositions that she wrote herself.
It was a rare combo, to find a skater with a love for both music and ice, and easily combine the two.
Life came at Kate easy. She didn’t have to worry about walking alone due to her mother’s security company. She didn’t have to get a “real” job; skating was her life, her passion; and once she won gold, she was going to bring that medal back home.
Until it didn’t.
This was the furthest she’s gotten competing in the Grand Prix Final.
Just before she went to perform, her mother gave Clint a phone call.
Her father passed away.
Heart attack.
It was sudden. Her mom was in hysterics.
Kate didn’t respond to Clint when he told her. She just stared at him, blankly.
“Kid,” The older man said, shaking her. “We can call this off. You don’t have to go.”
The brunette sucked in a breath.
“Fuck off.”
She turned and her skates met the ice. Unstable.
It was the worst performance she’s had in her entire life. She couldn’t even hear the music over a loud throbbing sensation in her head, that sounded like the drums of war.
What was she doing?
She didn’t remember skating. She just remembered falling, losing her grip on reality, and hitting the ice.
Cold.
Pain.
Hurt.
Now she was cold. It was still loud. And she wanted to leave.
“You don’t wait to wait in the kiss and cry -,” Clint started, but Kate gave him a look sharper than a knife. “Fine. Go. I’ll tell ya the score later.”
Her entire being ached as she walked like a dog with its tail between its legs, out of the rink and she had to find the nearest bathroom. Once she did, she didn’t care who she pushed past and locked herself in one of the stalls.
There, when no one was looking, she vomited.
She received the lowest score in her whole skating career, at one of the major competitions of the year for a skater.
To add salt to the wound, Yelena Belova was competing in the 2023 GPF as well. She had won her fifth gold medal.
What a joke, Kate thought miserably. I’m never going to be at her level.
She was going to go home, not even placing in the top three, to an empty house and a mother in grief.
Oh, and the worst part: her coach just told her he’s quitting. He said he’s had enough of her attitude, her ego that’s gotten her into trouble with the judges, and her poor bedside manners regarding interviews, and the public.
He wants nothing to do with her. He’s done.
Well, if he’s quitting, then she’s retiring.
“If you’re out, then I am too.” She voiced, hands shaking and she didn’t care if everyone was staring.
“What the hell Kate, don’t be petty,” Clint argued with her, “You can’t retire. You’re twenty!” He folded his arms, “You’ve just started your career!”
“You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my fucking dad!”
“I wasn’t trying to be -,” Clint pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look. I’ll find ya another coach for next year. Please, you’re irrational right now. Don’t retire.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Kate growled.
It was then that she noticed Yelena appear from the hallway, with a gold medal around her neck and her entourage trailing behind. Her adopted mother and father were forces of nature to be reckoned with. Rumor had it that the moment Yelena could stand upright, they put skates on her - and she’s been on the ice ever since.
Kate used to watch Yelena’s performances on repeat. She’d analyze pixel by pixel, draw her on large construction paper in her competitive dresses, and when she was just a child, try to emulate her.
(It might have started from obsession, but Kate didn’t know any better then.)
Now, through the veil of grief, Kate’s rose tinted glasses fell off and shattered. She felt nothing but envy and annoyance.
Kate knew better. She would never stoop so low as to take her aggressions out on the blonde skater, when she did nothing.
“Just this once, Kate. Please. Go congratulate Yelena on her win.” Clint’s voice was pleading.
Kate’s hands balled into fists.
It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?
The two skaters weren’t friends. They didn’t even talk to each other. Maybe they liked each other’s posts online, or replied to each other on Twitter, but Kate never had the courage to give the girl her number. (It didn’t have to mean anything, most skaters who competed in the same field did know each other). But they were always just missing each other.
Yelena doesn’t know that she’s the reason why Kate skates.
Not that it mattered.
(It did.)
“Hi, Kate Bishop!” Yelena called, a charming smile on her face. “Have you come for a commemorative photo?”
“Hey, Yelena.” Kate’s voice croaked. She cleared her throat. “No. I, uh - I look - no photos. Not today.”
Yelena’s expression softened, when she cued into Kate’s distress. “Are you all right?” She asked.
“Fine,” She gritted out, “I just came to say congrats. So. Good job winning.”
“Thank you,” She said, drawing out the ‘ooo’ sound. “You just stand up there for so long, my legs get tired. I don’t have enough hands to catch all the prizes that are thrown at me.”
“Yeah. Must be nice, dude,” Kate bit out. She’s only won at the smaller level competitions, and those had crowds of maybe fifty to a hundred people. Nothing like this. How does she do it? Go up there, perform, win, and do it all again, each year?
Yelena took a step back. “For some reason, I am feeling like that is an insult. No need to be so hostile, Kate Bishop. Are you feeling down because of your score? Don’t worry about it. It is the furthest you’ve gotten at the GPF, da? Not to mention, you are a rookie. A win would be nice but sometimes, you get a loss.”
“What do you know about loss?” Kate snipped.
A cold shiver went down her spine, as the expression on Yelena’s face hardened. Her mother looked up from whatever she was doing on her phone, a worried look on her face. She muttered something to her husband, who nodded.
“Come, Yelena. Our flight. We must catch it.”
“Cyka,” Yelena growled. (Bitch)
“Yelena.” Melina took her daughter’s hand.
“Shit. That was mean. I’m so-”
“You are not worth my time. You should know to stay in your lane.” She hissed.
“No, wait. Hang on. I should explain -,”
“Do not touch me.”
Kate hadn’t realized she was reaching out for the blonde, for warmth, and she had overstepped her boundaries.
Kate’s hand reared back, and she swallowed.
Shit.
She’s really fucked everything up.
Now her idol is pissed at her.
“Now that I know your true colors, Kate Bishop. I want nothing to do with you. We’re not even competitors. You’re not at my level. You should know, it would be wise to stay out of my way.”
Kate suddenly felt very small. So this was what Clint was trying to tell her. How her ego could get her into situations such as this one. She knew Yelena was speaking of a place of pain, too.
Yelena was right.
It was time to listen.
“Noted.” She barely got out.
A flicker of regret passed through Yelena’s eyes, though it was brief, and they grew dark with grief instead.
“Погнали.” Alexei said to Yelena, a warning. (Let's go)
Kate only assumed it meant they wanted to leave, what with the way Alexei and Melina were pushing her out the door.
She didn’t notice Clint was behind her. “I said congratulate, not start World War III with Russia!” He snapped.
Kate didn’t hear him. She put on her headphones and hat, cranked up the music to the loudest possible volume, and stomped out the door.