Chapter Text
Yelena groaned softly as she slowly woke up. The sliver of the outside world that Yelena could see through her curtain showed the sky was still dark. Blinking slowly, Yelena turned toward her nightstand where her clock stood, red lights showing it to be 4:30 AM.
Taking a deep breath, Yelena sat up slowly. Her back ached a bit, and her left leg felt heavy. She leaned down, picked up her massage gun, and settled into her usual fifteen-minute session with the tool. She made sure to hit her calves and quads before rolling onto her side to focus on her hamstrings. She clutched at her bedding as the painful pleasure of the massage gun broke apart lingering scar tissue and increased her circulation.
When she finished, she got out of bed and walked into the living area of her apartment. She walked through it to enter the kitchen, where she started the kettle for a pour-over cup of coffee. Walking back from the kitchen, Yelena walked towards the ballet barre that she installed on the wall and began to run through her movements. When the kettle whistled, she walked over and began the pour-over process and returned to the barre and continued warming up, but this time she used the heavy wooden mechanical metronome.
“It’s just like mine…” Natasha had said when Yelena opened her gift.
She beamed at her sister.
“Thank you, sestra. It is perfect…”
Click, Click, Click, Click
Yelena moved through a series of ballet movements, landing each movement precisely on the beat.
Like a machine.
Like a machine in which no soul was required to complete the motions.
When she finished, she walked over to the kitchen to collect her coffee. She would drink it by the window, gazing down on the streets of Manhattan, taking in the early morning.
After digesting her coffee and going through her calendar and planner, Yelena dressed in a pair of running shorts and a sports bra. She headed out of her apartment and began to complete some dynamic stretching. A two-mile run was always on the menu in Yelena’s morning. The longest she could go was around five miles, but she usually did two to three miles a day.
She didn’t wear headphones or listen to music. No, she preferred to remain present in her thoughts and hear the world. Most of her day would be saturated in music. And as much as she loved music, she needed her daily runs to settle her mind.
Remind her that she was, in fact, human. And as a human…she had experienced loss in life.
When she was in college, she would knock out her two-mile run in under twenty minutes. But ever since the accident, she would be lucky to hit two miles in under thirty minutes. But she continued running, refusing to let the accident take anything else away from her.
It took the most important things…she deserved to have some wins.
A quick hot shower with more stretching followed by a cold blast of water was the last thing she did before gathering breakfast. She loved a good bowl of yogurt and granola in the morning. Sometimes, it was avocado toast. Or if she was feeling really shitty about life and needed a pick me up…then it was a BECSPK* on a roll.
Yelena chose a plain white blouse and a pair of flannel grey trousers and packed her leotard in her bag with her point shoes. She double-checked her medical kit and made sure to have extra Tylenol and Advil packed. Made sure there were a few disposable ice packs, Biofreeze, Tiger Balm patches, and ace bandages.
She placed her work laptop into her bag, grabbed her keys and wallet, and began the short trek to the Manhattan School of the Performing Arts. It involved a short but tedious ride on the 1 train, where she wasn’t always lucky enough to grab a seat. And since her leg injury was hidden by her pants, no one would typically offer her a seat. Which was fine anyway. It was rare to find a New Yorker to give up their seat for someone.
Except women… Yelena thought as she held onto the bar above her head.
It was always a tired woman who would give a kind smile and offer her seat to the elderly man with a cane or the pregnant woman holding her other child’s hand. She herself did it, but she had yet to experience such kindness towards herself. Once she went her usual four stops, she walked towards the campus of the school, which was located in the heart of New York City’s center for Opera, Music, and Dance.
Yelena walked stiffly into the Dance Building, scanning her ID to open the door. She hobbled towards the elevator, nodding in greeting to the few people she encountered. When she arrived at her office at the Manhattan School of Performing Arts, she unlocked the door and turned on the lights.
“Another day…another paycheck…I guess,” Yelena muttered to herself, placing her bag onto the guest chair in her office.
She would then stand in front of her windows, the only perk of fighting for the smaller office. They offered her a corner office by the Chair of the Department, but she liked the view from the small office right at the entrance of the office hallway. Her small office had large windows that oversaw the busy streets of Manhattan and the center of New York City’s cultural art. The Performing Arts branch of the New York Public Library was a block away. The Metropolitan Opera House was mere feet away. And David Geffen Hall was located right next to that. Directly across from her office was the David H. Koch Theatre, where the New York City Ballet performed.
Yelena stood at her window every morning. She stood there, trying to figure out if that would be the day. If that would be the day that her passion for dance would return. The passion that got her a few solo spots at the very theatre across from her building. The theatre that mocked her now. Would that morning be the day her passion that made her one of the most sought-after dancers in the country returned to her?
Most sought next to Natasha… Yelena’s thoughts reminded her sadly.
Her eyes glanced at the photo frames on her desk, and sighed. Rubbing her temples, she turned around and started to unpack her briefcase. As she placed her planner and grade book on the desk, her eyes landed on the photo of her sister’s smiling face. She allowed herself to smile a bit. It was a casual photo taken at their parent’s house in Ohio. It was nothing like her serious dance headshot or a photo of Natasha in motion.
No, it was a photo of her sestra . Her smiling and gorgeous and funny sestra . The one who was adopted with her from Russia to a wonderful couple. The person who inspired her to take up dance.
I miss you, sestra , Yelena thought sadly.
Sighing, Yelena turned her computer on and got up from her chair once more. She needed coffee.
She took her official Manhattan Schol of the Performing Arts mug (a generous size as the Chair of the department gifted it to her after seeing the amount of coffee Yelena could drink) and walked stiffly towards the kitchen area.
Yelena knew she had lucked out with her position. A nice but small office. A good paycheck. Great health insurance. A 401k plan that would allow her to retire back home in Ohio when the time came. A faculty kitchen (a luxury most colleges did not offer). Access to a nutritionist, physical therapist, mental health professional, massage therapist, chiropractor…and more, all at the tips of her fingers.
In exchange, she taught the fundamentals of dance. Ballet 1 and Ballet 2. Intro to Contemporary and Grahman Technique. She taught the History of Dance with an emphasis on twentieth-century technique.
She knew she was lucky. She landed a comfortable job at the Manhattan School of Performing Arts. The top conservatory in the nation and one of the top schools for Dance in the world. She herself attended the school while studying abroad in Russia and France.
With Natasha.
So when they offered her a position three years prior, Yelena couldn’t say no. Not after…
Squealing tires, a fuzzy head, and green eyes boring into hers as bright headlights filled her vision.
Yelena’s breathing stuttered at the memory of the sound of metal crunching around her. She felt herself struggling to breathe, so she reverted to taking a deep breath and counted to four slowly.
Box Breathing. Focus on the now.
Blinking rapidly once she was able to breathe normally, she calmed her thoughts. Her shaking hands started the coffee machine, and she began to stretch her leg while waiting. She needed something to do as the quietness of the room made her feel uneasy. Thankfully, a few other professors walked in and greeted her. No one engaged her in a lengthy discussion.
Well…they all knew not to engage Yelena before she had her coffee. No, they all knew Yelena Belova needed two cups of coffee before she could fathom a more extended conversation about what performances they saw or what they were teaching.
Yelena shook her head again, forcing herself not to think everyone pitied her. It took a year of therapy to have that breakthrough. The breakthrough to know not everyone she encountered automatically pitied her. Or saw her as less than. Emboldened by her mantra that not everyone pities her, she grabbed her coffee, waved goodbye to those in the kitchen, and began her trek back to her office.
As Yelena walked back, she smiled softly as she felt her leg muscles had become looser. Once she was back in her office, she used the remaining time to pace around, looking out the window.
She was incredibly lucky. For the amount of damage she retained from the accident, she managed to relearn how to dance with a leg full of pins and hardware. As she walked around, she tried to bask in the fresh start of the semester. An exciting time for many performing organizations. A time she used to hunger for.
But not anymore.
With a heavy heart and allowing herself to acknowledge the pain in the moment, Yelena sat at her desk and remembered that she was allowed to grieve still. She was still allowed to remember that fateful night five years ago and be Upset. Pissed. Angry. All the above.
***
“I can’t believe you lost,” Yelena said from the backseat of Natasha’s car.
“Me either.” Clint sighed.
“It’s just a loss. You’ll get it next time, big guy,” Natasha smirked as she chewed her gum.
They were on the highway heading back to the city after watching and supporting Clint at his archery match. He was on the verge of qualifying for the Olympic trials.
“What if I fuck up next time,” Clint sighed.
“You won’t. You’ll take this as a learning experience and….SHIT!” Natasha yelled as she saw a car from the other side of the road speed up and swerve into her lane.
Natasha slammed on the brakes, trying to stop the collision, but all Yelena could do was see everything happen in slow motion. The last thing Yelena remembered was seeing her sister’s scared green eyes looking at hers in the rearview mirror before blackness.
***
Yelena woke up in the hospital, her mind fuzzy. Her left leg felt heavy as it hung in a sling. She blinked when she saw a hard cast encompassing the entire limb. She felt panicked, and a cold sweat broke out.
“No!” Yelena muttered as she reached out to her leg.
“No! Not my leg!! No!” Yelena whimpered as her panic increased, her cries growing louder in volume.
“Yelena! Relax…listen to me…” Alexei’s voice soothed her.
Yelena’s yelling stopped as a nurse came rushing in to begin checking her vitals.
“Papa?” Yelena grunted out through her panic.
“Yes, Yelena. It’s me…” Alexei cooed softly.
“Where’s…where’s Mama? Natasha? Clint?” Yelena gasped out.
Alexei’s face grew sad, but he never looked away from Yelena.
“Clint is in recovery. He…almost lost his right hand. The…the…car flipped over, and the wrist broke so badly…but they were able to fix it. And your mother is with your sister. Nat-Natasha,” Alexei began as he sputtered, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“No…please…no…” Yelena croaked out as Alexei wiped his eyes.
“Natasha is in a coma. We are not…sure,” Alexei began before allowing himself to cry.
Yelena sat stunned in her bed. She began to feel sick and light-headed.
“Nope. No…this isn’t…happening…” Yelena said, refusing to believe what her father was telling her.
“Oh no…this is…a dream...a really fucked up dream.” Yelena began to shake as she tried to wrap her mind around what happened.
“My…leg…?” Yelena questioned.
“You shattered a few bones. They were able to reset everything with pins and other hardware. Eventually, some of it will be removed.” Alexei said in a grave tone.
He looked at his daughter and offered a watery smile.
“But you are okay…” Alexei said.
“No…no, I am not! My….Natasha…she’s…she has to be okay…she…” Yelena began thrashing around, trying to get out of bed, when the nurse approached quickly. Yelena shook her head.
“No! I…don’t want the drugs…” Yelena panicked as the nurse looked at Alexei, who nodded softly.
“This isn’t happening.” Yelena gasped out as the Nurse pushed a small amount of a sedative into her IV.
“No…” Yelena whimpered as she fell quiet, and her eyes closed.
***
They repeated the sedation process with Yelena a few more times until Yelena woke up to Clint’s tired face.
“Sup, kid…” Clint grumbled. His face was bruised, and his right hand was bandaged and splinted. His fingers were pinned to a board.
“Oh…Clint…no,” Yelena breathed heavily.
He shook his head.
“It…it could be worse…I think?” Clint said in disbelief as he stared at his hand.
“What about…” Yelena began as Clint let out a strangled cry.
“Um…we won’t know until I start rehab. They…they say I should be able to shoot a bow and arrow again…but…” Clint couldn’t finish his sentence as his lip trembled.
Yelena cried with him, knowing how close he was to his dream of going to the Olympics.
“Hey, you two…” a woman walked in.
She smiled sadly, her eyes were tired. She leaned down and kissed Clint’s head.
“You’re up. How are you feeling?” The woman asked.
“I…don’t know, Laura,” Yelena whispered.
The brunette nodded.
“I know it’s a shitty question…but…yeah…” Laura said, her voice slowly getting choked up.
“Where is Natasha?” Yelena asked.
Laura’s lip trembled, and tears began to drop down her face. She took a stuttering breath.
“She’s..um..she’s still sleeping. But….they want us to start…” Clint said quietly as Laura stifled the loud sob from fully escaping her body.
Yelena looked up to the ceiling to stem the tears that would fall.
“Okay…okay. You go with me?” Yelena asked, her voice gravelly with pain and sorrow.
Clint nodded and called for a nurse.
Despite the damage to Yelena’s leg was severe enough for pins and hardware, the staff made an exception to move her. Yelena was able to get into a wheelchair to visit her sister, as long as she promised to rest afterward.
“I will wait outside the room. They…they are making an exception for you both to be in there together. But I will be right here. I am never leaving you…all of you.” Laura said strongly.
Yelena nodded as she hiccuped a small cry.
“C’mere,” Laura whispered as Yelena leaned into the other woman’s body.
“You…we’re going to get through this,” Laura whispered before kissing the bandage on Yelena’s brow.
The nurse wheeled both Yelena and Clint into Natasha’s room. Yelena couldn’t contain the cry of agony when she saw Natasha hooked up to various machines.
“They haven’t seen any improvement. Alexei and Melina were waiting for you to see her…before…” Clint said as Yelena nodded blankly.
She knew her sister would not want to live a life as a vegetable. She knew her parents would respect her wishes. And all she could do was respect Natasha’s wishes.
“How long?” Yelena asked.
“Your parents knew Natasha would want…you to give the word,” Clint responded.
Yelena’s face crumbled at the statement. Clint was right. They had been placed in the adoption center at the same time and bonded. Thick like thieves, her parents always said. It only felt right for Yelena to be the one to release her from pain.
For the next thirty minutes, Yelena and Clint sat in silence, each of them holding one of Natasha’s hands. Yelena likened the steady beep and hum of the machine keeping her sister alive to the metronome they would follow religiously. She didn’t even consider that her dancing career could very well be over. How could she when she was about to lose the most important person in the world?
They stayed silent, holding Natasha’s hands before Yelena nodded. She could feel a change. Almost as if Natasha’s spirit was lingering in the room, prompting Yelena to do the hardest thing she would have to do in life.
“Get everyone. It-it’s time,” Yelena whispered as Clint nodded gravely. He took the call bell, and a nurse walked in.
They conversed quietly as Yelena lifted herself up (despite the nurse’s pleas) to get close to Natasha’s ear. She kissed her temple softly.
“It’s okay. You can let go now. Thank you for waiting so I could say goodbye. I love you, sestra, you have been the best thing in my life. Protecting me to the end. Even in death, Natasha, I will never leave you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You gave my life meaning and joy. You will be a part of me forever,” Yelena whispered wetly when the doctor walked in.
After a few more checks of Natasha’s vitals, Yelena glanced at her parents, who were curled into each other. They walked over and hovered over her as Laura dropped to her knees next to Clint.
Once the tubes were removed, it was a matter of minutes. The kindest thing the doctor could do was shut the beeping off as they watched Natasha take her last breath and settle into eternal sleep.
***
Yelena refused to go to the wake, the funeral, and the cemetery. She claimed she would be a hindrance with her wheelchair, but she knew she wasn’t ready to face it all. The body can only do so much while processing trauma. Thankfully, she had a strong bond with her family, who didn’t bat an eye at Yelena’s requests. They knew Yelena would go see Natasha’s grave when she was ready.
But she was glad Clint was able to escort Natasha’s body as an honorary pallbearer. She had seen him dressed in a sharp black suit, being assisted by Laura. Despite him towering over Laura, Yelena could see the power and strength in the woman. She knew Clint would be okay. It was going to be a hard path, but she knew as long as Laura was around, he would make it.
She had given Laura a ticket stub to the Nutcracker. It was the first ballet that Natasha and she saw. She asked Laura to tuck under Natasha’s hands, who nodded quietly and kissed her head.
“Whatever you need, I got you,” Laura whispered as she leaned her head against Yelena’s.
In the days following Natasha’s final arrangements, Yelena refused to talk to anyone but Clint and Laura. It took a few weeks, but Yelena eventually was able to talk to her parents. It hurt at first, seeing the despair in her parents' eyes at the loss of one of their own. Made Yelena wish that she could trade places with Natasha.
But the moment Yelena voiced that thought, Alexei and Melina immediately turned their attention to Yelena’s recovery.
“Natasha did what she did…she saved us with her quick thinking…it just…cost her life,” Clint said one day as they sat in the yard at Alexei and Melina’s farm in Ohio.
“She deserves to be here…” Yelena muttered.
“And you do, too! Look…you are more than allowed to have these thoughts…but that’s what they are. They are just thoughts, Yelena. Natasha wants you to live. She would want us to remember her sacrifice and live our life for her,” Clint said.
It was shortly after that conversation with Clint that Yelena made a decision to throw herself into her rehabilitation. She grunted and cried as she made her way from the wheelchair to using bars to hold herself up. She yelled in pain as she forced her leg to move. When she graduated to a walker, her old humor and personality began its return. She began to make quips about racing Evelyn, an 80-year-old spunky widow who was in for a hip replacement.
With each passing day, Yelena found herself returning to normal. And she had her family to thank for that. They made sure to treat Yelena as normally as they could. They allowed Yelena to have her bad days and celebrated the small wins.
Laura pulled double duty, making sure Yelena and Clint attended their rehab sessions. She was present on the day when Yelena walked without a cane for the first time, tears welling at the grit and determination on the blonde’s face.
It was around month eight of recovery when the topic of dance came up. Yelena immediately shut down any talk about dance until she was able to walk without assistance.
Which happened a year after the accident. Yelena had been walking with a small limp but found herself on a stage, sitting on the ground, a lone spotlight on her. She had started working in her hometown’s theatre, the office staff immediately offered support to the dancer.
Yelena sat barefoot, wanting to try her hand at her favorite genre of dance - contemporary. She had played a soft Tchaivoksy piece as she went through her typical warm-up routine. Her leg felt strong enough to handle the movements, but that was all she could feel.
Just the physical motions.
The joy of dancing was no longer present. She felt empty as she slowly worked her way up to her more advanced movements. She watched herself in the mirror, stone-faced, as she pushed through movement after movement. And when it got too much, she fell into a heap of pain and tears.
Pushing herself to pain was the only way she knew she was still alive. She couldn’t feel anything . So when she pushed too much, she faltered and cried. And as she cried, she grieved for her sister’s life, she grieved for her former life. She would cry and scream until she was rendered silent.
And no one mentioned the deadness in Yelena’s eyes as she hobbled out of the dark theatre.
Despite her lack of desire to dance, it was her only skill set. So, within two years, Yelena was able to perform again. She gave a perfect recital in regards to mechanics and technique, which caught the eye of her alma mater, and soon, she was heading back to New York City to work.
It was the ideal situation for Yelena at that moment in her life. She was able to pass along her knowledge and earn a good paycheck while not having to focus on the loss of her love for dance.
***
A swift knock on the door sounded, forcing Yelena out of her head.
“Yelena?” Pepper Potts stuck her head in.
“Pepper, come in,” Yelena said softly as she took another look outside.
“I know how this time of year is for you…” Pepper began. Yelena nodded in recognition. Pepper was the only person she could listen to or speak to about the accident, having taught both her and Natasha. She was their advisor and the professor who recruited them to the program. A mom away from their mom in some of the hardest times in their academic career.
“It is. It will be five years this weekend.” Yelena hummed before turning towards the older woman. She saw the shiny sheen of tears in Pepper’s eyes.
“What can I do for you?” Yelena asked, changing the topic.
She watched Pepper sigh and wipe her face.
“Pepper?” Yelena asked in concern.
“Sorry. I…I just can’t believe…” Pepper began before shaking her head. She cleared her throat.
“The President sent us his list of who he wants to give faculty recitals,” Pepper said.
Yelena froze with her mug midway to her mouth.
“Nope. That…we talk about this…there is a clause in my contract, Pepper!” Yelena exclaimed angrily as she slammed her mug onto the desk.
“We did. And the clause in your contract only gave you two years without a recital. Typically, we require a recital from any professor looking for tenure in their second year. However, given your status in the community and…your past…we were even able to squeak out a third year without requiring it.” Pepper explained as Yelena rolled her eyes and grumbled.
“Yelena…we fended him off as long as we could. I’m sorry, but you are required to do a solo faculty recital in December. As per your contractual obligations.” Pepper said as Yelena growled in frustration.
“What are the requirements again?” Yelena asked harshly as she rubbed her head.
“90 minutes the most….45 the least. One piece of new choreo. The rest you can pull from your CV.” Pepper said.
Yelena clenched her jaw but nodded.
“I can structure the program as I want?” Yelena asked, rubbing her leg.
Pepper caught the movement and nodded.
“Just give us 45 minutes of dancing, Yelena. I don’t care if you dance ten minutes at a time and take fifteen minutes in between pieces.” Pepper said as Yelena played with her coffee mug.
She took Pepper’s words as an offering of compromise. She knew most people would refuse more than one intermission or two tiny breaks between pieces. But she would need extra rest.
“Do I need to find a pianist? Or has one been assigned?” Yelena asked.
Pepper shook her head.
“You’re no longer a student where we had a slew of pianists at the ready for you. If I knew any of them had openings, I would let you know…but your best bet is finding your own. You know where the music building is. Start there.” Pepper said as she patted Yelena’s shoulder gently.
“And…let me know if you need anything this weekend,” Pepper said quietly.
Yelena nodded and whispered a thank you.
After the older woman left, Yelena glanced at her schedule.
She had two hours to kill.
She was not someone to leave something to the last minute. So she decided to make the most of those two hours. She finished her coffee before standing up and stretching. She grabbed her keys and ID and began to lock up her office.
“Let’s see what this place has to offer…” Yelena muttered as she began the walk to a part of the campus she rarely ever went to.
***
Yelena walked into the music building and looked at the directory. She vaguely remembered the practice rooms and studio professor offices were downstairs, smirking briefly as she recalled a very brief but steamy affair with a flute student. The way she made the girl come against her mouth in the soundproofed room.
Smirking and sighing at herself, she walked over the stairs and began to make her way to the practice room halls. As she made it to the ground level, she saw a student worker at the desk.
“The piano studio is still down that way, yes?” Yelena asked as the student looked up.
“Yes. Are you a student here?” The student asked as Yelena shook her head. She handed over her ID to be scanned. The student immediately blushed.
“I’m sorry, Professor! Yes, just head down the hallway and make a right.” The student said with a red face, but Yelena smiled.
“It is no problem. And thank you,” Yelena said as she entered the maze of rooms.
Most of the rooms’ noise was dampened by the soundproofing in the walls. She walked down the long hallway, hearing faint melodies by violins, flutes, trumpets, and horns…a true cacophony of noise if they weren’t soundproofed. But it was the clear ringing tone of a cello playing a familiar melody that brought her back to the week before the accident.
“Beauitulf, Yelena! Now…take it nice and slow…very good,” Natasha coached as Yelena executed the final pieces of choreography.
“Perfect! You nail it, sestra,” Natasha said as she high-fived Yelena.
“Very challenging movements, Natasha. But yes…I like it. I think you capture the Swan perfectly.” Yelena said as she grabbed her water bottle.
Natasha shot her a small smile as she handed Yelena a mask with swan feathers. Yelena chuckled and began to tie the mask onto her face. Armed with their masks, the two sisters moved to the middle of the stage to restart the piece.
“We’ll be perfect for opening night,” Natasha said as she nodded towards the piano player.
“We’re still on for Clint’s meet this weekend?” Natasha asked as she began to execute the choreography in time with the blonde
“Of course!” Yelena said with a smile as the two women jumped into the air before twirling in precise spins.
The Swan was one of the last pieces she danced to before the accident. It was Natasha’s choreography, and they were artists-in-residence for a dance program at the New York City Ballet. They were to have multiple performances for the fall season.
But that all stopped with the accident.
Yelena shakily headed towards the music. She remembered listening to Pablo Casals’ performance of The Swan, but she had never heard such an interpretation before. The music…spoke to her. As if she could hear the Swan fighting to live every moment to its fullest. She saw a practice room door slightly skewed and decided to peek in. Yelena gasped when she saw a young woman playing the cello.
The woman’s eyes were closed, and she swayed with the music. Her fingers looked strong, and her arm flexed with the bow. The woman was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a tight black tee shirt. The way her loose hair framed her face made her performance even more enthralling.
As the piece ended, Yelena had found herself in the room, leaning against the doorjamb. She held her breath.
"Did you enjoy it?" The woman asked as she opened her eyes.
Ice blue stared into forest green, and Yelena felt her heartbeat wildly for the first time in an awfully long time. She felt an old familiar stirring as the woman’s kind eyes began to thaw Yelena’s frozen spirit.
“Yes,” Yelena gasped softly as the woman’s lips curled into a smile.