Chapter Text
Three years ago.
The annual Bishop Foundation charity gala was an elegant, discreet, and tightly monitored event. No press. Just executives, investors, donors, and the occasional entrepreneur looking for partnerships they couldn’t secure by traditional means. Yelena Belova had no designer suits or diplomatic manners, but there she was. Wearing a simple, sleeveless black dress and boots that, in this context, might have seemed improper. In one hand, she held a glass of champagne; in the other, her tablet, like an invisible shield to hide behind. People usually don’t talk to you if you look busy.
CySec Horizon, her small cybersecurity architecture firm, was going through a critical moment. She had clients. She had a reputation. But she lacked resources. That night, she and her sister had decided to attend in hopes of testing the waters with potential private investors... Though, as always, they also planned to donate part of their yearly earnings to digital protection programs in vulnerable communities and to child protection NGOs.
Yelena had already spoken to two important people, maybe three. She’d lost count. Everyone sounded polite, and everyone was equally fake.
"Interesting choice," said a voice suddenly at her side. "Not many people bring their own portable firewall to a charity gala."
Yelena turned her head. An older man, with a cane in hand, a navy-blue suit, sharp eyes, and a genuine smile. His hair was gray and neatly combed, and he smelled of one of those old colognes that didn’t overwhelm the nose like modern men’s fragrances. Yelena recognized him from photos.
"Erik Bishop, I assume?"
"The very same." The man smiled, leaning on his cane before offering his hand. "Yelena Belova?"
"That depends," she said, though she accepted the handshake anyway. "If you’re about to offer me a position in offensive security, I’ll decline in advance. If you want to ask me to dance, same answer."
Erik let out a big, long laugh, his shoulders shaking with it. He liked her. Nothing got past her.
"Neither one nor the other," he finally confirmed, wiping a small tear. Yelena watched him carefully, waiting for the catch. There was always one with people like this. "I just wanted to greet the woman who convinced three hospitals and a university to shield their networks with custom code, without charging them a single cent."
Yelena tilted her head slightly, surprised. Not many people took the time to really look into her—just her degree and short internship at Stark Industries were usually enough for people to claim they knew her.
"Poor people shouldn’t have to choose between privacy and healthcare," she finally replied, without drama or flair.
Erik nodded. His gaze softened a little.
"And how’s the project going? CySec Horizon, right?"
"Alive. Barely." She gave a crooked smile that was more of a grimace than anything else. She took a long sip from her glass and glanced around the room. "Sometimes I wonder if it’s a business or a rebellious act held together with caffeine patches and pride."
"The best ones often start that way," Erik replied, narrowing his eyes. There was something about this man, Yelena was beginning to see it. Softer, more honest than anyone else here. And he laughed without apologizing, mouth wide, teeth showing. "Did you know I started Bishop Securities with three folders, a broken chair, and a fine from the IRS? Plus, a small son depending on me, extra motivation."
Yelena smiled, almost against her will. She raised her glass for a silent toast.
"To well-intentioned rebellion?"
"To those who don’t forget who they work for," Erik corrected, "even when the world demands they do."
They talked for nearly half an hour, maybe more. They spoke about security, ethics, business. About the donations Yelena and her sister made in silence, never posting about them anywhere. Erik listened with undivided attention. She moved him. She reminded him of someone.
Not himself, he wasn’t that self-centered, but his granddaughter: stubborn, principled, and fiercely determined to change the world without losing herself.
When Yelena walked off to greet someone else, it only took Erik a few seconds to look at his assistant, who had stepped beside him with a folder in hand.
"Write her down," he said in a low, reflective voice. "I want that girl to have options. You never know what kind of people the world will send to try to convince her she’s worth less than she is."
Present.
The office smelled of old paper, polished wood, and coffee no one had drunk. The leather of her grandfather’s chair felt precious beneath her fingers. Kate remembered sneaking into this office more times than she’d snuck into her parents’ bedroom to escape nightmares and monsters under the bed.
She remembered her grandfather spoiling her, letting her sit on his knee and play with the office papers. She remembered archery contests, the ice cream he always bought her, win or lose. She remembered their last dance, a tango, at the Christmas gala just a month ago. She hadn’t even enjoyed it—not like she should have, at least. She was in a rush, her mind elsewhere. Her grandfather had laughed, tapping her forehead.
"Always up in the clouds, Katie. You need to keep your feet on the ground more often, or the mere mortals will never catch up to you."
Kate Bishop had her fingers clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the folder in front of her. She was sitting in her grandfather’s chair, black leather, where he’d run the family for so many years. Her mother, Eleanor, sat beside her, rigid as a marble statue.
The family lawyer, the same one who had served her grandfather for over three decades, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and began to read.
"Regarding the succession of the majority shares of Bishop Securities, I declare that my granddaughter, Kate Elizabeth Bishop, shall be the sole heir to the entirety of my shares, provided she meets the conditions stipulated in Clause 17."
Kate blinked. Her fingers clenched tighter around the chair. Suddenly, it felt like her grandfather’s shadow had fallen over her, standing beside her, immense even now. Even gone.
"What clause?"
The lawyer turned to the next page. His tone didn’t shift in the slightest, and he avoided her gaze.
"Clause 17 states that to assume legal control of Bishop Securities, Miss Bishop must be legally married before the age of twenty-five. If not, the majority shares will pass to the designated Transition Council."
Kate felt the air evaporate from her lungs.
"No," she whispered. "No... he wouldn’t do this to me." Eleanor slowly turned toward her but said nothing. Kate stood from the chair. Suddenly, the framed photos on the shelves seemed to mock her. Kate on her grandfather’s shoulders at four or five, Erik smiling at the camera. It didn’t make sense. "Is it... signed? Really...?" Kate’s voice faltered.
The lawyer nodded with regret and slowly offered her the documents so she could read them herself. Kate could barely take the pages without crumpling them in her trembling hands.
"He wrote it himself three years ago," the lawyer added. "He included a list of individuals he deemed ‘suitable’ for you. People with integrity, vision, and... character. Among them, at the top of the list... Yelena Belova."
Kate didn’t respond. Her eyes kept rereading the clauses over and over again. Her heart pounded hard, not with anger or rage, but with sorrow. She vaguely remembered a story. A night on the terrace, her grandfather telling her about a Russian girl he had met who had made him laugh, who had made him think. Erik had leaned on the railing, looking out at the New York skyline, and told Kate there was something about her this sharp, dry security architect, that couldn’t be bought or taught.
She never imagined he’d thought of her for this too.
And for the first time since he died, Kate felt like her world was falling apart.
Chapter Text
Kate Bishop couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so out of place in her own office.
Everything was in order, or at least, it looked like it. The books on the shelf, arranged alphabetically; the Italian wood desk, completely organized, not a single folder out of place; her tailored suit, neatly pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.
Everything was under control. Everything except herself.
The Bishop Securities building was a tower of steel and glass in the heart of Manhattan. Sleek, modern, spotless. Just like her. Just like she had been since taking on the interim CEO role just weeks after the funeral. But that morning, as she ran her fingers through her hair and paced back and forth across the office that once belonged to her grandfather, it felt like not even the giant windows or the polished European marble beneath her shoes could hold her up.
The door creaked open slightly. Kate flinched hard before seeing Peter, her assistant. "She’s here," he said slowly, noting her unease. "Do you want me to bring her in?"
Kate smoothed out her black blazer, took a deep breath, and shook her head, sitting down on the sofa across from the glass coffee table. "No. Leave us alone."
Her assistant nodded and turned to leave.
And then she walked in.
Yelena Belova.
She was younger than Kate had expected, though clearly older than her. And still, more... casual too. She wore a worn leather jacket, combat boots, and her hair was braided perfectly. Her pants had so many pockets Kate wondered if that was why she didn’t carry a bag, just a single folder tucked under her arm. Yelena stood in the doorway, completely out of place but with piercing green eyes that didn’t flinch.
Kate was fascinated, in a twisted kind of way.
"So you’re Katie Kate." Yelena’s voice was raspy, soft, and dripping with sarcasm.
It took Kate a second to respond. She wanted to say something elegant, professional, something to ease the moment. But the childhood nickname caught her so off guard that all she managed was a confused, "Katie...?"
"Your grandfather talked a lot about you, you know?"
Kate blinked, surprised. "He did?"
"A few years back, when I met him at your company’s charity gala." Yelena tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I was there with my company, looking for funding. Planning to donate too, even if I didn’t have much back then. He found me drinking alone in a corner while my sister socialized, and decided to come over and talk."
Kate swallowed, her eyes stinging though she refused to let a tear fall. Not now. Not in front of her.
"That sounds... like him."
Yelena hummed and continued. "We talked about cybersecurity, business ethics, and that time I hacked an entire city’s public health system just to fix their firewall. He laughed. Told me you were the same: stubborn, brilliant... Kind of insufferable."
Kate lowered her gaze, a smile escaping before she could hide it. "Thanks for telling me. He... didn’t talk much about his meetings."
"With me, he talked for forty straight minutes and then asked what I thought about marriage."
Kate raised a brow, skeptical. Her grandfather had always been eccentric, but this was another level. "Seriously?"
"I told him it wasn’t for me. He said, ‘that’s exactly what my granddaughter needs’... I don’t think I understood what he meant until last week." She lifted the folder slightly, the one that held the contract sent by Kate’s lawyers.
Kate, unable to help it, laughed in disbelief.
"Still sounds very him..." After a surreal moment, Kate felt her face flush. "I’m sorry, where are my manners? Please, have a seat." She stood quickly, motioning to the other couch while moving toward the drinks table. "Can I offer you something? Tea, coffee, something else?"
"I’d say a shot of vodka, but it’s a bit early for that," Yelena admitted as she sat down. Then, after a moment’s thought: "Water’s fine."
Kate nodded obediently and placed a glass on the table. She sat down across from her, nervously adjusting the collar of her shirt. The silence between them lingered.
"So, Yelena... You’re my fiancée."
Yelena glanced at the papers Kate had left on the desk and laughed.
"Well, we’re moving fast, huh? Skipping the first date and jumping straight to engagement?"
Kate flushed to the tips of her ears, embarrassed as she looked down.
"I’m sorry, this is... unexpected," Kate admitted, rubbing her hands over her face. "It’s been a weird few days and now my grandfather is matchmaking from the grave, so I..."
Yelena hummed. She didn’t really get it, these rich people and their obsession with old-fashioned nonsense. It was obvious Kate had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and to her, this was just a rough week: she had to get married to inherit the millions her grandfather left behind. Completely absurd. As if they couldn’t just get married without even living together, then divorce next year.
Still, she tried to be a bit empathetic. They were in this together, and while Yelena planned to approach it as professionally as possible so she could walk away with the money, she could at least help speed things along. Kate looked just as fed up as she was, after all.
"You want to do this fast?"
Apparently, that had been a misstep. Kate’s head shot up, her piercing blue eyes locking onto hers with intensity.
"This," Kate repeated, sitting up straighter, "is a legal, personal, and public decision. Not a formality."
Yelena nodded slowly and opened her folder. Inside was a copy of the contract sent days before by Bishop Securities’ lawyer. "Twelve months of legal marriage. Partial cohabitation," Yelena recited from memory, just to show she wasn’t taking this lightly either. "Mutual support at public and corporate events. Confidentiality clauses. Agreed payment: fifty percent upon signing, fifty percent at the end. I’ve read it."
Kate felt something inside her tighten. She knew this wasn’t a love story. She wasn’t expecting fireworks. But hearing how coldly Yelena summarized it still hurt more than it should’ve.
"Why did you accept?" she asked without thinking.
Yelena looked at her curiously. Then shrugged. "Because they offered me money, and I need that money. You? I doubt this is your only option."
Kate pressed her lips together. She could’ve defended herself. She could’ve said she didn’t have time, that her grandfather’s legacy was worth more than her pride. But instead, she said:
"Because I want this to work. Even if it’s fake, I want it to be respectful. Human." Kate spoke firmly. "I don’t want to fake a nightmare."
Yelena looked at her for a long moment. Then leaned back in the chair. "I’m not a nightmare, Kate Bishop. But I’m not a fairy tale either."
Kate smiled, tentatively. She looked tired.
"I never asked you to be."
Silence.
Finally, Yelena stood and pulled a pen from her jacket.
"Shall we sign?"
Kate sat for another moment. Then nodded. She opened her own copy of the contract. She leaned forward and signed with the pen her grandfather had given her on her last birthday. It felt like the pieces were all falling into place, and Kate hated it a little.
Yelena signed right after, without hesitation.
When they were done, they exchanged documents. Neither smiled, neither joked. The air felt heavier. "The civil wedding will be in three weeks," Kate said slowly, fingers fidgeting with the paper in her hands. "But the media’s already buzzing, these things leak fast. We’ll need to plan a public appearance and a bit of press."
Yelena raised an eyebrow. "What kind of appearance? A dinner? An interview? A kiss under the stars?"
Kate forced herself to keep composed. "A casual lunch with the company board. Nothing romantic. Yet."
Yelena smiled for real for the first time. "Thank God."
"But there’s something else, you don’t have to agree. It’s not part of the contract, it’s a personal request." Kate rushed to clarify. She didn’t want her now-fiancée to feel pressured into anything more than what they’d agreed to. "I’ll only ask once. You don’t have to say yes, just..."
Yelena tilted her head. "Just say it, Kate. I know how to say no if I don’t like lt."
Kate took a deep breath and finally let it out. "I want a wedding. A real one. Ceremony, guests, white dress, or white suit, photos. Nothing invasive, actually quite private, but... a wedding."
Yelena nodded slowly, considering it as she leaned back.
"Why?"
"Because the engagement is public. Because the board will expect something traditional. Because a hidden courthouse signature won’t convince anyone this is real."
"And you care that much about what they think?"
"I care about what we represent. The image we project. And if we’re going to be married, I want to do it... right. As right as it can be, at least."
Yelena stared at her. She didn’t look annoyed, but she didn’t seem convinced either. "And you’re going to organize all that in, what, three months?"
Kate finally placed the papers down on the table, her expression firm. "One, if I want to."
"Of course you will," Yelena muttered."Because you’ve got an army and too much money."
"And all you have to do is show up. With your family, friends, or even alone. Just... show up."
Yelena laughed again, softer this time, and stood slowly, grabbing her folder. "I’m not wearing a dress."
"Works for me."
"I’m not pretending to be in love, either."
Kate looked at her calmly and stood as well, walking her to the door. "Neither am I. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do this respectfully."
Yelena nodded, smiling as Kate opened the door for her. This wasn’t what she’d expected, but that didn’t mean it had to be bad.
Smiling at Kate, Yelena winked. "Then I can’t wait to marry you, Kate Bishop."
And then she left, leaving Kate alone with the echo of her own choices.
Chapter Text
Natasha’s house was warm, smelling like coffee and wood, and something baked that was probably Maria’s doing. It was a home, an established life, her sister’s, specifically. Yelena walked barefoot along the cold hallway floor, the contract still spinning around in the back of her mind, that little Jiminy Cricket voice judging her harder than her actual sister had when she’d shown up at the door last night, a little drunk and holding the crumpled contract in her hand.
From the kitchen came the murmur of soft voices. Occasional laughter and sweet words, Yelena stopped for a moment and grimaced. Natasha and Maria were disgustingly in love, and she always felt so out of place when visiting them. Sighing, she turned and headed straight for the living room. She dropped onto the couch with a thud as she pulled her phone from her pants and tried to distract herself. The knot in her chest felt a little pathetic.
Natasha peeked down the hall and gave a resigned smile at the sight of her sprawled out.
Yelena hadn’t said much last night, she’d arrived at the door smelling of vodka, her steps slightly unsteady. Natasha, though tired, had welcomed her with open arms and led her to the guest room.
It was only once she was lying down that the blonde began to tell her everything, about the emails, and then the contract a law firm had sent her. The arranged marriage deal, the offer they made her in exchange, Katherine Bishop, and how Yelena had signed that morning after meeting her in her nice office in the giant building of her company.
“So…” Natasha began as she sat beside her, in a neutral tone, like someone tossing a stone into a lake just to see how far it skips.
Yelena dropped her phone beside her with a dramatic groan. “My head hurts. I don’t want to talk…” she complained, resting her head against the back of the couch and then covering her face with her forearm.
Natasha looked at her, unimpressed. “Well, when you make impulsive decisions and show up at your older sister’s house at midnight, you should have been prepared to answer some questions.”
“Mmm,” Yelena replied flatly. “I’m getting married. Not sure what else you want to know.”
Maria chose that moment to appear, holding three steaming mugs with expert balance. She paused briefly upon hearing Yelena, then raised a single eyebrow.
“You’re getting married?” Maria had been knocked out when Yelena arrived, so she only found out her sister-in-law had visited when she woke up that morning.
Yelena simply groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. Maria laughed, a bit confused, before setting the mugs on the table and taking a seat on the armchair in front of them.
“Apparently,” Yelena began slowly, ignoring Natasha’s persistent stare as she leaned forward to grab one of the coffee mugs, “I made such a good impression on Erik Bishop at a party that he decided his granddaughter would only inherit the company if she married me. Or someone else from a list. Or something like that.”
Maria blinked, a little caught off guard. Then she glanced at her wife, who confirmed everything with a quick nod. “Well, wow. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Yelena met her yesterday, and apparently decided it was a good idea to start telling people after she’d already signed the contract,” Natasha said, a little biting, her older-sister-protector tone slipping through before she realized something. “Oh, Melina’s going to lose her mind when she finds out.”
Yelena grimaced, sipping her coffee. Her mother wasn’t just going to lose her mind, she was going to kill her. First for not telling the family anything, and then for how stupid and outdated the idea of an arranged marriage was. “Yeah, I’m going to postpone that conversation a bit…”
Maria laughed, amused, watching the pale faces of both sisters as they thought about their mother. Then she leaned back and looked at Yelena with curiosity. “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
Yelena scoffed at that. “Fiancée,” she corrected pointlessly. Maria, despite being happily married to Natasha, had no real idea about the corporate security world, and what little she did know came from scattered conversations between the sisters. It didn’t surprise Yelena that Maria, as a cop who lived to drown in paperwork and then cook for her wife, didn’t know Kate’s name. After all, no matter how famous Bishop’s heir was, she belonged to a world completely different from theirs. “Her name’s Katherine. And she has her own PR team, which I’ll be stuck with for the next few weeks announcing our ‘relationship.’”
Maria whistled. “Straight into the first-class lifestyle.”
“I’m going to die, this is a nightmare. I’ll be stuck with egomaniacs my whole marriage,” Yelena whined, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder.
Natasha sighed but ran a hand through her hair.
“You’re the one who signed,” she reminded her gently. “Are you already regretting it? I’m sure we could cancel it, the Bishop girl doesn’t seem irrational.”
Yelena didn’t respond right away.
She looked at her mug, then at her own hands.
“I don’t know. It was a logical decision. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. They didn’t even pressure me, just sent the documents and an address if I wanted to talk. But now that it’s done…”
“You can always back out, like Nat said,” Maria added.
“No, this is an opportunity. My independence is at stake,” Yelena said with a vague grimace, not really explaining the pros and cons of the deal, and how the massive sum of money she’d get by adopting the Bishop name had ultimately convinced her. “I could lay the foundation for the company and finally open the restaurant without having to worry.”
A restaurant. That had always been Yelena’s dream...
Well, that’s a lie. Yelena had wanted to be many things as a child, professional soccer player, veterinarian, firefighter, and dancer. But the restaurant, that was something she’d wanted for a long time. She had a degree, she was a chef, in addition to all the cybersecurity nonsense. But she never had the chance. The company was something she shared with her sister, and she’d never abandon her with it. It was the foundation that brought them to where they were, and Yelena would always be grateful.
But she’d always let herself dream a little.
And when this opportunity came, Yelena saw it for what it was: a golden ticket to the restaurant of her dreams.
“And you’re going to do it by pretending to date a famous millionaire with an empire for a last name?” Natasha pressed, with no malice in her tone.
Yelena clenched her jaw. “Yes. Because that’s how the world works. She needs a believable image, I need the means to stop depending on anyone. It’s a deal.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Maria murmured. “If it were just that, you wouldn’t be this quiet.”
Yelena looked away.
The truth was, something weighed on her. Not just the media exposure or the interviews that would surely come, it was Kate. She didn’t know her, but there was something in the way she looked, in how she talked about respect, about “doing it right.” She reminded her of Erik, neither of them acted like everyone else in the elite. And this deal, this marriage, was Yelena performing.
It made her feel… dirty, she realized. She’d always felt above the people she worked with, always looked down on the rich like they were empty, fake shells. She’d never been wrong, until now.
Was this too cold? Was she crossing a line she couldn’t undo later?
She rubbed her temples. “I just have to remind myself this isn’t real, it's not like we're going to be married forever.” she said quietly.
Natasha didn’t say anything else. Neither did Maria. That was the end of it.
Yelena was getting married, and that was that.
The archery field was empty at that hour. Just wind, trees, and the sharp sound of arrows hitting the target. Kate drew the bow, aimed, and fired. Bullseye, as always.
Clint rested his bow on the tip of his shoe, watching his friend and protégé with curiosity.
Kate only got this quiet when something was bothering her. Normally it was something about her company, but ever since her grandfather died, Kate had been a little off. Clint figured that was part of it too, it’s hard to grieve when your life is so public and people are constantly questioning you. 'Did you cry too much during the company speech? Too little? Is it true you only stayed close to your grandfather for the company?'
The press could be cruel, especially to people as honest as Kate.
“You good, Hawkeye?" Clint asked slowly, almost fatherly. He wasn’t used to having these kinds of talks, but he loved Kate. Seeing her hurt was unbearable.
Kate only furrowed her brow further and shot another arrow. The sound of one arrow splitting another caught Clint off guard. When he looked at the target, Kate had split one with the next, he winced. Those things were expensive.
“Perfect,” she muttered, lowering the bow and then taking off her gear. She was done for the day. Clint followed her. “It’s just…” Kate gestured with her hand, then covered her face and looked at Clint helplessly. “It’s about my inheritance. My grandfather left a bunch of conditions I have to meet to inherit the company.”
Clint raised an eyebrow, he’d always assumed Bishop Securities was her birthright from the moment she was born. “That doesn’t sound like your grandpa.”
“It’s exactly like him,” Kate grimaced, sitting on the ground with her bow at her side. Clint sat across from her. “I have to get married. He had it all planned. He met a woman a few years ago, and left it written that it was my choice, but he hoped I’d choose her. I met her yesterday and… she said yes. We’re engaged. Yay.” Kate covered her face, sitting cross-legged with her elbows on her knees. Clint looked at her sympathetically.
“I’ll never understand rich people. Is that even legal?” he muttered, lifting a hesitant hand to pat her shoulder.
“It is. I’m his only heir since my dad died.” Kate sighed, rubbing her hands over her face as she explained everything. “It’s not like I didn’t have options, there was a list of powerful men waiting for the role. I got a lot of offers. My lawyer said it didn’t have to be my only option, but it’s my family’s company. I can’t let anyone else have it. I’ve worked my whole life for this.”
Clint nodded slowly, compassionately. He figured it had to be a hard decision. He’d seen how much Erik adored Kate, he always thought he was a pretty open-minded old man. He hadn’t even blinked the day Kate came out. He just laughed, like he’d known all along, and told Kate women were more beautiful and smarter, and she was right to like them. Apparently, even he had some archaic thoughts, like arranged marriages.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Katie,” Clint assured her. After all, he knew her. Kate Bishop could handle anything.
The girl said nothing. She and Clint left the field and went to breakfast. They talked about Lucky, Clint’s kids, how stressed Kate was while filing all the CEO paperwork.
And finally, Kate got a bit of relief from the pain.
Even if it was just for a while.
Chapter Text
The car was silent, with the smell of expensive perfume making Yelena feel dizzy as she stared out the window. She had known exactly what she was getting into the moment she picked up the pen and signed the papers, but actually starting to follow through with the terms made it feel more real.
Kate, beside her, sat with her back straight, chin up, looking ahead as Manhattan passed swiftly and relentlessly through the windows of the car. Yelena, in a simple black dress and a short leather jacket, because she had flat-out refused to wear the offered blazer, was playing with the buckle of her seatbelt.
They hadn’t spoken much since getting in; Kate seemed too serious and Yelena wasn’t remotely excited about being introduced to Kate’s many business partners. But that changed when Kate slid her hand into the inner pocket of her blazer.
"I have something for you."
Yelena glanced sideways at her. "An escape button?"
Kate smiled tentatively, then shook her head. The idea had come to her just yesterday, she’d practically run out of the office, dragging Peter along, just to get to the most expensive jewelry store she could find. "A ring."she confessed, before pulling out a small grey velvet box. It wasn’t cheesy or overly decorated, just plain. She opened it calmly and took out the ring without any flourish.
She didn’t kneel, didn’t give a love declaration, didn’t lie to Yelena, she simply took her left hand gently and, with firm and delicate movements, slid the ring onto her ring finger.
It was beautiful. Elegant, but discreet. White gold with a modern design and a small, dark green stone, almost black if you didn’t catch it in the light.
Yelena looked at her with parted lips, puzzled, amused. "Just like that, no permission?"
"I didn’t think I’d need it." Kate said, still not looking at her. Her eyes were fixed on Yelena’s hand, still holding it gently. Yelena noticed Kate had surprisingly calloused hands for someone who worked in an office. "You’re marrying me anyway." Yelena was about to reply with something sharp, maybe a joke just to break the tension, but then Kate finally turned her face to her, and her voice dropped slightly. "And I didn’t want you to walk in there without something nice. Not just for appearances… well, a little for that. But mostly because you deserve nice things. While this lasts, I’d like to give you that."
Yelena said nothing. She had expected this to be a power move, a symbol of control for something that little Bishop girl, for once in her life, didn’t control. But what she found was something else: honesty, clumsy perhaps, but without ulterior motives.
She stared at it a moment longer. "And what are you giving me at the wedding? A diamond watch?"
Kate blinked, finally breaking the spell as she let go of Yelena’s hand. "If that’s what you want... I could consider anything." Kate smiled. Not sarcastically or distantly, but in that genuine way that annoyed Yelena because it was hard to hate. The car came to a halt. They had arrived. "Ready to pretend you adore me?" Kate asked as she smoothed down her suit. Then she stepped out of the car and helped the blonde down with the grace of a gentleman.
"I can pretend I don’t want to kill anyone," Yelena admitted, her arm looped through Kate’s. "With you beside me, I might even seem charming."
"Good strategy."
"And you? Ready to introduce your fake girlfriend?"
Kate looked at her, that little spark of mischief in her eyes. "Fake? Nah, I hid you too well. They’re going to hate me for not telling them I had such a pretty fiancée."
Yelena let out a single, short laugh. They stepped into the venue. The building overlooked the river and had perfect lighting, designed to make everyone present look richer and younger than they were. A networking dinner for leaders in private and tech security, hosted by Bishop Securities. In other words: Kate’s territory.
Yelena felt out of place the moment she crossed the door.
Too many suits, too many shiny watches, too many fake smiles. It all reminded her why she hated this world: no one was truly real. Except maybe the woman who now gently wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her through the crowd as if they were a single, solid, untouchable unit.
"Kate, finally!" a colleague shouted in a high-pitched voice near the bar. "Weren’t you coming alone this time? Who's this cute lady?"
"Ah, yes," Kate shook his hand gracefully. "I decided it was time you all met my fiancée. I did a good job hiding her, didn’t I?"
Kate looked at Yelena and gave her a knowing smile. Yelena forced one in return, lips tight. The group of executives laughed, some offered congratulations. Others joked about "the perks of strategic marriage," not realizing how literal that was. Kate looked uncomfortable at that last part, but quickly steered the conversation to a more favorable topic.
Meanwhile, Yelena made sure to keep her hand hooked through Kate’s arm, the ring catching attention. Neither of them flinched when one of the hired photographers snapped a picture without asking, but Kate frowned slightly and slipped her arm around Yelena’s shoulders.
Yelena wanted to leave. But Kate stayed by her side, a hand sometimes on her lower back, sometimes gently holding her hand. It wasn’t a display. It was support. She was trying to make it easier. Kate was used to this world, she had been born into it. Yelena, on the other hand, had avoided things like this as if they were the plague ever since she founded her own company.
Still, Kate held firm. She didn’t leave her alone in the shark tank that was this dinner. She lied with ease, they met at a party thanks to her grandfather, and Kate, worthy heir to a security firm, hadn’t let the news about her girlfriend leak until they were both ready. Everyone laughed, buying every word, and Kate smiled at her when they finally sat down to eat.
Yelena wasn’t used to being cared for in public; she was either alone or in control. This time, she was neither. But the discomfort became… manageable, as long as Kate kept lightly holding the reins. Just a little.
After an hour, while everyone discussed new monitoring systems and urban surveillance drones, Yelena murmured: "I’m going to the bathroom. If I don’t come back, it’s because I snuck into the kitchen and climbed out the window."
Kate didn’t let go immediately. A look of pure gratitude made Yelena freeze for a full second. "Thank you for coming. Really."
Yelena just looked at her, and for some reason, didn’t make a joke. She only nodded and walked away.
And once she was alone, in the bathroom with spotless mirrors and marble that gleamed like it cost human lives, she looked at the ring. Genuine. Cold. Beautiful.
Yelena had no idea what to do with it, or the weight it seemed to carry on her finger.
The dinner ended with laughter, goodbyes, and a final toast. Kate kept her composure until the very end, guiding Yelena out of the room with the same hand on her back that she hadn’t let go of all night. The limousine was waiting with the doors open and a driver who didn’t dare look up. They got in without a word, and the car pulled away smoothly.
This time, Yelena didn’t look out the window.
"It wasn’t that terrible." she murmured, more to herself than to Kate.
The other smiled with barely a curve of her lips. "Thanks for not escaping through the kitchen. Would’ve been a little pathetic if my fiancée abandoned me on the night everyone met her."
"I almost did." Yelena turned to look at her. "Though I’ll admit, it was fun watching all those important guys try to impress."
"That’s because you’re infinitely more interesting than any of them." Kate said, like it was just another statistic.
Silence. Comfortable, for the first time. The ride was brief; the car stopped in front of a brick-faced building with wide windows. Yelena shifted awkwardly. "You didn’t have to pick me up and drop me off."
"I know." Kate got out first and offered her hand. "But I wanted to."
Yelena took the hand, stepped out without comment, though her crooked smile said enough.
They climbed the steps in silence, Kate slightly behind with her hands in her pockets. Yelena took out the key, but didn’t use it right away. She turned toward Kate, who had kept a respectful distance behind her.
"Do you want to come up?"
Kate shook her head. "Not if you don’t want me to."
Yelena laughed, mocking. "No, I didn’t actually want to. Just felt polite."
"Then that’s how the fun part of my night is over." she replied quickly, honestly. Silence again, both of them looking at each other, but this time there was something charged between them. Kate broke the tension by straightening her blazer and looking up at her. "Thank you. For coming and for staying." She paused, unsure if she should say the next part. "I know this is weird, everything I’m asking you to do for me, for the disaster my grandfather brought you to. But... I’m glad it was you, Yelena."
Yelena stared at her, surprised by how easy it was to believe her.
"You’re weird, Kate Bishop." she finally said, without sounding offensive.
"I know."
Yelena smiled, but felt the need to clarify. "You’re not like them."
Kate narrowed her eyes, amused. "Who?"
"The rich. The elite. The people who smile as falsely as they do everything else." Yelena looked down at the ring, which caught a glimmer from the streetlamp. "You… you’re not like them. At all."
Kate swallowed hard; she wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a warning, but she nodded anyway. "I guess you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met either."
"Oh, but I’m like everyone else, Kate. I'm realizing that now. I’m just looking out for myself too, so don’t feel guilty." Yelena turned the key in the lock. Before going in, she paused for a second and then, without looking directly at Kate, said: "The ring was nice. Really."
Kate smiled. She didn’t say anything else. The door closed softly behind Yelena.
And Kate stayed there a few seconds more, in the hallway of the building, with her hands in her pockets and an expression no one had seen from her all night: calm, vulnerable.
It hadn’t been a bad night.
Chapter Text
Kate’s desk looked like a war zone with an unlimited budget. Folders, two open laptops, a half-drunk coffee, a tablet vibrating with alerts, and an endless list of wedding vendors highlighted in neon.
"Yes, yes, I understand," Kate pressed her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose. With her other hand, she typed on her laptop, and her phone was pinned between her shoulder and ear. "But can we have the venue with adjustable ceiling lighting and a separate space for the press? No, it’s not entirely a private wedding. It’s... an emotional-business hybrid, does that make sense to you?" Kate spoke while signing documents and motioning to Peter.
Peter Parker, her assistant (young, efficient, possibly overqualified), was taking frantic notes. "Kate?"
Kate hummed, pulling the phone away and covering the microphone. "Note: talk to the florist before Friday, confirm availability of a DJ that’s not 'horribly cheesy,' and look at menu options with vegan alternatives that don’t involve tofu. I refuse to have tofu at my wedding." Kate added as she hung up one call and took another. "Hi, yes, thank you for answering! I wanted to know if you have availability for a ceremony of between 80 and 100 people in eight weeks. Too short notice? Oh, perfect, I love your optimism. Can we schedule a visit...?"
Peter blinked from his spot near the door. "Do you want me to remind you to breathe or just bring over an oxygen tank?"
Kate snapped her fingers, amused, as she ended the call.
"Also note: buy an oxygen tank." Peter smiled, then returned to his tablet. The elevator bell rang. Kate didn’t even look up, focused on sending an urgent email to legal to review the catering contracts. "If it’s another early meeting, tell them I’m dead. Unavailable. Spiritually absent," she muttered, eyes glued to her screen.
"Uhm, what if it’s your fiancée?" Peter’s voice was calm, almost amused.
Kate looked up suddenly and blinked.
Yelena was there, with a tote bag and her usual jacket, messy, with a perfect braid falling over her shoulder. She looked around with the expression of someone stepping into hostile territory. The gates of hell, maybe.
"Are you alive, or should I come back in another life?" the blonde asked with a half-smile.
Kate stood up immediately. "No, no. Stay. Hi. What... what are you doing here?"
"I brought you food." Yelena said, lifting the bag as if it were the most obvious and normal thing in the world.
Kate looked confused. More than that—she looked incredulous.
"Food?"
"No, a rhinoceros," Yelena said, lifting the bag. "Yes, I brought lunch... No offense, but you seem like the type of person who forgets to eat properly for three days and then faints during a shareholders’ meeting."
"It only happened once," Kate mumbled, uncomfortable, and with something in her chest that felt like awe.
Yelena was already unpacking the containers with efficient movements, and Kate rushed to clear all the papers and documents off her desk. They didn’t say anything as Yelena laid them out on the table, but the aroma that escaped was too good to be from a restaurant. Warm, spiced, something deeply comforting.
"What is all this?" Kate asked, inhaling like she’d just discovered happiness. Yelena approached and placed the bag on the desk. She pulled out bread and metal utensils. Nothing disposable. Nothing cheap. The smell filled the office like someone had opened a window to another universe.
"The healthiest thing I could make today without going grocery shopping," Yelena murmured. "There’s stew, spiced rice, and something we used to call ‘war bread’ at home, but don’t worry, it doesn’t explode."
Kate sat down, a bit dazed. She opened one of the containers, and her eyes widened.
"You cooked this?"
"No." Yelena’s response was immediate as she sat and handed Kate a spoon.
Kate smiled, still confused. "No?"
"No," she repeated, with a tone that made it clear Kate shouldn’t push unless she wanted Yelena to snatch the tupperware from her hands. "I don’t like to talk about my underground stew trafficking," she finally added, dry.
Kate laughed and took the first spoonful. She closed her eyes with an expression of ecstasy that bordered on ridiculous. "God. This is... this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. What did you put in this? Black magic?"
Yelena lowered her gaze, but the corner of her mouth curved. A quick smile, imperceptible unless you were looking for it. Kate was looking for it.
"I’m not going to deny or admit anything," Yelena said, settling more comfortably as she began eating from her own container.
"Too late. I’m already in love with your soup."
"Perfect," Yelena returned the smile. "That way I don’t have to learn how to make anything else during our marriage."
Kate smiled again, more at ease now. For the first time since they signed the contract, she didn’t feel like they were acting.
"You know, you didn’t have to do this," she said softly.
"Maybe I wanted to." Kate hummed, lowering her spoon and looking at her, waiting for her to continue. "I guess I thought that if you’re going to organize our fake wedding for both of us, the least I could do was make sure you eat something decent in the meantime."
Kate looked at her with a mix of awe and tenderness. "Still, thank you. Really."
"Besides, you gave me a ring... I know you think you dragged me into this, but that’s not how it was. I agreed to marry you too, and you’re still trying to make all of this easier. Without asking for anything in return, so... I thought I could return the gesture," Yelena admitted quietly, fiddling with the gold band on her finger.
Kate lowered her gaze. "Well, yeah. I thought you deserved something nice." Silence. The kind that isn’t uncomfortable. The kind that sets the stage for something else. "You’re wearing the ring now," Kate said suddenly, as if she couldn’t help it. As if she couldn’t stop staring at it now that she’d noticed.
Yelena looked down. "Yeah."
She didn’t explain why. But she wore it. Shining on her finger, perfectly fitted. And something in Kate’s chest swelled with force. It wasn’t love. No. But it was... something. A seed. A vertex.
"I thought maybe you’d leave it in a drawer," Kate admitted, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
"I thought that too," Yelena laughed.
Neither said anything for a moment. Then, Kate served herself more stew. "Do you want to see some ideas for the wedding?" she asked with a bit of shyness. "I’m trying to organize everything myself, but I could use the opinion of the other bride for a change."
Yelena looked at her, somewhere between surprised and skeptical. "By yourself?"
"Yeah," Kate replied, matter-of-fact. She seemed a bit smug when she asked, "Why? Did you think I’d hire someone to do it all?"
"Honestly, yes. That’s what anyone would do with the kind of money you have."
"I could," Kate shrugged. What Yelena said wasn’t untrue. "But... I don’t want it to feel empty. Even if it’s a deal, I want it to make sense, to have... dignity. I don’t know, I guess I’m still trying to make sense of why my grandfather wanted me to get married."
Yelena rested her elbow on the table, observing her carefully. "I don’t know if you’re an idealistic CEO or just someone who doesn’t know how to delegate."
"Probably both," she murmured timidly, taking another bite of her food.
"That’s scary."
Kate laughed. Then sighed. "Speaking of scary things... the guest list."
"Oh no," Yelena groaned. "That."
"My mother’s already suggesting names of ambassadors. Peter is trying to convince me to invite a singer. And I have four friends blowing up my phone to meet you."
"Your friends?"
"America, Cassie, Eli, and Clint. And a few more... Well, Clint doesn’t text, he’s super old. He just sends dog wedding gifs."
"Sounds terrible," Yelena chuckled under her breath, trying to picture this woman explaining her wedding to her close group of friends. "I also know a Clint. He also uses more gifs than should legally be allowed."
"He does? Must be something about the name," Kate laughed. "And what about you? Family, friends?"
Yelena made a subtle, involuntary grimace. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her container. "My mama... found out from the public announcement. She sent messages. I haven’t replied. I don’t think she’ll understand why we’re doing this. She’s not a romantic or anything, but I doubt she’ll like that her daughter is getting married for money."
"We do what we have to do," Kate whispered, watching her. She could see the discomfort in the tense line of her shoulders, in how she avoided her gaze. There was something complicated there. She didn’t ask. "Just so you know, my mom doesn’t agree either. She thinks you’re going to take advantage of my wealth."
Yelena smiled. This time, she didn’t hide it. "Oh, and how do you know I won’t? I already admitted I’m here for that."
"My grandfather had good instincts when it came to people. Besides, I know you don’t need me. I’ve seen what your company does, Yelena. I’m just a shortcut. For what? It's the only think I'm not sure yet." Kate chuckled under her breath, looking at the other woman in a way Yelena didn’t expect. Like she really saw her, like she knew Yelena was here for more than just her share of the deal. That everything ran deeper than it seemed.
They looked at each other for another moment. Something buzzed in the air. It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t a touch. But it was something.
A beginning. Fragile. Real.
Yelena stood, picking up the empty bag. "I should go before you start writing vows. You’re very romantic, I can see that. Silver-tongued."
"Too late," Kate said playfully, but quickly stood to walk her out. "I already have a draft. There’s an entire verse about this stew."
Yelena shook her head and headed for the door, Kate right behind her. She didn’t even flinch when Kate got ahead to open the door and walk her to the elevator. "You’re worse than I thought."
"And you cook better than you want to admit."
Yelena paused just before leaving. She didn’t turn all the way, but her voice lingered like something not fully said.
"See you, Kate."
Kate smiled. The elevator dinged open, Yelena stepped in, and Kate waited until the doors closed. Even then, she stared for a moment longer.
This was, probably, the closest thing she’d had to a break since her grandfather’s death. Huh.
Chapter Text
Kate was exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed, she had definitely had better days. Her coffee had spilled over the flower planner, the company lawyer had asked her to rewrite her speech for Friday's board meeting, and Peter had laughed way too hard when Kate, between sighs and frustration, and a lot of stress, had said “I think I accidentally bought an apartment.”
And now here she was, nerves on edge, waiting for Yelena at the entrance of Bishop Securities with the keys to her Aston Martin Vantage in hand, a slight nervous tic in her eyebrow and her heart doing parkour. She hadn’t felt this nervous since she invited the girl she liked to Prom and, oh Kate, that’s a dangerous comparison. Forget Nicki Williams, this is not the time.
"Hi." Yelena arrived on time, in dark jeans, a white t-shirt under a jacket, and that look of being slightly out of place. She raised an eyebrow as soon as she saw her, walking up with her hands in her jacket and her boots buried in the street snow. "Did you want to talk about something?"
"Yeah" said Kate, and forced herself to smile even though her nerves were making her tremble. "No. I mean, technically… Well, I don’t know how to say this without sounding completely unhinged, so I’m going to say it very, very fast." Kate took a deep breath and looked at her intently before dropping the bomb. "Iboughtanapartment."
Yelena blinked, slowly. Then tilted her head, not understanding. "… Okay?"
Kate bit her lip, desperate that she didn’t get it. And look, maybe it was because she’d been surviving on coffee and energy drinks, but she rushed to clarify. "And it’s for us."
A thick silence settled like fog. "Us… who?"
"Us, Yelena." Kate groaned, running her hands over her face. "You. Me. The... fake fiancée and the impulsive CEO."
Yelena narrowed her eyes but didn’t speak immediately. "You rented an apartment?" she repeated slowly.
"Yeah. Well. I didn’t rent it, I bought it. It was an impulse, an emotionally and logistically justified whim." She tried to explain, pulling out her phone to show her the documents. It was Yelena’s too, if she wanted it. "I’m debuting as CEO, I’m getting married, everything is chaos, and I didn’t want you to have to stay at a hotel or sleep on your sister’s couch." If Yelena was surprised that Kate knew she didn’t live in New York, she didn’t say. Kate started to panic. "It seemed like the right thing to do... Though now that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds a little psychotic."
"No." Yelena finally changed expression, smiling. "It doesn’t sound ‘a little.’ It’s psychotic."
Kate pressed her lips together.
"I just thought... if we’re going to do this together, it should at least be in a neutral place." She shrugged, pulling out the keys and offering them to her fiancée. "Not my apartment, not yours. A middle ground."
Yelena crossed her arms. "And when exactly did you consult me about this?
"Between the cybersecurity board meeting and the call with the wedding menu chef." Then she made a face. "Or maybe I dreamed it. It’s been rough days."
Silence. Yelena looked at her like she was deciding whether to laugh or flee. She apparently decided this was more entertaining, because she took Kate’s keys and began walking toward the brunette’s car. "Are we going to see it?"
Kate looked at her, incredulous. "Really?"
"It’s already bought, isn’t it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it’s all done."
"Then let’s go."
The building was modern, elegant without being ostentatious like Yelena might have thought for a second. The doorman greeted them with a smile Kate automatically returned, while Yelena inspected everything as if expecting an ambush. The elevator was silent and rose smoothly. Floor 17. Kate inserted the key and pushed the door open.
Yelena stepped in first. She froze.
Natural light filled the space, bouncing off the white walls and the giant windows overlooking the city. They were high enough up that Yelena saw more sky than anything else. The place was still empty, she noted, except for a new coffee maker in the kitchen and a plant Peter had left on the windowsill with a small note that Yelena watched her fiancée read with a little smile.
The place was spacious, sober, with potential to become something warm. She was actually a little surprised. She didn’t know what she expected, maybe an entire building, maybe that this was Kate flaunting the absurd amount of zeros in her bank account. But the place, although definitely double or maybe triple the size of her own apartment in Washington DC, she could see how Kate looked around just like she did. With vision, with a desire to make it hers.
"It has four bedrooms, a living room, two bathrooms, a dining room and a kitchen." Kate said behind her. "I thought you could have your own space. Or a studio. Both. I don’t know. I didn’t want to impose, I wanted there to be space."
Yelena walked to the balcony. She opened the sliding doors. Leaned against the frame, maybe if she stretched her hand she could pretend to touch a cloud from how high they were.
"Why are you doing all this?"
Kate looked at her from the side. She didn’t move closer, always too respectful. "Because I refuse to let this feel like a transaction. Neither of us asked to be here, I don’t want it to be a cage." She explained softly. "I want it to be… livable."
Yelena glanced at her, like she still didn’t quite understand. Then, looked down. "Are dogs allowed?"
Kate froze. "Sorry?"
Yelena pulled out her phone and showed a photo. A huge American akita, white with cinnamon patches, intense eyes and a grave expression. "Her name is Fanny. She’s temperamental, hates mailmen and sleeps in my bed. She’s the love of my life, and a friend is taking care of her in Washington."
Kate smiled like a child, nodding repeatedly.
"Yes! Dogs are allowed. In fact…" She pulled out her own phone and started swiping through photos until she found one. "This is Lucky. Golden retriever, a bit clumsy, very loyal, missing one eye. I saved him from traffic last year. He’s my best friend.
Yelena leaned in to see the screen, smiling tenderly at the dog sticking out his tongue in a photo. "He’s missing an eye?"
"Yeah. He got run over. He was about to be put down and I adopted him." Kate shrugged, still swiping through endless photos of her dog. "Now he’s the unofficial head of security of the Kate Bishop apartment."
Yelena laughed in disbelief, shaking her head. "You’re a public menace."
Kate laughed, then swiped to another photo. In it, Erik Bishop was sitting on a couch, Lucky asleep on his legs, with his one ear perked up. Erik was smiling. His expression, relaxed. Almost fatherly. The apartment fell silent for several seconds. Yelena watched her without saying anything. Something in her posture grew more rigid.
Kate noticed. Lowered the phone. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to…"
"It’s fine," Yelena said softly.
But it wasn’t. It showed in the way her breathing grew shorter. In how her hands crossed again. Erik had been a vertex in their lives. For Kate, a beloved grandfather. For Yelena, a shadow that had dragged her into this.
Kate composed herself quickly. Gave her space. Didn’t touch her. Only murmured:
"We could put beds for the dogs in the living room. Or divide the kitchen if you want your side." Then she hummed, putting her phone away. "Ah, but you said she sleeps with you. We could get you a King-size bed if that works."
Yelena shook her head. Not angrily. Just… tired. "How do you do that?"
"What?"
"That." Yelena said with a vague gesture. "To be so generous with something that has no soul."
"The wedding?"
"Everything." Yelena insisted. "This. Us."
Kate looked at her. "It’s not generosity. It’s a choice."
Yelena held her gaze a moment longer. Then looked away, like she feared staring too long would make her give in.
"If Fanny fights with Lucky, it’s not my fault."
"Lucky’s peaceful." Kate shrugged. "But if Fanny growls at him, he’ll probably jump on you for protection. He’s a bit dramatic."
"Very much like his owner, huh."
Kate smiled. "Should we go see which room you want?"
"I’ll claim the one furthest from the noise."
"So not near me."
"Exactly."
But as they walked toward the hallway, their steps were synchronized. As if something, the stew, the ring, the dogs, Erik, had already aligned them a bit. Just a bit.
It wasn’t a home, Yelena knew. But it wasn’t bad either.
"You are you going to what?" Natasha’s voice sounded alarmed, but not totally surprised. Like her, she knew people like Kate.
Yelena sighed, leaning on the kitchen island. It was huge, with everything included. Cabinets, a breakfast bar and a big oven to cook. Yelena wondered if Kate had picked this apartment with this big kitchen on purpose. Stroking the marble, she couldn’t even be mad about that. "It’s not a big deal, Natty."
"Look, you want to marry for money? Do what you want, it’s your life. But you don’t know the Bishop girl, you don’t know her at all!" Natasha made sure to emphasize that part. Yelena rolled her eyes. "And she just invited you to live with her? To move out?"
"I wanted to leave Washington anyway, and we were moving headquarters here." Yelena massaged the bridge of her nose, not believing she had to explain the advantages of this decision. "That’s why you live in New York too, Natalia."
"Yeah, but it’s still suspicious!"
"Kate Bishop won’t do anything to me." Sighing, she pushed off the kitchen island and started walking toward the living room. "Look, I need to go."
"Yelena?" Kate called from the living room, where she was sitting on the floor with her tablet, browsing furniture. "What do you think about buying three sofas?"
"Sestra–..."
"Love you, Natty. Say hi to Maria." With that, she hung up and walked over to her fiancée, who had a slight frown while looking at her tablet. "Three sofas, huh?"
Kate looked up, smiling shyly. "Too much? I was thinking one big one and two armchairs. A glass table too..."
"I have a nice armchair at home." Yelena smiled, sitting on the floor next to Kate as she leaned in to see what she was looking at. "It’s Fanny’s favorite."
"Two sofas then." Kate hummed, then looked at her seriously, like she realized something. "Let me help you with the move." She asked. "I’ll hire a team, but let me help."
Yelena smiled, amused at the younger woman’s enthusiasm. "I don’t have that many things, Kate Bishop. My whole apartment probably fits in this room."
"All the more reason. Let me help." She asked. "I can be very useful, I’ve been told I’m strong. Stronger than I look." She smiled, flexing her biceps. But then, shyly, she admitted, "And I’d also like to meet Fanny... if that’s okay with you?"
Yelena smiled at her, tilting her head. "Only if you bring Lucky with you."
"Deal!" Kate grinned, ecstatic. "Let me know whenever you want to do it. I’ll clear my schedule when you say."
"Are you always this devoted, Kate Bishop?"
Kate stammered, looking at Yelena with suddenly red cheeks. "I’m not devoted! I just love dogs."
"Mhm."
"I’m not devoted."
"Okay."
"Yelena..."
Chapter 7
Notes:
Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, they're always appreciated 💜
Chapter Text
Yelena’s apartment in Washington smelled like cardboard, dust from empty shelves, and reheated coffee. The kind of smell that gets trapped in the corners when a life begins to get packed away. Natasha was kneeling in front of an open box labeled in black marker: cookbooks — important, while Maria carefully held a stack of plates wrapped in newspaper, as if they were relics. Fanny, Yelena’s American Akita, paced cautiously between their legs, sniffing everything with a tense tail, unsettled by the chaos disrupting the usual order of her home. Yelena stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the scene with one eyebrow twitching from the effort of not exploding.
"I didn’t say you should pack everything like it’s a military operation," she muttered, crossing her arms as she followed the almost choreographed movements of her sister, who checked every box with surgical precision.
"Then you shouldn’t have said anything at all," Natasha replied without looking up. "We’re not going to let you move in with a complete stranger without making sure you’re not putting your combat knife collection in the same box as your cookie recipes."
Yelena groaned but said nothing. Arguing with Natasha was like throwing gasoline on a fire: a guaranteed spectacle, but exhausting.
What she hadn’t told them yet was that Kate was coming today. That, actually, Kate had offered to help since the first day Yelena showed her the apartment. And that last night, when Yelena called her past midnight, exhausted, her voice hoarse from insomnia and anxiety, Kate hadn’t hesitated for a second. Her response had been simple, definitive: “I’m in Washington. I’ll help you tomorrow. I want to meet Fanny.”
As if summoned by name, Fanny barked and walked to the door, body alert, head tilted. A second later, the doorbell rang.
"Don’t open it!" Yelena exclaimed, immediately paling. She clumsily got up from the kitchen floor, wiped her hands on her pants, and started fixing her hair quickly, almost nervously.
"Who is it?" Maria asked from the couch, barely peeking her head out.
"The mailman." Yelena said too fast. It was a mistake.
"The mailman doesn’t ring anymore. We know Fanny goes crazy with him." Natasha frowned, half confused and half amused, sniffing out her sister’s nervousness like a wolf. But it was already too late: with that irresistible mix of natural suspicion and her love for making people uncomfortable, Natasha stepped forward and opened the door without hesitation.
"Hey." she said flatly.
And there was Kate Bishop. Standing at the door like she had arrived from another world. She wore an oversized sweatshirt, a cap that barely hid her recognizable face, and in one hand held a bakery bag and a coffee thermos, while in the other she held the leash of Lucky, her golden retriever, who wore a purple bandana around his neck and wagged his tail with scandalous joy.
"Hello?" Kate said, swallowing hard, surprised by the intensity with which Natasha was analyzing her. She leaned slightly, checking the number on the door. "Sorry… did I get the wrong place? By any chance does Yelena live here?" Lucky barked once, cheerful, as if to say yes, yes, this is it. Natasha stared at her in silence. Maria appeared behind her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Yelena was still hidden, frozen, her mouth slightly open. "Hi," Kate repeated awkwardly. "Yelena told me to come… well, not specifically today, but I offered days ago. She called me yesterday and… I was nearby, so…" She shrugged with a nervous laugh. "It was perfect timing. Literally."
The silence was thick. Until Yelena finally stepped out.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, pushing between her sister and her sister-in-law like she could erase the scene. Natasha didn’t flinch, but Maria let out a light chuckle and nodded in acknowledgment, stepping back with elegance. "Can you stop being threatening idiots for two seconds, please?"
"You didn’t tell us Bishop was coming," Natasha murmured, lowering her voice without hiding her irritation. Her gaze slid over Kate like she was scanning her. Kate, uncomfortable, gripped Lucky’s leash tighter, as he already wanted to come in like it was his home.
"Kate, come in, please," Yelena said, softening her tone. "That was my sister, Natasha, and her wife, Maria. Ignore them." She smiled faintly, as if everything was perfectly normal. "Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to, I know you’re busy."
"I told you I wanted to help. It’s no trouble." Kate smiled back at her, then lowered her voice as she leaned in. "By the way… your sister is a bit intimidating."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You came from New York for a move?"
Kate straightened up, cheeks flushed. "I had meetings. But even if I didn’t, I would’ve helped anyway."
Yelena exhaled through her nose, shooting Natasha a murderous look before taking the offerings in the form of coffee and bread. "Don’t be so intense. Kate’s not a stranger. She’s my fiancée."
"Fake," Kate added awkwardly as she crouched to let Lucky loose. "Fake fiancée."
Natasha narrowed her eyes, clearly not finding that any less suspicious.
Maria, on the other hand, lit up when Kate asked if Lucky could explore. "And this is Lucky? Yelena talked about him."
"The one and only," Kate confirmed, smiling with genuine pride.
Lucky went straight to Maria, who couldn’t resist crouching to pet him. He leaned against her legs with total confidence. Fanny watched from a corner with a reserved air. But then she approached, sniffed him neutrally, and without fuss, ignored him.
"Fanny?" Kate whispered, as if she were in the presence of a star. She knelt almost immediately, extending her hand. "Hi, yes, hi, beautiful. I’ve heard a lot about you."
To everyone’s surprise, Fanny not only allowed the petting, but seemed to melt under Kate’s fingers, pushing her head against her chest.
Yelena barely smiled. Natasha and Maria looked at each other, puzzled.
"She’s never that affectionate," Natasha murmured.
"My Fanny has good instincts." Yelena shrugged, walking toward the dining room to set the food bag down. "She always knows when someone needs protection."
"What does that mean?" Kate asked through laughter as Fanny tried to lick her face.
"Fanny only gets clingy with kids… or pups." Maria explained.
Kate blinked. Then looked at the dog. "Do you see me as a human puppy, Fanny? Ouch."
Yelena clicked her tongue. "Want to help me with the bedroom?"
Kate stood up, dusted off her pants, and followed her without hesitation. Natasha watched them disappear down the hallway.
"I think you’re exaggerating. She doesn’t seem dangerous."
"Maria, darling." Natasha turned with one raised eyebrow. "When you’re hugging a golden retriever like he’s a living stuffed animal, your opinion loses credibility."
Maria snorted… and buried her face in Lucky’s fur.
Hours later, the apartment didn’t feel the same. The floor was covered in boxes sealed with packing tape, all numbered with marker, while the furniture had been grouped into a sort of improvised puzzle. Debates over the correct order to pack pots, utensils, and sentimental objects were frequent and sometimes absurd. The chaos was real, but it had a certain rhythm.
Kate was kneeling beside a pile of labeled boxes. She lifted one marked “tablecloths” in crooked capital letters, but as soon as she picked it up, she staggered under the unexpected weight.
"What do you have in here?" she asked, laughing as she struggled to adjust it.
Yelena, not lifting her gaze from where she was rolling up a rug, answered completely matter-of-fact: "My knife collection."
Kate looked at her, blinking.
"And why does it say ‘tablecloths’?"
"I don’t trust anyone with my knives." She shrugged, as if that were a perfectly sensible and universally accepted policy.
Kate snorted with a smile while reorganizing the boxes into more stable stacks. Lucky and Fanny took turns napping at the feet of whoever was stiller, occasionally exchanging sleepy grumbles. Their coexistence seemed like a silent truce, as if they had reached a secret agreement to tolerate each other.
Natasha, on the other hand, never really took breaks. She seemed ready to interrogate Kate every chance she got, and now that Yelena had briefly disappeared to the bathroom, it was the perfect moment.
"So…" she began, with a neutral tone but sharp eyes. "You left your office for this?"
Kate, sweating and holding one of the lower shelves of the bookcase, barely paused to respond.
"Yes," she said firmly. "What? You think it’s a gesture of love?"
"I don’t know if that’s the word." Natasha replied bluntly. "I don’t think you believe that either."
Kate straightened up, her brow just slightly furrowed, and gently set the furniture down before looking back at her.
"Because it’s not," she admitted. "It’s something else. Something… weirder, I guess. A commitment. I don’t want to ruin your sister’s life, Natasha." She paused, because she wasn’t used to saying such personal things to strangers. But the look in Natasha’s eyes wasn’t that of a stranger. It was that of a worried sister. "My family dragged her into this. Into me, and my lifestyle. The least I can do is make things a bit easier while she chooses to stay."
Maria, who had been silently organizing some silverware, looked up. Something in that answer felt too honest to ignore. Natasha also seemed to falter. For a moment, she said nothing. As if she hadn’t expected that response, as if she didn’t know what weapon to use next.
By the end of the day, the apartment no longer felt like hers. The walls were bare, the shelves empty. The open windows let in a warm breeze that stirred loose papers on the floor. Fanny was lying on a pile of blankets that didn’t fit in any box. Yelena held a half-finished beer, legs stretched out on the floor. Kate, sitting beside her, had her head resting against the wall, eyes closed for a few seconds of peace.
Natasha watched from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. The way Yelena spoke to Kate in a low voice, how her shoulders relaxed near her, how Kate listened intently, with an involuntary smile she couldn’t wipe off… it wasn’t an act.
Yelena didn't act, after all.
Later, when Maria went down to start the car and the two sisters were left alone at the door, Natasha couldn’t stay quiet. She stepped closer, leaning her back against the frame.
"Are you really moving in with her?" she asked, lowering her voice.
Yelena nodded without hesitation.
"Yes."
"I thought the agreement was just for a few months. I thought it was something formal."
"We always knew this was a possibility from the start." Yelena sighed, running her hands over her face. "Kate is… good. She’s not going to hurt me."
"And if she’s not?" Natasha pressed.
Yelena turned slightly to look at Kate, who was at that moment humming a song softly while talking to Lucky in the middle of a room full of boxes. The dog wagged his tail, happy, like he couldn’t imagine a better place in the world.
"I can take care of myself, Natty," she said, her voice softer, more tired, more vulnerable. "I’m not a kid anymore. And if this ever stops being good for me… I’ll be okay. Really."
Natasha sighed and, after a moment of silence, hugged her. Tightly.
"Okay," she murmured, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder. "I won’t say anything else then."
Yelena smiled, hugging her back. "Maybe you could apologize to Kate. You scare her."
"Mmmh…" Natasha considered it for a second. "No, better let her be scared a little longer. It won’t hurt."
"You’re insufferable."
"I love you, sestra."
"I love you too," Yelena whispered, eyes closed, forehead resting against her sister. "See you in New York."
"See you."
Yelena let out a long, deep sigh before closing the door. The click of the lock sounded louder than usual in the silence that followed. When she turned around, she found three pairs of eyes fixed on her: Kate, Lucky, and Fanny. Though really, the image that stopped her was Kate, lying on the floor like she belonged there all along, with Lucky sprawled across her chest and Fanny fully stretched out on top of her like a personal pillow.
The scene looked absurd.
Yelena didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.
"What a day, huh?" murmured Kate, turning her head just slightly, trapped under the combined weight of two furballs breathing like engines. Her bangs were stuck to her forehead and her cheeks were flushed, but she was smiling.
Yelena let out a tired laugh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe the image in front of her. She set the keys down on the entry table, playing with the keychain between her fingers out of pure habit. Her voice turned softer as she spoke.
"Let me treat you to something to eat," she said, as if she wasn’t entirely sure if offering was the right thing. "I’d say I’d cook something, but…" she looked around. Stacked boxes, a dismantled lamp, the faint smell of cardboard and permanent marker, the apartment looked a little depressing now.
Kate sat up in a sudden motion, like a spring had gone off, with Lucky huffing in protest as he slid off her chest.
"No, no. It’s okay. Really." She waved her hands, shaking her head. "I can leave if you’re tired. I don’t want to…" she hesitated. "I don’t want to intrude any more than I already have."
Yelena narrowed her eyes slightly, crossing her arms, evaluating her. The way Kate always seemed on the verge of apologizing for existing sparked an impulse Yelena didn’t quite know how to name. She couldn’t tell if it was tenderness, frustration, or something she wasn’t fully ready to feel. Since the day she met her, Kate hadn’t resembled anyone she’d ever known. Too polite. Too desperate to please.
"Come on," she said, voice low but firm. She took a few steps toward her. "There’s a pizzeria a few blocks away. Nothing fancy, but they allow dogs, so if Lucky behaves, we could eat there. Fanny loves it."
Kate looked up at her and smiled a bit shyly. Her eyes were shining with something that wasn’t just exhaustion. "Seriously?"
Yelena nodded.
"Yeah. They’ve got outdoor tables, little fair lights hanging around…" she shrugged. "And good pizza. Though I refuse to order it with pineapple."
Kate laughed. "I’d never do that to you."
"Good. You just earned extra points."
Fanny stretched out with a loud yawn, Lucky shook himself with excitement, and Kate, still half on the floor, petted both dogs’ heads before standing up fully.
"Alright. Let’s go..." she said at last, cheeks a little redder, voice a little softer. She stretched, smoothing out her oversized sweatshirt and brushing her hair back with a distracted gesture. "I’d love to."
Yelena looked at her for one more second. Just one. Then she nodded and started walking toward the door, clicking her tongue to call Fanny.
"Don’t get too excited, Bishop. It’s not a date."
Kate raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. She just smirked, as if that line had amused her. "Whatever you say, fiancée," she murmured, tugging gently on Lucky’s leash.
Yelena didn’t respond. But as she opened the door, her lips curved slightly. Maybe, just maybe, a smile slipped out.
Maybe.
Chapter Text
The pizzeria was small, warm, with hanging yellow lights that flickered from time to time as if an electrical storm were about to break loose inside the lamps. The décor consisted of faded portraits of celebrities who had probably never eaten there, and a jukebox that played a strange mix of Italian pop and slow country.
Yelena looked right at home.
Kate... not so much.
"Stop staring, they'll realize you live off caviar and gourmet food," Yelena joked as she sat on a creaky chair, still wearing her coat.
"I eat other things." Kate blushed, and Yelena let out a chuckle. Lucky settled under the table with a satisfied sigh, while Fanny sniffed him like she couldn’t understand how such a clumsy golden retriever could get comfortable so quickly. They looked like old friends. Kate stretched her legs, crossed them, then leaned back. "This is not exactly how I imagined our first date," she admitted slowly, half joking.
"Maybe because it isn’t?" Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow while flipping through the laminated menu with fingers already greasy from the air inside the place. "Besides, you invited me to dinner that time."
"Doesn’t count, that was purely professional." Kate said, though her smile betrayed her.
Yelena ordered for both of them without asking. A half-pepperoni, half-margherita pizza, a couple of glasses of red wine, and a portion of garlic bread "just because." By the time the wine arrived, Kate had taken off her coat. Her hair was slightly messy, and she wore a light smile that Yelena hadn’t seen on her corporate face before.
"I didn’t know you drank cheap wine," Yelena said, with a half-smile as she clinked her glass against Kate’s. "Are you sure your liver can handle it?"
"You’d be surprised what my stomach can handle," Kate replied, with a confident smile as she took a long sip. "I had stuff like this... or worse. In college."
"College?" Yelena hummed. "Did you actually go or did they just mail you diplomas for being a Bishop?"
"I attended in person, thank you very much." Kate grimaced, though she wasn’t truly offended. "With classmates, group projects, professors who hated me for being late and libraries that smelled like sweat and cold coffee. I lived off pizza, coffee, beer, and my last-minute notes."
Yelena looked at her, amused. "I can’t picture you like that. I imagine you being born with a blazer on and a shared calendar with three personal assistants."
"It wasn’t always like this." Kate laughed. The first glass of wine disappeared quickly, and the second didn’t last much longer. Her laugh was louder, freer. "Did you know Lucky had another name before I officially adopted him? He’s a dog with a story."
"I’m not sure I want to know." Yelena laughed.
Kate leaned forward, elbows on the table as if about to confess a crime. "I used to call him ‘Pizza Dog.’"
"No," Yelena said, horrified. Scandalized.
"Yes." Kate confessed. "I trained him to bring me the empty box to let me know it was time to order another one. He had a special whistle. My grandfather thought I was training him with advanced commands. In reality, I was just teaching him to associate the smell of pepperoni with emotional rewards."
Yelena burst out laughing. A real one. The kind that makes your shoulders shake and your head fall back. Kate watched her.
She didn’t notice it at first. Just that her cheeks were warm, that the wine had kicked in, and that something in that laugh was running softly down her spine.
There was no perfect makeup, no proper lighting, no gala dress.
Just Yelena, her laugh, and that smile that stuck to her lips even after she stopped laughing.
"You’re ridiculous," said Yelena, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Fanny, at her feet, was fast asleep with one paw draped over Lucky’s back like they’d been siblings all their lives.
"You’re laughing like you haven’t done worse. Probably," Kate replied.
"Me? I never taught a dog to eat pizza."
"I didn’t teach him to eat it," she defended. "He already knew."
"Then you just encouraged him. You should be arrested."
Kate laughed. She rested her chin on her hand and looked at her.
"You’re... cute when you laugh like that," she blurted, out of nowhere, with a lower, sincere tone.
Yelena looked at her, surprised for a second. Then she smiled again while glancing at the empty glass in Kate’s hand. "You’re drunk, Kate. See?"
"No." It was the low grumble she let out, sulking.
The pizza arrived and the rest of the dinner went by in bites, comments about which dog was more spoiled (Lucky, clearly), and a few more college stories. Yelena told anecdotes like someone who didn’t care if she was heard. Kate listened like she was watching a play she didn’t want to end.
When they left the restaurant, Lucky was glued to Kate like he knew his human could barely walk straight. Fanny trotted calmly next to Yelena, ignoring everything.
Kate tripped on a loose tile and Yelena caught her by the arm.
"I’m fine," Kate protested.
"Sure you are, princess."
"Don’t call me that... You hadn’t called me that before."
"But you are a princess. The closest thing in real life."
"I’m not. I’m just rich. I don’t even like tiaras," said Kate, overly dramatic. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a superhero..."
Yelena rolled her eyes, but didn’t let go of her arm. The flashes, the rumors, the news... all of it would come later. But that night, with snoring dogs, cheap wine, silly confessions, and shared laughter, was completely real.
Even if the arrangement wasn’t.
The image appeared online without warning. Incredibly, it was days after that night.
It was a photo taken by an anonymous customer, apparently candid: Kate Bishop, CEO of Bishop Securities, sitting next to her fiancée in a small Washington pizzeria, legs crossed, elbows resting on the table and eyes completely lost in Yelena Belova. In front of them, an open pizza box, two plastic cups of red wine, and the two dogs —Lucky and Fanny— dozing under the table.
There were no flashes. No stylists, no designer suits, no prepared speeches.
Just two women laughing. And that was enough.
Social media exploded.
"I don’t know if I want a wife or a pizza and a look like Kate Bishop’s." "The most powerful pizzeria in the country." "Is this the hotest lesbian marriage ever?"
The headlines were worse. Serious outlets, fashion magazines, even financial analysts... everyone wanted a piece of the moment. Their relationship had already been public since they announced their engagement weeks ago, but that image, that informal dinner at a neighborhood pizzeria, changed everything. It was the kind of everyday moment that couldn’t be faked. At least not without seeming perfectly staged. No one believed it was fake.
That was the real scandal.
Not that they were together, but that they looked so real and honest, when elite couples almost never do.
Kate found out when Peter called her, days after that night in Washington. The phone vibrated until she woke up, disoriented, in her new apartment, in a bed that still smelled like cardboard and industrial fabric softener.
"You’re everywhere," Peter said, without greeting. "Literally. Every outlet, every social media post, every rich aunt’s group chat."
Kate rubbed her eyes and mumbled, "What did I do now?"
"It was your eyebrows. And your look. And the melted cheese. But mostly, it was the dogs," Peter explained. "Why are the dogs so comfortable with each other if you two have only been dating a month?"
Kate closed her eyes. "Technically... we’re not dating."
"The country doesn’t need to know that," Peter sighed. "But you should brace yourself. Today’s going to be long."
Kate laughed without humor. "When are they not long lately?"
The new coffee machine made a strange noise, like it was protesting being used so early. The smell of bitter coffee filled the half-unpacked kitchen, where sealed boxes competed for space with Fanny and Lucky’s paws. The sun peeked timidly through the window, lighting up the domestic chaos of two people still getting used to sharing a roof.
The coffee wasn’t for her. In the few days they’d been living together, Yelena had discovered Kate didn’t start functioning until after a cup of caffeine. She preferred yogurt with a bit of honey and granola to start the day. Yelena was sitting on the counter, in sweatpants and a black T-shirt, one leg crossed and phone in hand. The boxes were piled in every corner, the apartment slowly starting to look the way they both wanted.
And just in that moment, the only peaceful moment before work that she usually shared with Kate, the "Thunderdummys" group chat decided to explode with notifications and a single link to a gossip site article.
Bobby: ARE U KIDDING ME???
Sonya: Tell me this is photoshopped. Yelena Belova marrying a billionaire?? This isn’t real life
Ava: Yelena, your anarchism died with a toast of cheap wine wow
Antonia: Is it true? Or AI? Were you kidnapped? Blink twice if we need to get you out
James: I don’t know if I’m proud or horrified
John: Can I walk you down the aisle? Not for emotional support, just to see if the world implodes
Yelena pressed her lips to keep from laughing. She typed quickly: "It’s fake. Not a real marriage. It’s for… legal stuff." The reply came instantly.
Bobby: You got fake engaged to Kate Bishop and DIDN’T tell us?
Ana: Oh my God, they already brainwashed you
Sonya: This is as offensive as seeing you wear brand-name clothes
Ava: What’s next? French manicure? A Pinterest account?
James: The worst part is you two LOOK REAL. I saw the pic. You look happy.
"Idiots," Yelena muttered with a barely disguised smile.
"Who?" Kate asked, walking into the kitchen in a white rolled-up shirt, a coffee mug in hand, and Lucky at her heels. Her hair was wet and her suit perfectly pressed.
"My emotional containment group," Yelena replied, showing her the phone. "I mean, my friends. They think I sold out to the system."
Kate leaned in to read a few messages, raised an eyebrow, and let out a soft laugh. "‘They brainwashed you?’" she quoted, amused. "I’m flattered. I never thought I’d be someone’s moral downfall."
"You’re the whole package, apparently."
"The whole package?"
"Handsome, rich, CEO, and with a charming dog," Yelena started listing, ignoring the blush on the other woman’s cheeks. "They’re going to stage an intervention."
"What an honor."
Kate leaned against the counter, looking at Yelena with a more relaxed smile than she usually wore in meetings. Around her, the chaos of the apartment seemed smaller. They were beginning to form a routine: breakfast (sort of), dog walks, awkward jokes. Things were slowly settling in, and the place was becoming warmer.
"Did you sleep well?" Yelena asked, pouring coffee into a mug.
"Like a rock." Kate took the coffee, grateful. "Or like someone dreaming about guest lists and catering."
Yelena didn’t answer right away. She just watched her. Kate had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair still damp, and her face barely made up. She didn’t look tired… but something was off. A tightness in her shoulders, maybe, or the way she avoided sitting while checking her phone from the corner of her eye.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" Yelena insisted.
"I am." Kate lied with a polished smile. Yelena recognized it as fake because Kate always smiled with her mouth and her eyes. "It’s just... a lot," she admitted afterward, embarrassed, turning her face back to the phone. "But I’m used to it." Yelena didn’t know if she believed her. Well, actually, she did. Since she met her, she’d thought Kate Bishop was the kind of person who worked better under pressure, who recharged in chaos, who didn’t know how to rest. So she didn’t press. "Today I’ll go over more wedding lists," Kate said while checking her phone. "I have a meeting with the PR team. And then… office."
"Want me to cook something tonight? We haven’t had dinner together since we moved in."
"As long as it’s not borscht," Kate joked, taking a final sip of her coffee. "I’ll probably be home late, I have dinner with some investors."
Yelena snorted. "Culinary ignoramus. Fine, another day."
Kate smiled as Lucky sat at her feet. Bag over her shoulder, she turned to Yelena: "Thanks for… being here. In this place."
"Thanks for not dying from a cheap pizza infection." They both laughed. It was brief, simple. But it felt like a small victory.
Kate left the apartment with quick steps, Lucky following her and a never-ending to-do list in her head. Yelena stood watching the closed door, with a strange feeling. She wasn’t in love.
But there was something about that shared routine that was starting to feel dangerously comfortable.
Kate’s office was covered in papers, open folders, color-coded post-its, and half-empty coffee cups. The window let in a sterile white light that didn’t warm anything. Peter, jacket over his arm and tablet in hand, looked at her with growing concern.
"You forgot the finance committee meeting."
"I moved it to tomorrow," Kate muttered without looking up.
Peter sighed, setting his jacket on the sofa and approaching the desk, checking his notes. "You rewrote the same paragraph three times for the public wedding speech."
"I didn’t like how it sounded before. It needs to be… perfect."
Peter placed the tablet on the table with a soft thud, firm enough to make her look at him. "Kate. You haven’t eaten lunch properly in three days. You sleep poorly. And you spend the day fixing things that are already done."
"I have everything under control."
"No, you don’t," he said, softer, more serious. "No one notices because no one is with you all day. Just me."
Kate looked down. Her fingers played with the edge of an envelope. "I can’t let this fall apart, Pete. Not now. Not when everyone’s watching." Then she raised both hands, passing them over her face. "Did you see what happened with the pizzeria photo? They think we’re real. They think she’s real. And I..."
"And you what?"
Kate swallowed. Her voice came out weaker. "I want it to work. Even if it’s not real."
Peter watched her for a long moment. Then he sat across from her, lowering his tone.
"I’ve known you for years. I know when you’re holding up the building alone and how much you love showing that you can. But you don’t need to do that. I already know what you’re capable of. We all do." Peter stood, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You have to let someone help you lay the bricks. Because if you don’t now, you’re going to collapse right in the middle of the altar."
"...It’s sweet when you worry." Kate gave a sad smile. "Maybe I should’ve proposed to you instead."
"We’re practically married in spirit." Peter scoffed. "But seriously, you’re giving me material to write a Greek tragedy, Kate." She looked out the window. The sky was dull, gray. As if the world had paused to see if she’d make it through another day. "Want me to call Yelena?"
Kate hesitated. Shook her head. "No, no. She thinks I’m like this."
Peter sighed. "Then you’re going to have to decide if you want to keep pretending… or let her see who you are when the mask slips. She’s going to be your wife."
"Fake... Fake wife."
"It’s still a commitment."
Silence filled the office. Kate leaned back, closed her eyes for a second. Then opened them again, fixing her gaze on the papers. She had three days to hold up the theater of a perfect wedding.
And maybe… maybe less than that before she broke.
Chapter Text
The apartment smelled of expensive perfume, burnt coffee, and pressure, the newness had worn off long ago. The pressure wasn’t obvious, but the kind that settles in your bones, that hides behind every evasive glance over breakfast and camouflages itself among the endless to-do list in the phone app. The kind of pressure Kate Bishop had perfected into an art: no one was supposed to notice. No one, except maybe her assistant, Peter.
In her room, Kate was sitting on the edge of the bed, her white shirt still unbuttoned, and her trembling hands resting on her knees. The rest of her suit—custom-made, of course, white as porcelain or marble, hung on the rack like a warning. Every thread seemed to remind her that this was necessary, that it was for the company, for her future, for her grandfather’s legacy. That she could handle it. That she had to.
Across the hall, Yelena adjusted the black blazer in front of the mirror with a neutral expression, as if she were headed to a boring meeting or a school award ceremony. Nothing in her face betrayed nerves, but inside, one insistent question pierced through her like a needle: why did this bother her so much?
It was a role. A contract. A formality. She had known from the start that it would be like this, but maybe it all started to feel real when Kate gave her the ring. She won’t take it off.
She didn’t fall in love with younger, stressed women who thought they could carry the entire world on their own. She didn’t… but when she thought of Kate, something didn’t add up. Yelena sighed, ran her hands through her hair, and smoothed the blazer. Black. Like her. Like her humor. Like her defensive sarcasm. Like the way she dealt with things she couldn’t control.
When they both came out of their rooms, they met in the living room. The light from the large window fell right on Kate, who was buttoning the last cuff with unsteady hands. Yelena, for a second, couldn’t breathe. Kate was beautiful, yes, but there was something more in seeing her dressed like that, with a pale face and eyes shining with something she didn’t recognize.
Kate looked up and her breath caught for an instant. Yelena in black. Simple. Elegant. Indecipherable. A sharp contrast from the pocketed vests and torn pants.
Neither said anything. No sarcastic comments. They simply exchanged looks like two soldiers recognizing each other on a battlefield.
"Ready?" Kate asked softly.
"Are you?" Yelena replied, raising an eyebrow, as if she weren’t uncomfortable, as if she weren’t being pulled into something much deeper than she’d planned.
Kate didn’t answer. She just grabbed the keys, the box with the rings, and walked toward the door. Yelena followed in silence. The dogs slept in their beds.
The room wasn’t decorated like in the movies. No hanging flowers or soft background music. It was sober, with worn beige walls, and the clock read 11:48 when they arrived. No one else was getting married that day. No one else seemed to be pretending.
At one side of the room, Natasha and Maria were speaking in low voices. Natasha, standing with crossed arms, didn’t hide her discomfort. Maria was subtler, but both of them watched Yelena with a focus that felt like needles. It was also the first time they saw Kate as what she was about to become: family.
At the other end, Eleanor Bishop stood impeccable, in a dark green blazer and perfectly lined lips, holding her purse with both hands. She kept throwing looks at Yelena as if waiting for her to commit a breach of etiquette at any moment. Beside her, Peter clutched a tablet to his chest. His brow furrowed, like someone who knew he was in the middle of a slow-moving catastrophe.
Kate had walked in beside him like an ancient queen. In her tailored white suit and with a calm that seemed carved from marble. Every step was firm. Every gesture calculated to inspire confidence. No one imagined that, inside, she was falling apart. The officiant began his speech, routine, almost bureaucratic. The words floated in the air like a thick fog. No one was really listening.
Yelena couldn’t stop looking at her. Kate sat beside her, smiling politely at everyone, even Eleanor, even Natasha. Not a single strand of hair was out of place. No sweat on her forehead. No shadow of weakness in her voice when she said “yes.”
Yelena thought, for a moment, that maybe Kate didn’t feel anything. Until Kate took her hand.
Her fingers were cold. Trembling slightly, like a barely perceptible underground vibration. Yelena said nothing, didn’t ask, didn’t know how. She just handed her the pen when it was time to sign.
Kate took it. Signed. Smiled. Yelena did the same and the contract was finally sealed. They were married.
The only photographer Kate had hired approached and asked for a photo. Kate posed gracefully, taking Yelena’s hand and sliding on the new ring. It was gold, delicate, with no stones. The flashes blinded her, but she couldn’t focus on anything beyond the cold sweat on Kate’s forehead.
Then it happened, they had to kiss. A chaste kiss, for the photo. To finally be done with this and go home. Kate looked at her, as if saying it wasn’t necessary, but Yelena had already slid the ring onto Kate’s finger anyway, so she grabbed the lapels of Kate’s white suit and smiled.
Kate seemed to lose her breath, maybe from nerves, maybe from discomfort as they slowly leaned in and the photographer shamelessly aimed. But then, without warning, Kate collapsed to one side as if her soul had been switched off.
"Kate!" Peter shouted, dropping the tablet with a sharp thud on the floor.
Yelena caught her before her head hit the ground. The sound of her body falling was louder in her chest than in the room. "Fuck, Kate!" she repeated, a mix of panic and fury tightening her throat.
Natasha rushed over immediately, and Maria was already dialing on her phone. Eleanor took a step back and drove the photographer out with a growl. Only Peter knelt beside them, tears forming in his eyes.
"I knew it," he muttered. "I knew it. I told her not to keep going like this. I told her she couldn’t do it all alone." Peter groaned, running a hand through his hair. "She wasn’t sleeping. Barely eating. Every time I dared to bring it up, she… she said she was fine. That she just had to make it to today, and then things would calm down. But no, everything piled up. Erik’s death, her new CEO position… you."
Yelena listened, never taking her eyes off Kate. Her head rested on Yelena’s lap, lips slightly parted, face too pale. Her lashes looked enormous against the white skin.
Yelena felt a quiet rage bloom in her chest. Not toward Peter. Not toward Kate. Toward herself.
Because she had believed that Kate was like that. Demanding. Lonely. Ambitious. Because she’d mistaken her elegance for arrogance. Her efficiency for coldness. Her polite smile for distance.
And it wasn’t true. Kate wasn’t like that, she had just been doing everything she could to make this farce lighter. She had tried not to bother her, not to burden her, not to ask for anything. She’d cared about Yelena’s schedule, her clothes, about making the wedding quick and with little press. She had bent over backward in silence.
And she hadn’t seen it. But she had, she’d seen her working late every night, heard her talking to vendors and decorators at three in the morning, found her asleep on the couch with the laptop still on, and never asked why. Never insisted.
She’d thought it wasn’t her problem. Thought it was part of the act. And now Kate lay unconscious in her arms, more vulnerable than ever, and Yelena didn’t know what to do.
When Kate’s eyes blinked open slowly, the only thing she said was:
"Did I faint?" Yelena nodded. She tried not to show anything on her face. Tried to look strong. "Ah…" Kate whispered, attempting to sit up. "How embarrassing. I’m fine, I'm sorry—"
"No," Yelena replied, without thinking. Her chest burned the more she looked at Kate’s pale, exhausted face. "You’re not fine, and don’t apologize. Because this is not going to happen again. Do you hear me?"
Kate looked at her. She could barely hold the gaze. She looked ashamed of having collapsed, like it was an unforgivable humiliation. "This is just a contract," she whispered weakly.
"Yes. It is," Yelena said firmly. "But I’m your wife now. And that means I’m going to be here, I’m going to help you. You’re not going to faint alone again without me here to catch you. I’m going to be unbearable, okay?"
Peter stepped away silently, visibly shaken. Natasha and Maria exchanged a look that needed no translation. Eleanor no longer looked so unshakable.
Kate closed her eyes. She tried not to let it hurt, what that promise meant. But it hurt. It hurt because it was what she had always wanted to hear.
It hurt because it wasn’t real, too
But it sounded like it was. And for a moment, she wanted to believe her.
"Okay."
Night fell over the city without warning, and the apartment was silent. Peter had left with a murmured apology. Natasha and Maria had gone without insisting. Eleanor, after saying something about reputations and public crises, had disappeared with her chauffeur.
Kate was on the couch, a blanket pulled up to her chest, staring at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the cracks in the plaster. Every now and then she blinked slower than usual, but refused to sleep. Yelena had covered her up. Had brought her water. Hadn’t said much else.
Until Yelena got up silently, crossed the hall, and closed the door to her room.
The phone trembled between her fingers as she searched the contact. Melina. Her mother. It had been over a month since they’d spoken. Since the engagement made the papers and she didn’t bother clarifying anything.
She took a deep breath. Dialed.
"Hello?" Melina’s voice came, dry, firm.
"Mama… I got married."
There was a long silence.
"The CEO from the news, I assume?"
"Yes. Her name is Kate."
"Was it your idea or hers?"
Yelena rubbed her face, exhausted. "It was her grandfather’s idea. But I agreed. I signed. And now I married her."
"Is it just a contract? Or do you love her?"
Yelena looked toward the door, as if she could see through it.
She thought of Kate collapsing. Of her cold fingers. Of how, even when she woke, the first thing she did was apologize. "It was just a contract. But now it’s something else, I guess."
"What is it?"
"A promise," Yelena said. "I hope you can meet her soon, Mom… How’s the farm? Did the project finish?"
"Don’t think you’ll get away with not calling me for a month by distracting me with work talk." Yelena laughed at her mother’s offended tone.
They talked for an hour. Yelena promised to visit with Fanny sometime, maybe another time with Kate and her golden retriever. Melina said she’d return to the city soon once the pig project was done, and Yelena was happy to know she’d see her mother in a month.
When she returned to the living room, Kate had already locked herself in her room. They didn’t speak the rest of the day, but Kate ate. Yelena made sure of it.
That night, Yelena fell asleep staring at her ring.
Chapter Text
Kate Bishop’s office was a glass cube—elegant, sterile, and pristine, with walls as spotless as her perfectly organized schedule. But that morning, the reflection in the window didn’t show the image of an unbeatable CEO, the heir to Erik. Kate was hunched over her computer, hair pulled back hastily, her knuckles white from gripping her pen too hard. The shadows under her eyes betrayed that she hadn’t slept more than three hours.
Peter entered silently with a cup of coffee. He placed it to the side, as he did every day. He said nothing. He simply looked at her with that mix of concern and loyalty that didn’t need words.
“Yelena’s coming at noon,” he announced while checking notifications on his tablet.
Kate didn’t look up. “You don’t need to remind me of the schedule,” she muttered, irritable since the civil wedding a week ago.
“I’m not reminding you, I’m preparing you,” he said, then left, gently closing the door behind him. He sighed.
When Yelena arrived, Peter greeted her with a knowing glance and held the door open for her, as always.
“What’s on the menu today, soup or pasta?” he joked softly, walking her to the office.
“Risotto. Saffron. No onions because Kate hates the texture.”
Peter smiled wearily. In just one week, Yelena had gotten Kate to eat three meals a day. And vegetables.
“You know more than the company’s chef.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow, pausing in front of the office door. “The company chef hates me.”
“Because you’re competition.” Peter chuckled, scanning his badge on the handle. The door clicked open.
“Or because I’m better,” Yelena said, without shame or hesitation, and entered the office. Kate stood in front of her desk, arms crossed, staring at the chaos of papers and reports scattered across the table. She didn’t even glance up. “I brought lunch,” Yelena announced, tired but already used to this small ritual.
“I’m busy.”
Yelena slowly set the bag down on the table, opened the container, and let the aroma fill the office.
“Since when do you mind eating while working?”
Kate finally turned. Her face was tense, jaw clenched. “I don’t need you bringing me food every day.”
“I don’t do it because you need it. I do it because I want to.”
“Well, maybe you can stop wanting to,” Kate snapped, harsher than intended.
Yelena didn’t react right away. She just looked at her. Quiet. As if waiting for Kate to breathe and calm down. And when she didn’t, Yelena stepped forward slowly, until she was just a meter away.
“What’s wrong?”
Kate looked down. It was hard to speak when Yelena looked at her like that, like she could see through every carefully constructed layer.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” she said at last. “I don’t want you to think this was a mistake.”
Yelena sighed and gently ran her hands over Kate’s chest, adjusting the lapels of her pristine blazer.
“Marrying you was my choice,” she repeated, as she had many times before, with the same patience. “No one made me stay. No one pointed a gun at me. I chose you, Kate. Even when this was just a contract, I chose you. So, no, you’re not a burden.”
“But I’m failing,” Kate whispered, fists clenched as she tried not to melt under her wife’s touch. “I fainted at my own wedding. I don’t have time to breathe. My mom thinks I’m ruining the family’s reputation, and now you have to bring me food like I’m some irresponsible teenager.”
Yelena took a deep breath and leaned a little closer, resting a hand on the desk near hers.
“You don’t have to be perfect with me.”
“This isn’t just about you. Or us,” Kate replied, her voice trembling. “I have to be the perfect boss, the ideal granddaughter, the daughter who never causes problems. I have to live up to everything my grandfather built. I have to… keep everything balanced. If I let go, even a little, everything falls apart.”
The silence grew heavy. But Yelena held it patiently.
“What if I told you—you can let go a little?” she asked softly.
Kate looked at her, eyes shining. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Yelena said firmly. “You don’t have to be the boss, the wife, the granddaughter, and the daughter... all at once. Not with me. When you’re with me, I just want you to be Kate. The woman who eats risotto slowly because she always burns her tongue. The one who falls asleep with her laptop on her chest. The one who puts post-its on her cups so no one takes them. The one who makes me laugh when I don’t want to. That Kate also exists. And she also deserves to rest.”
Kate pressed her lips together. Shame boiled inside her.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I don’t know how to be a wife either. But I want to take care of you. Even if it’s just with saffron rice and sticky notes that say ‘don’t forget to eat, dummy.’”
Kate wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. If Yelena was surprised, she didn’t say.
“I’m scared of depending on someone like this.”
Yelena nodded, not pushing. “I’m scared you won’t let me in.”
Kate swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. But she pulled away, walked to the desk, picked up the fork Yelena had left beside the container, and, without a word, sat down. Took a bite.
It was perfect. As always.
“What’s in this?”
Yelena smiled, sitting across from her. “A little white wine. And rosemary.”
Kate chewed thoughtfully. From the other room, Peter let out a relieved sigh. He heard soft laughter, a joke from Yelena that he didn’t quite catch. And he knew that, for today, at least, his boss would be okay.
That night, Kate got home earlier than usual. Lucky greeted her, tail wagging, and Fanny barked from the kitchen. The scent of fresh bread filled the air.
“What are you cooking?” she asked, surprised.
“Tomorrow’s lunch.” Yelena turned, wearing a makeshift apron. “Want to help?”
Kate stood still in the doorway. Hesitated. Then walked over to the counter, rolled up her sleeves, and picked up a knife.
“Tell me what to do, boss.”
And for the first time in days, the weight of the Bishop name didn’t crush her. Because in that kitchen, between flour, laughter, and badly chopped tomatoes, Kate didn’t have to be anyone but herself.
And that, finally, kind of, felt like enough.
The idea of sharing a home with someone you didn’t love (at least not in the traditional way) should have felt more uncomfortable, Kate was sure of it. She had rehearsed it a thousand times: her marriage to Yelena was a transaction, a mutual agreement. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything else.
And yet, the days began to organize themselves not just around work, but also around Yelena’s schedule. Her routines, her gestures, her silences.
It wasn’t love, of course. It was... habit. Affection? Maybe that. A kind of quiet, unspoken tenderness that showed up in the mornings when Yelena made her strong coffee (because weak coffee put her in a bad mood), and in the evenings when Kate left the hallway window cracked open, knowing Yelena hated when everything felt too shut in.
Sometimes, it felt like they had been living together far longer than they actually had.
The silence in the apartment was no longer uncomfortable. Not like it had been in the first few weeks, when the echo of every step seemed to remind them that they weren’t really wives—just accomplices in a contract full of unwritten clauses. Now, the silence had transformed into a gentle truce: in the slow mornings with coffee, in the evenings where neither of them spoke, but one reached for the blanket and the other queued a show just to fill the time.
The falsehood was still there, of course. But it was beginning to dissolve in the details.
The first Sunday Yelena cried in front of the TV, Kate thought she was joking. It was The Hunger Games, probably Kate’s favorite films as a teenager, but she wasn’t really paying attention that night—too focused on answering emails from her laptop.
"Are you crying?" she asked when she heard a soft sniffle, glancing over her screen.
"No." Yelena’s voice was nasal and clearly emotional.
Kate tried not to smile nervously. "You’re crying."
"I am not crying," Yelena groaned, covering her face. "I’m having a logical, human reaction to a cruelly dystopian story in which children are forced to kill each other for entertainment. What kind of psychopath wouldn’t cry?"
Kate slowly closed her laptop and leaned closer. "So… you don’t like the movie."
"I hate it," Yelena growled, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. "I hate that they make me care about people who are obviously going to die. It’s cheap emotional manipulation. I’d rather watch The Devil Wears Prada or Sex and the City. At least in those, the only things dying are brain cells from too much champagne."
"I’m starting to notice a pattern with your favorite shows and movies," Kate said with a smile, mostly joking, as she gently rubbed Yelena’s back.
That was when Kate began to take Sunday marathons with Yelena seriously. If Yelena wanted to watch Carrie Bradshaw ramble about love and shoes, Kate was ready to sit beside her. With coffee and her phone turned off.
The routine didn’t build itself overnight. But it settled in like a plant growing through a crack in a wall—stubborn, quiet, resilient. They began to have breakfast together when they could. Kate preferred black coffee; Yelena had her yogurt and buy croissants for Kate, sometimes bringing them all the way from an Argentine bakery in Queens just because once she said she liked them. They shared morning headlines—not with much conversation, but with a closeness that no longer felt forced.
Yelena started to get more involved in planning the public wedding. Not because of Eleanor, whom she avoided like a ticking bomb, nor for the company, not even for the image of the perfect couple that the press was starting to buy into, or the contract (not anymore; she couldn’t even remember the last time she thought about the restaurant). She did it for Kate.
Every time Kate frowned at a guest list or at the sample menus sent from the city’s most expensive hotels, Yelena would sit next to her, cross her arms, and say:
"Tell me which ones you hate. I’ll cross them out." And she did, using a red marker. "We’re having a vegetarian menu. They’ll survive."
"And the wine?"
"The one we had the other night, remember? The one that made you smile and talk softer."
Kate was surprised at how much Yelena noticed. How she remembered details Kate hadn’t even been aware of herself. "How do you know all this?"
"I don’t know. I guess… I like seeing you calm."
Peter, from his desk, watched as Yelena argued with an event planner about the lighting in the main hall, while Kate pretended not to listen with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"I’ve never seen anyone go up against Mrs. Liu like that," Peter murmured.
"That’s because no one’s seen her get up after watching Rue die," Kate answered without thinking.
Peter looked at her, amused and a little surprised. "You watched The Hunger Games?"
"It was… accidental. And never again. Now we only watch New York women talking about sex, martinis, and clothes."
"That sounds more… peaceful."
"And much more emotional," Kate added with a warm smile.
By the time Peter returned to his office for lunch, he had no doubts.
It wasn’t love. Not yet. Not even a real relationship. But something was growing in there, between plates of homemade pasta and arguments about centerpieces. Something soft. Gentle. Fragile. And even if no one said it out loud, it wasn’t entirely fake anymore.
Around noon that day, Yelena pulled two paper bags from her backpack.
"Today we have dumplings and buns," she announced. "Because I couldn’t decide."
Kate looked up from her laptop. "That sounds like very productive indecision."
"It sounds like your wife is taking care of you."
Kate looked at her, slowly, gratefully, and then dropped her gaze. "I don’t know if I deserve to be taken care of."
Yelena walked over, set the bags on the table, and leaned down to meet her eyes. "I know. But you do."
Kate swallowed hard. "Yelena…"
"It doesn’t matter how this started. We’re here now. And I… I choose to be here. With you."
From the doorway, Peter quietly turned and closed the door without a sound. Outside, the city roared with its usual intensity. But inside, in that moment, everything was soft. Real. Silently true.
Even if they didn’t know what to call it yet.
Chapter Text
Since the fainting at the civil wedding, Yelena hadn’t stopped paying attention. At first, it had just been a reflex, something instinctive (staying by her side, making sure she ate, that she didn’t keep working until three in the morning with red eyes glued to the computer), but as the days passed, it became something deeper. More personal.
Harder to ignore.
Kate didn’t complain anymore. Now she welcomed every gesture with a soft smile, and that made it even harder to figure out what was really going on in her head. Was she grateful? Moved? Uncomfortable? Did she like it?
Did she like Yelena?
Yelena asked herself that question more often than she was willing to admit.
That’s why, when Melina returned to the country after months in Geneva working on that pig project, Yelena didn’t hesitate to visit her.
She needed… a compass. Something to ground her.
Melina’s apartment smelled of freshly baked bread when she arrived.
"I thought you’d come with the wife," Melina said, without greeting her and while handing her a clean apron.
"She’s working. She doesn’t stop even when she’s falling over," Yelena replied, taking off her jacket with a grimace of frustrated affection, then accepting the apron and following her mother into the kitchen.
"And you?" Melina asked as they began chopping onions. "Are you stopping?"
Yelena didn’t answer right away.
Cooking with her mother had always been a sort of therapeutic ritual, a way of talking without needing to look each other in the eye. Bits of conversation would fall between movements, between pots, between aromas. Yelena moved around the kitchen like she had as a teenager, comfortable and confident, trusting her mother would guide her without needing to say exactly what to do.
"I like her," she said finally. "I don’t know when it started, but now… I can’t help it. I see that tired look in her eyes, and I think about what I can cook to make her feel better. It just comes out. Like it matters."
Melina paused for a moment, watching her.
"Last time we spoke, you said this was just an arrangement," she reminded her gently. "That you weren’t going to get tangled up, but it was starting to feel like more."
Yelena smiled without humor.
"I said that. But something changed. It’s not love," she rushed to say. "But… I want to be close. I want her to be okay. And I worry that she’s only like this because she doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel like she gives so much, there’s no room left for her to receive. Like she erases herself... What if she doesn’t like me and she’s just kind? What if I’m confusing her kindness for something else? She’s so good, Mama."
Melina didn’t answer right away. She simply placed a hand over hers.
"Caring doesn’t always start with love, Milaya," Melina began slowly. "Sometimes it comes before. Sometimes it’s the root. But if you care, if you see her, truly see her, then you’re already deeper than you think. And if you don’t know how she feels, ask her. Listen. Not with fear that she doesn’t love you, but with the curiosity to know who she is."
Later, when Yelena returned to her apartment, night had already fallen.
The lights were on, Fanny was lost somewhere, and Lucky was stretching in the hallway, half asleep. She petted him in passing, and when she reached the living room, she found Kate on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with a steaming cup of tea and an expression hard to define.
"Kate?"
Kate looked up and smiled, but it was a tired smile.
"Hi."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah… yeah. I was just..." She lowered her gaze to her cup. "I got nervous, that’s all."
Yelena frowned. "Nervous? Why?"
"Today… you didn’t come to work. At lunchtime," she confessed, not meeting her eyes. "I know you don’t have to do it every day. It’s not your obligation or anything, but I got used to it. I wondered if… I don’t know, if you were okay. If everything was fine with your mom. I guess I got a little scared. I’m sorry... it was stupid."
Yelena blinked.
"I left you a container in the fridge."
"I know," Kate said quickly. "But I forgot. I didn’t see it until I got home. I just… I worried. It’s ridiculous. You don’t have to pay attention to me."
Yelena looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.
Something settled in her chest.
Kate, so chaotic sometimes, so unpredictable in other things, was a woman of routines. Of certainties. And Yelena had become one of them. Without saying anything, she walked over to the couch and sat beside her. She took the cup carefully, placed it on the table, then held her hand.
"It wasn’t stupid," she said softly. "And I won’t fail you. I promise that every day I can, I’ll bring you lunch. Whether at work or home. You won’t go without me."
Kate looked at her, surprised by the intensity of the promise. Then she lowered her gaze, as if the sincerity overwhelmed her.
"Thank you…" she murmured, cheeks tinted a soft red. "You don’t have to."
Yelena didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.
"You ate, right?" Peter asked as he peeked into the office.
Kate didn’t even look up from her computer.
"Define ‘ate’."
"Don’t make me activate the ‘Yelena finds out’ protocol."
Kate looked up, frowning. "There’s no such protocol."
"Not yet," Peter said. "But I can draft it in under ten minutes."
Kate huffed. She pointed to the half-finished breakfast container on her desk. "Half a portion. Does that count?"
"I’ll take that as what it is… a halfway yes." Peter sighed, then glanced briefly at his phone. "Remember tonight is the Miller party. You’re expected there at eight sharp."
Kate hummed, and Peter decided that was enough. He closed the door, Kate dropped her pen among the papers and leaned back in her chair.
Since she collapsed at her own civil wedding (something that still made her shudder with embarrassment every time she remembered it), Yelena had kept her promise. Not only did she show up regularly at lunchtime, but she cooked for her. Not simple dishes. Not store-bought stuff. Homemade, seasoned, balanced, hot food.
Food that spoke for her.
And always with a note, something silly like: "You better eat it all or I’ll feed you beet soup for the whole next week. YB."
Kate wondered if she had a hidden folder where she kept all those notes, because she never threw any away. And she wondered even more why she couldn’t look her in the eye every time Yelena brought the food in person.
It was too much. Too considerate. Too real.
Today, Yelena had come in person again. She showed up at 12:47 with a lazy smile and a thermal bag slung over her shoulder.
"I brought soup," she said as she walked in. "Not beet, so don’t make that face."
"I didn’t make a face." Kate chuckled, closing her laptop.
"You’ve got a ‘I hate soup’ face," Yelena replied, placing everything on the meeting table. "I also brought garlic bread. And salad. Don’t look at me like that, you’ll live past thirty if you eat properly."
"Are you my wife or my nutritionist?"
"Today I’m both. Tomorrow," Yelena shrugged playfully, "who knows. Maybe I’ll organize your finances."
Kate laughed softly, helping her take out the containers and utensils. They talked about the wedding. About flowers. About the songs for the ceremony. About the centerpieces Yelena refused to approve until they saw at least three more options.
And then, as always, Yelena stood when she finish, adjusted her jacket, and said:
"I’m leaving before you ask me to sign documents. See you tonight, don’t think I forgot." Then she tapped her lightly on the chest with her index finger. "Eat it all."
Kate straightened like a soldier. "I will."
Yelena held her gaze a moment before leaving, letting Kate walk her to the elevator. Like always. "You’re not alone, Kate."
The phrase hit her like an invisible pat on the back. Kate needed a minute to pull herself together.
But just as she began to recover, one of her employees passed by. A young woman from the planning team, carrying a folder under her arm and the bright eyes of someone who doesn’t know how to keep a comment to herself. Sofia, if Kate remembered right, and she’d seen the whole interaction.
"Congratulations, boss!" she said with a genuine smile. "Your wife is… wow. She’s treating you like a queen. I'm so jealous."
Kate froze. The elevator hadn’t closed yet, but Yelena was already inside, checking her phone, unaware.
"Ah…" Kate tried to speak, but the blood had already rushed to her ears. "Uhm-"
"I imagine you cook for each other and all that," Sofia continued cheerfully, "but having lunch brought to you every day must be lovely."
Kate opened her mouth to deny it. To say it wasn’t like that. That it was all an arrangement. That it was...
But the words didn’t come.
Because, deep down, she did feel cared for. And because, even though she hadn’t asked for it, Yelena was keeping her promise so precisely, so intimately, so seriously, that any excuse would sound false.
"Yes," she said at last. "She’s… a good wife."
The employee smiled even more and walked down the hallway.
Kate stood there a moment longer, cheeks burning and heart tangled. The elevator closed just then. Yelena hadn’t heard.
Thank God.
But still, Kate couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.
How it felt when Yelena showed up with food. How she helped her with everything, asking nothing in return. How she left instructions for her to take care of herself when she couldn’t do it alone.
And maybe, just maybe… her employee was right.
The gala was in full swing.
Warm lights, sparkling glasses, string music in the background. Kate, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, moved through the room with a diplomatic smile. Her mother had arrived an hour earlier and was already chatting with board members like old friends. Peter drifted in and out like a silent shadow, solving problems before they even existed.
Her wife had arrived clinging to her arm, wedding ring gleaming as she held onto Kate’s elbow. Dressed in a deep midnight blue, hair down over one shoulder and a champagne flute already in hand, she was a loaded weapon with good posture and zero patience. She looked dazzling. But more than that… she looked comfortable.
Kate blinked. Since when was Yelena comfortable at events like this?
She saw her speaking with one of the top donors, then laughing softly with a security tech designer it had taken Kate two years to convince to work with them.
Yelena wasn’t just surviving. She was thriving. And Kate… didn’t know what to do with that.
"She’s getting drunk," Peter murmured, appearing beside her with a glass of water. "And charming half the room."
Kate tapped her fingers on her own glass. "I noticed."
"Everything alright, boss?"
Kate took a deep breath. "I don’t know."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Jealous?"
Kate flushed to her ears. "I wouldn’t say that. Surprised, maybe." She admitted, running a hand over her face. "I thought she hated these kinds of events."
Peter blinked, then spoke slowly, like Kate had missed something obvious. "We did our homework, we researched her," he emphasized. "She’s not just your fake wife, she’s a successful cybersecurity entrepreneur. Of course she’s good at this. Even if she doesn’t enjoy it."
Kate grimaced, frowning at the floor. "You're very helpful, Pete."
Peter smiled, then set his glass on the bar. "Want me to pull her out of the spotlight or...?"
"No. Yes. No..." Kate sighed and moved through the crowd, leaving her half-finished drink on a passing waiter’s tray.
She reached Yelena just as she was finishing a story about a ridiculously complex cyberattack… which she’d apparently resolved with a sarcastic remark and a cold coffee. Everyone laughed.
Then Yelena turned her head and saw her.
Her smile shifted. It became softer. More intentional. "My wife," she said aloud.
Kate’s stomach twisted. Yelena raised her glass to her as if in a toast.
Kate wanted to shove her. Or drag her away.
Maybe both... She settled on the latter.
"Having fun?" she asked, stepping closer.
"Too much," Yelena replied, winking and sliding closer, slipping an arm around her waist.
And holy hell, she was drunk.
Kate touched her arm. "Want to get some air?"
"Are you pulling me out of the party?" Yelena raised an amused eyebrow. Like Kate’s nerves were entertainment.
"No, no… just… it’s warm in here."
"Mhm."
"Please." Kate’s knees weakened. Since when did Yelena have such long lashes and round cheeks?
Maybe she’d had too much wine too. Shit.
Peter appeared, as always, at exactly the right time. "I’ve got you covered," he said, dependable as ever. Kate should really give him a raise. "Go before one of the donors asks Yelena if she does motivational speaking."
"Thanks," Kate whispered, and took Yelena’s hand. The blonde followed, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like Don McLean.
She led her to the balcony. The doors closed behind them, and the night air was a balm. Kate let out a breath.
Yelena leaned back against the marble railing, glass still in hand, smiling far too wide. "You’re nervous."
"It’s not that," Kate complained.
"No?"
"It’s just that…" Kate bit her lip. "I saw you with all those people, and I realized I don’t need to protect you at these things."
"I never needed you to." Yelena laughed.
"I know, I know. I’ve said it before. You’re amazing and you definitely don’t need me. It’s just… you’re really good at this." Kate tried to explain. "And you used to be more… reserved."
Yelena took another sip, then gave her a devastating smile.
"Are you saying you were more comfortable when I was antisocial?"
"No!" Kate ran a hand over her face. "No. I’m saying… when you’re that charming with everyone, it’s hard not to want to pull you away from the rest… God, I think I overdid it with the wine."
"Mhm." Yelena’s smile caught hold.
"I’m not jealous!"
"Of course not."
Kate huffed and moved to take the glass from her. "Give me that. You’ve had enough."
Yelena chuckled and handed it over. "Oh look at that. The CEO giving orders."
"Yelena."
"What?" she asked, stepping forward. Yelena was closer than usual. Looser. Freer. But no less intense. "Now you know how it feels," she said, low, just between them. "To be in a room and not know if people are interested in me… or if I’m interested in them." Kate’s breath caught. Yelena tilted her head. "That’s new for you, isn’t it, princess? Wanting something and not being able to have it."
Kate just nodded. Then shook her head. Her hands were trembling. She didn’t know if it was from the cold… or from her.
"I..."
Yelena lifted a hand and brushed back a strand of her hair. "I didn’t like the way that woman looked at you today. Your employee. She was smiling too much."
Kate swallowed, remembering Sofia and Yelena in the elevator. "Is that why you got drunk?"
"Don’t play with fire, Kate Bishop."
"We’re not..."
"No," Yelena whispered. "I know." Kate felt like her whole body wanted to collapse. Yelena looked at her with that calm, dangerously sincere smile. Then she stepped back. "I need more champagne."
Kate was still frozen. But when they returned to the room, and Yelena’s hand settled around her waist like it belonged there, Kate didn’t pull away. She didn’t say a word.
She couldn’t.
She just thought maybe the wedding wasn’t going to be the most intense thing to happen that month.
When the party ended, Kate held her by the arm with a mix of resignation, tenderness, and something that felt like affection, as they slipped out through a side door Peter had discreetly unlocked a few minutes earlier.
"I’m not that bad!" Yelena protested, immediately tripping over an invisible step.
"Oh, I don’t doubt it," Kate said, grabbing her before her determined wife could crash into the hydrangeas.
"I’m fine. The floor just… spins a little. Nothing serious. I’ve been drunker. Your American booze is weak."
Kate chuckled softly, scanning for her car. "How much did you drink?"
"Enough to forget this gala was supposed to be about you and not me," Yelena said, half-leaning on her. "I stole the show! Admit it, princess."
Kate smiled, amused, though her heart clenched at the nickname. "I admit it. You were a full spectacle." Kate nodded seriously. "Super charming."
"Right? And you, with that sophisticated, morally upright CEO face. No one would suspect you’re married to a criminal like me."
"Criminal, huh?"
"I hacked a lot of companies before founding mine," she said proudly. Kate just shook her head.
"Of course you did."
"Shhh! Don’t contradict me." Kate let out a laugh. She opened the car door and tried to settle Yelena inside. The blonde melted into the seat like jelly. "You treat me like I can’t do it myself," she grumbled, mumbling something soft in Russian.
"I can’t tell if that was an insult or a poem."
"Both," Yelena said, smiling like she’d won a prize. Then she turned her head, looking at her intensely. "You’re cute."
Kate froze for a second. "Cute?"
"You told me that at the pizza place, now I’m saying it back. Because you are."
Kate shook her head, circled the car, and climbed into the driver’s seat. "Water?" she asked.
"Water." Yelena sighed, resting her head against the window. "Why are you like this? Why do you have that face like you want to take care of everything and everyone?"
"I don’t have a face. It’s just my face."
"You do. And you have that stupid heart. And those guilty puppy eyes..." Yelena listed. "It’s disgusting how good you are."
"Thank you?"
"You’re welcome. Did you know your suit sparkled under the lights? Like… like you were a damn star."
"Okay, you’re definitely too drunk, Yel."
"But it’s true!" Yelena turned to face her. "You’re brilliant. And generous. And kind of dumb for wanting to like this situation. Dp you like me, Kate? Is that it? Or are you just like this with everyone?" Kate tried not to drive into the roundabout. "No, don’t answer," Yelena murmured, softer now. "Even I don’t know. I just know I want to take care of you."
Silence filled the car for a few minutes. Yelena closed her eyes, head resting back. Kate kept glancing at her, unable to stop.
The woman beside her was elegant chaos. A storm. A sharp-edged riddle.
And yet, even like this… even drunk, messy, and uncomfortably sincere, Kate could only see her as something precious.
"Yelena..."
"Hmm."
"When we get home, you’re drinking a liter of water and sleeping twelve hours."
"... And after that?"
Kate thought carefully before answering.
"After that… I’ll make you breakfast. And we won’t talk about anything you said tonight."
Yelena smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "Of course not. Otherwise it would be real, right?"
Kate exhaled shakily. She didn’t know how she was going to survive this woman.
But she knew, with overwhelming certainty, there was no going back.
Chapter Text
The sun came in through the half-closed curtains, soft and golden. The light danced over the rumpled bedspread, the cushions on the floor, and the legs tangled in sheets that were never meant to be shared.
Yelena opened one eye. Then closed both when she realized this wasn’t her room, but her wife’s.
"Oh no."
A muffled groan came from her throat as she covered her face with one hand.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind of blurry images, phrases in Russian, laughter, glasses…
And Kate.
A lot of Kate.
"Oh no."
"You're alive," said a voice far too close. "That's new."
Yelena lowered her hand from her face, resigned. Kate was sitting beside her, already dressed (at least partially, in her pajamas and a robe), with a cup of coffee in hand and a smile hovering between amused and exasperated.
"Did I sleep in your bed?" Yelena asked with a sigh, as if she weren’t currently lying in said bed.
Kate smirked, taking a long sip from her cup. "Yes."
Yelena groaned. "Voluntarily?"
Kate laughed. "Not exactly. Apparently, last night you had a brilliant idea to avoid waking up alone."
Yelena glanced sideways at her. "What did I do?"
"You threatened to cry if I went to the other room," Kate explained simply, recalling the drunk and sensitive Yelena from the night before. "You pouted, Yelena. A pout. It was devastating. I had no defense."
Yelena let out a sound that resembled an internal groan.
"Did I lie on top of you?"
"No." Kate shook her head. "I lay on top of the blankets. You were drunk, and anything else wouldn't have been right. But you hugged me like I was some kind of national security pillow. I remember you growling when I tried to move."
"I'm moving out." Yelena muttered, pulling the pillow over her head.
Kate laughed as she took another sip of coffee. "We already live together," she insisted softly. "You can’t run from this. I think we're past that point."
"Then I’ll fake my death," Yelena decided. "There’s no coming back from that much shame. Give Fanny to my mother, she’ll know what to do."
"Don’t do that," Kate said more gently. "You know I don’t mind, Yelena."
Yelena didn’t respond immediately.
She slowly lowered the pillow, just enough to look at Kate without having to sit up. Her eyes, still heavy from the hangover, were clearer than ever.
"I know." she said at last. And she didn’t sound relieved.
Kate went still. The cup in her hands was cooling, but she didn’t seem to notice. The only thing she noticed was how Yelena avoided holding her gaze for more than a second. As if she were searching for something. As if she couldn’t find it.
"Nothing happened," Kate said then, as if trying to read the script ahead of time. As if saying it quickly might stop either of them from questioning it. "We just slept.
"I know." Yelena repeated.
And this time, it sounded like disappointment.
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. Nor was it hostile. It was the kind of silence that’s born when both parties know something should be said, and yet choose to ignore it. It was the emotional equivalent of tiptoeing over glass.
Kate stood from the edge of the bed. She walked toward the kitchen without saying anything else, with the careful steps of someone trying not to break anything. Not a cup. Not something worse.
Yelena stayed in bed. She hated this part. The after part. When they were no longer drunk or laughing or protected by the dim darkness of a poorly lit hallway and the party. When reality returned to what it was: two wives by obligation, sharing a house, an entire life they didn’t know how to live, and a man from the grave with expectations neither of them was sure how to meet.
She finally sat up, her body knotted and her heart slightly worse. She looked at the messy bedspread, the pillow marks on her skin, the space Kate had left behind.
And she remembered. Everything.
The way Kate had looked at her last night at the gala, with their fingers still intertwined under the table and swearing she wasn’t jealous. The way her laughter had turned into a whisper when they were alone. And the phrase, when Yelena was falling asleep in the car, and how much it had hurt.
"And we won’t talk about what you said tonight."
Yelena had wanted to respond honestly. She had wanted to say that she did want to talk. That she needed to understand what this thing was beating so strongly between them, what the lunches and the small gestures meant, if they were still formalities and a contract, or something else. If Kate was just being kind, so kind she’d destroy herself before letting Yelena in, or if there was something more. Besides everything. Besides Erik, the company, the dreams Yelena had never even mentioned.
But she didn’t. Not because she couldn’t.
Because Kate asked her not to.
And when Kate asks for something like that, in that soft voice, almost trembling, Yelena gives it to her. Even if it hurts.
Even if she doesn’t understand why. Mostly because Kate has given her so much from the beginning.
(That, and the constant reminder of how often Kate insists that their entire relationship is fake.)
In the kitchen, Kate had her back turned, stirring a pot that didn’t need stirring. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t plan to eat. But she needed something to do with her hands, or she might do something worse with her mouth.
Talk.
Confess that every day she depended more on the lunches Yelena brought without asking. On the shared silences on the couch and Sunday movie marathons. On the brush of fingers when passing the salt, on the dogs asleep at their feet during dinner. On the silly arguments about vases that were becoming more frequent.
Confess that she was afraid of losing that if she dared to ask for more. Because then she wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
Or maybe she’d have to start pretending.
Yelena appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket, tousled and beautiful in the exact way Kate knew she shouldn’t be thinking. She watched her silently. Kate didn’t turn.
"Do you want coffee?" she asked, as if that were the only possible question.
Yelena looked at her for a long moment. She thought about saying I don’t want coffee, I want to talk. But she didn’t say it.
"Yes," she replied instead. "With milk, if that’s okay."
Kate nodded. She prepared another cup and handed it to her without touching her. And so the day began. Like any other. Like all the ones that would follow, if neither of them dared to break what they had to see what was underneath.
Nothing was said.
Nothing changed.
And yet, the weight of everything they didn’t share became just a little heavier.
Another morning. Another piece of truth swallowed in silence.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Kate’s office, painting the room in a clean, almost clinical white. The clock read eleven in the morning, and although the temperature inside was perfect, the atmosphere felt heavy, like something invisible and unnamed had been hovering between them for weeks.
Since the gala, to be exact.
They hadn’t talked about what didn’t happen. They didn’t talk about the lingering looks or the conversation on the terrace, and even less about the one in the car. They didn’t talk about how Kate avoided her gaze the entire following week, or how Yelena pretended it didn’t matter.
So now they were here, sitting face to face, with folders, catalogs, and a tablet spread out on the table, forced to plan a wedding that was still, officially, part of the contract.
"I need you to promise they’ll play 'American Pie'," Yelena said suddenly, breaking the silence with an expression far too serious for such a request.
Kate blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Very serious," Yelena replied, crossing her arms. "It’s a fundamental part of my marital experience."
"Doesn’t that song last eight minutes?"
"Eight glorious minutes." Yelena looked sincerely offended.
Kate exhaled a soft laugh, incredulous, and looked back at her list of priorities. "Fine, fine. But I want lilac flowers. No changing it later. And none of those weird mixes your friend Ava suggested."
Yelena raised an eyebrow. "The black orchids with gold accents?"
"They were... so aggressive!"
Yelena smiled, a spark of amusement in her eyes. Kate never said it, but she loved when she smiled like that. Like nothing else mattered for a second.
They continued discussing music, food (Yelena insisted on personally approving the catering), the invitations (Kate had a minimal and elegant vision, Yelena didn’t care as long as the font wasn’t cursive), and even the gift registry.
But the more they talked, the more a feeling crept up inside Kate. A sting, a thought that slipped between words. Because the more Yelena listed what she could do, the more obvious it became that she didn’t have to do any of it.
Not according to the contract.
Yelena had gone to every gala with Kate. She’d moved in without complaint and had started bringing her lunch every day. She had agreed to help plan the wedding Kate originally claimed to want. And now she was talking about menus and playlists with the commitment of a real wife. A truly real wife.
Kate lowered her gaze to the tablet screen, but didn’t read anything. She said it without thinking too much:
"The other day I was reviewing the accounts and I wondered... what are you going to do with the money?"
Yelena blinked, confused. "What money?"
"The one you inherited when you became..." The phrase stuck for a moment. "When you legally became Yelena Bishop."
The room grew quieter. The hum of the air conditioner, the subtle creak of the leather chair as Yelena shifted, were suddenly loud.
"I didn’t think you cared," she said at last, without irony. Almost in a whisper.
"Of course I do," Kate insisted. "I just didn’t think you’d want to share it with me."
Yelena looked down, and for the first time in a long time, she looked… nervous. Not annoyed. Not teasing. Not sarcastic.
Nervous.
Kate tilted her head, surprised.
"It’s dumb," Yelena finally murmured, fidgeting with her wedding ring.
"Dumb like actually dumb, or you’re just being modest?"
"Actually dumb," Yelena insisted.
"Now I have to know," Kate said, sitting up a little straighter. "Are you buying a car? A house? Getting a back tattoo of Fanny?"
Yelena let out a soft laugh. She covered her mouth with her hand, a shy gesture Kate had never seen from her.
"A restaurant."
Kate blinked. "What?"
"I want to open a restaurant," she repeated, firmer this time, but her cheeks slightly flushed. "I’ve always wanted to. I trained as a chef in my spare time while studying cybersecurity. It’s... not something many people know."
"Wait, wait... you’re a chef?"
"With a diploma and everything. Not a glamorous one, sure. But a real one. I like cooking, as probably you realized by now." she admitted, lowering her gaze. "And I think I’d be happy doing that every day. Even if it’s a small place."
Kate fell silent. For a second, she didn’t know what to say. She looked at her wife and felt something stir in her chest.
She was so different from what she imagined when they signed that agreement. The Yelena sitting in front of her wasn’t just the woman who started her own business with her sister, the woman who didn’t get intimidated by CEOs or cameras or gala gowns. She was also someone who wanted to make homemade bread and choose tablecloths for her restaurant.
"Do you have a name in mind?"
Yelena looked at her, surprised she was still asking.
"Not yet, I guess I never thought that far." She laughed.
"I think you should start," Kate said, then lowered her voice. "I could help you, and don’t even think of saying no. What’s all my money for if not to fund a few things?"
Yelena’s laugh faded slowly, and once again that tense silence, that charged pause, filled the room.
Their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They weren’t talking about wedding budgets anymore. They weren’t talking about flowers or playlists.
They weren’t talking about how both of them kept pretending to follow a script that had long since gone off-book.
"You don’t have to," Yelena insisted softly. "The money I have is more than enough."
"You deserve it. You deserve everything, Yelena." Kate replied, honest and open.
And oh, how Kate could say those things from the depths of her heart, ribs wide open for Yelena to look inside, and not expect her to want her more.
Chapter Text
Kate had sworn this marriage would remain simple. After all, her grandfather’s expectations with this arrangement were never written down, and dragging Yelena along with her was never an option.
A contract, that was all it was: mutual benefits, and then each one would go on with her life. However, the last few months had been anything but simple. Living with Yelena had become a dangerous routine, the kind that gets under your skin: lunches magically appearing on her desk, messages reminding her to dress warmly before going out, and that way Yelena looked at her when she thought Kate wasn’t watching (and she was, Kate watched her a lot, more than she’d like to admit).
What made everything worse was the party, the way Yelena got drunk and how Kate chickened out.
It was too much.
Or rather, Kate felt it could become too much.
And when something starts to feel real, Kate Bishop does what she does best: escape before it can hurt.
That’s why, that morning, she got into her car and drove to the only place she knew she could find some sort of refuge without awkward questions: Clint Barton’s house.
Clint opened the door with a frown, looking Kate up and down as if searching for injuries or trying to remember if it was someone’s birthday today, anything to explain the surprise visit.
"And that face?" he asked, but stepped aside to let her in. Kate didn’t answer. She went straight to the living room, where little Nathaniel was crawling among blankets and toys. Without asking permission, Kate dropped to the floor, picked up the baby, and settled him in her lap as if he were a shield against any serious conversation. "Are you… stealing my baby?" Clint raised an eyebrow, more amused than anything.
"I needed some baby serotonin," Kate replied, shrugging. "And today my wife wasn’t home. She went to visit her nephews and niece."
"Ah, right, very logical…" Clint murmured, still puzzled. "Well, you know you’re welcome anytime. Although I warn you, visitors are coming today."
Kate didn’t lift her eyes from the baby. "I don’t mind. Although I don’t want to impose if you don’t want me here."
Clint softened. "I always want you here, kid. I’m telling you because it’s Natasha and her sister."
Kate took a moment to process the name, then another to put the pieces together. "Your Natasha? The best friend you’ve talked about for years?"
"The very same." Clint confirmed with a proud smile. "Actually, I’m very smart and made a connection with her the other day. Maybe you’ll regret coming."
Before she could ask what that meant, the door opened again. Three voices were heard first, soft laughter in Russian, then Natasha and Yelena entered the room, right behind Laura, Clint’s wife.
It was a second, barely a blink, but both sisters froze as they came in. Natasha, because she hadn’t expected to find Kate Bishop in the middle of her afternoon, and Yelena… Yelena because seeing her there, with Nathaniel in her arms and surrounded by kids drawing on the floor, was an image that hit her deeply.
Kate swallowed hard, trying not to look too much at Yelena and yet look at her fixedly at the same time, but it was impossible to ignore that mix of surprise and something else (something warm and vulnerable) in her eyes.
Clint, not at all unaware of the emotional minefield, smiled. "Well, I guess no introductions are needed anymore."
Yelena said nothing at first, only walked over to where Kate was and crouched down, gently brushing the hand holding the baby.
"I didn’t know you were here. Or that you knew them," she said softly.
Kate looked away. "I just needed… a bit of air."
"And some baby serotonin," Clint added from the kitchen, because he never knows when to shut up.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with her sister, and Yelena decided any serious conversation would have to wait.
But something in her chest told her Kate hadn’t run away from the house… but from what both of them were beginning to feel.
The worst part was she couldn’t be mad, because she had done exactly the same.
Kate hadn’t planned to stay so long at Clint’s, but once Nathaniel settled against her chest, she realized it was the perfect excuse not to move. Babies don’t judge, don’t ask awkward questions, and all they want is warmth and a soft voice whispering nonsense. So she stayed there on the couch, with the child in her arms and a calm smile she didn’t entirely feel but that worked as a shield.
Yelena, from the other side of the room, tried not to look at her. Or rather, tried not to be mesmerized watching.
There was something in the image that disarmed her: Kate with a baby in her arms, hair falling over her face as she leaned in to listen to Nathaniel babble, and that protective instinct that came effortlessly. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t something she could afford to think about too much.
Things got worse when Cooper and Lila, who had been distracted with crayons until a moment ago, started to surround Kate as if she were a magnet. They showed her their drawings, asked absurd questions ("What would happen if a shark ate a helicopter, Kate?"), and showed their toys as if they were unique museum pieces. Kate answered everything with relentless seriousness, as if instead of kids she had in front of her a very important investors’ committee.
Yelena had to look away. Her heart was beating too fast.
In the kitchen, Natasha leaned against the counter, watching her sister with a look mixing concern and curiosity.
"I still don’t approve of her, you know that," she admitted quietly. "But I know you. If it hurts you, you won’t allow it."
Yelena scoffed, as if she needed that reminder.
"I’m not going to talk to her now, Natty. Not here."
"I’m not telling you to do it now," Natasha answered calmly. "Just don’t keep things to yourself, you never have. If you have something to say to her, say it."
But Yelena shook her head. She crossed her arms and stared at her older sister, trying to make her understand without having to put it into words. "I’ve accepted what this is, Nat."
"And what is it?" Natasha asked, though she already knew the answer. She had seen it.
"A contract. Two people who take care of each other. A marriage in every sense… but without love." She paused, her voice lowering to an almost inaudible tone. "At least… from Kate’s side."
Natasha looked at her, and for a moment seemed to want to say more, but didn’t. She knew when to push and when to stay silent. She squeezed her shoulder and that was it.
In the living room, Kate laughed at something Lila had said, and Nathaniel, as if he understood, let out a contagious giggle. Yelena closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t know if she wanted that sound to be etched in her memory… or if it would be better to forget it as soon as possible.
The sun had already begun to set when Kate and Yelena left the Bartons’ house.
The evening air carried a faint scent of wood and freshly cut grass, and although everything seemed calm, there was still that warm, familiar feeling in the atmosphere that only Clint and Laura knew how to create.
Natasha, who had gone with Yelena in her car, offered to drive her back, also hoping to give her a break after spending the whole day with Kate unwillingly.
"I’ll drop you off at your apartment," she said, pulling out her keys with an automatic gesture.
But before Yelena could answer, Kate spoke up.
"No, better come with me," she said, with a rehearsed naturalness that hid more than it seemed. "Anyway, we live together, don’t we?"
Natasha raised an eyebrow, looking at both of them with that half smile she used when she noticed something was slipping by but decided not to press… at least for now.
"Fine, whatever you want. See you, Sestra. Kate," she replied, turning toward her car.
Yelena didn’t argue, she just followed Kate.
The way back was quiet at first. The car’s engine filled the silences, and the sunset light came in golden bursts through Yelena’s side window, making her blonde hair shine more than usual. Kate tried not to look.
Neither seemed in a hurry to break the silence until Kate, unable to contain her curiosity, spoke.
"I still can’t believe it," she said, turning her head to look at her for a few seconds before focusing back on the road. "Your sister… is Clint’s Natasha. Do you know how many times I wished to meet her?"
Yelena glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, with a half-smile of disbelief. "And what’s so amazing about that?"
"That Clint never told me," Kate let out a brief laugh. "I’ve been in the same room as Nat and… nothing. I never connected it. And he sure did, he checked me out before they arrived."
Yelena let out a soft laugh, but with a certain mocking tone. "It’s incredible that two people can be so close to the Bartons and not know it. That family has a gift."
Kate smiled, accepting the joke.
"Well, he told me several stories about Natasha… stories that now give me another perspective. Your sister scared me, but now…?" She simply shook her head, laughing.
Yelena raised an eyebrow, interested. "Like what?"
Kate held back a chuckle before speaking. "Like the time they got drunk and decided to have a contest to see who could eat the spiciest hot sauce. According to Clint, the next day they spent the whole day in the bathroom."
Yelena couldn’t help herself. A loud, clear laugh filled the car. "I can’t believe he told you that," she shook her head. "That man really has no shame."
"And Natasha doesn’t either, I see," Kate smiled, enjoying hearing her laugh. "Although… honestly, I can picture them perfectly."
Yelena kept laughing, and the air in the car grew lighter. That discomfort that sometimes appeared between them, that invisible wall neither mentioned, dissolved a little.
The conversation drifted toward something more everyday.
"What do you want for dinner tonight?" Kate asked, turning onto the avenue that would take them back.
"Something quick. We still have to walk Fanny and Lucky," Yelena replied, with a tone half reminder, half warning.
"We could order food and eat on the balcony," Kate proposed.
"If we order, I want it not to be pizza again," Yelena said, pointing at her with an accusing finger. "I know you, Bishop."
Kate made an offended face. "Hey, I don’t always order pizza."
"Ah, no?" Yelena leaned toward her with a mischievous smile. "Then what did we order the last two times it was your turn to cook and you said, ‘I don’t feel like it, Yel’?"
Kate let out a brief laugh. "Alright, alright… point for you."
The routine had that curious way of settling in without one noticing, Kate thought once Yelena turned her face back to the window again.
At first, it was just details, things so small they seemed insignificant, like the ritual of deciding what to have for dinner each night, or the argument over who would walk the dogs (a back-and-forth with laughs and words that never really became serious), or the simple "Could you pass me the salt?" that repeated like a discreet echo at the kitchen table.
But little by little, those little things wrapped themselves around Kate like an invisible net, so firm and present that they came to take up more space in her day than any big plan or ambition. She noticed them more and more, though she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Because there were days when those simple moments felt like the last lifeline, a piece of stable reality amid the chaos she felt inside. Other times, those same moments reminded her how far she was from herself, from what she had been before, and what, secretly, she feared she might never be again.
And that was, perhaps, the biggest trap.
Parking in front of the building, Kate felt the weight of that silence settling between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable or tense silence. It was a soft silence, a shared breath that seemed to say without words, "Here we are, together, and everything is fine."
But in that silence, Kate also felt a knot tightening in her chest, a mix of peace and fear she didn’t know how to name.
As the elevator doors closed around them with the familiar metallic sound, and the faint hum of the lights filled her ears, Kate tried to distract herself. She watched the small digital screen indicating the floors, listened to the elevator’s movement, clung to the simple repetition of those sounds to avoid falling into the tangle of thoughts that began to invade her.
She didn’t want to think about how messed up she felt, not just physically (because yes, exhaustion hit her too) but in that deeper, intangible feeling of losing something she didn’t know if she could get back.
Because no matter how much she tried to put mental distance, no matter how much she tried to convince her head and heart that they were just life partners, that it was all a contract, a simple functional alliance, they always ended up like this. Together. At the end of the day.
Sharing the everyday: deciding what to eat for dinner, walking the dogs, arguing over small things that at that moment carried the weight of the whole world.
And when Kate lowered her gaze to her hands resting on her thighs, she realized that, without meaning to, she was clinging to that routine as if it were a life raft thrown into the sea in the middle of a storm.
Maybe, if she stayed on the surface, without letting the current drag her away, she could enjoy all of it.
Maybe. Just maybe.
Chapter Text
Kate had found a sort of refuge that afternoon.
The sun streamed through the living room window, tinting the couch in a warm, lazy hue. She was curled up against one of the armrests, a light blanket over her legs, Lucky sleeping beside her, and the last book her grandfather had given her the previous Christmas open in her hands.
For the first time in a very, very long time, the world felt distant, problems were set aside, and the only pressure she felt was the pleasant weight of the pages against her fingers.
It was rare to have an afternoon like this. Too rare. Kate immediately felt uneasy and began to shift in her seat.
Since the last party they had attended together, things with Yelena had been… different. Not bad, just… different. Kate didn’t want to analyze it too much, nor did she have to, but she had noticed that her “fake wife” filled silences in a dangerous way. Not with noise, but with presence. And when she wasn’t there, the house felt bigger, and Kate more aware of herself.
No, she wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to focus on her book. She had a free afternoon, for God’s sake. Although maybe she could sneak away to the archery range and… No, no, Kate wanted to read. Book, she was going to read the book.
She turned a page, trying to focus on a particularly good piece of dialogue, when she heard the door open. The sound of keys on the entryway table, followed by firm footsteps. Then, the soft click of a water bottle on the counter.
"Hi," Yelena’s voice called from the kitchen.
Kate looked up just in time to see her appear. Hair still damp, tangled messily by the towel, clean workout clothes, skin slightly flushed from the hot shower. She was holding her phone in one hand and, though her posture was relaxed, her gaze seemed focused on something else.
"Hey." Kate replied, shifting so she didn’t seem like she had been watching too closely.
Yelena walked toward her with an expression… timid? How strange.
Yelena wasn’t the type to look like she hesitated before speaking. And yet, here she was, stopping beside the couch, looking at her phone as if it were a barrier she didn’t know how to cross.
"I wanted to ask you something," she finally said, in a tone lower than usual. The phone still in hand, but at last she looked at her. "If you don’t want to, it’s fine."
Kate tilted her head, setting the book down on her lap. "What’s up?"
Yelena took a deep breath, as if preparing for a small jump.
"Friday night… would you mind if some friends came over for dinner?" She paused, glancing down at her phone. "Bob came back from a trip, and since he’s not in the country much, every time he returns we insist on getting together. Usually I cook, and they bring beer. It’s something simple and ours since college. Bucky, John, Ava, Antonia… and Bob, of course, would come."
Kate looked at her for a second.
The way Yelena said it, carefully, as if she were asking for something she maybe shouldn’t… made her chuckle softly.
"Yelena…" Kate let out a small laugh, surprised she had to clarify. "This is your home too. You don’t need to ask my permission to invite people," she said, smiling with a certain involuntary fondness. "Of course you can. Besides, I’d love to meet them."
The tension in Yelena’s shoulders seemed to ease, but there was still something in her expression. A trace of shyness that didn’t match the image Kate had of her.
"I just wanted to be sure," Yelena murmured, glancing at her for a second before looking back at her phone. "I wouldn’t want to invade your space."
Kate watched her as she tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
And there it was again, that bothersome feeling: the idea that Yelena was… looking out for her. Not as a cold or distant gesture, but in small ways.
Gestures that lingered in her head far more than they should.
"And what are you going to cook?" Kate asked, trying to steer her thoughts elsewhere.
Yelena smiled a little more, as if that were the question she’d been waiting for. "Something easy… but impressive. Bob is unbearable with critiques since he started eating foreign food." She rolled her eyes with exaggeration. "Anyway, if you want, you could join me in the kitchen. We could do it together."
"Cook together?" Kate arched a brow, pretending the idea was absurd. "You’ve seen me with a knife, I don’t think you want to take that risk."
"Then you can hand me the beers so we don’t end up ordering pizza," Yelena replied, smirking.
The conversation lingered there, floating in a comfortable silence. Yelena went to the kitchen to prepare something quick to drink, and Kate returned to her book… though she was no longer reading with the same focus.
Her mind wandered on its own.
The image of Yelena, the way she had stopped to ask, the small smile at the thought of them cooking together… it all stuck.
She shook her head. No. She wasn’t going to read between the lines. There were no lines to read, not if Kate wanted to stay sane.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Yelena was checking her phone messages. The “Thunderdummys” group was lit up with notifications: Bob sending airport photos, Bucky asking if he could bring someone, John suggesting a board game.
Yelena replied with a simple: "Friday, 8 PM at my new apartment. I’ll cook. Bring cold beer."
But what she didn’t put in the message was that, this time, it wasn’t just a get-together with friends.
This time, Kate would be there.
And for some reason, that made the idea matter more than she was willing to admit out loud.
The night of the gathering arrived with warm air, the kind that smells of freshly made food and anticipated laughter. Kate had tried to finish her meeting as soon as possible, but her schedule had stretched longer than expected.
By the time she finally managed to leave, she had an unopened bottle of wine under her arm and the uncomfortable feeling of being late. She already knew Ava, from that time Kate stayed working and Yelena had called her along with Kim (the wedding planner) to talk about flowers. Ava had leaned into the camera, apparently because they’d been together that day, and had started giving her opinion out loud while Yelena muttered under her breath that "they didn’t need black flowers at a wedding." Kate had quickly learned that the British woman was a hurricane of sarcasm, but also someone easy to like.
The rest, however, were new territory.
John, for example, was impossible to ignore: loud, over the top, but with that kind of loyalty you can see in how he listens when the conversation matters. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed like a gentleman out of another time: calm, attentive, with witty remarks that landed at just the right moment to make people laugh or lighten the mood. Antonia was different—quiet, but with a humor that appeared in bursts and left everyone smiling. Kate noticed Yelena treated her with a special softness, almost protective, as if she were the youngest in the group.
Ava was the same as always: sharp, quick-witted, fun. And Bob, on the other hand, seemed the most reserved, but didn’t hesitate to team up with Ava to tease John whenever the opportunity arose.
That chaotic yet warm rhythm between them made the table (or rather, the improvised living room table) feel like a safe place.
Kate, despite everything, felt welcome. No one questioned the nature of her marriage with Yelena, though they all seemed to know that, even if it was a fake engagement, Yelena cared about her.
And at least for them, that was enough.
From her seat, Kate couldn’t help but watch her. Yelena was relaxed, with that posture she only adopted when she felt at home.
She smiled more often, spoke naturally, and answered every joke with an even sharper one. Kate couldn’t remember having seen her so in her element except for that time at the investors’ party. But this version—much warmer and looser, was definitely real and not the result of alcohol.
The problem came when, at the moment of serving the food, it became clear that the huge couch and the two individual seats weren’t enough for everyone.
The trays were passed from hand to hand as everyone settled in, until only Yelena was left standing, looking at the occupied seats. Kate opened her mouth to say she could bring her a chair from the kitchen, but Yelena had already moved.
Without hesitation, she dropped herself into Bob’s lap, as if she had done it a thousand times. He barely adjusted, leaning slightly so she could reach the makeshift table with the plates. He continued talking about one of his trips while Yelena laughed out loud when he told how he had tried to order food in Norway without knowing a single word of the language.
"Oh, but, Lena! You’d die if you tried it, the Fårikål was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life."
"I’d die to see how you tried to say that to the waiter."
"I promise you my appreciation transcended the language barrier."
Kate felt something twist in her stomach, a strange mix of discomfort and… annoyance? She told herself it wasn’t jealousy, that Yelena had told her more than once Bob was her best friend, someone who had been there for her when few others had.
But as she watched him wrap an arm around her to keep her from falling when she leaned forward to reach the bread, Kate didn’t know what else to call that pang she didn’t want to admit.
She tried to focus on her plate, on Ava and Bucky’s conversation about an impossible recipe they had once convinced Yelena to cook, but her eyes kept drifting back to her wife—comfortable, laughing with her head thrown back, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
And Kate, who usually didn’t let herself feel this way, had to take a deep breath to remember she was here as… God, she didn’t even know.
She didn’t even know.
Not like Bob, John, or Ava. Not like anyone there, who knew exactly what they were to Yelena and what they meant.
The night faded slowly after dinner.
The laughter of Yelena’s friends still floated in the air, along with the smell of food and beer that seemed to have seeped into the walls. Kate helped clear a couple of dishes, though most of the cleaning had been left for the next day. One by one, the friends said their goodbyes with hugs and promises to do it again soon.
When the door closed for the last time, the house was left in a soft silence, broken only by the murmur of the fridge. Yelena stretched lazily and, without saying much, bid her goodnight with a "good night, Kate" and headed to her room, Fanny at her heels, tail wagging.
Kate stood for a few seconds looking at the now completely empty living room, not fully understanding the discomfort still churning in her stomach. She wasn’t proud of the tangle of emotions lodged in her chest and didn’t plan to name them, but there they were, in every mental image of Yelena laughing on Bob’s lap.
She took a deep breath, trying to erase the image from her head, but it didn’t work.
She needed to do something. She couldn’t go to the gym at midnight, so she opted for the next best thing: work. If she couldn’t quiet her head, at least she could be productive.
She grabbed her keys and coat, and slipped out of the apartment, closing the door carefully so as not to wake the dogs. The building was silent and the streets dimly lit. In less than ten minutes she was in front of Bishop Securities, its façade pristine and cold even at that hour.
The inside was empty, except for the faint hum of the security systems and the smell of old coffee. She turned on the lights in her office and dropped into her black leather chair. The monitor flickered to life, and within minutes she was buried in reports, budgets, and projections.
The sense of control, of doing something useful, helped her not think about… other things. But, as always, the relief didn’t last long: barely an hour later, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
She looked up just as Peter appeared in the doorway, hair tousled, wearing an old university hoodie and pajama pants. He looked tired, but not surprised.
"What are you doing here?" Kate asked, raising a brow.
Peter shrugged and came in, dragging the chair across from her desk to sit beside her. "I could ask you the same thing, but I think I already know the answer."
Kate glanced at him sideways. "How did you know I was here?"
Peter smiled, the kind of smile that said ‘you’re going to be mad, but you’ll also admit it’s a little brilliant.’ "I installed an alarm system in your office years ago."
"What?" Kate blinked, incredulous. "What do you mean you installed…?"
"Relax, it’s nothing invasive." He lifted his hands, amused. "It’s just that if someone comes in here outside your usual hours, my phone gets a notification."
Kate looked at him with a mix of disbelief and resignation. "I can’t believe you."
"Oh, yes you can. I’m brilliant and you know it," Peter replied, calm.
A brief silence settled, and though Peter didn’t say anything else, Kate noticed the concern in his gaze. He knew she wasn’t there just to get ahead on work. And for some reason, that certainty made her defenses loosen a little.
"I’m scared," she admitted suddenly. She hadn’t planned to say it, but the words came out on their own. Peter didn’t ask "of what," he just waited. Kate, grateful she didn’t have to explain, continued in a lower voice. "Before, I just wanted everything to be temporary and not bother her. For everything to fulfill its purpose and be over. But now…" She paused, pressing her lips together. "Now I want her to be happy."
Peter tilted his head, as if piecing it together. "And that scares you?"
"It terrifies me," Kate said, leaning back against the chair. "I don’t know when it happened. It used to be simple, you know? But now…" she sighed. "It’s like… like I care too much." Peter didn’t interrupt. "It’s… I don’t know." Kate searched for the words. "It’s like being so full of something you don’t know if it’s going to be good for you or break you into pieces."
Peter looked at her with that mix of patience and affection only he could manage. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I’ve been there."
Kate looked at him, surprised. "Really?"
"When I was younger," he replied, resting his elbow on the desk. "And I regret not doing anything."
"Nothing?" she repeated, a mix of curiosity and fear of the answer.
Peter shook his head. "Nothing. And believe me, Kate, there’s no heavier weight than asking yourself every day what would have happened if you’d had the courage." She looked down. "You’re the bravest woman I know," he continued. "Don’t let fear tell you you can’t take a step forward. The heart doesn’t give orders… but it doesn’t ask for permission either."
Kate let out a short, humorless laugh. "You make it sound so easy."
"It’s not. But it’s worse to stand still."
Another silence followed, heavier this time. Peter leaned back a bit in his chair and added, "Maybe this is what your grandfather had in mind when he arranged everything."
Kate looked at him with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "You can’t know that. No one can."
"And you can’t know it’s not true," Peter said, smiling without mockery. "I’m not saying he did it with that in mind… but what if he did?"
Kate clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to dwell on that possibility, but the thought lingered like an uncomfortable echo.
Finally, she sighed. The physical and mental exhaustion was starting to weigh more than any conversation. She rested her head on Peter’s shoulder.
"I’m tired, Pete."
Peter shifted slightly to get more comfortable and kissed the top of her head, in a gesture as familiar to her as breathing. "I know. For what it’s worth, I’ll always be here for you, Kate. Married or not, CEO or not."
She closed her eyes, letting the silence wrap around them. For the first time all night, she allowed herself not to think.
The office clock read a time Kate preferred not to check. They’d spent a while longer going over papers, but the focus wasn’t the same. Peter noticed and shut the folder in front of him with a sharp thud.
"Come on, Bishop. Time to go home."
Kate grumbled something in response, more out of habit than actual resistance. She didn’t feel like arguing. So when Peter stood and offered her his hand to help her up, she took it. Outside, the cold air bit at her skin, but she didn’t complain.
"You came on your bike?" she asked, seeing the helmet he handed her.
"Of course." Peter smiled. "And since you walked here, I’m taking you home."
Kate rolled her eyes but climbed on behind him. The roar of the engine broke the silence of the empty street, and the cold wind cleared her head a little as she clung to the edge of Peter’s jacket. The ride was short, and before she could start overthinking, they were already in front of her building.
Peter walked her to the main door, as if making sure she didn’t get the idea to slip away again to a place he couldn’t come find her.
"Go on," he said, tilting his head toward the entrance. "Inside. And I don’t want to see you in the office until Monday, you hear me?"
Kate gave him a tired smile, about to respond, when the interior hallway door opened. Yelena appeared there, hair messy, eyes bright with concern and… Kate’s phone in her hand.
Kate felt the hit of reality in her stomach. She’d forgotten it when she left.
"Where were you?" Yelena asked, her voice deep but not raised.
Peter reacted faster than she did. "A rat got into my apartment, and I asked for her help," he said, without blinking.
Kate wasn’t sure if Yelena believed him or not, although Peter had always been terrible at lying. The Russian stared at her for a long moment, her expression hard to read, before letting out a barely audible sigh.
"You forgot your phone." she said finally, holding it out to her.
Kate took it, feeling the weight of more than just the phone in her hand. "Thanks, Yel." she murmured.
Peter, sensing that this was private territory, smiled calmly and said goodbye with a pat on Kate’s shoulder and a brief gesture toward Yelena.
When the door closed and they were left alone in the hallway, Kate moved with the intention of going to her room, but Yelena stepped forward and wrapped her in her arms. It was a firm, almost possessive hug that took her by surprise.
"I was worried," Yelena confessed, her voice lower this time, as if she didn’t want to admit it completely.
Kate closed her eyes, feeling the warmth and weight of the gesture. Her own hands rose to reciprocate, and she allowed herself to rest her forehead against Yelena’s shoulder.
"Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, I’ll let you know next time," she promised, without thinking too much. "Or at least I’ll bring the phone." She let out a weak laugh.
Only then did Yelena’s arms loosen… but they didn’t let go completely. The hug lingered longer than anyone could call "normal," and though neither mentioned it, they both noticed.
Kate didn’t know what scared her more—the arms of Yelena around her or the emptiness she felt when they finally parted.
Chapter Text
The morning had started badly, and Kate knew it the moment she saw her mother walk into her office unannounced. Eleanor Bishop rarely showed up without warning, and when she did, it meant trouble.
Her hair was perfectly styled, her suit impeccable, and that expression Kate knew all too well: a mix of concern and judgment, sharp as an arrow.
"Kate," Eleanor said, closing the door behind her. "We need to talk." Kate swallowed, trying to keep her composure as her mother sat across from her desk. "The fainting at the civil wedding," Eleanor began bluntly, "could have ended in disaster. And I’m not just talking about you or Yelena, but the family’s image."
Kate opened her mouth to reply, but Eleanor raised a hand to silence her.
"The press can be cruel, and you know it. Luckily, we managed to control the narrative and pay that photographer to stay quiet, but if you can’t handle the pressure…" Eleanor paused, as if weighing each word. "Then maybe we shouldn’t go ahead with a second wedding. Not when the family company’s reputation is at stake."
Kate’s cheeks burned. Not with anger, exactly, but with shame. She felt like she was fifteen again, caught under her mother’s gaze after making a public mistake.
"Yes, Mom. I’ll cancel it if I see I can’t handle it," she murmured, not looking up.
"I’m not saying this to hurt you, Kate," Eleanor continued, her tone softening slightly. "But because I know what this commitment entails. And if you’re not ready, you don’t have to force yourself, dear."
"Yes, Mom. I know." Kate nodded, though inside she felt each word pierce her like a needle. She wasn’t going to tell her that she was ready, that she wanted to do it right, that what she feared most wasn’t the judgment of the world, but disappointing Yelena.
Eleanor stood, walked around the desk, and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I trust you’ll make the right decision," she said, before leaving with the same elegance with which she had entered.
The door closed, and Kate stared into the emptiness for a few seconds.
"How bad was it?" Peter asked, peeking his head out from his office directly across.
Kate said nothing. She simply walked to the door, closed it carefully, and stood there, pressing her forehead against the wood. Silence was her only answer.
The countdown to the second wedding (the public one, the one Eleanor insisted had to be perfect or not happen at all) was at its most critical point. Kate and Yelena had chosen the dress, the suit, the menu, the music… everything, except the most important thing: the venue.
Kim, the wedding planner, was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Kate knew it because the woman had started speaking too fast and clutching her folder as if she wanted to strangle it.
"This place is perfect for you, Mrs. Bishops," Kim said enthusiastically, pointing to a map of the hall they were visiting. "It has space for a hundred guests, a garden for the outdoor ceremony, natural lighting, and a beautiful dance floor."
Kate, however, couldn’t stop finding flaws. "I don’t know… maybe the windows are too big. What if it rains? And the garden… are you sure it’s enough for everyone? I don’t want to cram a hundred people in here."
"Kate," Yelena intervened, her calmness suspicious to Kate. "We’ve seen sixteen venues. Sixteen. This one's seventeen."
Kim nodded vehemently, as if her life depended on it. "Yes, but—"
"But nothing," Yelena cut in, though her tone remained gentle. "This place is perfect." Kate frowned, crossing her arms. Yelena watched her for a few seconds before turning to Kim. "Can you give us a moment?"
Kim blinked, surprised, but didn’t argue.
"Of course. I’ll be in the garden. I’ll wait for you to finish the tour."
Once they were alone, Yelena stepped closer. "If you’re not sure, it’s okay, we can still look at more," she said, and although she tried to sound patient, Kate detected the fatigue in her voice. "But… maybe you should give this one a chance. I really liked it."
Kate sighed. "It has to be perfect."
"Why?" Yelena asked, tilting her head.
"Because…" Kate stopped herself, clenching her jaw. "Because I already failed once, Yelena."
Yelena didn’t seem surprised. "Does this have to do with your mother?" Kate didn’t answer right away, her eyes dropping to the floor. Yelena understood. "Kate…" she started, but then paused. Instead of speaking further, she took her wife’s hand and led her to the center of the dance floor.
"What are you doing?" Kate asked, confused.
"Dancing."
Kate laughed in disbelief. "Here?"
"Here." Yelena placed one hand on Kate’s waist and took her right hand with the other. "Come on." Kate let out a nervous laugh but followed her in that shy sway without music. The steps were slow, just the echo of their movements in the empty hall. "I can almost imagine it, you know?" Yelena said, looking around. "Us here, with all our friends and family. Getting married."
"We’re already married," Kate reminded her softly.
Yelena smiled, that smile of hers that always seemed to hold a secret. "Imagine getting married a second time. Here. This time with everyone watching, but the right way."
Kate raised an eyebrow. "The right way, you say?"
"Well… as right as it can be, at least." Yelena began painting the scene with words. "With the people we love: Natasha and Maria in a corner, drinking and quietly criticizing everyone. Peter being a charm, as always. My mother enjoying every dish on the menu… even your friends I haven’t met yet. And us, here, dancing like now."
Kate closed her eyes for a moment, letting the image take shape. She felt the tension in her shoulders begin to dissolve.
"I…"
"Do you see it too?" Yelena asked softly.
"…Maybe," Kate admitted, with a half-smile.
They danced like that a little longer, until Kate opened her eyes and let out a sigh. "I want to see the garden. Maybe this is the place."
Yelena nodded, smiling as if she knew she had won a small victory. "Let’s go."
They let go of hands, but the warmth of that contact stayed with Kate as they walked toward the exit. She didn’t know if this would be the perfect place… but she was starting to think Yelena might be right.
The garden was bathed in the soft golden light of mid-afternoon, calm and gentle, as if even the weather knew it had to help close such an important deal. Kim opened the glass door connecting the hall to the outside, letting a breeze in.
"Here it is," Kim said, gesturing broadly as if revealing a treasure. "Imagine it decorated with soft lights and flower garlands."
The grass was impeccably maintained, bordered by rose bushes and small shrubs. A stone path led to an arch covered in vines, and beyond it, an open space where rows of chairs for the ceremony could easily fit. At one end, a small pond reflected the sunlight, and in the background, a couple of large oaks provided enough shade for guests to escape the heat on a summer day.
Kate observed everything silently, feeling that objectively, it was beautiful. But there was still a part of her that resisted saying “yes” to something so final.
Yelena, on the other hand, seemed to fit perfectly there. She walked slowly along the path, hands in her pockets, observing every corner. Kim didn’t miss the chance to launch herself toward a potential ally.
"Picture it like this," Kim said, walking beside her. "You walking through that arch, with the light falling just behind. The tables here, so people can eat while looking at the pond. And beyond, a photo area, with a beautiful natural backdrop."
Yelena let out a soft laugh as Kim, excited, began describing how the dance floor would look from the garden, and even how they could have a small outdoor bar for the more party-loving guests.
Kate stayed behind, watching the scene.
There was something in the way Yelena listened, in how she laughed and nodded, as if truly imagining everything just as Kim described it. It wasn’t fake. Yelena was seeing it. Seeing the people she cared about there, seeing them happy, seeing a day that meant more to her than a contract or obligation. A funny contrast to remember that Kate was the one who wanted the traditional wedding, not Yelena.
But somehow, that was what made Kate feel a small knot in her throat.
Finally, when Kim finished explaining and asked what they thought, Kate looked at Yelena… and nodded. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "Let’s do it here."
Kim nearly let out a “Finally!” but held back, replacing it with a wide, genuine smile. "Perfect. Then we’ll proceed with the booking. You’ll see, you won’t regret it."
The planner stepped a few steps away to make a quick call, leaving Kate and Yelena alone. "I told you this was the place," Yelena remarked, with that half-smile that was more teasing than triumph.
Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling too.
The drive back was quiet, or at least it was until Kate, both hands firmly on the wheel, suddenly said:
"I need to do something."
"What?" Yelena asked, turning toward her in confusion.
"I won’t take long. I’ll drop you at the apartment and then explain."
Yelena frowned, clearly intrigued, but didn’t insist. "Okay."
When they arrived at the building, Kate made sure Yelena went inside before returning to the car. She then drove aimlessly for a few minutes, as if needing to be alone with her thoughts, before taking the exit toward the cemetery.
The road was quiet, lined with trees, and by the time she arrived, the sky had begun to take on a deeper blue, a sign of the approaching evening.
Kate parked, got out, and walked along the gravel path to the section where she knew Erik Bishop rested. She hadn’t come since the funeral. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure what she would say if she did.
Standing in front of the gravestone, a strange feeling overtook her: a bit of shame, a bit of sadness, and a lot of emptiness.
"I didn’t bring anything," she murmured, as if that were a serious offense.
She sat on the grass, crossing her legs, and let out a long sigh.
"I guess I should start by saying… hello."
Silence was her only answer, but Kate filled it anyway. "When I found out about clause seventeen… I was furious. I’m not going to lie, Grandpa, I thought it was the most ridiculous idea you’d ever had. That to inherit the company I had to get married…" She laughed bitterly. "What on earth were you thinking?"
She looked at the gravestone as if expecting him to answer. "I was angry because I thought it meant you didn’t know me at all. I thought you believed I needed a wife or a partner to be taken seriously. That without it, you thought I wasn’t enough to inherit your legacy."
She ran a hand through her hair, lowering her gaze.
"And then I met Yelena." A small smile appeared on her lips. "And she was unlike anyone else. She didn’t care about parties, or photos, or fake smiles. She came in oversized jackets, made inappropriate jokes, and talked about her dog as if it were the most important thing in her life. And she was… good. Really good."
Kate felt her chest tighten a little more with each word.
"I fell in love with the way she scrunched her nose when something bothered her. How she talked about her friends and family as if they were part of her. I fell in love the day I saw her cry over a silly movie. The day she took me to a greasy pizza place and made me try something perfect and disgusting. I fell in love when we started walking our dogs together, and when she came into my office and, instead of greeting me, told me the story of how she met you."
She stopped, taking a deep breath.
"And now I don’t know if this is what you had in mind. If when you put that clause you wanted… this." She placed a hand on her heart. "Or if you just thought I needed someone to lean on because you didn’t trust me with the company."
Kate bit her lower lip, feeling the silence around her heavier than usual.
"I hate both possible answers," she admitted. "I hate thinking you believed I needed to fall in love to live my life. And I hate thinking you believed I couldn’t handle the company."
She closed her eyes.
"I hate not knowing. And I hate that you’re not here to ask. Because if you were alive, we could sit on the terrace, and I’d tell you everything, and you’d listen, and then you’d give me advice like you always did."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"I miss you so much. And I thought we had more time... I really did."
She stayed there a while longer, saying nothing, just looking at the gravestone and letting the cool afternoon air chill her skin. She felt as if a weight had lifted… or maybe she had simply remembered that, even if she couldn’t hear Erik’s voice, she could still speak to him.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
Chapter 16
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The amusement park was filled with laughter, distant music, and the lingering smell of cotton candy and popcorn. The sky was clear, a clean blue that seemed to promise adventures without danger, and for six-year-old Kate, that meant there was no excuse not to achieve her goal for the day: riding the roller coaster.
It wasn’t one of those steel monsters that seemed to scrape the clouds, but to her small eyes, that set of tracks and red cars painted with yellow flames was as intimidating as a tower. The line stretched around the corner, but Kate didn’t complain; she tugged Erik Bishop’s hand with determination, almost as if she feared he might change his mind.
“Are you sure you want this, Katie Kate?” Erik asked, with that half-smile of his that combined tenderness and warning.
“Yes.” She puffed out her chest with all the pride her small body could muster. “I want to.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “We could always start with the carousel and the little horses.”
Kate shook her head, with the seriousness of someone who believes they’re making a life-defining decision. “Roller coaster.”
He shrugged, unable to hide a faint laugh. “All right. Roller coaster it is. But if you cry, your mom is going to kill me.”
When they finally settled into the car, Kate could barely see over the safety bar. Her feet dangled in the air, too short to reach the base. The car began to move slowly, making that metallic sound that resonated like a drum in her chest.
At first, Kate was excited. She held on with both hands, feeling the wind on her face, watching the ground recede. But at the top, just as the car tilted forward for a sharp turn, something in her stomach flipped.
The world became a blur, and the scream she had planned as one of excitement turned into uncontrolled crying. Hot tears blurred her vision while Erik, sitting beside her, tried not to laugh too loudly.
“Almost there, Kate!” he shouted, more amused than worried, though his hand moved occasionally to make sure she was secure.
By the time the roller coaster hit the last turn, Kate was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.
When the car stopped, Erik carefully helped her down and, instead of heading for the park exit as Eleanor would have, he led her to a wooden bench in front of the attraction. He sat down beside her, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began wiping her tears with infinite patience.
“If your mom saw you like this, she’d call me a bad grandpa,” he said, shaking his head while giving her a playful smile.
Kate pouted. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For crying.”
Erik leaned back slightly, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Were you scared?”
Kate nodded, her eyes red and wet. “It was too high.”
“That’s why I didn’t want you to go on,” he admitted. “But… I’m proud that you stood your ground.”
She looked at him, confused. “But I cried. You were right.”
“Yes,” Erik conceded, leaning slightly toward her. “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t brave, Katie. You were, for two reasons: first, because you knew what you wanted and insisted on doing it. And second, because you cried when you were scared.”
Kate frowned, as if she didn’t understand how that could be a good thing.
“If you hadn’t insisted,” Erik continued, “you’d never have learned that roller coasters aren’t for you… or maybe they are, just not yet. Maybe you’d have doubted it for years until you were finally old enough to go on alone. Maybe you’d never have gone and regretted it your whole life. Who knows.”
She lowered her gaze, processing his words with the seriousness only a child who believes they’re understanding the world can have. “Anyway, what I mean is, I admire that about you, Kate,” Erik said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re still too little to fully understand it, but someday you will.”
He looked her straight in the eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay like this. That you’ll do what you want, even if you get scared afterward. Even if it hurts afterward.”
Kate hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I promise.”
Erik smiled, satisfied. “Good. Because that’s what being alive is about, my love.”
Kate’s eyes snapped open. The sky was gray, the air cold, and the wet grass pressed against her cheek. She was leaning against Erik Bishop’s gravestone.
She blinked several times, trying to return from the dream… no, from the memory. Because it wasn’t made up. It had happened exactly like that, many years ago, and now, reliving it so vividly, she felt tears well up in her eyes that she couldn’t stop.
She slowly stood up, wiping her face with her jacket sleeve. Her heart raced, as if the roller coaster ride had just happened a minute ago, not in another life.
She didn’t think much about what to do next. She just drove.
When she opened the apartment door, she was flustered, breathing hard, and her cheeks were still damp.
Yelena was on the sofa, with Lucky curled up beside her and Fanny coiled at her feet. She was flipping through a magazine when she heard the door, and seeing Kate enter like that, she frowned and immediately stood up.
“Kate, what happened?”
But Kate didn’t give her a chance to continue.
She closed the door behind her, crossed the space between them in a few steps, and grabbed Yelena’s hands tightly, as if she needed to anchor herself to something real.
She looked her straight in the eyes, not looking away for a second.
“I’m in love with you.”
Yelena blinked, surprised, her breath catching. Kate hadn’t planned to say it like that.
She hadn’t even planned to say it without first rehearsing a long, long speech.
But now it was out: the words were no longer hers, floating in the air between them, intact, irreversible.
The silence that followed was so dense she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Yelena looked at her, unflinching, lips slightly parted, as if she’d just received news she didn’t know whether to celebrate or fear.
And then it happened. Yelena’s cheeks flushed with a sudden, vivid blush that made Kate feel her stomach twist. It wasn’t the reaction she had imagined, but she didn’t know what it meant either.
“I…,” Kate stammered, nervous, her hands still trapped in Yelena’s. “Ugh, I wasn’t supposed to… say it like this.”
She wanted to bite her tongue. Heat rose to her ears, and she stepped back, releasing Yelena. “Wait, let me… let me start over.”
She took a deep breath. The speech she had practiced in the car on the way back burned in her throat, demanding its turn.
“Forget what I just said,” she murmured, more plea than command. “Let me tell you something first.”
Yelena didn’t say anything. She just nodded slowly, as if willing to listen, though her eyes stayed fixed on her, intense, penetrating, filled with something Kate couldn’t identify.
Kate swallowed and began.
“When I was a child, I was terrified of heights. Really terrified… I was so scared I even cried on the playground slide.” She smiled, but it was crooked, tinged with nostalgia. “One day, my grandfather took me to an amusement park, and I… became obsessed with riding the roller coaster.”
She paused, remembering vividly the feeling of cold air on her face, the smell of oil and metal, the sound of the wheels on the tracks.
“He agreed, but only because I was a very stubborn child. And yes, I cried a lot in the end… but he wasn’t upset with me. He didn’t tell me he had warned me, or that it was a waste of time. He just wiped my tears and told me he was proud I tried.”
Yelena tilted her head slightly but didn’t interrupt. Kate continued, leaning on the invisible thread that kept her talking.
“As a teenager, I had braces and was afraid to talk to girls. I thought my smile was horrible… but I did it anyway, even if I turned as red as a tomato and stammered.”
She crossed her arms, restless, and walked a few steps around the room before spinning on her heels.
“Later, when I was older, I was afraid my grandfather would die. And… when he did, I realized that fear hadn’t prepared me for anything. It hurt just the same.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken, as if the walls had drawn closer.
“And now…” Kate hesitated, lowering her voice. “Since he died, and since I met you… I’m afraid of feeling.”
Yelena didn’t look away, and the heavy, expectant silence almost made her step back.
“Afraid of everything I feel,” she continued. “Of what’s here.” She placed a hand over her chest, tapping lightly on her ribs where her aching heart beat just as scared as she did. “Afraid because I don’t know how to handle it, afraid because I care too much.”
She forced herself to smile, though she felt fragile.
“But today I remembered something… that as a child, I was so stubborn that I did things anyway, even if I was scared and it hurt. That I talked to girls even if I hated my smile. And that, even though I haven’t gotten over my grandfather’s death, even though it still hurts every day, I’m learning to live without him.”
She took a deep breath.
“And now… even though it scares me… and god, I’m so scared to say it again…”
She looked at her, not fleeing from the intensity in her eyes.
“Yelena, I’m in love with you.”
The silence fell again, heavy and sharp, but Kate kept speaking before Yelena could react.
“And I was so afraid to say it, because I don’t know how you’d feel. I was afraid of ruining what we have… or of making you feel pressured, uncomfortable, or to depend on you like I never did. But keeping it inside is killing me.”
Her voice cracked slightly. “If by some chance you feel the same… I promise I’ll give you all of me. That I’m yours, if you want me.” Kate swallowed, her words accelerating as if she feared she wouldn’t get them all out before her courage ran out. “And if not… we can get a divorce tomorrow.”
A pause.
“The money’s yours anyway.”
The weight of that last sentence lingered oddly, like a harsh ending to something so intimate.
Kate, standing before her, had her hands pressed against her sides, as if trying to stop them from trembling.
Yelena didn’t respond immediately. She watched her, and her lips curved into a slow, deep smile, so warm that tears immediately welled up in Kate’s eyes.
“Please, say something,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “I can’t keep living pretending… pretending that it doesn’t touch me when you cry watching The Hunger Games, or that I don’t love walking the dogs with you. Pretending that the lunches you bring me at work aren’t the best part of my day, every day. Pretending that I don’t boil with jealousy when someone else looks at you the way I want to. Pretending that I don’t… that you don’t matter more to me than you should.”
Her breathing trembled.
Yelena still didn’t say anything. Instead, she stepped toward her. Then another step. Her warm, firm hands rose to Kate’s cheeks, caressing them gently.
She looked into her eyes, and without hurry, leaned down until their lips met. The kiss wasn’t quick or impulsive. It was soft, deep, as if it had been building up for years.
Kate closed her eyes and let herself go, feeling her entire body relax.
When they pulled apart, Yelena rested her forehead against hers.
And then she said it, in a low but firm voice:
“I’m in love with you too, Kate Bishop.”
Notes:
And here’s the ending! But don’t think it’s really over.
I’ll be publishing the second part, Eternal Spring, in the coming days. Thank you so much for reading, I promise there’s still plenty more of the two of them now that they’ve finally said it!!! The wedding, the restaurant, everything is still to come! I can’t wait to read your reactions soon
comments and kudos, as always, are much appreciated. Thank you for reading 🖤
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