The Time I Kill is Killing Me

by Zarkosaur

Summary:

The second time she killed Clint Barton, Yelena had to admit that it wasn’t quite as satisfying.

Even though everything within and around her seemed identical to the first time — her strategy, her information, her anger — the circumstances were incredibly different.

And she wasn’t even close to understanding it all.

*****

Yelena finds herself repeating the week before Christmas, and her mission becomes as muddled as her timeline. Until she realizes that Kate Bishop isn't actually part of a mission at all.

Chapter 1: Prologue

December 24, 2024

11:59 PM

The strong arms around her squeezed her so tightly that she could barely move, but they weren’t responsible for the lack of air in Yelena’s lungs.

That was her own fault. She refused to breathe. She wouldn’t.

Her fingertips clutched at Kate, trapped between Kate’s body and Kate’s couch, digging into the skin underneath her shirt in a way that was probably painful. Kate never flinched, though, and her hold never faltered, and Yelena ghosted a kiss just below her collarbone before burrowing deeper into the warmth of her neck.

If she breathed, Yelena feared that long-buried tears would come to melt away the lies that she so desperately wanted to believe. That this kind of happiness could actually exist for her. That her grief might eventually fade.

And the lie that maybe, after almost three months of weirdness and waiting and watching, something mattered, and that it might matter enough.

Kate’s soft exhale trickled through Yelena’s hair as she kissed the top of her head, and Yelena felt a light dizzyness begin to wash over her, marking her lack of oxygen. Finally relenting, she sucked in a harsh breath that scorched her from the inside out.

At the same time, Kate whispered, “Yelena…”

It hovered in the air, waiting for her next words.

Then the whisper was gone. The warmth was gone. So was the solid weight against Yelena’s face and chest and encircling her shoulders, and the sudden lack of pressure made her feel like she might disintegrate outward to all corners of the room.

Her bedroom.

Sunlight filtered through her eyelids, and a sleepy canine groan floated to her ears. Yelena took another shuddering breath that didn’t burn her windpipe nearly as much as the last.

She really wished it would. She wished — now that nothing mattered again — that she might be able to cry. But her tears never came. Her lies had vanished along with Kate.

Banished, like so many moments now, into nothing but her memory.

Notes:

Here's a teaser for my latest story. It's almost done, and my plan is to update daily starting Dec. 8 until it's all posted. I'm pretty excited about it, and I hope you all enjoy. See you next Monday!

Chapter 2: Loops 1 and 2

Notes:

CW: Violence, graphic (non-permanent) major character death

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“I'm shadow ops, Kate. I make things and people disappear.”

Kate stared at her. “You kill people?”

Yelena raised her chin in challenge. “I am very good at what I do.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Many weeks earlier

December 22, 2024

7:27 PM

The second time she killed Clint Barton, Yelena had to admit that it wasn’t quite as satisfying.

It couldn’t be, really. Because even though everything within and around her seemed identical to the first time — her strategy, her information, her anger — the circumstances were incredibly different.

And she wasn’t even close to understanding it all.

Huddled in her insulated tactical suit, Yelena again found herself perched on the roof of a tall building in New York City that overlooked a shorter apartment complex. Her sniper rifle lay stretched out beside her, its barrel warm from the three shots she had fired, and she pressed her night vision binoculars against her eyes to watch the aftermath of her work.

The green overlay to the world seemed much less weird than her memory of the first time she’d stood there.

———

She tracked Barton’s phone signal until it stopped — what kind of idiot agent leaves GPS enabled? — then chose her vantage point from there, heading up the elevator to the top floor of the tall building and easily bypassing the exit alarm to access the roof. Below her, Barton and a purple-clad woman stood at the edge of a lower roof, seemingly doing reconnaissance.

Yelena felt a spike of loathing as she saw him for the first time, and her fingers itched to curl around the trigger of her rifle. But she had danced this dance before, and she was nothing if not professional. She waited to make sure the pair stayed on the roof before she set up her rifle and stool. Aiming, she then waited a few more minutes to see if she might be able to lose her witness.

As if to oblige her, the young woman beside Barton suddenly pulled back to disappear into the stairwell, and when Barton straightened up from his hunched position a moment later, Yelena shot him several times through the chest. Afterward, she skimmed her scope over to his slackened face.

A grim sense of vindication washed over her along with no small amount of exhilaration. It was the best she’d felt in weeks.

She had evened the score. She had honored her sister.

She’d killed the bastard.

It was as simple as that.

With a vicious smile, Yelena then wasted no time in packing up her rifle and stool and picking up the case. Before she left the roof, though, a stricken cry floated up to her from the building below. It didn’t echo in the night air, but it did pierce.

Yelena paused and approached the edge again, peering through her binoculars to see the woman in the uniform jacket racing back from the stairwell door to kneel over Barton’s body. The woman’s knees fell roughly into the blood that pooled beneath him and her hands pressed against his torso uselessly. Wet grief hovered in her eyes, which glittered a ghostly green through the night vision lenses as they reflected the lights of the city.

Stowing her binoculars and shaking her head dismissively, Yelena left. The woman was not part of her contract. She didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that Yelena had completed her mission. For Valentina, yes, but mostly for Natasha. For justice, even if it was a broken word in a broken world.

And this kill had actually made Yelena feel something, she admitted, satisfaction building in her chest once again.

So maybe this one was also for herself.

———

As she stood on the roof again, though, the same cold wind as before seemed to bite more sharply. Yelena knew that her mission wasn’t the same this time.

There was something else at play.

Something very weird.

———

Fresh off of shooting Barton, Yelena spent the next two days sightseeing through Central Park and parts of lower Manhattan, soaking up the energy of the city around her.

She liked cities. They felt more alive than Yelena did most of the time, yet they were refreshingly apathetic, and she welcomed the chaos of this one in particular. As she wandered, she wondered — not for the first time — whether she might fit better here than in her modest lodging north of Baltimore.

But then again, this was the city. Amid the sights and the hubbub, Yelena could see flashes of Natasha in the streets and hear echoes of something that might have been her voice, whispering of the specter of a shattered dream. As she drifted through the hours of Christmas Eve, Yelena’s thoughts began to swerve along darker paths.

Dreading nightmares, she looked forward to the flight in the morning that would lead her back to the conveniences and routines of her daily life. Her typical habits might be dull, but at least they weren’t plagued by ghosts.

A nightmare did come to her that night, just as she’d expected. But then it didn’t end. When she made it home the next morning, routine and convenience were nowhere to be found.

Because after going to sleep on Christmas Eve in New York City, Yelena awoke in her own bed in Maryland with Fanny stretched out beside her.

She tried not to panic.

She completely failed.

The Blip might have happened over a year ago, but it was still much too recent — much too vivid — for her to have any calm about this. Another sudden rupture in reality was terrifying, and Yelena frantically scanned her bedroom for anything that might have changed. Then she retrieved a gun from her nightstand and systematically examined the rest of her condo. Fanny jumped off the bed and followed, whining and sniffing at her worriedly.

The fact that everything seemed normal didn’t calm the nausea in her stomach, and when she eventually lowered the gun, Yelena felt her heart beat even faster. It pulsed in her ears as she retraced her steps to the bedroom and picked up her phone to check the date. Then she stared at it.

And stared at it.

Fuck.

Another rupture had occurred. But instead of losing time, this time she had gained it. The date was December 18th, 2024, and the world seemed to be repeating itself around her.

For several days, she watched her surroundings, tense as a crouched cat unsure whether to run or to pounce. None of her research turned up any known time anomalies or portals or magical events. Nothing seemed out of place or different from her first experience of the week.

Nothing except Yelena.

On a whim — or maybe it was a hunch, although she never liked relying on those — she set up a bot to send her notifications of Clint Barton’s movements. It sent her photographs of him at a Broadway musical and a Chinese restaurant on the night of December 19th, and a video surfaced of him sword-fighting — badly — at a very weird-looking viking event on the 20th. On the 21st, though Barton’s involvement wasn’t confirmed, a gigantic arrow descended on the Manhattan Bridge. And it was late that afternoon, as previously, that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine knocked on the door of Yelena’s condo.

The contract that she offered was the same, and Yelena saw no reason to reject it, since shooting Barton had been the highlight of her previous week. Not to mention that she really needed to release some of the tension insidiously coiled throughout her body. So on the evening of December 22nd, she climbed to the roof of the same building as before.

This time, though, she arrived earlier and observed longer before pulling the trigger.

Mostly just to see what would happen.

She watched as the purple-clad woman left the rooftop and crossed the street to disappear into a facing building. Several minutes later, lights began to flash in a dark apartment on one of its middle floors, and afterward Barton stepped back from the wall of his lower roof to loose an arrow. It released a cable that stretched up to the apartment across the street.

Once that happened, Yelena quickly took her shots, knowing that Barton springing into further action would make him harder to hit. And while satisfaction still settled over her when she saw the bullets punch through his body, it did nothing to erase the anxiety that had pervaded her week.

It didn’t tell her what she should do next.

———

Now Yelena crouched on the edge of the roof above an Avenger’s corpse to watch how a small change unfolded.

As she moved her binoculars from Barton’s body along the line of the cable to the other building, she saw his accomplice appear, moving rapidly. With no hesitation, the young woman threw a bow over the cable and zipped down it, even as an angry woman dressed in leather appeared behind her on the balcony.

Unfortunately for the young woman, the zip line wasn’t steep enough, and she lost momentum and stopped halfway down, kicking her legs uselessly a hundred feet in the air. Her pursuer immediately ducked back inside the apartment and reappeared moments later with a large kitchen knife, then climbed onto the balcony railing and hacked at the cable with the knife like it was a machete.

The cable soon collapsed, and the young woman screamed and tried to grab it even as she fell. She obviously couldn’t, though, since she dropped straight down between the two buildings. Her cry was cut off by the large crash of her impact onto the roof of a car below.

It wasn’t a pretty sight, and a heartbeat later multiple higher-pitched screams rose up to Yelena’s ears from the street.

In the periphery of her vision, she noticed the survivor on the balcony jump down from the railing and dart back inside the apartment. At that, Yelena also turned away from the scene in favor of disassembling and stowing her rifle — police would soon be swarming the apartments and the streets around them, which meant it was time for her to leave.

As she stood with her rifle case in hand, she glanced back over the roof edge, pondering what Barton and the young woman had been doing. Then she shrugged and headed toward the stairwell access door. Whatever their aim had been, the woman had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And definitely with the wrong person.

Just like Natasha, Yelena’s mind briefly supplied, before she pushed the thought away. If Barton had a tendency for people to die around him, that was his responsibility, and killing him was a solid way to prevent it from happening again. What mattered more to her was that someone’s life — and death — had been dramatically altered by a slight shift in Yelena’s timing.

She wondered if it would actually matter at all.

When she arrived back at her hotel room, Yelena set the rifle case down on the floor before moving to the window to look out on the city. She pressed her fingertips against the cold glass, then her forehead, and as her breath fogged up her vision, it sounded shaky in her ears.

Outside, the lights were bright. The streets were busy. The energy of the city seemed inviting, just like it had the last time.

Inside, she couldn’t help but feel trapped.

Yelena kept trying to tell herself that just because something strange had happened once, that didn’t mean it would happen again. The Blip had been a one-time occurrence. Maybe this little reverse-Blip of hers would soon be over, too, and Christmas Day would dawn for her just as it would for everyone else.

She exhaled again, and the noise that emerged from her throat might have been a laugh or a sob. “Don’t be an idiot, Елена,” she whispered, knowing that lying to herself would never be anything but a waste of time.

Wasting no more time, she pushed off the glass to raid the tiny bottles of alcohol in the fridge. After all, if she went back another week, she wouldn’t be paying for them anyway.

Uneasiness suffused her sleep that night and the next, as well as all the hours in between. Yelena managed to distract herself through Christmas Eve by shopping, first for clothes, then for jewelery, then for several meals worth of tiramisu. Afterward she tried to silence her worries by going to sleep early, though she ended up tossing and turning among the starched linens of her hotel bed until well past eleven.

The next morning, when Fanny licked her nose and Yelena wiped it off on her own soft pillowcase, her anxiety disappeared. In its place was resolve.

Resolve. And a whole lot of anger.

Notes:

I’ll admit right now that this fic is paced a bit oddly, kind of in keeping with how Yelena perceives time. The first quarter is primarily a character study, the middle half is primarily a love story, and the last quarter is a mix of both. I mostly mention this because Kate doesn’t appear a lot in the first quarter. But stick with me — she’s a very large part of the rest of it. And I’m updating daily, so we’ll still get to her pretty soon.

I’ll also say that while there are a couple more graphic deaths, there aren’t that many overall, and they happen for a reason. I’m not generally a gratuitous violence person, and I don’t want to scare anyone off!

Comments and kudos are incredibly appreciated. I always love to hear your thoughts. And thank you so much for reading!
P.S. Just for fun (and because I'm that kind of nerd), I’ve made timelines for each loop week out of yarn. Here are loops 1 and 2:

Chapter 3: Loop 3

Notes:

CW: Violence, graphic (non-permanent) character death

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

Kate crossed her arms. “You killed people before that. For how long?”

“Over twenty years. Many hundreds of people.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 3

December 18, 2024

The date on Yelena’s phone again showed the 18th of December. And now, this reverse-Blip became more than just an anomaly. It became her primary mission.

Over the next day or so, Yelena scoured the internet for signs of anyone else mentioning time repeating, but nothing useful popped up. It seemed this nightmare was only happening to her, which meant she must be propelling it somehow. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, one specific experience set her apart from all but a few people on the planet.

Fucking mind control. She wished she could be unique for something cool.

Since the Red Room had once splintered her consciousness, twisting time didn’t seem to be completely far-fetched. Neither did memory implantation. But given the Red Room’s destruction — it never felt like it had happened years ago, but damn it, it had — Yelena wasn’t sure whether her looping might be due to a remnant of the chemical subjugation or something new.

Fortunately, an expert in the science was easy enough to call.

If only the idea didn’t leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Yelena hadn’t talked to her mother since right after the Blip. The world around her had fractured, and the world within her had shattered, and Melina’s analytical approach to dealing with everything had clashed strongly with Yelena’s rage. They had both spoken words that cut deep.

But there was a chance that her mother might know something useful. So Yelena sat heavily on her couch and dialed, tapping her toe as she listened to the phone ring until Melina’s voice abruptly answered.

“Hi Mama,” Yelena murmured in response.

“Yelena. Hello.” Surprise and caution colored Melina’s tone, but there was also a hint of relief in it that loosened Yelena's shoulders a little.

She didn’t mention the looping, just in case Melina dismissed it out of hand. Instead, after some awkward small talk, she asked about drugs that could alter perceptions of time. She lied and said that a Widow she had freed had told her about some weird and unnerving experiences.

As she wove her tale, her lips twisted into a bitter frown. For all she knew, other Widows might be suffering something similar, but she hadn’t helped free any in over eight months or spoken to any in almost as long. She hadn’t thought that she'd purposely kept her distance, but the unease beneath her ribcage begged to differ.

Then again, she was talking to her mother, and uneasiness was practically a given.

To her credit, Melina seriously thought about the problem, and she asked a few follow-up questions before laying out possibilities. The list was surprisingly encouraging at first. Yelena felt relieved to hear that the subjugation shouldn’t have any lasting effects on her brain. And that potent hallucinogenics — ones with other obvious side effects — would be the only chemicals that could screw with someone’s sense of time so dramatically.

Melina’s final conclusion was psychosis, though, which wasn’t comforting in the least.

Rattled, Yelena thanked her mother and hung up. Then she spent many minutes perched on the edge of her couch, staring at her hands and fighting her fear. The gray walls of her living room seemed to close in on her, and she shut her eyes to try to force them back.

She wasn’t a good person. She knew that.

She had failed her family and abandoned her friends.

She had been baptized in blood, and she’d chosen to abide by it.

She would never be anyone’s hero.

None of that meant she was crazy.

Her eyes opened and focused immediately on the clock on the wall, marking each second as it passed and feeling her heart speed up, as if it was racing the clock in some kind of strange and suffocating countdown.

But what if I am?

Abruptly, Yelena stood and strode past a sleeping Fanny to her spare bedroom, slamming the door behind her and driving her fists into the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. At first her strikes spanned several rapid heartbeats, but soon she sped up until her hands were numb and sweat began to drip into her eyes.

Anything to get away from her brain. The traitor.

The burning in her lungs eventually broke through into her consciousness, and Yelena bent over at the waist and braced her hands on her knees, sucking in air and staring at the skin that had split open across her right middle knuckle. It gave her a focal point. And when her breathing finally slowed, her mind finally calmed.

Standing upright, she clenched her fists and exhaled loudly before opening the door and heading to her bathroom sink to wash her hand. As the water turned vaguely pink, her eyes caught flashes of her face in the wrecked mirror on the wall. She’d smashed it long ago in the midst of a flashback, back when she could see nothing but her hands turning to dust. Now it just reflected jagged views of a broken person, her blood dripping down the drain.

Yelena blew out another breath and concentrated. She wasn’t made of marble, but she would always be a Widow. A Widow knew that what mattered was her mission. And though this was the strangest mission she’d ever had, she would treat it like any other.

Figure out what she could control. And prepare for everything else.

Drying her hands, she moved off to her bedroom to pack.

The next morning, on December 20th, Yelena dropped Fanny off at her pet boarding facility and flew to New York. Checking into a hotel in a completely different part of the city, she then wandered around upper Manhattan for a day while wondering if Valentina would be able to find her.

As dusk fell on the 21st, a half hour after Valentina had knocked on her condo door the first two weeks, she appeared next to Yelena, who was standing at an overlook of the Hudson River. Yelena was annoyed to admit that she was a little impressed. She wasn’t exactly hiding, but that didn’t mean tracking her was easy.

This conversation with Valentina began much differently, with a discussion of several local landmarks and how much Valentina hated the city, since as far as Yelena could tell, Valentina hated almost everything. The eventual contract she offered was the same, though, as was the information she provided — Barton had been the last person to see Natasha alive, and there were several sources who implied that he had been responsible for her death. Sources that included Barton himself.

The contract somehow felt more significant this time around. A constant among shifting events. And though she did debate whether she should just walk away, Yelena ultimately decided to accept it. If the primary thing she could control in this mess was whether Clint Barton lived or died, the end result seemed clear to her. As justice for Natasha, he deserved to die.

Yelena liked to keep things as simple as possible, and that truth was simple enough. But maybe the when and the how actually mattered. Maybe she needed to get closer.

And maybe, she admitted, she would actually enjoy getting his blood on her hands.

Instead of waiting for the next evening to kill him, Yelena decided to do it immediately. She didn’t have her tactical suit or heavy equipment, but the civilian clothes she wore were loose enough and quiet enough, and she always carried a lot of weapons on her. The job would still be easy.

Barton’s phone signal placed him at an apartment complex in the West Village, and a fire escape on a facing building gave her a good vantage point. It didn’t take more than ten minutes for her to spot him wandering in front of a window on the sixth floor.

Grappling over to the other wall of the corner apartment, Yelena jimmied the lock on an ancient window into a bedroom, which was completely dark. Inch by inch, she silently opened the window with gloved fingers and slipped through, then crept across the uneven hardwood floor to peer around the door frame into the living area.

She almost laughed at the sight of her target.

What an idiot.

Barton had strapped frozen drink mixes to various parts of his body with tape, and when she located him in the kitchen he was pouring brightly colored slush from a blender into a coffee mug. Then he moved out of her sight, only to appear at the end of the hallway, where a green stuffed chair sat next to a couch.

As soon as he settled in the chair, in profile to her, she made her move with choreography she had followed countless times. In one breath, Yelena hit him with two Widow’s bites — one in the temple and one on the side of his chest — and in the next, with him temporarily immobilized, she sprinted the length of the hallway and efficiently slit his throat.

At the same time, the apartment buzzer sounded loudly from its place next to the front door. Yelena ignored it.

But she couldn’t ignore Barton.

His head tilted backward where she’d left it, and as the gaping wound across his neck spurted arterial blood down his torso, his eyes rolled up to try to look at her, confused and panicked. There was also something resigned in them, though, and it interested her. It felt familiar. The gaze of someone who had been stalked by death.

Even as the buzzer blared again, she wondered if she should say something to him. Something about Natasha or about herself. Something vindictive. Something crass.

In the end, she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t seem to feel anything, not even a hint of her previous satisfaction. His eyes glazed over and his muscles slackened, and Yelena numbly retrieved her drained Widow’s bites from his body before heading toward the door.

Sliding into the hallway and pulling the door closed with her least bloody fingers, she heard the click of the door latch, followed immediately by yet another buzz from inside the apartment. The noise made her pause for a second to consider reentering and retracing her steps back out the window. Then she shrugged and continued down the hall to the stairs, taking off her gloves and turning them inside out. It would be easier to avoid spreading blood traces or fingerprints by walking out.

The buzzer had implied that she would see someone when she reached the entrance to the building, and she wasn’t shocked that the person was Barton’s young partner. The beautiful golden retriever pressed up against the woman’s long legs was more surprising, as were the Christmas-themed bags and boxes in her arms.

But the most startling bit was the sincere smile that the woman wore when Yelena reached out with her forearm to open the front door.

Before Yelena could slip outside, the dog shouldered its way through the doorway, dragging its person along behind. Yelena found herself forced back against the wall as the tall woman awkwardly tried to manipulate her parcels through the narrow entryway. As she shuffled past, though, her brilliant blue eyes locked on Yelena’s, and her smile grew even toothier.

The whole effect was a little stunning, and Yelena involuntarily felt her lips turning upward, responding to the magnetism of the grin. Until she processed the woman’s casually thrown-out words.

“Sorry ’bout the furball. Thank you for the door, though.... thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

All of the air left Yelena’s lungs.

She couldn’t disappear fast enough. From the building, from the street, from the city. And the woman’s shining eyes and piercing words followed her all the way back to Baltimore.

Christmas Eve found Yelena curled up on her couch with a bottle of expensive vodka in her hand and her dog at her feet. Something random played on TV in the background, but she paid it no attention. She was much too busy drinking and sulking.

Idly, Yelena wondered if she could break the loop by never going to sleep. The world would finally move on around her, and maybe then she could forget the warmth of the young woman’s smile.

Maybe then she could banish the mental image of that smile melting away when the woman found Barton’s corpse.

You’re a lifesaver.

A lifesaver.

It was so aggravating. Yelena hadn’t felt guilty in a very long time. Not about her work, at least. Anger had proved to be her constant companion, and pain and doubt were frequent visitors. After every assignment she argued with herself about whether she should quit, whether she should do something different with her time and talents. But that argument was never about guilt. Guilt was just frustrating.

She would almost prefer to be crazy.

Over the course of the day, the contents of the bottle completely disappeared, and the last thing Yelena remembered that night was blearily seeing her living room clock read 11:59 pm. Then she abruptly woke in her bed to sunlight streaming through the window.

Since she no longer had alcohol in her system, the fuzziness in her brain disappeared, and her anger took the reins once again with sudden clarity.

This time, she knew what she would do next.

Fuck Barton. Fuck Valentina. And fuck New York.

Notes:

To think Yelena thinks she hasn’t felt guilty. She’s a mess.

Chapter 4: Loop 4

Notes:

Slightly NSFW, but nothing extended or graphic

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“This doesn’t make sense. You care about people. Your family, your friends.”

Yelena sighed. “Someone can care about people and still be a bad person.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 4

December 18, 2024

Yelena could have gone practically anywhere to while away the week. The where was less important than the when and how, as she needed to leave soon and stealthily. She hadn’t been hiding before when Valentina had tracked her down, but this time she wanted to avoid anything that even hinted at her previous three weeks.

Maybe the universe was telling her to stay away from New York. And if she interpreted that message as also telling her to go someplace warm…

Well, there was no harm in that.

After pondering for a while, Yelena picked up her phone and dialed, feeling ashamed at the utter shock in her friend Sonya’s voice when she answered. But Sonya’s tone also held a welcome that only intensified when Yelena asked about visiting, and she was much too blunt a person to fake it. So after boarding Fanny, ditching her normal phone, and packing a few clothes and weapons, Yelena set out for Sonya’s current home in India.

It took her more time — and far more money — than she had expected to travel to Chennai under the radar and with no notice. When she stepped off the metro from the airport, though, Yelena immediately knew that it had been worth it. As she wound her way through the streets of Sonya’s neighborhood on the northern side of the city, warm air and pungent smells washed over her, banishing the winter dreariness and ghosts of New York City from her mind.

She might not have any idea how to defeat her current time trap. She didn’t even know if she could.

But maybe, just for this week, it didn’t have to matter.

Sonya greeted her at the door of her expansive flat with a smile and a squeeze to the arm, and after stowing Yelena’s bags in a spare room, she immediately marched Yelena out to dinner at a restaurant down the street. For much of the next two days, they discreetly toured Sonya’s favorite parts of the city, eating regularly, chatting often, and sometimes just walking quietly. Sonya seemed to recognize the disquiet under Yelena’s words — probably not a hard lift, given the abruptness of her visit — but she didn’t probe.

Not verbally, at least. Two nights after Yelena had arrived, though, as they idly chatted while Sonya washed dishes, Sonya made a suggestive comment and smirked at Yelena over her shoulder. It didn’t take more than a couple seconds of contemplation before Yelena spun her around and nudged her against the kitchen counter, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck and then up to her lips.

Sonya kissed her back just as hungrily. But there were questions in the hands pressed against her, an odd hesitancy that Yelena had never felt during the few other times they’d slept together. As if something brittle had lodged itself under Yelena’s skin and Sonya thought it might shatter.

Yelena impatiently pulled her past her doubts, just as quickly as she pulled her into the guest bedroom. She didn’t slow down, either, never lingering on any single patch of skin, not wanting to allow Sonya’s concern room to breathe. The sheen of sweat that soon covered them both tasted of salt and surrender. And when Sonya moaned in appreciation between ragged breaths as her thighs clenched tightly against Yelena’s face, Yelena managed to forget that her life was — yet again — wildly out of her control.

An hour later, after Sonya had kissed her a final time and retreated back to her own room, Yelena closed her eyes and savored the lack of tension in her limbs. She knew that sex couldn’t solve anything, that no distraction would make time move forward once again. Hiding could be a plan but would never truly be the answer.

Sonya made it easy, though. To give and take without needing to explain. To pretend to be ever-so-slightly normal.

To feel something. But never too much.

The next morning, when December 22nd dawned in India, Yelena managed to relax even more. The eastern United States had drifted well into nighttime of the 21st, and every hour that passed convinced her that Valentina might not find her this time.

Good riddance.

As if to balance the scales, Sonya got a call from her handler late that morning, and shortly afterward she began to gather a familiar set of tools and weapons. She then handed Yelena several locks worth of apartment keys and disappeared through her front door with a parting promise that the job — a simple execution — would be brief. It was a promise that she kept, arriving back toward the end of the next day with a scratch on her cheek, a slight limp, and a ravenous appetite for the meal that Yelena cooked that evening. Then a ravenous appetite for something else. Yelena eventually had to shove her out of the guest room in order to get some sleep.

The morning of December 24th, Yelena woke early to the pale light before dawn, which was several hours before Sonya’s normal rising time. When she wandered out of the guest room, though, she found her friend already out on her balcony, gazing off into the city with a mug of tea in hand. Fixing herself some coffee, Yelena stepped out to join her, leaning her elbows on the railing and shooting Sonya a quick smile.

Glancing back, Sonya didn’t return it. There was a tightness around her eyes that Yelena couldn’t quite read. In Russian, Sonya said, “<You’ve been here five days, Елена. I thought you would drop in and drop out, like you always have>.”

“<You can tell me to leave anytime. No hard feelings. I did kind of invite myself over>.”

“<Kind of>?” Sonya teased, raising her eyebrows as she turned her head to meet Yelena’s eyes.

Grumbling, “Shut up,” in English, Yelena took a large sip of her coffee, breaking the eye contact to absently track several people riding bicycles on the streets below.

Sonya didn’t stop studying her, though. “<You know that’s not the point>.” Then she paused and shifted her body to fully face Yelena before asking, “What are you running from?”

A glib answer was on the tip of Yelena’s tongue, but it tasted as bitter as the coffee. Before she said anything, she looked over at Sonya’s solemn expression, and truer words leaked their way out of her mouth. “Making the same mistakes.”

Blinking, Sonya then narrowed her eyes and said, “<That’s pretty vague of you. Want to operationalize that for me>?”

“<Do you ever feel guilty>?” Yelena questioned instead of clarifying.

“<Yes>,” Sonya replied, though her face lost all expression in a way that made Yelena regret asking. “<But no one is innocent. Especially us>.” She turned back to the balcony railing, and her jaw worked for a few seconds before she murmured, “<Pretending I could be anything more than guilty seemed stupid, after a while>.”

The statement resonated in Yelena’s ears. It mixed with her own justifications and the words that her brain had warped into a mocking taunt, despite the blinding grin associated with them.

You’re a lifesaver.

But it also poked at something deeper. Something more painful. And not entirely consciously, Yelena gave it voice. “Natasha didn’t think so.”

“Yelena, don’t take this the wrong way. I know you loved her, and I respected her. But Natasha could be really stupid.”

Twisting her lips into something like a smile, Yelena nodded, but her fingers clenched around her mug and her heart ached.

Sonya glanced back at her, and her face softened as she asked, “<So you’re running from your demons>?”

Yelena met her eyes warily and responded, “<Is that so wrong>?”

With a shrug, Sonya shook her head. “<No>.” Then she peered at Yelena with more purpose. “<You want to get drunk tonight>?”

“<Definitely>.” This time Yelena’s smile was much more genuine. Drinking with a friend was worlds better than drinking alone.

The bar that they walked to that evening felt welcoming, and as alcohol trickled through her system, Yelena managed to ignore her muddled thoughts and her ticking clock. She even let loose enough to dance a few times, something she hadn’t done since before the Blip. Though she couldn’t shut off her vigilance enough to dance with anyone — even Sonya — the beat traveling from her heels to her heart settled her. Like a hazy reminder of something she had only ever felt fleetingly.

That sometimes life could be fun.

Their outing lasted long into the night, and when they drifted back to Sonya’s flat, Yelena immediately felt sober when she realized that the time was well past midnight. An odd mixture of adrenaline and relief darted up her spine.

After three repeats of the week, the idea that her ordeal might be over was hard to trust, and she still had trouble falling asleep. But when she awoke a little after ten the next morning to the sounds of Chennai drifting through her window, Yelena finally breathed easier, despite the dull ache in her head.

Perhaps not killing Barton was the key. Or perhaps it was something else. Either way, maybe now she could go home. Maybe now she could move on.

She successfully avoided thinking about what might come next.

Padding out to the empty kitchen and opening the fridge, Yelena decided the least she could do for Sonya was make breakfast to complement their hangovers. And a short time later, as coffee brewed next to the cutting board where she was slicing cheese, Sonya emerged from her room looking a little the worse for wear. Running a hand through her hair, she opened her mouth to say something.

Yelena never heard it. Because she woke once again, this time in her own bed.

It took several moments for the shock to wear off. It took longer for her to understand what had happened. But as she grumpily cut a slice of her own cheese from her own fridge on her own cutting board, the twisted logic of it all dawned on her.

The last time she had looked at Sonya’s kitchen clock, it had read 10:27 AM, and a couple of minutes after that the week began again. Exactly when midnight arrived in the eastern United States.

Dropping the knife with a clatter, Yelena splayed her hands on the counter in front of her and loudly swore in several languages. This looping no longer felt like a mission. Now it felt like a curse. And through pulses of despair, a niggling worry reemerged in force.

Maybe I actually am crazy.

Then the anxiety took a whole new form as she realized her next move. Yelena clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, but unfortunately it didn’t change the truth.

She took a deep breath.

Mother Russia, here I come.

Notes:

I know Yelena/Sonya is unconventional, but I could see them blowing off steam.

Thanks for reading! I love hearing your thoughts!

Chapter 5: Loops 5 and 6

Notes:

CW: Violence, non-permanent character death

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“We are defined by what we do.”

“Not completely.” A spark of anger entered Kate’s eyes.

“That’s just what you want to believe.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 5

December 18, 2024

Wanting to get the travel over with — wanting to get the whole week over with — Yelena booked a ticket and quickly packed. On the way to the airport, she took Fanny to the pet boarder, pulling her truck in front of the building and cutting the engine.

Before Yelena opened the door, though, she glanced at the dog panting in the seat beside her, and a wistfulness suddenly bubbled up in her chest. She wrapped her arms around Fanny and buried her nose in her fluffy neck.

Leaving her felt harder this time around. While Fanny had not experienced the many days they’d spent apart over the last month, Yelena had. Even sharing Sonya’s relaxed company didn’t match the easy contentment of hanging out with her sweet girl. And if Sonya couldn’t compare, Melina had no chance.

Despite all previous experience, Yelena hoped that interacting with her mother could be easy. But based on the something that had stained Melina’s voice when Yelena had called to announce her visit, she knew it was a futile wish. Even worse, Alexei apparently was off in Siberia because of a stupid bet, so he wouldn’t be there to steamroll over any uneasiness with his idiotic prattling.

All of which meant Yelena found herself again saying goodbye to the most comforting presence in her life in order to seek help from the most complicated.

What a shitty trade-off.

She sighed and kissed Fanny on the top of her head. Then she climbed out of the truck, letting Fanny jump down after her, and led her into the building.

The next afternoon when she arrived at her mother’s farm, Yelena tossed her bag into a bedroom and sat down on the couch, waving away offers of food in favor of some vodka that was sitting on a side table. Melina sat down tentatively in a chair across from her. And Yelena told her everything.

She had thought a lot on the plane trip over the Atlantic, and she’d decided that if science might have an explanation for looping in time — even if the explanation was mental instability — it would be worthwhile to completely come clean.

Melina listened with unrelenting eyebrows, which vacillated between furrowing in concentration and lifting in surprise. She asked some of the same questions she had during the third loop, and then she asked a few new ones.

Finally, she led Yelena to a small lab that she had set up in a study and took out a few vials and a needle. When Yelena instinctively drew back, Melina chided her and instructed her to sit on a short stool.

“<Yes, because I’ve met so many harmless needles in my life>,” Yelena remarked acerbically.

Her mother frowned at her and said, “<Don’t pout. You’re being paranoid>.”

Yelena snorted. “<I wonder why that could be>.”

Still, she sat and rolled up her sleeve, then extended her arm, trying to breathe deeply. This was the reason she had come. For diagnostics. For answers.

A prick and several vials of blood later, her mother sent her off to the kitchen, insisting that Yelena eat something while she began the blood serum isolation. This time, Yelena complied.

She might have come for answers, but homemade pierogies were also pretty damn satisfying.

Two days later, none of the basic tests that Melina could perform at home had shown anything abnormal. The next step seemed to be dragging Yelena into a truck and to a better-equipped lab on the outskirts of Moscow, where Melina appropriated a mass spectrometer to conduct a more thorough blood analysis. She also sent Yelena off with an unknown technician for neurological scans.

Yelena glowered at her as she left the room, extremely unhappy to be entrusted to a complete stranger for something that felt even more invasive than needles. Then she took a deep breath and unclenched her fists.

This was the reason she had come. For diagnostics. For answers. For a chance that her mother could find something useful in the murky red of Yelena’s blood or the mysterious pictures of her brain.

Melina seemed to be trying her best, too. After they returned to the farm, she spent much of that evening and the next morning poring over the imaging and the new lab results, and she seemed to be consulting all of the resources available to her. When Melina finally entered Yelena’s bedroom late in the afternoon, interrupting her in the middle of a book — and not even knocking, Yelena noticed irritably — she had a deep frown on her face.

“Oh God, what’s wrong?” Yelena asked immediately, straightening from where she sat on the bed.

“Nothing,” Melina answered, and her frown deepened into a scowl. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing irregular in any way. No metabolic or genetic markers of psychosis or latent schizophrenia. No structural abnormalities in your brain. No fatty acid imbalances. You are a very healthy thirty-year-old woman.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Yelena muttered, although she understood the sentiment. An overwhelming sense of ‘What now?’ threatened to bury her, and she could feel her shoulders tightening.

Meeting her eyes with regret, her mother sighed. “<I am happy you are healthy, Yelena. But you came to me for help, and I do not… want to fail you>.” The not again didn’t leave her mouth, but it lingered in the air anyway.

Yelena pursed her lips, glancing down at her hands, which were clutching the book on her lap. Then she looked back up and said, “You’ve told me that it’s not a medical problem.”

“I cannot rule out the possibility —”

“Okay, probably not a medical problem,” Yelena interrupted. “<That’s more than I knew before>.”

“<What will you do next>?” Melina asked, and Yelena shrugged, opening her mouth to admit that she didn’t know, but before she could say anything, an alarm sounded outside the room from the direction of the front door. At Yelena’s questioning look, Melina mumbled, “Proximity alarm,” and retrieved a phone from her pocket. After poking the screen a few times, she furrowed her eyebrows and turned the screen around. “Someone you recognize?”

All Yelena could do was groan as Valentina Allegra de Fontaine made her way through the garden to the front of the house.

A moment later, though, Yelena’s brain caught up to her annoyance and remembered that today was the evening of December 22nd. Even by a United States clock, Valentina was substantially later than normal. Maybe the difference was just due to a longer travel time, but that would still imply that some event leading to the contract was more constant than Yelena receiving it.

Before Valentina could knock, Yelena slid past her mother and went to the front door to open it. As she did every time, she greeted the woman more icily than the air that now stung her face. “You’re not supposed to be bothering me right now, Valentina.”

“You didn’t make it easy on me. I never thought when you dodged my call that I would have to track down your mother,” Valentina replied with an incredibly insincere smile. “And don’t say you’re on vacation. Nowhere this cold is a vacation.”

“Then you must be pretty desperate.”

With that, Yelena allowed her to describe the contract, which despite the time lag seemed exactly the same. Then she ducked Valentina’s effort to convince Yelena to travel back with her, instead negotiating for a few more days in which to kill Clint Barton. There was no way she was spending the last part of the week on a plane with this woman.

Valentina didn’t seem happy, developing a tightness around her mouth that Yelena found gratifying, but eventually she allowed Yelena four days. After that, she asked to come inside to warm up and maybe indulge in some ‘delightful Russian cuisine.’

Yelena smiled snidely at her and shut the door in her face.

The next two days were quiet, filled with snowy walks and comfort food. And though the conversation between her and her mother was no less awkward than normal, Yelena somehow felt a little more calm about it.

Melina had helped. She had given Yelena some peace of mind, since even if Yelena didn’t yet know how to fight time, at least she knew that she didn’t need to fight herself.

One more simple answer amidst a convoluted mess.

Then, at 7:55 am on Christmas Day, Yelena received a phone call from Valentina that startled her. It hadn’t happened in previous loops, which almost made her answer it.

But she didn’t. Instead, at 7:58 am, she went to her mother and hugged her with a whispered, “Thank you, Mama,” and the way Melina squeezed her back — as well as the smell of her skin, of a time long gone — brought tears to Yelena’s eyes. In her mind, an image surfaced of cuddling up in bed as Melina read aloud, Yelena in her lap and Natasha resting against her side.

She pulled back, and Melina brought a shaky hand up to touch her cheek.

Yelena never felt it. But as she woke in her bed and rose to let Fanny out into the yard, the scent of her mother seemed to stay in her nostrils.

The sound of Melina’s voice also lingered in her ears.

What will you do next?

—————

Thirty-six hours later, as Yelena leaned against a wall in the New York City Theater District, she couldn’t stop thinking that her current answer to that question seemed really, really stupid.

She blamed it on a weird sense of nostalgia from being in her mother’s presence for days on end. That was her only explanation for having managed to dredge up a memory of Natasha coming home from Blockbuster one day with a VHS of Back to the Future. Natasha had wanted to watch it with a friend, but Alexei had insisted that they have a family movie night. Afterward, he'd wasted no time talking about how their family adventure would be even more exciting than Marty McFly’s.

At the time, Yelena had wondered if the start of their family adventure would involve quite so many guns. That part was almost funny in retrospect.

Almost.

What was somehow both more and less funny was the fact that she was now trying to break out of her own very real time travel nightmare by creating a Hollywood-defined paradox.

It was definitely a long shot, but she figured that causing one had some chance of breaking the loop. And there was no better event to disrupt than the contract against Clint Barton. It was one constant that she had observed in a fluid timeline.

So Yelena set out to kill him before anyone bothered to hire her to do it. Which was how she found herself here, outside the entrance doors of a theater, watching Barton walk inside.

Currently, far too many people mingled around for her to want to get close to him. She couldn’t even tell which people were actually with Barton, other than when he put his hand on the shoulder of one tall boy next to him. Then everyone finally entered the theater, and the street grew marginally quieter.

Yelena remained in the same spot for a while, casually leaning against the wall of the building. She wondered if she would be able to covertly get to Barton in this bustling part of the city, and after waiting for almost an hour, she had thoroughly weighed different plans for how to break into his hotel room that night.

Then she heard a door open, and she saw that he had, once again, made her job extremely easy. Because fifteen feet from where she stood, Clint Barton walked out of the theater entrance.

Alone.

Wasting no time, Yelena pushed off of the wall behind her and readied her silenced pistol, tucking it against her belly under the flap of her coat. Her finger rested on the trigger, and when she got close to Barton, who had just stopped on the sidewalk near the street, she listed sideways toward him as if drunk.

He raised an arm to try to steady her, and she shot him four times through the side of her coat, slanted upward so that the bullets would travel up through his ribcage. One of them likely hit his heart, as shortly after he staggered backward from the impacts of the bullets, he collapsed to the ground.

Yelena didn’t stop to look closer at him. She just kept walking along the sidewalk at the same ambling pace. Until a shrill scream pierced the air.

“Dad!”

Then she let her steps speed up, and a moment later she ducked into an alley and peered back around the corner.

At first, she thought that the person that knelt over Clint Barton’s body was the same woman that Yelena had now seen several times. The woman in purple, the woman who had fallen to her death. The woman whose smile still burned in Yelena’s memory.

But when this kneeling woman — girl, Yelena realized — looked up from her father’s body to look around in supplication, the streetlights caught her tear-stained face, and it was clear that she was younger than Barton’s partner. Older than Yelena had been for her graduation ceremony, perhaps, but not by much.

The unwelcome guilt from several weeks ago trickled into Yelena’s chest, quickly and steadily. As if it had been lurking all along.

So what?, her mind pushed back, with Sonya’s words echoing in her ears. No one is innocent. This girl was part of Barton’s world, part of the pain and death that he had inflicted, part of the cycle that never ended.

Death follows the killers. Yelena had always known that. Clint Barton had known it, too. She had seen it in his eyes when she had slit his throat.

Barton’s daughter would have to learn it sooner or later.

Turning away, Yelena walked down the alley and hailed a cab from the street on the other side, heading first to her hotel to dispose of her gun and coat, then traveling directly to the airport. She arrived home well before dawn and lay down for a few restless hours of sleep before retrieving Fanny from her boarding facility.

For the next five days, she went on long walks with her dog and cooked and watched movies and did little else. Part of her wondered if she should go to Ohio to visit Natasha’s grave, as it had been a long time since she’d last headed in that direction. By her measure, especially. But as the days passed, Yelena kept finding reasons to put it off.

When Christmas Eve came, followed by the morning of December 18th once more, Yelena seriously considered retreating for another week of numbness. She could ignore the world and reject Valentina, letting another piece of the cycle come and go without her. It didn’t matter, after all. Nothing she did appeared to matter.

But in the end, five days of inactivity seemed like enough. Yelena wasn’t much good at sitting still or sulking for long, not when she could distract herself by doing something. And though what to do seemed murkier, a few ideas had begun to percolate in her brain.

If medicine didn’t hold the key to her looping, and if science fiction couldn’t be fact, then she just had to branch out. Maybe something to do with quantum mechanics, since there had been whispers of quantum-related time travel in bringing about the end of the Blip. The idea seemed promising, and there were definitely experts on the west coast that Yelena could track down.

There was another possibility, though, and the fact that her answers might lie back in the streets of New York City seemed more than coincidental. So once again, she packed a bag and boarded a plane.

She had a wizard to find.

Notes:

I love the idea of the family watching Back to the Future together. Yelena was really grasping at straws by using that idea.

I’m glad she got some Fanny time, though.

Chapter 6: Loop 7

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

Yelena wished she had it in her to smile. “This is where my story gets weirder.”

“Weirder. Huh.” Kate smiled for her.

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 7

December 19, 2024

If only she could find the goddamn wizard.

It should have been easy. Dr. Stephen Strange had become well-known to the media after the Blip, and he himself had revealed that he operated out of New York City.

But when she arrived in New York and began her investigation early on December 19th, it soon become clear to Yelena that nobody in New York actually knew where he lived or worked. All of the documentation that she could find listed residences and workplaces from years ago, when Strange had still been a surgeon. And while he did occasionally appear on surveillance footage in different parts of the city, none of it was consistent enough to point to his location.

So, frustratingly, it took days of chasing actual eyewitnesses to spiral her search toward Greenwich Village.

Valentina found her in the meantime, of course, which let Yelena change an additional variable during this loop. With cheerful spite, she turned Valentina down flat, repeatedly rejecting her increasingly coercive attempts to get Yelena to accept the Barton contract. Eventually, though, Valentina caved and agreed to push the job to someone else, leaving Yelena to focus on her search once more.

Idly, she wondered who would take the contract. She wondered if Clint Barton would still die.

On the morning of December 23rd, Yelena finally managed to find a halal cart owner who apparently regularly sold Stephen Strange lunch. He pointed her across Bleecker Street to a large blue set of double doors, and she thanked him, sighing in relief. Then she marched up to the doors and knocked on one loudly.

Nothing happened.

She rang the doorbell. And still nothing happened.

Irritation stiffened her shoulders, and she knocked on the door again, this time raising her voice to call, “Stephen Strange, it has taken me four days to find you. If I now have to sneak into your stupid magic cave, I will —”

The doors suddenly opened, parting in the middle. No actual person stood behind them, though, and Yelena’s hand ducked under her coat to the grip of the gun in her shoulder holster. She inched inside, her eyes scanning for any movement, and as she glanced around to the backside of each door, she drew the gun and held it loosely in front of her. Then she carefully crept forward.

“Please, tell me the end of that threat. I’m quaking in my boots.” The voice emerged from above the staircase in the middle of the foyer, followed by the floating form of a man in a red cape. Yelena’s arms snapped straight, and her gun tracked every inch of his descent until he landed at the base of the staircase, some fifteen feet in front of her. On a pair of very nice boots, she had to admit, although his entrance as a whole seemed over-the-top.

“I was going to say that I will be very annoyed,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him and shuffling a few feet closer.

Tilting his head, Strange smiled slightly at her from behind his perfectly groomed goatee. “If I knew who you were, that might mean something. So —”

Suddenly, the foyer of the building disappeared, and both of them were sitting on uncomfortable leather wing-backed chairs with Yelena’s gun laid out on a table between them. She immediately jumped to her feet even as Strange finished his sentence.

“— do enlighten me.”

Her heart racing, Yelena’s eyes tracked to the various odd objects in glass cases surrounding them before settling back on the man in front of her. Perhaps more antagonistically than was wise, she glared at him and asked, “Were you Blipped?”

He tilted his head and peered at her intently for a moment before admitting, “Yes.”

“Then you should know how incredibly uncool that was.” She pointedly sat down again, but stiffly. Within arm range of the gun.

Only a slight widening of his eyes indicated his surprise, but eventually Strange conceded, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. I’ll warn you next time.” Then he folded his arms across his chest. “Now who are you?”

“Yelena,” she said, taking a final deep breath before feeling her heart rate return to normal.

“Yelena. Why are you at my Sanctum?”

“That’s a very fancy word,” Yelena mumbled, and when the muscles of Strange’s jaw tightened, she figured she might as well bypass the pleasantries. “Do you know anything about time loops?”

Whatever she might have expected in response to the question, it wasn’t for Stephen Strange to lean back in his chair and steeple his fingers in front of his chest, smiling in a very satisfied fashion. “And Wong told me I was imagining things,” he murmured, which made no sense to Yelena, but before she could ask he continued, “So that’s you, huh? It’s been tickling my brain for days.”

Yelena took another deep breath. And for the first time in six weeks, true hope flared in her chest.

An embarrassing tinge of desperation also colored her voice. “You know what it is? What’s causing it?”

“Mmhmm,” Strange hummed, then backtracked somewhat. “Well, kind of. The temporal magic that causes spontaneous time loops is mysterious. And rare. You’re lucky to see it.”

Yelena blinked at him bemusedly, but nothing more was forthcoming. “You’re actually serious about that,” she said irritably, but when his expression didn’t change, she moved on.

Don’t aggravate the man with the answers.

“Well, Doctor, as much as I love questioning my sanity, I would really like this to be over now. Can you help me?”

Her hope dimmed as Strange immediately shook his head. “No can do. I’m well over my quota of interfering with the natural order this month. But don’t worry, these loops almost always resolve.”

Though his tone was dismissive, his words fell like lead on Yelena’s ears, and her heart rate sped up again. “Almost always?”

“Yeah, there was this one case in El Paso. The guy was incapable of learning a lesson. Wouldn’t stop dying. So he stayed in the loop and the timeline eventually moved on without him.”

“Learning a lesson,” Yelena repeated flatly, wishing that she could do more than stupidly parroting the wizard’s words back to him.

She also tried not to dwell on the disturbing implication that for the first time in her life, death wasn’t a possible exit strategy.

Strange leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gesturing with his oddly scarred hands that briefly distracted Yelena before she focused on what he was saying. “Think of it as remedial development. You’re behind where the universe needs you to be, so it’s giving you a chance to catch up. How much time that takes is up to you.”

Snorting, Yelena shook her head. She wasn’t sure how he managed to be both patronizing and all too vague at the same time. It seemed like a skill no one should have. “You should give pep talks,” she muttered.

“You came to me,” Strange said, shrugging.

The matter-of-fact statement further irked Yelena, since it was both true and a reminder of her lack of leverage. She had no real sense of this man’s abilities. Or his weaknesses. It had taken her most of a week to find his address. There was little chance she could force him to help her, at least without a lot more intelligence.

Yelena realized that perhaps she had been quiet a few moments too long when Strange’s gaze sharpened, and her muscles tensed in response. “Who are you, anyway?” he bluntly asked. “This kind of magic only affects crucial people at crucial moments. You’re obviously important enough to the timeline that this is happening at all.”

“I’m nobody,” Yelena said, smirking slightly. It was a reflexive response, a reflection of a life shrouded in shadow. But as she said it in the face of his unnerving assertion, Yelena also realized that she wished it were true. She didn’t want to be important. Certainly not for any cosmic plan.

A life in the shadows or a life in the spotlight. She wondered if she might ever just have a life.

Smiling back at her shrewdly, Strange countered, “I doubt that,” before shrugging indifferently. “But since I won’t remember this conversation, it’s not worth pushing. I’m going to teleport us now.”

The abrupt words were better than no warning at all, but Yelena still hadn’t fully processed his remark when she found herself standing back at the entrance to the building, her gun in her hand, stumbling to keep her feet. She felt a cold wind at her back as the double doors opened behind her, and her adrenaline from earlier resurged.

“Дерьмо,” she cursed, then shouted, “Wait!” Holstering the gun and holding a hand out in front of her toward Strange, who stood ten feet away with his cloak billowing up behind his knees, she asked, “You really won’t help me?”

“It’s not my problem, and it’s all under your control.”

And though only one of those statements seemed remotely true, if he had left it at that, Yelena might have withdrawn with a parting retort and maybe even a nod of begrudging gratitude.

But then Strange smirked and added, “You have all the time in the world.”

Well, she had been pondering ways to assess his abilities in case she needed leverage. Now seemed like a perfect opportunity.

Bastard.

Slipping a short knife out of a sheath sewn into the sleeve of her coat, Yelena flung it at him, aiming for his shoulder. For a fraction of a second, she thought it might even make contact, but then his cloak deformed to… she could only describe it as reach around him and grab the knife hilt a few inches shy of his body. With much slower reflexes, Strange’s hands came up in front of him in an odd ready position, and he narrowed his eyes.

“What was that supposed to accomplish?” he asked, his voice dropping dangerously.

Yelena shrugged at him and said, “Nothing. You’re just an asshole.” Then she half-turned to sidle out the front entrance and waved two fingers away from her forehead in a mocking salute. “Thanks, wizard.”

A muttered, “Why do I even b—,” escaped into the open air before the blue doors thudded behind her. The finality of the sound seemed fitting, given that she hoped to never come back.

Crossing the street, Yelena returned to the helpful food vendor and bought a gyro platter doused with extra harissa sauce. She then meandered into Washington Square Park and sat on a bench, where the cold of the metal quickly leeched through her jeans as she ate her lunch. She barely noticed.

As arrogant as the man was, she had to admit that the information Stephen Strange had offered was pivotal. Now she had a why. A why that assured her that she might someday see the end of this interminable week. If —

If —

Yelena sighed, feeling the spice of the chili tickle her tongue.

It was the if that seemed much less encouraging.

Before now, she had assumed that she needed to discover something practical. Something outward — hidden, maybe, but simple enough once she’d found it. A scientific button to push, or a magical string to pull, or even just a specific sequence of events that would trigger time to move on.

But the idea that the flow of her life depended on some kind of opaque personal growth was disconcerting, to say the least. Yelena had no idea how to prepare for that. It felt like going back to the beginning of it all, when she’d been blindly throwing darts at a moving target.

Except that was a terrible comparison, since she could throw darts with a hell of a lot of accuracy.

Rising from the bench and tossing her empty paper plate in a nearby trash can, Yelena jumped up and down a few times to try to warm her muscles before pacing off in the direction of an A-line subway station. Then she stopped and stiffened as another thought occurred to her.

Strange’s statement that this magic acted on crucial people had drawn most of her attention at the time, even if she didn’t want to think about it too closely. But he had also said that it acted at crucial moments.

Yelena chewed on her lip and swore under her breath before resuming her walk down the sidewalk. No matter how much she wanted to ignore it, there was still an aggravatingly persistent event in the dead center of her week. One she still didn’t really know much about, other than a few potential outcomes.

Which meant she had a sinking feeling that she would be seeing more of Clint Barton.

Notes:

This is my favorite non-Kate interaction. Yelena and Strange would just needle the hell out of each other. All the time.

Chapter 7: Loops 8 and 9

Notes:

CW: Violence, minor character death

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“You met Clint Barton. Got caught up in a mess of his.”

Kate stared at her, mouth open. “Hawkeye? Wait, did I fight with him?”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 9

December 24, 2024

8:03 PM

Yelena hated reconnaissance.

It was so boring. She would much rather do anything than sit around and watch someone, waiting for something to happen.

That didn’t mean that she neglected it, though. Even if gathering intelligence was dull, the information itself was crucial. Usually in a life-or-death type way, but the fact was still true now, when Yelena couldn’t have a satisfying version of either.

So on Christmas Eve two loops after she’d visited Stephen Strange, she found herself at a fancy party, tucked into an alcove away from the windows, observing Eleanor Bishop and reviewing what she had learned.

Yelena sighed and nibbled on a piece of bruschetta.

It had been a long, slow, difficult couple of weeks.

———

Her research began somewhere extremely obvious — the internet. She knew that to a handler, it would seem negligent that she hadn’t done a thorough online investigation into Barton when she’d first received the contract. But she hadn’t needed to, since he had been surprisingly easy to both find and kill.

In later loops, she really hadn’t wanted to look him up because she’d known exactly where the algorithm would lead. And now, it did.

Right to countless pictures of Barton and Natasha.

In photo after photo, Yelena’s gaze was drawn away from her target and into familiar deep green eyes that looked out from the screen with indifference, with weariness, with bite. Remnants of the Natasha that the rest of the world had known, the Natasha who was very much her sister and somehow not at the same time.

Another Natasha that Yelena had failed.

She scrolled past as many images as she could.

In the end, trying to sort through public information about Barton proved fruitless. There was too much to distill and most of it was drivel. The other records on him, from the S.H.I.E.L.D. leak and from intelligence servers she could access, weren’t much better in giving her a sense for the man.

They definitely didn’t tell Yelena what she most wanted to know. Because she could find many people who would want Barton dead, but she couldn’t figure out who would want to kill him now.

That piece of information might not even be relevant to her. She thought it was, though. And without an objective, she was beginning to realize that she might have to rely on her gut, which rarely gave her simple answers.

Very annoying.

———

“May I sit here?”

Yelena groaned softly. She’d hoped that she had chosen a private enough spot and had looked busy enough on her phone that no one would bother her. Even worse, the dark-haired man now sitting on the chair next to her seemed to be seeking more than a casual chat with a coworker.

Frowning at his winning smile, she didn’t even bother to let him speak again before declaring, “Not interested.” He blinked at her for a moment, and Yelena could practically see his mental shrug before he opened his mouth once more.

It took three more curt rebuffs for the man to rise from the chair and, bewildered, weave his way back to the bar.

Men, she thought derisively. They were difficult to talk to at the best of times, and even harder to avoid at the worst.

For Yelena, that applied to one man in particular.

———

She supposed that she could learn more about Clint Barton’s situation by speaking to him. After all, Yelena was almost as talented an interrogator as she was a killer, and he would never suspect her coming. But it was hard to tell when to talk to him and whether she would disrupt any relevant events if she did. So she resolved to observe from a distance. For now.

To that end, on her eighth December 19th at half past six, Yelena sidled up to the theater off of Times Square, arriving a few minutes before she had previously killed Barton. She took up residence in her same spot against the wall, and when Barton walked outside, she again made to pass him before feigning a clumsy stumble. Instead of shooting a volley up through his ribs, though, this time she slipped a small surveillance microphone into his coat pocket.

“Woah, hey, you okay?” he asked, reaching a hand out to her shoulder to help stabilize her. And as he made contact, Yelena glanced up into his eyes.

It was a mistake. In a flash, she recalled the fourth — no, third — time she she had killed him, when those same blue eyes had looked up at her, terrified yet resigned as his blood had poured from his neck.

Her breath caught, and Yelena wished she were anywhere but here.

She didn’t want to learn more about Barton. To see him as a person, to follow his footsteps, to hear his words. She wanted to return to that third time killing him, when she couldn’t feel anything.

No, she wanted to go back to the first time, to hating him.

She wanted…

She wanted…

She wanted Natasha back.

And she wanted to escape this man — this constant, crushing reminder that Natasha was gone.

Quickly shrugging off Barton’s fingers, she nodded vaguely and straightened to sidestep around him. Her heart raced, and it was hard to keep a steady pace as she walked away. His thin smile burned into the back of her head.

Ducking into a familiar alley, Yelena leaned against the bricks of the building, feeling their jagged edges dig into her shoulder blades through her coat. She closed her eyes.

Fuck you, Clint Barton.

———

Opening her eyes, Yelena checked briefly to make sure that Eleanor Bishop hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall, conversing with two Bishop Security employees. Then she let her gaze wander to a far window and the seemingly millions of lights in the city beyond.

The city that was entirely too big, in her opinion.

She was really tired of walking.

———

Unfortunately, Yelena’s first microphone was a bust, even after she had composed herself enough to turn on her receiver. Listening to Barton with his kids didn’t help her guilt — or her mood — and then he seemingly ditched the bugged jacket at his hotel before heading off into the night.

Which meant she spent most of her eighth loop following him the old-fashioned way.

It was a chaotic journey, in a lot of ways, and she had to admit the man covered a lot of ground. From meeting his young partner, to joining a battle of very odd people with useless weapons, to fighting in an abandoned toy factory, and eventually to pulling his partner off a zip line and back onto the rooftop where Yelena had originally shot him. Finally, the night of December 23rd, he seemed to come to a mildly violent understanding with Maya Lopez before heading to the airport the next morning.

Yelena had identified Lopez as a Mafia underboss after a… conversation… with one of her goons earlier in the week, and she understood the woman’s anger. None of their posturing really interested Yelena, though. Lopez definitely wouldn’t order a hit on Barton — she’d repeatedly tried to kill him herself.

But the thug had mentioned something else that proved to be much more interesting. A name. Ronin.

A name tied to a suit.

When she’d first seen Barton’s partner wearing the black, hooded suit, it had looked familiar, prodding something in the back of her mind. It wasn’t until Yelena had seen it in the light of day, amidst a sea of fake armor, that she’d remembered it as the suit Barton had worn in the photo Valentina had shown her time and again.

The addition of the Ronin name led her back to the internet and to a lot of vague information about a masked vigilante who had slaughtered viciously and often during the Blip. He had killed discriminately, maybe, but not overly so. Then Ronin had disappeared from the public eye, and his sins had followed suit.

Every account she read only served to make Yelena angrier. She would never deny what she was, and she knew she would never be celebrated for it. But everyone still called Barton a hero.

How convenient.

At least it felt comforting to be able to hate him again.

Unfortunately, even if she now understood more about his character, Yelena still hadn’t shed much light on who had hired her to kill him. So on Christmas Eve of the eighth loop, as midnight approached, she lay on the bed in her hotel room and tried to make peace with another week of reconnaissance. Relaxing the muscles of her neck, she shifted around until she felt settled, seeking to empty her brain for a brief time before the loop began again.

Five minutes before midnight, though, she was startled to receive a call from Valentina, to whom she’d lied earlier in the week when she had agreed to take the Barton contract. Yelena had denied the call once before, in Russia, but in the intervening weeks she’d forgotten all about it.

She answered this time, immediately learning that the contract had been called off. And, even if Valentina stubbornly refused to tell her who her employer was — as usual — she did let slip one very relevant detail.

Namely, that said employer was now dead.

———

Eleanor Bishop had a persistent smile on her face as she played the consummate hostess, sliding into a cluster of her employees for a few minutes only to excuse herself and move to the next. Every so often, though, Yelena saw her glancing at her watch, and each time her smile became a bit more strained.

It was past nine o’clock when her shoulders finally relaxed as her daughter came up beside her.

Yelena sat up in her chair, her eyes immediately moving to the younger Bishop when she appeared. Scanning the woman from head to toe, she took in the stately blue satin dress she wore before returning her eyes to a face framed with long, dark curls.

It was a new look on her. And a surprisingly good one.

By now, Yelena had worked out most of the relevant details around Barton and the contract, pending tonight’s confirmation. She wasn’t exactly sure how those details fit into her own ‘remedial development’ — fucking wizard — but she at last felt like she understood the stage, the players, and most of the plot.

Kate Bishop, though. She wove the whole production together. And exasperatingly, Yelena really didn’t understand Kate Bishop at all.

———

The moment Barton ripped off a dark hood and mask to reveal his partner, Yelena couldn’t help but feel intrigued. She had assumed that the two of them had been working with each other for some time, not that they’d tumbled together so recently. Her curiosity only grew when she heard the woman’s name for the first time, shouted loudly from the middle of a street just before a building went up in flames.

In fact, over the course of a week otherwise steeped in boredom and resentment, Kate Bishop proved to be interesting on a regular basis.

Yelena didn’t get close enough during that first surveillance loop to hear much of what Bishop said. She did study her body language, though, which usually bounced between uncertain and confident. At first, Yelena assumed the confidence was a bluff, but then Bishop showed that she could fight decently, despite a glaring lack of real-world experience and a reckless attitude. She was remarkably good with a bow.

Barton also seemed to find her aggravating, which gained Bishop some serious points in Yelena’s book. The footage of her rescuing her dog from traffic earned her an extra bonus.

And the way she occasionally talked with her hands was almost as engaging as her smile.

That particular realization made Yelena take a mental step back. Given how close this woman was to Barton, Yelena really didn’t want the complication of liking her. So when the ninth loop began, she did her best to ignore Bishop and focus on the task at hand.

Based on her first reconnaissance week, Yelena had a feeling that she’d missed something in the hours before her meeting with Valentina — some kind of instigating factor. And unless one of the fake vikings held a grudge or Lopez was more of a coward than she appeared, Yelena figured it probably happened during the first half of December 21st.

Early that morning, therefore, while Barton and Bishop were busy playing with toys and bruisers, Yelena sneaked into the apartment where they were staying. She placed another microphone under the lapel of the brown jacket that she’d seen Barton wear the rest of the day. When the two archers returned to the apartment and then left again, she switched on her receiver to hear Barton’s voice occasionally drone in her ear.

Not nearly as frequently as his partner’s voice, though. And to Yelena’s dismay, hearing Kate Bishop up close didn’t make her any less intriguing.

She was very hard to ignore.

While eating breakfast, Bishop seemed kind of flighty, and Yelena thought she understood Barton’s irritation in her presence. Yet over the course of the morning, Bishop always guided the conversation back to important topics, sometimes catching Barton off-guard in the process. She seemed a little too vain and a lot too naive, but maybe smart enough to make up for both. And if she caused Yelena to chuckle a few times…

Well, no one else would ever know.

When the partners unintentionally visited Bishop’s mother later in the morning, at first Yelena was still focused on the young woman and her hilariously bad lying skills. On the other side of the discussion, the mother didn’t seem like anything other than a lackluster version of the daughter.

But then she spoke to Barton alone, and Eleanor Bishop’s voice held a certain tone that made Yelena stand up straighter when she heard it. A note of desperation.

Proud, rich, and afraid. That was the makeup of someone who hired people to make their problems disappear.

Not long after that, Barton found the surveillance microphone and destroyed it, but Yelena didn’t really need any more data from him. A few days later, she followed Eleanor Bishop to a meeting with the crime lord Wilson Fisk which affirmed the woman’s desperation, even if she didn’t outright mention either Barton or hiring an assassin.

It was strange, though. Having a solid lead should have felt motivating. For two weeks now, Yelena had hoped that a plan would fall into place once she knew the identity of her employer. That ideas or feelings would weave together in some meaningful way to give her something to grasp or something to follow — a guide to whatever ‘lesson’ she had to learn.

Useless fucking wizard.

Unfortunately, Eleanor Bishop was too easy an answer. Her motivations were clear, her conflicts were boring, and there was no evidence of any real connection between her and anything Yelena really cared about. She wouldn’t be a basis for any kind of revelation.

But…

Maybe she didn’t need to be an answer so much as an arrow. Just one more arrow pointing to one specific archer who was still surrounded by question marks.

So Yelena decided to allow her mind to wander back to Kate Bishop and wonder at her involvement.

Nothing Bishop had said indicated that she suspected her mother of anything illegal, much less violent, but maybe she wouldn’t share that with Barton. Or maybe she already knew and was well on her way to shouldering all of the family business.

Yelena didn’t think so, though. And it wasn’t just because Bishop clearly couldn’t lie. But on the other hand, it also seemed stupid to assume that this perplexing person had managed to find a murderer’s suit and stumble into a dangerous mess of Mafia affairs… purely by accident.

Finding out where she got the suit would answer that question. It was something to investigate the next time around.

After Yelena verified her last piece of evidence against Eleanor Bishop.

———

Fortunately, waiting for that evidence felt less boring now that Kate Bishop had made her entrance to the party.

Yelena watched Bishop speak to her mother for a few minutes and tolerate several rounds of introductions to older patrons, after which she rapidly made her way to the bar. Drink in hand, Bishop then floated over to a small group of people closer to her age. In the ensuing conversation, she spoke with her typical smile and hand gestures, but there was something vacant in her expression. Something fake.

After wearing many facades in her life, Yelena could immediately pinpoint one on someone else. This party was full of them, headed by Eleanor Bishop herself, so Kate Bishop was clearly in good company.

Then Bishop happened to meet Yelena’s eyes as she briefly scanned around the room, and she held them. Her gaze became sharp as the facade melted away, remaining intent even when Bishop broke the eye contact to address a man who was clearly speaking to her.

She laughed at him and continued to chat. But based on periodic glances, she now seemed as aware of Yelena’s presence as Yelena was of hers.

Interesting.

After a few more long looks in her direction, Yelena saw Bishop down the rest of her drink, pat the man on the shoulder, and make her way to the bar. A minute later she then picked up two full glasses, turned toward Yelena, smiled, and began to make her way across the room.

Yelena wondered what she would say. This felt like going off-script, like inserting herself into a book that she had been reading. But as Kate Bishop paced closer, she realized that she felt a small twinge of anticipation.

Until a window shattered halfway across the long room and a body tumbled to the floor.

Yelena’s final piece of evidence had dropped, exactly as expected.

Immediately, a few screams rang out as people haphazardly began to scramble, panicked and confused. Yet through the mounting chaos, Yelena’s eyes remained glued to Bishop, who had spun away, shoved the drinks onto a table, and sprinted to where Eleanor Bishop had fallen. She wasted no time in dragging her mother’s body behind a table and out of sight of the windows, then she sank to her knees beside it.

Kate Bishop’s hands and dress were smeared with blood, and grief flushed her face as she pleaded with her mother to open her eyes. It was eerily similar to the night Yelena had first seen Bishop, when she’d hunched over Barton’s corpse.

This time, though, Bishop’s anguish was much more intimate and much more devastating. Her blithe confidence as she’d crossed the room toward Yelena had evaporated into a brokenness that Yelena found uncomfortable, even with as often as she had witnessed it in her life. Finally, she had to look away.

She couldn’t help Bishop. Not now. Even if — if — she were to want to. That wasn’t the point of her presence, after all.

Instead of watching further, Yelena rose to join the tumult of the room, only to veer away from the growing crowd by the elevators and toward the much emptier stairwell. It was a very, very long walk down, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have the time or the energy to burn.

And she also had much to consider along the way.

Notes:

Enter Kate Bishop.

Kate wasn’t as beaten up by the four-way rooftop fight, but Maya did still punch her in the face, and Kate still would have taken her suspicions about Jack to her mom. So my assumption is that in all of these loops where Yelena didn't interfere, Eleanor would still freak out and push back against Kingpin and therefore die.

Chapter 8: Loop 10 Part 1

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“You and I have lived very different lives, Kate Bishop.”

“And yet we’re both here.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 10

December 19, 2024

7:35 PM

Widows are made of marble.

The rule had been fundamental to Yelena’s life for so long, drilled deeply with repetition and with pain. The Red Room had told her that her feelings would never mean anything, that they would only ever interfere with her actions. Emotion made her weak.

It was all bullshit, of course. Yelena knew that. But the idea was branded into her being, leaving yet another scar she couldn’t fully erase. She had always defined herself by what she did and never by how she felt.

As she leaned against a wall of an elegantly decorated event room, though, with her long coat only partially covering her much-less polished clothing, she reflected on how everything was backward in the loops. Because right now, nothing she did mattered. Nothing really mattered at all — not money, not time, not death. The only things that survived the loops were Yelena’s thoughts and feelings.

Everything else was just gone. Sixty-three days that only existed in her memory.

And it was starting to feel normal.

So damn weird.

Breathing out heavily, Yelena thumped her head forcefully into the wall behind her, thoroughly annoyed with herself. Spending this much time on surveillance tended to make her too introspective.

Fortunately, as a well-dressed Kate Bishop finished a terse conversation with her mother and rigidly marched across the room toward the door, Yelena knew that she could count on an incoming distraction.

Bishop seemed to excel at them, after all.

Watching her collapse a bell tower the previous evening had been highly entertaining. Not just the property destruction, which had been pretty cool — not to mention impressive for one non-explosive arrow — but also the way Bishop had debated with security personnel afterward. Yelena found it amusing that Bishop could manage to talk herself into trouble as easily as she talked herself out of it, and that it wasn’t clear which would occur until she opened her mouth.

Unfortunately for Bishop, with small bits of rubble still falling in the background, the balance hadn’t tipped in her favor.

The intervening day had understandably been much more boring. But Yelena knew something would have to happen sometime in the next hour in order for a costumed Bishop to save her dog on the nightly news, and she casually fell into step behind the young woman as she made her way out of the hotel.

When they reached the small courtyard outside, Yelena was a little surprised to see Bishop reel to a halt just outside the gate rather than keep walking, and she canted toward the opposite courtyard wall before stopping in turn. Then she watched curiously, blinking as her eyes were drawn up Bishop’s profile to her face.

Huh.

There was something about Bishop in that moment. Something about the way she muttered to herself while shuffling her feet, her hands stiffly stuffed in her pockets. Something about the anxious energy radiating off of her and how her eyes darted around as if looking for answers.

It was a something that seemed as raw as her most recent grief. And just as gripping.

Without even realizing it, Yelena found herself behind the gatepost opposite the one Bishop had at her back. A well-dressed couple passed between them. Bishop didn’t notice her. Then the familiar one-eyed dog came and went. Bishop still didn’t notice her.

Yelena knew that she should retreat back into the shadows of the building so that she could achieve her objective — to find out how Bishop would acquire the Ronin suit, to obtain another piece of this interminable puzzle.

But should meant nothing in her current life. So she didn’t move.

Instead, she spoke.

“I think he liked you.”

Bishop whipped her head around to look at Yelena, her expression startled, before jerkily glancing over her own shoulder in confusion. Apparently deciding that Yelena was, in fact, speaking to her, she then flicked her eyes down Yelena’s form before meeting her gaze with the same intensity that she had a few nights ago at the Bishop Security party.

Smirking slightly, Yelena clarified, “The dog,” in the same American accent as before.

With a visible swallow, Bishop smiled lopsidedly, a hint of tension behind it. But her voice was steady. “You got that from him running away?” Her hands stayed in her pockets as she slowly sidled across the span of the open gate to stand a few feet from Yelena, her back to the street. “Not a normal reaction to me, I promise.”

“Hmm. Maybe I’m wrong and you’re just scary.”

An icy breeze picked up, and Bishop shivered visibly, then looked sheepish as she mumbled, “Yeah, I’m definitely real scary out here, freezing my ass off.”

The shiver through her shoulders led Yelena to note that when standing upright, Bishop was noticeably taller than her. She ran her gaze down to the point of Bishop’s tie and back up, which only made the other woman stand even straighter. “You mean the lack of coat isn’t a fashion statement?”

“I was just getting some air for a few minutes.” Huffing something that might have been a laugh or a sigh, Bishop shook her head. “It, ah, got a little stuffy in there.”

“Stuffy, really? At your very fancy party?”

“Believe me, it’s not that much of a party.” Bishop paused, and her lips widened into what was probably supposed to be a charming grin. “Right now I’m having a much better time out here.”

Raising her eyebrows, Yelena crossed her arms across her chest and opened her mouth to respond. Whatever words were going to escape, though, immediately disappeared as a cold gust again flowed past them. It sent another violent shiver through Bishop’s frame, causing the grin to falter and Yelena to dryly observe, “What with the freezing your ass off.”

This time Bishop’s quick exhale was definitely a laugh. “Fine. Not that.” Then she leaned in more and lowered her voice as she said, “So… I know this is random, but you did talk to me first. Any chance you want to head inside with me? I can promise you enough champagne to make the stuffy not so noticeable.”

“I don’t think I’ve dressed the part.” Yelena smirked again as she stepped back and spread her arms a little, looking at her own clothing as if to prove the point. Bishop immediately followed the implicit invitation and scanned Yelena up and down and up again, taking in her green peacoat over ripped jeans.

It wasn’t like there was much of her body on display, and Bishop’s stare carefully balanced on the edge of polite, but Yelena still felt an unexpected glow flare in her chest as Bishop met her eyes with another crooked smile.

“Well, you might turn a few heads. But I’m game if you are.”

Yelena considered the words. The challenge in Bishop’s statement didn’t bother her. Neither did the idea of returning to the gala in a more visible way, jeans or not. None of the people inside the building warranted a passing thought, including Bishop’s coward of a mother, and Bishop was sure to offer some entertainment, even if Yelena had — and she probably had — derailed the normal events of the evening.

But the warmth beneath her ribs gave her pause.

It was a long enough pause that Bishop read it as rejection, and her expression fell as she hurried to say, “Or not.” Her eyes were still hopeful, though, when she sucked in a lungful of air and added, “But I guess that means now I have nothing to lose if I ask for your number.”

Maybe Yelena’s answer should have been a flat no. Maybe she should have just walked away.

But should meant nothing. Neither did a phone number, really. And for a reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Yelena didn’t want to be involved in dimming Kate Bishop’s smile.

Not this time around. Not again.

So instead, she nodded and said, “Okay,” watching with a stab of satisfaction when the not-quite-charming grin returned to Bishop’s face.

“Awesome. I’m Kate, by the way. Kate Bishop.”

“Tracy,” Yelena replied, offering the name on her current driver’s license, and when Bishop whipped out her phone and peered at Yelena expectantly, she dutifully recited the number to her burner phone. Easy enough details, she supposed. The whole interaction seemed so utterly normal, even if Yelena had rarely experienced anything like it.

Bishop repeated the number in confirmation, then smiled broadly once again. “I’ll text you later. And I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“Good luck with all the stuffy,” Yelena replied with a vague gesture to the building, at which Bishop sighed a small laugh and nodded.

“For sure,” she said, and Yelena turned and walked away, feeling the other woman’s stare on her until she rounded the corner of the building.

On the next block, she sidled over to the edge of the sidewalk and crossed her arms, contemplating her next step. Doubling back and resuming her surveillance might still get her the answers she’d been looking for concerning the Ronin suit. She doubted it, though, just as much as she doubted whether the answers would be helpful in the first place.

But maybe it would be worth knowing whether Kate Bishop finding the suit was another immutable event in the week. So she ended up wandering the ten blocks to Bishop’s apartment and into the pizza shop underneath, ordering a slice and ducking into a tiny booth in the back that was barely visible from the street. She picked a piece of pepperoni off the top and nibbled at the edge.

She’d wait to see if Bishop returned with a suit, and then…

Then what?

Thinking back, Yelena saw her conversation with Bishop as the dance that it was. A dance that twirled just outside of Bishop’s comprehension, and one with which Yelena was usually quite comfortable. A dance built on an imbalance of information, of impression, of intent.

Except in this case, Yelena didn’t know her own intentions. Bishop’s were clear, flaunted by the blatant flirtation in her tone and on her lips, but Yelena just felt aimless. She had no brilliant ideas and no direction.

All she had were a mess of thoughts and feelings and a sudden spark of attraction for Clint Barton’s protégé. A woman who had smiled at her across a crowded room and down a cramped hallway. A woman mixed up with bullets and blood and a brutal history that was not her own.

Grunting to herself, Yelena finished off her first slice of pizza and went to buy another one — Greek, this time — before sitting back in the booth and stewing as she ate. Eventually, Bishop wandered past the restaurant to the adjacent stairwell door, still shivering in her formal wear and with no dog in sight.

A few minutes later, Yelena’s phone buzzed, lighting up with a series of texts that had originated fifteen feet above her head.

Hey Tracy, this is Kate from earlier.

Want to grab coffee on Saturday?

There’s a great place in the Village.

Yelena blew out a breath. Then she inhaled again sharply when she realized that despite all of her uncertainty, she wanted to talk to Bishop again.

And she didn’t actually have a solid reason to turn her down.

This loop no longer had a purpose, if she could even call it that in the first place. But it did have Bishop — No, Kate. Maybe this could just be Kate, separated from her pain, separated from her past, separated from Barton. A oddly appealing person who Yelena didn’t understand but who excelled at providing distraction.

Annoyed at the fact that her fingers were shaking slightly, Yelena typed back.

What time?

The response was immediate and enthusiastic, leading Yelena to picture the grin that was probably now plastered across Kate’s face.

She still wasn’t sure whether she should follow this thread. She didn’t know where it would lead.

But she did finally admit to herself that Kate Bishop’s grin was more than a little bit charming.

Notes:

This chapter took me about a year and a half to write because I kept trying to fix it, getting mad, and not touching it for two months. Pivot points in stories can be really hard.

I also like to think of it as half a meet-cute. One person is ready to live out their meet-cute fantasy. The other would lie, cheat, and kill to find themself in a circumstance where they’ll never see the first person again, but okay, fine, she’s kinda cute.

Also, to any concerned parties: In this loop, the dog-otherwise-known-as-Lucky still picked a fight with Tomas but then escaped by himself, and with no one chasing him he stayed on the sidewalk where he belonged rather than running into the street. The next day he ran into an audacious ten-year-old, was promptly adopted and named Winky, and his new family treated him like a king. The only sadness he ever knew was a persistent, aching feeling that something should be different, as they never — not even once — fed him pizza.

Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated! And I'll post the yarn picture at the end of the loop.

Chapter 9: Loop 10 Part 2

Notes:

Posting this (Monday's chapter) a little early

CW: Very brief, vague allusion to nonconsensual sex

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“Oh God, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Melina answered. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing abnormal in any way.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 10

December 21, 2024

1:36 PM

Yelena arrived at the café early, unsurprisingly, since anticipation was basically an instinct. It wasn’t until after she crossed the threshold of the building that she even considered that most people probably didn’t arrive to meet-ups — or possible dates — over twenty minutes ahead of time.

Though apparently most people didn’t include Kate, as she was already present, sitting in a corner booth and smiling over at Yelena cheerfully.

Picking her way through the scattered tables between them, Yelena nodded back. Then her eyes were drawn to the table in front of Kate, and she couldn’t help but stare at it in puzzlement. It was covered with a crooked line of five plates running down the middle, each bearing a different pastry or bun.

When Yelena looked back up, Kate’s smile turned sheepish, and in other circumstances Yelena might have teased her. But arriving after Kate had put her on the back foot, and the sensation wasn’t helped by the fact that sliding into the green pleather booth across from Kate pointed her completely away from the door.

She therefore decided on something more neutral.

“Kate Bishop. You’re early.”

Chewing on her lip, Kate nodded a little too fast, her hair bouncing out of time with her chin. Her eyes flickered down to the table as she said, “I really didn’t want to miss you.”

Yelena tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at the small tics on display. “And you’re nervous.”

“Not usually, no,” Kate replied with a small laugh. “Not at all. But yeah, you make me kinda nervous.” She looked up and met Yelena’s eyes again, with tension, yes, but also with warmth.

The expression loosened Yelena’s shoulders, and she relaxed back into her seat, no longer feeling at a disadvantage. Her presence had some power over Kate, she had a large edge in terms of background information, and…

And the welcome in Kate’s eyes was remarkably disarming.

So in response to Kate’s honesty, Yelena felt a smirk cross her lips, and she said, “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“You pick.” Kate mirrored Yelena in loosening her posture.

“Okay, then, I definitely pick insult. Way to make a first impression.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a second impression,” Kate murmured, and Yelena felt a little exasperated at how the low register of Kate’s voice made her mumbling — a trait which Yelena found aggravating in pretty much every other person on the planet — kind of cute.

With a dramatic sigh, she gestured toward the door. “And now you’re correcting me. Maybe I should just leave now.”

As if pondering the idea, Kate tilted her head and pursed her lips. Then she smiled and leaned forward, raising an eyebrow seductively as she crossed her arms on top of the table. “But then you would go your whole life without knowing just how good this coffee cake is.”

Barking a laugh, Yelena nodded and said, “You’re lucky I’m hungry.” Then she glanced at the range of plates on the table, adding, “But obviously not as hungry as you.”

Kate grinned and shrugged. “I just didn’t know what you’d like. Options are good.” She pointed toward the counter near the front of the store and straightened, poised to stand up. “Speaking of, can I get you some coffee? Or tea, I guess? Don’t want to assume.”

“Ugh, no grass water, thanks,” Yelena replied, not used to someone offering to buy her something. But Kate sat tall and looked at her expectantly, so eventually she conceded. “Black. Please.”

“Cool. Be right back,” Kate said happily, unfurling herself from the booth and reminding Yelena of her lean length in the process. As she headed off to order, she added, “And seriously, try the coffee cake.”

Yelena did, since the suggestion was a no-brainer, and she almost moaned. It was ridiculously delicious.

A couple of minutes later, Kate came back with drinks, brushing Yelena’s hand with her fingers as she placed a large mug on Yelena’s side of the table, then took her own seat once more. She hadn’t even fully settled before she started up a conversation again.

Their words just flowed from there. And to Yelena’s surprise, the more they spoke, the more interesting Kate Bishop became.

Both women adeptly dodged any questions about family, but as the minutes passed they covered a range of topics from college to music to Christmas to hobbies. Kate held strong opinions about almost everything, but she seemed genuinely curious about Yelena’s thoughts and intrigued when they didn’t agree. While she didn’t downplay her accomplishments, she didn’t boast about them either, which ran counter to what Yelena had heard during her surveillance. Her passion also coexisted oddly well with her easygoing way of expressing herself. Yelena found herself laughing much more than she’d expected, and every time she did, Kate’s eyes sparkled in response.

When Yelena tried to deflect the focus of the conversation from herself — a pretty easy task with most people — Kate wouldn’t bite. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to share about herself, and she definitely did so. But Kate also earnestly pursued the scant details Yelena let slip, enough that Yelena would have ordinarily felt uneasy.

This was Kate Bishop, though, who Yelena already knew possessed about enough guile to fill a shot glass.

A really small one.

So Yelena gave her details, unfurling one of the lives she had once imagined for herself in which she’d worked as a bartender in Chicago with a small circle of friends. She invented answers to most of Kate’s questions, and as Kate came up with still more, adding her own wry commentary to the mix, Yelena found that it was fun.

Not so much to be someone else. She’d done that a lot in her life. But this wasn’t a cover — it was just a story. Yelena could speak without a filter and without lives hanging in the balance.

Thus, in between coffee refills and bites of various amazing pastries, they talked for more than an hour.

“Okay,” Kate declared at one point as if it were a proclamation in itself, slapping her hand on the table for good measure, then followed with, “Weirdest drink you’ve ever made.”

It took a second to realize that the statement was actually a question, at which Yelena pursed her lips to ponder an entertaining response. When the motion caused Kate to glance down at her mouth for a long second, though, her thoughts were momentarily derailed.

They were flirting, yes. They’d been flirting all afternoon, but until this point Yelena hadn’t seriously thought about kissing Kate. Or about sleeping with her.

She had to admit the idea seemed appealing, despite the fact that she’d never voluntarily had sex with a stranger. Kate was no danger to her, and Yelena anticipated that she might be as adept at pleasant physical distraction as she was at any other sort.

Definitely something to keep in mind.

Quirking her lips under Kate’s watchful gaze, she finally said, “Someone once asked for rum with Mountain Dew and chocolate syrup.”

“Did you make it?” Kate asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Hah,” Yelena scoffed. “People like that don’t deserve alcohol.”

With a chuckle, Kate looked down at the table for a moment before peering back up. “So you’re a barkeeper and a gatekeeper all in one amazing package.”

“What can I say? I’m pretty talented.” Yelena deliberately lowered the register of her voice.

To her gratification, Kate’s breath seemed to hitch slightly, but she controlled it quickly and shot back, “Humble, too.”

“This, coming from the queen of humble.”

At that, Kate’s smile turned sly, and she leaned forward. “Are you picking a fight with me?”

The absurdity of the idea was amazing, both in the ways Kate intended and the ways she couldn’t fathom, and Yelena couldn’t stop herself from laughing loudly. Kate grinned goofily at the reaction, her eyes wandering around Yelena’s face as if absorbing her. Eventually, Yelena sucked in a breath and said, “I don’t think I could take you.”

“You might be surprised,” Kate answered, sobering, and Yelena couldn’t quite parse her tone. Before she could try, though, Kate moved on by asking another random question. So Yelena let it go, even if she didn’t forget it.

Toward the end of the afternoon, after the sun had already set over the tops of tall buildings and the shadows had dissolved into the early dusk of the city, a natural silence fell. It was as if they entered a space of unspoken understanding where they could just look at each other. And they did.

Yelena marveled at the strangeness of it. She’d watched Kate at length before today — from across rooftops, from narrow hallways, from down sidewalks, from pictures on a screen.

But something different radiated from Kate’s eyes when she actually stared back. Something that Yelena couldn’t quite describe, like a blue flame burning timidly, flashing her with subtle warmth but beckoning her with the promise of more. It mingled with the intensity in Kate’s voice from earlier, undercutting the fun of the afternoon with a sincerity that put Yelena on edge.

No one had ever regarded her like that, and the more Yelena studied it, the less she trusted it. Because while that look might possibly belong to Tracy from Chicago, Yelena didn’t deserve it.

It could never belong to her.

Suddenly, she saw Kate’s eyebrows draw together in concern and realized that her own face was frowning. “Hey, you okay?” Kate asked, tentatively reaching across the table to brush her fingers against the back of Yelena’s hand.

Yelena quickly stood up, breaking the contact and ripping her eyes away from Kate’s. As she extracted her coat from the hook next to the booth, she said, “I have to go.” Before she did, though, she looked back at Kate’s confused expression and couldn’t stop herself from adding a weak, “I’m sorry.”

Standing in turn, Kate merely said, “Yeah, sure. Okay.” But when Yelena took a step toward the door, she spoke again, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Wait. Tracy…”

Yelena’s feet paused, and she turned her neck to glance back at Kate.

“Can I see you again?”

Aware of a few curious eyes on her from tables nearby, Yelena faced Kate a little more fully and nodded once, pasting a small smile on her face. “I’m busy until Christmas, but text me after that?”

Kate audibly let out a breath that she’d been holding, and she nodded back vigorously. “Definitely.”

Without another word, Yelena spun back to the door of the café and left. Then she took a cab back to her hotel and roughly gathered her things before escaping to the airport. And as Kate’s voice had haunted her all of those weeks ago after she’d slit Barton’s throat, her glowing blue eyes followed Yelena now.

Those eyes called to her as much as they made her uncomfortable.

But why?

For three days, Yelena struggled with that question, first thinking of the details of the situation. Kate was entwined with Barton, but she obviously didn’t need to be. And for all Yelena knew, maybe disrupting their meeting was something she was meant to do.

This why wasn’t about logistics, though, and Yelena had experienced no personal revelations — just different questions and jumbled feelings. Nothing that she really wanted to inspect too closely.

The answer came to her anyway. The evening of Christmas Eve, Yelena lay on her couch and tried to lose herself in the energetic pop-rock that she’d pumped through her speakers. When she heard Fanny rise from her bed in the corner of the room, she didn’t pay much attention, but soon the dog shuffled closer and Yelena felt a gentle kiss on her hand, once and then again.

She opened her eyes as Fanny laid her head on Yelena’s belly. Then, as her hand reached out to stroke Fanny between the ears, a wave of loneliness suddenly washed over her, trapping the air in her lungs. With it came the awareness that Kate Bishop had the potential to be more than just a distraction.

That maybe she already was.

It had been over a month since Yelena had enjoyed a friendly conversation with another person. Until Kate.

It had been two and a half months since the start of this cyclical purgatory, and she hadn’t been able to truly laugh about anything. Until Kate.

It had been over a year since she’d reappeared in the universe, poorly stitched back together from when everything was torn apart, and she couldn’t even remember feeling free. Feeling wanted.

Until Kate.

And Yelena was only human, after all. The chance to experience all of it again was dangling in front of her, and she yearned to take it.

“Is that so wrong?” she quietly asked Fanny, and she realized that her eyes were wet. Gently displacing the dog from her belly, she sat up and pressed her hands against her face, digging her fingertips into her forehead. Then she wiped her eyes and nodded to herself.

Seeking out Kate again would push Barton to the sidelines once more, but it would probably still be relevant to her. Yelena definitely considered sorting through this emotional jumble to be personal growth, though she wished it could all be easier.

And maybe this time…

Yelena scoffed at her own stupidity, at how much she’d allowed the looping to strip away her caution and her barriers. At how weak she’d become and how hard it was to care.

A few more tears threatened to escape her eyes.

Maybe this time, she would leave Tracy from Chicago behind.

Maybe this time, she would try to be herself.

Notes:

She just needs all the hugs.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 10: Loop 11 Part 1

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“What are you running from?”

She looked over at Sonya’s solemn expression. “Making the same mistakes.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 11

December 19, 2024

7:40 PM

Yelena’s luggage looked different this time around. She’d included fewer weapons and fewer devices and added several options for formal wear. But when she then unzipped the suitcase in her New York hotel room late on December 18, she cursed uneasily.

The clothes were still fine — Yelena knew that she looked amazing in all of them — but she probably should have packed all of her normal gear.

She always felt less nervous with more weapons.

And to her surprise, she was nervous. The hours seemed to stretch interminably as the next day passed, and Yelena had time for countless arguments with herself. About whether approaching Kate was smart, about whether it was right, about whether this oddly emotional adventure would hurt in the long run.

In fact, when she walked up to Kate that evening, standing outside the same gates as before in the same enticing all-black tuxedo, Yelena almost passed her by. When she spoke to Kate — without the affectation of an American accent — and saw the eagerness and attraction in her eyes but no hint of recognition, Yelena felt an excuse on her lips and an itch to walk away. But then Kate smiled hopefully and asked her inside to the party, and Yelena said yes.

“I’m Kate, by the way. Kate Bishop,” Kate said as they walked inside, eying her expectantly.

She had to smother a last remnant of unease that bubbled up in her chest. “Yelena. Belova.”

“Yelena,” Kate repeated, then looked at her with a hint of a smile and softly murmured, “That’s a pretty name.”

After that, to her relief and her chagrin, Yelena’s nerves completely disappeared.

———

When they reached the coat check inside, Yelena pulled away from Kate to doff her coat and hand it to a man dressed very similarly to Kate. Receiving her claim ticket and thanking him, she then turned back to Kate to find the other woman’s lips slightly parted and her eyes moving slowly up Yelena’s body. She was thoroughly amused when Kate’s gaze finally met her own and the only hint of shame she showed was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks. Without missing a beat, she smiled and asked, “Where else have you been tonight? That dress is amazing.”

Smirking at Kate to convey that she was well aware the dress was not the only subject of the ogling, she nonetheless took the arm that Kate offered. She let her fingers run lightly against the smooth fabric of Kate’s suit as they made their way to one of the standing tables in the middle of the room. “I was at a very boring work function.”

“Huh. What do you do for work?”

The question sounded casual enough, but the tension running through Kate’s arm and the rapid pulse at her neck told a different story, a story of Yelena’s proximity and the amount of her skin on display. Yelena’s smile didn’t lessen as she replied, “I’m… sort of in private security.”

They had reached a table, and Kate seemed to forget her jitters, turning to Yelena with the eager air of curiosity that she’d never lost at the café. “No way! My mom owns a security company. Who are you with? I know most of the firms around here.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a joiner,” Yelena quickly countered, pondering exactly how honest to be. It had been much easier to wholly create a story than it would be to trickle in the truth.

“What does that mean?” Kate asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I work alone,” Yelena said with a bit of finality. A second later, not even knowing why, she added, “I do have a contact that helps me set up contracts, but that is all.”

“Contracts. Are you an analyst?” Then Kate’s eyes fell back down to Yelena’s shoulders and arms for a moment before she looked up again and added, “Or a bodyguard?”

Tilting her head teasingly, Yelena merely said, “Something like that.”

That was enough truth about her profession. For now.

She then declared that work had brought her to New York for the first time — a lie that mocked her as soon as it left her lips — which led Kate into an animated discussion of different places and things she should visit. It was gratifying to see Kate relax a bit into the person she had glimpsed the Saturday before.

The shift made sense, really, since the conversation soon strayed into many of the same subjects they’d covered over coffee and pastries. As their words flowed back and forth, Yelena wondered if it all should feel weirder, more like a clone of a good time. Like repetition rather than connection.

But it didn’t feel strange. They were in a different place in a different situation, and Yelena was acting the part of a completely different person. A person that still seemed to fascinate Kate, whose focus never wavered from Yelena’s words, from her eyes, from her moving lips. A person that she still seemed to want, even though this time, Yelena was barely acting at all.

It was every bit the reason she had come back, and the warmth in her belly had nothing to do with three glasses of champagne.

Eventually, Kate grazed her fingertips along the bones of Yelena’s wrist and murmured something about heading to the bathroom. For a split second, Yelena wasn’t sure if it was an invitation, and her heart rate sped up at the thought until Kate nervously asked, “Are you going to disappear on me if I leave?”

Blowing out a breath, Yelena reassured her and watched her walk away. Then she reflexively glided to the wall of the room nearest to the door where Kate had just exited.

She hadn’t intended to do anything but reset her awareness of the room. But, to her surprise, Yelena heard a voice just outside the door, speaking in the sort of harsh semi-whisper that broadcast an attempt at secrecy without actually masking any words. Glancing around the door frame, she glimpsed Eleanor Bishop without being seen in return, and she inched her ear as close as possible.

“… may continue to complicate things. He’s unrelenting.” Bishop paused for a moment before continuing, her voice slightly wavering on the first few words. “Yes, I can eliminate the problem.” Another pause led to more annoyance in her tone. “No, I can handle this, Wilson. I’m plenty capable.”

Then, with a, “Yes, tonight,” that held several notes of finality, Yelena heard the faint tone that indicated that Bishop had hung up.

As if cued, she also heard Kate in the hallway.

“Hi, Mom.”

Eleanor Bishop’s tone held much more warmth than a minute previously as she said, “I saw you found someone to talk to. Will you introduce me?”

In reply, Kate snorted, then added, “No way.”

“Oh, come on, Kate,” Bishop wheedled in a way that seemed habitual.

“No way, Mom,” Kate argued, a little too loudly, then after a moment continued in a hushed mutter. “She's already way out of my league. You gotta give me a fighting chance before she has to meet my mother.”

“Okay.” There was a mirth in Bishop’s voice that made Yelena wonder about Kate’s expression. “Will you at least tell me her name?”

With no hesitation, Kate said, “Nope. See ya,” and she took a few steps that had Yelena pushing off the wall to move away from the door.

Then Bishop said Kate’s name again, and the footsteps halted. “I love you, hon. Good luck,” she finally said, and a moment later a begrudging response came from Kate.

“Have fun with your currently absent fiancé.”

“He should be back soon,” Bishop remarked, unperturbed by Kate’s sarcasm. “Come say goodbye before you leave, okay?”

After grunting an agreement, Kate’s footsteps approached once more, and Yelena quickly drifted to a table about fifteen feet farther into the room. When Kate sidled up next to her, she didn’t seem surprised at the new location, merely murmuring, “Looking for a change in perspective?”

Yelena opened her mouth to answer.

Then an explosion rocked the building.

The lights flickered a few times, and Yelena felt her feet unconsciously shift into a ready position as everyone in the room — her included — swiveled to try to identify the source of the disturbance. Her mind raced, startled that she had no prior knowledge of this blast, given her many days of surveillance. Not to mention that she would have thought Kate would have brought it up at the coffee shop, even if there had been many other topics at hand.

Both Kate and Eleanor Bishop had obviously weathered this event just fine in past loops, though, and Yelena had an inkling that Kate was normally much closer to it. Which meant that the explosion was another detail to file away, but it wasn’t anything to worry about in the moment.

Suddenly, a hand gripped Yelena’s elbow. A fraction of a second later she had a leg behind its owner’s knees and hands on a shoulder and an arm, poised to throw them down. But the wide eyes that looked back at her were Kate’s, of course, and Yelena managed to stop her motions before completely flattening her.

She righted Kate and backed away a step, still partially focused on their surroundings as she met Kate’s eyes and shrugged. Kate replied with a muted, “Woah. No surprise touching. Message received.” She then gestured toward the floor. “What the hell was that?”

“That, Kate Bishop, was an explosion. At least three floors down.”

Kate stared at her for a moment before licking her lips. “Okay, I really want to ask how you know that, but maybe we should get out of here first.”

They did, although only after Kate had laid relieved eyes on her mother. Since nothing more dangerous seemed to be happening, they also hazarded a quick stop at the coat check, where a slightly panicked crowd was forming. Kate easily maneuvered herself to the front of the line, preempting Yelena’s plan to sneak into the closet, and soon they stepped out the front doors into the small courtyard beyond.

“So…” Kate drawled as they headed out to the sidewalk. “You experience a lot of explosions in your life?”

“There have been a few.”

After several seconds of nothing more forthcoming, Kate snorted and said, “You’re totally not going to tell me, are you?”

“I have to keep you interested somehow,” Yelena murmured coyly, enjoying Kate’s frustration and how she might even call it adorable.

“Not hard,” Kate remarked under breath, almost inaudibly, as she scanned along the sidewalk. Then, louder, she asked, “Wanna figure out what happened or should we just head out?”

“How presumptuous of you.” Yelena smiled as Kate’s eyes focused back on her. “Maybe I want to head to my hotel. Alone.”

Looking down at her shoes and then back up, Kate said, “Fair enough. But if that’s what you want, can I walk you there?” After a brief pause, her eyes widened a little and she grinned. “And I just mean walking. I like to get to know someone before I get presumptuous.”

The earnest edges in her face and her voice were appealing, and for a moment Yelena thought about convincing her otherwise. She could talk Kate into going back to her apartment and making a long night of it. Lose herself in Kate and not worry about anything else.

She had already deemed Kate more than a distraction, though. She wasn’t desperate, and there was no need to push.

So she nodded instead and started off in the direction of her hotel, Kate falling into step beside her.

For a while, they plodded along the slick sidewalk, and as she had done at their coffee data, Kate seemed to make a game of asking questions on increasingly random topics. Mostly Yelena found them entertaining, content to reveal, among other things, that her favorite liquid medicine flavor was grape, that she hated vacuuming above all other chores, and that grandfather clocks made her anxious. But then Kate asked about the Zodiac sign of her first crush, and Yelena moved to deflect.

“No. Enough. I have a question for you, now.”

“Yeah, shoot,” Kate agreed, unconcerned at the redirection. The way she straightened, almost strutting, indicated that she thought Yelena might continue in the same eccentric vein.

Yelena paused to peer at her, then asked, “Why do you think I’m out of your league?”

At that, Kate deflated like a pricked balloon, although she did so with a wry smile on her face. “Well, number one because of course you overheard that, which is awkward. For me, I mean. I’m pretty sure you don’t have an awkward bone in your body.” She stuffed her hands aggressively into her pockets, and her smile began to fade as well. “Number two, because you’re this mysterious bodyguard, I think, who doesn’t seem phased by anything and is just really fucking funny and interesting and cool. And number three…” Yelena was fascinated to see a flush now traveling up Kate’s neck, but to her credit, Kate met her eyes steadily before continuing, “I mean, you look amazing. And it’s not just the dress.”

Nothing came through in Kate’s voice but sincerity, a piercing sincerity like a focused beam of sunlight, and Yelena could only wonder if it would burn away the veneer and leave the raw, scorched truth underneath.

It wasn’t that Yelena didn’t match most of what Kate said. She had enough confidence to admit that. But the idea that all of it made her somehow better than Kate was laughable, and the specters of death and pain snickered spitefully from over her shoulder.

She could barely stand it. She wouldn’t stand for it.

Taking a deep breath, Yelena resisted her ghosts with practiced resolve and planted a smile on her face. “An interesting theory,” she began, inching closer to Kate as they walked before taking her arm as she had earlier. “Except for, number one, the awkward charming thing you have going on? It’s very cute. Number three, this is a nice suit. But on you it’s delicious.” Satisfyingly, the flush began to make its way into Kate’s cheeks, and Yelena felt her smile grow. Then she sobered, leaning into Kate a little more, and said, “As for number two, you are also funny and interesting. And I am much more than those things. Not in a good way.”

After a long pause, and with a devastating hint of hope in her voice, Kate asked, “Why are you trying to convince me?”

It was a good question, one that poked at the internal conflict that had led Yelena here in the first place. But it also had an easier answer, and Yelena drew Kate to a stop to turn to her more fully. “I don’t like it when people overstate themselves. But I also don’t like it when people sell themselves short. And you, Kate Bishop…” She paused for dramatic effect, then concluded, “Are pleasantly tall.”

Rolling her eyes, Kate grinned and said, “Ha, ha.” For a moment, she looked at Yelena with a beautiful twinkle in her eyes before nodding. “Okay, then, I’m convinced. Which means I’m gonna ask, do you want to go out with me tomorrow? See one of those unskippable New York attractions I mentioned?”

“Okay,” Yelena murmured in response.

Somehow, Kate’s smile grew, and partly to avoid the full brunt of it, Yelena tugged at her arm and started them walking again. A moment later, they turned the corner onto the street with her hotel, and Kate spoke again. “I’ve gotta work in the morning at my mom’s company. Do you have anything going on?”

“No, my work wrapped up tonight.”

“Great,” Kate acknowledged. “High Line at two o’clock? I can send you a pin of where to meet.”

Pulling them to a halt again a few paces from the hotel entrance, Yelena nodded and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” On a whim, she slid her fingers down to Kate’s wrist and drew her hand from her pocket, then brought it to her lips to kiss the back of it.

Her grin becoming deliciously crooked, Kate argued, “Hey, who’s the one wearing the tux here?”

There was no way Yelena could have managed not to smile back as she drawled, “Kate Bishop, I didn’t take you as one for stereotypes.”

“I’ll take any stereotype that lets me kiss a pretty girl.”

“I think you must be tipsy on champagne,” Yelena teased, and Kate’s smile suddenly transformed into something much more content.

“Nah,” she said, squeezing Yelena’s hand. “If I was tipsy I’d have said you were beautiful.”

It wasn’t the words so much as the heat in Kate’s eyes that unexpectedly warmed Yelena’s cheeks, and she raised an eyebrow, mumbling, “That was very smooth. Now go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Quirking her lips at Kate, she then dropped her hand and turned to head into the hotel.

She’d only walked about ten feet when Kate called after her. “Wait, Yelena, I didn’t get your number!”

A grin crawled onto Yelena’s face, and her stride didn’t falter as she said over her shoulder, “It’s in your phone. Goodnight.”

“But —”

The hotel door shut behind her, blocking out the noises of the city. And in the sudden quiet, Yelena nodded to herself.

This evening might not have been smart, or right, or the beginning of something simple. But it had been really good, and she was genuinely looking forward to the next day.

Loops or not, that was not a feeling to dismiss.

Notes:

Gotta know what chores your partner hates most. That's the real basis to a relationship right there. Too bad Kate won't remember it. But she can definitely slip in a few suave moments in the meantime.

Thank you so much for reading! I always appreciate any kudos and comments you're willing to send my way!

Chapter 11: Loop 11 Part 2

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*

“I was Blipped.”

“Oh.” Banner paused. “Oh. Damn. I’m sorry.”

      *—*—*—*—*—*—*—*

Loop 11

December 20, 2024

2:42 PM

The High Line walkway wasn’t particularly wide in this section, and Yelena smoothly stepped around yet another budding photographer who had stopped directly in her path, with Kate dropping back behind her to pass in turn. The bright sun shining down on the brown grasses and moss and leafless trees of the raised park had obviously made the day look pleasant, as a surprising number of people milled around them despite a bitingly icy wind from the west.

Normally cold didn’t bother Yelena. But the chill today was annoyingly persistent.

Unlike in the previous loop, Kate hadn’t shown up early to their date, and ten minutes after two — after waiting for a full half an hour — uneasiness had begun to rumble in Yelena’s gut. She’d wondered if she had unintentionally said something the night before that had led Kate to reconsider after the fact.

Maybe she had been a little too real. And despite the fact that this affinity she felt for Kate was bound to be transient, the thought had bothered her.

When Yelena had spotted Kate striding down the street at two sixteen, she’d finally relaxed, and it occurred to her that the truth might have been opposite of her fears. Perhaps her stated conviction the evening before had made this iteration of Kate less nervous and therefore less timely.

Then Kate had stopped in front of Yelena and bounced on the balls of her feet, her smile showing all of her teeth as she’d breathlessly said, “Hey! You’re here!” and had babbled something about trains. Yelena had just snickered at her, trying to shake her small bout of anxiety.

Nope, she’s just late.

By the time the two of them had climbed up the stairs to the park, though, the energy radiating from Kate had settled, and Yelena had felt her own emotions follow suit. Kate had entertained Yelena with a series of increasingly dramatic complaints about her half-day as a proto-receptionist, happily taking all of Yelena’s mocking comments in stride. In the meanwhile, they had wandered past wide swaths of brown foliage and several art pieces of various styles, framed by the tall buildings surrounding them.

A series of what looked like horizontal tangled wind chimes now loomed next to Yelena, and she eyed them curiously, then looked at Kate. “I will admit, Kate Bishop, this place is very cool.”

“Right?” Today, Kate’s smile seemed permanent. “It’s better when the plants are growing. But that doesn’t matter for my favorite part.”

“Let me guess,” Yelena drawled. “A giant arrow statue.”

Kate jerked her head sideways to peer at Yelena, and though her smile remained, her eyes were a little confused and, Yelena was pleased to see, a tad suspicious. “How’d you know I’m an archer?”

Shrugging, Yelena said, “It wasn’t that hard. I looked you up.” Which was true, after all, even if it was a profound understatement.

It was fun to keep Kate off balance, but it seemed only fair to give her some warning about it.

“Makes sense,” Kate huffed without any great surprise, then added, “I bet you found out a lot more about me than I found out about you.”

Yelena quirked her lips in amusement. “Is this an ‘I stalk you, you stalk me’ kind of thing?”

“Except for the fact that you’re unstalkable. Seriously, just tell me if you gave me a fake name.” Leaning closer, Kate nudged Yelena with her elbow and lowered her voice. “I promise to also say the real one’s pretty.”

“It’s my real name. Which, for your information, is not something I normally do. You should feel honored.”

“Okay, if you insist, I do feel honored,” Kate said. “Just not enlightened.”

“I guess you’ll just have to try harder,” Yelena replied smugly. By now, she knew that Kate definitely rose to meet challenges, and while she didn’t truly believe that Kate would uncover much about her background, it would be interesting to see her make the attempt.

And indeed, Kate’s spine straightened and her eyes narrowed. “I’m game.” Then she looked ahead and relaxed again. “And, to answer your question, there’s no giant arrow statue. But do you know the Barrel of Monkeys?”

For a few moments, Yelena stared at her, trying to parse the words that didn’t immediately make sense. But they did tickle her brain, and eventually an image popped into her head.

Well, less an image than an impression. The impression was tinged with happiness, though, and Yelena heard herself getting animated as she said, “Yes! They’re tiny and red and you link up their arms like a stupid gorilla team bonding exercise. Until your sister eats all of them with her T-rex.”

The smile Kate shot her wasn’t new, but it was soft. “Hypothetically speaking, of course,” she murmured.

Her tone doused Yelena’s surge of nostalgia, leaving her stunned and a little alarmed at the fact that she had so casually invoked Natasha. She felt her jaw clench, then consciously loosened it again and nodded. “Of course. So are you telling me we’ll see monkeys?”

“Not sure about that, but we’ll definitely see those.” Kate pointed ahead through bare branches to an apartment building rising up on both sides of the elevated High Line corridor, with the rightmost portion towering above them. It stood as a crosshatch of cement that outlined huge sets of windows, and Yelena had to admit that the structures of glass did resemble large, squat barrels.

“Woah,” she said. “Weird.” As they drew closer and began to pass between the two sides of the building, she saw someone walking across the upper portion of one of the window barrels. She snickered. “Definitely monkeys. It’s like a zoo.”

Or like the Red Room, her brain maliciously supplied, invoking blurry memories of clear glass and sharp eyes —

Kate chuckled and leaned closer, her shoulder brushing Yelena’s enough to startle the thoughts away before they had fully taken shape, and Yelena gladly let them go. Kate said, “I’ve always wondered if they’re actors.”

Barking a short laugh, Yelena glanced at her. “That would be a strange way to make money.”

“Yup.” Kate pursed her lips and tilted her head farther toward Yelena. She looked about as innocent as a politician as she said, “Speaking of ways to make money…”

“Oh, very subtle, Kate Bishop,” Yelena teased, though Kate just shrugged at her and grinned.

“You told me to try harder, not sneakier. I know my strengths. I’m sure you haven’t noticed yet, but I can be both likable and persistent.”

Making sure that Kate could see her roll her eyes, Yelena then peered downward as they approached a sunken area next to the path. The section hovered above the street below, with a wall of windows sitting near the bottom of multiple tiered rows of benches, most of which were covered with crusty snow and all of which were empty. The wind hadn’t lessened, and it seemed to have warded off anyone inclined to rest.

The chill was still there, but Yelena resolutely ignored it. Walking down a couple of rows, she settled on a small dry spot facing away from the street. Kate followed and sat down across from her on the next bench up, shivering slightly yet without complaint. She tilted her head in question.

“Seriously, are you a bodyguard?”

Looking up at Kate, Yelena contemplated what would happen if she told her the truth. Kate obviously didn’t run from danger of the physical variety. But when Barton had warned of loss and sacrifice, Kate had brushed him off with little tact and even less thought.

Her world held so little darkness, and the light must be so blinding. Yelena couldn’t deny that a callous part of her wanted to find out how Kate might respond to a glimpse of the gloom, even if she felt apprehensive about the reaction itself. This rapport with Kate might be temporary, but Yelena still wasn’t eager for it to end.

Not to mention that admitting to being a contract killer was not exactly a reasonable way to test someone.

“There’s a lot of confidentiality involved,” she finally said, skirting the issue. “Some of my jobs do involve protection.”

It was partially untrue, but Kate didn’t notice, and she nodded along encouragingly. “How long have you been doing it?”

Yelena tensed. “About a year.”

“And before that?”

Grinding her teeth, Yelena broke eye contact to look back at the path behind Kate. She felt sure that if she changed the subject, Kate wouldn’t push any farther, and she was sorely tempted. Lying about her work was one thing. Talking about the Blip was another matter entirely.

Kate Bishop, though, blithe and reckless, wanted to know Yelena so desperately.

And this test would be much more fair.

So she lifted her chin, saying, “I didn’t do much for a while, since I didn’t exist.”

Kate’s gaze lost its shine, but her face didn’t fall. She studied Yelena for a long moment before huffing a tired laugh. “You know, anyone who’s on the other side of the Blip from me — it’s like all I can say is ‘I’m sorry.’ Seems like such a stupid thing to say. There’s no way I could possibly understand.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean anything,” Yelena grunted. Guilt might be frustrating, but the feebleness of sorry would never be less than infuriating. She felt annoyed that Kate had invoked it.

But Kate was already shaking her head resolutely, as if combating Yelena’s dismay. “It’s not enough, it’s definitely not enough, but it means something. At least it does from me. It means…” She trailed off, then gestured with both hands toward Yelena. “It means I see you, and I hear you, and what happened to you sucks balls.”

A laugh burst forth from Yelena’s chest, and to her surprise it was only partially bitter. Kate’s eyes lit up with a now-familiar gleam in response, and she rocked to her feet, standing just long enough to cross the pace between them and sit next Yelena on her bench.

Then she slowly took Yelena’s hand and murmured, “Can I also say that I’m happy you exist again?”

Turning their hands, Yelena studied Kate’s long fingers, white with cold but steady and solid. She absently brought her other hand to sandwich Kate’s and rubbed lightly, frowning down at the points where their skin touched.

The points of connection that had only begun to glow but gleamed so brightly against the shadow of her life.

“You can say it,” she finally replied. “But I don’t really share the sentiment. Even now.”

She expected another argument to burst from Kate’s mouth or sadness to cross her face, but Kate just looked at her curiously and said, “Fair enough.”

Still clutching Kate’s hand, Yelena fully met her eyes. “You know, that’s the kind of honesty that scares people off.”

But Kate just smiled gently and shrugged. “Like I said. I don’t know what it was like. What it is like. You have a right to your feelings.” Then she knocked her shoulder against Yelena’s and her eyes regained a twinkle as she added, “Besides, I don’t scare easy.”

Yelena had watched her long enough to know that the statement had proved true in some cases and less so in others. But here, with Kate’s steady hand now almost warm between Yelena’s palms, she wanted to fully believe it.

Kate had listened without judgment, spoken her mind, and even made Yelena laugh. About the Blip.

Harsher truths might still yield different outcomes. But Kate had passed this particular test.

What a show-off.

Nodding a little, Yelena straightened and deadpanned, “Even if there are snakes involved?”

Bringing her free hand out of her pocket to rub across her eyes, Kate chuckled lowly. “Shit, you really did stalk me, huh? Instagram and all.”

“I am very good at what I do.”

As Yelena had intended, it completely broke the tension between them. Releasing Kate’s hand, she pushed off the bench and absently swiped at the back of her pants to shake off any loose ice crystals, watching Kate match her movements a moment later. Then she put her now-frozen hands in her coat pockets and led Kate up the stairs and back to the path.

The two of them sauntered all the way to the end of the park, the rest of the conversation light-hearted and easy. As they finally descended to the street and paused at the bottom of the stairs, Kate reached out to touch Yelena’s elbow.

“I’ve gotta go to my Mom’s for dinner right now, but do you want to get some coffee tomorrow? I know somewhere with the best coffee cake you’ll ever taste.”

Although grateful at the invitation and the prospect of another less shadowy day, Yelena had exceeded a lifetime’s supply of déja vu. She didn’t want to recycle dates. So she smiled slyly and said, “Surely you can think of something more interesting to do, Kate Bishop.”

Kate’s grin belied her nonchalant tone. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”

“You do that,” Yelena murmured. And when Kate’s eyes held hers for several more seconds, she leaned in to kiss Kate’s cold cheek, her lips lingering as she felt Kate hold her breath. Pulling back, she smiled much less slyly and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she turned southward on the sidewalk and walked away.

From behind her, Kate said in a slightly stunned voice and half to herself, “I wasn’t even wearing a tux.”

Kind of an idiot, Yelena thought, her smile still firmly in place. Keeping Kate off balance was definitely fun.

But then she licked her lips and thought about Kate’s proximity, about being a gun for hire, about Kate’s grin, about the Blip, about I’m happy you exist. And she wondered if, at this transient moment in time, her own footing might be just as precarious.

Notes:

Yelena can't even let herself think that something like this might last. Precarious, indeed.

Lantern House is the weird building mentioned in this chapter. And here is the nearby overlook where they sit. Where do you think they're going next? 😊

Also, I had high hopes of posting this story daily, which would have put a certain auspicious chapter on Christmas Day, but due to illness and a few other extenuating circumstances, I can't keep to that. Next chapter should be up in 2-3 days, and my guess is that'll be the gap between chapters after that.

Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you're enjoying! I always love to hear your thoughts.