Chapter Text
if you asked around her social circles, many would describe kate bishop as being a true new york socialite. rowdy, young, believing herself invincible. is invincible, with the army of lawyers and her exceptional PR team, all backed by her mothers’ extensive wealth and the bishop name.
if you asked her actual friends, the few she has let into her life would describe her as excitable, young, unknowing of the real world, good hearted. a good friend, a naive and curious person wrapped up in stacks of money that have given her the life she could truly live.
if you asked kate bishop herself, she wouldn’t know how to answer. she would look around, thinking to what other people would say, and she would smile a perfect little smile and repeat that. she would be a perfect little echo of the things told to her by her peers, her family, her friends.
but if you tried asking her, only her and truly her, kate doesn’t know. and that’s what drives her, most days.
this aching hole of not knowing who she was, who she truly was. the words she wants to use to describe herself are disingenuous. she looks at herself most days; always hungover, always seemingly out of it, always… off. and she repeats this to herself as she lets her bowstring go, watching the bright neon green of the tennis ball she had finaggled quite expertly onto the arrowhead fly through the air, the slight curve she calculated allowed the small claw part of her arrow to hit the rope perfectly, ringing the old bell.
always off, she repeats to herself, as the ringing of the bell permeates through the cold winter air. always off, she repeats to herself, as the groaning of the bell turns into the crashing and crumbling of the brick tower. always off, she repeats to herself, as she watches franny and greer run away down below, the security guards flashlight aiming straight at her.
always off, she thinks, as the dean reprimands her with a sigh and a wave of his hand. she walks away scot-free that night.
always off.
[]
“it was a belltower, mom.”
“well, the overachiever you are, managed to destroy both bell and clock parts of the tower, so let’s agree to disagree on the naming and focus on this, okay?”
“right.”
eleanor sighs, hands holding onto the concrete marble island in front of her. “kate, honey, talk to me. why?”
i don’t know. “i just thought it’d be fun.” she shrugs, “i’m sorry. it was stupid of me, really.”
“it was,” eleanor agrees, walking over to kate. the look in her eyes are so kind, so motherly. kate looks away, only to be nudged back to her mother’s direction. eleanor sighs, deep and tired, brushing off pieces of kate’s hair obscuring her face.
“i have you.” eleanor says, cupping kate’s face. “but i won’t always forever, okay? one of these days you’re going to get yourself into something money can’t get you out of, kate.”
she can’t help but nuzzle her face further into the warmth of her mothers palm, nodding, “i know, mom.”
eleanor hums, stepping back and staring at her for a few beats, before nodding to herself.
“which is why you’re going to do something for me,” kate stares at her retreating figure, before following behind, confused.
“uh, sure. what is it?”
“i’ve been looking to expand our philanthropical avenues towards organizations that are more… good-looking,” eleanor hesitates at the last part, “well, to put it bluntly, toward things that make us look better to the public. after all the stunts you’ve been pulling, added with this recent bell-clock tower debacle, the PR team agrees you should be front and center on this.”
“on this?” she asks, fidgeting with her sleeves, “on what?”
“there’s this organization,” eleanor starts, “one we’ve had an eye on donating and supporting now for a while, but it requires a more hands-on approach that we didn’t have the time or the necessary people to allot towards. now i have you, with winter break starting.”
“mom, what is it?”
“the romanov homeless organization, ever heard of it?”
“you want me to volunteer at a homeless shelter?” kate guffaws, “what, to look good and stand in front of a big blank check?”
“you’re doing this, kate.” eleanor shuts her potential rant down, “sure, yes, look good while doing it, but i’ve been severely lacking in your involvement in the hospitality side of this whole young socialite life of yours, and i can’t help but think that that lack of involvement is what’s causing all of… this.”
“all of this? what, breaking a bell tower? partying? going out and living my life?”
“living your life doesn’t mean getting yourself plastered on the front pages of a tabloid every new issue, or costing me thousands on repairs for a clock tower because you’re bored.” eleanor snaps, “you are doing this. if you need an incentive, i’ll pay you hourly for every day you’re there and actively helping, but you’re going to be there, on your best behaviour, and you’re going to help. for the company or for me, whatever you need to tell yourself to keep doing it. that’s final, kate. understood?”
kate huffs, a slight surge of defiance coursing through her, before exhaling. a losing battle, she tells herself.
“sure, whatever. when?”
“i need you up and early to go to the office and iron some things out, then i need you at the organization by noon. there’ll be a photographer there, take some pictures around for PR. the actual volunteering starts in two days.”
kate nods, before walking away and up the staircase to her room.
[]
this is so stupid, she thinks, opening the door to bishop securities, throwing a smile towards the workers greeting her.
this is so stupid, she thinks, signing the rest of her winter break away to the contract HR presents to her.
this is so stupid, she thinks, seated in the backseat of the company car, driving towards the organization she wants nothing to do with.
this is so stupid, she thinks, smiling widely as she poses with natasha romanov, owner and founder of the romanov homeless organization. the picture turns out as well as it usually does with this photographer. natasha is nice, if a bit skeptical of kate when they converse and exchange pleasantries. she can’t blame her. kate doesn’t want to be here.
“so, bishop,” natasha starts, a cup of coffee held in her hand as she and kate watches the PR team leaving, “mommy put you up to this, or what?”
kate chuckles nervously. her moms’ words from this morning echoing in her head.
“please, at least try.”
“is that what it looks like?” she fronts. it’s too easy, she thinks, to slip into the act of someone caring.
“i mean, what,” natasha starts, “a young, rich, attractive new york socialite like yourself just wants to volunteer here for fun? on your winter break?”
“i can’t have a caring bone in my body just because i’m young and rich?” she grins, tilting her head at natasha, “and attractive, thank you.”
“well, i don’t really care, to be honest.” says natasha, staring at kate. it throws her off, the honesty in her tone biting at kate’s consciousness. “the money is good for us. just don’t cause a scene, okay?”
“i’m famously known to not cause a scene.” kate draws an exaggerated x over her heart, “cross it and hope to die.”
natasha hums, taking one last sip of her coffee, before throwing it away in the trash bin next to her, “twitter begs to differ, but let’s hope you have eight more lives in you.”
and she walks away. it leaves kate unsettled. unnerved.
what does she know?
“you really shouldn’t trust tabloids, you know.” kate yells after natasha, “they’re kinda untrustworthy.”
“prove it to me, bishop.” natasha yells back, her back still turned. kate huffs.
whatever.
[]
yelena walks into the office, throwing her bag down next to her chair and sits down unceremoniously, melting into it.
“трахни меня,” she mutters. it’s been such a long day. hours of running errands for her sister, setting things up for the organization her sister runs, cleaning the mess her sister left at yelena’s apartment. it was all natasha’s fault.
“глупая сестра,” she curses. the door behind her opens quietly.
“well, good evening to you too, сестра.”
yelena jumps, turning around towards the voice, hand over her heart. natasha walks towards her desk and sits, laughing softly at the expression on her sisters face.
“long day?” natasha asks, swiveling her chair slightly, angling the right side of her body towards yelena.
yelena sighs, melting further into her chair and kicking at the wall behind her desk, sending her chair towards natasha’s. they bump into each other, yelena’s arms finding their way around natasha’s shoulders as she slumps.
“so long,” she draws out, “and it’s all because of this stupid sister i have. i don’t know if you know her. she’s sooo annoying, really.”
natasha chuckles, patting at yelena’s hair and smoothing it down, before giving her a soft kiss on the head, “well, thank you for doing those errands for me. i’m sorry about your sister.”
“i’m sorry about her too,” yelena grins, “why are you looking so happy?”
natasha hums, clicking on her keyboard for a bit, before turning around towards yelena and grinning, her eyes lighting up. yelena groans. she knows that look.
“picture this: a young, attractive, rich new york socialite walks into one of the cities most reputable and trustworthy homeless shelters.”
“where’s the punchline?” asks yelena, confused at the direction her sister was going in.
“there is none. check out the instagram.”
and she does. pinned on the shelters’ instagram page is a picture of her sister, arm wrapped around the waist of (what yelena can only base off of the horrible joke that wasn’t even a joke) a young, admittedly attractive, rich new york socialite, both of them smiling happily at the camera. she clicks on it and checks the tags.
“kate bishop…?” she mutters, “did she walk in with a big, blank empty check? this has to be a publicity stunt.”
natasha shrugs, “whatever gets us more money. we can’t be picky with publicity stunts when they get us a five hundred percent boost in our budget.”
“five hundred?!” she exclaims. natasha rolls her eyes, “what did you not get about the whole ‘young and rich socialite’ thing i just said earlier?”
yelena stares at her phone again, dumbfounded. that big of a budget increase…
“why?” she asks. this was way too good to be true. with the holidays coming up, along with the harsh winter of new york, they had been needing more money to help with the predictable influx they’d have, and to have it come to their doorstep without asking was something she didn’t trust.
“i don’t know,” natasha shrugs, “i mean it looks like a PR stunt. that bishop girl has been on tabloids this whole month, so they probably need something to cancel it out. don’t worry, i doubt it’ll last long. plus, we need the extra hands.”
“extra hands?”
“she’s gonna be helping around here the day after tomorrow,” she explains, “at least until her winter break is over.”
“oh great,” yelena groans, “a sheltered rich girl is gonna come and volunteer at a homeless shelter because she needs to look good. how bad can this go?”
“that’s what i thought.” natasha nods. the two wince.
[]
kate’s hand hovers over the car handle, breath heavy and heated. there’s something stopping her from opening the door of the pristine luxury car and walking into the worn down building of the shelter. its just a mental block, she thinks, breathing in and shifting her leg closer to the door.
“prove it to me, bishop.” natasha’s words echo through her head, a deep and annoying thrum wrapping itself around her brain.
“seriously,” she mutters, inching her finger closer to the door, “just go, man.”
another deep breath taken. another inch moved. another deep breath taken. another centimeter move-
“ms. bishop?” cuts her drivers voice through the car, the partition having moved down during her silent battle.
“yeah,” she shakes her head, mustering a weak smile to no one but herself, eyes still aimed at the handle, her hand shaking. “yeah, sorry.”
one last inhale. one last inch moved. her pointer finger wrapping itself around the handle, pulling it open. the cold brisk air whips at her face as she steps out hurriedly out of the car, muttering a small thanks to her driver, before closing the door softly.
“okay, okay,” she tells herself, a fast pace to her steps as she races after the handle of the shelter, “just a month. just a month. you’ve done worse things for longer. for the company. for mom, i guess.”
it’s not even a big deal, she thinks, walking through the halls she had familiarized with herself the day prior, i’m just gonna help out. maybe pack some things, give stuff out, lend out smiles. this is just like one of moms parties.
i don’t really care, natasha’s voice cuts through, just don’t cause a scene.
she stops in front of the big double doors leading into the main cafeteria section of the shelter. it unnerves her still, natasha’s words. her tone. the cold look in her eyes, edged with the hard skepticism she had kept with her the whole twenty minutes they were with each other. she can’t help but think back to the night of the bell-clock tower incident; how the wind felt, how calm she was, the snow falling deftly on her head and hands, how fast it melted, the quickness of the towers collapse.
the taunt of the bowstring falling loose through her fingers as she let go. the whistle of the arrow piercing through the air.
“okay,” she breathes, “don’t cause a scene.”