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Yelena Belova was never meant to be anything but a weapon. That is what she had been told, over and over, by the cold and vicious faces within the Red Room. Her body was a tool, her mind a knife. There was no place for fear in her heart. No place for love, either. What use, when her life would be nothing but slaughter? One day, they told her, there would be no Yelena, only the cold unforgiving kiss of a Widow.
She is learning, slowly, sometimes painfully, that what they had told her was not true.
Living in Avengers Tower—the Watchtower, as Valentina insists on calling it—is a smoother transition than she’d expected. Perhaps it’s easier to settle in with people when you’ve already been through hell with them. Alexei is thrilled, of course; he won’t stop talking about how much dad-daughter time they’ll have now, and she can’t bring herself to be annoyed with him. Walker complains a bit, but she can’t tell his heart’s not in it, because he’s one of the quickest to get all his stuff moved in and unpacked. Not that any of them had a lot to bring with them anyway, given their previous occupations and circumstances. They don’t even see Ava move in—one moment she’s not there, and then she is, and that’s that. Bucky is… well, he’s technically still a Congressman along with being a so-called Avenger, if only for the sake of optics, so he’s out more often than not.
The most striking thing about it to Yelena is how mundane it all seems. Mundane, but after a lifetime of anything but, it's fulfilling. Sure, their job is the furthest thing from conventional, and they can’t step outside without being bombarded by press and the public, but when it’s just them together, sharing a pizza or fighting over which movie to watch, it feels like they’re just normal. Ava and her have girl’s nights, of all things—Yelena had kind of thought those were made up for TV. She spars with Bucky, and it’s nice to test her skills when it isn’t a life-or-death scenario for once.
Walker cooks for them, sometimes. Never asks what they want or if they’re hungry, simply starts clattering around in the kitchen until there’s a hot meal ready for all six of them, always filling and always delicious. If someone tells him thank you he scoffs and waves them off, saying he didn’t even plan on making that much. It always makes Yelena roll her eyes—no one accidentally makes five extra servings of dinner. One time she’d offhandedly mentioned craving mac and cheese, and the next night he’d just so happened to have it as a side dish to the steaks he was frying up. He’s still a dick, but he’s not as bad as she used to think. And she always appreciates a good cook.
And then, of course, there is Bob.
Bob, who looks at her like she is the most gentle thing on the Earth.
Yelena, who had spent her entire youth being taught how to analyze people, does not know what to make of him. He was gentle, and then he wasn’t, and then he learned to be again. He was taken and moulded against his will, and broke out of that mould with terrible violence. It reminds her somewhat of herself, and as much as that scares her, it comforts her in equal measure.
He’s seen her kill; hell, she’d literally strapped him to her back as she mowed down rows of soldiers. He’s watched her memories, witnessed her staining her hands with blood. He has seen her darkest moments, and she’s seen his in turn. Maybe not the healthiest way to get to know someone intimately, but here they are. And Yelena wouldn’t take it back, now. Not for the world. Because despite knowing exactly what she is and what she’s done, he’s never once stopped looking at her like she’s the most astounding thing he’s ever laid eyes upon.
For her part, she doesn’t know how she looks at him. Ava has teased her once or twice about being ‘mooney-eyed’, but Yelena doesn’t think that quite encompasses it. It’s true she feels affection for him, beyond anything she’s felt for anyone else. But how can she put into words what lies in her heart for a man who can know her inside and out and still not turn away? She can’t. She won’t. It isn’t for anyone but her, and perhaps Bob, to know.
Out of all of them, he still clings to Yelena’s side the most. She doesn’t mind; there’s a part of her that hates to let him out of her sight. She knows he’s a grown man, knows he can handle himself when push comes to shove—but still. She remembers watching as they fired upon him, hundreds of bullets. She remembers watching him collapse, remembers how her heart had shattered yet again at the thought of losing someone she’d only just gained.
She will not allow it again.
Escaping the Void didn’t fix everything. There are still plenty of bad days, and though it’s hard for them all, it’s not unexpected. Yelena’s not unfamiliar with bipolar disorder, certainly. For a Red Room girl, psychology was as necessary to know as how to load a gun. They were taught every manner of mental disorder, every conceivable weakness, and how to exploit it. She was never meant to help someone manage their vulnerabilities, only use them to her advantage. Taking care of someone, helping them; it’s still somewhat foreign to her. But it isn’t unpleasant.
Some days he can’t get out of bed. She climbs in beside him, twining their hands together. She doesn’t say anything, unless he asks her to. Sometimes, he says, the silence is worse, even though he’s the one who wanted it in the first place. So when he asks her to talk, to say anything to get him out of his head, she does. She tells him about the fleeting moments of light before her childhood was stolen. She tells him about Natasha, and their brief but beautiful sisterhood. He smiles, soft and grateful, whenever she shares something with him, like he knows just how precious those memories are for her. At first, she’d only joined him in his room when the nightmares became too much, but without her even realizing it, she’s all but moved in. More often than not now she spends her nights curled up beside him, the two of them protecting each other from the darkness that still tries to creep in.
On the good days, he eats breakfast with all of them, laughing at their jokes, sometimes sharing some of his own. He’s wittier than he thinks he is, good at sarcasm and always quick with a comeback when Walker crosses a line with his teasing, as he often does. Sometimes he’ll join them for group movie nights, and never complains no matter the genre. Yelena has the feeling he hasn’t had the opportunity to see many in his lifetime. Neither has she, so it works out fine. He doesn’t train with the rest of them; it’s still too risky, too much of a chance something will trigger him and the Void will seize the opportunity to take control. But he watches, cheering them on when one of them lands an impressive move. It’s maybe the best motivation Yelena’s ever had.
The good days come more often, now. Bob seems to brighten as he realizes that this really is permanent, that this isn’t a cruel prank and he’s not being left alone again. This is a home, and it’s been so long since any of them had one of those.
The first time she kisses him is when they’re curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket as The Fifth Element plays in the background on their too-big television. It had been just the two of them, both of them unable to sleep and finding each other in the main living room. They’d put on the movie because Ava had recommended it, but Yelena had found herself unable to pay much attention. She’s barely looked away from Bob since the film started playing, his hair falling in his face, knees pulled to his chest, enraptured as the alien diva sings on the screen. When she shifts to get more comfortable on the couch, their hands brush against each other. Neither of them pull back, and after a moment, Bob silently moves his hand so that their fingers twine together.
Yelena thinks of the first time their hands touched, and how different it is now. Hands that have only known how to hurt, now learning to heal. It only seems right that they fit together so well.
“Hey,” she says softly, drawing his attention away from the screen.
“Hi,” he says back, eyes flickering down as if he’s just realized they’re touching. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” she says, and then, before she can back out, “Can I kiss you?”
His eyes widen, the tips of his ears going red. “I… yes! Yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”
“Good,” she says, and leans in to press her lips to his. He seems to hesitate at first, as if he hasn’t quite processed what’s happening, before returning the kiss. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, and his hand is trembling a bit where their fingers are still interlocked.
He stutters a bit when they pull apart. “I didn’t think—I mean, I wasn’t sure you wanted—”
She cradles his face with her free hand. “You can be sure now,” she says softly, and kisses him again.
♡♡♡
There are a lot more kisses from then on. Every day, in fact. Bob is bolder about it than she thought he’d be, but she’s not complaining. Her heart feels larger and warmer when he comes up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle, looking like a begging puppy until she turns around and presses her lips to his.
There’s no use trying to hide what’s building between them from the others, and honestly, Yelena doesn’t really care. The last thing she’d ever want is for Bob to think she’s ashamed of him. It’s not like they flaunt it, exactly—save for the one time on the couch, they haven’t kissed anywhere but the privacy of their own bedrooms—but it isn’t some grand secret, either. No one mentions it, although Alexei does give her a proud, knowing grin every so often that makes her cover her face in embarrassment.
Then one day Walker makes a joke about Bob ‘getting some Red Room in the bedroom’, because Walker is an incurable asshole. Bob flushes from the tips of his ears to his clavicle, his hands twitching, and for a moment, Yelena thinks he might actually hit John. Then he rushes from the room. Yelena responds by putting John in a headlock until he apologizes profusely, skulking off to pout when she finally lets him go.
But his words, which she can usually shake off with no problem, crawl under her skin and stay there. Because he’s hit upon the one thing she’s been trying to avoid thinking about; her and Bob’s relationship has progressed beyond friendly intimacy, yes, but it hasn’t gotten close to sex yet. She knows that’s where relationships like theirs are expected to go; clearly their teammates think it’s gotten there already.
But it hasn’t, and she’s content with that. If no one ever brought it up again, that would suit her just fine. But now it’s out there, and it will surely be on Bob’s mind just as much as it is on hers. Thinking about it makes her gut twist into knots with something approaching dread. There’s a conversation to be had, it’s inevitable now, and it’s one she’d hoped to avoid for a while yet.
Bob notices her anxiety, because of course he does. That night he watches silently as she curls up beside him in bed, big eyes trailing over her face as they lay side by side. “What’re you thinking about?” he murmurs.
“Something stupid,” she sighs, then amends, “well, no. Not stupid. Walker is stupid and we shouldn’t listen to anything he says.”
He blinks rapidly. “I mean, yeah, I agree, but what brought that on?”
“He implied we were fucking,” she says, and grimaces at the way he splutters and turns red again.
“That’s none of his business,” Bob says once he’s managed to collect himself a bit.
She nods. “I know.”
“He’s a dickhead,” he adds, and she snorts.
“Yes,” she agrees. “Did it bother you?”
“I mean, uh…” he trails off. “Did it bother you?” he asks instead of answering.
“It didn’t make me upset,” she says, “but it did make me think.”
“Oh,” he says. Then after a moment, “Made you think about…?”
“I don’t want to have sex,” she says bluntly. Then quickly, before he gets the wrong idea, “Not—not because it’s you, please don’t think that for even a minute. I don’t want to do it with anyone. I never have. I want to be with you, but I don’t…” she swallows around the lump in her throat. In the Red Room, seduction was just another tool. Every part of your body is a weapon, they’d told her. She’d barely turned sixteen when they’d begun to prepare them for such scenarios, taught her and those other little girls how to purse their lips and flutter their lashes just right. It had always made her sick to her stomach, the idea she might one day have to utilize such methods on a mission. Even once she was older, when the Red Room was gone and her body belonged to her and no one else, the thought of sex was no more appealing.
Even now, with Bob, whom she knows she cares for in a way beyond friendship of family, her body does not respond as everyone seems to think it should. If it were anyone, she thinks, it would be him. But it isn’t, and she doesn’t think it can be. “It’s not something I’ve ever liked,” she says. “And I don’t know if it ever will be, even with someone I love.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I get it. I’m not huge on it either, to be honest.” He laughs quietly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Bob,” she says, “don’t say things just to make me feel better. You can tell me if that doesn’t work for you.” The thought of him trying to find someone else makes her stomach coil tight and unpleasant, but she will not trap either of them in something doomed to fail.
“No, no!” he says quickly. “That’s not it. I was actually, uhm, kinda worried that the opposite was going to happen. You know, that you’d want to do more and I’d get freaked out and look crazy because, come on, who wouldn’t be crazy not to want you, you’re gorgeous. And I didn’t want to end up disappointing you because I couldn’t do it right, or whatever.”
Yelena’s heart feels like honey. “You’re sweet,” she murmurs, reaching out to touch his cheek. “And we are a very good example of why people should always talk about their issues with each other.”
He laughs, and she’s relieved to see it’s real this time.
She can tell he wants to say more, so she keeps quiet. After a moment, he takes a breath and says, “I was on the street for a while. I mean, you knew that already. And I needed money, and a place to sleep, and the next hit. And I did a lot of shit that—that I’m kind of glad I can’t remember. But I remember that it felt bad. And I know it wouldn’t be bad with you, but it’s like my body can’t—can’t understand that.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but I’m okay with us just being… us.”
She smiles. “Us sounds perfect.”
He smiles back, then adds, “I do like the part of ‘us’ where we kiss, though. That’s good, right?”
She snorts. “Yes, Bob, that part is very good.” She leans forward and presses her lips to his, just to prove it. He’s grinning dopily when she pulls back, and she’s so endeared she feels she might burst from sheer affection. “Thank you,’ she says, “for sharing that with me.” They both know she saw plenty of what he’s been through when they fought their way out of the Void, but she knows how precious it is when he can shake off the shame enough to tell her something so vulnerable in his own words.
He shakes his head. “Thank you. For everything.” He adds, barely a whisper, “For existing.”
Yelena twines their fingers together, leans forward so that their foreheads touch. She closes her eyes and breathes him in. “I am very, very glad you exist, too,” she says.
His breath ghosts across her cheek. “I guess that’s what works for us, right? Just existing together.”
She smiles, moving in closer so their bodies are pressed together, safe and united, as they should be. “Yes,” she says. “That’s enough for us.”