A/N: Well it took a while, but I finally found another blonde/brunette ship that demanded I write fanfiction for it because of the unrealized queer potential. I love these two, and look forward to writing for them! Cross-posting on Ao3.

Kate told herself it was a heightened superhero sense she now had, a noble burden to keep aware of potential threats at all times. But Clint would've called bull, because these supposed senses did nothing to prevent her from smacking into a pizzeria doorway, tripping down subway station stairs, or almost falling into an open manhole—all instances where she'd done double takes at the sight of a blonde braid.

Apparently, the subconscious need to keep a lookout at all times for that familiar hairstyle was all her heightened senses were good for and it wasn't doing much good so far. Kate's only explanation for this was, she thought, the very logical concern that she was spotting a too-likable-for-her-own-good assassin roaming the streets of New York. And each time she recovered from realizing her sense had been wrong, she felt pathetic that her first reaction was disappointment.

Clint had thought they were enjoying a friendly quietness while washing dishes together after Christmas dinner, but silence to Kate never took on any quality aside from awkward and she had to fill it with anything, the first thing that came to mind. Which in this case, was equally if not more awkward than just staying shut up.

"So Yelena just like…peaced out?"

"Well, I don't know if 'peaced' is the word I'd use for someone who'd been on the brink of ending my life," Clint replied. "Sorry, I was a little too preoccupied to ask for her forwarding address."

"But so like, you beat her, though."

"She left," Clint sighed. "I told her how things went down with Nat in the end. From that, and I think respect for my friendship with her sister, she let me live."

After a short pause, a strange laugh bubbled out of Kate and Clint was kind enough not to comment on it. It didn't occur to her to wonder if she was about to ask something tactless until the words had already left her mouth: "Is it weird that I kinda wish she'd said goodbye? To me?"

To her surprise, Clint offered her a small smile. "Considering how Nat and I met? Not that weird, no."

It felt weird, though, wondering where Yelena had gone, wondering if she'd gotten a chance to see some of the tourist traps she'd been so giddy about. Wondering if, wherever she was, she felt a little sorry that she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, too. Kate had gone so far as to try texting the number Yelena had messaged her from, even though she knew it had to be a burner phone and was probably at the bottom of the Hudson by now. A stupid, impulsive temptation, but one that dogged her several times a day.

Routine and distractions were helpful. Since getting back on the 28th, Kate had made a habit of stopping by Rockefeller Center after lunch to check on the post-battle cleanup progress. The ice rink would take quite a while to repair, and the tree was being removed in sections. Not the most cheerful or festive of sights (yet still, of course, swarmed by tourists). Kate sighed and turned around to look at the Saks windows and screamed when she saw Yelena standing right behind her, wearing a heavy green coat and a disarming smile.

"Very flattering hello, Kate Bishop." She nodded at the tree, but Kate didn't bother twisting around to look at it. "Not so pretty anymore, huh? Glad I got a glimpse of it right-side up while I was scaling down that particularly tall building."

"30 Rock," Kate blurted out, feeling like she was in a daze. "Y'know, I was actually gonna say before, you should—you should do Top of the Rock instead of going to the top of, um, the Empire State Building. It's a little cheaper a-and the view is cooler, 'cause you get to actually see the Empire State Building and stuff since you're not on it, and…"

God, I'm actually seeing her again and instead of saying anything of substance I'm yakking at her like I get a commission from the Rockefellers? What the hell is wrong with you, Bishop?!

Her already flailing train of thought crashed to a full stop as Yelena's smile widened. Oh God, those dimples, help me. Kate couldn't quite tell if it was a sincere grin or more like the cat who ate the canary, but either way it was doing something to her brain that made it hard for her to formulate speech.

"You look flushed, Kate Bishop."

Kate reflexively glanced at her reflection in a Saks window, as if that could help her confirm or deny this. "No, I'm not! I mean, it's cold out here, my face is flushed from the cold. Something I'm sure you wouldn't understand."

Yelena clicked her tongue. "What is up with that? I swear, Americans hear my accent and they think that I eat snow. I wouldn't mind being warmer, but I wanted to see a big Christmas tree, and…" She shrugged at the one Kate now felt a little worse for having destroyed. "I guess I could be looking somewhere else. I don't suppose you would be knowing where I could find some indoor Christmas tree? A nice one," she clarified. "Not crappy department store kind with cheap baubles and shit."

Amazingly, Kate's faculties came roaring back to her in time to say, "yes. Yes! I know right where to take you. I mean, I know right where you should go."

Yelena cuffed her on the back. "You busy now?"

"Uh, not exactly, no."

"Wrong! You are. You're busy taking me to this nice indoor tree. I'll warn you now, my expectations are very high. High as this skyscraper. If these expectations are not met, I shall be very displeased and you will not like to see me when I am displeased, Kate Bishop."

"I won't?" Kate scoffed, almost certain that Yelena was joking but not sure how much she should count on that.

"No, naughty girl." Yelena looped her arm through Kate's and winked at her. "I'd have to punish you." (Kate somehow almost tripped on nothing, while standing still. Did that count as a superpower?) "Now please, lead the way."

Suffice it to say, Yelena was not disappointed by the tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There was something endearingly childlike about the way she shoved gawking tourists aside to get a closer look at the display, enamored in particular with the carved animals. Most visitors were content with a quick walk around the tree, but Yelena was intent on taking her time, regarding each tableau with an open-mouthed grin. Not a single thing about her countenance or composure would have indicated to anyone that she was capable of killing an Avenger, and Kate felt weirdly proud of knowing something no one else in this room did.

"I used to come here every week of December with my dad when I was a kid," Kate said. For the first time since they'd arrived, Yelena's gaze left the tree; and for the first time since they'd arrived, Kate made sure her eyes were laser focused on the crèche. "Each time, we'd just take in a different part of it and play 'I Spy.'"

Yelena tensed. "Who's spy?"

"No," Kate chuckled. "'I Spy,' it's a game. So like for example, I might say, 'I spy with my little eye… a cherub's head with wings instead of shoulders.' Then," she went on as Yelena continued to stare blankly at her, "you would look for the disembodied cherub head with wings for shoulders."

"What is cherub?"

"Oh, it's another word for angel. Then once you find it—"

"There!" Yelena shouted, her voice reverberating off the walls of the cavernous Medieval Sculpture Hall. "I see it, I spy! What do I win?"

It should've occurred to Kate that learning museum etiquette would not have ranked very high in Yelena's upbringing, but rather than be concerned that the loud outburst might have disturbed other patrons, she could only laugh. "It would just be your turn to give me something to find."

"Oh, I see. Shall we play? You be you and I'll be your daddy."

"You'll be—uh—"

"Kate Bishop, you are blushing again."

"I am not!"

"There is no cold wind in here to hide behind," Yelena pointed out in a sing-song voice.

"I'm just—I want to make sure we don't stay here too long, so we have time to look at the arms and armor gallery. Yeah, you'll love that, it's some real cool shit."

"Um, I spy with my big, beautiful eyes baby Jesus—in fact, many Jesuses around this room—and they are not pleased with your language. So, I guess you better take me now," Yelena said with an airy sigh that put Jesus extremely far from Kate's mind. "To the armory, if you please."

Somehow, Yelena seemed even more like a kid at Christmas in this exhibit. She and Kate debated over which suits of armor looked the most comfortable and practical, and which helmets would offer the best combination of protection and vision. Yelena was pretty good at guessing how much the swords weighed based on their bulk and length, and she marveled at the collection of blades spanning the globe and many centuries. Kate had hoped to impress her by sharing some tidbits not found on the placards, but Yelena's knowledge was fairly advanced and it became something of a friendly competition to see who could stump the other.

The gallery of firearms offered further aesthetic and historical appreciation, leading to affable debates about how each weapon's size and weight might affect its performance in battle. It was also in this room that one of two young men who had been following them finally chose to make his move. (Kate's belief in her manifesting superhero senses was proved a definitive falsehood because she had totally failed to notice them, while Yelena had made a note of their presence but decided to hold off on acknowledging them unless they engaged first.)

"Hope you ladies don't mind, but we've been listening and it sounds like you really know your stuff. Or you're just really preoccupied with size." He and his friend snickered.

"I do not think your preface was sincere, but in case it was, yes, we do mind," Yelena said with a stony expression, taking a half-step in front of Kate. "My friend and I are just minding our own business, speaking with professional interest about this weaponry. If I wanted to, I could kill you with a toothpick so you can believe me saying that size does not matter."

Kate could barely keep a loud "HA!" from escaping.

One of the boys had gone very pale, but the other seemed determined to save face by sassing her back. He only got as far as opening his mouth with an intense look of dislike before Yelena cut him off: "Pick your words very carefully, for they may be your last." The boy didn't have time to contemplate whether this girl would start a fight with him in such a public place before Yelena's grave look suddenly gave way to a wide grin and she was dragging Kate into the main gallery. "Oh, my God, do you see this? They dress up horses in medieval clothing for battle!"

Once they were out of earshot of the creepers, Kate said, "wow. That was kinda badass."

"Of course it was badass. Everything I do is badass, Kate Bishop, you should know this by now. By the way, what are you doing later? Want to have dinner like badasses?"

"I—sure, yeah, let's do it. Absolutely."

One of the boys they had apparently not dodged yet had circled back to them. His friend could be seen chatting up a security guard, no doubt with the intent of warning her that a guest had just casually threatened to murder him. "Yeah, I'd make that dinner date soon and leave now if I were you."

Kate took her turn at bat: "Well, by some happy biological coincidence you are not us, so. Y'know. Shut up."

Her knees buckled when Yelena thumped her approvingly on the back. "That's telling him, baby chick!"

"Baby chick?" Kate frowned. "I called you a badass and I get baby chick?"

"Because you are apprentice of Hawkeye," Yelena explained, not seeming to understand why Kate would take this as an insult. "I can try something else if you prefer. Hawkling? Fledgling? Hawk Junior?"

"I'm not his apprentice, I'm his partner," Kate said with a hint of pride. "Is that… I mean, I hope that's not a deal-breaker for us."

Raising her eyebrows, Yelena repeated "us?" in a voice so husky Kate might've passed out if it wouldn't have meant falling into the arms of that creep.

"I mean, us getting dinner or being friends," she hastily explained. "I didn't ask Clint a ton about it, so I don't know exactly how you guys left things. You obviously didn't kill him, so like, thanks for that."

Yelena sobered up (but not enough to refrain from sticking out her leg to trip the skeezy boy dashing off when he realized he'd been harassing an Avenger's protégé). "I spared him for Natasha's sake. What can I say? The man has taste, that is obvious. He cared about my sister, who was absolutely without question the coolest person in the entire world or other worlds, and he cares about you. And you are a cherub," she laughed, which Kate later supposed might've meant Yelena found her totally un-intimidating but in that moment as it came tumbling out with a musical little laugh she could not help herself from feeling warmed by it. "So, he can't be all bad."

The soft tone took Kate by surprise, and it was difficult not to return Yelena's smile. "Would you tell me about her? Natasha, I mean. Clint was kinda quiet on the subject, and I feel like Rogers: The Musical didn't delve very much into what she was like besides being, like, the token girl of the OG Avengers. I-I'd love to learn more about her, if that's not too personal to ask. And if it is, no worries, I get it and we can just keep talking about weapons. That'd be cool, too."

The invitation to talk about her favorite person in the galaxy was not one that Yelena was given often, and certainly not with this amount of reverence. She was touched and deeply so, caught off guard by Kate's interest.

"Maybe we can talk about both. I like you very much, Kate Bishop," she said (and Kate could not help thinking how platonic her voice sounded). "But memories are sacred, and I do not think we have broken bread enough times for me to break my heart open wide for sharing so much holiness with you. But I appreciate, truly, your asking, and there are still some things I can share with you. You never saw Natasha fight, did you?"

"Only as interpreted by a Broadway star on the rise, choreographed and set to music."

Yelena blinked slowly. "I am going to pretend I did not hear that, and I am going to explain to you her most kickass fighting styles. If any choreographers are here lurking around, who knows, maybe they can take notes."

It was not the sort of reminiscing Kate had imagined, but it was still far from impersonal. The way Yelena rhapsodized about Natasha's skill was not dissimilar from the way Kate had often gone on about Hawkeye for years. As Yelena spoke and mimed out some moves (only discreetly in hallways after she set off an alarm with a roundhouse kick alarmingly close to a Monet), there was a light in her eyes Kate had not seen there before. It was the light of true hero worship.

"I know the polite thing here would be to ask if you have any siblings, but I already know that you do not," Yelena said after a while.

Polite, that's a joke. "Hah, right."

Yelena swerved in front of Kate to look her in the eye, shoulders held high and hands clasped behind her back. She wasn't very tall; in fact, she was shorter than Kate, yet Kate found herself feeling a little daunted all the same. An interrogation felt forthcoming but she was excited for it.

"All right, Kate Bishop, go ahead. You already spilled about your I Spy game, now tell me something else I don't know about you. Something with juice."

"You mean something juicy."

"Like I said. If you have such juice."

Any small, random memory would have done and Kate was about to give voice to whichever one first came to mind, but just as she opened her mouth to do so, she had a better idea. She raised one eyebrow and smirked as best as a person could who'd forgotten their mouth was agape.

Yelena's brow furrowed. "What—what is happening, you are having stroke? I don't remember anything in your medical history that—"

"No," Kate said sharply, walking around Yelena to reach the next gallery.

To keep up with Kate's long-legged stride, Yelena started jogging backwards. "You are smiling, though. What is it?"

"I just thought that could be something for you to earn. Y'know, make you work for that kind of detail. Stuff you can't just google or whatever dark web searching you do."

They'd reached a stairwell and Yelena cut Kate off before she could start going up. Kate leaned against the wall in a pose that would've been cocky until Yelena boxed her in a little. A week ago this might've been intended as threatening, but now Yelena was clearly being playful, and Kate did not in the least regret feeling caught. Yelena's arm was planted against the wall over Kate's shoulder, and Kate held her breath as Yelena's gaze dropped from her eyes down to her lips and back again.

"All right, Kate Bishop. I accept your challenge. Now, I just have one question for you."

"Yes?" Kate asked in what she had wanted to be an equally sultry murmur but came out as more of a squeak.

"I think we have seen all the cool things at this museum now. Where are we finding the best pizza in New York City? I think that's what I'd like for my badass dinner, what about you? No forks necessary."

Jack had offered the penthouse to Kate while she searched for a new place, and as he was out of town to "clear his head" for a while, she felt secure in bringing Yelena back there for the evening. They were laden down with pizza boxes, a bag of garlic knots and a case of beer that Kate had managed to convince Yelena to try over vodka. Yelena had been delighted by all the different pizza toppings available, and wanted to try several despite Kate's insistence that if she wanted the kind of pizza New York was famous for, a regular pie would suffice. But Yelena had been persuasive, and Kate now found a slew of way-too-much food in Jack's fancy dining room.

Quick work was made of spreading the slices on the table in a very uniform fashion, and Kate was about to hunt for a pizza cutter before Yelena just slipped a knife from out of her boot and began cutting each one in half.

"Oh, you can have all of the beet one, I don't—"

"You will try," Yelena said in a calm but no-nonsense tone. She glanced up to smile at Kate, who was starting to question the wisdom of subjecting a stomach filled with butterflies to so much cheese. "Go on, vegetables are good for you. Eat up, daddy says so."

Was this a language barrier issue, or did Yelena know what she was doing by calling herself that? Unable to think of a way to ask without incriminating herself, Kate accepted the slice and promptly burned the roof of her mouth. She sputtered and put it back down as Yelena burst out laughing.

"Thanks a lot," Kate choked, annoyed yet unable to keep from joining in Yelena's infectious laughter. "Mm, hot and gross. I'm gonna pass."

"No, come on, you could not really try if it scalded you." Yelena picked up the slice and blew on it, then put her arm around Kate. "Come on, baby chick. I will feed you, it will be adorable."

"Ew, you're not gonna chew it and throw it up in my mouth, are you?"

"See? You so easily imagined something much more gross to you than beets. Open up."

With just some reluctance, Kate blew on the slice herself and obeyed. Only when she had swallowed it did Yelena let go of her and try a bite of her own piece.

"Still a no for you, eh?" she asked, noting the pain in Kate's expression. "What a good sport you are for trying, though. Ah, well. More for me, then, including—" She wiped away a smidgen of sauce that had been by Kate's mouth, and idly sucked her finger before continuing to cut up the other slices. The thrill this sent down Kate's spine was undeniable, somehow spurred on by the fact that Yelena had not been trying to be sexy on purpose.

As they made their way through the smorgasbord of pizza, Kate's slices missed her mouth several times because she was so distracted just watching Yelena. There was nothing glamorous about eating pizza, but she was just so goddamn cute about it. The way her fingers delicately handled the thin crust as she balanced heavier toppings; the contraction of her eyebrows in surprise or ecstasy; the crumbs that stuck to her deep plum lipstick—a color that frankly should never have worked on anyone, but of course this gorgeous woman could pull it off.

"I hope you don't mind having so much leftovers," Yelena said sometime later. "Thank you for indulging my interest to try so many different kinds."

"Yeah, we needed like a tapas pizza place or something. You can take it back with you, though, wherever you're staying. Which is, ah, where?" Kate asked in her best effort to sound casual.

Yelena just shook her head with a small smile. "That is need-to-know, and you do not need to know it, Kate Bishop. But I will be taking the extra pizza there with me, so thank you."

It seemed they had both eaten their fill, and Kate was anxious to do what she could to extend the evening. Her mind drifted to the closet of board games Jack inexplicably had, but she was having trouble picturing one that Yelena would be interested in. A friendly fencing match might've been good fun, but Yelena had packed away enough beer that Kate—feeling buzzed on attraction if not too tipsy herself—was wary of suggesting any activity which involved sharp objects.

Just then Lucky hopped onto the couch, which Jack had forbidden but Kate liked to encourage. That gave her the idea: "Hey, wanna watch some TV?"

The offer was accepted at once, and Lucky was delighted to find himself soon flanked by two very attentive humans. Kate started flipping through streaming options and the only thing that surprised her more than Yelena's selection of Golden Girls was her enthusiasm for singing along with the theme song (albeit slightly off-key).

"Wonders will never cease," Kate chuckled.

"What, do you not like this show? I thought it was American classic."

"It is, it's great! I'm just surprised you like it. I kinda thought you'd be more into like, American Ninja Warrior or Shark Tank or something."

"Why would I need either of those when I am already a stronger warrior than any of them, and fearsome as any shark?" Yelena balked. "Now that," she said, pointing and laughing along with the studio audience at a perfectly timed barb from Bea Arthur. "That is talent I do not have. That is art." Sensing that Kate was not wholly satisfied with this answer, no matter how true it was, Yelena went on: "My mother used to watch this as her, she'd call it her unwinding show. She used to say 'oh, they kill me!' every episode and I loved to hear her laugh. She had to explain the jokes to me sometimes."

That was a level of detail Kate had not expected to hear. She got lost for a moment, watching Yelena's beaming face shine in the light from the TV, wondering about her mother and what kind of childhood Yelena had been able to have. The questions bubbling to the top of her mind all felt too invasive to ask, and she certainly didn't want to poke a hole in the happy bubble Yelena seemed ensconced in right now.

"Decent beer, good dog, good show," Yelena sighed, resting her dirty combat boots on Jack's priceless coffee table. "See, you don't need all this luxury, Kate Bishop. Simple pleasures are enough."

Simple pleasures like the way their hands would sometimes graze against each other over Lucky's fur. Each time it happened, Kate had to work hard not to look, not to apologize or otherwise acknowledge it out of fear that Yelena would ensure it didn't happen again. She was desperate to make a move, but felt tormented by the possibility that she was misreading something and if she was, that Yelena would never let her hear the end of it. Or maybe she would let her by disappearing and never coming back. It was hard to figure out whether the thought of never seeing Yelena again was preferable to being endlessly mocked for the feelings she had somehow developed so goddamn fast.

Kate had no idea how many episodes had passed by the time she got tired enough to stop petting Lucky and her hand just lay still on his back. Almost as if she were trying to prove a point about being having greater endurance, Yelena kept up a gentle scratch behind his ears a while longer. Eventually, though, Lucky decided he didn't much care for two deadweights resting their arms on him and, now feeling more overcrowded than pampered, he got up off the couch.

His exit stirred Kate a little, and she straightened up. "Damn, it got late. D'you wanna…" Stay the night? Stay forever?

"I'd like to finish this episode, yes," Yelena answered. The words came out scratchy from tiredness and holy hell it sounded hot because it was too easy for Kate to close her eyes and imagine she was hearing that voice calling her back to bed in the morning.

The couch cushion between them was still warm, and both kept their hands on it. Though not quite as tired as Kate, Yelena was a bit more buzzed and knew that she would risk doing or saying something horrifically stupid if she stayed too much later. She was, however, willing to risk putting at least one card onto a table that no longer felt quite so far away.

"Can I tell you something I wanted to do at the museum all day, Kate Bishop?"

"Damn it, I knew you were gonna tell me you wished you'd stolen some antique dueling pistol or something."

"No, not that," Yelena chuckled. "A much simpler pleasure, and I hope not half so reckless."

Kate waited for her to say something, but instead, Yelena just shifted her hand closer to Kate's and threaded their fingers together. Neither of them looked away from the screen, though Kate had never felt less captivated by television in her life. It took all her energy to focus on keeping her hand from trembling, a task that got harder and harder as Yelena's fingers began making a thoughtful study of her own.

"Nice calluses," she murmured, and Kate knew it was a compliment, not the kind of sarcastic observation she'd heard many times over the years. "I would expect nothing less."

Now would be a great time to slip in some badass archery story but for once Kate knew to reign in her anxious rambling. Maybe a brief comment, something flirtatious to test the waters would do, but Kate was at a total loss for words—a loss that was apparently a bottomless pit, because she somehow felt even more speechless when Yelena moved their palms together for a firmer hold. She shivered, and Yelena noticed.

"Are you cold, Kate Bishop?" she asked, and there was no teasing in her tone this time. "Your sweet dog took the warmth of his body temperature when he left." That, at least, got Kate to laugh and nod. "You can move closer, if you like. I don't bite." She waited until Kate took her up on this before adding, "unless of course you are into that kind of thing."

It was delivered like a joke, but Kate was now sitting too close to see if Yelena was intending to laugh with or at her. She didn't have a chance to think of a good reply before Yelena threw an arm around her, pulling Kate in closer and keeping their hands clasped.

Oh god, oh god, oh my god

"You are tense. You want me to move?"

"No," Kate said, and she was grateful that the word came out softly instead of the trumpet blare shooting around her head. "No, it's okay."

"Good." Yelena gave Kate's hand a squeeze, and Kate swore she felt her heart clench in rhythm with it.

The pizza, the beer, and the late hour were beginning to take their toll on top of the unprecedented warmth coursing through Kate, and she found herself starting to drift off. She wanted to fight it, sure that Clint would never let her hear the end of it if he were to somehow find out that she fallen asleep in the presence of a former opponent. But more so, she wanted to fight anything that might make her later question whether this had all been a dream or not.

When a loud sigh from Lucky woke her up a few hours later and she found herself on the couch alone, Kate might have been convinced it had been a dream if not for two things: she was almost positive that she had not gotten a blanket out herself; and more conclusively, there was a dark plum lipstick mark on the back of her hand.