Summary:
We see a familiar face, learn some new moves, and visit a new city.
Chapter 4
Any hope of putting the previous night behind her was dashed when Yelena entered her quarters and saw a familiar redhead resting on her pillow.
"Late night?" Natasha drawled.
"Obviously."
Yelena loved her sister, she really did, but she did not want to explain…everything.
"Nice shirt." Natasha sat up, eyeing her little sister.
Six years difference in their ages, not even related by blood, and somehow being around Natasha still left her feeling like the little sister.
"Thanks. I stole it." Yelena rummaged through her drawers to make it look like she had something to do.
"It's been—"
"How have—"
They spoke at the same time, then laughed, the tension between them eased slightly. Yelena flopped down on the bed beside Natasha.
"Where were you this time? Did you bring me presents? Snacks?"
"America. And snacks are presents. Where have you been?" Natasha leaned over to tug a bag from where it had been partially hidden beside the bed.
"Out." Yelena opened the bag between them, carefully pulling out each individually wrapped item.
"Stasia told me about the club and that guy. She also told me that the last time she saw you, you were leaving with him. And now you're sneaking back in wearing a t-shirt that is very clearly a man's. Did he— are you alright?"
Yelena blinked, her hand pausing inside the bag.
"I'm fine. I— it's been taken care of."
Natasha narrowed her eyes and stared at her for a long moment, and Yelena willed every thought of the night before out of her head as if her sister could read her mind. It was absurd, of course, Natasha couldn't read her mind. But still, she wanted no hint of emotion to show on her face.
"Which one should we try first?"
With American candy coursing through her veins, the sour ones had been her favorites, Yelena had an excess of energy to work out.
"Come on, show me something cool," she needled her sister, bumping their shoulders together as they walked together toward the sparring room. "Come on, come on, come on!" Doing a little hop, she grabbed her sister's hand to drag her even faster.
Natasha laughed.
"God, you sound like a kid right now. Yeah, I've got something cool to show you."
Together they walked through the mostly empty room, finding a mat in a corner.
"Okay, so you're going to attack me," Natasha said, braiding her hair back and rolling the braid into a knot at the back of her head.
Yelena watched in the mirror, waiting for her to finish.
"Yeah, but like, how? What are you trying to show me? Is this, like, a punch-you-in-the-face kind of thing? Am I kicking in your ribs? Do you need some theatrical spins? Poses? What kind of attack are you looking for?"
Natasha rolled her eyes, then moved behind Yelena to braid her back into two braids that she coiled at the back of her head. No flying plaits meant less chance of having your head yanked back in a fight. Yelena could do it herself, but whenever Natasha was around, she let her sister do it for her. Bonding, or some shit.
"Nothing fancy. Just…come at me."
Now Yelena rolled her eyes but did as she was told. In about half a second, Natasha had flipped herself around and ended up staring down at Yelena with her legs braced on Yelena's shoulders with her fist half an inch from her sister's nose.
"Whoa, that is cool. Do it again!"
Natasha did it twice more, then broke the movement down into segments for Yelena to learn. After a few slow practice runs, Natasha pushed off the floor, launching herself toward Yelena. They grappled for a while until Yelena had the move down.
"One more time," Natasha said, a faint sheen of sweat shone on her forehead.
"Last one," Yelena agreed.
They both settled into a ready stance, then Natasha rushed forward, fist raised.
Yelena slipped behind Natasha. A flash of silver, and Natasha stopped. Or rather, Natasha was pushed aside, and a large black shape took her place. But Yelena was already moving forward, so she shoved harder off the floor than she had with her sister, and found herself with her thighs on either side of the Winter Soldier's head.
It was at that moment that she realized she was still wearing his shirt. She'd tugged on shorts before dragging her sister to the sparring room, but…yeah.
Ice-blue eyes looked up into hers, and she felt his fingers dig into her thighs. Had all the oxygen been sucked out of the room?
"You forgot to follow through."
She'd forgotten Natasha was there.
"Right. I wasn't expecting…" Yelena trailed off.
"You should try it on someone his size anyway," Natasha said.
"Yeah. Try it again." Yelena's voice sounded miles away as she braced her hands on his shoulders, pulled her legs off him, and slid her body down the length of his.
Was she imagining his hands on her waist, steadying her?
And surely there must have been a better way to get down than…that.
Tucking a stray hair back, Yelena backed away, looking at her boots.
"Ready?" Natasha called.
A grunt was the only answer she received from him. Not trusting her voice, Yelena just nodded and bounded off the floor. In a matter of seconds, she found herself with her knees pressed into the mat, the Winter Soldier's head between them.
It was the first time she'd ever taken him down, and she didn't think he'd just let her do it, either.
Panting, she eased herself off him and stood, holding her hand out to help him up. He took it, unfolding to his full height.
Nothing showed on his face, but Yelena thought his breathing seemed…off. Like his chest hitched just the slightest bit as she peered up into his face.
"Lena, let's go. I'm starving, and I know you are. We're getting pizza after that."
"Yeah. Pizza." Blindly, Yelena followed her sister out, pausing at the door, to look over her shoulder.
He stood where she'd left him, watching her walk away.
xxx
Shit.
Once again, he hadn't meant to run into Belova. He'd just gone to the sparring room with the intention of pounding into a punching bag, wanting to get his knuckles bloody.
They wouldn't bleed, but the sentiment was still there.
Except she'd been there. Her voice, more animated than he'd heard before, reached him first. He hadn't even thought, just followed the sound to where the red-haired Widow was attacking her.
His body was moving while his brain was catching up to the fact that she didn't need him, she had never needed him . But whatever took over him needed to stop the false attack anyway.
As she vaulted her body around and up, he noticed several things at once. His shirt, she was still wearing his shirt. Her bare thighs were on his shoulders. He was holding them there, his hands on her skin, and she wasn't moving away . Her breath hitched when the other Widow spoke.
All he heard was "again".
When she slid off him, she flowed through his hands like water, and for a moment, her body fit perfectly against his, like the last puzzle piece turned to fit into its place. Then she stepped back, and all his air went with her.
The next thing he knew, he was pinned on the floor, her knees planted on either side of his head. How long had it been since someone had taken him down? He blinked, and she was standing, holding out her hand. It was so much smaller than his, but she was strong, helping him get unsteadily to his feet.
A tendril of hair fell loose from her braid, and he had to hold his breath to keep his hand from tucking it back where it belonged.
And then she was walking away, following the other Widow. But when she stopped to look back at him, a roaring, burning ache settled in his chest.
Shit.
xxx
Following Natasha came naturally to Yelena, like the good little sister she was. All the resentment Yelena felt still rankled her, but it was directed more toward everyone else. It wasn't Nat's fault that everyone compared them. Sometimes Yelena forgot that, and she enjoyed the rare time they spent together.
Natasha and Yelena only got to enjoy two days together before Yelena was sent out on assignment.
Time to clear her head, narrow her existence down to the laser focus that the job required. A whirlwind of pretentious parties, reconnaissance, a bit of half-hearted flirting, very little sleep, and the pinprick of a hypodermic needle later, and she'd completed her job. Normally, she didn't bother watching her handiwork as the government of whichever country this was toppled, but unease gripped her.
All she'd known was this: being sent out at someone else's bidding. A puppet with strings so long she couldn't see the hand holding them.
To what end?
All she'd ever known was death and blood on her hands. Even the time spent with Natasha before the Red Room was a blur. No real memories remained from that time, only feelings and fuzzy images.
"Stupid," she muttered as she switched off her phone screen, shoving this mission to the dark recesses of her memory like the rest of them.
Arriving back at the Red Room was complicated when returning from an assignment; debriefing and standard security protocols took hours. By the time she had made it through all of her sessions and reports, Yelena was exhausted and over it, and she stomped back to her bed. Too many years of training left her unable to just dump her bag on the floor and go to sleep, though, so she unpacked her small bag before dressing herself in the first clean clothes she could find and flopped onto the bed.
When she woke the next morning, it took a moment to orient herself to her surroundings. Stretching and yawning, Yelena stood and gathered the things she'd need for a shower before heading to the communal bathroom.
It was full, and Yelena leaned sleepily against the wall, waiting her turn. As she rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, she looked down to where the hem of the shirt brushed halfway to her knees.
His shirt. Shit.
Instantly, all of her interactions with him came flooding back. Especially the last one.
Her face burned, and heat pooled low in her belly.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to forget how he'd looked up at her, not angry, but…surprised. And when he'd helped her down…she hadn't noticed then, but now… it was almost like she'd transported back in time, she remembered so clearly. His large hands had been so startlingly gentle when he'd steadied her, holding her against him for half a second before letting go.
Shit .
No. She would not catch feelings for the Winter Fucking Soldier.
His name said enough. He was cold and frigid. And he was just having an off day. Yeah, that was it, right? He was having a weird day because he'd been up all night the night before…
Getting her out of the club, "taking care of" that asshat of a club-owner, and…bringing her cookies and coffee.
Yep. Totally normal things for a Winter Soldier to do.
Yelena groaned, still unable to forget the press of his fingers into her thighs. She took a really, really cold shower.
It didn't help.
So she went through the rest of her day like a horny teenager, irritable and easily startled. When her name was called in the corridor, she jumped.
"Belova! With me," One of the directors, whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember, called after her.
"Sir!" She snapped to attention and followed his brisk pace to an office that was still in the process of being set up for use.
"We're scouting a new location." A folder was smacked down on the desk. "I'm sending a few of you out for recon on the location and the locals, to get a feel for the area. Act like a tourist. See how much they'd notice of our… comings and goings. And I have a target for you. It'll be a joint mission, and all of the information is in here." Another folder slapped down in front of her.
"Yes, sir."
Within an hour, she had repacked and was sitting on a plane. They wanted her to act like a tourist, so she'd dressed like one, with a pretty sundress and her favorite boots. She'd left her hair falling around her shoulders, and it was driving her absolutely insane touching the bare skin between her shoulder blades.
Just add that to her list of irritations.
Annoying hair? Check.
New mission with an unknown variable? Check.
Hot and bothered for someone who was more popsicle than man? Check.
Sighing through her nose, she flicked the first folder open and studied it until the landing gear ground into place, grateful for the respite from her…predicament.
After she'd spent two days studying the area, taking selfies in front of old buildings and then meticulously studying them in her hotel room, it was time to meet up with her partner. So she pulled another sundress over her head and braided the front of her hair back out her face before lacing up her boots and stepping out of her room, touristy backpack in place.
The touristy schtick was probably her favorite type of cover, but it was the hardest for her to pull off. Aloof young widow? Easy peasy. Stern businesswoman? No problem. College student on a gap year trip? Not so much.
Tugging her phone from her pocket, she pulled up the map and double-checked the pins she'd dropped. Her target had a fairly consistent schedule, and she wanted to tail him for a while before the meet.
Her target's first stop was an expensive-looking coffee shop, and he was right on schedule. Probably not a coincidence, then, that the meet-up was to take place in the same cafe. A bit early, Yelena followed a few meters behind the suited man, stopping occasionally for selfies and fake-texting. Pretending to bend down to re-tie her boot, she let a few people into the shop before entering and joining the line. Four people stood between herself and the target. The line moved slowly, so Yelena thumbed open the camera and pressed record, smiling and spinning around as if showing off the inside of the shop to her social media followers. She paused with her back to the window, ostensibly to catch the ray of sunshine beaming through, and caught sight of long, dark hair and a leather jacket.
No fucking way.
She turned slightly, watching him continue along the street.
It was him.
Surely he wasn't who she was meeting. He couldn't be.
The Winter Soldier didn't belong to the Red Room like she did. He had an entirely different set of puppet masters pulling his strings. Which didn't explain why he was there, in the same city, passing by the same shop where she was to meet…whoever she was supposed to meet.
Behind her, someone swore at her as she belatedly realized that it was her turn at the counter. Quickly, she rattled off an order and gave a false name before settling at a small, high round table to wait.
When her order was called, she brushed past her target and glanced down at his table. The man was swiping through a dating app. And she'd read in his file that he was married. Gross.
Back at her table, she sipped her cappuccino and pulled up an app to try to clone his phone to hers. It wasn't strictly necessary; her overlords had access to all of his information. But she wanted to see if his swiping came to fruition.
Men.
She covered her snort with a cough into her mug just as the door banged open, and in walked the Winter Soldier.
Subtle, he was not, with his combat boots and black leather jacket.
He was enormous and frightening in his all-black clothes that did not blend into the suits and casual clothes most of the other patrons wore.
The entire cafe went silent and turned to stare at him, and in that moment she saw truly saw him as the Winter Soldier, even without his standard mask and stupid eyeliner.
Nearby, her target glanced up from his dating app for the first time since sitting down.
Shit. The man didn't need to catch wind of Frosty, just in case they were after the same guy. She needed to do something.
"Hey Hotshot! You're late!" she pouted at him and hopped out of her chair.
Oh god, she did not just call him…that.
Apparently, he hadn't realized she was there, because he turned toward her and blinked twice as she edged between tables to join him, standing on her toes to press a kiss on his cheek. The hint of stubble there rasped against her lips. His back stiffened.
"It's you?" she hissed into his ear.
He flinched. He actually flinched.
All he did was nod in agreement as she pushed close against his side and slid her fingers between his, babbling about what she'd seen during the day.
God, his hand was huge and surprisingly warm in hers.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he still didn't speak as Yelena steered him toward the counter.
Too bad if he didn't like it, they had to sell this now to avoid being made by her mark.
"Coffee. Black," he grunted.
Of course, that would be his order. She almost barked a laugh.
Instead, she let out a stupid high-pitched giggle and pointed at a pastry in the case. His blue eyes turned to stare at her.
"Will you get this one for me, babe? I forgot to order one."
"Sure thing, doll."
Did he just—
Oh, right. Because she called him Hotshot. And babe. Yelena cringed inwardly.
"Thanks, you're the best!" The voice that came from her lips was too high and bubbly to be her own, but she had to keep up the act. And she had to ignore the endearment that was unexpectedly sending tingles straight to places that did not need to be tingling during a fucking mission.
Holy shit, pull yourself together, she told herself as she sauntered back to her table. He only said it because you called him a nickname first. Snagging an empty chair from another table, Yelena guided him to it and pushed gently to get him to sit.
"I'll get it," she chirped as his order was called, and she felt his eyes track her every movement as she leaned across the counter to get his mug and her plate. After a moment's consideration, she swiped an extra fork from the container before heading back to where he waited.
Steam curled from his mug as she set it down before him, but he grabbed it anyway, wrapping his hand around the mug itself as the handle was apparently too small. Yelena watched in awe as he drained the burning hot coffee in two sips.
Her own mug was only half empty.
The target was long gone, but they couldn't leave now without risking getting caught. And she found that she didn't want to leave yet, anyway.
So she handed him the extra fork.
"Share with me? I can't handle the whole thing."
His lips quirked as he glanced at her, and only then did the double entendre hit her. She chose not to react, using her fork to cut off the corner of the cake.
It was so good , with layers of chocolate mousse between the sponge layers. Failing to contain her moan, she tried to play it off with a sip of her coffee.
"Good?" he asked, his lips twitching again.
"Yes. Try it." When he didn't move, she cut another piece with her fork and held it out to him. Instead of taking the fork as she expected, he ducked his head and ate the cake off her fork.
"It's good, but I'm not sure it's good enough to make the noise you just made."
Oh, god. Why did she moan when she ate? Why?
"Then give it back." Yelena reached out to tug the plate back toward her, but faster than she could see, his left hand darted out and gripped her wrist to stop her from moving.
"I said it was good."
"Okay, Hotshot," she said and grinned at him.
For a moment, she thought he'd return the grin. He just looked at her, and her disappointment ached like a bruise as she found herself wanting to see him smile.
Silence fell over the table as they ate, and Yelena watched him. Trying to read him was like trying to hold water in your hands; just when you thought you had it figured out, it all slipped away. The muscle in his jaw ticked again as their eyes met, and Yelena silently refused to look away.
His blue gaze was not icy, as she'd come to expect, but something…else. More like ocean depths than an iceberg.
He looked away first, and when Yelena looked down she saw that his hand still rested on her wrist.
"Last bite," he said, keeping her from wondering why, exactly, he was still touching her. When she glanced up at him, he held his fork out to her. As she leaned forward to take it, something shifted in his eyes, and at the last second, before she could take the bite, he ate it instead.
Her jaw dropped. Something that might have been the vaguest hint of a smirk crossed his lips.
"What the fuck ?" she hissed.
Shaking his head as if trying to clear it, he jerked his hand back as if only just realizing that it was still there, engulfing her wrist.
"Let's go," he barked and shoved his chair back.
Yelena's hackles rose. She would not be ordered about on her own mission by this man who had stolen her last bite of cake.
"I'm not finished."
She did not stand. With every ounce of belligerence she possessed, she drank the now-cold remainder of her cappuccino as slowly as possible while he towered over her. Then, just to piss him off, she stacked their dishes and slowly rose to return them to the confused looking barista. And she fished around in her backpack for nearly a minute under the guise of looking for a bill to drop in the tip jar.
When Yelena finally got back to their table, he was still waiting, his arms crossed over that stupidly large chest. And, because she really wanted to annoy him, she went out of her way to take up as much of his space as she could, going so far as brushing the entire front of her body against his.
All her move got her was a clenched fist from him and another wave of frustration from her.
Fuck.
"We can go now," she said sweetly before pushing through the door.
xxx
Belova was trying to kill him.
That was the only explanation for her intentionally invading his space and pushing herself against him like that. He'd felt every curve, and just… fuck .
The cake had been good, but hearing her moan had been better.
Had he been trying to flirt by stealing the last bite?
God, he needed to pull himself together.
The mission. He was there to kill a man, not yank up the hem of her sundress and bury himself in Belova.
Where had that thought even come from ?
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he blinked and realized that he was still following her as she traversed the sidewalk. And she was speaking.
"—not sure why it needed to be a joint thing. The dossier didn't say it was you."
"I— what?"
Belova rolled her eyes.
"Why are you here?" she bit out each word.
"A hit."
"That is fairly obvious, Hotshot . Who is your target? The same as mine? " Her lips twisted into a scowl.
"I don't know who your mark is, doll ." He should stop calling her that. She probably hated it.
A flush crept up her neck, probably in anger.
"The guy in the cafe? With the briefcase on the table? He's my hit."
"His boss is mine."
"Goddamnit," she swore. "I could have taken out both. They would've let Natasha have both." Her shoulders slumped a bit.
"I know you could take them both." It was the truth. "They should've let you. But I'm here now."
Belova cocked her head and looked up at him, pursing her lips and stopping at a crosswalk. A strand of hair blew across her face in the warm breeze.
His hand moved of its own volition to tuck her hair back behind her ear. Across the street, the crosswalk buzzed, and she turned away before he could.
"Thanks for that," she said over her shoulder. "And — sorry for grabbing you in the cafe. I realize you probably don't appreciate that."
"It's fine. It's—it's the first time anyone has touched me in— I don't know how long. Without it being training or, you know, punching or…" he trailed off as he realized what he'd said.
Too distracted by the sway of her hips in her sundress, he'd somehow lost his knife-sharp control, and he wasn't sure he wanted to regain it.
"Oh," was all she said with a crease in her brow before she pulled out her phone. "Come on, Hotshot, we're not going to make it to his office before he does, but if we hurry we can scout out his usual lunch spot."
A few hours later, the two of them were pretending to be window shopping outside a jewelry store that sat across the street at a diagonal from Belova's target's standard lunch restaurant. She kept pulling out her phone and taking pictures of herself, and he made a point to keep at a distance until she reached out and dragged him against her, shoving herself under his arm.
"Pretend like you like me," she said through gritted teeth that were supposed to be a smile.
Why would she think he didn't like her?
"Okay?" he said, and looked down into her hazel eyes just as the shutter snapped.
Ignoring the instincts that were screaming at him to stop, that she wouldn't want to be touched by him, he placed his hands lightly on her waist and pulled her closer to him, aligning their bodies and bringing their faces closer together. The world narrowed down to just the two of them.
"Take another one."
"Yeah… " Did she sound breathless, or was he imagining it?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her phone come up, and he leaned closer so she could get them both in frame. Inches separated their faces now, and he was so close that he could see the dark, blown circles of her pupils.
Was she afraid of him? Or was it something else?
This close, he caught that soft vanilla scent again and flexed his fingers to keep from gripping her hair and burying his face against her neck.
A sharp intake of breath reminded him that he still had his hands on her waist, and he pushed away from her, yanking his hands back, and the sights and sounds of the city rushed back to assault his senses.
"Sorry," he said, ducking his head.
"It's fine, I—look! There's my guy. Is that yours with him?"
Slowly, he looked around to see where she was surreptitiously pointing.
"Yeah, that's him."
They watched in silence, her still pretending to play with her phone, and he noted the two men's eyes flicker over where he and Belova stood more than once. So when Belova's mark stood and turned in their direction, he really had no choice but to react.
A small, surprised gasp left Belova's lips as he grabbed her hips, tugging her against his chest before backing her toward the brick wall right behind her. Lowering his lips to her ear, he breathed her in before speaking.
"They're looking this way. Just…I'm sorry. Just play along, okay?"
Belova shivered, but nodded, her hands sliding around behind him to slip beneath his jacket. One of his legs pushed between hers, and she bent her knee, bracing her boot against the wall, her leg bracketing his.
This close, her scent was intoxicating, and his heart pounded in his ears as he turned his head just to look at her. But then his lips brushed over hers, and he was lost.
xxx
The Winter Soldier was kissing her.
The Winter Soldier was kissing her.
His lips had barely touched hers before he'd gripped her hips like his life depended on it, pulling her as close as he could, and slanting his lips against hers, hard. His tongue flicked over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him.
Heat shot through her, and Yelena ignored the little voice that was telling her it was just because he didn't want their marks to see them.
So she allowed herself to fall into kissing him the way she was, realizing that she'd wanted to since the night she'd called him out of the shadows.
One of his hands slid up her back to fist in her hair, tugging her head back. Not to be outdone, she did the same to him, scraping her nails through the soft locks at the back of his neck. He growled, reaching down to pull her other leg up so that both her legs were wrapped around his waist, and he pulled her higher, pushing her back into the bricks.
Closer, she wanted him closer. He felt so good that she wanted, needed, more . When his lips brushed against the column of her throat, her moan was loud enough that both of them froze, and the reality of making out on the sidewalk with the fucking Winter Soldier hit her.
Looking over his shoulder, she saw that both their marks had left the outdoor restaurant.
"You should probably—" he broke off and looked down at her.
His face was much closer than usual, and she realized that her legs were still wrapped around him.
"Oh, shit! Sorry," she said as she slid down. Yelena told herself that the hard ridge she'd just felt was definitely a gun .
"Belova…" His voice came out deeper than usual, and she was still close enough that it reverberated through her chest.
"Don't call me that. It's not my— it's the name they gave me. Call me Yelena. Please."
"Yelena."
An involuntary shiver skittered down her spine, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow her breathing.
"Yelena, I…"
"It's fine. For the mission, yeah? Can't let the marks see us before we shoot them!" Her voice was too bright and chirpy. "Let's go back to my room and nail— uh—hammer—" oh god why " straighten out the details."
"Lead the way," he said.
And this time, he reached out and threaded his fingers between hers as she led him back to her room.