Kate and Peter are in a heated argument about empanadas when she sees her again. The woman. Her words trail off, and whatever cool, winning point she was about to say slips out of her mind. She stares.

The woman—-the gorgeous, mysterious, breathtaking woman—-has been in their class for the last two weeks. She's a transfer student from Russia. Though, why anyone would transfer to a community college in NYC is anybody's guess. It's not like it's Harvard. She walks into class, takes a look at the professor's desk—-empty—-and takes a seat on the back of the room.

Peter catches her staring and pokes her forearm. "Stop staring."

"I'm—-I'm not," she says, even though she still is. It's like her eyes are conditioned to follow the woman, and figure out every little detail about her. The stylish but efficient ponytail. The form-fitting tank saying, PEOPLE ARE LIKE MATH; I DON'T LIKE THEM . And the light eyeshadow covering her eyes, accentuating their shape and color. If it were anyone else, Kate would judge her, because who wears make-up to college, of all places? But when it comes to this woman, she could waltz around the campus nude and Kate wouldn't question it.

"God, you're such a simp," Peter says, chuckling, "it's sad, honestly."

"Oh, shut up," she says, elbowing him on the ribs. "I never give you shit about MJ."

A light blush covers his face, but Peter puffs out his chest. "That's because me and MJ are together already. With you, well…" He raises his eyebrow, giving her a once-over, and shakes his head. "I don't think I've even seen you say a word to her."

That's because she hasn't.

Not that he needs to know that. "I mean," she says, toying with her pen, "we don't exactly have a lot in common."

The woman looks like she has an interesting life, what with the confidence she displays. She's the type to party, smoke (both the normal kind and the weed kind), and get into fights. No, not just that; she's the type to win fights.

And Kate, well, she still sleeps with night lights.

"I don't even know her name," she adds.

Peter shrugs. "Ask her, then," he says, like it's that simple.

"How?"

"Well, you can…" He starts to falter, his social awkwardness showing. Despite him proving his awesomeness by being semester away from finishing college despite being eighteen, his confidence is still lower than a grave. "I mean, maybe if you—-no. But what if—-yeah, nuh-uh. I guess you…. And then she…" He hangs his head, groaning.

"Wow, real good advice there, matchmaker."

He takes in a deep breath, and faces her again. "What if you—-"

The professor walks in, bellowing out about a surprise test (like they're still in high school), and telling them all to shut up. Kate and Peter do as they're told.

Kate keeps on watching the woman.

Peter keeps watching her watching the woman, partly in amusement, partly in pity.

One day, out of the blue, he says, "What if she's a spy?"

"What?"

"I mean, she's Russian, isn't she? Russians have spies."

"That's—-I can't even begin to—first of all, stop being racist—-"

"Hey, I'm not—"

"Second of all, every country probably has spies at this point."

He squints at her. "Probably not Canada."

"Yeah, no, they're too nice, but the rest of the world—we all have spies, so… yeah."

If she thinks her solid, well thought-out argument is going to keep Peter from repeating his totally-not-racist claim, then she's wrong. It becomes an inside joke, even though it's so not funny.

At one point, Peter invites her over to hang out with his old friends; Ned and MJ. It's weird, hanging out with people who are way younger than her, but they don't make her feel left out, which is nice. MJ won't take anyone's shit, and Ned is the pyshical embodiment of a golden retriever. She can see why Peter likes hanging out with them.

MJ pulls her aside in private to say, "Thank you."

"For what?" Asks Kate, blinking.

"For, you know—-" She shrugs, like she doesn't know how to say it either. "For being there for him. He, uh… "

Oh.

Oh.

Kate gets it. It must be hard for Peter to plunge through semester after semester worth of education all in a span of a few months, then end up with people who are older. More intimidating. With his friends in another school entirely, out of reach.

"Hey, Peter's a great kid," she says, plastering on a reassuring smile. "I love hanging out with him."

MJ blinks at her. Then smiles; small but genuine. Then, her smile shifts into a devious smirk. "So," she says, too lightly, "I heard you have spy-related problems."

Kate groans, hanging her head. "He told you?"

"Only because I asked," she says. Pauses. "And because it's too funny not to tell."

"Ugh, please stop torturing me," says Kate, rubbing her blushing face, hiding it with her palm.

MJ watches her, her face growing thoughtful. "Say something to her."

"What?" Asks Kate, peeking between her fingers.

"Just say something." MJ shrugs again. "That's the first step."

Great. And now she's taking advice from a teenager. Terrific. Kate bites her lip, swallowing. "What if it doesn't work out?"

MJ shrugs. What is it with this girl and shrugging? "Then it doesn't work out."

Huh. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Talk to her.

Yeah.

That sounds easy, right?

But to talk to her, Kate would need to be in a talking distance. Which means, she has to approach her.

Oh god, she has to approach the mysterious, badass woman.

Her! Nerdy, geeky, gay disaster Kate!

"C'mon," says Peter, lightly punching her forearm. "I believe in you! You can do it!"

She doesn't believe him, but she believes that he believes her. And that has its own comfort.

She huffs, and rolls her shoulders, straightening herself in her seat.

Together, they wait, watching the entrance door to the class. And wait. And wait.

And it slams open, revealing the woman, her face impassive and her outfit on point, like, whoa, that braid, damn, and, wait, are those heels, is she seriously wearing—-

"Now's your chance!" Peter says.

Right. Yeah.

Focus, Kate.

She waits until the woman is seated, slouched and pulling out her phone, then stands up. Then walks towards her, navigating through endless seats. Thankfully, their row is empty, which means she won't have to shuffle through a bunch of people while unapologetically saying sorry.

The woman notices her as she approaches, and raises one perfect eyebrow. Kate sits right next to her. She opens her mouth, thinking of the dozens of pick-up lines Peter's helped her choose this morning, but what comes out is: "Are you a spy?"

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

What has she done?

Before she can backtrack, the professor comes in, and class starts.

Kate tries to find a way to clarify and apologise to the woman throughout class, but she can't find the right moment. Instead, she waits until it's over and everyone's shuffling out of their seats before speaking again. "I didn't mean that."

The woman glances at her, stretching, her stomach showing as her shirt rides up. Kate's throat dries. "You didn't mean to ask if I was a spy?"

"Yes," says Kate without thinking. "I mean, no. I mean…" She huffs. Well, it's not like she's going to score herself a date at this point, so she might as well come clean. "Look, I sorta have had a crush on you ever since the semester started. And, uh… my friend, Peter, he noticed. Then we both started watching you. Not in a creepy way," she adds, raising her hands, palms forward. "Just. Watching. Like, in a oh-she's-cute kind of way, you know?"

The woman's head titls, a strand of hair falling to her face, framing her gorgeous jawline. "Go on."

Kate clears her throat. "Right, so, uh… well, we sort of started talking about you. Well, he did. Because he knew I liked you. And one day he was like, 'I bet she's a spy.'"

"Because of the accent?"

"Because of the accent," says Kate, nodding. "So… yeah." She shrugs, then tells herself she needs to stop hanging out with MJ so much.

The woman lets out a soft "huh" sound. The class is empty at this point. It's just them. Kate blushes, not sure why.

"What is your name?"

"Kate Bishop," she says, like she's on a job interview.

"Kate Bishop," the woman repeats, and in her low voice and hot-as-hell accent, it sounds like it belongs to a duchess. "Do you like coffee?"

The question takes her by surprise, and Kate sits up straighter. "Uh, yeah, totally."

"Good." The woman grabs Kate's notebook and pen, and writes something in the bottom. Then, she stands up and walks away. "We can hash out the details later."

Wait. Is she—-?

Are they—-?

Kate glances on her notebook. It's a number. It must be the woman's.

Kate barely suppresses the urge to squeal and jump around like a toddler.

"But wait," she says, as the woman opens the door, "I don't even know your—-"

The door slams closed.

"—-name…"

Kate blinks. She looks back down on her notebook.

And there, below the number, is a name, in a slanted handwriting; Yelena Belova.

"Oh."

(She tells Peter the story, and he can't stop laughing. Later on, she's invited to a group chat with Ned, MJ, and Peter. The group chat's name is: r u a spy? )

(Kate leaves the group twice before resigning to her fate.)