Chapter Text
Late evening in their apartment. Natasha sits at the table, the weak light of the single lamp throwing long shadows on the walls. She’s tense, waiting for Yelena, who has just returned after being out for hours
Yelena stepped through the door, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the evening chill. She froze when she saw Natasha sitting at the table, her arms crossed, green eyes sharp and unyielding.
“Where were you?” Natasha asked, her voice calm, but her tone leaving no room for evasion.
Yelena sighed, kicking the door shut behind her. “I went for a walk.”
Natasha leaned forward slightly, her fingers drumming against the table. “For hours?”
Yelena shrugged, avoiding Natasha’s gaze. “I needed some air.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, Yelena.”
“I’m not lying,” Yelena snapped, though her voice lacked conviction. She moved toward the small stove, busying herself with the kettle. “Why do you care so much? I can take care of myself.”
Natasha stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I care because I saw her.”
Yelena froze, her hand hovering over the kettle. “Saw who?”
Natasha took a step closer, her voice low and sharp. “The woman who’s been sneaking around here. The one you’ve been meeting.”
Yelena turned slowly, her expression carefully blank, but Natasha saw the flicker of alarm in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t,” Natasha said, her voice hard. “Don’t lie to me, Yelena. I saw her leave last night. Tall, dark coat, smug little smirk. Who is she?”
Yelena’s lips parted, but no words came out. She swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is!” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “Who is she, Yelena? What does she want from you?”
“She’s…a friend,” Yelena said hesitantly, her voice trembling slightly. “She’s just been helping me.”
“Helping you?” Natasha’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “That’s funny, because the only thing I see is you sneaking around with a stranger in the middle of the night. You’re sick, Yelena. Vulnerable. And you’re letting her—what? Take advantage of you? Manipulate you?”
Yelena’s hands clenched into fists. “She’s not taking advantage of me! She’s—she cares.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Who is she?”
Yelena hesitated, her gaze flickering to the window. The tension in the room was suffocating, the silence stretching like a taut wire.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Her name is Kate Bishop.”
Natasha stiffened, the name hitting her like a slap. “Kate Bishop,” she repeated, her voice flat. “The woman from the apothecary. The one who paid for your laudanum.”
Yelena nodded slowly, her eyes wary. “Yes.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened, her anger simmering just below the surface. “I told you to stay away from her.”
“You don’t understand,” Yelena said quickly, stepping toward her. “She’s not what you think. She’s been kind to me, Natasha. She—she listens. She doesn’t treat me like I’m broken.”
Natasha’s expression darkened, her fists clenching at her sides. “You think kindness is enough? You don’t know her, Yelena. You don’t know what she wants.”
Yelena’s voice rose, trembling with frustration. “And you do? You’ve never even spoken to her! You just assume she’s dangerous because—what? Because she’s a stranger? Because you don’t trust anyone?”
Natasha’s temper flared, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Because I know people like her. I know the way they look, the way they act. She’s too smooth, too confident. She’s hiding something, Yelena, and I’m not going to sit back and watch her hurt you.”
“She’s not hurting me!” Yelena shouted, her voice cracking. “She’s the only person who makes me feel…normal. Like I’m not just waiting to die.”
Natasha froze, her breath catching in her throat. The raw vulnerability in Yelena’s voice cut through her anger, leaving behind a hollow ache. She stared at her sister, her chest tightening.
“Yelena,” Natasha said softly, her voice breaking. “You don’t need her to feel normal. You have me. I’m trying—”
“You’re trying to keep me alive,” Yelena interrupted, her tone bitter. “But she’s the only one who makes me feel like I’m actually living.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Natasha took a step back, her arms falling to her sides. She didn’t know what to say, how to bridge the growing chasm between them.
Yelena looked away, her shoulders slumping. “She’s not the enemy, Natasha. I wish you’d see that.”
Natasha swallowed hard, her voice low and trembling. “And what if you’re wrong? What if she is?”
Yelena didn’t answer. She turned back to the stove, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the conversation had drained the last of her energy. Natasha stood there for a moment longer, her heart pounding, before retreating to her cot.
As she lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Natasha’s mind raced. Kate Bishop wasn’t just a stranger anymore. She was a threat—whether Yelena believed it or not. And Natasha wasn’t going to let her sister go without a fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In bustling streets of New Orleans, mid-afternoon, the city is alive with the usual mix of music, chatter, and the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestones. Natasha moves with purpose, her sharp eyes scanning faces as she navigates the maze-like streets of the French Quarter.
The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, tobacco, and the faint tang of river water. Natasha pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her gaze cold and unrelenting as she weaved through the crowd. Her destination was clear: the apothecary. If Kate Bishop had paid for Yelena’s laudanum, Mr. Beauregard might know something.
When she reached the small shop, the familiar chime of the bell announced her presence. The apothecary was dimly lit, shelves crowded with jars of herbs and bottles of tinctures. Mr. Beauregard, a stout man with round spectacles, looked up from his ledger.
“Miss Romanoff,” he greeted, his tone as tired as his appearance. “What can I do for you?”
Natasha wasted no time. “I need to ask you about someone. A woman.”
Mr. Beauregard frowned, setting down his pen. “I’m a busy man, Miss Romanoff. Is this about the laudanum?”
“In a way,” Natasha said curtly. “She’s the one who paid for it. Kate Bishop. Do you know her?”
At the mention of the name, Mr. Beauregard stiffened slightly, his expression unreadable. He reached for his glasses, polishing them with deliberate slowness. “What business do you have with Miss Bishop?”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “That depends on what you can tell me about her.”
Mr. Beauregard sighed, glancing toward the back of the shop as if to make sure they were alone. “She comes around now and then. Always polite, always pays in full. But…” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “She’s…peculiar.”
“Peculiar how?” Natasha pressed, leaning closer.
The apothecary hesitated again, his gaze darting toward the door as if afraid someone might overhear. “She’s got a way about her,” he said finally. “The kind that makes you think twice. Like she knows things she shouldn’t. People in the Quarter…they don’t talk about her much. She’s an outsider, but not in the usual way.”
Natasha frowned. “What does that mean?”
Mr. Beauregard shook his head, a shadow passing over his face. “I don’t know. But I’ve seen enough to trust my instincts, and mine tell me to keep my distance.”
Natasha straightened, her jaw tightening. “Where can I find her?”
The apothecary hesitated, then shrugged. “She’s hard to pin down. Moves like a shadow. But if she wants to be found, she’ll find you.”
Natasha clenched her fists, her frustration simmering. She turned on her heel, leaving the shop without another word. The chime of the bell followed her out into the street.
Later that afternoon, Natasha walks to a dimly lit tavern near the waterfront. The air is thick with smoke and the sound of low conversation. Natasha approaches the bartender, a wiry man with a weathered face, known for keeping his ear to the ground.
The bartender glanced up as Natasha approached, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Miss Romanoff,” he said, his voice gruff. “What brings you here? Thought you weren’t one for drinkin’.”
“I’m looking for information,” Natasha said, sliding a coin across the bar. “About someone.”
The bartender pocketed the coin without hesitation. “Depends who you’re asking about.”
“Kate Bishop.”
The name landed like a stone, and the bartender’s expression shifted. He leaned in, his voice low. “Why are you asking about her?”
“She’s been spending time with my sister,” Natasha said bluntly. “I need to know who she is.”
The bartender snorted, wiping down the counter with a rag. “Good luck with that. She’s a ghost, far as I can tell. Shows up, sticks her nose where it don’t belong, then disappears like she was never there.”
“Has she caused trouble?” Natasha asked, her tone sharp.
The bartender shook his head. “Not trouble, exactly. But people…they don’t forget her. She’s got a presence. Makes you feel like she’s two steps ahead, always.”
Natasha’s frustration grew. “Where does she go? Does she have a home, somewhere she stays?”
“If she does, no one knows about it,” the bartender replied. He paused, his brow furrowing. “But…if you’re looking for her, try the levee after dark. I’ve seen her there a few times. She likes the quiet, I guess.”
Natasha nodded, her mind racing. She turned to leave, but the bartender’s voice stopped her.
“Be careful,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “People who get too close to her…they don't always come back.”
Natasha glanced back at him, her jaw tightening. “Thanks for the warning.”
At a quiet corner of the levee, the Mississippi River stretching out before her, Natasha leans against a railing, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows as the sun dips below the horizon.
The bartender’s words echoed in her mind: “People who get too close to her…they don't come back.” Natasha’s hands tightened around the railing, the cool metal grounding her. She didn’t trust easily, and everything she’d heard about Kate Bishop only reinforced her worst fears.
Yelena was vulnerable—sick, desperate for connection, and reckless enough to trust a stranger who showed her kindness. And Kate…Kate wasn’t ordinary. Natasha didn’t know what she was yet, but she would find out.
Her gaze flicked to the shadows along the levee, half-expecting Kate to appear, her smug smirk taunting Natasha from the darkness. But the shadows stayed still, the night quiet save for the soft lapping of the river against the shore.
“If she wants to be found, she’ll find you.”
Natasha exhaled slowly, her resolve hardening. If Kate Bishop was a threat to Yelena, she would deal with her—one way or another.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple days later, late in the evening at the sisters' apartment, the rain was coming down heavier now, streaking the windows and filling the apartment with its soothing rhythm. The room is dimly lit by a single candle, and the scent of rain and damp wood lingers in the air. Yelena sits curled on the couch, her blanket wrapped tightly around her. Kate is perched on the arm of the couch, close but with a stillness that feels deliberate.
“Why do you like the rain so much?” Kate asked, her voice soft as she watched the rivulets streak the window.
Yelena turned her head slightly, her face pale but warm in the candlelight. “It’s alive,” she said after a moment. “It fills the silence. Makes me forget how quiet it gets.”
Kate smiled faintly, her gaze shifting from the window to Yelena. “You’re not quiet.”
Yelena let out a soft huff, her fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “I used to be louder,” she admitted. “But lately…it’s hard to find the energy.”
Kate’s smile faltered, a shadow passing over her face. She shifted slightly, leaning closer. “You don’t have to be loud for me to hear you.”
Yelena’s eyes flickered to Kate’s, her chest tightening at the sincerity in her voice. “You always make it sound so simple.”
“Maybe it is,” Kate said again, her tone carrying a quiet intensity.
The words hung between them, charged with unspoken meaning. Yelena felt her cheeks flush, though whether from the closeness or the warmth of Kate’s gaze, she wasn’t sure. She looked away, her fingers tightening on the blanket.
“You’re staring again,” Yelena murmured, her voice low.
Kate’s lips curved into a small smile. “I can’t help it.”
Yelena’s breath hitched, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the quiet weight of Kate’s words. Instead, she shifted, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulder as she turned to face her.
Kate reached out before Yelena could adjust it, her fingers brushing against her bare skin. The touch was cool, like the rain on the window, but it sent a shiver through Yelena’s body. Her eyes darted to Kate’s, catching the flicker of something she couldn’t quite place.
“You’re cold,” Yelena said softly.
Kate hesitated, her hand lingering for a moment before pulling the blanket back into place. “I’m fine.”
Yelena frowned slightly, her gaze searching Kate’s face. She looked the same as always—calm, steady, but there was something behind her eyes, something that felt almost…hungry.
“Are you okay?” Yelena asked, her voice laced with concern.
Kate blinked, her expression softening. “I’m fine,” she said again, her tone gentler this time. “I’m just…thinking.”
“About what?”
Kate hesitated, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of Yelena’s hand where it rested on the couch. “About how unfair this feels,” she said quietly. “That you’re…that you have to fight so hard just to stay.”
Yelena’s throat tightened, her fingers trembling slightly beneath Kate’s touch. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Kate interrupted, her voice firm but soft. “I want to be here. With you.”
Yelena looked at her, her heart pounding as her breath hitched. The air between them felt heavy, electric, and for a moment, it was as if the rain outside had stopped entirely. Kate’s fingers brushed against hers again, their touch light but grounding.
When Kate leaned in, it was slow, deliberate, giving Yelena every chance to pull away. But she didn’t. Her eyes fluttered closed as Kate’s lips pressed softly against hers, the kiss warm and hesitant, like a secret they were both afraid to share.
Yelena’s hand moved to Kate’s arm, her grip light but steady, anchoring herself in the moment. The kiss deepened slightly, Yelena leaning into the warmth despite the coolness of Kate’s touch. It was enough to chase away the chill in her chest, the ache she carried with her every day.
When they finally pulled apart, Yelena’s breath was uneven, her cheeks flushed. She blinked up at Kate, her voice trembling as she spoke. “You’re freezing.”
Kate smiled faintly, though her expression was laced with something like guilt. “I’m fine,” she said again, but the words felt heavier this time.
Yelena studied her, the flicker of doubt in her chest growing stronger. “You’re always cold,” she said softly, almost to herself.
Kate’s smile faltered, and she pulled back slightly, the warmth of the moment shifting into something more tentative. “I should go,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.
“What?” Yelena frowned, reaching out instinctively. “Why?”
Kate stood, her movements quick but smooth, almost unnatural in their precision. “It’s late,” she said, her tone clipped. “You need to rest.”
Yelena’s frown deepened, but before she could say anything, Kate was already slipping on her coat. The candlelight flickered as the door opened, and Yelena’s words caught in her throat as Kate turned back, her expression unreadable.
“Goodnight, Yelena,” Kate said softly.
Yelena sat frozen as the door closed behind her, the warmth of the room feeling colder without Kate’s presence. She stared at the rain-streaked window, her mind racing. Something wasn’t right—she could feel it. But she didn’t know how to name the question forming in her chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the outskirts of the French Quarter, Natasha walks through a narrow, overgrown alley, the rain leaving the ground damp and slick. The air feels heavier here, charged with something unexplainable. Wanda Maximoff’s house looms ahead, a crumbling structure draped in moss and shadow. Flickering candlelight glows faintly through the cracks in the wooden shutters
Natasha hesitated in front of the gate, her hand hovering over the iron latch. The air here felt different—thicker, like it resisted her every breath. She glanced over her shoulder at the deserted street behind her before pushing the gate open with a faint creak.
The house was quiet, save for the rustling of the wind through the trees. Natasha climbed the steps, each one groaning beneath her boots, and raised her hand to knock on the warped wooden door. Before her knuckles could connect, the door creaked open on its own.
“Come in,” a voice called from inside, low and melodic, with an accent Natasha couldn’t quite place.
Natasha stepped over the threshold, her hand instinctively brushing against the blade hidden beneath her coat. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of incense and dried herbs. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars of strange substances, bundles of bones, and melted candles. In the center of the room sat a table, its surface covered with tarot cards, a bowl of water, and a single, burning candle.
Wanda Maximoff stood by the table, her long, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her eyes glinted with curiosity as she studied Natasha, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“You’ve been circling this decision for days,” Wanda said, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Finally decided to step into the lion’s den, have you?”
Natasha narrowed her eyes but took the seat without a word. “You knew I was coming?”
Wanda tilted her head, her fingers brushing lightly over the tarot cards as she shuffled them. “I felt your questions. They’ve been scratching at the edges of your mind like claws.”
Natasha leaned forward, her green eyes sharp. “Then you know why I’m here.”
Wanda’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re here because of her.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Kate Bishop.”
The name lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Wanda’s hands stilled, her expression darkening as she looked up at Natasha.
“You’ve brought her shadow with you,” Wanda murmured. “Her presence clings to you, even now.”
“What is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice low but firm. “She’s…something. I’ve seen the way she moves, the way she looks at Yelena. It’s not normal.”
Wanda arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face. “And what is normal, Natasha Romanoff? You, with your blades and secrets? Your sister, who walks the line between life and death? Or me, the woman you call a witch?”
Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t play games with me. You know what I mean.”
Wanda studied her for a long moment, her gaze sharp and unyielding. Then she turned, her movements smooth as she retrieved a small jar from a shelf. She set it on the table with a deliberate motion before leaning in closer.
“She is what your heart already tells you,” Wanda said softly. “A predator. A being caught between the hunger of death and the beauty of life.”
Natasha’s stomach twisted. “She’s a vampire.”
Wanda’s smile was faint, her fingers tracing the edge of the jar. “If that’s the word you prefer. But she is more than the stories you’ve heard. She is old and clever. She chooses her prey carefully.”
Natasha’s fists clenched against her thighs. “And she’s chosen Yelena.”
“Yes,” Wanda said simply. “But not in the way you fear.”
Natasha blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Wanda leaned back, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Kate Bishop is not here to kill your sister. She is here to save her. She believes she can offer Yelena something no one else can.”
Natasha shook her head, her voice rising. “By turning her? By making her like…like that?”
“Immortal,” Wanda said, her voice calm but firm. “Strong. Free from the poison that eats away at her now.”
Natasha stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “You’re saying she wants to turn Yelena into a monster.”
“Do you think Yelena is afraid of monsters?” Wanda countered, her eyes narrowing. “She faces death every day, Natasha. She fights it with every breath she takes. Kate has offered her a way out—a way to live.”
Natasha’s chest tightened, anger and fear warring within her. “She doesn’t understand what that means. She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.”
“And that is why you are here,” Wanda said, her tone softening. “To decide whether you will protect her from this choice…or let her make it herself.”
Natasha’s breath hitched, her nails digging into her palms. “And what would you do?”
Wanda tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I am not your sister. But if I were, I would ask myself one question.”
“What question?” Natasha demanded.
Wanda’s gaze darkened, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What is more terrifying to you? Losing her…or letting her go?”
The words hit Natasha like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She stared at Wanda, her mind racing as the rain outside grew louder, pounding against the windows like a drumbeat.
“Whatever you decide,” Wanda said, standing and moving toward the door, “know this: Kate Bishop is not your enemy. But she will not wait forever.”
Natasha didn’t respond, her fists clenched as she turned toward the door. She stepped outside into the rain, the cool drops soaking through her coat as Wanda’s words echoed in her mind.
What is more terrifying? Losing her…or letting her go?
Natasha’s jaw tightened, her resolve hardening. Whatever Kate Bishop was, whatever she intended for Yelena, Natasha wouldn’t let her decide Yelena’s fate alone.
She would protect her sister. No matter the cost.