"You first." The return volley comes easily, a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. All things considered, it's not the worst reunion they've had considering they're not doing their level best to strangle each other. Maybe a strong contender for most emotional. What do normal siblings have to blame their spats on?
She grants Yelena her moment of privacy - or at least partially grants them. Her eyes sweep the area as she takes a breath to steady herself, but she's still listening to her sisters half of the conversation.
"At this hour?" She gives her a knowing look. "Good for you."
"Never," she says with a grin. Certainly, this reunion was better than the last one, how many years ago was that now? She hasn't quite figured out whether she's meant to count the five years she apparently missed. She mostly tries not to think about that at all, honestly; it makes her uneasy to try.
She gives a single HA! of a laugh and continues, "I have more game than you ever did," Yelena has never lacked in confidence, at least. "C'mon," she mutters, yanking her sister by the wrist to walk with her, impatient little sister mode: engaged. "I'm taking you back to my flat and we're talking about whatever the fuck is going on right now with you, Jesus."
After a moment she adds, "Don't worry, I have vodka."
Natasha finds herself rolling her eyes at that bark of laughter and quick retort, but there's something undeniably fond about it. This sort of back and forth is achingly familiar. They've lost so much time over the years that it should seem weird that it's this nostalgic. The Red Room made them sisters. The time in Ohio cemented it.
"Gross, I don't want to know anything about your game." It's a token protest - she'll gossip with Yelena if she really wants to - but she can't help but slip into the comforting familiarity of the older sister role. Which is why she lets the other woman steer her off down the sidewalk. "Good. I don't know if we'll be able to figure this out even with vodka."
She's not even entirely sure Bruce or Strange will be able to make sense of it. Nor is she exactly looking forward to the prospect of subjecting herself to mystical and medical brain scans.
Which is why she turns her wrist so she can free her arm from Yelena's grip, only to link arms with her instead, slowing down the impatient pace of their walk. "Aw, did you move to New York because you missed me?"
She laughs at the so-very-sister response of it all. It's comforting, falling back into old routines, more than she'd like to admit. She'd missed this. "Maybe not, but I'd rather try with it than without," she points out with a shrug. Her head is already spinning.
She leans a little into Natasha's side when she loops her arm through hers and if she lingers like that, well, who can judge her? She just got her sister back. "No, of course not."
"Good point." She can concede that much to her, because well - maybe adding a few shots of vodka on top of her existential crisis will help her make some headway. With any luck, Yelena will have something in her cabinets she can eat to go with the vodka. Natasha's been playing it very carefully, subsiding entirely on food she can buy from the bodega closest to her shitty hotel. All in all, it has not been a glamorous return to the world of the living.
She just smiles at the protest and lightly bumps her shoulder against Yelena's. It's obviously bullshit. But they know each other well enough that they don't even particularly need words to get this kind of affectionate ribbing out. Isn't it a wonder that Natasha has spent most of her life feeling so alone?
Maybe that's the real reason she's able to keep herself from freaking out. The powers of denial are strong.
"Saw a TikTok of you rappelling down a building," she comments, mostly just to fill the silence and keep either of them from overthinking before they're behind a closed door.
“I have a ton of them,” she quips back at her. If she just keeps pretending like everything is normal, she won’t fall apart on the middle of the street. Thats her only real goal of the moment, until they get inside her apartment.
She snorts a laugh at that revelation, “Really? Did they get my good side?” She leads the way a few blocks down from where they had started and starts approaching one of the high-towering buildings on the corner.
At the end of the day, they are the best operatives the Red Room has ever produced. Even if everything else gets taken away from them, they'll both always have that innate ability to lie that lets them sell undercover operations so thoroughly. And sometimes, you just have to lie to yourself to get through to the end of the day.
There's a beat of too long silence after Yelena's question. It becomes apparent why when Natasha answers, "I was waiting for you to say 'nevermind, they're all good sides.'" Her amusement is evident in her voice.
She laughs and leads the way inside the main lobby of the building, to the elevator, and presses the button for her floor. There are so many things and doesn’t understand, most prominently, how this is possible, and if this might really be some kind of psychotic break after too many years of trauma finally catching up to her and making her crazy.
But all of it can wait while she leads her once-dead sister into her flat. It’s a glorified studio at best, but minimalist is the best for people like them, isn’t it? “It is not the homiest but I like it,” she says, closing and locking the door behind them. Not that she actually thinks a lock will stop anyone that may ever be after her but some things are just too habitual to ignore.
“Are we going to skip the glasses and just drink from the bottle?” Because it sounds like the better plan to her— whatever talks are going to unravel tonight? Yelena knows she will never truly be ready for it. So she may as well prepare The Russian Way: with copious amounts of vodka.
Natasha's a little on edge as she follows Yelena through the building in to her apartment. It's twofold - she's always going to be looking over her shoulder. Checking sight lines, exits, possible complications. And then it's just fascinating to see this place that her sister has made her own. She's taking in the details.
A little smile quirks the corner of her mouth when the door locks behind them. Some of that wariness leaves her body. A locked door isn't much, true - but it provides enough seconds for them to get their weapons out and get closer to an exit when the chips are down.
"It suits you," she answers, because it does. She can see Yelena living here. See why she likes this building. How nice it must be for her to have stuff of her own. She trails her into the kitchen, and that little smile lilts into a smirk. "Fine by me as long as you don't make me sit through any Russian toasts."
She grabs the already open bottle and sets it on the counter between them. “Are you hungry? I’ve been here long enough, there is actually food here,” which says more than enough on just how settled she is here, doesn’t it?
"Are you offering to cook for me?" she asks, brows arched. "I'm definitely going to need a drink for that."
There's a hint of mischievous, teasing humor in her eyes as she grabs the bottle to take a swig. It's very 'sister in her sister's apartment for the first time.' It's very...normal.
Which really just means that it's weird as hell under that thin skin of normalcy.
“I am offering to shove a pizza in the oven for you, if you want it,” which is sort of the same thing. But she’s not going to be making any full five course meals, here.
There is something very… normal about all of this, right this second. If she ignores the fact that she knows for a fave her sister is dead. Or used to be? It’s all very confusing at the moment.
"I won't turn down a pizza." Natasha is resourceful. Which means that while she's been living frugally, she hasn't had to skip meals or anything. It's just that most of the meals have been ramen. Which is good, but a bit tedious several days in.
She moves to sit down at the kitchen table so she'll be out of the way while Yelena preps the pizza. The elephant in the room is looming large, and she figures she might as well just...address it. "I'm surprised you haven't tested me to see if I'm me. I wasn't sure myself when I woke up here."
"I thought not," she says, moving to the freezer to grab the pizza and turn on the oven. She tries not to think too much about anything yet, though her mind is moving at speeds she can barely keep up with, letting her autopilot take control for the mundane task of getting something quick and easy in the oven.
Once it's in and the timer is set, she goes back to join her at the small table in the corner of the kitchen that isn't really a dining area, but is close enough. "You knew the whistle." It comes out nearly child-like, and probably seems silly to think that could trump anything else, but she's not sure how anyone, or anything else could have known it. It was not something they shared with other people.
Natasha hums a note of agreement, and she can't help but smile a little to herself at the way Yelena says it. It's almost like she can see her younger self in the room, doing a bridge and giggling while her blonde hair dangles unruly all over the place. Looking down at her hands, she studies them for a moment, as if there might be an answer in the whorls of her fingerprints.
It takes her that space of time to get the emotional distance from it to say what's been worrying her. "There's part of me that worries I was brought back as a trap. But I can't find anything to indicate there's someone pulling any strings."
"Stop," she says it like a command, but there's a pleading note to the edge of it, still, too. Her hand reaches for Natasha's own, forcing her to look away from her own fingers because suddenly Yelena's are curling around them. "Don't take this away from me."
She can feel the tears stinging her eyes again, the way her mouth twists to keep them from falling. "I've lost you twice already, sestra... don't make me have to a third time."
Natasha has to wonder how she spent so many years denying the familial bond between them. Because when she sees the tears threatening Yelena's eyes, her immediate knee jerk reaction is to apologize and take it back. Like the older sister that went too far with a teasing joke.
But the truth is always so much more complicated than what anyone carries in their heart. And she knows that's not a promise she can make - not something she has any control over.
So she turns her hands to clasp her sister's, giving them a firm squeeze as she meets her eyes with a sad smile. "I'm not going anywhere if I have a say in it. But I needed to tell you that in case there is something wrong."
She manages a watery smile at her sister's words. It is all still too much harsh reality that she does not want to have to face, but... honestly, she appreciates the brutal bluntness of it, in a way, despite her own demands just a second ago.
"Better not," she grumbles softly, trying to take in a breath but it's shaky instead of steady like she'd wanted it to be. A blink of her eyes sends those tears spilling across her cheeks and she moves in an attempt to pull away and wipe her eyes.
Embarrassment at the weakness of it stings in her chest. This wasn't the way they were raised, but she's always been more emotional than she felt like she was meant to be.
They're Russian, and they were raised as assassins and spies. Sometimes cold comfort is all they have. But thankfully, in this moment, it doesn't have to be all they have. Maybe dying has finally made her soft. Well. Soft-er, at least. It's always hard to acknowledge those places that hold the hurt. Natasha understands what it means when Yelena loses that grasp on her emotions in a way that few other people could.
So instead of ribbing her when the tears spill over, she leans forward out of her chair to wrap her arms around her.
When Natasha's arms wrap around her, Yelena feels herself crumble against her, turning her face into her sister's shoulder. She doesn't bother holding it at bay, and she isn't sure she could if she tried, not now, not like this. So instead, she just lets it all out, heaving sobs, ugly tears and all.
And it is so much more than just this mysterious return of her sister, or the loss of her, that is finally hitting. It's learning she was, at best, adopted, and at worse, just a mission to the people she called family for the earliest memories of her life; it's all those years of trauma under Dreykov; it's the way she has never even started processing her own death in The Snap and how much everything changed in those seconds-years.
All those things she has bottled up for far too long, finally have the chance to escape. And there's no one better suited to receive it all.
Natasha has never really believed in - fate or destiny or some higher force behind it all. How could she, with the way they were raised? With the things they've both been through? But there's a small part of her, just a sliver, that wonders if maybe the universe brought her back to finally right some of the things it got horribly and completely wrong.
She stays quiet and lets Yelena cry it out. One arm is locked around her, her other hand rubbing her back. Its clear that she's been bottling up a lot and she can only be grateful that she's here as it all finally comes bursting out.
Once the tears seem to be subsiding, she waits for a moment that Yelena is taking a breath in, and then whispers, "you better not get any snot on my shirt." Look, its a bad joke. But she's pretty sure that's exactly what she's going to need to loosen her grip on the things she's been holding on to.
She has always been more emotional than she likes. She can bottle it up, batten down the hatches and compartmentalize as much as the next one, but eventually? It always leads to something like this, and some part of her always feels so weak for it.
But at least Natasha won’t judge her. Her sister won’t see her as somehow less because of it. If anyone could understand it, it’s her.
It’s the arm curled tight around her, the warmth of a hand gliding across her back, that manages to keep her grounded. As calm as can be expected in a moment like this.
And it’s the sound of her sisters voice that disrupts the moment enough she laughs. A soft, slightly strangled sound, but still technically a laugh. “Shut up,” she murmurs.
It’s still another moment or two before she finds the will to let go of Natasha. What if she just disappeared when she did? What if none of this was real, just something she made up in her head, and when she steps back from it all, she will have to face a world without her sister again?
But she can’t just stay clinging like a barnacle to her sister all night on a ‘what if?’, so eventually she pulls away, swiping her hands under both eyes. “я тебя люблю…”
It all circles back to the Red Room. To those long years of training and conditioning. Even now, there's times that she feels more like a weapon than a woman. She's always both, of course, but on good days it all sort of...balances out. There's a peace in letting all the facets of herself co-exist. Sometimes she wonders if she'd have gotten this far without that time in Ohio. Without Melina bloody on that sand washed landing strip telling her not to let them take her heart.
When Yelena finally lets go, she leans back in her chair, smiling a little as she watches her sister try to wipe her face clean. "Aww, you big sap..." her voice is low and teasing, another buffer the same way her last joke had been. They've spent so much time apart. More than they've ever spent together, really. Which means they've missed so much time that she'd be foolish not to take this opportunity for what it is. A second chance. Her tone softens as she answers, "И я тебя люблю."
"No more than you," she quips back, but she can't stop the soft smile at her sister's response. She knows, of course she does, but it's nice to hear it anyway.
Her eyes are puffy from crying, but the time from the oven pulls her more out of her head, gives her a solid thing to focus on doing for a few minutes. Remove the pizza from the oven. Find the pizza cutter, slice it up, plate a few slices for both of them.
"Ta-da," she declares as she sets one plate in front of Natasha, setting the other one down and perching in a seat across from her.
"Can't prove it," she counters, and it's almost an automatic call and response. That affectionate, meaningless bickering that identifies them as siblings more readily than any birth certificate ever could. She snags the bottle to take another quick sip while Yelena tends to the picture and tries not to think about how...normal this all feels. The urge to find a thread to pull, to try to figure out why she's back among the living is like a persistent scratch at the back of her mind.
She'd walked by a pizza shop earlier that day advertising pickle pizza. This one looks considerably more appetizing.
With a quick thanks, she picks up one of the slices but doesn't bite into it yet, giving it a moment to cool down. "So, what'd I miss?" There's dry humor in her voice, like she can't help but be aware of how absurd a question it is. But it's still an important one to ask.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She grants Yelena her moment of privacy - or at least partially grants them. Her eyes sweep the area as she takes a breath to steady herself, but she's still listening to her sisters half of the conversation.
"At this hour?" She gives her a knowing look. "Good for you."
no subject
She gives a single HA! of a laugh and continues, "I have more game than you ever did," Yelena has never lacked in confidence, at least. "C'mon," she mutters, yanking her sister by the wrist to walk with her, impatient little sister mode: engaged. "I'm taking you back to my flat and we're talking about whatever the fuck is going on right now with you, Jesus."
After a moment she adds, "Don't worry, I have vodka."
no subject
"Gross, I don't want to know anything about your game." It's a token protest - she'll gossip with Yelena if she really wants to - but she can't help but slip into the comforting familiarity of the older sister role. Which is why she lets the other woman steer her off down the sidewalk. "Good. I don't know if we'll be able to figure this out even with vodka."
She's not even entirely sure Bruce or Strange will be able to make sense of it. Nor is she exactly looking forward to the prospect of subjecting herself to mystical and medical brain scans.
Which is why she turns her wrist so she can free her arm from Yelena's grip, only to link arms with her instead, slowing down the impatient pace of their walk. "Aw, did you move to New York because you missed me?"
no subject
She leans a little into Natasha's side when she loops her arm through hers and if she lingers like that, well, who can judge her? She just got her sister back. "No, of course not."
no subject
She just smiles at the protest and lightly bumps her shoulder against Yelena's. It's obviously bullshit. But they know each other well enough that they don't even particularly need words to get this kind of affectionate ribbing out. Isn't it a wonder that Natasha has spent most of her life feeling so alone?
Maybe that's the real reason she's able to keep herself from freaking out. The powers of denial are strong.
"Saw a TikTok of you rappelling down a building," she comments, mostly just to fill the silence and keep either of them from overthinking before they're behind a closed door.
no subject
She snorts a laugh at that revelation, “Really? Did they get my good side?” She leads the way a few blocks down from where they had started and starts approaching one of the high-towering buildings on the corner.
no subject
There's a beat of too long silence after Yelena's question. It becomes apparent why when Natasha answers, "I was waiting for you to say 'nevermind, they're all good sides.'" Her amusement is evident in her voice.
no subject
But all of it can wait while she leads her once-dead sister into her flat. It’s a glorified studio at best, but minimalist is the best for people like them, isn’t it? “It is not the homiest but I like it,” she says, closing and locking the door behind them. Not that she actually thinks a lock will stop anyone that may ever be after her but some things are just too habitual to ignore.
“Are we going to skip the glasses and just drink from the bottle?” Because it sounds like the better plan to her— whatever talks are going to unravel tonight? Yelena knows she will never truly be ready for it. So she may as well prepare The Russian Way: with copious amounts of vodka.
no subject
A little smile quirks the corner of her mouth when the door locks behind them. Some of that wariness leaves her body. A locked door isn't much, true - but it provides enough seconds for them to get their weapons out and get closer to an exit when the chips are down.
"It suits you," she answers, because it does. She can see Yelena living here. See why she likes this building. How nice it must be for her to have stuff of her own. She trails her into the kitchen, and that little smile lilts into a smirk. "Fine by me as long as you don't make me sit through any Russian toasts."
no subject
no subject
There's a hint of mischievous, teasing humor in her eyes as she grabs the bottle to take a swig. It's very 'sister in her sister's apartment for the first time.' It's very...normal.
Which really just means that it's weird as hell under that thin skin of normalcy.
no subject
There is something very… normal about all of this, right this second. If she ignores the fact that she knows for a fave her sister is dead. Or used to be? It’s all very confusing at the moment.
no subject
She moves to sit down at the kitchen table so she'll be out of the way while Yelena preps the pizza. The elephant in the room is looming large, and she figures she might as well just...address it. "I'm surprised you haven't tested me to see if I'm me. I wasn't sure myself when I woke up here."
no subject
Once it's in and the timer is set, she goes back to join her at the small table in the corner of the kitchen that isn't really a dining area, but is close enough. "You knew the whistle." It comes out nearly child-like, and probably seems silly to think that could trump anything else, but she's not sure how anyone, or anything else could have known it. It was not something they shared with other people.
no subject
It takes her that space of time to get the emotional distance from it to say what's been worrying her. "There's part of me that worries I was brought back as a trap. But I can't find anything to indicate there's someone pulling any strings."
no subject
She can feel the tears stinging her eyes again, the way her mouth twists to keep them from falling. "I've lost you twice already, sestra... don't make me have to a third time."
no subject
But the truth is always so much more complicated than what anyone carries in their heart. And she knows that's not a promise she can make - not something she has any control over.
So she turns her hands to clasp her sister's, giving them a firm squeeze as she meets her eyes with a sad smile. "I'm not going anywhere if I have a say in it. But I needed to tell you that in case there is something wrong."
no subject
"Better not," she grumbles softly, trying to take in a breath but it's shaky instead of steady like she'd wanted it to be. A blink of her eyes sends those tears spilling across her cheeks and she moves in an attempt to pull away and wipe her eyes.
Embarrassment at the weakness of it stings in her chest. This wasn't the way they were raised, but she's always been more emotional than she felt like she was meant to be.
no subject
So instead of ribbing her when the tears spill over, she leans forward out of her chair to wrap her arms around her.
no subject
And it is so much more than just this mysterious return of her sister, or the loss of her, that is finally hitting. It's learning she was, at best, adopted, and at worse, just a mission to the people she called family for the earliest memories of her life; it's all those years of trauma under Dreykov; it's the way she has never even started processing her own death in The Snap and how much everything changed in those seconds-years.
All those things she has bottled up for far too long, finally have the chance to escape. And there's no one better suited to receive it all.
yelena you sweet baby angel 😭
She stays quiet and lets Yelena cry it out. One arm is locked around her, her other hand rubbing her back. Its clear that she's been bottling up a lot and she can only be grateful that she's here as it all finally comes bursting out.
Once the tears seem to be subsiding, she waits for a moment that Yelena is taking a breath in, and then whispers, "you better not get any snot on my shirt." Look, its a bad joke. But she's pretty sure that's exactly what she's going to need to loosen her grip on the things she's been holding on to.
I love you;
But at least Natasha won’t judge her. Her sister won’t see her as somehow less because of it. If anyone could understand it, it’s her.
It’s the arm curled tight around her, the warmth of a hand gliding across her back, that manages to keep her grounded. As calm as can be expected in a moment like this.
And it’s the sound of her sisters voice that disrupts the moment enough she laughs. A soft, slightly strangled sound, but still technically a laugh. “Shut up,” she murmurs.
It’s still another moment or two before she finds the will to let go of Natasha. What if she just disappeared when she did? What if none of this was real, just something she made up in her head, and when she steps back from it all, she will have to face a world without her sister again?
But she can’t just stay clinging like a barnacle to her sister all night on a ‘what if?’, so eventually she pulls away, swiping her hands under both eyes. “я тебя люблю…”
no subject
When Yelena finally lets go, she leans back in her chair, smiling a little as she watches her sister try to wipe her face clean. "Aww, you big sap..." her voice is low and teasing, another buffer the same way her last joke had been. They've spent so much time apart. More than they've ever spent together, really. Which means they've missed so much time that she'd be foolish not to take this opportunity for what it is. A second chance. Her tone softens as she answers, "И я тебя люблю."
no subject
Her eyes are puffy from crying, but the time from the oven pulls her more out of her head, gives her a solid thing to focus on doing for a few minutes. Remove the pizza from the oven. Find the pizza cutter, slice it up, plate a few slices for both of them.
"Ta-da," she declares as she sets one plate in front of Natasha, setting the other one down and perching in a seat across from her.
no subject
She'd walked by a pizza shop earlier that day advertising pickle pizza. This one looks considerably more appetizing.
With a quick thanks, she picks up one of the slices but doesn't bite into it yet, giving it a moment to cool down. "So, what'd I miss?" There's dry humor in her voice, like she can't help but be aware of how absurd a question it is. But it's still an important one to ask.