"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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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."
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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."
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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."
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"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.
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So instead of ribbing her when the tears spill over, she leans forward out of her chair to wrap her arms around her.
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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…”
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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."
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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.
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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.