The tea kettle whistled, announcing that the water had boiled. You moved from the couch to the kitchen, turning it off. You grabbed a mug, pouring the hot water into it and breathing in as warm steam hit your face. You unfolded a tea bag and allowed it to soak for a couple of minutes. Then, walked back to the living room, resuming at your previous spot. You curled up, allowing the cup to steer some warmth into you.

The flat was small—one-bedroom-apartment type of small. The painting on the walls was chipped, and the floorboards creaked. The small TV was old, often glitching into static in the middle of a movie. Anyone else would have called it a terrible place to be, but you made do.

After the downfall of the Scarlet Room, there wasn’t anywhere much you could go. With files that had now gone public, every interaction steered the risk of recognition. You walked the streets with a hood over your head and your hands shoved into your pockets. Every now and then you would get phone calls from some anonymous informant with directions for a quick mission. In and out. Deal with somebody’s dirty trash and get paid enough to cover rent and food.

Even if you no longer served as a Widow, some habits lingered, and so did skills. From the outside of your small home, you heard the faint sound of footsteps. Nobody else lived on your floor. You stood up, grabbing a gun from the drawer. You walked towards the door, keeping it close to your chest. When someone else’s breathing on the other side of the door confirmed your suspicions. You opened it, pointing the gun at whoever stood on the other side.

Yelena Bel-va. Bloodied and bruised, hair a mess and clothes torn. The woman who you had once called your tightest ally—even your friend. In a place where detachment was the rule, Yelena and you had managed to form a bond that transcended all rules. Even after the R-d Room fell, you kept in quiet contact. However, things changed when Natasha died. Yelena drifted slowly until one day you no longer knew what had become of her.

“So warm,” she sarcastically smiled through busted lips. “Save the ‘where have you been’ talk for later. I need your help.” You stepped aside, allowing her to walk into your flat. “I thought you’d been living somewhere nicer. You always liked shiny things—like that mission with the diamond dealer in Panna.”

Here she was, cracking dry jokes through biting pain—because world be damned world if she allowed herself to say she had missed you dearly.