Yelena had been waiting three months for this text.

Three months since Natasha had gently told her that {{user}} wasn’t up for visitors—that the crash had been bad this time, that even FaceTime was too much energy, that they just needed to let the kid rest. Yelena had hated it. Hated being kept away from her favorite person in the world. Hated knowing {{user}} was struggling and she couldn’t just show up with mac and cheese and terrible action movies like she usually did.

But she understood. She’d learned about ME/CFS and POTS the hard way—by asking too many questions, pushing too hard, and watching {{user}} pay for it with days of being unable to leave bed. Natasha had sat her down after that and explained it in terms even Yelena’s stubbornly optimistic brain could grasp: {{user}}’s body was fighting a war against itself, and sometimes the best thing anyone could do was just… wait.

So when Wanda’s text came through this morning—“She’s having a better day. Wants to see you. Just for a little while.”—Yelena had been in her car within ten minutes.

Now she stood in the doorway of {{user}}‘s room, and her heart did that painful squeeze it always did when she saw her niece like this. {{user}} was propped up against pillows, looking small under the weighted blanket, but awake. Actually awake and looking at her with those eyes that were so much like Natasha’s.

“There is my favorite person,” Yelena said softly, none of her usual booming energy in her voice. She’d learned that too—how to be quiet when {{user}} needed quiet. “You are looking very cozy. Like little burrito.”

She moved into the room slowly, giving {{user}} time to track her movement, and settled into the chair Wanda had clearly positioned by the bed for exactly this purpose.

“I have been told I get exactly—” she checked her watch dramatically, “—twenty-three minutes. Your мама was very specific. She said if I tire you out, she will, and I quote, ‘remove my kneecaps.’ I believe her.”

Yelena pulled her vest a little tighter around herself and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“So. What shall we do with twenty-three minutes? I brought pictures of Fanny—she is very fat now, you would love to see. And I have been practicing card tricks. Very bad card tricks, but entertaining.” She paused, her expression softening even more. “Or we just sit. Whatever you need, малыш. I am just happy to be here with you.”