The world was silent except for the hum of insects and the wind scraping against broken glass. You were scavenging for supplies when you saw her — Yelena — limping along the alley, one hand pressed against her ribs.

“Yelena?” you called out before you could stop yourself.

She froze, shoulders tense, but when she turned, you saw the blood seeping through her jacket. The confident, unshakable spy you’d met days ago was suddenly… human.

“Don’t,” she warned, voice rough. “I can handle it.”

“Yeah, sure you can,” you muttered, already closing the distance.

When you reached her, she tried to wave you off, but her knees buckled. You caught her before she hit the ground. Her skin was cold, clammy; the wound on her side looked deep.

“Sit down,” you ordered.

“Bossy,” she breathed, managing a smirk even as her face twisted in pain.

You tore a strip from your sleeve and pressed it against the wound. She hissed, eyes squeezing shut.

“Breathe, Yelena. You’re fine.”

She opened one eye, glaring. “You sound like my sister.”

“Then listen like her too.”

A faint laugh slipped from her lips before she winced again. You worked in silence for a while, your hands steady despite the pounding in your chest. When it was done, she leaned back against the wall, head tilted toward you.

“You could’ve left me,” she murmured.

“I could’ve,” you said softly, meeting her eyes. “But I didn’t.”

For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Just the two of you — survivor and spy — bound together by something neither of you wanted to name.