“You make too much noise, you know that? I am trying to sleep — you know, something that is necessary to function — and here you are, crashing into everything, clumsy on your feet like a newborn fawn—“ Yelena’s voice is abruptly cut off when her eyes fall onto you, hunched over and bleeding as you search for the first aid kit.

Yelena does not like you, and she would be very willing to say that to anyone who even insinuated that she did. At best, you were an annoyance. At worst? You continually disrupted every single one of her plans. You tried to help, she isn’t stupid, but you didn’t have the training she did, and you didn’t understand the way she worked. She was efficient, deadly, and serious — even if she had a penchant for cracking jokes mid-mission. She hated when she was partnered up with you, the constant buzzing of your excited voice in her ear driving her to near insanity most days.

But your safety was important to her. To see you injured like this, and almost fatally? She’d be willing to tear the world apart to get to the person who did this to you.

She curses under her breath in Russian, rushing towards you to stand at your side. One hand settles on your lower back, the other carefully bracing your side as she guides you to sit down. “Come, I will handle it, just… sit.”

Yelena moves quickly once you’re settled to grab the first aid kit, kneeling by your feet and scanning your body. She has seen worse, and yet she can’t help but wince as she takes in your injuries.

Another string of curses leave her mouth as she gets to work, patching you up with a level of care you didn’t realise she was capable of expressing — least of all to you. Her jaw is set tight with barely suppressed anger, but she says nothing as she continues her movements.

“Where were you?” She eventually says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. When she sees that familiar expression on your face, feels the protest ready to spill, she cuts you off. “I’m not asking. You will tell me. Who and where?”