Chapter Text
It’s said one can begin to find the small joys in life by taking the barest moment to breathe. Though Yelena was certain that most people didn’t have the sharp stench of burnt coffee polluting their nasal passages. She spat out a short cough and glanced up from her well worn seat at the kitchen island to shoot a glare at the culprit. Alexei paid no mind to the suffering he was causing his daughter. Instead he poured a chipped mug with the warped face of a once placid, now demented looking Garfield full of the burnt, dark brown liquid.
“Why the long face, varobshek? You look like you smell old cabbage.” Alexei asked as he furrowed his brows quizzically, taking a sip out of his battered mug.
Like clockwork, most mornings usually began like this; Yelena affectionately picked at Alexei as he assembled a cup of coffee, and he carried on by claiming it was a well-rounded breakfast. Also like most mornings, Alexei burnt his pot of drip coffee, and today the scent of scorched liquid was so acrid, it threatened to singe the nose hairs of anyone else who dared to be in the kitchen.
“I think I would rather smell old cabbage than your burnt pot of jet fuel.” Yelena scoffed as she lobbed back an annoyed stare. “How can you stand to drink that shit? I swear, you’re burning it on purpose.”
Alexei flashed her a smile, gold tooth sparkling for the briefest moment. Raising his mug to her in faux cheer he grinned, “Burning coffee gives it deeper flavor! Besides, carcinogens build character.”
Yelena tossed her head toward the ceiling and dragged a hand down her face. “Jesus Christ, what are you on about? Did the super serum mutate your tastebuds back in Russia? Or just your brain? Who burns coffee on purpose?” Exasperated, she looked to the only other person in the room. Carrying her gaze to the opposite end of the long, granite kitchen counter, her hazel eyes landed on Bob.
It had been fourteen months since Valentina had crowned Yelena, Alexei, Bob, Walker, Ava, and Bucky “The New Avengers”. In that time they had been shuffled into the Watchtower like glorified cattle. Locked away, pushed out from one mission to the next. In between state sanctioned assignments, they were stuffed into suits and other finery and were forced to present a sanitized version of themselves to the American public. Press junkets that were supposed to serve as a bridge between public opinion and them. To show the world that they were indeed heroes who weren’t perfect, who weren’t too arrogant, or too much of a threat; heroes who were just the right amounts controllable and malleable. Bloodied, bruised, and under Valentina’s thumb, The New Avengers had been, more or less, gilded prisoners in their shining tower under lock and key.
Feeling like a guinea pig forced to trace the same path in its cage day in and day out, Yelena had firmly decided that trying to be social with her newfound teammates was the most sensible thing she could do, given her increasingly limited options. Walker, Ava, and Bucky, while amiable, mainly stuck to the Watchtower gym, choosing to wield weights and resorted to beating the shit out of each other during their collective freetime.
Alexei came and went as he pleased, and the absence of his presence left Yelena and Bob to their own devices. They orbited each other cautiously at first, but as time had come to pass, they grew more comfortable in each other’s company. Though it was silent at times, Yelena found peace in the quiet. Other times she wanted to seek solace in his shared opinions.
Like today, as she interrogated Alexei over his burnt coffee.
“Bob, are you alive over there? Christ, I think the smell alone could pacify even the ‘Golden Guardian of Good’, or whatever, no?“ she started, silently hoping her poking fun at his newfound moniker would evoke a laugh or chuckle from him.
Throughout the animated exchange between Alexei and Yelena, Bob had been cradling a cup of black tea in one hand, with his head resting in the other as he gazed blankly out the massive window next to the kitchen that framed the neighboring buildings. His time in the Watchtower had been a whirlwind, and it had in turn also been transformative. Instead of locking himself away in his room as he had been known to do in the past, he too chose to be closer to his teammates—even if that meant only physically occupying the same room as them.
It also meant that he found himself hovering around Alexei and Yelena. Something about their shared blustery nature, easy sense of humor, and approach to life had been like a small beacon of light to him; and he was happy just to soak it in. They never expected him to talk, never expected him to contribute anything significant; they just simply enjoyed his company. To him, that was perfect and it was enough. Some days he felt kinship with all the house pets of New York City who chose to sunbathe in rays of sunlight; being in their presence made him warm, even if just for a few, short moments of the day.
He decided that morning that sharing the kitchen island with Yelena would quell the quiet chaos inside his mind; allowing him to space out and disassociate even for the briefest moment. The night had been rough; with nightmares plaguing his subconscious he coiled, twisted, and wrenched his body among his grey, sweat soaked sheets. Surrendering around four in the morning, he chose to make a pot of hot water and watch the sun breach the horizon alone. His hair reached for the ceiling in countless different directions, and for once, as he sat across the counter with Yelena, his disheveled appearance didn't bother him. He was at peace as he claimed his well-worn stool at the end of the counter.
Until Alexei surprised him by bringing his large, calloused hand down on his shoulder.
“Bob would only grow stronger from my special brew! Isn’t that right, my friend? Here, I go make you a cup, even let you use my favorite mug!” Alexei smiled as he forcefully smacked Bob on the shoulder, eliciting a small puff of air from his lungs, and turned to retrieve him some of the burnt, now lukewarm liquid. “That Garfield, such a funny cat. Will bring cheer to anyone, no matter how early they started their day!”
Bob’s eyes widened as he realized that Alexei was simply dumping out his own half-sipped coffee to refill his used mug. “Ah–I think I’m okay with my tea this morning, thank you though. Maybe next time.” words spilling out of his mouth, hoping that the speed of his words would put a stop to the well-intended, but disgusting drink swap. He continued to lock his gaze on the face of the anguished, warped Garfield, hoping his telekinetic abilities would kick in and he would be able to mercifully place the mug in the sink.
Alexei paused as he reached for the long-suffering coffee machine. “Ah, yes it’s okay! I will save you a cup for next time.” he offered. An alarm on his phone began to blare, and as he looked down he slammed his mug on the counter causing coffee to dump itself on the counter. “Shit! I am late for meeting. Possible brand deal for New Avengerz, it’s very exciting! I have been trying to get this lotion brand on the hook for months, I think I finally have them right where I want them!” He made a victorious cheer as he smacked both sides of his pants to make sure he had what he needed.
As Alexei’s last words breezed around the corner with his departure from the room, Bob finally met Yelena’s expectant gaze.
“You know, the smell doesn’t bother me as much as the fucked up Garfield mug, if I’m being honest.” he offered, throwing her a gentle smile before taking a long sip of his tea.
Yelena pushed the tattered issue of Bon Appetit she had been casually reading forward on the counter dramatically while she blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “You Americans really will accept just the bare minimum, hey?” she teased. Throughout the past weeks, she found that she really enjoyed teasing him, and that teasing was something she had chosen not to engage the other members of the team in. It felt like the banter was just their own private language–that they had an understanding of each other. That when she elicited a reaction from him that it was a side of him that he shared only with her.
Bob cast a glance downward as he chewed on his reply. “Not sure if it’s accepting the bare minimum as it is seeing it from his point of view, maybe.” His blue eyes reached hers again, and it made her heart flutter for the briefest moment. She sat with this for one tiny heartbeat before she decided to lob another question at him.
Furrowing her brows, she responded, “What do you mean by that, Robert?”As the months raced by, she and Bob had found themselves occasionally sharing probing questions with each other. Some of them were purposeful, and others were lighthearted musings that hung in the air, waiting for one of them to pluck it from the space between them. Whether or not they each took the bait was up to their respective moods. Yelena had begun to call him by his full first name just to catch his attention from time to time. She wasn’t yet confident in whether or not he was fully present with her when he asked more weighted questions; and found that calling him Robert drew him back to the room, back to her, even if for a moment.
Bob had met her expectant eyes more intently, more focused. “I mean that maybe, as stupid as it sounds, Alexei burns the coffee not just for the taste, or carcinogens, or whatever.” he paused, the corner of his lips hitching upward. “Maybe he burns the coffee because it’s a tiny part of his routine that’s just his, and maybe it brings him happiness. But, I don’t know, who knows why he does it.” Bob quickly recanted. He turned his attention to a stray thread on the cuff of the arm of his grey crewneck, breaking their eye contact.
Yelena hopped off her stool abruptly, and dug her fingers into the plush leather base as she dragged it closer to him. As she jumped back on her seat, suddenly self-possessed, she turned purposefully toward Bob, tossed her blonde hair back and gently plucked the thread from his sweater. Looking up at him, she remarked quietly, gently. “Alexei is a crazy, old, Russian, and I guarantee you, he’s not burning his coffee because it makes him happy. It’s probably some old habit he’s kept hold of from his Red Guardian days, thinking it would make him impervious to mind control or some shit.” She offered him a small smile, a signal between them to show that she wasn’t discounting his thought.
Bob traced the motion of her removal of the errant string from his sweater with intense focus. Yelena felt his gaze tracking her hand—swearing it was growing hotter by the second. She retracted her hand back quickly and returned it to the cool surface of the granite countertop.
Noticing her hand’s sudden movements, Bob chose to cushion his thoughts to maintain the levity of their conversation. “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of nice.” he countered. “I wish I was able to find joy in the little things like that…” trailing off, he again turned his focus out the window, turning his attention to the sunshine that was now threading its rays into the kitchen.
He had hoped that the weighted thought didn’t scare her away; and though he enjoyed his conversations with Yelena, he still approached most of them guarded and with a sense of caution. They had seen some of the worst parts of each other while occupying the rooms the Void had boxed them into; and he figured that the more positivity he could inject into their discussions, the better. He believed this would become a fail-safe, that she wouldn’t recede from his life, think of him as a placid monster, or worse, as a beaten puppy, like all the others in his past (and some of his teammates) had done before. Most notably during the past few months, he recognized the parts of her she seemed to bring out only for him. Their teammates got the steely, sarcastic persona she wore like armor. Bob was able to bring the softer parts of her to light, but only around him it seemed. It confused him at times, but throughout his life, one lesson he learned was to not question too much and to just experience what’s been laid out before him.
She could feel him pulling back from their conversation and swiftly decided intervention was necessary. Reaching back toward her previously occupied space on the counter, Yelena smacked the sleek countertop four times before she was able to crunch her issue of Bon Appetit in her small hand and drag it in front of herself. “Okay, look here, Robert, I’m going to show you what real joy looks like, and it’s not burnt coffee.” she started, taking a deep breath in. “This is my bible, Bob. It may just look like an issue of last year’s Bon Appetit “Pasta Issue”…” she looks down for a moment at the wrinkled cover. “Yeah alright, that’s because I guess it is last year’s Pasta Issue—” Bob choked out a laugh, forcing tea to spray from over the top of his mug.
“But this is not only my bible, it is my instruction manual, because, and Bob, if you tell anyone this I will rip out your beautiful teeth.” she shoots him a dead stare that elicits nothing but a sweet, gentle smile from him. “I use this magazine as a guide, as a touchstone, and as a handbook to make the most perfect macaroni and cheese.” she states, deciding to look away from him while turning through the well-worn pages.
Bob gazed down at the battered magazine, and as she flipped through it, he chose to slap his hand on a page featuring bright graphics and large yellow type. He firmly held his hand on the publication before Yelena had the opportunity to swipe it from view. Looking back at her he asked “Wait, wait, wait, I have so many questions. When do you cook? Who’s eating your leftovers? I guess most importantly, have you found a recipe for the perfect mac and cheese?” The words rushed out of his mouth, with one question almost colliding into the other; and Yelena grinned, satisfied that he had him engaged and excited about something so simple.
“I cook when I know everyone will be out of the kitchen, or when I can’t sleep.” she admitted, shrugging. “No one is eating my leftovers, because I usually toss them in the garbage. The recipes I’ve been using haven’t been worth subjecting another person to, and no one in this tower should be forced into experimentation.” She looked down, noticing that Bob’s hand was still laying on one page of her magazine. “So I guess you could say I have not found the perfect mac and cheese.” Turning her head to the side, she tried to make out what was on the page he bookmarked. “Ah, yes, breadcrumbs. I wish I could rip that page out, what a sacreligious suggestion–who puts breadcrumbs in macaroni?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT’S THE BEST PART!” Bob shouted, loosening his hand from the glossy page to gesticulate wildly to it instead. “That’s why you haven’t found the best recipe, Lena, you need to pull on your big girl panties and condede that bread crumbs are fucking delicious and start adding them to your dishes.” he stared at her intensely and expectantly. Not in a fierce way, but almost boyish with innocence framing his eyes for just for a moment.
Yelena could barely process a response, sitting stunned on her kitchen stool at the sudden burst of emotion from Bob, the mention of panties, and him calling her Lena for the first time. If he was embarrassed by his passionate display for breadcrumbs, he certainly didn’t show it. “What if I become your taste-tester? I think you need a neutral party to help guide you on your path to perfection.” he suggested excitedly, still paying no mind to her frozen expression.
“I don’t know Bob, I think that my anal retentive tendencies for macaroni and its proper culinary companions is a set of neuroses that maybe I should tend to privately.” She bounced off her stool and started heading toward Alexei’s abandoned coffee pot, intent on cleaning it before someone else discovered it. “Besides, I don’t need your pity for my shitass food, okay?“
Looking disappointed for the barest moment, his voice became quieter, deepening as he declared, “I certainly don’t think anything you cook is going to be bad, Lena.” He was looking at her with a steady intensity now. His blue eyes bored into her hazel, and to avoid confronting any feeling that resulted from his words, Yelena whipped around, grabbed the coffee pot, and hurriedly began to scrub it in the sink.
Deep down she didn’t believe that his company would be a hindrance to her late night epicurious experiments. Truthfully, a large part of her wanted his company, and she was secretly greedy for more time with him. Keeping people at an arm's length was her specialty; ranking right up there with wielding firearms. She had taken note of how her feelings for Bob had morphed over the past few months. She had come to find that she really liked his thoughts–and she really just liked him. If she decided to let him accompany her as she made grocery lists, laboriously deciding what cheeses or noodles to choose next, saw her for those soft parts, the irritating parts, the indecisive parts, the stubborn parts, among others–would she be able to cushion the blow when he decided she was too much? She couldn’t shoulder any more loss in her life, or decidedly any more regrets.
How the fuck could she leap off of buildings, assassinate government assets, be considered an international symbol of strength to some, and yet balk at the possibility of Bob joining her in the kitchen cooking cheesy, soggy noodles? Maybe she was terrified of having the small joy she had carved out for herself morphing into something bigger than she planned. She decided it was safe again to look back at Bob while she made sure to buff out the crusted, burnt coffee from the bottom of the pot. Unexpectedly, when Yelena glanced back, her heart flipped in her chest. Suddenly, the thought of not having him keep her company at the very same kitchen counter made her feel as though she was finally realizing that he should have been there during those late night cooking sessions tasting her creations.
As she tipped the coffee pot upside down on the drying rack, watching as water sluiced off its sides, she conceded. “Ten o clock tomorrow night. I don’t need any opinions, just your company. You either show up and shut up, maybe hand me a couple of things, or you go back to your room and rot or whatever it is you do.”
To Bob’s credit, her blunt invitation didn’t phase him. Instead he gracefully slid off his stool, wrapped his hand around his mug, and smiled warmly. “Yes, chef. I’ll see you then. If you decide you need me before then, I’m going to go rot, or whatever.” Then he surprised her for the last time that morning by glancing at, then grabbing her wilted copy of Bon Appetit. “Hope you don’t mind, I need some new reading material.”
He cast her one more lazy grin, lifted the battered magazine in her direction, and padded off toward the elevator; leaving Yelena alone in the cavernous kitchen. She turned her head left, then right, ensuring she was truly alone, meeting only her own reflection in the stainless steel appliances. Releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she steadied herself, and began to make a list of where she could get the best bread crumbs.