Archive of Our Own

Nights at the tower are quiet.

After the incident in the city, they had all gone to Bucky’s place. It was the closest and he’d insisted given the two extra bedrooms he had. No one had protested, too exhausted physically and mentally from the day. Bucky had gone to his room once everyone was set while Bob was given one and the others fought for the second. Yelena won and Ava reluctantly took the couch, kicking Walker to the edge of it while he practically rolled over, eyes closed. Alexei simply laid on the carpet with a pillow and snored his way to unconsciousness. Bob had actually managed to sleep well, an unusual thing for him, though it was mostly due to his head feeling full of cotton and his entire body being heavier than lead. The nightmares, for once, left him alone and waking up to find the rest of the team still there and still looking happy to see him was a plus.

They’d stayed with Bucky for around a week and a half and it came to an end for two reasons. One, it wouldn’t logically work with six people all under one roof in a space meant for three. And two, they were at each other’s throats within four days. They all had different habits and ways of acting, and when they were all prone to snapping and physical violence, nothing good could happen. By the time Walker and Ava had their sixth fight over the remote, knives and fists drawn, Bucky had pulled them apart and loudly demanded they find somewhere else to live.

Enter Valentina, not that they wanted her to.

Despite the dislike—read, hatred—they had for the woman, the benefits unfortunately outweighed their opinions. She had access to the Avengers tower and since she was the official spokesperson for them, it made the most sense, no matter how much they scoffed at the idea. It was also the better option. They needed to be close if they wanted to be a good team, especially after what happened. Living together in a tower with their own rooms was a good first step. 

Val was surprisingly on board with it, though Bob guessed it was mostly to do with her wanting to keep a close eye on them in whatever way she could. It made him feel slightly ill that she had such easy access to him, to them. He didn’t want them to get hurt, not again. They could obviously deny her entry to their floor but that would only work so long. They did not own the tower, she did, and that meant they only had so much freedom in it. The way Val had spoken to him, hell, the way she’d looked at him after he’d woken up, made his stomach turn. Like he was a piece of rare meat, ready to be sectioned off and cut up and eaten or kept in a glass case. He didn't want her looking at any of his teammates like that or treating them how she tried to treat him.

The one saving grace was that she didn’t live with them, or even in the tower. She only came by to discuss public matters with Bucky and occasionally observe training sessions. Still, Bob hated having to interact with her, but what he felt didn’t really matter. Yes, it does, Bob, he hears Yelena say firmly and it’s a nice thought, but she was wrong. He’d come to realize more often than not, he made things worse, and if not worse, complicated, and that was not something they needed right now. He wasn’t going to jeopardize his team and their living situation just because he didn’t like someone. He would just learn to deal with it.

His room was in the middle of Bucky’s and Yelena’s, and across from the other three. It was nicer than anything he’d had. Granted, the places he had stayed at in the past were either dirty motel suites, a friend of a friend’s spare bedroom, or a good old park bench, so it wasn’t hard to outdo those. But it was still pretty sweet. His bed was huge and he had a desk, bookstand, closet and huge view of the city. There weren’t any personal touches, but that was okay. He’d always liked the idea of traveling to different places and buying souvenirs to display them, showing he could live normally. He hadn’t had the money to do that then nor the space, but that could change now. 

He wanted it to. He wanted to start again.

They all had a personal routine. Bucky ate dinner with them and either stayed or went to his apartment. Yelena liked to watch trashy reality TV with Ava before getting ready for bed. Walker would go on a short run and stretch, occasionally sneaking peek at the girls’ show and deny being interested, then retreat to his room. Alexei switched between joining the three during their activities and watching re-runs of his hero days. Bob would do the same some nights, other times he would stay in his room. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the company of his team, it was that he…didn’t know how to act around friends. Because that’s what they were now, right? Friends? They’d gone into the Void and faced their biggest regrets and fears just to save him, and still chose to be by his side. That counted for something, it had to. If they asked Bob if he wanted to sit with them and watch a show or movie, he would usually say yes. Other times, though, the thought was too much and he would mumble a soft no, I’m good, thanks.  

It was weird, having people in his life that liked him, that didn’t leave after they’d gotten what they wanted from him or do their best to hurt him. He didn’t know how to act. He was just making it up as he went and was lucky it had worked so far. He liked them a lot, maybe even loved them, but he hadn’t had friends for a long time. He didn’t want to lose them. He didn’t know what would happen if he did. Probably plunge New York into another endless black blanket. So he felt his way around them and prayed he didn’t mess it up somehow in his usual Bob way.

His teammates also slept in different ways. 

Walker had to have silence to sleep and he had nearly bitten their heads off for being too loud before they figured out a loose schedule. Their room had a layer of sound proof foam built into them, so that made his arrangement easier. Bob thinks it was something from serving in the military he couldn’t let go of. 

Ava had tried to sleep on her bed for one night and exited her room with the world’s deadliest expression in the morning. After they pestered her, she snapped that she’d slept awful and needed a new bed. After a phone call with Val and a handful of technicians drilling into their walls, a new bed was made. It hummed at the right frequency for her cells and allowed her to maintain a semi-solid form for the night. 

Alexei could be out in seconds and sometimes fell asleep on the couch, snores loud enough to shake the tower. But when he did retire to his bedroom, he used a dusty, beat up fan that seemed as though it would fall apart if you looked at it too long, and the flattest pillow Bob had ever seen. The fan creaked and squeaked and at first, it had annoyed all of them, but soon it faded to the background. Bob honestly found it kind of calming.

Bucky spent around three days a week at the tower with them. More if he was busy or stressed out. For a while. Bob didn’t know what he used to sleep, then he woke up in the middle of the night and found the ex-soldier in the kitchen stealing cookies Walker had made. He’d scared him, a fact that was kind of funny, considering how untouchable and fearless Bucky seemed. His eyes apparently glowed, reflecting light like an animal’s, and the sight made him jump when he heard his footsteps. They had shared the cookies and chatted for a bit until Bob had yawned for the fifth time. Bucky had shoved him gently towards his room and went to his own, and Bob heard the sound of waves on a beach from beyond the door before it shut. 

Yelena had a small, almost silent fan and that was it. She used a thin sheet and blanket and exactly one pillow. The rest of her room was filled with posters and books and pictures and knick- knacks. It was nice, cozy. She was a light sleeper like most of them, but still had days where she would stay in bed till the afternoon. 

They all had bad nights. Endless sleepless nights where what they had gone through or what they had done wouldn’t stop replaying. Some of them got up and watched TV until morning while others cleaned their weapons over and over again. Bob knew Walker liked to cook and bake, and when that didn’t work, he would leave and come back sweaty and panting. Alexei would go on long walks around the neighborhood and return with bagels from a bakery they liked. Ava went through books quickly and liked to meditate, as well as go down to their training floor. Bucky either went on a run or called someone and went to the rooftop. He wouldn’t tell them who and got defensive when they asked why he looked so happy afterward.

Bob had his fair share of nightmares, how could he not? It had been happening since he was five, and given recent events, his brain had a whole new selection of horrible scenarios to play with. Hurting his teammates. Watching them get hurt. Val controlling him and twisting him to become her perfect superhero. Hearing his friends say how much they hated him, how much they regretted letting him out of his containment unit. Hearing them say how much of a dead weight and a fuck up he was, how useless and annoying he was. Hearing how it would be better for everyone if he just killed himself. They all left him shaking and gasping for air and tasting salt. He’d shared a few of them with the others, mostly the bad ones. The worst ones, the ones where he did what they asked and let the void consume him and watched them leave his side, he kept to himself. At least for now. He didn’t want to burden them with all his problems yet. 

Yelena, though, was a different story. He assumed she had nightmares but she didn’t talk about them. And if she got up in the middle of the night, he didn’t hear her. Sure, sometimes she would be snappier than usual, quiet, more tense, but those days she would just leave the tower. It surprised Bob because she’d opened up to him when they first met and talked with their teammates about their issues. But she kept a tight lid over those emotions. Whether it was a trait she had learned from the Red Room or a personal decision, he didn’t know. Bob wanted to help her like she had him, but it was hard when she was gone the minute something seemed the matter.

That changes one night.

Thump.

Bob looks up from his book. He glances around the room to see if something had fallen, but there’s nothing. He goes back to the chapter only to hear another thump, it’s louder this time. He frowns and puts the book down on his bed. 

It had come from the left of his room. 

Yelena.

It wasn’t unusual to hear sounds from his teammates at night, footsteps or a bed creaking, but he had never heard noises from her this late. Bob pushes back the covers and stands, tiptoeing to his door. He opens it and blinks out into the darkness of the hallway. It was illuminated a tiny bit at the end in the shape of a cartoon bear, a joke from Walker about needing a nightlight when things got scary, but it didn’t reach too far. A lack of light hadn’t bothered him even when he was a kid but now it seemed heavier. Colder. He steps out, the floor freezing under his socks. He walks to where the floor opens up and doesn’t see anyone in the kitchen or living room. When he strains his ears, he can’t hear noise from the training room either.

Maybe Alexei knocked something over, he thinks and turns around only to be met with what’s like a physical shove to his chest. Bob stumbles, hand catching on the wall and sputters, head snapping around to see what hit him. Despite the darkness, his powers allow him to see well and he finds nothing. Of course, the assailant could be invisible or have an ability like Ava, but he doubted that. The tower had security and sensors that would alert them to anyone breaking in, human or not. Still, he lifts his hands and backs up, waiting to be attacked. After a minute of anxiety thrumming in his chest, he lowers them and stands there, confused.

He had never felt something like that before. When he trained with the team, they were able to get hits in but they didn’t leave much damage. If Bucky kicked him, a light bruise or scratch would form and disappear within a day or two. What had just happened wasn’t like that. It was harsh, like someone who was as strong as him was angry and pushed. Hesitantly, Bob moves forward and eventually feels the same sensation. It’s like a wall. He’s able to walk but it’s like navigating through thick smoke. It drags on his limbs and makes his throat ache. The closer he gets to his room, and by extension, Yelena’s room, the stronger it gets. He’s left gasping and shaking by the time he’s at her door and it has nothing to do with whatever force was blocking him. The shadows around him are tall and so deep they look like they go on forever. His hands feel numb and his breath puffs out in little clouds. 

It’s bizarre and unsettling. And it worries Bob. Because if it’s this bad out here, what is it like in her room?

He’s knocking before he can help it. 

“Y-Yelena?” he calls quietly, not wanting to wake the others up. “Are you, uh, okay?”

He doesn’t get an answer, not that he expected to. 

“It-It’s Bob,” he continues. The darkness swallows up his feet and climbs up his legs, and if he wasn’t able to see them, he would swear they’re gone. “I heard a noise and…just wanted to make sure you were good.”

Nothing.

But he doesn’t give up. She hadn’t for him.

“Alright, ah, I’m gonna come in. So, like…don’t attack me or whatever.”

The knob is ice cold when he touches it and it only worsens his anxiety. He pushes the door open and the room inside is just as black as the Void. The comfort it had provided before is all but gone. His breath is even more visible and his pajamas seem like they’re mere scraps of cloth for how the air chills him.  He has to squint to see the floor and bed, and when the shadows fade enough, he’s able to make out the curled up form on it. His chest aches as he gets closer and sees how twisted the sheets are around her, how her hands are clenched into fists, how her face is contorted in grief. 

Nightmare, Bob thinks sadly and takes a step forward only to pause. He lifts his hands then lowers them to wring together. 

He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t the one who did the whole reassuring and comforting thing. Sure, he’d said some words of encouragement or support but it wasn’t often. He didn’t have a lot of experience with it. The others had their own odd, sometimes awkward ways, but moreso, Yelena herself, was the heart of them. She took on many of their teammates' worries and helped them, whether it was sparring for hours or sitting with them in silence. Bob had seen Alexei and Bucky offer her comfort, both of which hadn’t been received well. Walker and Ava were the ones who seemed to think actions worked better than words, normally in the form of  tackling and punching till their limbs ached.

A quiet sound breaks Bob out of his thoughts and it takes him a moment to realize what it is. A whimper. Yelena’s crying. Hard, if the tear tracks and shuddering inhales are anything to go by. It’s strange, hearing her cry. He hates it. It makes him feel even colder. He sits on the bed without a second thought. The movement doesn’t affect her, nor does his raised voice.

“Yelena, wake up,” he says and calls up memories of what the others have said to him. “Um… you’re okay, you’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

Bob waits for any sign that she’s heard him and gets nothing. So he does what he believed to be the logical next step and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

Her reaction is immediate.

Her balled-up form surges up and he’s able to let out a wordless noise of surprise before her hand connects with his chest and shoves. Bob instinctively struggles and when he tries to dislodge her, something sharp presses against his throat. He yelps and stops moving, afraid to so much as twitch. The knife probably wouldn’t do much damage, but he didn’t want to test that theory.

“Yelena, wait! I-it’s me! Bob!” 

“Shut up! I’m not going to let you…” she snarls, then trails off. “You…you’re not… B-Bob…?” 

It’s said in a confused, questioning mumble. It takes a few seconds for her to realize and Yelena gasps, getting off him like she’s been burned. The knife clatters to the floor and the bed bounces as she scrambles away. He hears rustling until a click comes and warm, yellow light bathes the room. 

The shadows fall back to the walls and Bob releases a breath he hadn’t meant to be holding, his whole body relaxing. The horrible, oppressive cold is gone like it was never there. He blinks and sits up, hand brushing his throat as he turns to his friend. She looks wrecked. Her hair has escaped from a bun and hangs in her face, a few strands sticking to her forehead from sweat. Her face is flushed and wet, and her eyes are bloodshot. 

“Bob, you—why’re you here?” she sputters, looking horrified. “A-Are you—did I hurt…are you okay? I didn’t—I’m s-sorry—”

“No, no! You didn’t do anything!” he rushes to assure.

“But the knife! I-I—I thought you were…” Her breathing picks up.

Fuck. Panic attack. He moves closer, trying to smile. “It’s okay, I’m okay!” He angles his neck and points to it. “See? Nothing. Not a scratch on me! You just— came a little close.”

That’s the wrong thing to say as Yelena’s eyes go wider and she looks at her hands like they’re weapons.

“Shit! Sorry, no, that came out wrong!” He searches his brain for what to do. “Ignore that, let’s just–just take a break, huh? Take some deep breaths. Can you do that?”

He sucks in a gulp of air and holds it, motioning for her to do the same. She does, albeit unsteadily and they repeat the pattern until she seems less likely to pass out.

“Are you okay?” he says after a stretch of silence. 

“I…am fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yelena looks at her lap. “What’s the difference?”

“You’re asked me plenty of times, you know the difference.”

She’s quiet, then shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll manage. Are you okay?”

Bob stares, but doesn’t get the sense she’ll say more than that on the matter. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I could’ve, though,” she mumbles.

“If I can take a hit from Bucky during training, I can take you pushing me.” He tries to make it sound funny.

Yelena doesn’t smile like she usually does at his bad jokes. “It’s the principle of the thing. I attacked you when I had no reason to.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like you knew it was me. Don’t blame yourself for reacting to a nightmare.” He watches her stiffen, hands clenching and eyes flicking down to the bed. “Because… that’s what it was, right? A nightmare?"

He can feel the tension in the room. It makes his skin prickle and his senses strain themselves. He wonders if he’s fucking this up. His teammates weren’t the best at emotional situations and some of their methods for breaking each other out of burnout or spirals probably wouldn’t be considered the healthiest or safest option, so their examples weren’t the best. He didn’t want to make what happened worse, but he didn’t have a lot to go on.

“Sorry, if you…we don’t have to talk about it,” he adds awkwardly after too much time has passed. “I don’t wanna… you know, bring up any bad memories. Again.”

All she does is frown. Bob’s face heats up and he wants to kick himself opening his mouth.

“It was not a good dream,” she says, just when he thinks she’ll tell him to fuck off. “But I would not call it a nightmare.”

Her tone is weary. He scoots over cautiously until their knees bump together.

“Do…do you want to talk about it?” 

Yelena looks at him, then the bed. “...Can you move up here? With me?” She points to the headboard. 

He blinks, both at the sheepish way she speaks and the request. “Y-Yeah, I can.”

He crawls over the bedding and sits at the top. She follows suit and settles next to him, arm pressing against his. He’s learned she likes that, physical contact. It seems to ground her better than just words. He’s the same way. Kind of. Sometimes, his body can’t decide whether a comforting hand is welcome or as dangerous as a blade. It flip-flops, as does the amount of contact he can take. It’s a whole thing, one he’s working on in therapy, one he’s hoping will go away. Because he wants that comforting touch, he wants it so badly, but after not having it for so long, he’s forgotten what it feels and looks like.

Bob gives her a minute to collect herself, then nudges her leg with a foot. “What happened?”

Yelena takes a deep breath in, lets out slowly. Her hands pick at her nails in her lap and he resists the urge to cover them and prevent the habit. The ex- assain complained about the bandaids she often had to wrap around the cuts.

“It started out a nightmare,” she says. “They’re always the same. I have to put a gun together or they’ll burn me, dancing and bending until my muscles are numb, or killing some person the organization deemed too much trouble. In the one I had, it…I was running after a target. It was summer, hot and loud with cicadas. She’d gotten away because I didn’t tie her legs tight enough. I felt like I was on fire as I followed her, my head was pounding from the sun and it hurt so bad. I ran until she went through a bunch of bushes and when I pushed them aside, I…I saw…” Yalena stops and squeezes her eyes shut. 

Bob watches the shadows creep forward slightly and glares, making them shrink back. 

“I saw my house, our house. Mine and N…Natalia’s.” Her voice cracks on the name. “Same as it had always been. It had the crooked gutters and overgrown flowerbeds and chalk on the driveway. Someone yelled my name and it-it was her. She was alive. She had blue hair and her old sneakers and she was smiling. She—She was so happy.” Something shiny falls from her face and Bob’s heart aches. “And I looked down and saw that I was young again. A child like her. She kept calling for me, telling me to come play, and I did. I ran after her and cartwheeled and did tag and hide and seek, and it—God, it was like I was right back there. Like I never left, like I never grew older and lived my life.” More tears drip down her cheeks, staining the sheets.

“We played for what seemed like hours until she tackled me too roughly and I skinned my knee. I cried and she got a bandaid and kissed my knee and gave me a hug and it felt so fucking real.” Her breathing hitches. “I could feel her shirt, smell the perfume she would steal from our mom, I could hear her fucking heartbeat. I cried even harder and I couldn’t stop, even when my knee didn’t hurt. I-I think a part of me knew it was just a dream, that none of it would last. That I would wake up and find her gone and I would remember what happened, remember how we’ll never be together again. I would never see that house again or her smile or her freckles or feel her hand hold mine. I would never feel that light again. And I couldn't handle that.”

She inhales, shaking and shuddering. “I know it’s been over two years and I need to move past her death. I know I can’t stay in that dark place because it’s not healthy, but I…it’s so hard, Bob.” Yelena turns to him, grief so plain on her face he feels his own eyes sting. “We weren’t the best people and we weren't the closest siblings, but we knew each other. We knew what we’d been through, knew we wanted to be better people. We wanted to have a life away from all the things we did, a fresh one, and just when it seemed like we would get it, it was gone just like that. One decision was made and Natasha’s life was over. And I didn’t know until it was too late.” A sob escapes her and she brings her knees up to her chest, burying her face in them. 

“I miss her so much, it hurts. Worse than how they punished us. Worse than anything I’ve done. Моя сестра. Seeing my dream…knowing I’ll never be that happy again, it’s too much. I… I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to get over her loss.” 

Bob listens to her cry. His chest hurts and he clenches his hands until he feels little bursts of pain. The Void climbs up, inky darkness clinging to his ribs and lungs like vines of ivy. It laughs and hums and whispers in his ear that yes, it is so hard, Yelena should give in if it’s too much, she’ll feel so much better, so much less. He just barely stops from shaking his head to get rid of it and thinks of his team. He remembers the weight of them around him, pressing to his sides and back and dispelling that coldness and not letting go. He thinks of her sitting with him, not judging or getting angry with him, just listening. He sends an unimpressed look to the spindly legs of shadows that had begun to creep up the bed and spreads his palms. They angrily rescind, growing smaller until they’re back to their original, ordinary selves underneath a bookshelf.

“I’m sorry,” Bob says after her sobs have faded. “I’m so sorry, Yelena.” He bites his cheek, thinks of what he could say that would bring any modicum of comfort to her. “I know what it’s like, not knowing what to do with all that sadness, that pain. It seems impossible to imagine it gone, that you’ll ever be happy again. And somedays, you’ll believe it’s impossible ‘cause it feels so bad.” His eyes burn. “Losing someone in your life…it’s not something you can get over. Not really. The love you have for them will always be there and you can’t just stop loving them. And knowing they aren’t there to experience that love is sad. It sucks. It–It really fucking sucks. But feeling that pain for the rest of your life sucks even more. You have to look past the hurt to feel that other good stuff.”

He winces at his phrasing, hears Ava mutter well said, Bob, but Yelena’s head lifts the tiniest amount and one wet eye peeks out at him. Cautiously, he leans to the side and puts an arm around her. When she doesn’t pull another knife on him or shove him away, he rests his chin on her hair. It’s a bit awkward; he’s too tense and uncertain if the gesture is helping, and she’s equally still, though for different reasons. 

“You said your old life is gone,” Bob murmurs, “and because of that, you’ll never be happy again. In a way, you’re right. That stuff in the past is gone. It won’t come back. And it’s sad to realize that. But you…you can still be happy. I promise you that you can. It might take a bit and some effort and it’ll look different, but you will find it.”

Yelena sniffs and buries her face in his shoulder. “How can you know that?” she whispers.

Bob is reminded of an attic, quiet and lonely and cut-off from all the horrible memories.

“Because it’s already happened to me,” he says, echoing the soft, kind words she’d uttered not too long ago. 

It takes a moment for any noise to come from her and when it happens, it’s in the form of a watery snort.

“Маленькая дрянь,” she mutters and he angles his head to look down. A small smile is on her face. “Stealing my speech. Very rude.”

“It was a pretty good speech.”

“It was.”

“I wonder where you got it from.”

“Eh. Alexei has his moments. Not too often, but he has them.”

He laughs and she lets out a raspy chuckle. The room’s darkness retreats farther from the sounds.

“Bob."

“Mm?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Uh, sure, yeah. What is it?”

“Can you give me a hug?”

Bob blinks. He smiles. “I think I can do that.”

It doesn’t take long for the ex-assassin to act. The second the words leave his mouth, she shifts from his side and practically tackles him. He lets out an oof and is able to balance on the bed so they don’t go crashing to the floor and wake the rest of the team up. Her arms are locked around his neck and don’t show any signs of loosening soon. Her face is pressed to his neck and he feels it grow wet. 

“It…it’s okay,” he says and hugs her back, silently unsure if he’s doing it right. He can’t remember many genuine hugs he had received throughout his life. He mostly likely got some in his childhood, but those were blurry from episodes and abuse. Still, Bob refuses to fuck this up for his friend and links his hand together around her waist and puts everything he can into it. “I–I got you.”

He winces slightly at how awkward he sounds, but Yelena doesn't have an issue with it. She inhales sharply at the contact, back hitching, and she embraces him tighter. His chest hurts at the desperation in the action and he reaches up to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in the short blonde strands. Yelena clutches him like he’ll disappear and he pays it no mind, her nails doing nothing to his bullet-proof skin.

Guess that’s one upside to the whole ‘unethical-human-experimentation gig’, Bob muses and rests his head on hers.

When she’s done, she gives him a squeeze before pulling away. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are puffy, but she looks lighter. 

He waves. “Hi.”

Yelena wipes her face with her shirt sleeve. “Hi.”

"Are you okay?”

She sniffs. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Good.”

“Are you okay?”

He thinks. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

She looks at him before tugging him forward. He lets her and is surprised by her pressing her mouth to his temple. It’s light, a quick kiss, something he’s watched Alexei do to her after a tough mission or an argument. It’s a simple thing. But it still leaves him feeling like little fireworks have burst under his skin and like he shot up into space and faced the sun.

“What was—”

“For being you,” she replies simply and takes his hand. “For being Bob.”

“Oh.” He grips her fingers. “Thanks.”

Yelena snorts. "You're welcome.”

“...Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

He’s a bit stunned by his own question, the words flying out before he can finish forming the thought. 

She stares at him.

“Sorry, that-that was—I’m not trying to make it sound like you—”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I would like you to stay.” Now it’s her turn to look awkward. “If, you know. You mean it.”

“Yeah, I—yes, I mean it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They blink at each other, then giggle at the silence. Yelena releases his hand and scoots back to her pillows. She gets under the blanket and pulls it back, patting the space next to her. Bob follows after a few seconds and lays down.

“Is this…good?” she asks after they're both settled. 

“Uh.” He shifts. “I think so.”

She turns her head towards him. “Have you done this before?”

“What?”

“Shared a bed with someone.”

“Like…just to sleep?”

She wrinkles her nose. “What else would you do?”

He laughs, though it’s an uncomfortable sound. “Back when I didn’t have any money and I wanted to get high, or…you know, I was high and wanted more… there were plenty of people willing to help me out if I did something for them.”

Yelena’s eyebrows furrow until she realizes what he means. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bob shrugs. “You didn’t do anything.”

"I know. I’m still sorry.”

He nods because there isn’t much more to say. “Anyway, to be honest, I can’t recall the last time I did…this. Maybe when I was with my mom and had a sleepover? Didn’t have too many of those.”

“That’s very…”

“Pathetic?”

“I was going to say sad.”

He huffs out another laugh and it’s honest this time. “That’s a good way to describe my whole life.” 

A foot kicks his leg. “Not funny.”

“S’little funny.”

Another kick, harder this time. It only makes him stifle another giggle.

Yelena sighs. “Turn over,” she orders.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Bob turns over and feels the bed bounce as she moves. Before he can ask what she’s doing, a warm weight presses to his back and a leg hooks over his. An arm snakes under his own and hugs his middle and something buries itself in between his shoulders. 

He’s utterly frozen in place.

“There. Little spoon Bob,” Yelena declares, slightly muffled and squeezes him. Then, a little louder. “Is…Is this alright?”

He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and tries to pretend like his whole body isn’t being electrified by the contact. “Y-Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Her leg starts to lift and her warmth leans away. “I can move away—”

“No!” he says quickly and gently takes her hand, pinning it to his chest. “No, this—this is fine. I’m good.”

“You do not sound good.”

“I am, I’m just…” Bob shakes his head and thinks past the pleasant buzzing in his limbs. “I’m not used to—this. All the casual touches and-and gestures. It feels weird—not in a bad way, though! It feels really good, but good in a way I haven’t really, uh, had? If that makes sense? But I don’t want you to move away. Please.”

“...Okay.” Yelena scoots back to him. “Let me know if you start not liking it.”

He relaxes. “Thanks.”

She hums, tension leaving her frame. “Least I can do after what you did for my nightmare.”

Bob breathes out. He feels protected. Safe. No one would get to him with Yalena around. Not the bad memories, not Valentina, not The Void. 

“This is nice,” he mumbles.

“It is,” she murmurs back, rubbing her face into his shirt.

“Goodnight, ‘Lena.”

“Goodnight, Bob.”

The darkness that greets him as he closes his eyes isn’t cold or menacing. It’s not a signal that’s he’s sunken lower than he has before or he’s made a horrible mistake.

It’s a comfort.