Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The tension in the air was palpable and would remain so all day. The reasoning behind that tension would soon change, but for now, the atmosphere remained strained, just as it had been the night before.

It was early morning, approximately twenty minutes after opening, and the store was empty. It would be so quiet you could hear a pin drop if the aggressively loud air conditioning system wasn’t beating down on them from all angles. The real silence came from the lack of speech. And silence had never been a characteristic between Bob and Yelena-- not like this.

From the very first day they had met on the job as post graduates three months ago, they had hit it off. The early twentysomethings wondering what came next had quickly found some sort of unspoken security in one another. A swiftly-formed bond that made both of them feel that the future would have some comfort in it after all.

That first month - June - turned into July and then that turned into August.

And here they were now, in early September, a month characterized by the falling red and orange leaves-- the world in a new light in more ways than one.

September had landed them here…

Last night, “here” had meant an old supply closet. A momentary, after-hours oasis, of sorts.

Over the summer, a brief brush of the wrist had been enough to send both of their hearts aflutter. Gentle glances shared by the both of them, banter the nature of which was so flirtatious that even the customers could probably sense it, and physical contact that was reciprocated.

She liked him and he liked her. And they were friends that could one day be in love.

It was a funny feeling-- neither of them had even known each other in school but there was this magnet, something inside of them that pulled them toward each other almost instantly. Whatever the feeling, whatever the meaning, neither of them would willingly let it go.

And so, it was here in this makeshift oasis-- the place that represented the jobs nobody wanted to do-- that, in that moment, Bob and Yelena did everything they wanted to do.

It was here that Yelena tugged the front of Bob’s shirt playfully forward. In response, he sat up slightly so his lips would land where they were meant to: on hers.

Once they had made contact, Yelena’s hands moved. One traveled through the air to the side of Bob’s face while the other snaked up to the back of his neck, fingers brushing against his longest curls.

Bob’s confidence in his abilities did not come as easily as Yelena’s own confidence seemed to, but he felt her need for him pour into his soul, making all of his movements more natural. Both of them had shifted to their knees in desperation to get closer to one another and Bob’s hands flowed effortlessly down to Yelena’s hips.

It felt like fireworks. And the contact did not break quickly.

When it did, Yelena’s arms draped loosely around Bob’s neck while he tugged her even closer by the waist. She opened her eyes first and let out a soft laugh at the sight of Bob still closing his own as though he were in the middle of a lovely dream. And maybe to him at that moment, he was.

His eyes shot open at her laugh and he became even more flushed, if that were possible. And he watched her, wondering what to do next.

Things that night were almost entirely right. Then--

A sudden sound outside, the kicking over of the janitor’s empty bucket, and a feeling of having done something wrong.

Something right interrupted by feelings he couldn’t say, even though she begged to know. She wanted to help him feel better.

The after-hours night ended early…

Bob pretended he was properly occupied by the open science fiction novel in front of him. He sat on a swivel chair behind the cash register, feeling the tension in its entirety. His eyes flicked to her repeatedly, unable to help it, as she stood on the top step of a small ladder, messing with the security camera.

The only words spoken between the pair this morning had been about that camera. When they both clocked in (awkwardly) for their morning shift that consisted of only the two of them (even more awkward), Yelena had spotted it first. There was a big television screen back in the “Employees Only” area that showed the store’s activity on the single camera the business could afford. Today, it was blank and fuzzy and it made Yelena groan.

Bob had looked over her shoulder from a distance and given the suggestion that it was likely just a battery problem-- those things probably hadn’t been replaced in years anyway. Yelena had muttered some sort of agreement, making brief eye contact with him before locating a stepladder on the wall and wordlessly carrying it out in search of batteries.

Bob had remained where he stood momentarily, the bottoms of his shoes feeling like they were glued to the ground. He understood her frustration, her quiet anger-- it was hurt. She really did like him, it was clear in everything she did, but his immediate lack of honesty about his fears must have made her feel that he saw her as untrustworthy. Bob knew with his entire being that this wasn’t the case. In fact, in several years of school (both before and after his troubles), Bob had never met anyone whom he trusted and understood as well as Yelena. The only person in this situation he didn’t trust was himself.

So now, he sat quietly behind the desk, wanting to speak to her but the words kept getting caught in his throat every time they would bubble up. Yelena had quickly discovered it wasn’t a battery problem, several changes of power sources had yielded no results. Instead of giving up and waiting for their boss, Yelena was continuing to try and fix the problem. It was something Bob admired about her so much-- her determination, her belief that anything could be done if you put your mind to it.

Bob could recall a particular conversation he had had with Yelena in early July. It was about their respective fathers. Bob had never had a close relationship with his own-- he was cold and he was a heavy drinker. Bob had cut contact the moment he had had a chance. Keeping details brief for the moment, Bob had still been able to give Yelena the gist of what he’d had to deal with. She had met his words with compassion and empathy despite having grown up in a different situation and knowing only that one firsthand. When Bob had asked her about her own father, Yelena had admitted that while they had their issues, he was friendly and good-natured. From her words alone, Bob could tell that there was more-- especially when Yelena brushed over the topic of her sister, Natasha.

All in all, Bob knew now that Yelena may have gained some of these machine-fixing skills from her father. He worked in an appliance store-- which, granted, was different from tech, but the determination to fix what was broken and improve it showed itself every day in her work ethic.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she remained on that top step, little screwdriver in one hand while the other held the drooping camera in place. Bob pretended to keep reading his book as Yelena swept her long blonde hair away from her face and to her back. He held his tongue over the danger of where she stood on the ladder, afraid she might fall. He wanted so desperately to hold the bottom steady for her but he was afraid of overstepping.

He was afraid…

So instead, he opted for being ready to catch her if she fell. It wouldn’t be a long fall, but it would definitely hurt. And the last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt.

After watching her fiddle with the camera for a good fifteen minutes, he finally chose to open his mouth-- but she beat him to it, “That thing is busted for good. Stan will need a new one.”

Bob felt relief swell in his chest as Yelena’s hands moved down to the handle and she stepped down carefully off the ladder. The moment her tennis shoes made contact with the cold floor, Bob released a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding.

Yelena looked up at him and he could see the smallest glint of sadness in her eye. There was more she wanted to say too, maybe she was just better at hiding it (and maybe she also had some fear of overstepping boundaries herself).

Yelena picked up the stepladder and carried it to the back, not truly waiting for a response. Her statement had been rhetorical and that was clear to Bob. Still, he wanted to say something. Anything. He wanted to talk to her, be playful with her because he already missed it.

But he wouldn’t have a chance to do so today.

A few minutes passed and Yelena had not yet re-emerged from the back. Bob now found himself staring up at the camera-- it was exactly as he felt, broken. Soon enough, his thoughts began to drift back to the night before. He wondered if the camera had already given out by the time Yelena had taken his hand and dragged him eagerly out of its view. The thought of that moment pulled a small smile onto his lips.

DING DONG.

The sound of the main door being opened: a mechanical bell that was almost as broken as that damn camera. The weak chime demanded Bob’s attention. He spoke as he turned to address the customer, “Good morning.”

It was instantly clear that something was amiss the moment he saw her.

The young woman who had just entered made sure that the door closed behind her. She looked up and down the street outside from behind a shelf of chips before turning to acknowledge Bob. She looked to be about his and Yelena’s age, fresh out of college. She had blue eyes that currently had a hint of subtle desperation and long brown hair-- though she seemed eager to mask her features at this moment as she kept her jacket hood up and shifted away from the glass window.

She shoved her hands into her pockets and, as she moved across the store to the refrigerators, Bob could make out a series of scars on the side of her face. She tugged her hood closed a little more, as though she could feel his eyes on her. She reached a refrigerator lined to the brim with energy drinks and glanced over her shoulder, as though ensuring she was properly blocked behind the pastries, before opening it.

Bob’s concern had festered as he had watched her wordlessly come in, but it reached a boiling point with that final look. He had to speak up.

“Hey are-- are you okay?”

The young woman startled a bit at the sudden sound of his voice. With the frost-over glass fridge door between them, she glanced over and muttered quietly, “I just need--”

DING DONG.

She froze. Her words came to a halt and she looked deeper into the fridge, crouching slightly, likely in hopes that the wall of muffins, donuts, and bagels behind her would be her shield.

Bob looked at the man who had come in. He was about medium height, brown hair poking out from under a woolen beanie. A winter coat masked him from the cold. The city weather wasn’t cold enough for a coat like that yet, but Bob kept the thought to himself. That would not have phased him if he hadn’t noticed the way the young woman seemed to disappear further and further from view the more this man stepped into the store.

It was at this moment that Yelena returned from the back, dragging a cart full of goods to restock with her. She gave Bob a slight nod as she passed by and went over to where the snacks were.

Bob attempted to keep his eyes on all three of them at once: the young woman had now closed the fridge and was moving toward the back, Yelena was stacking bags of chips, and the man moved oddly slowly toward the energy drink fridge where she had just been.

He found himself speaking again, he had to. Something was very wrong.

“Can I help you find something, sir?”

The man looked up, seeming surprised that Bob had addressed him. Yelena glanced up too.

“Oh no,” he replied in too-cheery a voice, “I’m just getting a few treats for my kids.”

This did little to settle Bob’s spirit. A restrained nod was all he could reply with. He wanted to do more to help this girl but feared any move he made would make things worse.

He watched as the man looked up casually and Bob noticed his hands were gloved and rubbing together as though he were freezing or anticipating. Across from the dead camera, there was a circular mirror staring back down at him. Bob followed his gaze and felt his stomach sink as the young woman quickly realized she could be seen and slunk around the corner.

The man kept walking along the side of the cold food and drinks while the woman appeared in the middle aisle. She glanced over at the door and looked like she was considering making a run for it. Bob held his breath again.

Yelena seemed to feel the new tightness in the air now as well. Her restocking had become slower, less purposeful. And she seemed to be trying to listen without looking.

The young woman picked up her speed slightly and walked down the middle aisle right to Bob. Yelena looked up, tossing aside all desire for feigned subtlety.

The woman’s hands came to rest on the counter and Bob glanced over her shoulder before making eye contact with her, silently asking if he should call the police now. She gave no response in that regard but did speak again, her voice shaky, “I’m, uh, I’m ready to check out.”

She reached below and blindly grabbed a small pack of gum while Bob played along, “Sure, is there anything else I can help you with today?”

She hesitated for a moment that was brief. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly tossing an idea around in her head.

“No I-- think that’s it.”

Bob opened his own mouth but his hand moved to the cash register, keeping it up all the same. If he let her leave and this man did something terrible, he would never forgive himself. He typed more than was necessary, blocking the sound of his whispered words to those outside as he leaned a little closer, “Do you need help?”

His fingers continued dancing across the register, adding prices of products that didn’t exist as her eyes welled up. She opened her mouth one more time and spoke quickly and quietly, “My name is Antonia Dreykov and Project--”

POP.

The sound was louder than anything Bob had ever experienced before-- like a champagne cork popping magnified by one hundred. Antonia’s hand gripped onto Bob’s wrist as his typing immediately ceased. The shock in her eyes trailed down to her stomach: A red stain of blood was seeping out, as it was pooling larger and larger by the minute.

Bob’s mouth fell open in shock and he heard a scream escape Yelena from across the room. Antonia dropped to the ground in front of the counter, hand slipping out of its grip on Bob’s wrist. Bob began to shake uncontrollably as he looked up to see the man down at the end of the middle aisle with a gun trained right on him.

“Holy shit-- HOLY SHIT!” Bob threw his hands into the air immediately. He could see Yelena now, not daring to move from her spot against the shelf. She was shaking in pure horror too as the man remained stoic.

He took a step toward Bob when Yelena immediately yelped, “NO! DON’T HURT HIM PLEASE!”

The gun turned to face her immediately and she froze again. Bob’s mind went into auto-pilot the moment he saw her face-- there was something complicated in her expression. She definitely didn’t want to die but there was a clear momentary relief that she could take the bullet instead.

Bob did not share that sentiment. There was no world where he would let that happen.

“If-- if you want money, then take it, man!”

The gun was back on him, then on her, then on him again as though the assailant could not decide who to shoot first. He quirked an eyebrow at Bob, “I don’t want your money. But I sure as hell don’t want witnesses either.”

Bob thought fast-- he had to. At the current moment, the man’s gun was turned on Yelena. Bob grabbed the first thing on the desk that he saw, which was his book, and chucked it at the man’s head as hard as he possibly could. By some miracle, it was a direct hit. By another miracle, it successfully angered him into turning away from Yelena. And by the third miracle, she was now moving in the opposite direction.

The man stormed toward the counter and Bob ducked down. He felt around for his work bag and found what he needed right as the angry footsteps ceased just before the desk. Bob took a breath before popping up again, boxcutter in hand and sliced wildly at the man. Two swift cuts landed across his arm and down his cheek. The gun was dropped instantly as he howled in pain and stumbled backward. His hand came up to his cheek as blood soaked through his fingers.

He looked up at Bob again with pure hatred in his eyes, “I am going to MURDER--”

CRASH.

A wine bottle slammed across his back, sending him face first into the ground. Yelena stood behind, shivering, with the broken glass in her hand. She looked up at Bob, terrified expression on her face, “Are you okay??”

Bob nodded and swallowed, grateful for the fact that she had been equally quick. The man groaned from where he now lay next to Antonia. Bob wasted no time in sliding over the counter, grabbing Yelena’s hand, and making a break for the door.

“Wait, we need to call the police!” Yelena protested.

“We need to get somewhere safe first,” Bob replied.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the man was weakly grabbing for his gun once more. His fingertips were brushing against it, pulling it closer. Bob pushed the door open, ushering Yelena out first, then following behind.

Both Bob and Yelena panted from the stress and horror of what they had just seen. Neither of them dared to stop for a moment. Bob, lungs on fire, spoke a promise aloud to Yelena, “We’re almost there, I swear!”

When they had first begun to run, about ten minutes ago, Bob had insisted that the safest thing to do would be to call the police from somewhere hidden and nearby. He knew someone close (but he swore he had remembered him being closer) from days he would rather have forgotten about, in all honesty. But there had to be some favor this guy owed him.

Bob’s hand never left Yelena’s and he could feel her slowing. He slowed with her but only a little in case more danger showed up. Adrenaline and a need to get her away from all of that was what kept him going. He felt guilty for not having been able to drive her-- it would have made for a much quicker getaway, but both of their sets of keys had been left in the store in the frenzy.

Soon, the two finally came to the building Bob had been looking for. It was a nice apartment building on the upper west side characterized by its deep burgundy brick. It only had a few tenants living in it and they were more like “business associates”. In fact, the whole place was barely a living space at all-- more a common space. And it was all owned by one rich man.

The rich man in question answered the door fairly quickly-- after about two or three rings of the bell by a desperate Bob. As he appeared, the “landlord” was in a nice robe, some kind of scotch in his hand. Chestnut hair and eyes to match, he was wearing an expression as though he had expected their presence. His voice was smooth, accent shining through, “I thought I recognized you on my doorstep, Robert.”

Bob attempted to speak while his breath remained hitched, “We…we need…help, Zemo.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed at him as he spoke. Not much needed to be said by a friend for Zemo to be at the very least intrigued. He was a “no questions asked” kind of guy. True to his nature, Zemo stepped aside and let a grateful Bob and Yelena in.

The moment they had sat down at Zemo’s table, he had made a comment about Bob’s uniform. It was the first moment he had been able to stop and truly notice the blood splattered across his shirt. Yelena, on the other hand, was covered in a stain of red wine, luckily without any glass sticking to her.

Bob trembled as he attempted to reign in his thoughts and recount what had happened to Zemo. It had all been so quick. Neither he nor Yelena noticed the way in which they clung to each other like a lifeline, hands intertwined once more.

“I-- I just feel so horrible for that poor woman. She needed help and I wasn’t fast enough--”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Yelena was quick to step in, “You did what you could. And you saved us.”

Bob would have smiled at her sentiment if the circumstances in the present moment hadn’t been so grim, “You saved me too, you know.”

Yelena squeezed his hand, finally seeming to take notice of their contact, “Well then, we both did what we could.”

Bob felt a sense of ease as he looked at her and it only increased with her reassuring squeeze.

Across from them, Zemo swirled his drink casually as he considered and internalized their words. With the way he acted, it seemed as though he had heard stories like this one a million times before-- and in all honesty, he probably had.

“Something is not adding up.”

Bob’s brows furrowed as both of them returned their attention to him, “What do you mean?”

Zemo’s drink was set back down on the table in front of him. He locked his eyes on the two of them, “He wanted you to get away.”

“What? No--” Yelena replied, “He-- he shot at us! He said he wanted no witnesses!”

“But you two claimed that he trained the gun on two unarmed people-- unarmed before you picked up the boxcutter, Robert -- and he did not take that opportunity to shoot?”

Bob and Yelena exchanged an uneasy glance. At least for Bob, this hadn’t crossed his mind before. All he knew was a book to the head had been enough of a momentary distraction.

Zemo continued, looking vindicated by their nerves, “If you want my professional advice, and you do want it, you will trust me when I tell you not to call the police.”

This time Yelena had another retort, “No, we need to. We need to report what we saw and make sure this woman’s killer doesn’t get away.”

Bob nodded in agreement, “And in case he comes back…”

Zemo shrugged, “If you are implying he might come back to finish off his witnesses, that might be the case…”

His tone showed his mind was elsewhere and it made Bob curious. Yelena’s mind, however, was made up, “If he does come back, he could go after not just us but our friends and family too. Do you have a phone around somewhere?”

Zemo studied her for a moment before pointing her in the right direction-- the next room over had a landline. Once she had disappeared, Bob turned back to Zemo, who chuckled, “The poker face is as good as it always has been, Robert.”

“You don’t think he’s coming for us, do you?”

Zemo shook his head as calmly as if he were turning down a cup of coffee offered to him

“Then…what are you thinking?” Bob inquired further.

Even as he spoke the words, Bob knew the answer. And Zemo seemed to think he knew it too— Bob had never been involved in anything like that before. Still, back when Zemo was first beginning his “business ventures” while Bob struggled to get his next fix, he’d been witness to another of Zemo's associates facing it-- Zemo did not even have to speak the words.

“Yelena,” Bob called out, voice slightly wavering. But perhaps she had either overheard or the same thought had simply crossed her own mind, because she was back at the doorway once more. She said nothing for the moment but opted to study the ground.

Zemo eyed her then reached across the table, fingers enclosing around a remote control. He picked it up and pointed it at a small television positioned in the corner of the room. It turned fuzzy for one moment, then went to lines. The thing was old-- just like the landline Zemo owned. Everything was intentionally that way, designed to be untraceable.

He finally landed on the local news channel which depicted just what Bob had come to expect. It was their own convenience store, except it was flanked with yellow crime scene tape and an ambulance in front of it, lights flickering as a voice-over spoke, picking up mid-sentence: “--this morning at a local convenience store believed to be a random attack. A young woman was shot and killed while a man was left injured with a single bullet wound to the leg, but remains in stable condition…”

Yelena stood hugging herself in the doorway while Bob gripped the arm of his chair, knuckle turning white. Words summarizing the scene scrawled across the bottom as the voice continued, “The injured man was discovered with cut marks, injuries from glass, and a gunshot wound to the leg. Police are currently searching for the two employees present who are believed to be responsible for the crime.”

At this moment, the screen changed to a street camera view that had picked up Bob and Yelena running out from the store, Bob with the blood stains and Yelena with the wine, “Anyone with information on these two’s whereabouts are encouraged to call in--”

Zemo muted the television, having heard enough. He looked to Bob expectantly, like he wanted to hear him say the word. And he did, “We’re…we were framed?”

Confirmation on Zemo’s face lingered but it wasn’t enthusiastic. A small tone of being impressed showed itself as he muttered, “Shot himself in the leg too. He’s good.”

“But, they’ll find out it wasn’t really us, right?” Bob felt the panic rising in his chest once more, “I mean, it’s not like they can prove anything! I didn’t touch the gun and neither did Yelena!”

“Don’t underestimate a person’s ability to frame another when they really desire it. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I have seen and what I’m talking about.”

“But why frame us instead of really leaving no witnesses??”

“People frame for any number of reasons. You could have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It almost happened to me once but I killed the man before he could frame me.”

Both Bob and Yelena stared in confused horror until Zemo said, “Only a joke.”

In all honesty, Bob could not tell if those words were a joke. He had taken notice, however, that Yelena still had not said anything. He turned in his chair to look at her, still lingering in the doorway. She finally looked up at him. Her voice defeated, “What are we going to do?”

Bob found himself rising and making his way to her as tears formed in her eyes again, “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

He stopped next to her but did not reach for her-- she reached for him instead, “We have to make them believe us. We have to let them know the truth.”

Her hands had come to rest on his forearms as she looked up into his own teary eyes. The touch reignited his confidence slightly, “We’ll find a way-- we’ll try.”

Zemo coughed, making both of them look up. It had clearly been one of those intentional coughs to shake them back to paying him some attention. He gave a casual wave, eyebrows slightly raised as he took another sip of scotch. He set the glass back down and sighed, “I think you overestimate your chances here.”

Bob spoke up, “But you said not to underestimate--”

“I said not to underestimate them, the ones who framed you. Never trust you know their game in its entirety.”

Zemo stood up and made his way around the table to them as Yelena questioned, “Well then, what do you suggest we do if you’re the expert?”

He came to a stop next to them and placed a hand on either of their shoulders, “I have a plan but you may not like it.”

Zemo’s “business associates” made quick work of it. Before Bob and Yelena had even agreed to the plan, they had an old blue sedan pulled around the back of the building. The thing clearly had not been cleaned in a while (though it wasn’t like they had much choice) with its muddy wheels and leaves stuck under the windshield wipers. Bob had questioned where and when they had gotten the thing but Zemo had claimed he could not remember.

Choosing to run had not been an easy decision, but Zemo had insisted it would be the only way-- at least until things died down after a while.

Of course, neither of them wanted to leave. Yelena had her father and her friends, including her roommate. And Bob had roommates of his own that surely would notice something was wrong soon.

Yelena had tried to convince herself that there would be evidence proving their innocence. Bob tried to imagine it could be so, but for Zemo, it fell on deaf ears.

Bob had felt his heart sink as he thought about all the reasons the police would likely never believe anything he had to say. He had finally been forced to remind her that he had a record. Their boss had known about it and hired him anyway, in order to give him a second chance.

The words hurt to say. Bob hated talking about the time in his life when he’d built one up, but it existed all the same. He had only gone into vague detail about it with her before, she made him feel comfortable enough to share it in an environment free of judgement-- and yet it was still a subject he hadn’t quite worked through himself. He had felt lucky that, despite it, he had earned both another chance at school and been given that nice, cozy job that paid the bills. It was more comfortable than he had ever imagined he could have it. Still, in the back of his mind there was this constant reminder of everything that bender had been, everything he tried not to let define him.

Police would not soon forget that.

“They’ll never believe me,” Bob had concluded. Yelena shook her head but she had no argument against it. She had looked equally lost.

Bob had once again felt a wave of protectiveness overcome him. He wanted to help, even if all he could do right now was encourage, “But-- but maybe they’ll believe you--”

She was shaking her head before his train of thought had even left the station. She had opened up quite a bit about her family over the past few months-- how difficult things had been for them. Sharing personal experiences seemed to come easier for her than it did for him.

Yelena had described the hardship of losing her mother at a young age and how, quickly after that (too quickly), her father had packed her and Natasha’s things and moved them to New York. America was an entirely new country but Russia had been too painful without her. Yelena had told Bob how she had watched her father, since her childhood days, be mocked and met with scorn in this new country. She had also watched her sister meet this treatment with bravery:

“Lena,” Natasha had said at the age of twelve, “The people here might look at you strangely because of your accent. Don’t let them change you because they don’t understand a home different from their own, okay?”

In an attempt to remain ever loyal to those words, Yelena had clung to her accent like an anchor, making every effort within her to keep it. At one point, she had commented that maybe life would be easier if she had conformed, but conformity had never been her style.

Yelena had discussed how disturbing the country's treatment and mistrust of immigrants was enough times for Bob to know that that was where her mind was then. Her fear that their biases would be used against her was valid. He wished he could do more to help.

The final straw that was working against them, that both Bob and Yelena had come to realize in sync, was that damn busted camera. The one that could have secured their innocence. It had felt like such a trivial thing that morning. Something that, on any other day, Stan would have come in, appreciative of their efforts and simply ordered a new one. Any other day sounded nice.

Without any other choice, this was where they were: in this blue sedan with Bob in the driver’s seat and Yelena in the passenger’s, each buried in their own thoughts. They had handed their phones over to Zemo’s friends, who had given the promise that they would be destroyed in order to protect themselves and their friends. They had been given new names as well, but Bob really hoped they wouldn’t have to use them. Every aspect of this made it all the more real.

A few more essentials were tossed into the car’s trunk as Zemo came around to the driver’s side window and knocked. Bob rolled it down and flinched slightly when he saw the raccoon casually perched on his shoulder. Zemo absentmindedly stroked its tail. He noticed Bob's reaction right away, “Do you like my new friend? I’m calling him Rocket.”

“What, are you smuggling illegal pets now?”

“Not at all. He is a friend.”

Rocket eyed Bob curiously and made a small squeaking noise as Zemo continued, “You know where to go? I gave you an address. It is a nice place-- I sent someone there recently, in fact.”

Bob nodded, “Thank you for this. I, uh, I owe you.”

Zemo chuckled, “Yes, you do but I will still consider it a friends and family discount.”

Zemo reached in and patted Bob on the shoulder and he felt the trunk being shut at the same time.

“Now go, before someone comes looking around here-- and don’t forget to look at that hair dye I left you!”

Rocket crawled to Zemo’s opposite shoulder as he stepped back and waved. Bob made a quiet promise that they would do so, though he could hardly match Zemo’s enthusiasm.

Without another word, he pulled the van away from where it was stopped, and drove off. Zemo had said the windows were tinted, but Bob still made sure to keep his eye contact away from other people.

Once they were on the main road, he glanced over at Yelena, whose cheek lay against the door handle. He spoke up, “I’m sorry this is happening. They’re going to find out the truth. I believe they will…”

His tone barely matched the sentiment and Yelena must have felt it. She curled into herself a little more, “I hope so…”

The two drove on in silence and Bob felt like he could drown from all of the thoughts his head was swimming in.

Chapter Text

Ava had always had a talent for being able to read people. She had been this way ever since she was a child. In fact, when she was younger, she had been more of an observer. As the grown-ups around her spoke and interacted, she would watch, practically disappearing from view and taking it all in. Being a listener only increased her already high intelligence. As she had listened and watched, she had soon realized she had this ability. It had almost felt like a sixth sense.

Yelena had been no exception to the list of those Ava could character-judge purely from their first few interactions. Of course, there were plenty of things about Yelena that she had yet to learn, but from their initial email exchanges alone, Ava had learned a few.

Even from behind a screen and blinking cursor, Ava could gather easily that first impressions mattered to Yelena. The two had become randomly assigned roommates just before their freshman year of college at New York University and they were communicating before move-in.

Yelena had seemed eager to create at least some sort of bond with Ava, asking friendly questions as they came up. Because of this, Ava had guessed she must be the kind of person who actively looked for connections in other people. And her desire had come to fruition in the end. Ava had adored Yelena from the beginning-- she was kind and funny. She wasn’t exactly the best study buddy based on how easily distracted they could get when in each other’s presence, but she did her best. Among the things about Yelena that Ava could not possibly have predicted before they had met was her grief. Still, the moment Ava had learned about it, she had been by her new friend's side.

For the most part, her instincts had been spot on. And the two had indeed formed that bond Yelena had so desired. So much so, in fact, that they’d moved from the dorms into this apartment about five minutes from the school during their junior year of college and had lived there ever since.

The only person she hadn’t been able to figure out from the first day was John.

John had moved into the building about a year into Ava and Yelena’s residency, in the apartment just a flight of stairs down from their own. He hadn’t brought much with him, only a few boxes. At first, Ava guessed that maybe he was a college student who might keep mostly to his studies based on the fact that he seemed to be moving in alone.

He was also clearly independent or, at least, had a desire to be so. Ava and Yelena had both offered to help him move his things inside, but he’d brushed them off, insisting he had it covered. During that interaction, Ava had noticed the bags under his eyes and the way his hair fell slightly askew. Maybe he was jetlagged?

Within the first few weeks alone, Ava had realized that her thoughts on John had been what were actually askew-- and egregiously so. No one else ended up moving in, but a great deal of alcohol sure did. Ava worked most days, and yet, she often saw John sitting on his doorstep, empty beer can next to him. She would give him a nod or a wave and he would give one back. One night, she had stopped and attempted to invite him over for dinner with herself and Yelena. She was slightly worried about his behavior and thought he could use a friend or two. He had practically scoffed at the invitation, probably assuming it was given out of pity.

As the months went on, Ava had seen less and less of John sitting on his doorstep at night. But the quiet resignation turned into something else entirely. John started to have friends over almost every single night. Loud music and television could be heard in the entire hallway and that was the very last thing Ava could deal with after a long day at her demanding job. And so, she had gone down the stairs and knocked loudly to be heard.

An apologetic-looking man whose name she would learn to be Lemar had answered the door.

“Where is John?” Ava had practically begged in exasperation.

“I’m so sorry if we were being too loud. We can turn down the music,” Lemar assured her genuinely.

Before Ava could respond, John made his appearance, rising from the couch where three of his other friends now sat “oooohing” as though he were in trouble.

“I’ve got it, Lemar, it’s fine.”

Lemar returned to the others while John stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind himself, “What is it?”

Up close, Ava could now see clearly that John’s eye bags had gotten worse. He looked both hungover and drunk at the same time. He also looked like he could be on the verge of tears. A tinge of concern had tweaked in Ava’s chest but her exhaustion reminded her of her mission.

“It’s the music. And the tv. They’re loud. Again,” Ava retorted, crossing her arms in an attempt to warm herself. This damn hallway was always freezing, especially in the later months of the year.

John ran an exasperated hand over his face, “Right. Yeah, sorry, it’s just that this is sort of what we do on Guy’s Night.”

“Guy’s Night,” Ava raised an eyebrow as she repeated his words, “If this is ‘Guy’s Night’ I think it might happen all too often. You do this practically every night.”

“Oh no,” John assured her, “I have different friends who come over different nights so that’s why it happens a lot. I’m just popular, what can I say?”

“A popular idiot,” Ava corrected him.

John shrugged, “Maybe you’re jealous because you just have the one friend.”

Ava resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “If you think I have something to prove to you, you’re wrong. And I think you owe me an explanation.”

“And what exactly do I have to explain?”

“Well, since you’ve asked: you sit here night after night consuming alcohol, speaking to none of your neighbors-- practically ignoring their existence, mind you. You’re loud and you’re inconsiderate. But it’s clear you’re wallowing in something so you’re using your friends as a lifeline. What I fail to understand is why you don’t seek help for whatever is troubling you! From the very beginning, it’s clear you’ve been miserable, so why don’t you do more about it?”

John looked slightly surprised. Perhaps her words had cut deeper than he had let on, “You really are astute, I’ll give you that. But listen, Ava-- it is, Ava, right? I don’t owe you anything. No explanation. No guarantee that I’m going to get the ‘help’ you think I so desperately need. Nothing at all. Some people are just miserable and you gotta learn to roll with it.”

Now it was Ava’s turn to be surprised. This man had stumped her yet again. John raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for a response. This only made her more angry but she swallowed it down, opting instead for, “That is quite the outlook, John. But it’s not the truth. I don’t have to ‘roll with it’ and you do owe me some sort of change when I’m negatively affected by your actions.”

At this point, Ava stepped away and turned to ascend the stairs back to her own apartment, “I do hope you change your mind and get help. I’m sure it’s what your friends want for you.”

She reached the top of the stairs as John called back, “A lower volume on the music and tv is all I can guarantee for you!”

“If you say so,” Ava reached her door, “And by the way, yes my name is Ava. It’s about time you learned it.”

She disappeared into her own apartment as John noticed the volumes behind him lowering-- or maybe his mind was just getting fuzzy from the conversation that had just happened. There was no way he could truly tell. He was stunned she had said that to him-- no one ever had. It left him standing alone in that doorway for a few minutes longer before returning to his friends.

Unfortunately, John still had yet to seek help. These days, he and Ava were locked in something of a cold war. Yelena tried not to get involved but she often had to help Ava not lose it on him again over the year they had now shared a building.

Simple nods had been replaced with slight glares, or complete ignoring of each other all together. The volume had indeed gone down but the alcohol still reared its ugly head occasionally.

Ava had tried to convince herself many times that she did not care what the hell was wrong with John, why he did all of this. But she could not help the curiosity that placed him in her mind’s thoughts when she was alone. She would often sit on her balcony and wonder if he was drowning himself in some liquor down below at that very moment. That whole “wondering" happened more often than she would like to admit.

But to anyone who asked, she would chalk John Walker up to simply being her nightmare neighbor…

“Come on. Pick up! Pick up!”

Ava paced back and forth in front of her tv, feeling the palpitations in her chest increasing every minute her calls were going unanswered.

Displayed on the television screen was the convenience store, still surrounded by yellow crime scene tape. An active investigation was happening both inside and outside of its perimeters.

Ava glanced up at it and shook her head as Yelena’s outgoing voice message met her ears, all too cheery for the current circumstances, “Hiiii, you’ve reached Yelena Belova! Go ahead and leave a--”

BEEP.

Ava hung up. She’d left enough messages to make that girl’s inbox full by this point. A few more calls oughta get through. She tapped the ring button on Yelena’s contact again. This time, a new message made her stop in her tracks. A mechanical voice spoke, “We’re sorry. The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.” The thing hung up on its own.

Ava pulled her phone away from her ear and stared at it in pure disbelief. She looked up again at the television as the news channel once again played the footage of Bob and Yelena making a run for it, covered in what looked like blood. Ava whispered under her breath, “What the hell is going on…”

BZZZZZT.

The sound of her doorbell almost made Ava jump. She already hated how aggressive the thing sounded and, under present circumstances, she hated it even more.

Her first thought was that it was Yelena. She was home and she had answers for whatever had really gone down at the store because there was absolutely no way that Ava could believe the horrible things she was being accused of. Ava moved swiftly to the door and looked through the peephole. Her shoulders sagged instantly in disappointment: John stood on the other side of the door, hands on his hips. He looked put out.

Irritation buzzed through Ava. What right did he have to be annoyed with her?

“What do you want, John?”

“I just wanted to ask you to please stop with the pacing-- if that’s what that is? Since we’re neighbors and we clearly have no issue telling one another the problems we have with each other, I figured I could come and ask you.”

John’s voice was entirely sarcastic. It sounded as though he’d caught Ava red-handed in some crime.

Crime.

A thought crossed Ava’s mind at that moment-- other than the pacing, John was purely unbothered, which likely meant he hadn’t seen the news. Deciding she was desperate enough, Ava bit the bullet, unlocking the door, swinging it open, and pulling a shocked John inside.

“Woah-- what the hell?”

John shoved away from Ava as she closed the door behind them. She locked it too and a weirded-out look crossed his face. She looked out the peephole again and, seeing the emptiness of the hall, she turned back to him.

John waited a moment before he spoke, “Are you--”

“I need help,” Ava interrupted, “I have a situation and I don’t know what to do about it. Now, unfortunately you’re the only one here so it’s gonna be you.”

He cocked his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, “You couldn’t get your little friend to help you?”

Ava felt frustration in her chest once more at John referring to Yelena as her “little friend” as though he couldn’t be bothered to use her actual name. She couldn’t be surprised, however, considering how long it had taken for him to become interested in her own.

“Yelena is clearly preoccupied,” Ava replied, “Otherwise, no, I wouldn’t be looking to you for help.”

John was noticeably more interested now, “Okay…then, uh, what’s the situation?”

Ava nodded at his prompting for her to continue. She reached down and took the remote from the coffee table, muting the already low volume news. This brought John’s attention to the television too, which now displayed photos of Yelena and Bob’s faces. He raised a finger to point, confused, “Okay, what the hell is actually happening? Why is your roommate on the news?”

“Don’t look at that,” Ava insisted, “Look at me. I want you to listen to me first before you let your mind wander.”

“Whose mind is wandering??”

“Yours might when I explain,” she replied, sitting down at her two-person dining table, “Now come sit, please, and stop looking at the television!”

His eyes were indeed glued to the screen once more where a few pedestrians were being interviewed. But he listened to her anyway, pulling himself away from the tv and wandering over to where she was gesturing him to be seated. He eyed her strangely as he pulled out the free chair and plopped down into it, “So-- she’s in trouble then? Serious trouble?”

“Please, just hear me out,” Ava asked him.

“I mean, geez, I thought she was the nice one out of the two of you--”

“John,” Ava said, “No mind wandering!”

“Sorry sorry,” John relented, “Proceed.”

“Thank you…this isn’t easy. I don’t know what the hell’s going on but the things they’re accusing my friend of-- they aren’t true.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know, John. She’s my best friend,” Ava turned to the screen herself for a moment where the bystanders were still speaking into a microphone. Her voice lowered, not even able to fathom the next words that would come out of her own mouth, “They’re saying she killed someone.”

When Ava’s gaze returned to John’s face, she could tell he was trying to keep himself from looking surprised. Okay, he definitely hadn’t been expecting that, “Your roommate…”

“Yes my roommate who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

This sentiment rang true for a multitude of reasons but literally did due to the fact that Yelena simply loved all animals. She felt they understood people in a way they might not even be able to understand themselves. And to hell with that language barrier! Ava could swear there was some telepathic activity going on between Yelena and every single dog she stopped to pet. Either that or they all just really liked her. She had even once found a cat and returned it to its rightful home.

She just wasn’t the kind of person the living “victim” had claimed her to be.

“Something must have happened. Some struggle-- it had to be a misunderstanding or or- self defense against a robbery! In the footage she looked scared.”

“And now you can’t reach her,” John seemed to finish her thought and Ava nodded.

“I just,” she sighed, “I don’t know what to do. I need to find her and help her but how can I if she doesn’t want to be found?”

John was quiet for a moment, almost stoic. He was still succeeding at keeping his surprise down for the most part but it clearly simmered at his edges. He brought up one hand and stroked thoughtfully at his stubble. Ava couldn’t take the silence under these circumstances for very long, soon bursting out, “Well? Nothing to say? Not even a sarcastic comment??”

The latter was what she had grown used to expecting from him. But he shook his head, “Sorry, it’s just wild. All of it…”

Ava had to agree. Of course it was! Who expects to spend a random September afternoon in the middle of the week finding out your best friend has been accused of murder?

What was also wild but remained at the back of her mind in this moment was that this was the first time John had actually stepped foot inside the apartment. A few failed invitations, countless snarky remarks, and nothing. It took literal crime to get him out of his shell. He was a puzzle.

Then he spoke up again, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Her brows furrowed, “Do it? What should we do exactly?”

He blinked at her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Find your friend. Clear her name.”

“Wait-- what?”

John stood from his chair, “You said she didn’t do it, right?”

“Of course not,” Ava was standing now too, looking at him from across the table.

“Well then, what’s so surprising about me suggesting we do something about it?”

“What’s surprising,” Ava replied, “Is your desire for involvement. You hate me and, by extension, you probably hate her too. So why help?”

He threw his hands up casually in defeat, “Well, first of all, you hate me too. Second, no one deserves to be pinned for a crime they didn’t commit. And third-- I have a proposition.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. Of course there was a catch, “A proposition?”

John nodded, “If I do this for you-- help you save Yelena then you leave me alone forever. No judging me for my daydrinking, no telling me to get help, and no more pity invitations. You leave me be and I will leave you be. We never have to talk to each other again.”

Ava was surprised-- this wasn’t a catch at all! In fact, it seemed like an absolute win. The two of them would keep far away from one another for the rest of their time as tenants, “Alright, John. Deal.”

John grinned and stuck out a hand which Ava gave a single shake.

“Okay,” he said, “Let’s get to work.”

The cerulean sedan zoomed down the road as the afternoon rays shined above it. The further they drove, the less crowded the streets became. Bob had glanced countless times in the rearview mirror at the city behind them growing smaller and smaller in the distance as he drove.

With increased distance came increased stress and, by this point, Bob was gripping the steering wheel with specifically great force, his knuckles whitening in retaliation. The reality of the situation was hitting him, he was de-numbing. The shock was turning into pure fear and sorrow.

He wanted to cry out. He wanted to pull the vehicle over to the side of the road and just run until he got tired. He felt too restricted inside of this box, as though the walls would soon close in and the seatbelts would slither their ways around each of their necks and choke them until their visions turned black. For a moment, Bob wondered if things would be easier that way. Anything for momentary relief.

Yelena’s touch broke him out of his thoughts. Her hand came to rest on his wrist, fingers wrapping themselves naturally around it with absolutely no pressure. A light touch that was as gentle as the many times she had intentionally brushed her hand against him.

His first thought was that she must have noticed the way his hands were actively turning into polar bear paws. Her simple touch, however, made him loosen that grip even slightly and the normal color of his skin returned.

“I would ask if you’re okay,” Yelena said rather quietly, “But I think we both know the answer to that so I will rephrase: What’s going through your mind? It will help to let it all out.”

Her reassurance caused a sense of subtle relaxation in Bob’s chest and he released a breath, glancing slightly to the side while trying to keep his hand from shivering under her touch.

“Uhm, well, it’s a lot of things,” Bob spoke slowly, working through the thoughts in his own head, “Guilt mostly-- I know I did what I could but that woman is still dead and I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

He trailed off but felt Yelena’s fingertips now giving a slight, comforting massage on his upper forearm as she nodded. She did not interrupt or pull away.

Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, “And I’m worried.”

About you, the voice inside finished for him. Yes, about her-- God knows his worry was reserved for her. Something Bob had learned to do over the years was automatically fear that the worst possible outcome would happen. And was that irrational? He didn’t think so. The world was a cruel place after all.

He had never feared anyone being wronged the way he feared it for Yelena. Since the day he’d met her, he had felt this desire to protect her. But she was smart, brave, and confident-- maybe she didn’t need him. And yet, despite her ability to take care of herself, he knew that he would be there to help her if she ever needed it.

Her confidence was showing itself again now that the shock was wearing off for her too. He felt even more like a fraud for wanting to protect her since she was currently the one bringing his breaths back to normal.

She was amazing…all the more reason for him to be concerned.

“I’m worried too,” she agreed, “A killer on the loose and a girl…the whole situation is just so strange!”

“She tried to tell me something-- the girl did,” Bob found himself saying, “Right before he shot her. She told me her name and said the word ‘project’ but she was cut off there...”

Yelena wore an expression of concentration. She often did this when she was trying to solve a problem (for instance, the issue of that security camera both of them hated right now). Bob always thought the look on her face was cute. He loved to watch the way her mind worked.

He felt her hand leave his arm and he missed her warmth immediately, now shivering in an entirely different way.

“Project,” Yelena repeated the word, “It could have been her own or…maybe it was that man’s and he didn’t want anyone to know?”

Bob shook his head, unsure. The whole situation made him feel gross, like he could be sick, “I just hope they figure out what really sparked the whole thing…”

There was finality in his tone of voice, as though he were announcing he didn’t want to talk about it anymore (otherwise his breakfast might really come back up). Yelena either took that hint or didn’t want to think about it anymore herself because she didn’t press.

Stress would continue to fill them both but they knew all of that anxiety would only make things worse anyway.

It’s out of my control, Bob thought to himself. It was a lesson he had learned many times over being such an anxious young man. Still, all of this was frustrating. The narrative-- the real narrative was theirs and the story the police should have been told was their own perspective. But any control they should have had was now long gone and it dissipated more and more the further they traveled along this road.

No turning back.

Bob watched Yelena out of the corner of his eye grab a magazine from the box that Zemo’s friends had left on the floor of the passenger side. She opened it and flipped through, examining all of the hairstyles, “We will have to change our looks, you know-- at least just a little.”

“Yeah,” Bob replied. Zemo had made that quite clear to the both of them. Both the police and the public had their headshots and the search for them simply required it. Hats and sunglasses were highly recommended by the experienced man as well-- for good measure.

Bob had overheard Zemo telling Yelena, From one accent to another, lose the accent. I know it isn’t ideal but it makes you stand out.

Knowing fully well the importance Yelena’s roots held to her, Bob could tell that would be a harder pill to swallow. He hoped with everything he had that this fugitive life would clear up just as quickly as it had first manifested.

Things went quiet between them for a bit with Yelena keeping her eyes on the magazine and Bob trying his best to focus on the road without giving into the nerves that threatened him.

The silence became too daunting and caused Bob to turn on the radio. Miraculously it worked, fuzzing into a station that played old rock hits. Yelena glanced up as Bob moved the dial, trying to find a channel with better signal. He flipped through them really quickly until Yelena blurted, “Wait-- go back a couple.”

Bob did as he was asked, turning the dial back the opposite way.

“There,” Yelena said, “This one.”

Bob’s hand moved back to meet the steering wheel again while Yelena extended her own to turn up the volume. A familiar voice filled the car-- that of their boss, Stan.

“Bob and Yelena are two of the best employees I’ve ever had. I’m absolutely certain there’s been a misunderstanding...”

Hope touched Bob in that moment. It was exactly like Stan to stick out his neck for them. He had always been unafraid to speak out for what was right, even if it landed him in trouble.

Bob could practically feel the way Yelena settled at the man's words as well. For the next few minutes, the two sat thinking individually about how grateful they were for their boss. Then, the news cut away.

A businesslike sounding anchor’s voice took over, “Reynolds and Belova are currently still on the run, it is unknown if they are armed so please proceed with caution and call in a tip if you see them or have any leads. In the case of this emergency, two lieutenants: James Barnes and Samuel Wilson have been assigned to bring the criminals to justice.”

Yelena opened the glove compartment and fished out a small phone Zemo had provided them. It was pretty old and barely had internet service but it had been hacked to be untraceable, just like his other devices.

She opened it and typed something, waiting for the slow internet (a small price to pay for stealth) to work. Eventually photos popped up and Yelena scrolled through them, putting a face to the people they would have to avoid most of all.

A new voice came on the radio-- introduced as Lieutenant Barnes. He sounded determined, experienced. He seemed as though a case consisting of runaways wanted for murder was run-of-the-mill for him.

“We’re asking that you keep your doors locked if you’re in the area and don’t open up for anyone you don’t know.”

“Any information at all will be helpful to us so don’t be shy,” this was Lieutenant Wilson, “Try to stay calm and trust they will be caught.”

Bob felt his stomach sink and caught Yelena putting the phone away and running her hands over her face. Time was already running out. He pressed the pedal a little harder in that moment, praying that they reached their destination before those two could even get a lead.

Chapter Text

The doors of the convenience store slid open - not those of the one from which Bob and Yelena had fled, but rather, a convenience store several towns over. Yelena stepped inside disguised in a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a heavy coat, the hood of which was so large that it almost hung over her bangs. She thought the getup was ridiculous and, if anything, made her look even more suspicious. Still, it was a necessary precaution since her hair and looks would be a one hundred percent match for anyone looking to call in a tip. It was also better than showing off the wine-soaked uniform she had been wearing before. Both she and Bob had taken the opportunity to change in the car while pulled over on the side of the road as the other kept watch outside.

Bob now waited out by the car in a similar “costume”, only he wore a bucket hat on his head rather than a baseball cap. It looked like he was on his way to a fishing trip and he figured that was a cover story he could use if anyone asked where he was headed. He was filling the car with gas after having noticed how low they already were on it. Zemo had provided a little warning about that aspect of the vehicle.

Simultaneously, Yelena went straight to the easily-transportable snack section (the chips, crackers, really anything that wouldn’t be a hassle). She found it interesting-- the way the place was set up was extremely similar to the way theirs was but the two locations weren’t part of the same chain. In fact, Bob and Yelena were actively avoiding those. They figured showing up at one of them wouldn’t be the smartest move…

And yet, the fact that the two places were practically twins made it so that Yelena couldn’t ignore the middle aisle with the circular mirror hanging above it and the refrigerators just on the other side of the pastries. She also couldn’t shake the eerie feelings the place evoked within her.

For a moment, the least rational part of her thought about the one in a million chance that something might go down again. Whether a robbery or another killing, the pair would surely be blamed if they were discovered at the scene. Their faces would be plastered on the news once more with the captions “CONVENIENCE STORE CRIMINALS STRIKE AGAIN” or something like that. Of course that would never happen. Yelena wanted to ignore the part of her mind that drifted there so she instead thought of Bob.

Bob, outside standing at the gas pump in an attempt to fill the tank while looking as unsuspicious as humanly possible. She stole a glance outside for a moment, standing on her tiptoes to peek over the shelves and saw him. She held in a snort-laugh at the way he leaned against the car door, hands in his pockets, and bucket hat (she thought it was a cute look) pushed down all the way to his eyebrows. Maximum protection of his identity, yes, but he was trying way too hard to look casual. Even cuter.

On top of that, he couldn’t seem to decide whether it was a better idea to give passerbys a casual wave or to stare down at his shoes so he opted for the middle ground: a slight nod. Yelena made a mental note to give him some tips on looking more casual later. Granted, she had never been on the run before but she had had to conceal her own nerves in order to save herself quite a few times.

In the whirlwind of today, Yelena had almost forgotten how things were between them-- or how they had been left the night before. Her smile faded slightly as that crossed her mind. She quickly shoved it down, however. That was a problem for another day…one in a universe, perhaps, where they might not be tossed in prison tomorrow.

Yelena looked down, pulling her eyes away from Bob, and began to load up the small basket she held with these snack bags. Once she had sufficient rations to tide them over with, she turned and crossed in front of the row of refrigerators. She scanned the shelves and found what she was looking for: Arizona Iced Tea. She knew Bob loved those things-- he had one with him at the counter of their work quite a bit. Maybe something familiar would help his nerves. She opened the door and grabbed two. After placing them in her basket, she grabbed a gatorade as well. The water that Zemo and crew had provided had been very helpful so far, but she had known many times when a glacier cherry gatorade had aided her (plus if either of them felt sick, this would do wonders).

As she brought her basket to the counter, Yelena noticed it was sort of heavy. For a brief moment, she considered putting some things back. She glanced outside again-- on second thought, the uncertainty of the road ahead made her sure that overestimation was the better choice.

She set the basket on the surface of the counter which pulled the attention of the cashier away from his phone. Yelena could tell she had slightly startled him. For a moment, it seemed like he had forgotten where he was altogether. Then he pulled out his earphones.

“Hey, sorry,” the young man, whose nametag read SCOTT, said sheepishly, “I didn’t realize anyone had come in.”

“Oh no, that’s alright,” she assured him, beginning to unload the basket.

Scott gave a little smile as he scanned the items, “I’ve just been a little distracted by this whole manhunt…”

Yelena froze instantly while Scott’s expression was unchanged.

Relax, she reminded herself, calm and casual.

By some miracle, her voice came out in the same pitch she had greeted him-- no higher intonation that would risk him doing a double take, “Manhunt?”

“Yeah,” Scott seemed eager to talk about it. It was as though he had waited for someone to bring it up for so long that he had just given in and brought it up himself, “That’s what I’m keeping tabs on.”

He turned his phone around to face her, propping it on the cash register as he continued scanning. She tried to read it from where she stood-- doing so was especially hard in these sunglasses, but she would not dare to get closer. Scott indeed had a live news channel open. She couldn’t hear what anyone was saying since his headphones were still plugged in and dangling from the counter. Regardless, volume wasn’t exactly needed to feel the weight of the broadcast: it was a bird’s eye view of the store, likely taken from a drone. The crime scene remained full of activity even a few hours after they’d fled, with the yellow tape still hanging and police going in and out. Stan was nowhere in sight-- Yelena hoped he could be left in peace-- and the caption read, “CRIMINALS STILL AT LARGE.”

Short and to the point.

“Yeah,” Scott narrated for her, “They’re saying that store’s gonna be shut down for a week at least because someone died.”

Yelena must have let a worried expression slip onto her face because Scott paused his scanning for a moment to reassure her, “Don’t you worry. They say the officers on the case are the best of the best. You remember that underground group that was busted for illegal weapon selling? It was all over the news-- I think they worked under the title Hydra?”

All Yelena could do was nod.

“Which is a sick name by the way-- too bad they’re terrible people. Aaaanyway, that was Barnes and Wilson’s case! So, don’t sweat it. They’ve got this covered.”

Yelena pulled her coat hood tighter around her head as Scott calculated the total. She had indeed heard about that bust, it was big news about a year before. In the articles about Barnes and Wilson she had scrolled through in the car, she’d read about it briefly. Hydra had been a LOT more prepared to evade the police than she and Bob were…so how could they stand a chance?

Scott glanced at Yelena as he read the total aloud. He didn’t make any comment about how quiet she’d gone, probably assuming she was nervous (and she was but for an entirely different reason than he must have thought). She prayed that he wouldn’t suddenly recognize her in the very last few moments and take her down so he could call the police to come and collect herself and Bob.

And yes, she knew in her soul that they would get Bob too because as much as she wanted him to get away, he would never leave her behind. It was one of the many reasons that she…

She handed the cash over to Scott who took it and began to count it up without missing a beat. Both Bob and Yelena had left their credit cards behind…along with everything else.

And luckily, Scott did not end up recognizing her, instead opting to tap the counter with his pointer and middle fingers like a mini drum set while he calculated the change. Yelena supposed the disguise had worked after all because if someone this into the case didn’t recognize her, who else would?

“Still,” Scott muttered, “I wonder…”

Yelena’s head tilt said it all, prompting him to continue, “I don’t consider myself a big ‘conspiracy guy’ or anything but some of the parts of this crime just don’t make sense. I mean-- one: why would two convenience store workers pull a gun on customers? If they wanted to rob the store they could do it after hours. Two, why did they run instead of trying to cover their tracks? And three: they’re saying it was a random attack but it doesn’t feel random. Nothing about it does…but what do I know about it, I guess? All the experience I have under my belt is a few true crime shows.”

Yelena internalized his words. The tiniest sliver of hope swelled in her heart.

Scott sent her on her “merry” way with all of her groceries in a paper bag. As he handed them over, he leaned in slightly as though he were about to tell a secret. Yelena kept her distance, not pushing her luck in going unrecognized.

“You should be careful out there. You never know what you’re gonna find,” he said this in a low voice, tone completely serious. Then, he switched back entirely, customer-friendly voice and tone returning, “And have a wonderful day!”

Yelena mumbled something back that she was sure he couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter, he was already engrossed back in the news anyway by the time she was out the door. She wondered to herself, as she made her way to Bob, if Scott would clock out that night and suddenly come to the realization of who he had been talking to earlier. She imagined he would be in for quite the shock.

Bob was still leaning against the car, though he had surely adjusted since the last time she had looked at him because the pump nozzle was now back in its place. He looked up at her and she could practically read the relief on his face behind the sunglasses and low-riding hat. He pushed himself off the car rather quickly as Yelena got close.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Bob assured her, “I just-- think we should get out of here.”

Yelena’s brows furrowed, “Did something happen? Did you get recognized?”

“No, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in one place for too long.”

The way he said that carried experience and Yelena felt her chest constrict. But she wouldn’t press. She only nodded and got into the passenger seat, placing the bag on her lap while Bob got into the driver’s seat.

The car roared to life and he peeled out while Yelena dug through the goodies, “Maybe we switch in an hour and I drive the rest of the day?”

“Sure,” Bob replied, eyes darting around the road ahead of him, “But I don’t mind taking most of the night. I’m used to a terrible sleep schedule.”

“So am I,” Yelena said honestly. Her fingers closed around a can and she pulled out the Arizona Iced Tea, “I got you something.”

Bob took a brief glance over and his expression became lighter, “Arizona?”

“Yup,” Yelena replied, “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”

Bob chuckled, “You know me well, Lena-- Yelena.”

He was quick to correct himself. So quick that she might not have noticed it was any different if he hadn’t changed it. It was natural. She loved the way her nickname sounded on his tongue.

His eyes were back to doing their flitting routine so Yelena spared him the awkwardness by changing the subject, “So, I spoke with the cashier. Or rather, he spoke to me. I did my best to avoid contact and by some miracle he didn’t recognize me. And I’m also luckily didn’t comment about how it’s nowhere near cold enough for a coat like this.”

She took this moment to push the hood back and unzip the jacket. She had some faith in these tinted windows and sparsely populated streets.

“Oh? So, what did he say?”

“Well, that’s what’s weird,” Yelena replied, “He told me about us.”

“Us?”

“Us as in he’s keeping an eye on the news about two convenience store workers wanted for murder.”

Bob’s eyes widened again, Yelena could see it through the side of his glasses, “And he didn’t recognize you?”

“No. But even if he had, I don’t think he would have called the cops without asking us some questions first.”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t entirely believe the things they’re saying about us. There are holes in the story, Bob. Holes that make me even more curious about why that man really killed Antonia.”

Bob seemed to consider and nodded slowly while Yelena went on, “What if we can figure it out?”

He glanced over at her with concern, “Us? The people currently being framed for her murder?”

“That’s just it though,” she insisted, “The real killer will continue to give the police a false narrative. We may not have any evidence of our innocence right now, but what if we did? What if we figured out the truth and cleared our names?”

Bob didn’t speak for a moment, a long moment, and Yelena held her breath.

“But…what if we go to all the trouble and they don’t believe us anyway? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was so honest. So true and he didn’t even attempt to correct himself out of embarrassment this time. Bob couldn’t fathom the idea of Yelena getting hurt. She could first tell he was the protective type on a day in the middle of June when a customer with alcohol on his breath was giving her unwanted advances. He had been quick to point that man to the door. And even if she didn’t need help, he always stood at the ready. He meant it then and he meant it now.

“I just--,” Bob concluded, “I think maybe we focus on reaching the safehouse first. And then we can decide what to do.”

Yelena nodded after a moment, accepting these terms. She didn’t want anything to happen to him either…

John didn’t consider himself-- what was the term he had heard? A “chronically online” person? It didn’t really take one to know where to look on the internet anyway. Yet, that’s what Ava was accusing him of being now that he had resorted to logging into his Instagram account on her computer.

“What exactly are you doing now?” She questioned.

John glanced up at her then back down at the screen, “Don’t you trust me?”

Ava’s arms crossed and she raised an eyebrow, “Not even a little bit.”

Touche, John thought. Nonetheless, he was in.

“I started figuring out how to find people online after I got out of the military. I wanted to keep in contact with my buddies on this app.”

Ava blinked at the new information about him being a former military-man. He knew she wouldn’t question it-- she would never do anything to stroke his ego if she could help it. And even though she was probably correct in her assumption that he’d brag about some of his best stories, his time serving meant much more to him than a simple ego trip.

“What? You’re surprised I use the internet now? A second ago you were assuming I scroll on reels all day,” John argued.

“I just…don’t know how you plan on finding Yelena this way.”

“Oh, I’m not going to find Yelena this way,” John said, “I’m going to find the other one.”

“Bob,” Ava said his name so fast that it made John raise his eyebrows, “She’s-- uh, she’s mentioned him a few times. I think he’s definitely her favorite coworker.”

There was more on her mind about the subject of those two, John could tell.

“I assume he’s not the murderous type either,” he looked back down, beginning to type his name into the search bar.

“I’ve actually never formally met him before. I’ve only heard a lot about him. But there is absolutely no way that anyone Lena is that infatuated with could be capable.”

John listened to her as he stopped typing and scrolled through the results. He had a photo of Bob from the news open on his phone next to the screen for comparison. As he heard Ava mumble something under her breath about her disbelief that she would let him use her computer in the first place, he reached the bottom.

“Not many name matches. And no face matches either,” he looked up at her again, “I need to find his account and see who he’s connected to. Someone here might have a better idea of where they are.”

That was assuming that Bob had an internet presence at all.

Ava pulled the other chair around the table right next to him and sat down, turning the screen slightly so it faced her, “Let me see…”

John shifted slightly, feeling too close. He was a little surprised she had moved in instead of grabbing the computer and taking it away to the couch or something, but her mind was focused on helping Yelena, he supposed. On any other day, she might have pushed her way past him and tuned him out entirely.

Ava’s eyebrows furrowed as she examined John’s handiwork. She scoffed, “You just typed his name into the search bar?”

John shrugged, “Yeah. How else was I supposed to do it?”

“That’s like searching the ocean, John. Honestly, how did you end up finding any of your friends?”

He glared, slightly peeved at her tone, “Well, what would you do if you’re so smart?”

“Go through Yelena’s mutual following, dummy,” she recognized the assertion in her voice immediately and cooled down, “Sorry. Not dummy. You’re helping.”

John studied her as she navigated to Yelena’s profile, seeming to handle the app with relative ease, “Now who’s chronically online?”

Ava opened her mouth, probably with a snarky retort in mind, but words never left her. She was now looking at Yelena’s following, too focused to continue the silly argument. She typed in his name and John watched in anticipation. One result under an account called sign-spinning-chicken. The profile picture was a little dog.

“This must be him,” Ava moved her cursor and opened the page. It was public but there were no posts. She checked the tagged images and saw he was in one. John brought his phone with the picture of Bob up next to the screen.

“Oh, that’s him alright,” John muttered as Ava clicked onto the profile that had tagged him: human-torch-61. This account, on the other hand, had a lot of posts and a name above the bio: Johnny.

“Have you seen him before?” John questioned.

“I haven’t,” Ava confirmed before going back to Bob’s profile, “It looks like he is one of the four accounts Bob follows.”

The other three were grimmb5390, who Ava discovered to be a young man named Ben, the restaurant Applebees, and Yelena.

A sudden realization came to John in that moment, “Wait— open Ben’s profile.”

Ava did so and John leaned in slightly. This time it was Ava’s turn to shift away. John studied Ben’s profile photo for a moment and looked at both of his posts, “Yep. I know this one.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I had geology with him in my senior fall semester. Maybe we should…ask him about Bob?”

Ava nodded, prompting John to open a chat with him. He typed a message quickly: Hey, we’re looking for Bob. How do you know him?

He sent the thing before Ava even had time to process.

She blinked, “What the hell is that??”

“What’s what?”

“You sound like a cop! You came on way too strong, John.”

“No I didn’t,” John retorted, “I’m being straight forward.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, “So, you didn’t think it would be a good idea to, I don’t know, add a little bit of context about who we are and why we need to find him?”

John let her words sink in and now he was the one who looked in disbelief, “Okay it was a bad start.”

“Yes it was,” Ava agreed.

“But let me fix it!”

John turned back to the screen but, in their time arguing, neither of them had noticed the new reply from Ben. It had been almost instantaneous. Both leaned in and read to themselves: I gave my statement to the police and I’m not talking to any reporters.

Quick to the point, like John.

“Well, that’s great,” he muttered and ran his hands through his hair.

“We can still fix this-- or at least I can,” Ava pulled the computer toward her and John held his hands up in defeat. Maybe it was best to let her take a turn.

He watched as her fingers hovered above the keys for a moment before she began to put her thoughts out. After a few minutes, she tilted the screen toward John so he could read: Hello Ben, please forgive the previous message. We are friends of Bob’s coworker, Yelena, if that makes any difference. I’m her roommate, Ava. Both our desire to find them safe and the cruciality of clearing their names are why we are reaching out. We would love to talk if you have time.

John nodded, “That’s good. Formal. The part about all of us being friends isn’t exactly true but other than that…”

Ava rolled her eyes and sent the message, then leaned back in her seat and watched, “I only hope he hasn’t blocked us already…”

“Yeah, it wouldn't be my first time.”

Ava looked over at John as he said this and he glanced down. He couldn’t handle watching the way her eyes studied him. Whenever people tried to analyze him and his situations, it made him squirmy. And yet, the confession had come so naturally and unfiltered-- maybe that was only because he would never see her again after this. Why should he have to censor himself?

Ava thankfully didn’t question it, “This was smart, you know. Using social media to reach out to people he knows. Even if they all block us, it’s given us a little more context anyway.”

A half-grin appeared on John’s face, “Are you complimenting me?”

Ava rolled her eyes again and shook her head, “I know you’re dense but you have to know the answer to that.”

John was now smiling in full, “I have a lot of great ideas.”

“Well, now’s your chance to use them.”

Ava glanced back at the screen. Another new message appeared and John’s attention was pulled there too: I’ve heard all about Yelena! It sounds like we are in the same confused boat. I’m Bob’s roommate.

“Bob’s roommate,” Ava repeated, then turned to John, “Bob’s roommate!”

“I can read,” John replied.

“We have to go see him in person,” Ava was up now and moving around.

John turned around in his chair to watch her as she gathered up her belongings, “What if the police drop by to get a statement from you? Shouldn’t you be here?”

“Oh I expect they’ll be here any minute since they already visited Ben,” Ava called from the bathroom as she pulled her hair up out of her face into a ponytail. Then, she poked her head out at him, “But for now, I need you to convince Ben to meet up with us. And don’t mess it up please.”

John was instantly doubtful, “Well-- maybe you should type it--”

Ava came out of the bathroom fully this time, “I trust you not to make the same mistake again. Plus, I have a very important phone call to make before we do anything else.”

John looked at her questioningly but she provided no answer, “Go on, John!”

Obeying her words, he turned back to the screen. Ava nodded, getting her bearings, and grabbed her phone off the couch. She moved into her bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, hesitating at the frame for a moment.

She wasn’t looking forward to this next part.

Ava was back to pacing again-- though, this time, she was pacing before she had even made the call. She knew that within seconds of dialing him, he would surely pick up. He was always good about that-- making her feel like another daughter of his.

A crushing thought came to mind: he probably had not seen the news. If he had, he would have called Yelena and, when that failed (assuming he wouldn’t be able to reach her either), he would have phoned Ava next. Having to be the bearer of bad news was part of what made pressing that button on his contact so difficult. But she knew she had to do this. He couldn’t just be left in the dark.

Ava took a shuddery breath and halted her pacing before finally calling Alexei.

As she had predicted, the phone did not ring long. Two times-- three at the most and his voice was on the other end greeting her, “Ahh Ava! I am so glad you are calling! Did Lena let her phone die again? I cannot reach her today.”

Ava’s heart sank. He knew nothing. He had absolutely no suspicions besides Yelena’s common failure to charge her phone to a decent percent. In some capacity, Ava knew she would have to be the bearer of bad news.

“We were going to meet tomorrow for our father-daughter dinner but I have not heard from her,” Alexei continued.

“I don’t think she’s going to be able to reach you for a while,” Ava found herself saying. The words hurt but she knew it was better to be honest. She recognized how quiet her own voice was and he must have too. She could hear his confusion through the phone clear as day.

“What do you mean? What is it you are saying, Ava?”

Before Ava knew it, her eyes began to well up with tears. She knew how difficult things had been for their family: all of the loss and hardships in a new country. The last thing she wanted was more troubles on their plate. She forced herself to press on, however, with the knowledge in her mind that she and John would fix things, “In truth, I don’t know exactly where she is. I don’t think she wants to be found.”

Ava closed her eyes as she waited an agonizingly long time for Alexei to form a response in his confused and hurt state, “She ran away?”

Running away was a strange concept for an adult on its own. It sounded like something a child did to make a point. This was much more complicated and much more than Ava wanted to pile on Alexei all at once. She was delicate with her choice of words, “Sort of. I mean-- yes. She ran somewhere but it was only because she was scared--”

Alexei cut in, “She is not safe? Where is she?? Ava, if you know you must tell me.”

Ava could hear the stress increase within him. She wanted to help him so badly but there was little comfort she could offer in the present.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “But I am going to figure it out, I promise. I didn’t call to scare you but because you deserve to know.”

“Deserve to know?”

“Deserve to know,” Ava took another breath before explaining, “That Lena’s been accused of something she didn’t do. There is absolutely no way she is guilty and neither is her friend. She ran away because there was likely nothing else to do.”

Alexei was silent for a moment, so long that Ava thought she had accidentally hung up on him. He reappeared as she stood there with bated breath, “I just want her to come home happy and safe again.”

No questions asked. No accusations. Just a simple request from a father who was trying to process her words. Ava found herself nodding despite knowing that Alexei could not see her. She advised him to stay away from the news outlets and gave him a brief rundown of what she knew so he wouldn’t have to go looking.

We’re going to find her. We’re going to find her and bring her home, the promise of the day.

Alexei was interrupted by a knock at the door-- police who wanted a personal statement from him. For a few minutes after he had hung up in clear distress, Ava remained feeling horribly where she stood. Anything he could do to help, he had told them, he would. For now, Ava insisted that all Yelena would want was his safety. A true sentiment but one that would hardly quell his attempts to reach out to her. Ava wasn’t sure what route he would take to find her, but there was no way he would just sit by, hoping for a call.

Yelena might call him anyway when she was safe. Ava hoped she would.

She put her hands on her head and took a few more shaky breaths while gaping up at the ceiling. The jittery breaths slowly morphed into calmed ones. Only then did she slide her phone into her pocket and leave the room to join John once more.

John looked a little more hopeful than she felt when she opened the door. He stood immediately from his seat and walked over to her, “Bit of good news. I didn’t screw it up this time.”

“That is good news,” Ava agreed, “So they’ll meet us then?”

He nodded and she felt re-instilled hope flowing through her, “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to their house,” John looked proud as he reported to Ava, “He gave me his address. He and his roommate want to talk to us too.”

Ava was surprised at how quickly their prospects had turned around: either John had turned up the charm she didn’t even know he had or they had heard as much about Yelena as she had about Bob. Maybe both. She also assumed they must be really worried for him.

John searched her eyes, likely trying to gauge a reaction.

She nodded and repeated his words, “We’re going to their house!”

Before John could reply, a knock at the door pulled both of their attention toward it. Ava was cautious as she looked through the peephole at the small group of men in blue and badges. Another of her predictions was now true: they were here for her statement.