Christmas in July

Kate Bishop sat hunched over on a bar stool, brow furrowed in concentration, as she tapped intently at her phone. She wasn't going to let him slip away from her this time. The bar was quiet as it was approaching last orders, and most of Hell's Kitchen's financial, political and criminal elite had already decided to call it a night. A few waiting staff were buzzing back and forth from behind the bar and the clinking of crystal punctuated the muted jazz that was in constant battle with the building's air conditioning, as tables were emptied of empty glasses and unfinished cocktails. Kate had been considering a quick fingered minesweep, but shit had got serious on her phone. Her app pulsed and she crinkled her nose in frustration.

She glanced up for a moment to see the man in the booth across the bar ordering himself, what she presumed, was one last drink. Of course, he's going to be here till close, of course he is . Kate sighed and quickly took another sip of her diminishing margarita. At least her evening hadn't been a total write-off, soon she will have claimed another glorious victory over the dastardly Team Valor. A determined frown darkened her features as she glanced back down to her phone and considered her next move.

Without a moment's notice, hot breath tickled the sensitive skin at back of her neck and a warm and accented voice spoke softly into her ear. 'A woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn't be drinking alone in a place like this.' It was safe to say that Kate Bishop almost fell out of her stool.

Clutching her proverbial pearls, Kate swung around to catch sight of the assailant who had just made a successful attempt upon her social clout. Of course, Kate didn't have to lay eyes on her ego's attacker in order to identify her as Yelena Belova, Black Widow, Hot Sauce lover and Assassin Extraordinaire. She'd recognise those dulcet tones anywhere, and weirdly, that scent too. Huh . But that didn't mean that she'd been prepared for them. Part of her had worried that she'd never see Yelena again, part of her wondered if that was for the best.

'Oh my God, Yelena, where did you come from?' Kate asked, whilst desperately trying to collect the shattered fragments of her ego and hastily piece them back together. She was an Avenger, now, and it really shouldn't be that easy to sneak up on an Avenger. Well, an Avenger in training.

Yelena shrugged with her trademark nonchalance. 'Istanbul.'

Kate blinked. 'No, I mean where did -'

A smile pulled at the corner of Yelena's lips and her eyes danced brightly, despite their dimly lit surroundings. 'Some things should remain a mystery don't you think?'

Kate wanted to disagree, fiercely. She wanted to tell her friend (were they even friends?) that no, some things should not at all remain a mystery. Sometimes friends should tell their other friends that they might be disappearing for six months, and if they were planning on doing so, perhaps they should leave a forwarding address, or set up a private insta so they could follow them daily and share funny, intimate anecdotes by DM.

'Well, you are very mysterious,' Kate offered, as a slightly less hysterical sounding alternative, 'So this whole appearing out of nowhere thing is very on brand for you'.

'Thank you,' Yelena smirked, 'But really I just walked through those double doors.' The blonde gestured to the bar's main entryway.

Kate scoffed, there was no way. No way. Kate was perceptive as they come, she refused to believe Yelena hadn't used some kind of subterfuge to gain entry into the bar. She was an international assassin after all. 'No, you didn't, I would have seen you.'

'The doors just over there. The really big ones that you can see in the mirror behind the bar, you really didn't see me?'

Kate had to consider her position here. Continue to protest that there was no way in hell Yelena had entered through the plebs entrance, concede that perhaps she'd been a little too into her phone whilst she was on a job, or deny all knowledge of the doors whatsoever. 'I don't know what doors you're talking about.' She went with the latter. Perhaps a poor choice.