The Mimic - One-Shots

News (Book 3 scraps)

Overview: Something on the news quickly puts a halt to the girls' plans. (If you're having deja vu, you're right! This was the first chapter of book 3, but I wanted to post it on here for the people that missed out!)

Word count: 1,448

Warnings: Swearing

*****

"Y'know you're the reason Taskmaster was created, right?"

*****

Yelena and y/n had shared an apartment in Budapest for about a year or so, and it was going amazing. The newfound freedom that y/n had was far more than refreshing. She could do anything she wanted without worrying about training the next day, missions, or people worrying about her.

Yelena had a job that meant she had to travel a lot. She was usually only there for a day or so, and then she'd arrive back at the apartment. It wasn't a normal job, and y/n knew that. The fact that Yelena would take all her weapons with her was a pretty clear sign that she was a contract killer. But y/n never asked any questions. She didn't want to know, and she didn't want to get involved.

When Yelena wasn't busy with her job, the pair ran self-defense classes for children. It was a mixture of skilled kicks, punches, takedowns, and, for the older children, defense against weapons. Of course the weapons were fake, but y/n still had to remind Yelena of that when she watched her hand a dagger to one of the children. Both of them were desperate to make sure the children could defend themselves. Desperate for them to live a normal life, and not go through the hell that they went through.

Those classes were one of the only glints of good karma that the pair had.

The late night outings that used to be innocent explorations had turned into copious amounts of alcohol, maybe something to sniff or smoke, and partying until their feet bled. It was a blur. Bright lights, terrible dancing, and making about ten new friends in the girl's bathroom was routine. Taking enough substances to numb any sort of emotion or memory was routine.

Everybody that lived on their street knew that something was wrong if they couldn't hear y/n and Yelena deliriously giggling and stumbling home at least once a week.

Y/n had fallen off the deep end, but she was having a great time sinking.

*****

The pair were currently walking back up the stairs to their apartment, having just finished their self-defense class for the day. They'd stopped at their favourite ice-cream store on the way back, the one where they shaped the ice-creams into roses. Y/n had visited it before with Bucky, and now it was tradition to head inside whenever they walked past.

Y/n's eyes widened at what Yelena said, busy working through her ice-cream as they climbed what felt like the tenth flight of stairs. God, she didn't know how they did it when they were drunk out of their minds. "What? No, that can't be true!" She exclaimed with a laugh. "My mind being scrambled doesn't mean you can make up lies like that." Y/n hummed in a jokingly scolding tone, nudging Yelena with her elbow.

The blonde woman gasped as she was accused of lying, checking behind her to make sure that their dog, Fanny, was still following. "It's true, I swear!" She exclaimed, working through her own ice-cream. "I was there when Hydra brought you along for a showcase in the Red Room. Dreykov wanted to pay them to hand you over, but they refused, so he created his own version of you." Yelena shrugged. She remembered it so clearly. Especially when Dreykov had a little tantrum over the fact that y/n could defeat all of his best Widows with ease. "Taskmaster. A perfect mimic." She hummed, deepening her voice as if to impersonate the man.