Dancing in Her Webs | Yelena Belova [1]

Chapter 4

  Irina's on her feet again, her vision worsening. Each time she blinked it seemed like she was engulfed in the darkness longer. "Irene," Natasha called this time. "Get in front of Yelena and follow me."

  She listened without hesitation. Irina trusted her plans, granted the driving them away one was —as Yelena said— a "shit plan", she nonetheless trusted Natasha —wholeheartedly.

  After sprinting another few feet deeper inside the subway station, Natasha stopped them and pointed for Yelena to stand over a rusty, metal hatch that a person could easily squeeze through. "Wrap it," she instructed Yelena, who is still holding someone's article of clothing she stole out the car.

  Before Yelena could somewhat wrap it to stop the bleeding, Irina had slipped her Grey hoodie over her head. She applied pressure to Yelena's wound, that didn't take long to not be drilling all over the concrete.

  Yelena's gaze darted from Irina's deep brown eyes to the small blood trail that leaked from a wound on the left side of Irina's forehead. Irene is quick to avert her gaze back to the knot she tied with the sleeves of her hoodie wrapped around Yelena's bicep, when she caught Yelena's beautiful brown/green, hazel eyes.

She and Yelena then navigated their way to Natasha, who's under a duct above the subway train tracks nearby.

Climbing up with Natasha's help, Irina spun around and helped Yelena inside the dark space that's bigger than Irina envisioned it being. She pictured being squished, but there's plenty of room for the three of them.

Tiny dark red and orange-ish lights scatter around the mostly black space, being the only source of light in the dungeon above the subway tracks.

In the nick of time of them entering, a train ran underneath them, disappearing just as quickly down the track. Irina moved further from Natasha and Yelena, plopping herself near a duct that ran through part of the ceiling.

"You guys okay?" Natasha asked, flickering her emerald gaze between the pair of women.

Tying the piece of garb she'd been hauling since the crash, Yelena answered, and Irina frowned, "Yeah. Great plan," she sat up. "I love the part where I almost bled to death."

Despite the slight disappointment she felt from Yelena's actions, Irina cracked a smile at her snark, "Drama queen."

"Zatknis (shut up)." A faint smile graced Natasha's lips as Yelena tossed the hoodie Irina's way, "For your head." She gestured to the small wound on Irina's forehead. Irina muttered a quiet "thanks", dabbing a part of her grey hoodie —that she hoped isn't spotted in Yelena's blood— to the wound. "This is cozy," Yelena commented on their hiding place, taking a moment to look around.

  "Barton and I spent two day's hiding out up here," Natasha said.

"That must have been fun," Yelena looks past Irina. Noticing, Irina furrows her brows, removing the article of clothing away from her forehead, and follows Yelena's line of sight the best she could.

There, above her head, are games of tic-tac-toe and hangman etched into the duct. "Who the hell is that guy?" Nat asked, Irina wondering the same exact thing.

"Dreykov's special project. He can mimic anyone he's ever seen. It's like fighting a mirror," Yelena responded. The thought of fighting anyone like yourself alone is enough to creep Irina out. "Dreykov only deploys him for top-priority missions."