Scars // KateLena

Scars

"Yelena, what have I said about jumping out windows?"

Yelena sighed, bracing herself for cold alcohol on her back. "Not to."

"Mhm." Applying liberal amounts of rubbing alcohol to a gauze pad, Kate gently scraped the surface of the wound on Yelena's back. "And what did you do?"

"I jumped out of a window..."

Yelena sounded more defeated than anything, though Kate wished she was more apologetic. One of these days a stunt like that would get someone killed, and as Kate worked to clean Yelena's injuries on her back, light glinted off of the ring on her left hand, and she frowned.

"You know why I'm upset, Yelena..."

Running a hand over her face, Yelena deflated, allowing Kate to tend to the rest of her wounds as she sat shirtless on the edge of their bathtub. Kate worked with nimble, experienced hands as she cleaned, bandaged, and stitched her wife's battle wounds, taking in the canvas of puffy, pink flesh when she finished. The sheer number of old injuries on Yelena's back made her see red, and though she knew better than to ask about them, she often found herself tracing them as she did now, a silent acknowledgment of her pain, her past.

Yelena was rarely vulnerable, but now as she sat half clothed in the small loft she shared with Kate, she allowed her eyes to close as Kate's fingers danced over so many relics of her past. Yellow light trickled in from the half closed bathroom door, and though macabre, the way the light gleamed off of the discarded bloody rags made the space almost warm.

They were used to this, unfortunately, and found a sick comfort in it, or at least Yelena did. Knowing that no matter how injured she dragged herself home from missions, Kate would be there, ready to hold her, to heal her, to make her whole again.

"I've got you..." Kate whispered, planting a kiss on every closed up wound as her fingers ghosted over Yelena's body. She kneeled behind the woman, and inched closer as her fingers made their way around to Yelena's stomach. Resting her head on Yelena's shoulder, Kate traced scars without looking. She knew where her lover's pain lay. "I've got you."

"I know, myshka," Yelena muttered, eyes still closed. She nuzzled her head against Kate's, hoping to convey her gratitude, her affection. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"The only way you could scare me is if you didn't come home." Kate leaned back, hands now cupping Yelena's jaw as the other woman turned. "It's late, my widow. You need to rest."

Yelena rose, following Kate to their quaint bedroom, full mattress occupying most of the space. "So do you."

Kate merely shrugged at this suggestion, and Yelena frowned. Guilt consumed her for causing her wife so much worry, taking up so much attention, needing so much care. Kate had a habit of neglecting her own needs in exchange for her wife's- staying up to ungodly hours until she returned home, tending to Yelena's wounds before her own. The dark circles under Kate's eyes did not escape the spy's notice, and the pain that caused surpassed that of any wound.

Throwing on one of Kate's t-shirts, Yelena crawled into bed, not settling in until Kate joined her. In the oversized black shirt, Yelena looked so small, not at all like an international spy and highly trained assassin. In moments like this, when her widow was so open, willing to be vulnerable, be held, Kate could not help but feel as though it was all worth it. The pain, the secrets, the toll this life took, was worth it. For her.

Kate turned the covers, climbing into bed and allowing Yelena to lay on her chest. She crossed her arms lightly over Yelena's back, not wanting to disturb fresh bandages or cause any more pain. The blonde sighed contentedly, finally relaxing after a long mission, finally back with the woman she loved, the woman she somehow once hated.