Inheritance of ash

day three - part one

Kate and Wanda followed, footsteps echoing in the wide space. Pietro brought up the rear, casting one last glance at the door before jogging to catch up.

The four of them disappeared into the morning light—whether as allies or prisoners of Yelena's sharp grip, Kate still wasn't sure.

⸻

The shed looked like nothing from the outside—half rusted, tucked behind rows of trees—but when Pietro swung the doors open, it was like revealing a secret jewel.

His motorcycle gleamed even in the dust-flecked light. Sleek. Black. Clean as if it had been worshipped, not hidden. Pietro wheeled it out with an unmistakable grin of pride, and Wanda followed, already tugging on the second helmet.

Kate's stomach dropped when the pieces clicked.

If Wanda was riding with Pietro...

Her head turned slowly, dread building.

...then that meant she had to ride with Yelena.

The realization struck like lightning—and too late. Wanda—still petrified—was already climbing onto the back of Pietro's bike, settling in, arms way too tight around her brother's waist as the engine roared to life. Pietro revved it once, eager, impatient.

Kate swallowed. Then looked at Yelena.

Yelena, who was studiously not looking at her. Who was leaning casually against her bike like she hadn't noticed, like she hadn't already calculated every possible outcome.

Kate's jaw set. No way. Nope. Absolutely not.

Helmet in hand, she marched forward and planted herself in front of Yelena. "I'm driving."

Finally, Yelena's blue eyes lifted to hers. Steady. Mildly amused. "It's my bike."

"And I'm driving it," Kate shot back, chin high.

Something flickered across Yelena's face—something between disbelief and annoyance—but mostly it was that quiet danger of someone who didn't lose. "You would rather kill us both?"

Kate scoffed. "Please. I've been learning from Natasha since I was fifteen. I'm a better driver than you think."

"I think," Yelena said slowly, "that I would rather not die today."

Their standoff hung sharp in the air, broken only by the buzz of Kate's phone. She flicked it open—Peter.

Got it all under control. Vicky & Natasha just left for therapy. I'll keep the rest distracted... Go. Please don't get caught.

Kate's throat tightened, but before she could reply, Yelena's low voice cut through. "We don't have time for your temper tantrum, Bishop."

Kate snapped her head up, ready to retort—only to find Yelena closer than she expected, shadows shaping her cheekbones, eyes locked on hers like a dare.

Pietro's voice bellowed across the shed, engines thundering. "We're going!"

For a second longer Kate held her ground, refusing to blink first. But finally—begrudgingly—she swung the helmet on and climbed onto the bike.

Behind Yelena.

But she didn't touch her. Oh no. She sat stiff, arms folded, every part of her screaming defiance.

Yelena didn't let her get away with it.

Without hesitation, she reached back, found Kate's hand, and pulled it forward—placing it firmly against her own hip.

Kate froze.

It wasn't a game. It wasn't a smirk. Yelena turned her head just slightly, their eyes catching in the narrow space between helmet and cheek. And for once, she wasn't hiding behind sharp words or smug looks.