The problem with shutting down one's emotions was that it was difficult to recognize when a degradation of an emotional state was happening. Yelena was amazing at compartmentalizing but maybe she had gone a little too far to the extreme. What better way to make use of her current mood than to get back with her contact and take a contract or two? Or three. If she took something international or too far out of the city (Los Angeles was as far south as she could comfortably go) then someone would notice too soon. Natasha was watching her like a hawk.
Yelena had been pulling away from everyone else.
She didn’t exactly have one of her tactical uniforms that she would have worn as a Widow but this was close enough; Yelena had remade the all-black variation including mask and goggles. No skin showed and her hair was tightly tucked out of view. She quietly took out the security detail that was stationed on the street before heading up top to handle the eyes from the sky. Non-lethal subdual was the concession she was making because as far as she could tell, they were hired to do a job and there wasn’t that dangerous loyalty that made them a continued problem.
Mafias. Bah.
Yelena set up shop with the ruthless efficiency of a Red Room graduate, sniper rifle quickly built and placed. She didn’t get the chance to get comfortable, however, because her movements had been noticed. Unfortunately, round two meant taking out her gun, complete with suppressor. She didn’t notice the newcomer until it was too late to completely avoid the attack; pain exploded across her wrist as she moved and her hand reflexively opened, dropping the Beretta.
The billy club should have been immediately familiar but Yelena was too busy with the muscle memory of controlling the situation. Her training was so ingrained that it was pure instinct and she fought differently. More vicious. The toe of her boot sent her own gun spinning away because, one, she had another on her person but mostly, two, she wanted it away from the man who had joined the fight. And she wanted him removed from the fight: immediately.
With two guns down, Matt could have gotten cocky, assumed the would-be assassin was unarmed. The rifle had been kicked to the other end of the roof with the initial barrage. The other went clattering in the other direction—as if he'd ever touch anything so mundane. Chances were, his opponent wouldn't know that, so he had to give them credit for removing the weapon from the field. For now, at least. The way they moved, he had no doubt they'd make a play for it sooner rather than later.
He kept up his assault, using just one of his clubs along with his fists and feet to drive the figure away from the edge of the roof. Last thing he needed was to have to try to do some fancy gymnastics if they both wound up accidentally plummeting eight storeys to the pavement below. He'd already been there/done that, and it hadn't been that long. God, the entire Station was going to kill him. Matt put that aside, even as he got a vicious elbow to his side, driving half a breath from him. "Give it up," he growled, all gravel and righteous resolve, "you're done here."
It was so easy to fall back on the decades' worth of training drilled into her, whether she had been conscious of it or not, because every moment in the Red Room had been some kind of exercise. This? This was easy. But there was something that had kept her from going after the second Beretta and just ending the fight. Yelena couldn't get enough distance between herself and the attacker who--
--was a fucking vigilante. Yelena pivoted and used his thigh in her upward motion, foot first planted and then legs wrapping around his neck before continuing her momentum to bring him down to the rooftop. It was a common Widow move and how many of them were in San Francisco? Two, as far as she was aware. Yelena was on her feet for only a second when her feet were suddenly swept out from under her and she landed on her back, the air knocked out of her lungs in a whoosh.
Far be it from him not to take the open shot to get this over with quickly when he had it. Otherwise, this fight was going to wind up being the kind where he had to skulk into Claire's apartment at stupid o'clock in the morning, and there was no way he was going to ruin Molly's big day by showing up bloody. His obviously well trained opponent was down, and he was at the perfect angle. "I said you're done." Matt kicked out and felt his boot land with a solid crack against the assassin's knee, snapping it sideways.
Where the average person would have screamed in pain, their system overridden by the shock of it, Yelena only grunted. The right knee was useless, she knew it, and had she been in the field there would have been a neat little kill switch feature that would have put her out. Yelena's left hand drew her backup Beretta finally but she was counting on that being a lost cause, would be the focus of his next defensive maneuver, which was why her right hand snapped out immediately after and released one of her taser disks. She was already moving, whether it connected or not, and Yelena got her feet under her, her right hand gripping the material of her pants to help with the movement. Grey edged into her vision but pain wasn't anything new. To someone without above-average hearing, she wouldn't have even been panting.
Yelena finally gave an enraged shout and launched herself forward. If she could get him down, she could stay on top and handle the situation even with a blown-out knee. Yelena could take the time later to vomit from the pain.
The high pitched whine of the approaching object gave Matt just enough warning to get an arm up, where his body armor could take the brunt of the taser charge. Not all of it, though. Fire buzzed across his nerve endings, lighting up his insides for a brief but excruciating moment. His jaw clenched hard enough to make him fear for his molars. His head felt heavy on the other side of it, and the step he took after yanking the disc off and hurling it off the building was extremely unsteady. Everything was muted for a way too long moment.
Matt staggered and shook his head. He lost track of his opponent—right up until she yelled.
And then he froze.
Because he knew the voice that had cut through haze. The righteous certainty for what he was doing on the rooftop gave way to bone deep dismay. He tried to dodge backwards, but she was already on him. "Y—!"
Her name cut off with a wet gurgle.
The pain was blinding but that was fine. It fueled her anger at the entire situation, at the world. This self-righteous asshole had ruined what should have been a productive night. Her window had likely closed and the men she'd left down on the street were likely already being discovered. Or would be - soon.
Yelena slammed an elbow down into what should have been the solar plexus but her elbow connected with body armor. Well that was annoying. She hadn't stopped at the elbow, however, and she grabbed the man by the shoulders before slamming her forehead down to either break his nose, her nose, both of their noses, or just potentially give them both a concussion. It was the first unhinged attack she'd made and Yelena growled. "You don't get to tell me when I'm done. Stay down." Her left hand fisted and there was a faint hum as the Widow's Bite around her wrist was ready for her to just twitch in order to let off the next electric attack. The taser disk had just been a taste. "You going to stay down?"
Because Yelena, honestly, was trying to figure out how to get up. And maybe finish the job.
Yup, Claire was going to kill him. Eliot probably wouldn't be too far behind her, although maybe he'd be nice enough just to yell. It really was remarkable, what his brain could give him when it had given up trying to comprehend the pain radiating from his now very, very broken nose. His pulse was too loud in his ears, almost blocking out the hiss of her words. He didn't know when he'd wound up on his back, but that's exactly where he was. Blood flowed down his face and nearly clogged his throat. He turned his face and spat a huge glob of it onto the rooftop.
That was the point at which he began to doubt that he could get through to her, even if he could get his regular voice to come out. He realized now that—when they'd sparred before—he'd only seen a fraction of what she could do. Well, in fairness, he'd been holding back too. Matt really did consider just lying there, admitting defeat, but Widows weren't exactly known for their mercy. He put his hands up in a sign of surrender.
Waited for the hum of her weapon to get closer.
Both hands snapped out, one grabbing her elbow and shoving it to the side, while the other caught her wrist and pushed it back toward her.
Had her balance not already been precarious, Yelena could have moved with the grab. In hindsight, she wasn't even all that surprised because she probably would have done the same. But she couldn't get her right foot to work and that meant that she couldn't find the purchase needed to twist. The Widow's Bite went off and Yelena's body went rigid as the electricity coursed through her. The only sound she made was a grunt of surprise.
By the time she managed to regain control of her own weapon, Yelena was on her side and her muscles spasmed, making her a prisoner of her own body while she tried to fight through the effects. Electricity wasn't exactly a 'mind over matter' sort of thing. "Сука," she swore under her breath and forced herself to move though it was a clumsy roll to try and get into a better defensible position. This was going to be an incredibly uncool way to die if she couldn't get her shit together. Another spasm ran through her and she collapsed, her broken knee folded painfully beneath her. Yelena reached for a baton at her thigh, fingers grazing it and just missing the first time. It extended as she moved, forcing herself upright again though it was only enough to get her left leg under herself to relieve the pressure on her injured leg. Trained eyes sought out the man while she struggled with her next move, discarding idea after idea in as rapid succession as she could. Mental note: if she made it through the night, carry a third gun in her boot. Ankle holster.
Make no mistake, Matt hated having to do that, but the alternate was likely a swift and definitely ignoble death. How was he going to begin to confess to any of this? 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession, and in that time I've beaten up a friend of mine who clearly was going through something, so that's my bad.' Yeah, that would go over really well. Her scramble to put some distance between them gave him enough time to roll away himself, where he got gingerly to his knees and sat back on his heels.
His chest heaved and his face was throbbing, but at least now he felt like he might be able to get a couple of rational words out. Somehow, he even managed to sound like himself. Mostly. "Stop. Stop. Yelena, please. It's Matt."
There was a pause - and then a sound of disgust. Yelena muttered under her breath in Russian before swapping back over to English. "So you're protecting the mafia now? Cartel?" Yelena snapped, reaching up to tug her mask off. She was getting overheated. Pain tended to screw with the ability to regulate temperature, after all. Wisps of blonde hair escaped the twin braids that circled her head. Green eyes, no longer hidden, blazed with anger.
"No." It came out on the back of a chuckle, the kind that spoke to bone deep exhaustion. Nothing about this was remotely funny, but gallow's humor was all Matt had left. Even with a few feet now separating them, he could feel her rage, heard it in the heavy thud of her heart. "I'm taking out what looked like a professional hit in a city whose claim to fame is a bridge that no one can seem to shut up about. Do I get to ask, or does that just earn me a double tap to the head?"
There was additional muttering and Yelena realized that he wasn't going to just let her attempt to finish the job. And her knee wasn't going to support her enough to make him let her finish the job. She wasn't even sure if there was a way to salvage the situation. Yelena eased into a seated position and laid her baton across her thighs.
"Are you saying I'm not a professional, Matthew?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. Because that was exactly what it had been about to be. Had he not been so damned fast to get the drop on her, Yelena would have been successful. And she would have collected her money, just as she had the dozen or so other times that she had since she'd arrived in this parallel universe. No one had asked her how she'd gotten her money and then she'd magically gotten a bank account that just seemed to always have enough for whatever she wanted to do. Yelena had thought it would be nice to not take these sorts of jobs. But when one was right in her own backyard and it suited the dark mood she'd been in for weeks now? That was impossible to pass up.
"Ah." Well, that answered that. It wasn't like he had the moral high ground, not if a cartel or mafia was involved. He was tempted to ask if she'd vetted the apparent offer, because who knew the provenance of such things, really. Instead, he breathed in as deeply as he could, in and out through his mouth, bracing. This was going to hurt so badly. Lifting a hand, he grabbed nose and yanked it back into place.
Somehow the second crunch was worse than how he'd gotten it.
Behind his mask, sweat and tears stung his eyes, but it didn't matter. A quick self-diagnostic told him that was the worst of it. "Good thing I don't have another in court case this week. Or next." He sent a dry smile her direction. It fell flat, even on his own face. "So, what now? You pack up? Move to a secondary location to try again? On a scale of Bad Yelp Review to Target on Your Back, how unhappy are your current employers going to be?"
"I won't get another chance tonight. I took out a watch to give myself the breathing room and they'll be dealing with that little finding with appropriate levels of paranoia," Yelena said, tone bland and far too calm. She gave a careless shrug. "Natasha and I were thinking about leaving the country anyway. I'll contract out in the network, up the price with my own funding and someone else can clean up my mess. If they succeed, I'll be fine."
And if they didn't? Yelena wasn't going to admit just how much trouble she was going to be in. The thing about hired killers was that they didn't stay alive very long if they couldn't complete their tasks. "Nothing tracks back to the Station. I'm not an idiot." The building full of innocents and innocent-enoughs would be fine. "Your mask is stupid."
His mouth thinned. Whether it was from her blasé attitude or the casual way she'd talked about leaving was something he didn't really have time to unpack. "I'm not worried about the Station, Yelena. And I don't wear the mask for the aesthetic." The insult rolled right over him. He'd have to ask Tony-2 to look it over, check for any hairline cracks. "Okay, so it's a little bit for the aesthetic. Any design critiques should be forwarded to one of our resident genius engineers who has more money than they know what to do with."
It was clear that Matt wasn't going to just walk away and that annoyed her on two different levels; Yelena refused to admit one of those, however. She forced herself to move again and groaned. Now that she'd let herself sit, her body was protesting even just the act of breathing much less the fanciful idea of getting up. "Are you going to sit there or are you going to leave? Because I'm going to throw up. Your choice." Apparently she was done with the topic of masks. Yelena was also done with the topic of the contract she'd taken and how badly she had just botched it.
"Feel free. I won't see it." Two could play this game. Matt only groaned because he was older than he thought he'd be while still doing this, but that didn't keep him from getting his feet under him before he stood. "Personally, I'm dying to see how you're going to get off this rooftop with a busted knee. If you have air support, I'm going to be very impressed and also a little jealous."
Yelena rolled her eyes. She needed to reduce the dislocation before she worried about anything else because Matt was right about one thing: she wasn't easily getting off the rooftop with a busted knee. "I could have air support. You wouldn't even know until it was right up your ass," she muttered as she got herself into position. Putting a kneecap back into place without any kind of pain medication was exactly why she'd stated that she was going to vomit. Yelena made good on her word. But there was massive damage and she knew it. She didn't apologize for the mess she'd just made and a voice in the back of her head warned about DNA evidence. She didn't care. Between the pain and her general recklessness, Yelena wasn't exactly setting herself up for the best defense.
But she still managed to get to her feet and slowly moved to collect the guns that had been kicked out of reach before she went to pack up the sniper rifle, muttering over the scratches that hadn't been on it earlier in the night. Yelena was partially buying herself time but mostly she wasn't leaving her weapons behind. It was too dark to worry about picking up the taser disk from wherever it had fallen. Her extended baton acted as a cane. If the Red Room hadn't shaped her for over twenty years, Yelena would not have been able to be on her feet. She had made a reputation for herself and in a (literal, most of the time) competition of Widows, Yelena had come out on top time and time again. Packed and ready to go, she brought out her last little surprise: the grappling hook and cable that would get her off the roof. It was going to hurt. And Yelena finally hesitated. "What are you going to do?" she asked, head turned just a little over her shoulder.
He wanted to help her. He really did. Matt genuinely had no idea how she was standing upright, much less moving around and retrieving her weaponry. Even the slightest weight brought a harsh chorus of crunching bone and torn cartilage to his ears. It turned his stomach. He waited until she had all of her gear before moving to where the taser disc—the one that hadn't plummeted to the street below—had wedged itself near one of the ventilation shafts and bending down to retrieve it.
Her pause was all he needed to come along aside her, where he held it up between his fingers. At this point, he wasn't very surprised that she was intending to rappel down a mid-rise building, but he had one last gambit to play. "It's going to rain in about an hour." Matt tapped the side of his nose with his free hand, only to immediately regret it. "Ozone. The kind of storm that washes away all manner of sins. Yelena—" He sighed. Deeply. "I don't know what this is. And I'm sure you have some flip answer, and that's completely fair. Your life is your life, and you're going to live it however you want. If you want to run off with your sister, go. Have fun. But you'd have people who miss you. I'd miss you."
Matt's hesitation was just about as lengthy as hers had been when she stopped, and he fully expected to be shoved away and possibly kicked (more likely punched) for good measure, but it didn't keep him from putting an arm around her shoulders. "I'd care an awful lot if you were gone."
The offered taser disk was plucked from his fingers and slipped into one of her pockets. Where she might have tossed out any number of sarcastic or otherwise snarky remarks, Yelena held her silence as Matt spoke. She didn't tense under the arm that went around her shoulders but she also did not relax. Yelena might as well have been stone.
And then, the smallest offering of an explanation: "Why would you care?" Yelena turned her head and looked at him, not that he could see her own expression. "Anyone can leave, be taken away, at any time without warning. Death, disappearance, I could wake up tomorrow and Natasha is gone -- again -- and all I have is some fucking announcement." She shrugged out from under Matt's arm but didn't go far. "My opinion doesn't matter, no one warns any of us personally, we all just find out at the same time. Because none of us matter."
Her fist came up and she pounded it against her chest as she turned toward him. "I want to matter. I want to matter to someone. So if I can't have that, maybe I go and remove a problem from the world," Yelena continued, her accent getting thicker as emotion threatened to choke her. "Natasha is dead back there because she made a choice. All Coulson talks about is how he died and how the people he loves have died and are gone and-" Tears made her eyes burn. "Nothing matters. Not here. And I need something I do to matter!"
"Hey, hey." Now that she was facing him, it was fairly simple to catch her wrist, but the hold was paper thin. Anyone could have broken out of it. Of course he knew about Natasha's sacrifice. The whole world knew after the Blip. And the fact that the former Black Widow kept bouncing in and out of this reality would fray even the strongest minds—and hearts. While Yelena put up a good front, Matt was beginning to figure out just how bruised she really was.
His thumb moved softly over the heel of her hand as he continued, for whatever good it might do. "You do matter. You matter to me. And I'll bet you matter to a bunch of people who have managed to stay. You don't have to do anything to matter to the people who should count. If nothing here matters, then maybe the point is to surround yourself with the ones who do, for as long as you can. Or maybe we're all just caught up in some Nietzschean dystopia and I should just let you fling yourself off this roof despite the fact that I think you'll pass out before you make it to the ground and crack your head open instead. But I won't. Because you matter to me. And that has to count for something."
A hot tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Yelena tipped her head back and forced her breathing to even out, to not catch and shake. "I tried that," she said to the sky. The quiet laugh that followed held no humor. "They left of their own will. Their friend showed up and they left."
Her chin lowered and she struggled to rebuild her walls; the best way to do that was to just shut all the emotion down again. Wasn't that how she'd ended up here in the first place? Yelena tugged her hand away though it was a half-hearted attempt at best. She swallowed. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Yelena mumbled and found herself stepping into Matt's space where she dropped her face against his shoulder and just stood there, willing herself to breathe and not let the tears fall. She wasn't weak. And it wasn't just that she didn't know what she was doing wrong; Yelena didn't know what she was doing. She had let her guard down and her sister was gone. Before she could mourn, before she could process her emotions, Natasha had been walking through the apartment door. Nothing was stable.
His arms came up, but nothing about it felt easy or remotely natural. Yet there was nothing else Matt could have possibly done in this situation. Walking away simply wasn't an option where he was concerned. He held her loosely, hands settling at mid-back. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped in any way. It took him a few moments to figure out who the "they" were in this scenario. Steve and Nancy. They'd moved out after their friend Max arrived. He wondered if he would do the same to Phil and Luke if Foggy or Karen ever walked through his door. Matt liked to think he wouldn't have been so quick to simply walk away from his current living situation without having a care for who he left behind, but he didn't know. Couldn't know for sure.
And what did it say that he didn't really want to find out?
He pushed out a sigh and heard it rustle the whisps of her hair. "Why do you think you've done something wrong? Because people leave?"
Yelena felt stupid. It was even worse than feeling weak. Because the stupid was attached to an emotion and how did you fix that? Well, she had one way. She straightened and took in a breath that sounded steady - because she was great at faking fine, at least physically. "It doesn't matter," she said thickly. So much for faking fine. Matt seemed uncomfortable and that meant Yelena was just making things worse.
"They leave. Either by choice or not. Attachments are weaknesses. That was my mistake," she explained. She was staring at a point on his chest. He had a good six inches on her so it was a perfectly natural place to not focus. "You should go. There might be other bad guys to stop tonight." Her tone had turned so carefully neutral that it was just plain bland.
Well, clearly the awkward hug and even more awkward question was clearly the wrong move. "We already established that it matters," he told the space where she'd been just a moment before. Her words opened up a hollow place inside him, one he hadn't felt in years. It came from pain, from thinking he had to do this alone, because attachments only slowed him down. He'd cut off his friends, became a man obsessed. If she was anywhere close to that, he wasn't sure how to reach her. Matt raised a brow so high it even translated through his mask, and touched the side of his nose. "Not with this I'm not. Think I might go for a drink instead. Buy you one?"
Yelena smirked when he touched the side of his nose. "You'll be fine," she said, a hint of amusement coloring her words. "You set it. It'll heal nice and pretty." Of course, her situation was a little less set it and forget it. "You going to get a drink dressed like that? What do you call yourself, anyway?"
Reaching up, he rubbed his sleeve across his upper lip. It still smarted like the dickens, but he'd had worse and had the scars to prove it, both physical and otherwise. "San Francisco is rife with surfaces I can blame for my various nighttime injuries. Even a healing broken nose."
He tugged at his mask, but didn't take it off. "It's black on black on black, and I'm a blind man. No one's going to look twice at me once I get this stuffed in my back pocket. As for my name? Well, usually I go with Matt, if I'm feeling kind to myself. Guess I haven't done enough to get media attention to earn anything else. Is that a definite no to drinks then?"
His dry, dark humor might have been her favorite amongst the people she tended to talk to at more than just surface level. "I wasn't sure if you were like I am Iron Man with some sort of name to strike fear into the hearts of the people you're beating the shit out of," Yelena remarked lightly.
But she grinned. "I'll let you buy me a drink. I'll race you to the bottom." And then she was gone; he thought she'd be unconscious before she hit the ground below? Bah. He clearly didn't really know about Black Widows.
All he had time for was an abortive step after her, and then he rushed to the edge of the roof, listening frantically to the sound of her rapid descent, her heart rate, the whistling of the rope as it unwound itself and pulled taught. His own heart had taken up residence in his throat, where it effectively dammed the curses he'd been trying so hard not to let out or even think. Of all the things he'd given up for Lent, and this was the one God tested him on the most. Even abstaining from drinking or sex wasn't as difficult as this.
Yelena immediately regretted not asking him for actual-help in getting down but she had already made her insane bed. The line went taut and she eased herself down the rest of the way to the street below. She kept as much weight as possible off her right leg but it wasn't possible to avoid it all. "It's all clear. You can follow," she called up, head angled so her voice didn't just bounce off the buildings and alert anyone around either corner.
She eased backward to give him room to move, should he decide to take the Yelena Expressway. Her stash of things were a block away and she would need to hit that up to stow her rifle; for as much as she joked about Matt's appearance to go get a drink, California wasn't exactly big on guns being carried around and definitely not a broken-down sniper rifle that was worn between her shoulder blades in its carrying case.
For a moment, he merely stayed where he was, the relief nearly enough to make him collapse against the ledge. Once it had passed, he picked himself up, grabbed the rope, and swung out into the night just like Yelena had. He landed a few seconds later, his stomach still fluttering from the momentary freefall. "I'm assuming this—ah, yes." He found the retracting mechanism near the end of the rope, heard the metal release far above before gravity did the rest. The whole thing was nearly silent. Matt turned to hand it over to her. "Is this something local? It could almost be one of Melvin's. Color me impressed."
"You worked with Melvin Potter?" Yelena asked, surprised as she accepted the device back. "I'm jealous. But no, this is genuine Widow-slash-Red Room gear." Which begged the question of if she had brought it with her or if she'd made connections in this parallel world. "Most of it is." She retracted and re-extended her baton so he could hear the sound it made. "This is local." Another retraction and Yelena stowed it. It didn't look enough like a cane to keep attention off her limp.
She turned. "This way. We'll want to avoid the other direction. Plus I need to stow some shit. If it goes missing before I pick it up tomorrow, I'm coming after you," Yelena said over her shoulder. She really, really needed to get off her leg but clearly the woman had something to prove.
He tipped his ear slightly, mouth quirked to one side, quietly impressed. He'd have to look into it, see if he could talk Tony2 into tinkering something like it into existence. "Found Melvin when he was working for the wrong side. Let's just say our working relationship got off to a rough start, but in the end, I got my first Devil suit from him. I hope he's out there somewhere, happy and in love. I… haven't been brave enough to look him up. To look up anyone, really."
His face settled into a dull throb, but it was one that didn't keep him from wincing. "I can hear your knee from here. There's soldiering on, and then there's intentionally making the matter worse. If I put my arm around you, are you willing to play fun drunks with me, or are you going to keep being stubborn about it?"
"Devil. Is that the hero name you go by? The one you skirted past when I asked?" Yelena retorted.
She eyed Matt, though he couldn't see her expression. If he had offered support or if he had told her that he was going to support her, Yelena would have told him off. But his word choice was deliberate and she could appreciate the care. "I can play drunks with you," Yelena finally relented. "But not so much that they won't serve us."
"The Devil of Hell's Kitchen." His smirk was in full force now that he'd pulled his mask off and shoved it in his back pocket. "I still blame the neighborhood for that one. The local media coverage didn't help. It eventually became Daredevil. Please don't look it up."
But even saying that he knew he was inviting it anyway. Just like he knew that telling her about it was asking for more teasing. He preferred it to the silence he just now realized he'd been getting for a few days now. His arm wrapped around her, letting her put as much or as little weight on him as she wanted. Matt had to content himself with offering whatever strength and dexterity he had. "No, no, never that far. Now, c'mon. Le's put your stuff in th' car and then to the baaaaaaaar!"
"Oh my God," Yelena muttered as Matt shifted into what was clearly his drunk persona. The muttering turned into swearing in Russian under her breath but the instant they stepped out of (what amounted to, anyway) the alley, her own show started.
Because Yelena's fake-drunk was apparently a giggly, happy drunk. It was just another costume, as far as she was concerned. And she had earned that drink that Matt was going to buy her. And maybe she was leaning on him a little more than she would have normally but Yelena doubted he would call it out. After all, he’d offered in the first place. Yelena would worry about the rest later.