Dancing in Her Webs | Yelena Belova [1]

Chapter 13

Trigger Warning: mentions of overdosing

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Irina groaned, regaining consciousness. Her head throbbed and side ached as she slowly opened her eyes. Confused and dazed —and at the speed of nail— Irina sat up, holding her stomach and wincing from the movement.

She looked around the vacant helicopter, frowning at the blood that stained the metal under her feet and the surrounding area. Across the chopper —near the duffel bags of weapons and other miscellaneous's— her suit's laid out, along with her AC/DC tee and Grey blazer that's covered in blood, too.

Wide-eyed, she quickly snapped her head to her current outfit. She's in her clothes from before, except she's wearing someone else's shirt —specifically, a white tank-top.

"Whose is . . ." The realization of landing clicked as the smell of fumes coming from the chopper hit her nose. Irene winched as she stood and slowly made her way to the opened door, peeking her head out as she held the siding.

Purple flowers scattered the grass —on the right side of the path— that surrounded them, a cold breeze blowing softly that made Irina's skin bump up in chills.

"What happened?" She made her presence known, voice rasping as a dry cough followed from the tickle in her throat, then winced from the action.

"I knew you would make it!" Alexei shouted, enthusiastically. "What did I tell you girls, huh?" He smacked the back of his hand against Yelena's shoulder, "I told you she would, and she did!"

Natasha rolled her eyes, annoyed, and came toward Irina, "You okay?"

Irina met her gaze, smiling from Alexei's optimism and faith, and nodded. "Told you you weren't going to die," Yelena said, once annoyed like Nat and now smiling as she approached, then ducked inside the helicopter.

"I'm becoming a cynical person because of you," Irene replied, she too smiling. She grabbed Natasha's arm and held onto Yelena, allowing them to help and guide her out. Luckily for her, she barely had to duck. "Where are my glasses?"

"Inside. I'll get them," Yelena offered, then disappeared back inside the helicopter.

"You scared the hell outta me, kid," Natasha breathed, brining Irina to her frontside as she gently hugged the young woman, careful not to hurt her. "Now we're matching," she referred to the scar on her own stomach from the time Bucky shot her in Ukraine years ago; before the two women met.

  Irina chuckled softly, returning the hug one-armed, "Thank you, Nat."

  "It's the least I could do after you kept me from bleeding out in D.C.," Nat replied.

  "I didn't operate on you like you did on me," Irina pointed out as she pulled back from the hug.

  Natasha smiled, and it only grew as she looked behind the dark-haired woman, "I didn't do it alone."

"Psh, yeah." Yelena approached, black bag slung over her shoulder as she carried her glasses and the mostly empty water of bottle from the Hungary gas station, her other hand clenched, like she's keeping something from slipping out her hand. "My hands aren't covered in your blood for no reason."