We know that Kate found out about Monica after hearing Yelena talking to her over the phone. But what was Kate's reaction when she saw them for the first time and saw that Yelena haven't been as miserable as her with her new partner, and she actually looks "content" (?)
Here's 2.5k of them being M E S S YYYYYY. This is a few months after. Tweedle Dee & Tweedledum haven't seen each other/talked to each other since that night.
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The sun has just dipped below the Los Angeles horizon, leaving behind a bruised violet sky and the soft gleam of strung lights crisscrossing an obscene hillside property in Bel-Air. One of those houses with an eight figure view and a valet line full of black Escalades. No press. No paparazzi. Just money. Cause-forward money, sure…but still money.
As the lighting dims, so do the conversations. Flutes lower. Silverware stills.
On stage, a politely handsome nonprofit exec taps the mic, grinning like he just landed a punchline.
Yelena doesn’t look up. Her fingers trace the rim of her glass with lazy disinterest. Monica sits beside her, all poised elegance, one hand resting lightly on Yelena’s knee beneath the white-draped table. They’re laughing at something still hanging between them. Low, private, and warm. Eyes only for each other. Their table’s near the front. Not spotlight-close, but close enough to see the stage without craning.
Unlucky, in hindsight.
They weren’t supposed to be here.
Monica’s friend, a clinical director at the West Los Angeles VA, had bought the table weeks ago at a private silent auction. Food poisoning wiped her out two hours before the event was supposed to start. She’d offered Monica the tickets, insisted they go.
Monica doesn’t care for glitz. But the cause matters. She told Yelena it’d be relaxed. A fun, easy night out. Yelena had shrugged. Said okay.
They threw on the best they had and showed up.
Yelena’s in a matte gray tux cut like it was designed for her…because it was. Single button. Peak lapels. Crisp white shirt. Slim black tie. Polished oxfords. Everything immaculate.
Monica’s dress is a rich burgundy that clings in all the right places. Strapless, boned bodice, thigh slit high enough to make a statement. She’s soft where Yelena’s sharp. A walking contrast.
They weren’t supposed to be seen. Especially not like this. Not when Monica’s hand slides higher up Yelena’s thigh. Not when she leans in, murmurs something that makes Yelena smile…really smile…and presses a kiss just below her jaw.
On stage, the host keeps talking.
“I know we said Alice was our final speaker. But we have one last surprise. One I’ve barely managed to keep under wraps.”
Yelena glances up. Mild curiosity. Nothing more.
“This next guest doesn’t need an introduction. She’s one of the most acclaimed women of our generation. A longtime advocate for veterans’ mental health initiatives…”
Yelena’s stomach drops.
“A cause that, after some extended conversations with her, I can tell you is deeply personal. And she’s graciously agreed to close out tonight with something special.”
Something in Yelena shifts. Call it instinct, or that bone-deep, unshakable radar she’s always had for Kate’s proximity. Her entire system goes on alert. Subtle, not visible to anyone, but unmistakable in her own body. A cold edge takes over as her mind starts mapping threat vectors. They weren’t on a curated guest list. Weren’t vetted. Which means no one cross-checked the rest of the room either. There’s no security outside. No bag checks. Who else is here that shouldn’t be?
Yelena pulls out her phone, thumb flying. She logs into her firm’s backend portal. Runs a live staffing report.
Who’s on Kate tonight?
After a few seconds, the spreadsheet loads. Alexei: off-duty. All week.
That’s a problem.
Yelena trusts every member of her team. She wouldn’t have hired them if she didn’t. But not like she trusts Alexei. Not with Kate. Especially not here, at a barely secured hillside event with strangers, alcohol, and a wide-open perimeter.
None of the tension shows. Monica hasn’t even noticed. But Yelena’s already running contingencies.
Monica traces gentle circles on Yelena’s skin with her thumb, eyes up on the stage, sipping her champagne, watching the stage.
“She’s asked we keep this low-key. So please, phones away. I think you’ll understand why.”
The lights shift. The crowd leans in.
“Please welcome…Kate Bishop.”
Yelena’s head snaps up from her phone. Monica hums beside her. A hush sweeps the crowd. Then murmurs. Recognition. Surprise.
And then…there she is.
Yelena sweeps the room as Kate steps out in a satin number the exact same shade as Monica’s. Elegant. Simple. Sexy as hell. Her hair’s down in natural waves. Minimal makeup. No dancers. No band. No fanfare. Just Kate, a mic, and a baby grand glowing under the lights.
Kate waves to the now extra cheery crowd as she walks to the piano. Within seconds, Kate's blue eyes connect with Yelena's green. Almost as if she knew exactly where to look. Almost as if sensors guided her to them.
Kate takes her in. Her half-finished salad. A glass of Syrah. The way she sits still as stone.
Kate falters, forces a smile. Just a hitch. One breath. Then her gaze drops to her hand…The bare one.
The one without a ring.
The first time she hasn’t worn it in public since she called off the engagement with Eli nine weeks ago. No cameras here. No press. She thought it wouldn’t matter.
Great fucking timing.
Yelena doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But she registers everything. The way Kate’s collarbone shifts when she swallows. The tremor in her fingers as she positions them over the keys. And the distinct lack of a giant rock on her hand.
After an extended moment of silence where the audience anxiously awaits, Kate clears her throat. Speaks into the mic, voice softer than usual. She wasn’t planning to say anything. She was going to get on stage, play, get off. But now her lips are moving and there’s not much she can do about it.
“I don’t do a lot of these, but this one’s personal. This cause… it matters to me.”
Yelena huffs a breath. Monica’s hand tightens around hers.
“There are people who go through hell to protect us. Who come home changed. And those of us who love them… if we’re lucky… try to hold them anyway. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.” Kate’s voice wobbles. Steadies. “I wouldn’t be me without some incredibly special veterans in my life. So, this is for…them.”
Kate pauses. Looks like she might say something more. Might name Yelena.
Instead: “Thank you to my cousin Leila for her service. She couldn’t be here tonight.”
Applause. Warm. Earnest.
Kate doesn’t have a cousin named Leila. Yelena knows that. Kate knows Yelena knows.
Kate breathes deep. Composes. Smiles like it doesn’t hurt. Like she’s not about to throw her entire setlist out the window.
“This song was written at a time when I didn’t think anyone understood what was happening inside me. Like I imagine a lot of vets feel, coming home. I’ve never played it in public before. So… be gentle with me.”
Then she plays.
No theatrics. Just chords. Quiet truths buried in a low register that creep up your chest before you realize it.
The song is about coming home from abroad and not being the same. About silence that grows too big for a room. About grief that doesn’t belong to death, but distance.
Yelena knows it’s about her. The second verse makes that painfully obvious.
Kate plays like remembering hurts. Like this is the closest she’ll ever get to confession.
The song ends. Applause comes late. Staggered at first. Then loud. Real.
Yelena doesn’t clap. Neither does Monica.
Kate nods. Her hands limp. She glances up. Not to the room. Directly at them.
Right at Yelena. At the gorgeous woman touching her. At the smile that doesn’t belong to her anymore. At the woman whose hand is intertwined with her wife’s…Ex wife.
Yelena’s face doesn’t change.
Monica watches all of it. Doesn’t ask a thing. Just taps her fingers tenderly on Yelena’s wrist.
Kate launches into a stripped-down version of one of her biggest singles. Slower than the version that gets screamed back at her in stadiums. (It’s this ⬇️)
Yelena drains her glass.
“You okay?” Monica presses quietly.
Yelena nods. Once. Lies.
“Did you know she’d be here.” Yelena asks.
“Of course not. Do you want to leave?”
“No,” Yelena shales her head. “We were here first.”
Monica smiles, doesn’t argue. Just leans in closer. They stay like that as Kate finishes the second song and starts the last of her improvised set. (This ⬇️)
Kate finishes her three-song set. Walks off. No encore. No bow. The host returns. Says something about dessert and auction lots. Yelena doesn’t hear any of it.
Because across the lawn, somewhere behind curtains and handlers, the woman who broke her heart is probably crying in a some makeshift dressing room.
And for the first time in five years, Yelena doesn’t care.
///
Yelena was wrong.
Kate isn’t curled up on some couch. She’s not sobbing. She’s not hiding. She’s out here…smiling. Working the room. Polished and warm and lethal.
Yelena watches her circulate. Watches her thank donors. Hug foundation execs. Wrap strangers in tight, too-familiar embraces like they’re old friends. Radiant. Fucking charming.
Monica doesn’t say a word, but Yelena can feel her tracking the same thing. The way Kate keeps glancing over. The way her eyes keep ricocheting back to their table.
An hour passes like that. Stolen glances. A dessert cart. Small talk about wine.
Then Kate walks over.
WHY THE FUCK IS KATE WALKING OVER?!
Yelena sits up straighter. Monica doesn’t let go of her hand.
“Hi,” Kate says, hovering with a too-bright smile. Voice casual. Instantly suspect.
Monica smiles, polite and unbothered. Doesn’t rise. Yelena nods. Controlled.
“Kate,” Yelena replies cooly.
After a long awkward silence where Yelena doesn’t introduce them…Kate extends her hand.
“Kate Bishop.”
Monica chuckles.
“I don’t think you need an introduction.”
“Still feels rude not to.”
Monica shakes Kate’s hand.
“Monica.”
“Beautiful name. Stunning dress too.” Kate’s smile curls. Friendly. Biting. “I heard all about you the other night. When Yelena slept over.” Airbrushed innocence, voice sweet as poison.
No she didn’t???
SHE DIDN’T.
They hadn’t talked about Monica.
At all...
The air crystallizes. Monica’s smile stays in place, but her eyes sharpen. Cut sideways. She knew about the break-in. Knew Yelena hadn’t come home. Knew she’d been working the whole night.
Apparently, not where she thought.
Kate hadn’t been able to sleep. Shaken. Vulnerable. Asked Yelena to stay. Yelena had. Over the covers. Hands to herself. Respectful. She told herself she was being respectful. That nothing happened. She was just doing her job.
But judging by the side-eye Monica’s drilling into her skull, that explanation might not fly.
Yelena doesn’t flinch. She just recalibrates.
“She had a break-in, remember?” Yelena says calm. Even. “I stayed to make sure things were secure.”
Kate turns to Monica.
“She looks hilarious when she sleeps sitting up?…Fully clothed. Such a gentleman.”
Monica hums.
“Sounds like a very secure situation.”
“I felt safe.” Kate shrugs.
Yelena clears her throat. Points toward the group of people eyeing them from across the room, eager to catch a moment with The Kate Bishop.
“Don’t let us keep you.”
Kate looks like she might push it, might say something else. Instead, she just smiles again.
“It was nice meeting you, Monica.”
“You too.”
Kate turns. Walks off. Doesn’t look back. Monica lets the silence sit. Then turns to Yelena.
“We’re gonna circle back to that later.”
Yelena sips her wine.
“Figured. Looking forward to it.”
Monica leans in, presses a kiss the corner of her mouth. Kate catches that from where she stands with the group of people fangirling over her. Maybe that was intentional.
Monica stares at Yelena. Serious.
“Did anything happen?”
Yelena shakes her head.
“Not a thing.”
“Okay.”
“You want another drink?”
“Uhum.”
Yelena stands. Speedwalks to the bar, trying to get her bearings again.
Yelena’s fingers drum the countertop while the bartender muddles something unnecessarily artisanal behind the counter.
“Two more of the Syrah,” she says, then immediately second-guesses. “No. One Syrah. One gin and tonic. Heavy on the gin.”
She doesn’t want the drink. She just needed the walk. The space. The breath.
Yelena doesn’t flinch when a figure slides in beside her. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t speak.
Kate leans against the bar. Close but not touching. Just enough to feel the heat between them. She doesn’t order anything. Doesn’t even pretend she’s here for a drink. She’s shed the stage persona, the borrowed grace. Now it’s just her. Stripped down. Quiet. Ringless hand wrapped around champagne flute.
“I was wondering if you’d run.”
Yelena doesn’t turn to her, keeps her eyes on the bartender.
“I didn’t.”
Kate hums like she doesn’t buy it.
“I know that look.”
Yelena doesn’t answer. The drinks land with a quiet clink. Yelena doesn’t reach for them. Just stares ahead. Kate angles her body a little more toward her.
“She’s beautiful.”
“She is.”
“You look good together.”
“We do.”
Silence.
“I didn’t mean to blindside you.”
Yelena finally turns her head. Meets her eyes.
“You didn’t.” Beat. “But you tried to.” Kate doesn’t deny it. “Why?”
Kate shifts, watches her drink instead. She chuckles. Changes the subject. Deflects.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I didn’t know YOU would.”
“That was kind of the point.” Kate adds with a smirk.
“You always did like a surprise entrance.”
“Why didn’t you leave if it bothered you this much?”
“Why would I?”
“If I knew, I might’ve worn something else.”
“What? Like your engagement ring?”
That lands. The air between them thickens. Electric.
“You really didn’t tell her about that night?”
“Nothing to tell, Kate.”
“You stayed.”
“You asked.”
“Would you have told her you slept in my bed if I hadn’t said anything?”
Yelena fully turns now. Body squared. All steel.
“Why did YOU?”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. No hesitation.
Kate doesn’t look away.
“Does she know about me?”
Yelena lets out a short laugh.
“The entire world knows about you, Kate.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Silence. Then softly. “Tell her thank you.”
“For what?”
“For catching you.”
Yelena takes a long sip.
“I wasn’t falling.”
Kate eyes the near empty glass.
“What is that? Gin? You only drink Gin when you’re spiraling.” Yelena says nothing. Kate fiddles with a cocktail napkin. “You look happy.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“No. You deserve that.”
Yelena studies her face.
“So do you.”
Kate laughs. Bitter, under her breath.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You picked him.” That comes out harder than she intended. “Have a happy life with him.”
Kate goes quiet.
“That’s not what happened.”
“It was. And you don’t get to be surprised I moved on.”
“I’m not surprised. Not about this…” Kate meets Yelena’s eyes. “You really never called again.”
“I told you I wouldn’t.” Yelena lifts her glass. “You stopped choosing me long before I stopped showing up.” She downs the rest of her gin. “You shouldn’t have come over.”
Kate laughs once. Small. Sad.
“I never should’ve let you leave.”
Silence. Thick again.
Yelena picks up Monica’s Syrah. Looks Kate dead in the eye.
“Tell your cousin Leila I said thank you for her service.”
Kate lets out a breath, fragile and furious. Wounded. Yelena walks away before it can become anything more.
Monica’s waiting. And she’s already clocked everything.
they are so terrible about the cannibalsm. they love tubbo. they loved being a part of him. they loved knowing him so deeply as much as they know their own skin (which they now have to get to know again. it's been like half a year maybe. their bodies are strangers to them even if they kept all the old scars). but oh god they are Not smart about joking about it sometimes
its the charm, being eaten turns you a little dumber is their excuse tho (it doesnt they are just Like This. theres no cure </3)
