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Grief was hard.
It ate and it ate away at you until there was nothing left.
And then it would eat some more just to really kick you when you're down.
Yelena can't remember the last time she didn't feel this grief. Can't remember the last time she didn't end up laying on her floor with tear streaks down her face.
Her hair was a mess. Empty bottles of vodka laid idly around her. She'd seen this before. The void. She'd seen what she looked like doing this. It didn't change anything. Never did.
The love of her team didn't change the fact her sister was gone. Never coming back.
Yelena just can't bring herself to move.
Not to drink.
Not to cure her ringing headache.
Why move when there is no one left to chase.
A sharp knock pulls her to the surface.
“'Lena. I know I called your guinea pig rat thing, annoying but do you wanna spar?”
John.
Yelena wants to respond.
God does she want to tell him to go away but she can't. That familiar feeling of numbness makes her throat tighten and her eyes close.
“‘Lena!!”
That same bang on the door pierces her head once again. Yet she just can't bring herself to complain or protest. Numb. So unbelievably numb.
The door handle jiggles before awkwardly stopping. “Jesus Christ you look dead..”
Right. She'd left the door open. Yelena lets her eyes drag open only to find Walker kneeling in front of her. The few bottles near her were kicked away.
Before she can even try to muster up a reply Walker drags her up. His hands and movements are surprisingly gentle. “Alright there we go. Don't puke. I'll tell everyone.”
Yelena wants to chuckle or maybe bully John for being so soft but since when does she get what she wants?
So she just leans back against the bed. Her head's pounding. Another reminder of why it's better to not move. A rough hand pushing her hair back pulls her back again.
It's like drowning. That almost brings a scoff out of her. How many times has that metaphor been used?
Another bullet of pain through her head ends her thoughts. So instead she watches John as well as she can without moving a muscle.
The blonde man was looking for something. Muttering to himself. “I mean you're depressed, not stupid.” Walker scoffs to himself. Was she depressed?
Depression was sadness. She just felt numb. Numb before she drank, while she drank, and after she drank. A cycle. The same cycle she'd cried to her dad about. The same cycle she was still repeating.
Suddenly she felt her body being lifted. Walker.
The man was carefully placing her on her bed. He looked worried. Genuinely worried. She watched him pull a blanket over her. Hesitant but caring. Like a sibling.
She'd seen that look before. But she'd never admit that out loud. The last thing she'd do in her life was compare John Walker to her sister.
But that look hurt her more.
God, she missed her sister.
She missed Nat.
*
By the time Yelena woke the sun was piercing through her blinds.
Of course she had to pick one of the rooms with a window. She was stupid.
Her body felt heavy. Her head hurt. She was tired.
But she opened her eyes anyway.
Which was her attempt at taking it slow before she shot up. Wincing and holding her head at the blind pain that shot though it but she fought through it anyway to look at her spotless room.
Not a bottle in sight. Her laundry that had been piling up for weeks was sitting in a new basket by her door. Huh.
Yelena glanced around for more changes before noticing ibuprofen on her nightstand. She moved a bit before hesitantly taking the bottle. It had no note or anything. Just a water bottle beside it.
John must've left it and done all this.
It was sweet.
Yelena lays back down without taking another moment to appreciate the gesture.
It only made her sick to her stomach.
*
A knock brought her to again.
Before she could answer the door swung open. Her hand twitched for her gun as she eyed the intruder. In her room stood Walker. The guy looked uncharacteristically worried. Like someone kicked his dog.
Her hand pulled away from her gun. “Jesus Walker.” Yelena relaxes back into her bed. Normally she'd rise and not let anyone even near her room but that heavy feeling stayed. That void only seemed to grow bigger.
She's sure if she had Bob's powers her void would've eaten the whole world and then gone for the other universes.
Yelena rolls over. Showing her back to Walker in hopes to ward him off silently. “You reek.”
Great.
“If you want to keep your fingers you'll leave.” Yet the door only clicks shut and his footsteps only draw closer. Yet he actually hesitates a step. Muttering something about Bob being better at this. Yelena can't help but roll her eyes.
She sighs, “seriously Walker.” Her voice comes off more broken than she'd ever like to admit. God she hated seeming weak. Especially in front of Walker of all people but he'd seen her at one of her low lows earlier so it wasn't as bad as it could've been.
“Sit up.” “Get a life.” “Sit up”
Yelena sits up despite her protests. She'd never taken the ibuprofen but God she wished she had. She ignores it anyway. Watching as John gestures for her to turn around.
So she does. Facing her headboard as she feels his weight sink down behind her. Then his hands find her hair and Yelena's torn between stabbing him and just letting Walker play with her hair.
Before she can snark about him messing with her hair she feels his movements turn more deliberate. The sorting of the strands of her hair and then that familiar braiding motion.
It hurt. Not the braiding but the feelings it brought up. She couldn't remember the last time someone braided her hair. Natasha used to. When they were young. Her mother used to. Her father used to. Then the girls at the Red Room and then she had to learn to do it herself.
Then she cut her hair.
It still wasn't perfect braiding length. Yelena gave up trying but Walker seemed to have aced it on his first go. She felt familiar tears well up in her eyes as a hesitant sniffle left her yet it didn't deter Walker.
He kept braiding as Yelena started to sob. Her lips trembling down into a familiar frown as she attempted to silence her sobs. God was this embarrassing.
But at this point she had little care left.
Thank god Walker decided to keep his mouth shut for once and just braid her hair. Finishing one braid before she felt him move to the other. Walker’s silence never lasted long though.
"I had a brother.”
Silence flooded the room. It was awkward.
Yelena turned her head back just a bit. Just to catch Walker's own shiny eyes before she looks forward again. Savoring him the embarrassment of someone seeing him cry.
He doesn't say more. Doesn't have to.
The two just sit in silence.
The quiet being fueled by the comfort of understanding.
Understanding the hole left over after death.
Walker stays even after he finishes braiding her hair. The two end up sitting side by side on her bed as the TV plays some trashy reality show. They don't sit close or cling to each other like she and Bob do but rather just sit in each other's company.
That's how they stayed for hours.
Silent with only the tv lighting their faces.