Steve could practically feel the frustration building in the seat next to him.

Natasha wasn't glaring at him, but she certainly wasn't happy with him either at the moment.

Steve slowed down for the crosswalk when he saw an elderly woman across the street was just starting to cross in her walker.

He turned to ask her if he'd somehow offended her and saw her face was the careful blankness that said she was furious. He hadn't seen it since Tony had eaten the last of her Damsky Kapriz that she ordered specially from Russia.

Steve looked forward and swallowed. He resisted the urge to tap his fingers, but couldn't quite keep them from flexing on the wheel.

Part of him was tempted to just keep driving, but the elderly pedestrian wasn't even halfway across the street.

The tension crept higher and higher with every passing moment.

Finally he cleared his throat and leaned forward to look up at the sky. "Nice day today. Almost a shame to be driving."

She didn't answer immediately.

He glanced over and she was staring at the pedestrian.

She muttered something in Russian and rolled her eyes.

The silence stretched on while they waited for the pedestrian until Steve said, "So, uh, how long until you're cleared to drive again?"

He winced and looked away before she even had time to react.

"Not soon enough," she said.

The crosswalk cleared and the light turned green and Steve gratefully focused on traffic as he pulled forward—and had to slam on his brakes when a car from the opposite left turn lane cut him off.

He breathed out slowly and then jumped when Natasha started yelling angrily at the other driver.

He pulled forward when the lane was clear and they drove for almost a block before he worked up the courage to say, "So, um, is there… uh… something bothering you? I mean, if Tony said something again—"

"It's not Tony I'm upset with," she said quietly while staring out the window.

"Oh. Thor? Clint?"

She looked at him and he said, "I mean, I'm not trying to pry or anything, I just, if I need to say something to them—"

She lunged angrily, pointing at the window, but he saw the car and hit the brakes, letting the car into the lane since the driver seemed so determined to get ahead of him.

Natasha huffed angrily and Steve said, "Everyone is in such a hurry these days. I mean," he clarified, "not that people weren't in a hurry back in the… in the day. But it seems like they're in more of a hurry today."

"It's possible they are in a hurry," she said sourly.

Steve glanced at the clock and winced. Was Natasha late? When he'd offered to take her to HQ for her meeting, he'd asked what time and he'd gotten off the elevator on her floor four minutes early.

"Get into the other lane."

"What?" he said, glancing over and watching a gap barely big enough for the car to fit into close quickly.

She huffed again. "Never mind."

"I thought…" His brow furrowed. "Don't I need to turn right in three blocks?"

"Yes," she said, through gritted teeth, "but this lane is moving slowly because every incompetent taxi driver in the city is waiting for a pickup right here apparently."

"Oh." Steve craned his neck, but couldn't see any taxi lights ahead. No more than usual, and they were all moving. "I don't see—"

"Change lanes," she repeated, then twisted to look over her shoulder. "Now!"

Steve very nearly did it, but stopped himself before he veered into the path of another car.

He glanced at Natasha and she snarled and looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

Steve flipped on his blinker and started checking his mirrors, looking for a chance to get over.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not sure what I did, but—"

"Go!"

He glanced over and pressed his lips together and went for it.

The car behind them had to hit its brakes and the driver honked and waved an angry fist.

"Sorry!" he called and waved, ducking his head. He inched forward and into the lane, heat creeping up his cheeks when he couldn't quite fit and ended up blocking the lane he left.

Natasha rolled down her window and yelled back at the driver there in Russian gesturing emphatically.

Finally the light ahead of them turned green and he had room to finish his lane change and keep going.

They didn't make it through the light, of course, as it changed to yellow when the car before them reached the line.

He stopped and Natasha rolled her eyes again and snapped, "You could have gone, there's more than enough room. Look," she said and gestured angrily to the empty space behind the car across the intersection.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "But the light was yellow—"

"Which means to slow down, not stop! Red means stop, yellow means slow down! Or speed up. Whichever. The point is, you had plenty of time to go through the intersection."

Steve frowned and eyed her profile, but before he could speak she said, "It's green. Go."

He turned and checked the intersection, then rolled forward as cars behind him honked.

The rest of the drive passed in miserable silence and it only got worse when he shifted back to the right-most lane and then pulled up in front of the SHIELD office.

"What time should I pick you up?" he asked as she wrestled her braced leg out the door and lifted her crutches out of the back seat. He tried to help, but she jerked them free and so he let go and backed off.

"Don't bother. I'll have Clint take me. Hell, maybe I'll walk. Either way it would be less painful than watching you drive again."

"Natasha, I'm sorr—" She slammed the door and started her stuttered gait to the front door of the building. "—ry," he finished with a sigh.

He flipped on his blinker and, when it was clear, merged back into traffic for the drive home.

It was amazing to him that the mechanics of driving a car hadn't changed that much in seventy years, even if the vehicles you did it in had, but somehow relating to other people had become something completely different. Not that he'd been that good at connecting to people as a scrawny kid. He'd known just as many people who wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire as who would follow him behind enemy lines on a hunch.

But even given seventy years of his already paltry social skills rusting under the Arctic snowpack, he was doing badly at connecting with this new team. He'd been more right than he thought when he told Thor it was like waking up on another planet. He just wished he knew where to find a good translator.