Chapter 3: Explanations
Shaken from her encounter, Olena wanders the halls aimlessly, heedless of where she is. All she craves is silence and solitude. Seeing her again after all these years has shaken Olena's world. She knows she must provide an explanation to the Director, but first she has to come to terms with what just happened.
Olena passes through a doorway and looks around in surprise. The windows offer a glimpse of the ocean, rather than open air. How is it possible? She steps closer to the windows, trying puzzle out where she is. She smiles in delight as a school of fish swim past the window. Olena pulls over a chair and loses herself in the tranquil comfort of the ocean.
Surly from a conversation with Stark, Steve makes a similar journey through the helicarrier. There is something in Tony's mannerisms that always irk Steve and rile him up. He will admit that Tony is brilliant, but that does not excuse him being a complete jerk sometimes. Steve makes his way to the one room no one ever uses – it's a glass conference room that offers a wonderful view of the ocean when they are underwater.
He stomps into the room and slams the door. Olena jumps in the chair, shrieking in surprise.
"Oh! I'm sorry," Steve stammers. "There's normally no one here." He turns to leave, rapidly thinking if there is somewhere else he can sulk.
"I didn't realize others used this place for sulking."
Steve gives the woman before him a small smile. "It's only me, as far as I know. Well, I guess you too now." As he looks at her, realization dawns on him. "You're the woman I rescued from the fire."
Surprise and admiration cross Olena's features. "Then I must thank you, if you are the one Fury calls Captain America."
"Please, my name is Steve Rogers, ma'am."
Olena smiles. "Then thank you, Steve, for saving my life and those of the children. It took great courage to find us in that building."
"Just doing my duty, ma'am."
Olena chuckles at the formal tone. "Please, don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel like an old grandmother. I'm Olena." She gestures to another chair. "Sit, please. I'm sure we can sulk together."
Steve hesitates for a moment, seemingly at war with himself. Finally, he pulls up a chair alongside Olena. Carefully watching the fish, Steve asks, "What were you all doing in that valley?"
Olena turns to him, confused. "Did Fury not tell you all what we were doing there?" Steve shakes his head. Secrets, Olena sighs to herself. Keeping secrets never accomplishes what you want them to. The man saved her life; he has a right to know why she needed saving in the first place. "Here's why I was living in that valley…" She relates to Steve everything that she has told Fury.
"It's an honorable thing you do, helping those people," Steve says when Olena has finished her story.
"I just like to help people." She fiddles with the hem of her skirt, unsure if she should tell the next part of the story. There's no harm, she finally decides. Besides, it might be nice to let it out and have someone listen; someone who wasn't going to analyze it minutely like Dr. Matthews.
"Then, earlier today, I had the shock of my life. It's why I'm down here. Seeing her again brought back so many memories – memories I had locked away forever."
Steve did not quite follow. "See who, Olena?"
Olena's voice is a thread whisper. "Nattie."
"Nattie?" Steve shakes his head. "I don't think we have anyone on here with the name of Nattie." He pauses, trying to puzzle out the mystery. "What does she look like?"
"Short red hair, bright green eyes, my height. She doesn't smile anymore – they took that away from her."
Steve's eyes widen in shock. There is only one person on the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier that the description fits. Impossible. "You mean Natasha?"
"Is that her name now? When we were little her name was Natalia. We were best friends. When they took her away, I thought I would never see her again." Olena curls into herself, wrapping her arms protectively around her torso.
"Does Fury know?" Steve questions quietly. He knows so little about Agent Romanoff. Since teaming up to form the Avengers, she has been polite to Steve, but not particularly friendly. Shared details of her past are few and vague, not giving the curious enough to understand who Natasha Romanoff is and where she comes from. If the incident is shaking Olena up this badly, he can only imagine how shaken Natasha must be.
"I…I haven't told him yet. I was too shaken up when it happened, so trying to give an explanation would be impossible." Olena sighs. "Wonders never cease. It feels as though someone decided to turn my life upside down and give it a good shake to see how the pieces would fall."
Steve reaches out and awkwardly pats her hand in comfort. "In a way I know how you feel. I was frozen in ice for seventy years and woke up to a whole new strange world."
Olena's head snaps over to look at Steve. "You can't be serious," her voice incredulous.
Steve chuckles at her surprise. "I swear on my honor," he says, raising a hand like an oath. "I fought in World War II. I had to crash the plane I was flying. My only option was an icy landing. I blacked out –though I was certain I was dying at the time – only to wake up and be told seventy years had passed." He laughs at the memory. "You can imagine the shock I had."
Olena squeezes Steve's hand. "I can't imagine. Everything you knew gone…."
Feeling like he had somehow accidentally found a friend in this little ocean view room, Steve keeps going, opening up just a little bit more. "It's hard sometimes. I've had a difficult time adjusting. Sometimes the team gives me a hard time because they'll reference some bit of pop-culture and I haven't a clue what they're talking about. Don't even get me started on Stark's fancy tech toys…"
"You're not the only one," Olena interjects.
Steve raises his eyebrow quizzically. "How do you mean? You're a girl of this century; you know what's going on."
"Steve, sometimes I feel just as lost as you." Olena turns in the chair so she can look directly at Steve. Sitting this close to him, she realizes that his eyes are in fact the same blue ones that saved her from the fire. "My entire adult life has been spent working in poverty stricken communities. I'm not sheltered in some modern facility doing social work. I'm living amongst the community I'm working with, living the same kind of life they are. It helps me help them better. I'm used to not having or knowing what the newest technological toy is or what movies and music are popular. Coming back into mainstream society is always a shock."
Amazement fills Steve. Never before had he encountered someone in this strange new world who even had the vaguest sense of what he was going through. Compassion and understanding was sitting beside him in the form of a young woman whom he had saved from a fire. The pair sits in silence for a while, watching the fish swim by. There are a million doubts and fears left for each of them to explore and release, but today. New friends should not be burdened with all of your problems when you first meet them.
"You should tell Fury," Steve gently reminds Olena some time later.
"I'm scared to," she whispers in reply. "He's so intimidating." Olena is silent for a while, trying to muster her courage. "Come with me?" she pleads suddenly. "I can't face him alone with this. If there's a friendly face, I might not pass out from fear."
"One Fury rage deterrent, at your service," Steve jokes. "Come on. He's probably at the bridge playing God."
Steve leads Olena through a confusing network of hallways and doors. She is beginning to realize that wherever she is, it's much larger than she originally believed. Mindful of her healing leg, Steve makes the pace slow pointing out things as they go. It's clear that he has spent a good amount of time here. Steve leads her through a pair of sliding doors saying, "The bridge."
Olena cannot conceal her surprise. She knew she was someplace strange after finding a room with a view of under the ocean, but the view from the bridge is what solidifies that this group of people is a far cry from normal. From the large bay of clear glass windows, she can see miles and miles of open ocean before her. "Is this...a ship?" Olena asks Steve in wonder.
"To be precise, a ship that becomes a sort of airplane. They call it a helicarrier." He smiles at her shock. "It freaked me out too."
Hearing murmurs behind him, Fury turns around. He finds Steve and Olena standing just beyond the conference table near the door. So they found each other, Fury muses to himself.
"I want to explain…about Natasha and me."
"So you've finally decided to talk. I don't like waiting for answers, Miss Sokolov. Just give me a few moments while I get everyone here."
"Everyone?" Olena audibly gulps in fright.
"The team needs to be aware of the situation so that we don't have issues with it in the future." He taps a button on one of the clear glass monitors at the bridge. "Avengers, please assemble at the bridge. Agents Coulson and Hill as well." He motions to the conference table. "Take a seat; everyone should be here shortly."
Steve guides Olena to one of the chairs. She settles into it shakily. Steve settles in a chair next to her and takes her hand. "It's going to be all right."
Stark and Dr. Banner emerge through the door, bickering over some science theory. Stark is clearly trying to get a rise out of Bruce, ever testing the limits of patience. Thor walks in behind them, bemused at the bickering and munching contentedly on some Pop-Tarts. Coulson and Hill walk in together, confused as to why they've been brought to an Avengers meeting. Barton is last, a glower on his face.
Tony is the first to notice the pair already seated at the table. "Hey Capsicle." His eyes flicker over to the young woman who is trying her hardest to seem invisible. "Hey doll face. You joining up with our merry band? Can you do anything cool? We go out for shwarma every Thursday."
"Take a seat," Fury says. "We've got business to discuss." The Avengers settle into the chairs, wondering if Fury has something exciting for them. "First, some introductions are in order. Everyone, this is Olena Sokolov. She's the young woman Steve saved from the burning building. You've all been briefed as to why she was in the refugee camp. Olena, these are the Avengers." Fury beings to gesture at the different people seated around the table. "Steve you already know, beside him is Tony Stark also known as the Iron Man. Beside him is Dr. Bruce Banner. Beside him is Thor, Norse God of Thunder. Then next to him is Clint Barton the Hawkeye, followed by Agents Phil Coulson and Maria Hill. The last two aren't Avengers, but they're instrumental in keeping this team operational."
"Where's Romanoff?" Dr. Banner interjects into Fury's flurry of introductions.
"She won't come out of her room," Clint says. "It sounds like she's broken everything in there. Someone care to explain why she's so pissy?"
"That's why we're here, Barton. Miss Sokolov has something to relate that involves Agent Romanoff."
Clint's eyes snap to Olena. "What did you do to her?" he growls.
Olena is too offended to be afraid of Clint's glare. "Do?" she snaps "I'm perhaps the only person in her life that's never done anything to her!"
"Are you implying that you know our dear Black Widow?" Stark asks, clearly intrigued that there is some drama to be discovered.
"The woman you know as Natasha was my best friend when we were children." Olena looks around the table, curious to see their expressions as they digest this piece of information. Surprise is the most prevalent one on every face. "We grew up in the same orphanage for a few years. She was a little older than me, so she protected me from the meaner children." A sad smile tugs at Olena's mouth. "We pretended we were sisters because we have the same color eyes. We had hopes of being adopted together. We did everything together – shared our secrets, fears, nightmares, hobbies – everything you can imagine lonely little girls sharing. Then, one day, some strange men came to the orphanage and took some of the girls. Nattie was part of that group. The whisper around the orphanage was that these men were taking girls to train to be assassins. When they took Nattie away, I thought I would never see her again."
Olena reaches into a hidden pocket of her skirt and pulls out a small tarnished pocket watch. She pops it open and there pasted neatly to the inside lid is a black and white photograph. "This is Nattie and I – we were at a gymnastics class when this was taken." She places the photo on the table for all to see. It shows two little girls in dark leotards smiling broadly at the camera. Both curly heads of hair are pulled back in bouncy pigtails tied with light colored ribbon. One is slightly older than the other, but similar enough in features that they could be considered sisters.
"Seeing her today, after all these years….it was a shock." She turns the photo around so she can look at it. Olena's voice quiets, recalling memories. "I tried to find her once, when I was a teenager. A clerk at Moscow City Hall told me she was dead. He showed me the death certificate."
Steve silently hands Olena a handkerchief so she can wipe her streaming eyes. "I mourned for so long. Eventually the pain numbed and I was able to lock it away along with every memory of Nattie. I can only imagine how shocked and bewildered Nattie is right now." She pauses, remembering. "If her temper is anything like it was when we were children, she will need many more things to break before she calms down."
The others are silent as they absorb and make sense of Olena's story. Bruce quietly reflects on it, weighing this new revelation against everything he has been able to piece together about the coldly distant Natasha. He finds that it all seems to fit, but he's curious to know more, fill in the gaps of later childhood and teenage years.
Thor simply accepts it, knowing that there are many things that make up a warrior's soul. Some of those things are dark, others light. There are also times where some things of the light turn to darkness over time. His regard for the Black Widow as a warrior is not lessened. She has proven herself highly capable in their battles.
Steve is also quietly accepting. He had been aware that something dark had taken place long ago in Natasha's childhood. Hearing Olena's story makes him mourn for Natasha's lost childhood. It sounds as though the two were happy as children, even though they were living in the orphanage. Anger also simmers just below the forefront – anger for the pain that was caused to Olena as well. The anger surprises him. Reflecting on its cause will be necessary, but later when he can brood without interruption.
From across the table, Clint looks like a storm cloud. Oh how he wants to be angry with Olena for shaking Natasha's steel control. He wants someone to blame that he can readily punish. He wants someone to rail at for causing Natasha so much pain, so many nightmares. Unfortunately, the actual cause of the problem lies in long ago and far away. You cannot punch memories in the face.
Agents Coulson and Hill silently absorb the information, memorizing it so it can be added to the personnel file later.
Stark is the only one who speaks his thoughts. "Fascinating." He stands from his chair and begins to pace, his hands moving as he speaks. "A tragic tale, Miss Sokolov, filled with everything a true Russian tragedy needs. You really have perfected the art of miserable lives, haven't you?"
Olena sighs in exasperation. "It's a cultural thing, Mr. Stark. Death and misery are part of our identity; has been for centuries." (1)
"Which explains a lot about Agent Romanoff," Tony continues. "Now, with your tale added to the mix of what we've seen, it explains why she's almost completely unable to form friendships. The last real one she had – that we know of – was you, and that was taken from her cruelly. It's like being messed up is a requirement of being part of our little tea party."
Before Tony can upset Olena more, Fury steps in and silences Stark with a glare. "Miss Sokolov, while I am unhappy with you destabilizing one of my agents, I am happy you have come clean about your relation to her. I would advise, given Agent Romanoff's current state, that you stay clear for a while. Let her sort things out on her own terms."
Olena reluctantly nods in agreement. She recalls one time when they were children when she had interrupted one of Natasha's sulking sessions. Her arm was sore and bruised for a week. She desperately wants to reconnect with her friend, but knows that distance is for the best right now. But to have her best friend alive! It is one of her most desperate dreams come true.
(1) If anyone would like to read a very interesting book about the culture of death in Russia, I refer you to this book – Night of Stone: Death and Memory in Twentieth Century Russia by Catherine Merridale. She explores themes such as the effect of violence on the Russian culture, how Russians have chosen to remember their history, and what long lasting effects the Soviet regime has had on Russia.