Sorry for the delay. The first three chapters had been pre-written before posting, so from this chapter forward there is going to be some time between them as I write them up.
Thank you for the reviews and story follows!
Chapter 4: Tiptoeing
The helicarrier stays at sea for a few more weeks. Though there is no immediate mission to fulfill, the crew is constantly busy, making sure things are prepared for the next time Director Fury decides to say go. Late at night in his office, Fury pours over every tiny piece of intelligence they have gathered on that Afghanistan valley they picked up the refugees from. Something is clearly not right, but Fury is baffled as to what. More information is necessary before they can move forward on that mission.
Fury's edict about leaving Natasha alone is easy to follow. Olena has only caught the occasional glimpse of the red-headed woman as she stalks the hallways of the heilcarrier. Natasha largely avoids everyone – taking meals alone in her room, training by herself, and every other possible task she can complete solo. When she is required to sit in a meeting with the other Avengers, her face is dark and thunderous, her body language screaming "don't mess with me".
Alone in her room, Natasha allows the memories to take over. The carefree memories of flying on the uneven bars at gymnastics class; the sensation of her feet solidly hitting the mat on dismount. She recalls a photograph being taken one day – she wonders whatever became of the photo. Always in her memories, Olena is there – a laughing, happy companion cheering young Natalia on at every moment. Such happiness in the face of the despair. The memory shifts, this time becoming one of the many nights they sat huddled under a blanket on the roof, sharing secrets.
Natasha weeps, wanting that happiness and friendship back.
A few days after her meeting with the Avengers, Olena is cleared from the hospital. She is assigned her own small bunk in the main living section of the helicarrier. Olena is pleased with the new arrangement, relishing the freedom to move about on her own without having to first ask permission from her medical caretakers. The room is small and military, but vastly more welcoming than the glaring white walls of the hospital. A small port window offers Olena a peaceful view of the ocean, underneath which is a small writing desk. The opposite wall holds a narrow bed and small dresser.
The majority of her time, however, is spent with her refugees. After gaining computer access, Olena corresponds with a refugee relocation and resettlement agency in New York City, hoping to get her charges settled into a new life as soon as the helicarrier docks. She spends hours every day teaching English, explaining American culture, and reviewing where the refugees can turn to for help if they need it. After having lived with these people for so long, she is proud of their efforts to prepare for a new world and life.
Dr. Banner comes by the tiny office allocated to Olena one day to find her buried in paperwork. "Are you trying to suffocate yourself?"
Olena jumps in surprise. "OH! Hello." She looks around the office, only just realizing how messy it has gotten. "Um, have a seat, if you can find the chair…"
Bruce moves a stack of papers from the metal folding chair against the wall and places them on the floor. "You have done phenomenal work with these refugees," he says as he draws the chair up to her desk. "In fact, I am impressed with all the work you've done in poverty communities."
"And I am impressed with all the work you have done, Doctor. I've read about your work doctoring the sick in India."
Bruce's smile is a little wan. "My good deeds are more atonement than altruism."
Confused, Olena crinkles her brows together. "Atonement? What could you possibly have to atone for?"
"So Fury didn't tell you about….the other guy?"
"I'm sorry Dr. Banner, I'm rather confused. What other guy?"
Bruce fiddles with his glasses. "A few years back, I had an accident in the lab. Excessive gamma radiation exposure. Simply put, it changed me. When I get angry, I…well, I turn into a giant green rage monster, as Stark calls him." He gestures to Olena's computer. "May I?"
Intrigued, Olena pushes the laptop towards Bruce. He is silent as he types a few things. "Here is the ugly truth." He turns the laptop back around to Olena.
On the screen is Bruce Banner's personnel file. A record of where he has been, what he has done, and every single person he has ever talked to. A number of videos and images accompany the information. There, Olena sees the Hulk, smashing away at something. Having seen enough, she shuts the laptop.
"Dr. Banner, my opinion of you has not changed. You do wonderful work for both the scientific community and the sick whom you tend." Olena takes his hand and squeezes it sympathetically. "Over the years I've learned to measure people by the whole of who they are, rather than just parts of them."
With a small smile, Bruce rises from the chair. "It's nice to be reminded that I'm appreciated for my work, rather than what my other half can do. I'll leave you to your work. I'm sure you're busy with our arrival on the horizon."
Over the thrumming of the helicarrier's many engines and machinery, the intercom crackles to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, arrival in New York City is in three hours."
A cheer erupts from the crew. After so long at sea, news of landfall is incredibly welcome. Those who are not engaged in critical tasks rush off to prepare for arrival in port.
Olena too, looks forward to their arrival. She has been craving open air and the opportunity to walk farther than the length of the helicarrier. While she packs her few belongings, a knock sounds on her door.
Agent Hill hands her a folder. "Paperwork for your refugees."
Olena gapes in amazement at the folder. It contains the immigration paperwork for the refugees coming over. "But how…?"
"Fury pulled some strings. He explained that admitting these refugees into the country was a matter of safety." Maria smiles wryly. "No one dares contradict Fury when he says something is matter of security."
"Oh this is wonderful! This is our first lucky break since trying to get them out of Afghanistan. I cannot begin to thank you all for everything that you've done."
"It's a matter of course, ma'am. Aid and protection is what we do." Maria gestures to the folder clasped tightly in Olena's hands. "At the bottom, you'll find two different forms for you, depending on which one you choose to use. I'll leave you to your packing."
Once Maria has left, Olena flips through the paperwork to figure out what Maria meant. What she finds astounds her. One set of papers is for a visa, granting her temporary status in America. The other set is complete immigration papers, declaring her intention to eventually become a naturalized citizen. She lets out a breath – never before has she been presented with such an opportunity. I suppose now is the time to decide what I'm doing with my life, Olena muses to herself. Do I start fresh in the land of dreams or do I go back? I've been taking care of other people for so long I've forgotten how to take care of myself.
With the folder tucked under her arm, Olena makes her way back to her quarters. Her meager possessions fit easily in a small duffle, so her packing for departure finishes quickly. She slings the duffle over her shoulder and makes her way up to the deck. Threading her way thought the bustle of preparation, Olena finds a quiet corner where she can think about her future while watching the helicarrier pull closer to port.
"Have you ever been to New York?" Steve asks, coming up beside Olena and pulling her from her reverie.
"Never. I've seen a fair number of countries, but never America." She turns to look at Steve. "Was it a shock for you?"
"A lot is different, but some things are the same. The buildings are bigger, there are a lot more people, but the alleys where I got beat up are still the same. That, in a strange way, is comforting."
They stand silently for a while, watching the New York City skyline grow larger as they approach. The crew moves around them in efficient preparation.
"I'm nervous, Steve. I'm not going to fit in at all. How am I going to get settled?" Her voice is plaintive and reminiscent of the lost little girl she was in Russia all those years ago.
"You don't need to worry about that," he says to reassure her. Most people in New York don't look at me twice when I can't figure something modern out. It's a city full of all sorts of people. You'll blend in more than you realize. Besides, I'm sure you'll be too busy getting your refugees settled to notice." He looks at her and watches the wind whip her ebony hair around her face. "As for getting settled, Fury will probably help out with that."
The helicarrier glides gracefully into port and is immediately attended by waiting deck hands outfitted in S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. While they wait to disembark, two little girls clutch nervously at Olena's hands. Olena murmurs words of comfort in Pashto while trying to quell the butterflies in her own stomach. As she watches the bustle of landing, Olena spies Barton crossing the deck.
"Agent Barton!" she calls. "May I have a word?"
He stalks across to her and then waits for her to speak.
"Might I make a request?" When Barton does not answer, Olena plows ahead. "You'll see her more than me. Please keep an eye on Nattie for me?"
Clint's gaze is hard and cold. "I'll do my best. Your appearance has shaken up some dark memories for her. We can't have a compromised agent. You don't seem too upset over the whole thing."
Stung, Olena returns a hard gaze to Clint. Her voice is cold iron as she speaks. "Do not assume I am affected any less than Natalia. I've been quietly wrestling with my own demons, and many more will rear their ugly heads if Nattie ever speaks to me again. Just because I'm not smashing things doesn't mean I'm not upset."
She stalks off along the deck to disembark with the other passengers. In truth, she has been far too busy with preparing the refugees for arrival to even do any of the demon wrestling she claims to have done. Instead, the haunting memories of the past hover in the background making it difficult to sleep. Undernourished upon her arrival to the helicarrier, she has barely gained any weight due to anxiety. She recognizes her old habits of avoiding the problem, yet is unwilling to meet it head on. Soon, she promises herself. Soon I will stop tiptoeing around and actually deal with this. But not today. Today is for getting a fresh start.