Chapter 5: Uncomfortable
"This is unexpected, Steve." The hem of her long plum skirt flutters in the breeze about Olena's ankles as she sits in a rattan patio chair. She reflexively reaches to tame the flying hem, self-conscious about the scar on her calf. On the small side table at her elbow, a glass of red wine sits, half full. She looks at her companion, waiting for an explanation.
Two days prior, Steve had called her apartment out of the blue, asking if she would like to accompany him to dinner on Saturday. Flummoxed, she stupidly stuttered into the phone for a few moments before her brain started to form coherent thoughts again. After hearing Steve's assurances that he just wanted to see how she was settling into her new life in New York City, she agreed to meet him.
Now, the pair sits in a comfortable outdoor lounge area, waiting for a table to open up inside the restaurant. With a slight blush, Steve admits, "It's been over three months since we parted ways at the docks. I was curious to know how you were getting along." He takes a long pull of his beer, trying to hide his discomfort. Seventy years under ice had done nothing to improve his ability to interact with women.
Olena's fingers curl around the stem of her wine glass. "If I'm honest, I've been far too busy to even think about what's been going on." Any further comment is cut off by the arrival of the maître d'.
"Sir, your table has become available. If you would please follow me." The slight Asian man bows minutely before turning on his heel.
They follow the maître d' into the softly lit restaurant. He leads them along a serpentine path through tables of diners. The clink of glassware and flatware on dishes melds with the murmuring conversation and occasional laughter of the other diners. Olena and Steve are seated in a cozy booth, and after some deliberation of the menu, settle back to wait on their meals.
"As I said earlier, it doesn't feel like three months have passed. I've been so busy with my work."
"What are you doing these days, anyway?" Steve asks.
"I'm working with Immigration Services here in the city to help new immigrants and refugees begin their new lives." A steaming bowl of sticky rice and a platter of chicken and vegetables in peanut sauce are placed before her. With a small cry of delight, she dives in with her chopsticks.
Across the table, Steve is a bit lost. "Um…how am I…help?" He suddenly regrets letting Olena pick a place for dinner.
Laughing, Olena helps him with the chopsticks and walks him through a quick demonstration. "They take some getting used to," she concedes. "My caseload at the office has been overwhelming. So many people and families need help with their relocations and paperwork. I don't think I've really processed what's been going on around me."
The truth, something she does not feel comfortable admitting to Steve, is that she has thrown herself headlong into work so she does not have to think. Working constantly keeps the pain of Natalia's rejection locked deep within her mind where it cannot bother her. Only sometimes, in the dead of night, will that pain slip forward and consume her. Despite having been treated for malnutrition at the hospital on board the helicarrier, Olena is still frighteningly skinny. She works too much and forgets to eat, and then cannot eat when emotion takes over.
Steve watches as Olena practically inhales down her food. She hasn't gained an ounce, he thinks to himself. He senses there is something she's not telling him, but for the sake of a pleasant meal, he leaves it alone for the time being. Instead he turns the conversation to other things, asking her about her trips and the different cultures she has worked with. The rest of the meal passes enjoyably and the shadow of doubt is pushed far into the background.
"You ought to come by Stark Tower sometime," Steve mentions at one point of their conversation. "It's where all of us are stationed at the moment.
"Why would visiting the home of an egotistical jerk interest me?"
Steve blinks, caught off-guard by Olena's venom towards Stark. Then he remembers that the two did not make the most pleasant of meetings aboard the helicarrier. "I…I know Dr. Banner would be happy to see you again. He spends most of his time in Stark's labs, feeling its best for everyone if he stays away from society." Steve drops his gaze and pushes a few scraps of food around his plate. "You could try to reconcile with Agent Romanoff," he says quietly after a few moments.
Olena's fork drops onto her plate with a clatter. "You set me up. You made me think that this was just a polite social call. And I…I believed you!" Anger lances through her, breaking open the tight lock on her unstable emotions. "You want me to go groveling back to Natalia, who rejected me after all these years of me believing she's dead. She rejected me!" Her voice rises shrilly, causing the other diners to turn and stare at them. "I will not pretend that everything is fine, just to restore the peace to your little group!" She flings her napkin and chopsticks onto the table. Grabbing her purse, she quickly stands and flees the restaurant.
Steve collapses dejectedly into his seat. He curses himself for thinking he could bring up the topic without Olena flying into a rage. He knows well enough of Natasha's short fuse, he should have counted on Olena having a similarly short fuse in her current state. Ignoring the stares from fellow diners, he drops some money on the table to cover the bill and leaves the restaurant. The cool evening breeze is his only comfort on the walk home.
In the opposite direction, Olena storms angrily down the street, muttering to herself in Russian. Angry tears pour hotly down he cheeks. She feels utterly betrayed by someone she thought she could have counted as a friend. The blow of two rejections threatens to crush her heart entirely. Blessedly, she makes it home to her small apartment before breaking down completely. She rages into the night before collapsing into her bed, sobbing until her tears run dry and she has exhausted herself completely.