A/N: I honestly have written little to nothing for this but I may as well try it out. TBH, writing RPF for Hollywood celebrities makes me a tad uncomfortable because their lives are more personal and I sorta feel like I'm snooping or intruding, but someone suggested it a while back and it's been festering away in my head for months, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

Nadia's visual inspiration is Romanian Blogger Danielle Marcan just FYI.

Disclaimer: I don't own Real Human Being Sebastian Stan, but I do own this plot.

It's evening in New York City when she arrives, all tired eyes and aching bones. The arrival gate of Newark International airport is crowded with groups of people exiting, pushing luggage carts, pulling along their suitcases. Nadia Stoica stretches, bones creaking, back arching, strained muscles unfurling now that she's no longer camped out in an airplane seat. Businessmen, students, couples, and even a few families file passed her out of the automatic doors, but the woman waits.

Glancing around anxiously, the thirty-three year old Risk Analyst wrings the handle of her suitcase. The brunette takes a moment to gather herself, bending over to tie the laces of her white sneakers and adjust the white tee shirt tucked into her textured skinnies she's wearing. The Romanian beauty stands a few meters from the automatic doors, tucking her duster cardigan closer to her slim frame, sneaker clad foot tapping against the linoleum with tired apprehension as she awaits her company appointed escort.

Born and raised in beautiful, seaside Constanta, Romania, Nadia had worked at the local Citibank before being chosen for a promotion in Bucharest. When offered the higher corporate position she jumps at the opportunity to move to the Capital. A few years later she's a Risk Analyst at the Bucharest HQ, being offered the position of Global Risk Manager with the condition she completes the 2-year training program. Of course she can't turn down another such opportunity, even if attending the program means spending the next two years eight thousand kilometers (give or take) from her home.

Which is how she finds herself waiting at the Newark Liberty International Airport arrival gate; nervous, exhausted, and longing for either a cup of coffee or the welcoming embrace of a mattress. Her two hour and forty minute flight from Bucharest to Frankfurt had gone off without a hitch, she'd arrived in time for a late lunch of Schnitzel with buttered vegetables and Kartoffelsalat. Her layover had been only two hours, giving her time to stretch her legs before the long haul to America. Nadia sleeps very little on the plane, even with the eight hours and fifty minutes before she would arrive in New York. Instead opting to take advantage of Lufthansa Airlines' in-flight wifi to study her destination city and go over the details of the training program she would be participating in.

"Nadia Stoica?" Calls a middle aged man, dressed in jeans, a button-down top, a blazer, and a newsboy cap. The brunette raises her hand timidly, smiling when her escort grins and introduces himself. Kindly offering to take her luggage, he leads her out to the company provided vehicle and welcomes her to New York. He spends a great deal of the thirty minute drive to Greenwich Village talking about the city and asking Nadia about Romania and her life there. By the time they arrive at the apartment provided to her by the company, she's completely worn weary and ready to hit the sack.

The West Village is a convenient place to live, even without access to a car. Her Greenwich apartment is a gorgeous one bedroom, not far from the location where she'll be attending her training course. The walls are painted a soft cream color and the floors are a beautiful, glossy wood laminate. Her living room is spacious, with a lot of natural light, let in by a massive panel of windows on the far wall. The apartment comes furnished. The kitchen comes stocked with all of the table and cookware she may need. Adjacent from the kitchen threshold, in the living room, is a small, four seater table.

A tiny coffee table anchors the center of the room on a plainly colored area rug, between a tv stand with a huge flat screen, and a coral colored couch, decorated with colorful throw pillows. An oddly designed lounge chair sits across from the coffee table, and a massive blue ottoman anchors the farthest corner of the rug. The bedroom is roomy, but simple, with nothing but a queen sized bed and a small desk, as well as two doors that lead respectively to the walk-in closet and the restroom. It's a quaint, comfortable space, the only thing left for her to do when she arrives is unpack her suitcase and the moving boxes she'd sent ahead, but she's much to exhausted for that. Nadia only manages to cut open a single moving box, fish out a specific package, and dress the provided mattress in the bedding she'd brought along with her.

Lying on her side, cozy in her comforter, the brunette finally recalls that she should keep her friends and family up to date. With her bleary eyes and exhausted bones, the woman connects her cell phone to the wifi (making a mental note to go out and purchase one that she can use while in America), she opens her texting app and drops a message in the group chat letting her friends know that she'd arrived safely to her apartment without trouble, before dialing up her mother on Google Hangouts. It takes a couple tries before the older Romanian woman gets it, but eventually Nadia is greeted by video feed of her parent's faces.

Her mother, Maria, worries over her as usual and demands to know every detail of her long trip to America. While her father, Ioan, wants to know about her apartment and her neighborhood. She's happy to tell them all about it, assuring her mother that her travels had gone without a hitch and her father that she would send pictures to ease his worries. Nadia can tell they both miss her terribly. She'd lived away from home, in Bucharest, for several years, but that isn't the same thing as moving across the globe and she knows that her friends and family are likely to have heard the horror stories. Nadia surely has, of women going all by theirselves to the Big Apple and the experience becoming a nightmare. Luckily, her first day in New York had gone smoothly enough.

Her mother at least, is comforted by the proximity of her life-long best friend, Georgeta. A lovely woman and long time friend of Nadia's parents. She and Maria had become close friends when their children were young and Georgeta had still been a single mother living in Constanta, renting the apartment across from them with her son. Eventually, after the Revolution, the pair had moved abroad a couple times. Remarrying and ultimately settling in America, not far from New York City, but she and Nadia's mother remained close despite the distance.

Which is how Nadia ends up blinking awake to the sound of a Google+ call from an unknown number. Georgeta O. Fruhauf calling flashes over the screen and Nadia is quick to answer the call of her mother's best friend. "Alo?" the young woman answers cautiously, voice rough with sleep and eyes bleary as she sits up in bed.

"Buna, Nadia floricică!" Greets the older woman, calling her by her nickname since childhood, little flower. "Buna seara, Tánti," Nadia replies in return, "Ce faceti?" And so, Georgeta begins to tell her about life since they'd last spoken to each other, her ever successful son, and what things the younger woman could look forward to in New York City. Thankfully though the older woman is considerate. Georgeta asks about her trip from Bucharest, how she's fared since arriving in the city.

"Doriţi să ia prânzul împreună mâine?" Asks the older woman good naturedly, sounding excited at the prospect. "Ştiu un restaurant bun." Nadia doesn't have the heart to turn her down, Georgeta is a sweet lady, who'd been kind to her when they'd been neighbors back in the homeland. Not to mention having someone she knows nearby may help her to better settle into American life. "Mi-ar face plăcere."

Georgeta begins to rave on a line of good restaurants in the city, listing the food types and locations. Eventually, after learning Nadia's address, the older woman decides upon Le Pain Quotidien's West Village location. The young woman easily agrees, never having been there before, but happy that her mother's old friend is trying so actively to accommodate her. Satisfied with their plan making, the two women bid their farewells and end their call.

As Nadia gets ready for bed, digging out her night clothes and something to wear the next day, Georgeta is across the city dialing up someone as she pads back and fourth around her condo in excitement. "Alo?"

"Alo, fiule!" she greets, teeming with delight, "Esti libera miine?"

The next morning Google Maps assures Nadia the restaurant Georgeta had chosen is merely a simple five minute walk from her apartment. Situated on the corner of Hudson and Perry Street, Le Pain Quotidien is a Belgian brunch chain nestled in the heart of the West Village, as well as numerous other locations around the city.

The little brunette makes her way the five blocks, clad in a simple and classic ensemble, the weather clear and kind that bright morning. The birds sing and the sun shines, not a cloud in sight, as Nadia practically skips along, following the screenshoted directions on her receptionless cell phone. She turns from Christopher Street to Bleeker, passed West 10th and Charles, onto Perry Street, making it to the restaurant before their scheduled meeting time of 10:30 with still a few minutes to spare.

Georgeta is already present, seated inside not far from the ordering counter but away from the windows. Nadia bounds over, nervous but happy to finally see a familiar face. The older woman greets her like a child of her own, rising from her seat, arms outstretched and bright smile painted on her aging face. Nadia's struck by the difference for an instance, not long enough to notice, but enough for the younger to mentally remand herself.

Two plus decades has changed them both, she's reminded, when lovely Georgeta cups her cheeks and inspects her fondly. "How you've grown," she's told in their native tongue. Nadia grins and leans in to press a kiss to each of Mrs. Fruhauf's cheeks in the typical European greeting. How she's missed this woman. The pair spends a short while chatting, catching up on the years that had passed, the things that had changed, the ways they'd both grown— and of course about Georgeta's son.

Eventually they get up to place their orders. Nadia has a granola parfait of oats, greek yogurt, banana, and fresh berries along with a cheese almond danish, and a cup of café au lait. Her companion orders a great deal more. A prosciutto, ricotta, and fig tartine with a cup of fruit, and a cappuccino. Smoked salmon and hard-boiled eggs with avocado toast and an iced latte. As the food is brought to them, Nadia wonders how the elder woman will manage consuming it all.

"I have a surprise for you," Georgeta tells her, old world accent heavy on her tongue as she tucks her cell phone back into her purse after reading a text. "Someone's going to be joining us."

Not five minutes later Nadia's companion is waving at the entrance, bright smile illuminating her face. The younger woman tries to catch a glimpse, but the booth seats are tall, she's short, and whoever their new addition may be, they're a fast walker.

"Mamă," Calls a welcoming voice, deep but soft, comforting. Nadia nearly falls all over herself, realizing instantly who their mystery guest is and kicking herself internally for not seeing this coming.

Long legs quickly bring him to their secluded little both and the man in question hugs his mother, kissing her cheek before turning to Nadia in what appears to be genuine surprise. He looks well, dressed in simple jeans, a tee shirt, and leather jacket. He's much taller now, slim and fit, and handsome, but she'd known that already. How couldn't she? When he's in a major film series, plastered on numerous magazine covers back in their home country, when he's the nation's pride and joy, one of the few professionals representing Romania in the business.

Towering over her is Sebastian Stan— childhood friend, first love, famous Hollywood Actor. His steel blue eyes are wide in astonishment, the color of ice or the Atlantic Ocean she'd flown over on her voyage. A soft grin twitches over his plush mouth, recognition blooming across his face, his cheeks drawing round as he grins, those pretty eyes crinkling. "Nadia?"

(poor) Romanian Translations:
*Alo - Hello, reserved mainly for the phone
*Buna - Hi (informal)
*Floricică - Little flower (Nadia's nickname)
*Buna seara - Good evening
*Tánti - Auntie
*Ce faceti - How are you? (polite)
*Doriţi să ia prânzul împreună mâine? - Would you like to have lunch together tomorrow?
*Ştiu un restaurant bun - I know a good restaurant
*Mi-ar face plăcere - I'd love to
*Alo, fiule! - Hello, my son!
*Esti libera miine? - Are you free tomorrow?
*Mamă - Mom, Mother (though that's pretty clear)

It's safe to assume that whenever two Romanian characters are speaking and the dialogue is in italics, that they're speaking Romanian to each other, but I thought I should clarify just in case.

So, Important Note:
I'm working through some stuff lately, which is why I haven't been updating or writing period. But, this has been bouncing 'round in my head for long enough, so we'll see how it goes. Don't expect long or frequent updates though. Usually writing helps me work through shit, but lately it's just been making my funk worse. Maybe I'll keep up with this, maybe not— probably not, but here's to shots in the dark. Thanks for reading though!