Natasha actually chuckled despite everything at how quickly he let go of her when she mentioned the oncoming sickness. She knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want her getting sick on him, but because he didn’t want to squeeze her too tight or prevent her from moving if the urge to vomit struck her quickly, but it was amusing nonetheless.

Curling up on her side, facing him, she ran her fingertips gently over his cheek, brushing the errant salty drops from his skin. Could be just sweat, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. “It’s okay,” she said, resting her hand against his face. “Do you want to talk about it?” She wouldn’t push him if he didn’t, but she wanted him to know that the option was always there.