Natalia smiles, leading him from the bed and to the table still dressed for sleep. She pushes him into a chair, fingers combing through the mess the cowl has made of his hair after. She studies him even as she soothes, pressing here and there against his scalp to chase away the headache.

"Something more than children is bothering you," she observes as she releases him, pulling down two glasses and a bottle from her meager pantry. The vodka is...borrowed, and Natalia unrepentant as she pours. What use is there in being a spy if she can't enjoy the perks, after all.