Why assassins are good to have around.

Who: Kurt and Natalya
When: morning through afternoon
Where: Natalya's place

Morning dawned and found Natalya on her way outside for her morning workout. Attaching the silks to her rig, she meandered on down to the lakeshore with a towel, which she spread out on the grass to do her stretching. She sank into an easy side split, bending flat to each leg in sequence. It was this still time of the morning that she cherished; it seemed to help her keep her mental balance through the day more than if she'd missed it. It was peaceful; the sun just-risen over the lake, the cool weather, the soft sounds of birds waking up. She took a deep breath, just sitting and appreciating the day for a moment.

It wasn't as still as Natalya believed. From the underbrush at her back, three pairs of eyes were settled on her. Three tails swished in unison. They were watching her. Her goodness floated back to them on the faint breeze coming off of the lake. She wasn't entirely pure, but she was enough to get their attention. Slowly, on silent paws, the three cats crept forward, stalking the girl.

Natalya sat up straight, arms stretched over her head, breathing deeply before switching position. Stretching both of her legs in front of her, she bent forward, forehead pressed to her knees, and stayed there for a long moment as she stretched.

They pounced as one, the animal in the middle giving off a low growl as the only warning. Three coiled leaps later, Natalya had one spitting cat on her back, another attaching itself with teeth and claws to one of her arms, while the other attmped to lunge at the side of her face.

The attack took Natalya entirely by surprise; one moment she was stretching and enjoying the morning and the next second her back and arm were afire with pain. She cried out, scrambling upward in a rather uncoordinated movement as she tried to dislodge the beasts that were attacking her. She reached for the one hanging onto her arm, trying to get a grip to pull it off.

The cat just hung on tighter as it was being pulled. It curled it's body upward and it rabbit-kicked at her elbow with it's back claws, ears flattened. The one on Natalya's back almost slipped off with her sudden movement, but managed to hang on, yowling and spitting angrily. The third latched on to her leg and sank it's weapons into her calf and heel.

Natalya shrieked, twisting and trying to shake off the animals. She was terrified, and the third one attaching itself to her leg drove her to one knee as she was mid-dash towards the house. She stumbled and fell, catching herself on her hands and knees before shaking harder. "Help!" she called as loudly as she could, dropping and rolling in an attempt to crush the one on her back, the sudden pain in her leg pulling a scream from her.

Kurt had been caught in an unquiet sleep. The scream from outside the house had him on his feet before his eyes had even fully opened. He bolted out of the house at a dead run, lunged off of the porch without bothering with the steps, and was to her in a couple of heartbeats. His mind took in the scene of Natalya being attacked by what looked like oversized gray cats with impartial precision. It didn't matter that it didn't make sense. He just had to make it stop. Strong hands closed around the first furry body they came to, and pulled. He realized a half-second too late that it had claws embedded in Natalya.

The relief Natalya felt when she looked up and saw Kurt quickly turned to pain when he pulled on the cat clinging to her arm. It felt like her skin was being ripped off and she screamed again, coming up off the ground in an instinctive urge to stop the pain. The cat who was victim to Kurt's attack yowled angrily, sinking all four sets of claws deeper into Natalya's arm, biting down on the meaty part of her upper arm in attempt to keep a secure grip.

Gritting his teeth, Kurt attempted to pry the cat's mouth off, pushing his fingers into the muscle of it's jaw. It wasn't working. He noted in that detached way that cropped up when things like this happened that the other two cats didn't seem to have any interest in going after him. He grabbed the cat's head right behind the skull and the shoulders in his other hand, and wrenched in opposite directions as hard as he could. There was a sickening twigs-snapping sound as it's spine broke and the claws retracted. Kurt opened the jaw further to get the teeth out of Natalya's arm and tossed the corpse aside, wetting his lips and targeting the next one to grab.

Natalya was terrified, but not so much that she didn't have the presence of mind to roll and expose the cat clinging to her back so Kurt could hopefully get it off. The cat, seeming to sense the trouble it was in, twisted to rake its claws up Natalya's back from waist to shoulders. Natalya jerked and arched, crying out again, kicking at the cat on her calf with her other foot in attempt to dislodge it.

Now that he had the technique down, Kurt made short work of the other cat. It made to bite him strictly out of self-defense, but he managed to avoid it. He broke it's neck too and supported it's dead weight with one hand while he carefully dislodged the claws out of her skin. As carefully as possible, at least. He grabbed the final animal's leg as it tried to bat at Natalya's other foot and yanked it upward. It struggled and spat, trying to get back to her. He slung it against the nearest tree and it fell in a dead heap.

Natalya scrambled away from the dead bodies as if they'd reanimate and attack her again, then collapsed after a few feet. She was still terrified, visibly shaking and crying softly. The bites and scratches were throbbing, blood flowing from the deeper wounds. She tried to get to her feet, making it as far as her hands and knees before she couldn't quite go any further, feeling too unsteady.

Kurt went to her immediately, unmindful of his total lack of shoes. He bent and picked her up, trying to be careful of the wounds on her back. But there were wounds all over her, and she definitely didn't look like she was going to make it to the house under her own power. He gingerly adjusted her weight, handling it with ease. Since she weighed practically nothing in the first place. "Hang on," he muttered softly, turning to walk as quickly as he could back to the house without jostling her too badly.

Natalya wrapped her good arm around Kurt's shoulders, burying her face against his neck as she cried. Training and instinct kept her curled body tensed, lightening the load on his arms. "They came out of nowhere," she cried softly, trembling. "I-I was stretching, th-they j-just attacked."

He bumped the open door open further with his hip and walked inside. He took her straight to the bathroom and very gently and slowly set her down on the counter next to the sink. His fingers instinctively went for the hem of her shirt before he stopped himself. "May I look?" he asked, dark blues intent on her face. He had to clean the wounds as soon as possible, judge whether or not she needed a hospital.

Eyes wide and frightened in her pale face, Natalya hesitated a brief moment before nodding. Her front had mostly escaped unscathed; the wounds were concentrated on the tops of her shoulders, her back, arm and calf. She turned to present injured arm and back to him, resting her forehead against the cool mirror.

Kurt pulled her shirt up -- very gingerly -- only as much as was necessary, entirely concentrated on the damage done to her. Making a low sound in his throat, his hands left her long enough to start rummaging around in the cabinet below her for medical supplies. At least those didn't seem to have changed very much in the past sixty years. He took a clean rag and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and started to soak it. "I have to clean them, Natalya," he started to say, voice low and hopefully sort of soothing. "It will hurt, but only briefly. Are you ready?" And without waiting for an answer, he gently started on those that looked worst on her back.

"I know," Natalya said softly. She grit her teeth at the first touch of the rag, the peroxide sending fire racing over her nerves. She made a low, pained noise in the back of her throat and tensed, but made no other move. She'd grown up with pain; nothing this bad save for the few times she'd broken bones, and her father had never liked to hear her crying about it.

He worked diligently, alternating cleaning her wounds with bandaging them up as best he could. She had a few butterfly bandages, which came in handy for the bigger gouges. All in all, he was fairly certain she didn't need any stitches anywhere. Even though he could do those himself also, he looked up to her eyes in the mirror. "Do you want to go to a hospital?" he asked, fully prepared to carry her the whole way if need be.

Natalya's eyes had been closed, a few silent tears escaping the cage of her lashes and rolling down ghost-white cheeks, still save for the slight twitching she just couldn't suppress entirely each time he started on a new scratch or bite. She opened her eyes as he spoke to meet his gaze in the mirror, shaking her head. "No hospitals," she said. She hated hospitals; she just wanted to stay locked up in her house and avoid going outside.

Kurt looked at her reflection steadily for a moment, then nodded. He could understand that. "No hospitals," he echoed. "Unless you start to get sick, then I'm taking you." And he wasn't going to let her argue that point. He could play field medic only so far, if those cats were feral or rabid or worse ... He stood back and ran his fingers through his short hair, wishing there was more he could do. Experience in taking care of other people? Not much. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Just let me clean up a bit," Natalya said, reaching for a fresh rag and wetting it under the faucet. It hurt to stretch, hands still shaking as she held the rag in place, squeezing the best she could to wring the excess water out. She set about gingerly trying to clean the drying blood off her skin, face pale but determined not to make a sound.

He stood there for another beat before he realized he probably should give her a little bit of privacy, now that he'd exhausted his options as Hero. As he couldn't exactly do that for her. Even though part of him wanted to. Kurt murmured something that sort of sounded like "be in the kitchen" and made a hasty retreat, quietly shutting the door behind him. He did go to the kitchen, and looked at it, pondering on what else he could do. Maybe she'd want tea.

Natalya did the best she could at cleaning herself up, but could really only get her arm and leg. Her back would have to wait until she could shower or something. Easing herself off the countertop, she limped out to the kitchen, amused in a distant sort of way at Kurt just standing there. "Do you need something?" she asked him as she sat gingerly in a kitchen chair, for the first time in the history of her asking that she sounded tired at the thought.

Kurt looked around and frowned briefly at her. "No. I'm making you tea," he declared. And then actually started to do it, hunting around until he found the teapot. He filled it in the sink and put it on the stove. After a second's hesitation, he turned the right dial and then started the search for the teabags. "You should sit on the couch," he stated, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"You sleep there," Natalya said, looking and sounding very meek at the sight of his frown. "I don't want to accidentally get blood on it." The very thought had her looking a little greenish. "The chair is fine, thank you." She clasped her hands on the table; they were still shaking. She felt cold; hot tea actually sounded very appealing. "And... thank you," she added quietly. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come."

Since there was water going and there wasn't much else for him to do, Kurt headed back to the hallway. He opened the linen closet and gingerly poked through it for a moment until he found an old blanket. He spread it out on the couch and fluffed up the pillows he used and looked at her again. "Blood does not bother me," he stated, moving toward her. "Come, thank me by getting comfortable. Look at you, you're freezing."

Natalya got up slowly as instructed, though by that time the kettle was whistling. She moved it off the burner before leaving it alone, looking slightly sheepish as she approached. "Not freezing," she said, though she did curl up in a corner of the couch and pull the old blanket over her. "A little chilly, mostly numb." Not numb in the physical sense, of course; she hurt all over. But she had a feeling she should be more scared or more upset than she was. It felt like it was there, just... behind a wall of cotton or something equally insulating.

He hadn't really meant to cow her into submission, and felt vaguely guilty about it. But she was cold. Once she was settled, Kurt went back to tend to the tea. He knew how shock could be, and she was acting fantastically calm. It worried him, but he also knew there was no help for it. Once the tea was steeped and seemed ready, he very carefully brought it to her, setting it within her reach. Kurt stood back and looked. He'd worked himself out of a task again. "Can I do anything?" he asked, having to try not to fidget.

Natalya picked up the mug with shaking hands, quickly taking a sip so she wouldn't slop over the sides. She cradled it between both hands, the warmth feeling almost scalding against her cold hands. "Stay with me?" she asked meekly, darting a glance up at him before returning her gaze to the tea. He was big, strong. She felt safe around him. "Do... do you know why they c-came after me? Animals usually like me."

That dark glance said more than her tone did. Kurt sat down on the couch with her, careful of where her legs were positioned. He put his arm on the back of the couch, not quite around her, but close enough to lightly brush her shoulder with his fingers. She could get closer if she wanted. But he wasn't going to make her. His jaw tightened a bit and he shook his head, thinking for the first time that maybe he should consult Doc on this incident. "No, I don't," he answered honestly. "It doesn't make much sense ... I worry that they were rabid. Feral at the very least."

"They weren't foaming at the mouth," Natalya offered. "Isn't that a sign?" She did move a little bit closer, the move entirely unconscious. She wanted to feel safe, and certainly his bulk and warmth beside her helped that. She closed her eyes, a few tears escaping. Risking a one-handed grip on the mug, she swiped at them with the back of her hand. "They just came from nowhere," she said quietly, sounding lost, voice shaking. "I never even saw them."

Kurt leaned forward to get one of the napkins he'd brought over with the tea just in case. He offered it to her, a small line between his eyebrows. "No, they weren't," he agreed in a quiet voice. She was right about that. And none of them had attacked him. He'd made himself a threat and they'd still been entirely focused on Natalya. Since she'd come a little closer, he settled his entire large hand on the back of her shoulder. "I cannot explain it, but I believe you will be safe inside," he added, glancing at her eyes.

Natalya nodded. "I don't think there were any more around," she said. His hand on her shoulder hurt a tiny bit where it rested over one of her scratches, but she didn't want to trade the safety she felt for that tiny twinge. She accepted the napkin with a murmured thanks, but just bunched it in one hand and took another sip of tea before carefully setting the mug aside. She tried to keep her calm, but couldn't stop the tears that started no matter how hard she tried to hold them back. Curling her legs up, she rested her forehead on her upturned knees and cried softly.

He felt part of his brain go into flailing mode. For all the new experiences with women Natalya was unwittingly ushering him through, this was probably one of the most uncomfortable. He wanted to comfort her somehow, as she'd done for him, but ... he didn't know how. She'd hugged him, but he didn't want to hurt her any more than she already was. However, nothing was coming to him to say to make her feel better. So, after a moment, he scooted in just a little closer and very gently put his arm fully around her. "It's okay," he murmured, because that was what people said.

Natalya just nodded, turning slightly to lean into him. She cried for a little but, but eventually managed to get herself under control, quite aware that she was likely making him uncomfortable - something she didn't want to do. "Thank you," she said, using the napkin this time to wipe her eyes. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go lay down for a little bit." The adrenaline rush from earlier was fading and she was crashing hard. A nap was looking better and better.

"Of course," he said immediately, relieved that she'd stopped crying, but feeling guilty about that at the same time. She had every right to cry, after all. He stood up and offered her his hand to help her up. He wasn't sure if she wanted to be carried or if that would be insulting.

She took his hand, then picked up her mug and offered him a shy little smile. "Thank you, again," she said softly. "I'll be all right after I've had some time to rest." She let go of his hand, feeling able to make it to her room on her own.

Kurt nodded, feeling sure that she would. He hoped, at least. As she disappeared into her room, he sat down on the couch and rubbed both palms over his head a few times. He wasn't shaky, exactly, but he had his own well-dealt-with bout of adrenaline that was crashing. Kurt sighed and reclined back into his sleeping position. Not that he planned on it. Not for a while, anyway.

Natalya limped her way back to her room, spreading the old blanket out over her sheets before crawling into bed. She was apparently more exhausted than she'd realized; in less than three minutes, she was out like a light.

******

Her discomfort came on her slowly; Natalya tossed and turned as she was stiflingly hot and freezing cold in turn. It only grew worse, and Natalya found herself waking, surprised to find that it had been nearly six hours since she'd gone in for her nap. A wave of heat swept her from head to toe, leaving her feeling clammy and wracked with sick shivers. Her stomach turned and she hobbled to the bathroom as fast as she could, barely making it to the toilet before she threw up. Nothing really came up; she hadn't eaten in hours. Natalya coughed and wet a rag to wipe her face before rinsing her mouth out, wondering why she felt so awful.

Kurt had tried to make himself useful, at least, in the meantime. Not that there was anything that really needed cleaning, but he'd re-cleaned the kitchen, regardless. He didn't want to go outside to do any work, not for fear of feral cats, but he wanted to be able to hear her if she needed him. He'd finally been dozing for about an hour with one of Natalya's books in his lap when the distinctive sound of someone getting sick reached his well-trained ears. He sat up and rubbed at one eye, frowning a bit as his mind pieced things together again. Then he rose to his feet and went to the bathroom door, listening.

Natalya waited a moment to make sure nothing else was going to come up. When her stomach continued to churn unpleasantly but with less urgency, she opened her medicine cabinet and pulled out a thermometer and bottle of aspirin. Taking two of the aspirin (more than her usual recommended dosage, but she was dealing with what felt like a fever on top of an absolutely splitting headache and muscle aches), Natalya swallowed them dry and stuck the thermometer in her mouth. All this she tried to do as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing Kurt, wherever he was. Thermometer in her mouth, cool rag in hand, Natalya opened the door to go back to bed. The sight of the large German just outside the door startled her nearly out of her wits and she jumped violently with a soft shriek, dropping the rag and grabbing the thermometer from her mouth so she wouldn't choke on it. The jump threw her off-balance, however, and she slipped on the rug. Arms flailing, she struggled to regain her balance as she tipped backwards.

He was at her side almost immediately, catching her before she could fall. Because he wasn't having that. He cradled her to his chest instinctively, then made himself ease his grip once she didn't feel like she was toppling anymore. One part of his mind that he attempted to ignore filed away the fact that her breasts hit him just below his pectoral muscles. The rest of him was much more concerned with the heat she was radiating. "I'm very sorry," he was saying automatically. "I heard you getting sick, I wanted to check on you, I didn't mean to startle you." God, she was burning up. And he hadn't let go completely when he probably should have.

"Quite all right," Natalya managed hoarsely, dizzy from some strange combination of illness and the headiness of his proximity. She was rather glad he hadn't let go; his initial grip had hurt, but she was glad of the support. "I'm sorry; I was trying to be quiet." She turned her head, coughing harshly and shivering. "I apologize," she said, sounding a little embarrassed but mostly out of it. "You may have to heat up leftovers for your dinner this evening; I took some aspirin but I'm feeling a little under the weather." Understatement.

This concerned Kurt. A lot. She was healthy before she got bitten and scratched and now she looked like she felt horrible. His arms got a teensy bit firmer on her as she coughed. "Don't concern yourself with my dinner," he rumbled quietly. And, without warning or ceremony, he picked her up again. He tried not to do it too quickly, though, in case she was still queasy. This time Kurt carried her to her bedroom and laid her back in bed. He pulled the blanket up over her, his jaw tense. This? Not good, he didn't like it.

It helped if Natalya closed her eyes, so she did that, resting her head on Kurt's shoulder. It was a sign of her illness that she didn't protest being taken care of; she usually would have insisted that she was able to do it herself. She shifted restlessly when he laid her down, face flushed, and kicked off the blanket nearly the second it had settled on her. "No," she mumbled, shivering. "Too hot."

He suppressed a sigh and just stood there looking at her for a moment. Trying to figure out something he could do. He felt ridiculously helpless here, even more so now that she was ill. Very ill, by the feel of it. He turned and stepped out of the bedroom, getting the washcloth she'd dropped. He re-wet it and wrung it out a touch, making it cool, but not too cold. Back in the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and put it over her forehead. "You have a bad fever," he murmured to her needlessly.

Natalya turned towards him instinctively, the cool rag feeling heavenly for a moment before it turned cold and she reached out for the blanket, hooking it with a foot and pulling it over her. She huddled into it, shivering as she looked rather blearily up at him. "I took aspirin for it," she mumbled hoarsely, remembering the thermometer was still clutched in her hand. Resetting it, she stuck it back under her tongue and tucked her knees up, freezing. "It'll break eventually."

Because he absolutely had to have something to do with his hands, he tucked the blanket around her little curled-ball position, and took the washcloth away. He was just looking at her with that frown-line between his eyebrows. He'd been sick before, delirious with fever even, and he was hard-pressed to remember what he'd done to take care of himself. He probably just waited it out, but ... she was so small and fragile. Maybe he'd let the thermometer decide.

Once the washcloth was gone, Natalya felt overheated again. She pushed the blanket back, swiping some of the damp hair off her forehead, and pulled the thermometer out of her mouth when it beeped. She squinted to read the tiny digital display. 102F. It was shocking momentarily until she remembered that Americans used Fahrenheit, but she couldn't do the necessary conversion in her head. With a soft sound of discomfort, she dropped the thermometer on the bedside table. "Thirsty," she murmured.

Kurt picked up the thermometer and looked at it ... though it honestly didn't mean much to him. Things must be different in that area as well. Where the hell was the mercury stored anyway? Inside? He put it down again, trying not to feel frustrated. He knew she was hot and ill. If she got any worse, he promised himself that he'd take her to a hospital. God only knew what kind of diseases one could catch in this future. "I'll get you some water," he stated, standing up and moving out of the room again.

"Thank you," Natalya murmured, taking advantage of his momentary absence to remove the tights she'd been wearing under her cotton workout shorts and slip back into the shorts only. It was instantly cooler and she sighed with relief, though mere moments later she was cold again. She tried for a compromise; she drew a sheet over herself but left off the blanket, hoping that would help.

He returned with ice water, hoping that wouldn't be too cold on her. But she needed the cold, so ... he could always take the ice out if she didn't want it. He sat down on the edge of the bed again and hesitated over helping her sit up. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch her. Quite the opposite, really. He just knew he wasn't any good at this caretaking thing, and wasn't sure where the boundaries were between them. He half-offered her the glass. "Here," he said. "Need any help?" There, that was a good compromise.

Natalya didn't want to inconvenience him further; she slowly propped herself up on one elbow, arm feeling weak and shaky, and took the glass. Her hand shook; she nearly spilled over the side but managed a sip or two. The cold hurt her throat but helped with the thirst, so she put up with it in silence and managed a very tiny smile. "Thank you," she said, handing it back and hoping he'd take it before she dropped it.

He hadn't actually wanted to let go of it at all, but ... she wasn't a child. So he just let his hand hover around her's as she took a drink, then took the glass back as soon as she was done. "You're welcome," he murmured quietly, setting the water aside on the nightstand. He wiped his hand on his jeans and smoothed it over her forehead lightly. He couldn't get over how feverish she felt, even though he was sure he'd had it just as bad in the past.

Natalya's eyes closed at the feel of his hand on her forehead; the familiar gesture was comforting. "My mother used to do that," she murmured softly, fading in and out as she spoke. "I wasn't sick very often, but that's how she checked." She curled her legs up, tucking the sheet under her chin to keep as much warmth as she could through the current bout of shivering.

"Mine too," he said. Kurt looked at her and continued to feel totally useless. It wasn't a good feeling. "She used to sing to me too." He remembered that clear as day, being miserable and achey and just focusing on his mother's voice. It never failed to put him to sleep. Not that he could carry a tune in a bucket, but it would've been nice if he could.

"Mine too," Natalya echoed, smiling faintly. "Will you sing to me?" she asked softly, voice barely a whisper. "Kurt, my leg hurts, and my back." The throbbing was rhythmic, though, and despite the pain it was almost sort of lulling her back to sleep. "She used to stroke my hair, too." Had she been even remotely in control of her faculties, she'd've been appalled that she'd let that slip.

He hesitated. Then remembered the way she'd unflinchingly hugged him when he needed it and felt a touch ashamed of himself. She was ill, she might not even remember this once her fever broke -- because it was going to, goddammit, she'd be fine. Kurt shifted a bit, turning to face her and stretch out somewhat on his side. He propped his head up with one hand and started to very gently run the other through her hair. "I only know songs in German," he murmured softly. "Is that acceptable?"

It was immediately soothing; Natalya sighed softly and turned to face him a bit, body relaxing. "Just fine," she murmured, huddling up under the sheets. "I want to hear them, if it's all right." She was comforted, though still wracked with hot and cold shivers; despite the sudden illness, she was slipping into sleep fairly quickly.

"It's all right," he confirmed, then cleared his throat a bit, trying to pick one out of the selection in his head. They were all old folk songs, but he wanted something soothing for her. Something his mother used to sing to he and his siblings. After a moment, Kurt started, voice deep and richer than he gave it credit for. He kept it soft and slow, still stroking his fingers through her hair. She needed to sleep, so he was okay with this.

Natalya didn't understand a word of it, but the accent alone was familiar, comforting, and Kurt's voice was wonderfully soothing. Natalya was put in as much ease as she could be under the circumstances, little lines of tension on her face easing slightly as she slipped into a light sleep.