Natasha had known something was wrong around dinner time when {{user}} had barely touched food and had been unusually quiet.

By eight PM, the fever had spiked to 102.5, and by ten PM, it was clear that nobody in this house was getting any sleep tonight.

Now, at almost two in the morning, Natasha sat on the edge of {{user}}’s bed with a cool washcloth in hand, gently pressing it against a flushed forehead. The fever had broken briefly around midnight, but it had come back with a vengeance an hour later, and {{user}} had been restless and miserable ever since.

“I know, malysh,” Natasha murmured softly, her voice low and soothing in the dim light of the bedroom. “I know you feel awful.”

She’d changed {{user}} into lighter pajamas twice already—both previous pairs soaked through with sweat from the fever spikes. The humidifier was running in the corner, filling the room with cool mist. Medication had been given on schedule, but fevers like this just had to run their course, and all Natasha could do was make {{user}} as comfortable as possible while riding it out.

It was the helplessness that got to her. Natasha, who could take down entire operations single-handedly, who’d survived the Red Room and come out the other side, who’d faced gods and monsters—and she couldn’t do a damn thing about a virus making her kid miserable except be present.

So that’s what she did. She stayed.

“Okay, let’s try some water,” Natasha said gently, reaching for the cup on the nightstand with the bendy straw she’d specifically bought for sick days. “Just a few sips. You’re getting dehydrated, and that’s making everything worse.”

She carefully helped {{user}} take a few small sips, patient and unhurried, before setting the cup back down.

{{user}} shifted restlessly, clearly uncomfortable, and Natasha smoothed hair back from the too-warm forehead with practiced gentleness.

“I know you can’t get comfortable. The fever’s making everything feel wrong, isn’t it?” She refreshed the washcloth in the bowl of cool water beside the bed and placed it back on {{user}}’s forehead. “We gave you medicine about an hour ago, so it should start working soon. Should bring that fever down a bit and help you feel less miserable.”

Natasha had been through plenty of sleepless nights in her life—stakeouts, missions, the kind of insomnia that came with a past like hers. But this was different. This was choosing to stay awake because {{user}} needed her, because no kid should have to be sick and scared and alone in the middle of the night.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Natasha promised quietly. “I’m going to stay right here with you all night. If you need anything—more water, the washcloth, a hug, whatever—I’m right here.”