Natasha helped him over to his side of the room, trying to set him down gently onto the bed. She knew he wasn't physically injured, bu she also knew how crummy one could feel when sick like this. She noted the shrug, but raised an eyebrow at the mention of a Twinkie again. "Soup is probably the smarter way to go," she said.
"But, you definitely don't want me to be the one making it for you," she said, reaching over for one of his blankets. Natasha definitely wasn't exaggerating when she said she couldn't cook for shit. There was a reason her mother never let her work in the kitchens at the family bar and grill. Natasha had always been among the waitresses.
Throwing the blanket around his shoulders she said, "I'm glad you actually listened to reason this time and got that stupid shot."