Stahma Tarr is no one's fool (noonesfool) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-05 01:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, natasha romanoff (black widow), stahma tarr |
Who: Natasha and Stahma
What: Stahma's got the Grounder Sickness, and Natasha is keeping her company. And "torturing" her with watching cartoons.
When: Late evening September 4th
Where: Stahma's home
Warnings: Vomiting blood and other Grounder Sickness symptoms
The illness had come on quickly. Stahma, as a human, had only rarely been ill. As a Castithan in her dreams, she’d been ill even less than that. So she hadn’t exactly been happy when the fever had started. Stahma had been even less happy when the other symptoms kicked in. She’d managed to ask for help. Or had it been company? She didn’t remember which anymore, but it hardly mattered because she was too busy throwing up more often than not. And throwing up blood at that.
Even for how miserable she felt, and she really did feel terrible, it was nice to have Natasha there. Especially when she found herself getting weaker as the hours went by.
“I think I am dying,” she commented. It probably wasn’t the first time she’d said that, but she was starting to mean it more than when she’d first said it. Though considering her skin was naturally white, it was difficult to tell how pale she was from the illness. But she definitely lacked all the normal grace and dignity with which she carried herself. All she could do currently was lay there.
The fever wouldn’t have been that alarming if it had just been Stahma. But there were so many reports on the network and among the little birds that sent Natasha information that she was duly alarmed. This was well behind her expertise. All she could do was make people stay calm, and take care of her girlfriend. The hospitals were full, and Stahma was an alien besides. She wiped some cloths over Stahma’s forehead after changing out the bag in the trash bin. She wore a mask, though she doubted that would be enough to stop whatever this was. “You’re not dying.”
This was officially the worst illness she’d ever had, and Stahma was getting more and more convinced that she would die. Though she was grateful her girlfriend was there with her, despite the fact it must be terrible for Natasha to watch Stahma go through this. She was getting dehydrated, unable to really keep much of anything down. It was weight that she really couldn’t afford to lose as she was already rather skinny. “Is it bad?” Stahma meant in relation to Orange County. She’d obviously stopped looking at the network once the vomiting had started, but she’d seen some people reporting feeling ill.
“It’s… bad,” Natasha admitted. No use in sugar coating it. “I’ve got people keeping an eye on it.” She’d also talked someone into stopping by with some IVs and fluids, and once she had that she’d feel a little better about Stahma’s condition. “The smart people are working on it too. This isn’t the first major outbreak we’ve had. There was a blue flu a few years ago.”
“If you need to be at work, do not blow it off for me.” Dying or not, Stahma knew Natasha had an important job, and this was a situation that seemed to require a lot of manpower to deal with. She managed to roll onto her side and eyed Natasha. Her lilac eyes were dull and lacking the usual glimmer within them. “I hope there are limited casualties.”
“I will remain here, zvezda moya.” Natasha touched Stahma’s cheek. “I have my laptop and phone, unless they need me on the streets rounding people up there’s little I can do that I can’t do from here. I don’t want you alone.”
The term of endearment made some tears well up in her eyes. She managed a soft smile. It gave her comfort to not be alone. After all, she could easily choke on the blood she coughed up with the rate at which she was growing weak. “Thank you,” she said softly before she started coughing again. It was the kind of coughing that would end up with vomiting up some blood, and she turned her face away from Natasha, not wanting to risk her getting sick.
The endearment probably wasn’t fair when Stahma was sick, but Natasha couldn’t resist. She so rarely got to express herself that way. Bucky had one, of course. But that was a ship that sailed a long time ago. She grabbed the bin for Stahma, holding her hair. “Easy.”
If Stahma recovered, she would reciprocate. But at the moment, she was too sick to do much other than lay there and be miserable and feel like she was dying. She leaned over and threw up some more blood. The only saving grace in this instance was that Stahma’s blood was a pale pink color as opposed to red, so it seemed less grizzly. Once she stopped, she leaned back, collapsing onto her back again. “Shtako,” she cursed in Castithan. It translated as ‘shit’ in English, but it just sounded better in Castithan.
“My sentiments exactly.” Natasha smoothed back some of Stahma’s hair. The doorbell rang, so she put the bin down and got up to answer it. She came back a few minutes later, wheeling in a tray. “It pays to have contacts. I’m going to run an IV with a saline fluid. I think that will work for you.”
Stahma didn’t know how much more of this crap she could take. Throwing up like this, bleeding from her eyes, the fever, none of this was anything that could be sustained over a long period of time. She closed her eyes and let herself rest as Natasha answered the door. When she came back, Stahma half wished Doc Ywell was here. “I believe it should.” Castithans had different physiology from humans, but they still needed water and the like to survive. Saline should do the trick. So long as Stahma’s vomiting didn’t offset the good the IV would do.
“At least you won’t dehydrate, I hope.” Nat started setting up the solution, before sitting next to Stahma. She didn’t know where the best vein in a Castithan would actually be, so she looked at the alien. “Where is the best place? I don’t want to stick you where there’s no vein.”
“Let us hope.” Stahma supposed the would know within a couple hours if the IV was doing any good. At the question, she indicated where a vein could be tapped. Not all that different from a human, but just different enough it needed to be pointed out. Luckily Stahma didn’t have a fear of needles, so she just waited for Natasha to get the IV in.
“All right, this might sting a little.” Natasha was a woman of many skills. She knew her way around needles and IVs, not just from training. It was a dark thought, but one she didn’t let herself dwell on. “You’ll feel a little better. Let me know if your appetite returns.”
She settled into the chair nearest the couch, pulling out her phone. A top priority was making sure news of the plague didn’t spread past the borders of the county as anything other than a flu outbreak.
Stahma gave a nod, and didn’t even flinch as the needle went in. “I will.” She didn’t really know what she’d want for food if her appetite did return. Obviously something light at first to minimize the chance of upsetting her stomach more than it already was. With the IV in and running, Stahma just relaxed as much as possible, closing her eyes and tried to rest. She needed her strength, but it seemed no matter she did, she only grew weaker as time progressed. This illness needed to stop far sooner rather than later.
Natasha glanced at her on occasion. Like a cat, Natasha tended to keep worry or hurts to herself. Retreat, lick her wounds, never let on that there was a problem. But there was just enough concern in her eyes, and flickers on her face, that Stahma would be able to tell (beyond her just being there and taking care of her) that Natasha was worried. “Have any fun fever dreams?”
Natasha wasn’t the only one who was like a cat when it came to hurts and the so-called softer emotions. Stahma kept everything close to her chest, never showing her true feelings except to the very select few that she trusted and cared for. And even then, it tended to take a lot for her to do that. So it was easy for her to read Natasha’s body language. “A couple, yes. One seemed like it could make a good plot for a film.” Whether that film was comedy or horror, or a mix of the two, remained to be seen.
“Science fiction? Horror?” Nat set her phone aside, and unfolded her legs. “Do you think you can stomach scrambled eggs? That’s usually my go-to when my stomach is being awful.”
“Possibly more horror with some comedy thrown in? Science fiction probably as far as the aliens go.” Stahma took some moments to think that over. Was she hungry? It was hard to tell, but she knew she should at least try to eat something. “I think it is worth at least seeing if I can.” Some color was coming back to her, though given her normally pale complexion it was almost impossible to tell. Though Natasha probably could tell. She’d been up close and personal with Stahma’s natural skin color enough to notice.
Natasha snorted. Aliens was to be expected. She wondered what nightmares an alien had about other aliens. She wondered if bears would be a problem for some alien invasions. “You’re looking a little bit better. I’ll scramble some up for you.”
It probably didn’t hurt that scrambled eggs were one of the few things she could actually cook well.
The stories Stahma could tell about the Omec. She’d already told Natasha some about them. There was good reason that all the Votans had horror stories about the Dread Harvests. “Thank you. I am feeling a little better, stronger.” She felt that she could move under her own power for the time being. However, she wasn’t going to risk that without Natasha in the room. She at least knew better than to push herself at the moment.
The smell of frying eggs filled the house as Natasha cooked. She only seasoned lightly, worried about Stahma’s stomach. This would do no good if she vomitted it up immediately. But eggs cook quickly and she came out with the plate - and wearing an apron she’d found hidden behind a cabinet. It was one of those silly pun aprons. “Now I know you didn’t buy this.”
The smell of frying eggs didn’t immediately make her dry heave, so that was something? But whether the eggs would stay down was another matter entirely. She’d barely eaten since she’d first fallen ill, and what she had eaten had come back up. Seeing Natasha in the apron actually made Stahma laugh softly. “No, I did not. It was one of those free gifts that came with another purchase I made. I believe it came with either the set of pans or a set of utensils.” It was not her apron of choice, obviously. “You wear it well.” Now that Natasha was there, Stahma did start to shift herself to sit up, moving slowly. But she was managing to, mostly, sit up under her own power. Though it was also a bit of a struggle.
“When you’re feeling better, I won’t wear anything under this,” Natasha said. There was a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her lips that maybe, just maybe she might be serious. “You have nice pans. I could kill a man three ways with one of them.” And none of those ways involved blunt force trauma. She stayed close enough to help if needed, but far enough away that Stahma wouldn’t feel stifled.
“That would be quite a welcome sight,” Stahma responded, reading that twinkle in Natasha’s eyes. And she seriously hoped that would be something that happened. “I am happy that my pans have multiple uses. It simply means that they will be well worth what I paid for them.” Finally, Stahma was upright, and she leaned back against the couch, taking some moments to breathe. It was difficult, but so far so good.
“Take it easy.” Natasha put the bowl in Stahma’s hands, and then whapped her lightly on the nose with the spoon. “You’re doing better through. I’m going to worry a little less than I was before.” She peeled the apron off, and sank back into the chair. She’d been wearing the face mask the whole time.
“Yes, nurse,” Stahma replied. She took some moments to center herself before she ate a little bit of the eggs. It was a sparse first bite, but Stahma didn’t want to overload her stomach. So it was going to be eating little by little. “Hopefully this is the turn for the better. I would rather be healthy than worrying others.” It was just her nature, she disliked making others worry about her, but it spoke a lot that she let Natasha be here and fret over her like this. She was so used to taking care of herself that it was difficult to let anyone else take care of her. But while she didn’t exactly have a choice currently, she did like the company. Even if she felt bad for Natasha being around her and thinking she could easily become ill as well.
Natasha hoped so too. She didn’t like seeing Stahma like this, and she had others she was worried about too. But she couldn’t do anything about that and all she could do here was keep Stahma company and keep an eye on her. “Lets hope. I don’t like seeing you sick.”
“I do not like being sick.” Stahma carefully ate another small bite of the eggs. Her stomach didn’t immediately reject the eggs, but time would tell on that matter. “I am glad you are here. Even if my company is not precisely the best currently.” Without Natasha here, Stahma was well aware that she could have easily choked on her vomit and died. And that would not have been a pretty sight for anyone to have found.
“Trust me, I’ve been around worse patients.” Though she’d never expected she’d end up here like this. Not when they’d first ‘met’ and she’d gotten Stahma stitched up. Nat reflected on that, and part of her wanted to recoil from the intimacy of the situation.
“I could be worse if you really wanted,” Stahma lightly teased. There may have even been a bit of a gleam in her eyes. They certainly had come a ways since Stahma had needed the stitches after waking up with that stab wound. It was a strange path that life took sometimes. As much as the intimacy was frightening, Stahma did not want to be alone in the grand scheme of things. At her core, she wanted love and to be loved. She wanted to have friends, people she could trust. It was difficult enough considering she didn’t trust easily, but when she did trust someone, it took a lot to break it. As Datak was evidence of.
She reached out with a foot and gave Stahma a play kick in the knee. She was careful to not jostle her or her food. Natasha showed how she cared in practical, yet subtle manners, and this was one of them. Maybe some day she’d have to abandon her shot at happiness, at a normal relationship. But she didn’t think she had to.
Stahma had a roundabout way of showing she cared. She was better at showing it through physical means, like sex, than she was at saying it. But she also knew actions spoke louder than words, and she liked being more subtle in showing her affection. She smiled at Natasha. “Thank you.” Two simple words that carried more than one meaning. When she was feeling better, she was thinking she should make dinner for Natasha one night. Stahma was a good cook, mostly a skill she’d gotten from her dream self. While she’d picked up cooking here and there in this life, she hadn’t been much of one until her dreams had started.
‘“You’re welcome.” Two words, with much deeper meaning to them. Layers upon layers of meaning, the kind of meaning that only spies and manipulators would be able to decipher and even then it might take awhile. Her tone lightened, and she picked up the remote. “Since I have you at my mercy, I’m going to subject you to some possible torture.” She flicked on netflix, and started going through the cartoon section.
That was one reason she and Natasha got on well, they spoke the same language. They packed a lot of meaning into the smallest words and phrases, and it gave them more ability to speak without having to overspeak when it wasn’t necessary. Looking at the screen, Stahma’s face contorted into a mock tortured look. “Oh no, not cartoons. I do not think I can take it.” She was playing, of course. She would watch most anything at the current moment with Natasha being there with her.
“Too bad,” Nat said. She gave Stahma a quick wink. “You’ll just have to suffer through it.”