Natasha reachs out at the comment, touching his cheek gently—hand cupping his face and thumb brushing the discolored skin under his eye lightly, her lips pursing slightly. Maybe she's lucky not to have marks from her death. That would make her a lot less attractive.

"I'd hate to make it unbalanced," she comments dryly.

She lets her hand fall back to her lap.

"We can set up a schedule," she says then, sitting straighter. "I used to workout every morning. A lot of the people I used to train have left, though. You might have me all to yourself."