Natasha's hand strokes over the back of his head as he leans into her shoulder, holding the quiet as she lets him have that moment to think. Her fingers curl into his hair when he starts to speak, and she listens with a sad half smile on her lips. Even if she can't help the quiet chuckle that escapes when he references what he'd meant in the kitchen. Even that shows her that he can get where he wants to be with enough time and space to get there - the fact that he can suddenly voice it when he'd shied away from it earlier. But she knows that needing the time and space is part of what's frustrating. There's no guarantees of when for any of it.

There's not a lot she can offer to help, but there is at least one thing.

"Look at it this way," she says after a moment, "you know you like those things. There's other things that you can remember doing. You've done them before. Which means you'll be able to do them again. But this is the first time you've had so many opportunities to make choices. You'll get to the things you want to do when you're ready."