She hears a threat in the question anyway. Not overt or immediate—not the implication that he's going to do something now. There's a darkness in it though, a goading that hints at the potential for anger.

She licks her lips.

"Not quite mortal again," Natasha says with a wince. And it won't get that bad. She doesn't think it will, anyway. She's not sure. But she's felt the effects, and even she would have a hard time claiming that the weakness didn't bother her. "It takes longer than it did, but not that long. A deep cut might be a few hours."