I'm lying to you // Natasha Romanoff x OC Odindottir

Chapter 7 - Croissants in the Twilight Air

Cyrus' pov

A light thud resonates through the Quinjet as it lands, before the light hiss of the hydrologic ramp lowers.

"Miss Kane," Agent Romanoff addresses me sharply, "you'll be-"

"You'll be coming with us," a large man with strong arms speaks up, "Agent Romanoff has more important matters to attend to."

"Agent Sitwell," she sneers; her professional stature staying nevertheless, "it's not your place to say what I can or can't do: she'll be coming with me."

He huffs indignantly, practically stomping off the jet like a small child. Without saying another word, she comes up behind me, grabs my handcuffs in one hand and keeps a firm hold on my shoulder with the other. Nearly dragging me down the ramp, she marches me onto a large deck floating in the clouds.

"What is this place?" I ask in wonder, craning my neck to look around.

"Eyes forward, prisoner 319," she snaps. Pausing for a moment, she finally gives me an answer, "and this is the helicarrier you would've worked on had you not ran off."

I smirk at her irritation, letting her push me roughly through the packs of agent, who quickly part like the Red Sea around her in the corridors.

"If I didn't know better," I joke sarcastically, "I would've thought you were Moses."

"This is your cell," she informs me coldly, "don't try anything."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Natalia," I smile with a quirked eyebrow, stepping willingly over the threshold of my glass cell, "and I believe this cell was meant for someone else?"

"You'll be acquainted with the others soon," she informs me, straight-faced, "and the name's Agent Romanoff, and nothing else."

"Ooh, feisty," I mock, "I like it."

And with that, she turns sharply on her heals and walks in the direction of the door.

"Oh, Dreykov is right to be proud of you," I mutter, spitting out the wretched man's name.

Stopping - rigid as a board - she doesn't turn back; only speaks, "Some things are better left alone."

Fully leaving this time, I'm left to only my thoughts and the memories of what I had asked Janus to show me as a parting favour.

~~~~~~

"Well, well, well," a familiar tall, dark-skinned man strides in, his black trench coat flapping around behind him like Joseph's technicolour dream-coat, "look what the cat dragged in."

"Director Fury," I grin at the older man, "long time no see."

"When you put it like that," he says blandly, "you make it sound like you only went on summer vacation to Ibiza for a month."

"Well, I was happy to be in Paris," I mock the meme, pushing myself up and off the bench I was sat uncomfortably on.

"Evidently," he mumbles sarcastically. Without responding to me properly, he swiftly pulls out a key, clicking the lock open, "time to meet my 'Merry Band of Do-Gooders', as you so eloquently dubbed us."