The Fire in Which We Burn (Natasha x F!Reader)

Chapter 2: I Want To Believe You

Warnings: burns, mild pain, mild threat, teasing, suggestive themes, fire

You wrinkled your nose at the scent of burning flesh, a depressingly familiar smell, and you squinted hard as you fought to control the fire on your fingertips. Precise work like this wasn't exactly your forte; you tended to work with far bigger, bolder brushstrokes. Sneaking around was for people like her, not you.

The effort required to sustain a fire so hot was incredible draining and your hands trembled as the fire became harder to control. Sweat rolling down your forehead, a hole in the glass opened up just large enough to fit your hand through. You unlocked the window, the molten glass dripping onto your arm and further searing your flesh. Through clenched teeth, you edged it open and clambered through, falling into her room with a loud thud.

So much for the element of surprise.

There was no alarm, the only sounds from the distant city drifting in on the wind. You suspected that her security system was so advanced that she'd been alerted to your presence the moment you stepped foot within a mile of the place, something you should probably have thought of in the first place. Still, it was too late now.

The floorboards creaked under foot as you crept through the small cabin, opening drawers and peeking beneath the thick piles of reports. It was rustic, not how you'd imagined her style at all. A temporary accommodation, then. And yet, as you conjured a small burning orb in your palm to light the room, illuminating a part of her life that you supposed few got to see, there were signs of this place being lived in.

A handful of personal effects but no photographs. Memories from places visited or trophies collected after successful missions? An incongruous record of all the harm she'd done, a permanent reminder of the lives she'd wrecked or gifts from the ones she'd saved?

You ran your fingers over the edge of the fireplace, perfectly clear from dust or dirt of any kind, and picked up a plush toy with your free hand. The plastic fur melted under your touch, your body still channelling incredible amounts of heat. It was far sharper a scent than burning flesh, but you'd long since gotten used to the latter, being burnt alive an unfortunate side effect of your powers.

"Put the tiger down and turn around. Slowly."

Setting the singed plush back on the fireplace, you did as she asked, hands up in the air. The flame in your palm spluttered as you directed it towards Natasha, the light slowly floating through the air. The safety on her pistol clicked and you immediately stopped the fireball in its path, halfway between you.

"I'm not here to hurt you," you said, taking in the lines of her face. Perhaps a trick of the flickering light, Natasha looked tired and not just because you'd caught her in the middle of the night. There was a disconnect in her demeanour, physically present but thoughts far away. It bothered you more than it probably should.

"Understand if I find that difficult to believe, Blaze." Despite her words, she lowered the weapon. She even went so far as to set it down on the bookshelf beside her, although her expression was still guarded and you knew she had another weapon somewhere on her person. What fun it would be to search her for it, you thought absentmindedly. "What do you want?"

"To see you, obviously."

Sensing an almost peaceful truce in the air, however temporary, you crossed the room and fell onto her sofa. The cushions sighed beneath you and you sunk into the soft seat, head falling back on the rest. You'd almost forgotten how comfortable a seat could be. The one in your cell had consisted of a few thick metal pipes welded together with a thin wooden board to rest on. This was luxury of the highest kind compared to that.