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

Chapter 5: A Get Out of Jail Free Card

Warnings: hearing voices, incarceration, sexual themes, anger, fire, threat

Incarceration did not suit you. Oh, it was fine for a few days. Solitary confinement was the perfect place to reorganise your thoughts and clear your mind of the worries that weighed you down. After a few weeks the lack of diversity in the food began to get to you and the voices were not limited to those of the guards outside your cell.

They whispered in your ear, called out your stupidity for ever trusting Black Widow. So desperate to be near her, you'd put everything at risk and it had failed. Just like everything else you had ever done.

You fought to ignore their taunts but it was difficult. With nothing but a blank wall for conversation, the faded scribblings of past prisoners to keep you company, it soon became hard to tell their imagined voices from reality.

The heavy locks in the door clicked open and you stiffened. It wasn't time for your daily beating yet, although it had to be soon. Oh, how you loved to imagine the faces of the guards that took out their frustrations upon you swallowed in burning flames. To see them writhing on the ground as their bodies turned to ash at your will.

You'd never been this way before. Sure, there were people who deserved such a fate but you'd never taken pleasure from the mere thought of inflicting suffering upon their miserable lives. Months trapped in here had taken their toll and not in a good way. If SHIELD wanted a monster, they certainly had one now.

The hinges screamed as the heavy door was pushed open and a familiar face stepped inside.

"Thank God it's you." If it had been anyone other than Natasha, you feared for what you might have done.

You rolled over and sat upright, tugging on the baggy prison clothes as if straightening out the wrinkles would make them any more attractive to your visitor. You'd told the guards before that orange just wasn't your colour but they took no notice. Admittedly, they had paid closer attention when you set the itchy fabric on fire; it was a true travesty that they didn't appreciate the skill and control necessary to burn a pattern that intricate without allowing the entire garment to burst into beautiful flames.

Full of fake cheer, you announced, "I'm bored."

"I'm not here as your entertainment."

"Let me guess. You need me to tell you everything I know about the Smith Syndicate. Project Ashes, perhaps? Or maybe the Dashkov brothers are planning a raid and you want to know where they store their stolen goods. Well, the answer is no."

For the hundredth time, you pushed off your bed and paced the short length of the cell. Five steps and turn. Five steps and turn. You touched the marks in the thick stone blocks at each end, the desperate scratchings of a mind gone mad, left over from the cell's previous occupant. It was a pathetic ritual created from necessity; if you didn't maintain some form of activity in here, you would lose it completely.

Natasha caught your arm when you passed her for the third time. Her fingers dug into your flesh as she shoved you down on the bed, a roughness that left you both momentarily shocked. Naturally, she was the first to recover. "I don't have time for your games, Blaze. Lives are at stake."

"My games? Oh please! You are the one that has messed me about. Ever since you grabbed me in Paris - kissing me and handcuffing me to the rail of the Eiffel Tower was low, by the way - you've been stringing me along. Promising nicer rooms, better food, more free time if I cooperate with SHIELD's investigations. Well, I did and I got none of those things. So now I'm done."

It would be easy to say that you'd never really believed those promises. No criminal worth their salt would accept the word of an Agent at face value; they lied to get what they wanted and then locked you away regardless. But when Natasha had sworn that you'd be given fair treatment, that you could pass your years here in a decent, if slightly dull, existence, you'd trusted her.