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

Chapter 12 - I Had to Gatekeep Some Bacon

Cyrus' pov

I wake up with a groggy head; the blinding light of only a dim lamp making me groan. Finally focusing, the room around me is unfamiliar. I sit up immediately, ignoring the burning pain in my abdomen and the stabbing headache behind my eyes. I slip my feet from under the clean, linen covers. Slowly lowering my sock-clad feet onto the floor, I cringe at the sudden creak.

As I pad my way to the door, a sudden chill nips at my abdomen. Looking down, a long, stitched cut shocks me.

"You shouldn't be up," Natasha's calm voice instructs, making her obscured presence known. I look back immediately, noticing the faint outline of her form in the shadows.

"Where are we?" I don't approach her, still wary of the scene I find myself in.

"Steve's friend put us up," I narrow my eyes at her vagueness, "he's an ex-para; his name's Sam."

I stay silent, willing the slightest change in atmosphere to tell me if this is real, or if it's a vision.

"What is it?" She asks softly, sitting forward. Coming into the light, her straight, red hair shines dully. The slight crease in her brow reminds me of someone.

"How did we make it out?" I ask cautiously, reflecting her uncertain vagueness into my own words.

"I took you," she explains in a sort of grand tone, as if expecting rapturous applause, "and followed Rogers here."

There's a rustling behind me and I go to turn, "It's just Steve, don't worry."

I breath a light sigh at her explanation, turning back to the room. I pause however, recognising the all too familiar seated stance. Yet, despite my inkling, I shake it off, putting it down to nothing more than paranoia.

"What's the matter; really, Hyra?" I narrow my eyes once again, hurriedly sorting fact from fiction.

A set of light, shortly spaced steps gains my attention. There's no way Steve could walk like that. Sam, perhaps? But the unfamiliar, grumbling snore of a man immediately dismisses that.

"Who are you?" I question 'Natasha' bluntly. I feel an air-quenching cold seep into every corner of the room. It all adds up, but I can't bring myself to believe it.

As one final test, I form a golden orb of light. It casts an Asgardian glow across the very Midgardian room. Assessing the figure, I'm drawn to their piercing eyes. Despite the cast light being warm, their glare is reflected sharply. A slight, permanent grimace causes their eyebrows to furrow a little.

No amount of illusions can disguise someone who cannot act.

"Loki," I breath, a plume of light steam falling from my barely parted lips.

A light, defeated sigh is followed by a much more oily voice, "Yes, sister. You got me."

They stands, their posture tall and proud. They snap their fingers lightly; their usual green, leather tunic replacing Natasha's simple, black vest and leggings.

"Why are you here?" I stand my ground, stiffening my pained stance.

"Can I not visit my sister?" they coo, mocking my complete lack of understanding.