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

Chapter 13 - If I Fall, I'll Probably Survive

Cyrus' pov

"So, who at SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?" Natasha asks openly, sipping at her coffee.

Thinking on it for a moment, Steve sits back in his chair with a grimace, "Pierce."

"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world," she continues, now pacing in thought.

"But he's not working alone," Steve offers, "Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

Stopping dead in her tracks, Natasha turns to face us, "So was Jasper Sitwell."

Taking a deep breath of realisation, the captain asks gravely, "So the real question is: how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?"

Sam steps off the wall, placing a file on the table top in front of us, "The answer is: you don't."

"What's this?"

"Call it a resume," with his hands on his hips, Sam sends me a small smile. The two pick the file back up off the table in interest. Sitting completely static, I only listen.

Without hesitation, Natasha asks with the slightest hint of impress in her tone, "Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you? You didn't say he was a pararescue."

Looking up from the photo, Steve looks at Sam with some sympathy, "Is this Riley?"

"Yeah," looking at the ground for a moment, the man takes a breath.

"I heard they couldn't bring in the chopper's because of the RPGs," Natasha pays little notice to their conversation, "what did you use? A stealth chute?"

"No," Sam rifles through the stack of files, "these."

After a moment, "I thought you said you were a pilot."

"I never said pilot," responding with a smirk, a flash passes outside of the window. Fireworks at noon? I stand stiffly and walk through the house, not taking notice of any opposition (if there was any).

The echo of their conversation falls flat soon after, but is suddenly replaced by the thrum of a deep drum. Pulsing through my veins, I lose concentration in my vision and balance.

Like a heart - beating to mirror its owner's needs - its pace only increases.

Until it stops in just a second.

Flashes of fire and death and pain. Images of loss and suffering and silence. A memory yet to come. And in the battered complexion of each was the glittering gold I so long wished to see.

Asgard.

And it's destruction.

Ragnarok.

"Cyrus?" A whisper amongst the crashing waves.

"Hyra!" a large, firm hand grasps my shoulder. I turn, seeing Steve's worried face behind me, "you don't look so good."

I try to shake him off with a reassuring smile, but he still leads me down into an armchair, sitting me by the window. He perches opposite me on the bed, assessing my fixed gaze on the world outside the window.