Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 6: Hey Guys, Let's Talk About This

A crouched position, cold weather, bare feet, new cuts, a torn sweatshirt and an, I'm-about-to-sneeze feeling do not go well.

You'd tried pinching your nose, biting your lip.

Anything.

After a few minutes of desperate attempts to stop the built up, you sat back in satisfaction, the annoying tingling dying down; finally. But apparently the sneeze didn't appreciate your tries to stop the sneeze and you sneezed anyway.

It might as well have been a gunshot.

You groaned, letting an exasperated breath escape. "Gosh darn it."

"Bless you." Said someone, and you jumped, surprised, before turning with a grin.

"And God Bless America." You snarked.

Steve Rogers raised an eyebrow, recalling his shield with a high-powered magnet on the side of his arm. "Aren't you going to say at least a 'thank you'?"

"Nah."

The shield came at you quickly, slamming into your shoulder at an earth defying speed. You hit the ground, spitting out blood from a cracked lip. Standing to your feet, you watched Cap strode closer, muttering words into his com on his ear...probably to Natasha whom you'd just barely ditched. Things weren't getting any easier as Steve grabbed your shirt collar and jerked you up against a wall.
What memories that brought back.

"Hey, hey, easy on the shirt." You responded, whacking his wrist. "It's still rather new, despite the numerous...holes...and...blood stains...and...rips...okay, so it isn't as new as it was four hours ago."

His expression didn't change and it was your turn to raise an eyebrow as you slammed a hand against the wall behind you, muttering, "Please be the secret door, please be the secret door..." The wall moved back.

"Yay." You exalted, while Steve stumbled a second, leaving you to dash off down the passageway, his footsteps of pursuit not far away.

"Here we go again."

***

[Four Hours And One Week Earlier]

Changing cells wasn't exactly your idea of fun.

You should've known better, placed yourself in a more secluded area.

But no. You'd been too tired. And the payback was catching up with you.

The dusty bag over your head scratched your forehead, the sides brushing your arms in discomfort. Cords tied your hand together. If anything, you could probably freeze the bonds, then smash the frost against something else. Jerk the bag off, and be free.

Only, curiosity killed the Ice Box.
And cold blooded revenge would revive it.

With a push from one of your captors, you snarled in response. They laughed, then shocked you with something on the neck that took your breath away.

Ouch. You thought, tempted to rub the back of your neck; it was just leaving another ounce of pent of anger stored away.

"What do you want?" You asked, coughing as more dust reached your lungs.

Another laugh. "What we don't have."

"You bloody arrogant-"

"Language," interrupted one with a heavy accent. Laughs drifted around at his answer and you cursed under your breath, imagining the man shaking a finger. Someone had some sarcastic tea for breakfast.