Tortured Genius (A Marvel Fanfiction: Reader Insert)

Chapter 5: Don't Get Too Close

The silence that descended was so icy.

Ice literally froze on your fingers.

You were standing directly across from the man who'd whispered in your ear, saying not a word. He was dressed in a suit and a tie, rather nicely polished shoes, and black hair that was slicked back.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." A smile grew on his face as he watched your features go from scared, to rage to murderous rage. Yes, there is a difference.

More quiet.
There was no way as heck that he was going to get to you. No one did, and no one ever would.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He finally asked, curious, and you cackled.

"No, I'm going to river dance."

He responded with a tip of his head to the left in a testing manner, and you guessed whether or not he really was Jim, now was not the time for sarcasm.

So you were going to continue, obviously. And on that note,You were 99% sure your death was going to be caused by you being sassy at the wrong time.

Jim spoke up, raising an eyebrow. "Staying alive, (your name). So boring, isn't it?"

"Shut up." You growled in reply, ice shooting from your hands that spiked into the fabric of his shirt. "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Shuttity up up up. Just shut up."

He pulled the ice out, clearly annoyed. "Westwood." Moriarty snapped.

No. This wasn't right.

"I know." You murmured. "Bloody heck, I know!" Pacing closer, you continued. "I've memorized your every line. Your attitude, your movements. I am you. You are me."

"But you're on the side of the angels," came the disappointed sigh.

With the exact quote you stepped face to face with him, just like with Garett, and replied in utter calm, "Oh, I am on the side of the angels, but don't think for a second I am one of them."

Breaking character, laughter smashed the moment, and Jim's smile grew. "Yes. Yes I see now." More laughter. "You are me."

That was it. "No. I am him. Not you." Your finger jabbed at his chest and you pressed him against the wall, ice holding him in place. "Because you aren't Jim. Who in the bloody heck are you really?"

"Can't figure it out, can you, Ice Box?"

"Don't!" You raged, spinning around to face the alley walls so you didn't need to see Moriarty. "Don't call me Ice Box."

"What, then?"

A smirk attached itself to your face, an idea for a name appearing. You snapped your fingers, cracked your knuckles. Held your head high. But you weren't sharing it just yet. "For now, (your name), suits me just fine."

Moriarty's laughter died and there was another tip of the head. "(Your name)," he muttered, trying the name out during a pause. "You did something I did. You're different. You are me."

Suddenly, somehow, the ice holding Jim back hit the ground and your captive, (who had been your captive for maybe thirty seconds), was walking back down the alley, away from your view.

"I'm going to remember you." His voice echoed, eerily bouncing off the walls to you. "And don't forget it."

Then the laughter was back.
"I gave you my number," Jim said.

"Thought you might call."

And a gold flash blinded your vision.

***
When morning rolled around, a voice shook your dreamy thoughts.