Title/Prompt: Love Leaves a Mark (Love Leaves a Stain)
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word count: 7980
Summary: Natasha finds herself fighting a war against a biological measure of fate.
Notes: Written for Zippit as part of SoulExchange 2017 on Dreamwidth/AO3. Completed/posted to AO3 in June 2017. SoulExchange is a fanfic and fanart exchange for soulmate and soulbond tropes.
My timing of the MCU movies may be slightly askew, but it was too tempting to set this towards the end of Iron Man 2 and have Nat and Steve meet a little earlier. (Especially because during a recent rewatch I noticed Nat standing beside Pepper's desk and clutching her wrist really tightly. :D)
The characterization in the early movies is so different, especially for Natasha, and I've tried to make sure it fits into that timeline.
Also I would really love to just post this in an "MCU" section but FFN doesn't have the capacity to do that so... Steve and Nat are the main characters so I've kept it to the Captain America section, but Tony and Pepper feature too and the fic features references to Iron Man 2.
When she thought very hard about it, Natasha realized it had started on the day Tony Stark had brought Pepper the box of strawberries.
When she thought very hard about it, she remembered standing beside Pepper's desk, listening to Pepper and Tony snipe at one another, and her wrist had itched just slightly, a new tightness in her arm running from her pulse point up to her heart.
When she thought very hard about it, she remembered she'd wrapped her fingers quietly around her wrist, and it had settled, and then she had forgotten all about it again.
That had been when it had started.
Natasha spent most of her time as Natalie Rushman wondering why Pepper had stuck around Stark Industries for so long when Tony treated her like he did. Then she noticed the countdown on Pepper's left wrist.
"Oh," Pepper said, glancing at it. She kept tapping out an email on her phone. "It comes and goes," she said. "This one will be timed with his next big apology. Or whenever I decide to forgive him."
"It comes and goes?" Natasha asked in surprise, wondering why it hadn't been in her SHIELD brief.
"Yes," Pepper said, apparently not finding it that unusual.
"Mr. Stark's too?"
"Yes."
"How?" Natasha asked.
"I don't really know," Pepper admitted. "The first one — the one I was born with — coincided perfectly with meeting Tony when I started at Stark Industries. I don't think he'd slept in like…" She rubbed her brow tiredly. "…fifty-something hours. So of course he didn't notice his timer running down. I mean…" She sighed, exasperated.
Natasha waited patiently.
"And he never gave the impression that he noticed my timer ran down in front of him, or that his had run down in front of me," Pepper added. "He hired me as his assistant and I never brought it up again. It reappeared a few weeks into my contract, when I was thinking about leaving, and I realized he had a new mark too. And they matched."
"And he knows you're his soulmate?" Natasha asked, eyebrows raised.
"Of course," Pepper said. "Tony is very clever at most things and incredibly… just… frustrating at other things." She flexed her fingers like she was trying to work out some tension. "He knows it's me. Every single time, it's me. This is just the way things work for us. It all disappears for a while and things run like clockwork and I think, you know, that maybe we're just so professionally compatible that's what it all relates to, because I can't even comprehend what I might have done in a past life to romantically deserve someone so incredibly self-absorbed." But she looked down at her wrist and her expression softened. "When it's good, it all just… it works."
"I don't think I've met anyone with a mark like that," Natasha said.
"It happens," Pepper said. "It's rare, but Tony looked into it, and there are other cases." She looked at the timer again, obviously doing some math to try and figure out where her next big event with Tony was going to fit into her schedule. "Of course, it's usually when a partner dies, and then you get a countdown to the next one, if you have more than one in a lifetime…"
"I'm sure Mr. Stark isn't going to die."
"I know." Pepper's voice was quiet.
Natasha had never been more glad in her life to have been born without a mark. "It must be reassuring," she said, trying to be comforting. "Knowing that even when things get difficult, there are better times on the horizon."
"It is," Pepper said. She smiled back at her. "Though it also makes me wonder if I'd still be here if it didn't keep coming back."
Marks were an indication of weakness and vulnerability, the Red Room had told Natasha. It was one of the things she still considered to be mostly truthful. Marks were easy to exploit and manipulate, and it made her uneasy that there was a biological thread which imposed upon freedom of choice.
She looked back at the files stacked in front of her and wondered why Pepper was subjecting herself to fate when it seemed to make her so unhappy.
"Pepper's your soulmate," Natasha said matter-of-factly.
"I know." Tony didn't bother looking up.
"Don't you think you should take your head out of your ass for a few days and apologize to her?"
"Can't," Tony said. "There's other stuff I've gotta do first." He held his wrist up in her general direction, still not bothering to look up from the blueprints of whatever was in front of him. "I mean, you'd think I'd know better by now, turning up to the office — her office — and trying to rush it through, but she won't forgive me until whenever this is." He tilted his wrist at her again. "When is it, exactly?" he asked, like it mattered so little to him.
She folded her arms. "She deserves better than you."
"I agree," Tony said. "But biology doesn't, so. Move along, Agent Ruskie."
"Why do your marks disappear and reappear?"
"Who knows why they do anything," he said. "Have you ever tried to apply science to them? Biologists think they have answers, but..." He grimaced. "They're biologists."
"They're only supposed to run down once," Natasha said.
Tony glanced at her. "What do you know?" he asked. "You don't have one."
"You're an ass," she said, but Tony just grinned and waved his wrist back and forth to show there was really no point in arguing, and turned back to his work.
On their way to Justin Hammer's presentation, Pepper looked nervous. She kept cupping her hand over her wrist, and when Natasha caught sight of the countdown again, she noted there was only a few hours left on it.
"Something to look forward to?" she asked quietly.
Pepper's smile was surprisingly tender. "It is," she agreed. "But I always get so nervous, as well. I always want each countdown to be the last one. Every time it starts again it reminds me that we failed."
Natasha wasn't sure what to say, but Natalie Rushman was sympathetic, and Natalie Rushman liked and respected Pepper just as much as Natasha Romanov did, so she dug for something reassuring. "It's not a failure," she said. "You've both got the marks for a reason."
Pepper nodded, and looked out the car window. "Sometimes I'm scared it will come back but it won't match up with Tony's anymore," she said. "So far, we've done nothing so wrong it can't be fixed. My mark is like a compass, and I have to trust it."
"I understand," Natasha said, though she wasn't sure she did.
When everything suddenly went to hell, and Natasha found herself leaning over Pepper to shelter her from the glass raining from the shattered ceiling, Pepper laughed and looked weary. "For god's sake," she said, looking at her wrist. There was less than an hour left.
"Come with me," Natasha urged.
"No," Pepper said, shaking her head. Glass tinkled out of her hair. She had her phone in her hand.
"Pepper, listen to me," Natasha said urgently, "my name isn't Natalie Rushman, it's Natasha Romanov, and I'm an undercover agent for SHIELD."
Pepper blinked at her, pausing in the middle of the screaming chaos around them. "Like Agent Coulson?"
"He's my handler."
"Oh." Pepper looked surprised, but seemed to take it in stride.
"I really think you should come with me. I'll get you somewhere safe and —"
"No," Pepper said again. She gestured to the stage. "This is where I need to be. Trust me." She glanced at her wrist, and Natasha didn't question her or try to talk her out of it.
Pepper trusted her own biology more than anything else, and it was telling her to stay put. Natasha didn't have an argument to win against it. She would just have to trust that Pepper's inner compass was pointing her in the right direction and, somehow or other, it would all work itself out.
"It does sound like a lot of fun," Clint admitted. "Not that fighting giant metal aliens in the desert hasn't been a blast."
"You're full of shit," Natasha said. She placed her palm against the reader outside her door, and the door slid open. Home sweet home.
"Do you seriously think you've had a better time than me?" Clint asked incredulous. "Nat, we had a guy here who legitimately thought he was Thor. And I mean, I have to admit the evidence is pretty solid."
"Is Coulson still there?" Natasha asked, putting Clint on loudspeaker and tossing the phone gently onto the end of her bed.
"Oh he's having the time of his life," Clint said. "Did you just put me on speaker?"
"I'm getting undressed," she said. "I need both hands." She reached back and unzipped her suit. "I'm officially wrapped up as Natalie Rushman."
"Aw," Clint said. "You don't want to stay on as the personal assistant to the new CEO? You look good in a pencil skirt."
"Shut up," she said. "Pepper and Tony made up." She stretched her arms over her head. Her left arm felt tight and she was worried she'd pulled something.
"I was beginning to think you wanted Pepper for yourself," Clint said.
"Stark would definitely be dead several times over if it weren't for her," Natasha said. "It's probably the only useful thing about that biology. It makes your sense of self-preservation a lot stronger when the adrenaline gets pumping."
"Amen," Clint answered. "Speaking of soulmarks, did Coulson tell you that one of the scientists here matched with the guy who fell out of the clouds? The Thor dude."
"Right," Natasha scoffed, wriggling out of her suit. "I'm sure Thor has a mark."
"Well, not anymore," Clint said reasonably. "It ran down."
"Does your mark ever disappear and reappear?" she asked suddenly, thinking of him and Laura and how different their relationship was to Pepper and Tony's.
"Nope," Clint answered immediately. "It ran down once, and it's only ever gonna run down once. That's what it's like for most people. You can't go around thinking Tony Stark is the new normal, Natasha."
She rubbed her eyes, feeling tired. "There's no danger of that," she assured him. She inspected her wrist. "But all of this mark stuff is making me paranoid. My wrist is starting to feel weird."
"Maybe Stark put a microchip in you while you were sleeping," Clint suggested helpfully.
"Like he'd even dare try," she muttered. She rubbed at her arm. It felt cold, and yet there was a strange burning sensation. For a moment, something inked up under her skin, like a bruise, and then faded away again. Her heart skipped a beat and she wrenched her desk lamp sideways so she could get a better look at it under light. There was nothing there.
She was tired.
"So you and Coulson are both finishing up, right?" she asked, closing her eyes and rolling her shoulders slowly, trying to work the tension out.
"Coulson might have to stay a few extra days, but he seems weirdly buzzed about it," Clint said. "He's been in a really good mood."
"I've noticed that too," Natasha said.
"That can't bode well for us."
She grinned. "Does anything?"
The heat broke with a series of rolling thunderstorms over New York. The sun would temporarily break through the clouds and everything turned humid, and people wore short sleeves and summer shoes as they ran through the rain and tried to dodge the puddles in the street.
Natasha hadn't slept well, though she didn't think it had anything to do with the heat.
She'd dreamed a lot. Mostly of Pepper and Tony, which both disconcerted her and amused her. From what she'd heard, they'd made up, and neither of them were showing soulmarks anymore. But in her dreams, Pepper sat at her desk and watched a countdown on her wrist run down and start over, again and again. In her dreams, Natasha could never get her to look up.
"It's pointless," Tony had told her when she'd gone to him for help. "You can't fight biology."
When she woke, she knew that was bullshit. Tony would at least try to fight biology, especially if it meant saving Pepper. She understood him enough now to know that he was unhappy about the soulmark, but he wasn't unhappy about Pepper.
The mark kept him accountable for his actions. Every time he screwed up, every time Pepper felt it got too much to handle, the mark came back and reminded them they hadn't yet found a way to bond permanently. That they had to try again; reset their own timeline together until they got it right and the mark disappeared for good.
It reminds me we failed, Pepper had said.
In her dreams, Natasha could feel a tugging in her chest, like an invisible thread. ("I can fix that for you," Tony had said with a grin, tapping the reactor under his t-shirt.)
When she woke, she was covered in sweat, and her heartbeat seemed to drum in her ears, set to a particular rhythm she wasn't entirely familiar with anymore.
She had never liked the idea of soulmarks, and had always been relieved to be one of the people Unmarked. The Red Room had taught them that marks were a weakness; society held them as something to be desired and treasured.
Natasha thought Tony and Pepper were the first people she'd ever met who had admitted they weren't entirely happy with their situation.
She rubbed a thumb over her bare wrist and thought how funny it was that she was comforted by such a confession.
"There is something seriously weird going on in Sector 4," Clint said. "Want to come and see? They've got fake walls up."
"Fake walls?" Natasha raised her eyebrow at him. "We're supposed to be meeting Coulson upstairs."
"Come on," Clint said, looping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her so she changed direction. "This is just a little detour. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"It's been soured by flying robot jackasses, and gods falling out of the clouds," she answered.
"So young, so disenchanted," he said. "It breaks my heart." He pressed his thumb against the keypad to gain entry to Sector 4, but the light glowed red. "Oh, come on," he said, annoyed. He pressed his thumb again, and this time it flashed at him: Access Forbidden.
Natasha's interest was piqued. "Let me try." She elbowed him out of the way and pressed her thumb against the entry panel. It flashed green and the magnetic locks on the door disengaged. She and Barton pushed their way through.
"I've been at SHIELD longer than you have," Clint argued. "I was the one who brought you in! Why do you have access to the restricted areas and I don't? Don't tell me it's sex appeal."
She snorted, but came to a stop. There were partitions set up — they were on the wrong side of one, facing the wooden framework. There was no door through to the other side, but Natasha could sense a strange sort of warmth. It wasn't physical, it was more like a feeling — quietness, calm, security.
"It feels nice in here," she said, pressing a hand against the wall. "What do you think they're doing in there?"
"Nat," Clint said quietly. He reached for her hand. "Has anything weird happened this morning?"
"Normal levels of weird, or SHIELD levels of weird?" she asked with a grin.
He turned her hand over so her wrist faced upwards. 93... 92... 91.
Natasha wrenched her hand out of his, and gazed down at her skin. "This is fake," she said immediately. "Some practical joke by Stark..." She rubbed at the mark.
"Maybe he did put a microchip into you," Clint said. He took her hand again and looked at it intently. "It looks real enough to me."
Natasha's heart thundered in her chest. "Marks don't just appear, though," she said. "I've never had one. The Red Room..." she trailed off.
"Maybe they found a way to remove it, before," Clint suggested. "And now you've got like... just over a minute on it, so it's come back."
Natasha took a few steps back and looked around. "Marks don't do that," she said.
"Tony and Pepper's marks keep coming back," Clint said, raising his eyebrows. "There's a lot of weird shit out there, Natasha."
66... 65... 64...
"I have to hide," she said suddenly. Self-preservation. "I'm not doing this; I'm not Marked, Clint, I'm never supposed to have to deal with any of this..."
"Okay, okay," he said. He took her hand and pulled her into the men's bathroom. The florescent lights were glaring and it smelled like bleach and urinal cakes. It felt wrong; she wanted to go back to the carefully constructed security she could sense coming out of the fake walls. She wanted to go and face whatever it was — whomever it was — she was supposed to be meeting.
Hiding felt wrong, but she didn't trust that it wasn't just the mark overriding what was more sensible in her own mind. 90 seconds wasn't enough time to accept that she had a soulmate, and she'd be damned before she matched with one of the mindless security guards wandering the corridors.
Hiding was the best option. She'd figure the rest out later.
Clint checked the cubicles and then leaned against the door. "You know, I'm not sure hiding in the men's bathroom is gonna work. Also it's a really crappy place to meet your soulmate." He grinned at her.
Natasha ran her hands through her hair. Her fingers were trembling. "At least I don't have long to wait," she said weakly, trying to look on the bright side.
"I can't imagine what you'd be like if you had a longer timer," Clint said. "Insufferable, probably."
She looked at the timer again. 26... 25... 24...
"We're gonna be late for our briefing with Coulson, and I hate to tell you this but I'm gonna make you take the fall for this one," Clint said.
"Seems fair," she said, giving him a wavering smile. Her hands were shaking. She gripped Clint's hand tightly.
17... 16... 15...
"It's gonna be really awkward if your soulmate tries to come through this door," Clint says. "We're just gonna have to yell at him to go away."
"We can do that." Even her voice was shaking now.
"Or I could shoot him," Clint suggested.
She was too tense to laugh. Clint just squeezed her hand comfortingly and leaned his weight harder against the door.
She kept watching the numbers. 9... 8... 7...
There was a loud crash outside, and they both jumped a mile. Natasha's immediate instinct as an agent was to check it out — or was it her instinct because she was Marked and her soulmate was close? She hesitated.
Clint cracked the door open. Natasha realized if it was too dangerous to stay in their hiding place, it was better to know sooner rather than later, and an unexplained crashing noise required at least some investigation.
Two soldiers lay groaning on the floor. One of the fake walls had a large hole in it, and — Natasha drew in a soft intake of breath. When he looked around and saw her, she felt the tug in her chest again. The feeling ran down her arm, and the mark counted down to nothing and faded away.
She gazed at him, heart thudding in her chest. He paused, staring towards the bathroom door, staring at her, but someone shouted at him to halt, breaking the moment.
He turned and ran, and the SHIELD team gave chase.
"Was that him?" Clint asked quietly.
Natasha nodded, feeling breathless and teary and overwhelmed. "Don't tell anyone," she whispered. "Please."
"I won't," Clint promised. "But I think you should probably talk with Director Fury." He looked back into the corridor, at the rubble and the two men still groaning on the ground. "I think he might have been keeping your soulmate in storage."
His name was Steve, and Natasha found his story a little harder to swallow than Clint did.
"Once you meet Thor, your suspension of belief will drop a lot lower," Clint told her. "Iron Man striking peace deals worldwide? Not a problem. Asgardian gods falling out of the sky? Not a problem. Captain America frozen in ice and awake again after like 70 years? Absolutely not a problem."
With Captain Steve Rogers in SHIELD's custody, such as it were, Natasha couldn't avoid him forever. She studied what she could from afar, but it turned out to be a dangerous game, sparking an insatiable desire for something more personal.
Her dreams of him were vivid. In her dreams, she knew his voice, and she knew his touch on her skin was warm, and she had felt his breath against the pulse point on her neck.
When she woke, it took a long time for her to remember it had only been a dream. She found herself fighting hard to believe it had been real — to run to Steve and ask him if he remembered. So far, she had always managed to resist.
It worried her, having to fight her own mind and body to resist him. She wanted to be near him, to talk to him and hear his voice. It angered her, having this new, constant source of tension inside her.
"Does it hurt when you're away from Laura?" she asked Clint one day.
He looked at her, carefully weighing up his words. "It doesn't hurt," he said finally. "But I can't be as fully me. I'm better when I'm with her."
"You're you," Natasha snapped defensively.
"Nat," Clint said patiently, "why don't you at least talk to the guy? He's a nice guy. Confused as hell about everything though. It'll probably help him a lot if you at least introduce yourself to him. And your hormones have to be going crazy."
"I'm fine," she said flatly.
"He's your soulmate," Clint said. "The best thing about all of this is you're guaranteed to like him."
"Why?" she asked, looking for an argument. "Because a mark says so?"
"Yeah," Clint said. He raised his eyebrows. "You know, most people with the marks wait years and years and years for that moment. When it finally comes, and you finally come face to face with the person you've been waiting for..." He gave her a smile, softened by thoughts of Laura. "It's the best feeling, Nat."
"I don't want a soulmate," she said. "It'll be better for everyone if his timer comes back and resets to someone else."
"I'm not sure you can pin your hopes on that," Clint said.
Pepper listened very attentively, and didn't speak or judge, for which Natasha was grateful.
"Anyway," Natasha said awkwardly, finally wrapping her story up, "I just wanted to ask about your mark resetting... Because it feels like maybe that's what mine did..."
"I didn't think you were born with a mark?" Pepper asked.
"I'm not sure," Natasha admitted. "I guess if I have the ability to have one at all, I must have been born with one. Maybe the Red Room erased it somehow, but it came back when Steve woke up."
Pepper swung her chair back and forth thoughtfully. Her office was quiet, and night had fallen outside, rain beading gently on the windows.
"How's your mark?" Natasha asked suddenly.
Pepper held up her bare wrist. "Of course, I never know if it'll stick," she said. "You'd think it'd be easier for all involved to not be marked at all."
"You said if you weren't marked, you weren't sure you'd be here," Natasha reminded her. "And I think if you weren't here, Tony Stark wouldn't be here either."
Pepper gave Natasha a small smile. "You know," she said, "the fact that my timer keeps reappearing doesn't mean I don't love Tony."
"I never said that," Natasha said.
"No, but I think it's your opinion," Pepper said. Her voice wasn't unkind. "He drives me crazy. Literally everything he does drives me crazy. But he also believes in me, and pushes me to be better, and he loves me too. Maybe our marks can't even make sense of it, but we're bound to one another in a way I'll never be bound to anyone else."
"Don't you hate being marked?" Natasha asked desperately. "I find myself thinking about all the time. Thinking about him all the time. I can't concentrate on anything. I'm not myself."
"You're being very hard on yourself," Pepper said. "You're trying to fight something very natural."
"It doesn't feel natural to me," Natasha said, desperate to explain herself and have someone understand. "It's a loss of my identity. It's fate deciding my perfect match. Shouldn't that be up to me?"
"It is up to you," Pepper assured her gently.
"I don't feel any freedom in this," Natasha said. She looked down at her bare wrist. "This isn't what I wanted."
Steve had asked about her.
Clint told her this, and so did Coulson.
"Something about wanting to find a redhead he'd seen hiding in the men's bathroom," Coulson said. "I didn't ask any further questions."
"Wise," Natasha said, sipping her coffee.
Coulson's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Is that my Captain America mug?"
"No."
"Give it back. That's a direct order from your superior."
"You're no fun before you've had caffeine," Natasha said, pushing the mug into his hands. "Here. But if Barton asks, you prised it out of my cold, dead hands."
"That was my next course of action," Coulson said. His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. "Now," he said, "go and find Captain Rogers and introduce yourself. Your continual avoidance of the man does not go unnoticed, and it's starting to raise questions."
Natasha was good at evading people. She was even better at watching people.
She positioned herself in Steve's orbit, observing him at a distance. She thought he knew she was there, but he didn't seem to be actively seeking her out. It looked like he had enough to deal with, trying to catch up on what he'd missed over the past few decades.
In the rare moments she saw him alone, she saw glimpses of the soldier who had lost everything. It occurred to her that keeping herself from him was only denying him answers he was probably owed, and happiness she thought he needed.
It was comforting watching Steve, and she felt guilty about not providing him with the same comfort in return.
Natasha pressed her palm against the security reader outside of her room. The corridors were quiet; it was late. There wasn't a soul to be seen, except...
Director Fury was sitting on the end of her bed.
"Are you lost?" Natasha asked, letting the door slide closed beside her.
"I'm in a SHIELD building," he said. "As are your sleeping quarters. That makes me your landlord."
"Am I evicted?" Natasha kicked her boots off.
"Do you want to be?"
Yes, she thought suddenly. Yes, send me away from all of this, and I'll hide and we can forget everything. But her heart ached, and she felt tired and more miserable than she had in a long time. She sat beside him.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked finally. "Word on the street is you're acting very Secret Agent."
"Word on the street?" Natasha asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I keep my ear to the ground."
"I am a secret agent," she reminded him.
"You're not on the clock, Natasha," Fury said, and the way he emphasized his words made her think he knew exactly what was up.
She looked down at her hands. "When SHIELD had me listed as a threat, did your files say anything about me having a timer?"
"Are you trying to tell me you haven't read SHIELD's files on yourself?"
She shrugged.
Fury gave a soft laugh and put his arm around her shoulders. "You were never listed as marked, Natasha," he said. "But those things are weird as hell, and the minute we announce we have the science on them pinned down, they change the damn rules on us."
"Do you think it's possible to erase one?"
Fury looked at her silently for a moment. "I once knew a guy," he said, "had his arm torn off in a wheat thresher."
"How do you know anyone who had their arm torn off in a wheat thresher?" Natasha asked, suddenly fascinated. "Does Barton know this story? Can I tell him about it?"
"I know a lot of people who have had a lot of things torn off," Fury said. "This guy, his timer hadn't run down yet. Funny how cocky people get when they have numbers on their wrists, like they're invincible. Can't die if you've got a hot date in two years time, right?" He shook his head. "Anyway, turns out when this kid got his arm got torn off, his timer just moved itself to his other arm. Showed up there almost instantly. Didn't miss a beat." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Personally, I think trying to erase a mark is a lost cause."
Natasha looked down at her wrist.
"Now," Fury said carefully, "I could theorize about someone else I know, who was born without a mark showing on her skin, because it was safer for her to be without one. Because it meant she would live. Because it mean she could get on with what she needed to do. And it revealed itself only when she was ready to see it." He squeezed her shoulder gently.
"But I wasn't ready," she said. "I'm not ready. I don't want him. I just want everything to stay as it was."
"I'm never going to understand those damn things," Fury said. "Personally, I'm relieved to have never had one myself. But I'll tell you this, Natasha. I think you'll feel a lot better about things if you talk to Steve Rogers about it."
In the end, Steve found her.
She was alone, making a cup of coffee in one of the communal kitchens between the cubicles and offices on the sixth floor, which she thought was a mundane enough place to be completely out of Steve's way. Either he'd had business with the HR department, or he'd sensed her there and had come to investigate. She'd been distracted enough by the malfunctioning coffee machine she hadn't seen him coming.
"Hi!" he said. He made her jump, but he looked so completely delighted to see her she couldn't help but smile back at him, even if it was mostly a nervous reaction.
"Natasha, right?" he asked.
"That's right."
"Steve." He offered her his hand politely. She wondered if this was what he did naturally, or if he was following the suggestion of his SHIELD handler, or if he was only doing it because he suspected she was his soulmate.
She could trust nothing anymore, and that's what bothered her most.
She shook his hand, but there was no bolt of lightning or physical affirmation that she had just touched her soulmate for the first time. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she busied herself with the coffee machine. There was an uncertainty in the way he stood beside her, fidgeting slightly. He looked nervous.
"Coffee?" she asked, taking pity on him.
"Thanks. Thank you." He hovered awkwardly at her side, watching her. She ignored him, trying to convey the possibility that he had not, in fact, just found his soulmate making coffee.
She wondered if she could reset his timer; if she could get it to reappear by working to convince him she'd never had one at all. It was barely a lie. In the end she'd only had a timer for a minute and a half. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly counted as anything.
"You have a Captain America mug?" Steve asked in surprise.
Natasha looked at the mug in her hand. "Oh, it's not mine," she said hastily. "I stole it."
"Oh." He looked baffled.
"It's kind of a game," she explained. "It belongs to Agent Coulson, and Agent Barton and I kind of take turns to steal it from him. He's had it for years. Way before they found you..."
It was almost unbearable being so close to him and not being able to touch. How did marked people get any work done? All Natasha could think about was Steve — where he was, if he was okay, if he was happy.
She'd been losing sleep over it, and the vivid dreams hadn't helped. She wanted to separate herself from him entirely — get everything back to the way it was, so she could focus properly and be a good agent and do her job.
She felt alienated from herself, and she hated it.
And yet she couldn't bring herself to make him uncomfortable. "How are you settling in?" she asked, pouring him a mug of coffee.
"I don't think I am," he said doubtfully. "Most of the time it feels like a dream."
"It'll get better."
"So I hear," Steve said, not sounding convinced.
She wasn't sure how to reassure him.
"Can I ask you a question?" Steve asked finally.
"Sure," she said nervously.
He saw her hesitation. "Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "It was — it's a personal question." The tips of his ears were red.
"No, it's okay," Natasha said. She glanced at the door, but they were alone. "You can ask." She wasn't convinced she'd say that to anyone else.
"Do you have a mark?" he asked, looking painfully uncomfortable about it. "Like a — a soul mark?"
She felt an uneasy emptiness in her chest. Her heart seemed to thud very loudly, though she'd been over this in her head, and had prepared her response. "No," she said. "I was born without one."
"Oh." He blinked, and she knew he hadn't been expecting that answer. He looked down at his own wrist, and then folded his arms across his chest. "My mark ran down," he said.
"I figured," Natasha said, feeling uncomfortable.
"No," he said, "I mean, it ran down here, after I woke up. That's how I knew so much time had passed." He looked at her helplessly. "I knew I was gonna crash, and probably die, and I still had 67 years or so counting down on the thing, so…" He swallowed, looking upset. "When I woke up they had me bandaged, and I knew they'd been trying to hide it, so I tore it off — the bandage, you know — and it…" He drew a shaky breath and looked at her. "It only had 18 seconds left on it."
Natasha was finding it hard not to appear tense. She cupped her hands around her coffee mug and shook her head. "I guess the ice messed up all the timing," she said. "No mark is going to be able to predict that, right?"
"I'm not so sure," he said slowly. "I think my mark had accounted for all that. But when I woke up, I just... I panicked. There was so much time missing. And I didn't know where I was, or..." He swallowed and looked away. "I've seen prisoners of war," he said. "I've seen what people do to one another, and I know what the wrong people would want to do to a Super Soldier if they got hold of him." His blue eyes fixed hers again. "So I ran."
She nodded, not sure she trusted herself to speak.
He hesitated, touching his fingertips gently against the edge of the counter top as he considered his next words. "There was a moment, just after I woke up," he said. "I saw someone and I think… I could see she had curly hair, but… That was it, I guess. She was in shadow and the door wasn't open far enough and I couldn't really see her properly. I thought…" He trailed off, and Natasha wondered if he was hopeful she might speak up and admit it had been her.
Steve just shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. "It doesn't matter," he said, but she could tell he was lying.
"It was nice to meet you," she said finally. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
He nodded, looking exhausted and confused. "You too, ma'am."
Coulson finally called Natasha, Steve and Clint into a meeting together.
"Captain Rogers will be joining the Avengers Initiative," he said. "I believe you've all met?"
"We've met," Natasha confirmed.
Steve nodded. He was treating her with wariness, instead of the open delight he'd shown when he'd found her making coffee. She hated that she'd made him uncomfortable, and wondered again, for the millionth time, why he'd matched with her when she was the worst possible choice for him.
"Captain Rogers will need to increase his physical training, and understand your own fighting techniques and preferred methods," Coulson said, fixing his eyes on Natasha.
Her heart sank.
"You can just call me Steve," Steve said, interrupting quietly.
Coulson looked a little flustered.
Clint took a sip of his coffee. "I guess we should get started then," he said.
Coulson took a step back. "Is that my mug? Hand it over. Right now." He held his hand out.
Steve glanced at the mug, then at Clint, then at Natasha. He tried to hide his grin, but he wasn't successful.
Neither was Natasha.
"Want me to kick your ass in front of your soulmate?" Clint asked in a quiet voice, cracking his knuckles. "It'll probably make him less attracted to you."
"Let's see you try," Natasha said, raising her eyebrow.
Steve was watching them from the sidelines, out of earshot. (So Natasha hoped.)
Clint grinned. "You want to impress him."
"No," she said, "I just want to hurt you." She moved fast — he just barely got out of her way, twisting slightly and grabbing her so they grappled one another to the ground. She got the upper hand and pinned him.
"One to me," she declared. She glanced at Steve, and he grinned at her.
"I let you have that one," Clint grunted.
Natasha could feel the advantage of having Steve nearby. She didn't want to admit it at first, but it became increasingly clear to her that his proximity made her reflexes sharper, made her move faster and smarter and with deadly accuracy.
She wondered what it would be like out in the field with him at her side, sharpening her every thought, her every move.
"Jesus," Clint coughed, hitting the mat again. "Time out," he said breathlessly.
Natasha was sweating and breathless, but the burn in her muscles was good, and she'd managed to pull off several spectacular manoeuvres, leaving her with a feeling of great satisfaction.
"Why don't you take on the Captain?" Clint asked, loudly enough for Steve to hear.
"You're so dead," she hissed.
Clint grinned at her and clambered to his feet. "She's all yours, Cap."
Steve stood opposite her, a small smile on his face. "All warmed up?" he asked.
She tossed her hair back, a play that worked on most men. His eyes ran over her and she felt a hot thrill run through her from head to toe. She felt exhilarated, like her adrenaline was increased tenfold.
He moved fast, but she managed to match him. He was checking his strength and his speed, she could tell that much, but she evaded him for a respectable length of time before he finally managed to get her feet out from under her. He pinned her into the mat, one arm firm across the top of her chest.
She gazed up at him. She wondered if he could feel her heart thundering in her chest. She wondered if she could explain it away with exercise and exertion.
He looked back at her. His eyelashes were impossibly, unfairly long. Natasha wondered what it would be like to kiss him — to feel the softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth. Her fingers twitched; she considered cupping his jaw in her hand and pulling him down to kiss her; pulling his weight on top of her until she could feel nothing but him.
She tore her eyes away, looking over to where Clint had been sitting, but he'd gone.
You fucking traitor, she thought.
Steve eased his weight off her, and sat back on his heels.
Natasha sat up. "You're fast," she said. She got to her feet and took a few steps back, feeling shaky.
"So are you," Steve said. He watched her thoughtfully, and she knew her earlier lie had been a complete and utter failure.
He knew as well as she did that her timer had counted down with his.
Natasha's dreams were vivid. She dreamed of Steve's hands on her — undressing her, holding her, caressing her. She felt the weight of him above her, felt the softness of his hair between her fingers, the wet warmth of his tongue on her skin. She tasted the salt of his sweat on her lips, felt the play of muscles moving in his shoulders as his arms circled her.
When she woke, she longed to seek him out and touch him. She imagined his fingers tracing over the lost mark on her wrist, and her heart throbbed in her chest.
It was three in the morning when she finally gave up on sleep and headed for the gym.
Guilt was eating her alive. She'd tried to overcome it, but it was like trying to rid herself of something inherent.
"It's biology," she reminded herself through gritted teeth.
Steve had bandaged his hands and was working over a punching bag. Sweat drenched his shirt, and it clung to his shoulders and chest. Natasha felt a surge of primal attraction, and pushed it back.
He had sensed her coming, and he stopped as she drew nearer.
"Hi," he said. He didn't seem pleased to see her, which wrenched at Natasha more than she cared to admit.
"Hi." She wrapped her arms around herself and stood in front of him. "I'm sorry."
He hesitated. "For what?" he asked carefully.
"I'm not ready yet." She avoided his eyes. "I didn't want to tell you it was me, but I know you know, and I also know you that have enough to deal with already, so." She shrugged.
He started to unwind the bandages from around his knuckles. "You're not the kind of girl I thought I'd end up with," he said, and it stung. "I always thought my mark was just… I mean, it said 93 years or something when I was born, you know?" He gave her a bitter sort of smile. "I was not a healthy kid, so the idea of reaching 93 seemed pretty ridiculous."
"You look good for your age," Natasha offered, trying to break the tension.
But he shook his head, looking tired. "Listen, Natasha…"
The way he said her name sent a warm pulse through her blood. She felt an affection tug between them — the invisible string, the bond, pulling tight for a moment.
"I appreciate you being honest," he said finally. "If that's the way you feel, then I'd rather we just… go our separate ways. I've lost enough already and if we can head this off somehow, so that maybe it hurts less…" He frowned down at his hands. "It was never in my head that I had a soulmate anyway," he concluded. "I had a mark but it always felt like it didn't mean anything."
"I had my mark for all of 93 seconds or something," she said. "There wasn't exactly much time to get used to the idea. And maybe that was the point. If I'd had a mark when I was a kid, the Red Room would have killed me instead of seeing me as an asset." She shrugged. "I guess the mark arriving so late was a form of self-preservation."
"You never wondered what it'd be like to have one?" he asked.
She could tell he was still hoping for a different answer. "I want to make my own choices," she said. "Steve, shouldn't a soulmate be built on something other than a biological timer? We don't even know how they work, or how they're linked. Wouldn't it be easier for everyone to just make their own choices? I feel like everyone would be happier."
"The marks do seem to cause some strain," Steve agreed.
"So," Natasha said, trying to steady herself, "I want to ignore the mark."
"You said that already."
"Yes, but — I mean, I don't necessarily want to ignore you. So…" She trailed off as the expression on his face lit up.
"Sorry," he blurted, realizing he hadn't hidden his emotions at all. "I'll…" He cleared his throat, and frowned.
She smiled. "We need to work on your poker face," she said. "I can teach you that."
He smiled back at her. "Deal."
"So is that okay?" Natasha asked. "If we take things slowly? Not based on the mark but just… each other?"
"Definitely," Steve said honestly. He reached out suddenly, slowing at the last second as he realized his impulses had overridden him again. When she didn't move away, his fingers brushed slowly over the back of her hand.
Natasha let out a silent breath and curled her fingers around his. When he stepped closer, she felt the heat coming off his body. She had to tip her head back to keep eye contact with him. His other hand reached up and gently brushed her hair behind her ear.
"So," she said shakily, trying to anchor them both to their previous agreement. "Maybe we can just grab some coffee together first?"
Steve smiled down at her and traced his thumb gently against her cheek. "Are you free now?"
He was so close to her. She could smell clean sweat and SHIELD-issued deodorant, and the leather of the punching bag on his hands. She lifted herself onto her toes and clutched one hand into his damp t-shirt to keep her balance, and kissed him, telling herself it was only a brief submission to temptation. She could taste salt on his lips, and when his hands fell to her waist to steady her, she could feel the heat of his palms. His arms slid around her waist and pulled her to him, lifting her slightly. She wound her fingers into his short hair, and he followed when she tugged at him, taking two staggering steps to pin her against the wall.
It was intoxicating, and yet it seemed to clear her head. "Wait," she whispered desperately. "Wait, wait."
He made a soft noise of protest, but his hold on her lessened, and her feet touched the ground again and they broke apart enough to catch their breath, gazing at one another with wide eyes.
"I really meant it," she said suddenly. "I can't... I was never meant to have this. I need some time to get used to it."
"I know," he said. "It's okay. It's fine. We'll figure it out together." He cupped her face in his hands, and she smiled at him.
"Do you want that coffee now?" he asked.
"Yeah."
He kissed her again, just softly. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he said. He stepped away from her, looking reluctant.
"Ten minutes?" Natasha asked, watching him grab his things together. "Where are you going?"
He grinned at her over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go steal a mug."