Disclaimer: This fic will be cross-posted in AO3 and
Author's Note: Thanks to my Beta, Wis3Owl.
Warning: Author has Chosen Not To Use Archive Warnings. Angst. Soul mates. Implied/Referenced Child Abuse.
Archiving: Only with the permission of the author.
Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
– Aristotle
The bathroom light buzzed as it flickered into life, ultimately settling down into overly bright luminescence that starkly illuminated both the person and their reflection in the large mirror above the sink.
Squinting at the blinding glare, weary, red-rimmed eyes unwillingly cataloged the desolation that was etched across her gaunt face. The pallid, salt-encrusted skin; the swollen nose, flushed and runny after the multiple crying jags; pale lips that had been bitten until they cracked, worried until they bled; the bleary, bloodshot blue eyes.
Clenching her jaw against the tears that threatened her hard-fought-for composure, Maria averted her gaze. She found herself unable to examine, even briefly, the haunted depths of grief and pain that lay therein.
Head drooping under the weight of her turbulent emotions, her focus drifted to her hands that were grasped tightly to the edge of the bathroom sink. Her lean fingers, which appeared sickly white in the harsh fluorescent glare, were virtually bloodless from the forceful grip that served to keep her at her post, a grip that - for the moment - prevented her from retreating from the mirror again. To enable her, finally, to do what she knew she must.
Maria grimaced, frustrated by her perceived weakness, as she reluctantly unlocked one hand from its vice-like hold to run stiff fingers uncaringly through her unkempt, lank hair. Then she roughly scrubbed her hand down over her face before grinding the heel of her hand into her eyes. She just wanted to feel something, anything, which would distract her from the overwhelming emotions that threatened to send her, once more, back to the couch without accomplishing her self-appointed mission.
It hadn't taken much for Nick to release her from her duties to allow her time to mourn, since then she'd spent untold days curled up on their couch, trying to protect herself from the crushing reality that Natasha, her heart, was lost to her forever.
Just once, early on, she'd lost it completely. Raging, furiously, helplessly, against whatever fates had chosen to curse them. That single frenzied episode had resulted in various pieces of the décor and furniture undertaking destructive trips to the far corners of their living room. When she had stopped, anger wholly satiated, she'd collapsed in the midst of the wreckage unwilling to look at the mess she'd created, thoroughly ashamed at her lack of control and the damage it had wrought. The whole incident reminded her far too much of her childhood when her father had often vividly demonstrated his inability to control his temper and, sitting there, she'd sworn that whatever else happened, she wouldn't perpetuate his legacy any further.
Since then most of her time had been spent crying inconsolably, unable to move, paralyzed by her grief. Lost in bittersweet memories of Natasha, she found herself mentally drifting, unfettered by the simple notion of time as her mind and body shut down into blessed numbness.
Now she knew she needed to confront the truth. She needed to see it with her own eyes, knowing that in seeing it she would be forced to acknowledge that Natasha really was dead.
After the final battle against Thanos had been won, Nick had tried to keep her from spiraling by keeping her out of the way of the Avengers and occupied, organizing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources to assist in the cleanup operation of the battlefield and coordinating worldwide strategies on how to handle the sudden influx of newly restored people. Nevertheless, Clint had sought her out on the bridge of the Helicarrier, trying to explain what had happened on Vormir.
In the privacy of her office, he'd broken down, his voice choking in his throat as he forced himself to describe the mission, pushing himself to speak through his tears. He'd described how he and Natasha had fought to the last but not to live- as they had done together on so many previous occasions - but, in the cruelest twist of fate, over who should die. Each one trying to outdo the other, in one final battle, to embrace death.
To Clint's obvious surprise, rather than break down on hearing about Natasha's death, as he'd manifestly expected, Maria had simply nodded in acknowledgment of it. When she'd walked over, intending to hug him, he'd flinched, almost imperceptibly, perhaps expecting her – even, she thought looking into his haunted eyes, on some level wanting her - to lash out at him for being the one to survive. She had, she knew, shocked him when she had quietly thanked him for letting her know, for being there for Natasha, making sure to let him know that it wasn't his fault whilst offering platitudes about how stubborn Tasha was once she had an idea in her head. A timely call from the Bridge had interrupted their conversation and she'd left him in the office, explaining that she needed to get back to work.
Maria knew there was no way Tasha wouldn't have talked about their relationship with Clint, that was a given. However, she'd never thought to find out just how much she had revealed to him about the depth of their soul-bond connection - never guessing that they wouldn't have time to discuss it together later.
Even so, as she had walked away from his stunned expression, she'd known he knew enough about them that he must have been thinking at that moment she truly embodied her moniker of "Hard-ass Hill", the coldest bitch on Earth, after her totally calm reaction to such devastating news.
What he didn't grasp, what he couldn't hope to understand, was that Maria had already known all she needed to because, as she had, she gave a bitter laugh, what exactly would you call the process of being undusted? Reconstituted, perhaps? Recreated, even?
Her jaw clenched, muscles jumping into vivid relief in the bright light as she ground her teeth together. She squeezed her eyelids closed in disbelief at the direction her thoughts had taken, 'Did it really matter what you called it?' she silently berated herself.
An aggrieved sigh hissed through her taut lips as she gathered her thoughts. Well, whatever the scholars and chroniclers eventually decided to call it, when she had returned from wherever they'd been to her corporeal form, she had been brought almost to her knees by the intensity of the pain radiating from her mark that resonated through her mind and body. Only his quick reactions and her instinctive motion to grab Nick's arm had prevented an ignominious trip to the asphalt. In that instant, she knew that her soul-mate was dead, and nothing that anyone could say to her about how valiant or self-sacrificing it was that Tasha had chosen to die to save them all, would ever change that cruel fact.
As tears welled up in her eyes again at the intolerable thought, Maria tensed, convulsively grasping the edge of the sink again with both hands. She tried to calm her ragged breathing, trying to prevent another tear-filled onslaught, but still, the tears squeezed past her tightly closed eyelids. They slid down her sallow cheeks, blurring the salt-edged pathways that were already drawn onto her skin, until they reached her rigid jaw line, flowing downwards before gathering in fat brackish drips that fell from her chin creating small, unappreciated fountains as they hit the sink.
Surrendering the battle to halt the seemingly unending flow of tears, Maria took a deep, gasping breath, then a second, desperately trying to steel herself so that, this time, she could complete her grim task.
Exhaling a huff of exasperation at her inability to complete what any unbonded person would say was a simple movement, she deliberately concentrated on breaking the, so far, insurmountable task down into individual steps that would hopefully allow her to continue.
Moving her right hand to her waist, she carefully focused solely on the feeling of the soft cotton of her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued T-shirt as she grasped it between her shaking fingers.
Pausing for a second, Maria briefly glanced towards the ceiling. She could almost hear Tasha's voice lovingly mocking her, "Get on with it, Masha. It's time to rip the band-aid off, Commander" and wondered if somewhere, in the mass of recordings she knew Tasha had left for her, she would find the answer to the question of how long it had taken for her to view her mark after Maria had disappeared.
Slowly she started to drag the T-shirt upwards, gradually exposing her midriff to her tear-blurred view of herself in the mirror. For the first time since she had been brought back to life, in this Tasha-forsaken world, she was determined she was going to view her soul mark.
As her T-shirt slid inexorably upwards, Maria's memories dragged her back into the past.
The mark had been visible on her skin from the day she was born.
To a casual observer, it might have looked like a small, light brown freckle on the left side of her ribcage, hidden by her arm and situated roughly in line with her heart. However, all neonatal medical staff had been taught to watch for these marks. The circumstances into which she had been born did somewhat curb their excitement at the rare discovery, but they had made sure to inform the dying mother that her newborn daughter was marked as one of the soul-bonded.
Unfortunately, after her mother died, her status as a special soul-bonded individual didn't make any difference to how her father treated Maria. He hardly ever referred to it, unless it was in derogatory terms, and made sure to emphasize that not only should she not talk about it with anyone, but also that she should always keep her mark hidden. A feat that was not difficult to accomplish, given the physical abuse he doled out on an almost daily basis. Keeping her body hidden from everyone was sadly already a well-practiced routine for Maria by the time she was attending school.
During those early years, Maria rarely paid attention to her mark, she simply had more pressing matters - such as survival - to worry about, but as she grew, her mark grew as well, keeping pace with her developing body. In her teens, once she was free of her father's pervasive influence on her life, she'd started to read whatever information she could find about the rare phenomenon.
Whilst browsing through the sparse number of library books available about soul marks, she had found that although the location, size, and shape of peoples' marks varied, there were some commonalities. Consequently, on a bonded pair, the marks always appeared to be the same size and shape and were located in roughly the same position on their bodies. Each mark would change color from copper to silver, then gold, and finally bronze, depending on the status of the life bond. Additionally, approximately half of the mark appeared to be a solid color with the other half consisting of thin tendrils that tangled together in complicated patterns. Upon closer examination, even the half that appeared solid to the naked eye could be seen to be composed of delicate whorls and striations. The mark would only be truly completed once the soul-bonded person met the one person whose skin held the complementary counterpart to theirs.
During her reading, Maria'd also discovered that the conjoined, soul-bonded, or marked souls, the exact terminology depending where in the world you lived, broadly seemed to split into three categories.
Some of the bonded believed whole-heartedly in the promise of the mystical soul-bonding experience and waited – with varying degrees of success – to meet their bond mate. The success stories for those couples that found each other were well documented. Unfortunately, it was clear that there were also instances where people remained single their whole lives. People who lived their life alone, waiting in vain for their bond mark to activate when they found their "one".
The second group of people consisted of those who believed at first but who, after fruitless years of anticipation, grew pessimistic. From the case studies and stories she'd read, Maria decided it seemed they simply grew tired of waiting for their miraculous soul-bonded partner to arrive, choosing to give up on their dream and instead electing to search for a partner amongst the unmarked.
Finally, there were the true cynics, or perhaps - Maria had considered at the time, already battered by the hand that life had dealt her - the realists. They discarded the notion of finding their soul-mate from the start, perhaps believing that the chance of meeting that one special person, on a planet of 7 billion souls, was too remote a possibility to consider, preferring to find an unmarked partner from the start, rather than possibly spend a lifetime trying to find "the one".
Of course, the problematic situation that the second and third groups might have to negotiate was that the bond automatically activated if you did meet your soul-mate – regardless of your circumstances. That particularly peculiar feature meant there were cautionary stories circulated about what happened if a soul marked person married an unmarked individual and then later found their true mate.
People who found themselves potentially torn between living a life of doubt and 'second guessing' if they turned away from the promised ecstasy and harmony of the bond, versus the destroyed families that would be left in their wake if they acknowledged it, meant that a cruel price might be exacted for not being a true believer.
By the time she left Chicago to join the Army aged 18, Maria's mark was fully developed. A nearly perfect circle, slightly larger than a quarter, the solid half of which was shiny like a new penny.
As it turned out the years spent living the army life didn't leave Maria much time for further introspection on the matter. She found that she had very little time, or inclination, to consider whether she would ever meet her soul-mate. Circumstances necessitated that once again her mindset had to return to that of her childhood, a time when it was enough just to make it to the end of the day in one piece.
Although it had been years since her time in the Army, even now Maria rarely considered the matter of whether she would find her soul-mate. She was so busy with, and fulfilled by, her job working as the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. that finding a partner – any partner, whether soul-bonded or unmarked – who could deal with the implications and ramifications of her career was so unlikely as to not even be worth considering. Therefore, she'd determined that she'd take the fatalistic route and subscribe to the theory that 'what will be, will be'. If her soul-mate was out there somewhere, then the Universe would just have to see its way clear to throw them together.
The new intake of recruits stood in rough lines in the large hangar. Thirty baby S.H.I.E.L.D. agents fresh from the academy, ready to start their actual training to discover what being an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. really meant.
Maria noted their ragged and ill-spaced lines, the agents chatting in undertones to each other rather than waiting silently, and quietly sighed. She sometimes longed for the disciplined days of the military, the serried ranks of soldiers, neat, tidy and regimented, each understanding their place in the corps.
As Maria cast her critical gaze over them, she noted that a bored Agent Natasha Romanoff was standing close to the edge of the group. This latest iteration of Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow, had been released from the Medical Wing earlier in the week; her deprogramming process now completed and declared a resounding success by the Medical Team.
Romanoff was waiting quietly; apparently entertaining herself by nonchalantly playing with one of her knives, by turns spinning it between her fingers, then throwing and catching it. The mildly disconcerting part to any casual onlooker was that at no point was she looking directly at it, her full attention apparently focused on the large group of agents. It was clear to Maria that this behavior had been deliberately staged to intimidate and already most of the new agents were - with varying degrees of success - attempting to surreptitiously observe her. From the lack of guile exhibited by a few of them - Maria groaned quietly as she made a mental note to speak to Recruitment about reviewing their current selection process - it was clear some of these individuals should have been winnowed out in earlier assessment stages, as they were unquestionably more suited to the technical path within S.H.I.E.L.D., rather than that of a field agent.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Maria turned to glance over her shoulder to see Phil walking towards her, a clipboard containing the registry paperwork for this intake held loosely by his side.
As he drew level with her he cast a jaundiced eye over the assembly, before he jokingly complained, "I swear they're getting younger each year, this group looks like they just graduated from High School."
"Ha, we're just getting old", she said with a wry smile as she turned back to face the agents.
"Speak for yourself," Phil shot back, then paused before continuing, "Actually, don't speak at all because anything you say is just going to make me feel even older. It's not so long ago that a certain Commander was standing where they are now, and I'm in the same place I was then. Although," he stopped to run his fingers through his hair, before turning to wink at Maria, "possibly with slightly less hair. Which, by the way, is undoubtedly all your fault."
That drew a brief laugh from Maria before she replied, "Hmmm… possibly true. However, you know I can neither confirm nor deny your accusation." She gave Phil a lopsided grin, unrepentantly acknowledging how many scrapes she'd survived on a combination of brains and luck when, as a baby Agent, Phil and Mel had taught her the ropes.
Her brow furrowed as she refocused her attention on the crowd in front of them, "Why's Romanoff with them?" she queried, intent on finding out why such an experienced agent was lurking amongst the newbies, "Although she's new to S.H.I.E.L.D., surely that level of induction's not necessary."
She could see Phil stifling a smirk at her expression, "Don't fret, Natasha's not training with them, that'd be a massacre", he paused, grimacing slightly at his poor choice of words before continuing, "She's probably just waiting for Clint, they're heading out today and I guess no-one told her it was intake day. Looks like she's entertaining herself by making them nervous as I've not seen her do that knife juggling trick before, I think she's poached that trick from Clint's repertoire."
He looked across at Maria speculatively, "Have you met her yet?"
"No," Maria replied, giving a small shrug, "I was on rotation in the Triskelion until yesterday. Then spent the morning bringing Fury up to speed with the latest WSC fiasco." She rolled her eyes as she thought about that particular FUBAR.
"Ah… OK… well" tucking his free hand into his pocket, Phil started moving towards the group, turning to face Maria as he did so and walking slowly backwards across the deck "C'mon Deputy D., I'll introduce you. You never know, it might distract her and stop her scaring the newbies off before they even start."
Narrowing her eyes at Phil's latest nickname for her, Maria quickly checked her watch. She had 15 minutes, which should be just enough time to do a swift meet and greet with Romanoff, and then she could pick up a coffee on the way to her next meeting.
"Hup, 2, 3, 4" taunted Phil, as Maria started to move towards him before he turned to face the assembled agents.
Well used to the necessity of needing to move around the Helicarrier swiftly, whilst keeping her pace to a commanding and hopefully confidence-inspiring walk, Maria quite quickly caught up with and then overtook him. Just for the hell of it though, she kept going at the same speed, forcing Phil to walk a lot faster to be able to catch up with her whilst avoiding having to break into a jog.
Maria mused as she strode across the hanger that she wasn't so petty as to enjoy hearing Phil puff a little as he drew level with her, no, no, she wasn't. Nevertheless, she didn't suppress the little smirk that tugged at her lips as she muttered "C'mon old man, hup to it" to him, nor did she slow down until they reached the other side of the hanger.
It was late by the time Maria made it back to her quarters. The last 4 hours of her day had been spent completing the mind-numbing paperwork that always accompanied a fresh intake, and that had been on top of her regular day's work. However, Maria liked to study the agent evaluations that had been started on their first day in the Academy and she would continue to scrutinize them, keeping up with their development over the coming weeks, monitoring the processes that S.H.I.E.L.D. used to determine the right career path for each operative.
Switching on the light, she looked longingly towards her bed, where the sloppy-sized S.H.I.E.L.D. T-shirt and comfortable, well-worn, knee-length shorts she wore as sleepwear was lying neatly folded at the foot of the bed. She'd learned long ago that, with the number of crises that seemed to happen around the world during the night, it was never a good idea to go to sleep in something that you wouldn't want a colleague to see in an emergency.
Turning away from the temptation of simply throwing herself fully clothed onto the bed, she walked slowly across to the small bathroom, stripping out of her uniform as she did so. Dropping the soiled clothes into the laundry collection point, she ran the tap, cupping her hands to gather a handful, before splashing the cold water onto her face. Straightening and rubbing her eyes, Maria yawned and stretched lazily before she froze in shock. She peered at her mark in the mirror. It was a complete silver circle. Silver! She blinked in disbelief, and then leaned nearer to the mirror wondering if somehow her tired eyes had bizarrely mistaken the color and, under closer examination, it would return to its normal copper color, but she wasn't mistaken. Inconceivably, at some point today, she'd been close enough to her bond-mate for it to activate.
Maria braced herself against the counter as her head swam. When did that happen? How had it happened without her noticing? From what she remembered of the described bonding encounters she had read as a teenager, the bonding process was supposed to be an "all-encompassing experience", whatever that meant. She scoffed to herself as she thought that apparently "all-encompassing" in her book meant an insignificant and completely ignorable event.
Standing up again and moving her left arm clear of her body, she watched in the mirror as her right arm wrapped around her body and she ran her fingers lightly over the mark, shivering at the sensation. It felt different from before. Instead of the minuscule ridges that used to catch slightly on the weapon calluses she had on her fingertips, now, it was almost pre-naturally smooth.
Who was her soul-mate? Who was it? Who had she met today? The question repeated in her head as she slowly ran her fingers across the mark, entranced by the new feel of it and the flash of silver appearing and disappearing as her fingers traced across it.
Suddenly she stilled, as a memory intruded. When she'd met the Black Widow this morning, she'd been giving her the standard "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., how are you enjoying it so far" spiel, when she'd become distracted, she'd felt something… odd. Before she'd had time to consider the strange sensation any further, Barton had diverted her attention as he came crashing into the gym, firing flash arrows into the air and yelling at the baby Agents to "think fast" as he'd dodged wildly between their startled ranks.
Of course, once he'd caught sight of Maria standing with Phil and Natasha, he'd immediately stopped fooling around, throwing muttered asides to the nearest agents about 'being stabbed in the back' and 'why didn't you tell me', before he'd nonchalantly sauntered over to them under her unblinking, unamused glare.
Remembering that moment, goosebumps skittered up her arms as Maria realized she'd actually stopped talking to Natasha. Recalling how she'd become completely entranced by the gold flecks deep in the depths of her beautiful, dark emerald eyes, an elusive scent of citrus and smoke, and the mesmerizing sensation of her warm hand in hers.
Could the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, be her soul-mate?
His position as Director meant Nick was one of the few people who were privy to the fact that she had a soul mark, and he had nearly laughed himself into an early grave when he found out that Maria's soul-mate was the Black Widow.
That is to say, Maria had nearly killed him when after nearly 15 minutes he still couldn't keep a straight face whenever he looked at her.
Haunted by her memories, Maria couldn't bear to think about their Joining Day in any great detail. She'd fallen into that trap before and knew if she did she'd find herself entrenched on the couch with yet more hours lost reliving heart-rending recollections but, even so, she couldn't help some of it seeping through.
As they'd wanted the ceremony had been a simple one; she remembered the feel of the celebrant's cold fingers as they wrapped the thick silken ceremonial cord around their wrists, fussing with it to ensure that the first binding knot was situated correctly underneath Maria's wrist.
Maria had been too entranced by Tasha to look anywhere, but into her joyfully sparkling eyes.
"I, Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, do freely take thee Maria Francisca Hill as my soul-mate. From this life to the next, I share with you all that I was, am, and ever will be. On this, I do solemnly swear."
As Maria had lovingly uttered her formal vows, the celebrant had finished tying the cord in the final symbolic knot on top of Natasha's wrist, before they had completed their own part of the sacred rites.
"All-encompassing". As the ritual was completed, in that hallowed moment, Maria had finally understood the phrase as she felt the soul-bond settle fully into her body and mind.
The Red Room had hidden the truth from Natasha about the mark on her body, so the first hint she'd had about it was when, on meeting Maria, it had activated. Their subsequent conversations on the matter had been, for Natasha, both overdue and enlightening. Determined not to be kept in the dark again, over the intervening years, she'd made it a hobby to dig up any information she could find on them.
Some information was easy to find, for example, the different colors of a soul mark were already well documented and always consistent.
On children, the immature mark was a near skin-toned color. Then, as the person entered their teens, it altered to copper indicating an unattached soul-mate. When two soul-mates met but their bond was not yet completed the mark became silver, with the formal joining ceremony being required to change it to the burnished gold color that indicated a mated pair. The final color stage occurred when one-half of a soul-bonded pair died. Then one half, the original half of the mark, on the surviving soul-mate changed to dull bronze and the other half faded away, denoting a severed bond.
During her investigations, however, Natasha'd also found out some secret information that it seemed was only passed by word of mouth between joined soul-bonded couples and, due to the sensitivity of the subject, even then it was referred to only in hushed whispers. Reputedly, when one-half of a bonded pair died often the surviving soul-mate would die not long after, seemingly - according to the storyteller - of a broken heart.
Now Maria could see why. Every breath she took, knowing she would never see Tasha again, hurt her in ways and places she didn't even have the words to describe. She couldn't fathom how Natasha had managed to survive when she had been dusted. She knew Tasha was emotionally stronger than she was, but to be able to keep going when she'd thought that Maria was lost to her was a whole different level of strength that Maria knew she didn't have. She couldn't even manage 5 days without Tasha, without completely falling apart and yet Tasha'd been alone for 5 years.
Groaning to herself, Maria thought that anyone who only knew the persona she projected of the decisive, cool and unemotional Commander would have been astonished to find out this wasn't the first, second, or even the tenth time that she'd stood in this exact spot and tried to find the courage to view her soul mark.
She knew she needed to see it. She needed to face the bleak reality of Tasha's death, and then she would somehow have to find the strength to listen to all the holo-messages that Tasha had recorded and left for her.
Unable to catch her breath properly due to the band that was painfully constricting her chest, she panted, breathing erratically as she mentally urged herself to continue to pull the T-shirt slowly upwards. Maria could feel the fabric as it bunched in her hand, but she found she was unable to keep herself focused solely on her image in the mirror, her gaze jumping erratically between the image of the skin that was being revealed, to the ceiling and walls of the bathroom, and then down to her other hand which was still wrapped tightly around the edge of the sink. Nonetheless, she didn't need to see her side to know she was getting close. As the back of her fingers brushed over the mark, she could feel it's cool, smooth surface in stark contrast to her skin.
Eyelids slamming shut, Maria stopped, unable to move, unable to confront the unpalatable truth.
She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Swallowing convulsively, she knew she was at the point of no return, unable to deny the truth any longer. Taking in another unsteady breath, she whispered, "I love you Tasha. All that I was, am, and ever will be, will always love you", then she opened her eyes.
Her breath caught as she stared at her reflection. Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she leaned closer, never taking her eyes off her mark, as incapable of comprehending what she was seeing as she'd been the first time her mark had activated. Her mark wasn't bronze and Tasha's half was still there, although it appeared different.
Swiftly spinning around, she roughly dragged open the drawers on the bathroom cabinet, rifling hastily through the contents until she found what she wanted. A small hand mirror.
She hurriedly ripped off her T-shirt, nearly dropping the mirror as it snagged on the material. Swearing, she carefully detangled it and placed it safely on the cabinet, before throwing the T-shirt to the floor. Ideally, she wanted to get an unobstructed view of her side. Grabbing the mirror again, she angled it so that it would catch the light to enable her to see her mark more clearly.
Her heartbeat was hammering in her ears as she stared at it, the frantic thuds making the small mirror jump in her grasp. She licked her index finger, brusquely rubbing it over the mark, but it still looked the same. Her half still quite clearly retained its bonded golden color, and Tasha's half was still gold, but it looked somewhat translucent and definitely less solid than her half.
Slowly collapsing onto the tiled floor, Maria's mind was spinning as she tried to comprehend what she'd seen. Disbelieving, she checked the color once again and her breath caught in her throat as it hit her, her mark wasn't bronze! No matter what Clint had said. No matter what the world thought. She was sure, wherever in the Universe she was, Tasha wasn't dead.
Maria's head was in turmoil as her emotions ran amok. She didn't know whether she wanted to punch something in frustration, scream with excitement or break down sobbing from sheer relief first.
Tasha wasn't dead!
Maria knew it was illogical. She had no evidence to back up her theory and she'd never heard of anything like this happening before, but she was absolutely convinced the color of the mark indicated Natasha was alive but in mortal danger. She had to find her. Now.
The realization that she didn't have time to fall apart, even if it was from joy this time, washed over her. Reining in her careering emotions and pushing them firmly to the back of her mind, she scrambled to her feet cursing herself. Her grief-stricken indecision meant she'd already wasted too much precious time. Maria knew, if there had been any viable way, then Tasha would have already come back to her. So wherever Tasha was, she needed her help.
As she dashed out of the bathroom into their living room, Maria wondered if this was how Tasha had discovered she was alive? Had her soul mark also shown her that the dusted were also still alive somewhere in space and time? Is that how she kept going for so long? Kept fighting until their return?
Fired with optimism, Maria grabbed her discarded work bag and, throwing it open, she seized her laptop.
She needed to watch the recordings Tasha had made for her to see what her mark looked like, and then she was going to check the Avengers' time jump logs so that she could extract the necessary intel about Natasha's mission. Once she had that data, she was going to formulate a plan and then she would have to convince Fury to let her go. Because no matter what it took, no matter where, or even when, she had to go, she was going to get Tasha back.