Natasha was indifferent to soulmates. Love was only for children and for adults who refused to grow up. Love made you vulnerable. As a spy, Natasha used the loves of others to manipulate them; she never felt any attachment herself. That's what the Red Room had taught her. Natasha was sure that if they could remove the girls' soulmarks, they would have. Since it wasn't possible, they simply taught them that it didn't matter. They were assets, spies, and assassins; they didn't love anyone, and no one loved them.
Perhaps, especially when she was younger, Natasha would have wanted to meet her soulmate. Would have believed the story that you and they were meant to have a connection, to care about each other. Natasha's soulmark, however, banished any such thoughts. In the silver colored writing that signified a platonic soulmate, the words, "Correction, I was going to kill you," glimmered on her forearm.
No matter how they were said, they indicated not only danger but failure. If the emphasis were on the word "I", it meant she would believe that someone else was after her and admit as much to the real assassin. If her soulmate emphasized the word "kill", it would mean that she had underestimated the level of damage they wanted to inflict. And if the word "you" were emphasized, then it would mean that Natasha had assumed their target to be someone else.
The last reason Natasha didn't care about her soulmate was that it was obvious they didn't care about her. For their first word to her to be "Correction", she must have spoken first. Even knowing she was their soulmate, they still wanted to kill her.
Natasha was having a terrible day even before she got shot. She'd had a cold this entire mission, and today it was making itself known by causing her throat to hurt whenever she spoke. The air was damp, and the city that was already packed with poor citizens didn't offer much in the way of accommodations. Natasha's biggest worry, though, was that she seemed to have picked up a tail.
She'd never actually seen anyone following her, never recognized a face. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something, but when she turned to look, no one was there. It might be just a rooftop shadow, but Natasha wasn't certain. She did know, however, that she was a master at her craft. If someone was spying on her, they had to be just as good.
The actual heist went about as well as everything else had on this mission. Natasha had retrieved the documents she'd been sent for, but someone had caught on before she left the building. She'd made it out the back door and was now running through a maze of winding alleyways pursued by three or four men.
Natasha knew she would have to engage them eventually, but she would rather do it in a spot that gave her the advantage. Several more turns would bring her to a wider and straighter alley. As long as she was far enough ahead, she could turn down this street, whirl around, and shoot as the men burst into the wider space.
Natasha turned right, then quickly left. The men were still following but just far enough behind to give her time to execute her maneuver.
Everything would have gone as planned if, when she reached the alley, there had not been a little girl standing in the middle. A girl who did not need to see or get caught in the fight to come. Natasha's training said to ignore her and take care of her mission. As she seemed to be doing more and more often lately, Natasha disregarded her training.
She shoved the girl into another nearby alleyway.
It didn't take long, but it changed the timing enough that as Natasha whirled around, the first man had already emerged from the alley. Two guns fired. Natasha's bullet hit the man in the chest; his struck her in the leg. The wound sent her to the ground, but that didn't stop her from shooting the next two men. Her gun ran out of bullets when the fourth arrived, so she threw the gun with enough fore and accuracy to knock him out.
That would have been the end of it. Natasha would have managed to tie up the wound and eventually hobble back to her extraction point. After another day, she would have been flying back to the KGB headquarters.
But instead, her tail decided to reveal himself just then. A shadow leapt off one of the roofs above, resolving into the form of a man with blond hair, black leather clothing, and a bow as it fell. The man landed lightly, his eyes and weapon trained on her.
Natasha sagged. This was the worst time for him to strike, so of course he chose now. Despite being out of weapons, she could do something. Probably she could get him off his feet. Maybe she could even subdue him and get away. At the least, she could go our fighting. But she didn't.
Natasha was tired. Her handlers and their purposes were nothing to go out fighting for. And maybe she'd tried to be a better person: pushed the girl out of the way, given her ration to a mother younger than herself, chosen to incapacitate rather than kill when she could. It didn't matter. She was still a monster with a ledger dripping in blood who even her soulmate didn't want. And Natasha knew who this was: Hawkeye, the only person who used a bow as a weapon of choice. Hawkeye meant SHIELD, an agency known for actually protecting others, not just its own interests. If they wanted her taken out, maybe that would be better for everyone.
Hawkeye was still staring at her, bow half-drawn.
Natasha didn't know what he was waiting for. She might have decided not to stop him, but that didn't mean she wanted to lie in the street and be misted on until he did something.
Normally she would speak, but the pain in her leg was bad enough; she didn't want to add her throat too.
Instead she mouthed her words. "I know you're going to kill me. Go ahead."
As Natasha had expected, he could read her lips. What was completely unexpected was for him to lower his bow.
"Correction," he said, "I was going to kill you."
Of all the ways Natasha had thought she might hear that sentence, she'd never imagined her soulmate would emphasis the past tense.
"What?" she mouthed in confusion.
"I saw what you did just now; you saved the girl even though you didn't have time. I've been watching you for a while- that's not the first time you've helped someone. SHIELD sent me here because you were a threat, but I don't think you have to be. This isn't what you want."
Natasha blinked at him. He couldn't be that much of an idiot. Maybe she didn't want to be a threat; that didn't mean she could just stop.
Hawkeye apparently saw her skepticism. He continued, "I don't think I have to kill you because I don't think you have to be a threat. I want to offer you another option. What would you think of joining SHIELD and using your skills to protect people instead?"
Natasha shook her head. SHIELD didn't want her; they wanted her dead. Something deep inside of her had jumped at his option, but Natasha squished it. The idea was impossible in more ways than one.
"I'm a monster," she mouthed.
Hawkeye shook his head. The stubborn man was determined to argue her out of being killed.
"Monsters don't save children," he said. "Monsters don't help people. Monsters don't-" his tone turned wry "-fail to take advantage of an assailant who has lowered their weapon. You're not a monster; you've just been made to act like one. You don't have to keep doing that."
She stared at him. Natasha had never met anyone who wanted her, never met anyone who believed in redemption. She'd never met anyone who offered her a chance to be better. Maybe he was wrong and the first SHIELD agent she saw would shoot her, but maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was right. Maybe she could be something else. Natasha was willing to take the chance.
"What do you say? Will you join SHIELD?"
This was worth the pain to say out loud. Natasha took a deep breath. "Yes, I will. I'll join SHIELD."
Hawkeye's eyes widened a little, but then he grinned and offered her a hand up. Natasha's first instinct was to rebuff it, but she didn't. She could actually use the help, and, more importantly, if she wasn't a monster, she was a person, and people helped each other. Natasha grabbed Hawkeye's hand, and he helped lift her to her feet.
"Welcome to SHIELD," he said with another smile. "What should I call you?"
He wasn't pushing or calling her by the moniker known for death.
She gave him the truth. "Natasha."
"I'm Clint," he said. "Now come on; we've got a pretty comfy ride home. Oh, and I should probably turn my comm back on; Coulson's probably going nuts."
As he turned on his comm and began defending his decision to spare her to his handler, Natasha felt a smile, small but real, slip onto her face.
Instead of wanting to kill her even after he knew who she was, her soulmate had wanted to save her before she said a word to him. Maybe love was real after all.
I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a review; knowing what people think makes my day.
This is a multichapter piece, and I anticipate there being two to four more chapters. I'll update when I can, but I can't promise a consistent schedule.