Chapter 1
Clint gets his words when he is sixteen. They appear just below his ribs, on his left side, and he knows that it is his soul mate’s words but he can’t read them at first. It isn’t because of their position really, it is how they look. They are scribbly, almost look like they have been written across his skin twice in the same spot, one right over the other. They don’t make sense, don’t look like any words that Clint knows, and he is confused by them at first. It looks like two sentences, the second one a question, but he only knows that because of the period and question mark, the only things that makes sense. He had wondered about his words for so long and now that they have appeared, he still has no idea what they are. It takes him a little while to realize that they are simply in another language, he just has no idea which one. He will figure it out, just hopes that they aren’t said before he knows what they mean.
He looks at the marks almost every day, tries to figure out what language they are in. Clint likes to trace them with his fingers and Barney teases him about it, tells him he is going to rub them off. Clint knows that they won’t, soulmarks don’t fade, and there is something reassuring about them. Not everyone has them, they are a bit rare, and there is something nice about the fact that Clint does. It tells him that there is someone out there, that they are definitely going to meet, that everything is going to work out.
He is seventeen almost eighteen when he finds out what language they are in, what they mean. Barney has left the circus by then, went off to join the army and Clint didn’t follow. Things are getting a bit rough, he isn’t sure if he should trust Buck anymore and he just isn’t sure if he will be able to stay here much longer. He loves preforming, loves the crowd and this has been home for a while so he is going to tough it out till he can’t anymore. At this point, this is as close to a home as he thinks he might get and he stays here just like the others do. There are new faces every once in a while that come and joins them and it is one of the new faces that notices Clint’s marks and tells him what they mean.
Her name is Lidiya and she recently started working with them, making costumes. She is older, only been in the states from Russia for a few years but she is nice enough and had offered to patch up Clint’s costume for him. He is trying the tunic on again when she notices his words, makes a comment about it.
“Do you know what your words mean?”
“No, do you?”
He asks and she gives him a nod.
“Eta strelka prinadlezhat vam . Khotite yego obratno ?” She rattles them out and he just stares at her for a moment. “That really doesn’t help me. Is it Russian then?”
She gives him a bit of a smile.
“Yes. It means this arrow belongs to you. Would you like it back?”
They seem fitting and he wonders just how they will be spoken, why, who will speak them, and if maybe he needs to move to Russia. If he moves to Russia, maybe he should figure out what people are saying there. His mind is running through a million thoughts at once and he finds himself blurting out a question.
“I don’t speak Russian, would you be willing to teach me?”
She gives him a bit of a smile now and when she peaks, her voice is kind.
“I can try. You will possibly need to do some favors for me but I should be able to help you learn some phrases.”
That sounds pretty good to Clint. He wants to be able to communicate at least a bit with whoever his other half is supposed to be. They make arrangements for Clint to start lessons with her and later that night he feels bit of hope, runs his fingers over the words that he finally knows the meaning of and wonders if his soulmate is also thinking about their words, about what he is going to say to them. He wonders if his soulmate has their words yet or is they are a bit younger than Clint, don’t have them yet or if they have had their words for years now and have been waiting for Clint’s to show up. He wonders a lot about his soulmate but it will probably be a while before he can meet them. Clint can wait.
He starts learning a bit of Russian, wants to get a few key words and phrases down. Lidiya helps him quite a bit, tells him when the words aren’t quite right and helps him to correct them. They go at it for a few months before the lessons end. He doesn’t get fluent by the time she has to leave, a family emergency making her need to go back to her home country for a while, but he knows enough to be able to get by a bit. He never gets to resume his lessons, doesn’t even know if she made it back to the circus because just about two months after she leaves is when everything falls apart, when Clint can’t stay there anymore and so he leaves and everything becomes a bit more complicated and thoughts of finding his soulmate gets pushed aside.
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The target is dead and Natasha is cleaning off now, getting rid of the blood. This is not her first kill but this one had been a bit messy and she is glad that she has a chance to clean off before going back to her handlers. The safe house is secured and she lets herself have the small luxury of a warm shower, of washing all the grime and blood off of her skin and soon enough she is clean. She is standing in front of the mirror now, making sure she did not miss any spots when something catches her eyes, black marks on her skin and she freezes for a moment.
There are marks on her skin and there shouldn’t be. There are words on her skin and Natasha knows that they will not be allowed to stay but that they will come back. She sees the words and knows that she is going to have pain soon, the words cut off of her skin and that she will have to have it done more than once, that the marks won’t stay gone. Natasha has seen it happened before, to a few of the other girls and she had always hoped that she would be spared it, that she wouldn’t have the burden of a soul mark. Now, she is looking at herself and she knows that she needs to tell a handler, let them know but she will do that when she checks in. For now looks at the marks on her skin and realizes something strange. There are two sets of words.
One trails across her lower ribs while the other is lower, near her hip. They are different writing, different languages but she can read both of them clearly. The ones across her ribs are in her native tongue, the writing neat for the most part, precise. YA tebya ne pomnyu. YA ne davali . Two sentences, short and simple but they raise questions. They speak of not remembering and she wonders if the one who says this is someone she has met before, someone she met when she was younger. It happens, meeting one’s soulmate before you are old enough for it, before one is ready for it, and she supposes that could be what is happening now. There are many people who have passed through her life and she wonders briefly who it could be before pushing the thought aside and looking at the words across her hip, the ones in English.
The writing is messy, scrawled across her skin, and it is long, is going to hurt when it is cut off of her. It is all one sentence but it is rambling, long. That was a warning, could have put it through an eye, need to talk to you, about chances. That is what the words say and they raise just as many questions as the first set. What possible chance could they be speaking about, what warning? She has no idea, just knows that she won’t be allowed to take whatever chance that may be offered. Her duty is to her country and it is greater than any soul mark, greater than any personal relationship she could have. Natasha learned that long ago and it is a lesson she reminds herself now. Still, she runs her fingers over both sets of marks briefly, lets herself wonder for just a moment what it would be like to keep the marks, to have something besides duty. What it would be like to have ties to someone, have someone to trust, to love. Love is for children and Natasha has not been a child in a long time but still sometimes the idea has its appeal. She allows herself one more moment of wondering and then she pushes it aside, goes and gets dressed. She has her duty and that is enough.
The next day she is at a base, is being made ready for the procedure and she takes deep breathes as they start it. It hurts just as she knew it would, the knives are sharp and they cut into her skin, slice the words off neatly. They will do as little damage as they can, just want the words off and they will make the skin there look like it has always been unmarked. Soon enough it is done, the cutting is over and Natasha sits patiently as they wrap bandages around her. There is white cloth around her now, white where once there had been black and she tries not to think about how the bandages are too clean, how they don’t look right. She had marks there once, marks that meant that someone out there is hers but now the marks are gone. They will come back but she will just have to have them removed again, will have to them cut off her skin. They are a distraction and she is not allowed distractions. Natasha has a duty and she must see it through.
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Everything is fuzzy right now and the soldier recognizes the feeling. He is waking up, is being taken out of the cold. His eyes are open now and he can see what is around him, the chamber the room, knows that there are others here. He is told to walk out of the chamber so he does so. They have him sit down in a chair and they remove his shirt, start looking him over and checking his vitals and that is when one of them says something that makes the soldier look at his own skin.
“He has another set of words.”
The soldier looks down and there are two sets of marks on his skin, one across his ribs and the other a few inches below that. Different handwriting for each, a different language, and the soldier is dimly aware that he has had the one on his ribs longer, the one in English. Your arm is really shiny, please don’t kill me is scribbled across his left ribs in a messy sprawl and the soldier is allowed to remember them. The soldier has orders about those words, about the person who says them, and the soldier wonders if he will be given the same orders about this new writing.
The new writing is neater, smaller and the words are a familiar language though it is not English. Vy byli moim uchitelem odin raz, he knows what those words mean but he doesn’t remember teaching anyone before, doesn’t know why those words would be said. He is staring at the words still and he can hear the murmurs of conversation around him.
“Those are in Russian, it might be one of the girls he has trained. Don’t they cut off their words?”
“They do but the words come back after a while and they have to do it all over again, it is why we don’t do it with him, best to just make sure he has an order in place for if he meets them. “
“What will be the order for those then?”
“Don’t know yet, have to consult the higher ups. This one may be a bit complicated.”
There is a bit more conversation but the soldier pays little mind to it, just looks at both sets of words. They are important for some reason, he knows that, mean something important, but he also knows he has to obey his orders, has to complete his missions. Soon enough, they are done with looking him over and the soldier is given a mission and the thoughts of the words are pushed aside for now. He will follow his orders about the words when the time comes.
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