"Where got’st thou that goose look?”
Our frozen tablau was broken by Luna’s positively delighted giggling. “Holy shitballs! This explains so much!” She actually had the audacity to clap her hands to her face and give me one of those toothy, squished cheek smiles, the ones that simultaneously say ‘I told you so’, ‘that’s too adorable’, and ‘ehehehehe’ all at once. “Y’all are positively the poster children for PTP Goals.”
I blinked. And then again. (Why does nothing out of that woman’s mouth make any sense to me?) PTP . . . goals? I thought, when I could make my brain function again (it was only like two seconds, but still an eternity for someone like me).
Well, you can't be an OTP, but you CAN be a PTP, or poly true pairing, which I just made the fuck up, because I'm that fucking brilliant.
BAM.
Ooooh, Sassy Dragon be out in FORCE today! Luna still had that insipid grin on her face.
Dear gods, what horror have you wrought in the form of this best friend I have been cursed with? I thought, rolling my eyes heavenward under half-closed lids. Nobody answered but I could almost guarantee that Heimdallr was laughing at me.
“Shut up, Luna,” was all I said out loud, there would be time enough to explain the whole telepathy thing later . . . much later.
Poor Bruce. Poor Clint. Both of them were so confused. Well, that and they were both eying each other oddly. After all, it must not be every day that you realize you have a Soulmate in common. Looked like it was up to me to at least get us moving along.
Except I’m awkward as fuck. “So . . . Soulmates. Well, shall we away to dinner . . . with Luna’s Soulmates?”
That earned me a look from all three of them. I was so very glad that I am actually physically incapable of blushing because yeah, no. This one was bad, even for me. But fake it ‘til you make it right? Head high, no fidgeting, nothing for anyone to call me out on—well, unless that anyone was Luna, but for once, bless her heart, she was just going to let it alone.
“We’re going to be late,” I tried again when no movement was forthcoming. That seemed to do the trick.
“Right, dinner!” Luna agreed. “Won’t do to be late, can’t have that.”
Clint turned on his heel and offered his arms up to both Luna and myself again. We resumed our former positions, hands curled loosely over Clint’s biceps, and me resisting the urge to squeeze because there would be time enough for that later. But before we took a step, I twisted back around and offered my free hand to Bruce.
Two Soulmates, two arms, two escorts for me; this seemed a logical train of thought. But the look on the doctor’s face. By the gods, the way he looked. It was as if he couldn’t make up his mind how to react; like my outstretched hand was a cobra, reared back and prepared to strike; or, almost more tragically, like he didn’t know what to do, as if the idea of someone wanting to hold his hand was foreign, alien.
(He shook Luna’s hand, so it can’t completely be a touch thing right? Or maybe it’s the Soulmate thing? Or just the fact that handshakes as part of greetings have specific parameters for that social/physical interaction, and most people have crappy handshakes, therefore minimizing the whole touching thing? I hate arguing with myself, I can’t win, no matter which way you look at it.)
I vigilantly kept out of his thoughts, did my utmost to ensure that I heard nothing, and then did it again because I didn’t want to hear Clint’s thoughts, or even Luna’s in this moment, though I could feel the weight of their eyes on the back of my skull as they both were carefully making sure that they weren’t watching.
I’m not naturally inclined toward gentleness, but this time I tried. “It’s an offer.” I said softly, “One you can refuse. And your refusal, or acceptance, does not affect the chances of me offering again at a future time. Or if you wanted to initiate—“ Shit, I was not prepared to have to awkwardly have a consent talk with my newly discovered Soulmate, in front of one of my other Soulmates, and my best friend, while standing in the middle of a deserted lab in Avengers Tower.
Bruce’s eyes flicked back and forth between my hand and sort of, almost, not quite able to meet my eyes for a long minute before he shook his head in this minuscule, aborted movement. Then when I moved my hand—all I did was lower it!—he flinched. For what was not the first time, nor would it likely ever be the last, I felt an icy, murderous rage fill my heartless chest cavity. Thank God for my impenetrable poker face and my years of practice at hiding my feelings, however few they were, because not even Luna could tell how close I was to committing mass homicide.
Instead, I finished the movement and brought my outstretched arm back to my side and smiled again. “Dinner?” I asked, inclining my head towards the elevator. Bruce nodded, adjusted his glasses, and then fell almost in step with us as we heading into the elevator. And if I smiled slightly wider when Bruce actually stood next to me in the elevator instead of keeping his distance as I assumed was his wont, well, the only one to know was Jarvis, and he wasn’t going to tell.
***
The doors ‘whooshed’ open and out of the elevator we stepped, myself and Luna as regal as Queens with Clint as our gallant escort and with Bruce trailing just behind my shoulder, likely looking the quintessential image of the faithful retainer. Needless to say my author brain loved this image, which, when I remembered, I’d have to ask Jarvis for a still of this moment for later.
Heads turned when we walked in a room, but not even I was selfish enough to imagine it was for me. The looks on the faces of Luna’s Soulmates, cross between bitchface, betrayal, and constipation. Don’t you dare laugh, whispered though my mind, if you laugh then I will, and that’ll spoil everything!
Oh do shut up, Luna, I snarked back, not a single twitch of my face giving me away. You’re being pedantic, of all people you think I would spoil this moment for you?
Luna ‘harrumphed’ at me in her head even as she smiled prettily and thanked Clint for being such a gallant escort (okay, maybe Luna’s theater kid-ness meant that she’d also acknowledged the image we’d given off when entering the room) and excused herself to say hello to Pepper.
I gave Clint’s bicep a brief squeeze, just because I could and smiled at him and Bruce. “Thank you for indulging us. The look on their collective faces was so worth the extra drama this is going to cause. Now, I too better go thank Pepper for the invitation, so the two of you had better Ro Sham Bo it out to figure out which one of you is going to sit next to me, because I can’t allow Luna to be sandwiched by silly Soulmates on both sides.”
I let go of Clint and crossed the room to stand behind Luna while she and Pepper finished greeting each other. They’d gone full out with the double hand clasp and air kisses to both cheeks, both sarcastic and gracious all at once. Which meant of course, I had to do the same. Can’t have Luna showing me up. Besides, given my usual touch aversion, as Luna well knew, every so often I have to do something out of character in order to keep her on her toes. So we were gracious, thanking Pepper for the invitation and complimenting her shoes (which were a kick ass pair of Manolo’s so to be fair, the compliment was totally necessary). Pepper was equally so, thanking us for coming and for scraping four of the Avengers off the floor (though much more diplomatically put, because Pepper) and made pleasantries for a few minutes while studiously ignoring Luna’s four glowering Soulmates before excusing ourselves to our seats.
Thor perked up like an adorable puppy and pulled one of the two empty chairs next to him out for Luna. Bruce was smiling sheepishly and pulled the other one out for me. I smiled at Bruce and Luna stared at Thor, par for the course reactions for the both of us in many ways, but we did eventually sit down.
And then Thor started piling food on Luna’s plate without so much as a ‘by your leave’. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Luna asked, just the barest hint of heat in her tone.
"You are a warrior, little soulmate. You must eat like one." I nearly bashed my head against the table, Luna hates high-handed tactics. She hadn’t even gotten to look at the table properly, let alone decide what she wanted. When her eyes began to glow, that was it, I was done.
I grabbed the nearly full plate and held it out to Rogers. His bewildered expression quickly folded under the weight of my very effective ‘mal de ojo’ or evil eye as we’d say in Spanish. He handed his empty plate to me which I then put in front of Luna and glared at Thor. Luna took a deep breath and began serving herself some salad.
“But, but, leaves, why do mortal women do that?! Leaves are not proper warrior’s fare!” There was probably supposed to be more, but my glaring at him over Luna’s head apparently caused the words to die in his throat. This was apparently going to be an effective deterrent on at least two of Luna’s Soulmates—which was good, because then I could lend a hand as required. Luna’s still holding a grudge against them, so if any of them were at all interested in getting on Luna’s good side any time in the next millennium, they better learn to start taking their cues from me.
“Can it, Goldilocks, a salad isn’t going to fucking kill you.” And then again, they could also take some of their cues from their Soulmate herself, but if that’s all they did, they’d still be trying to say hello to her in their eighties.
There was a peculiar sound just then, not quite a ‘thump’ or a ‘clunk’. Looking down the table, I had to stifle a laugh. I’m pretty certain that Stark just kicked Thor under the table. I didn’t think his legs were long enough to do that.
Luna overheard me and almost choked on her bite of salad. I hid my smile behind my water glass as Luna turned and glared at me. I looked across the table at Clint and wiggled my eyebrows—he also almost choked on a bite of garlic bread. Turning my head, I grinned at Bruce who hesitantly smiled back, but he was looking a little lost. I think he missed the whole kicking exchange.
There was silence but for the sounds of cutlery hitting china for a few glorious minutes before Stark finally couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. “So, do you want to explain to us why you came waltzing in on the arm of another man by any chance?"
Luna and I shared a look, but since I had my mouth full of some of the tastiest garlic scallop pasta I’d ever had, Luna spoke for the both of us. “Well, as you know, Clint over there is one of Rin’s Soulmates—“
“WHAT?!”
“Oh, I hate it when you say that! . . . Wait, you didn't notice? Oh, right, you don't have an eye for subtlety... Or anything else, for that matter. So, let’s make this really simple. Me,” She held her hand over her heart, then indicated with her other hand at the four Avengers sitting on that side of the table, “Soulmates.”
She then put her hand on my chest, because we have no conceptions of boundaries, and I had to stifle an undignified sound. Pepper, Luna, and I were a bit outnumbered by the red-blooded males in the room, and almost every single one of them froze, forks, halfway to their mouths, and one by one their food dropped and ‘splatted’ back on their plates (except Stark’s, his somehow landed in his (water?)) glass. “Rin,” and then indicated Bruce and Clint, “Soulmates.” Me? I just looked at Luna’s hand, basically on my breasts, shrugged, and went back to eating. This was nothing new. She did eventually put her hand down (somehow not noticing the staring) and retaking up her fork, Luna muttered, “Though she’s still missing a few.”
A few more long minutes later, it finally occurred to Luna that the silence around her was not in fact due to people stuffing their faces. Teeth still embedded in her garlic bread, Luna glanced around her, saw every male in the vicinity staring, though Bruce was being polite about it, and then Pepper and I smirking, and so, predictably, Luna blushed. Ducking her head and chewing furiously, Luna hid behind her drink, before clearing her throat, and deliberately turning her back on her Soulmates, she asked Clint with surprisingly steady voice, “So, Biceps, explain something to me, yeah?”
“Fire away.”
“You ducked out of the air vent earlier and well, we, I—no! I meant we,” because any chance to throw me under the bus with her, Luna will take it, “How come you’re not covered in dust or dirt or whatever? I mean, it’s not like people clean their air ducts—wait, stop, why are you people laughing?!”
The whole table was pretty much cracking up and now that the focus was off her, Luna’s bluish finally receded. Clint rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Funny how you should say that . . .”
And the whole table died again while Luna and I exchanged looks. When the laughter died down to gasping breaths and stifled chuckles, Clint continued. “The vents in Avengers Tower are actually pretty clean.”
“Why?” Luna asked, glancing around at the table.
“Well, um, it started because I lost a bet. With Tony.”
“Well, there’s your problem right there,” Luna quipped, apparently fully engrossed in this story.
Stark took pity on Clint, or more likely just wanted Luna’s attention back on him (attention hog, it’d be funny if it wasn’t so tragic) and broke in with, “We were making bets on who would find their Soulmate first. I, obviously, won.”
Luna made a face. She wanted to hear the story but having Stark breaking in like that really threw off her groove. Luna helped herself to dessert, by which I mean she stole a cannoli off Stark’s plate, proceeded to ignore his outraged face by muttering that she’d ‘never had one before’, then continued ignoring Stark when he started squawking about the ‘inhumanity of a person living in New York and has never had a goddamn cannoli’ (“Language!”) and asked Clint, “So what did you have to do when you lost the bet?”
Clint shrugged, “Tony’s a lech, which you obviously know. Part of his image. Well, long story very short, I ended up in a stereotypical French Maid’s outfit, complete with feather duster made of real feathers.”
The table laughed again, except for me and Luna. We were staring at Clint, probably pretty intensely from the way his eyes kept flicking back and forth between us. “What?”
“And this relates to the clean vents, how?” Luna demanded.
“Because I spent most of the day hiding in the vents and decided that since I had the feather duster I ought to actually use it? What?!”
Rogers was blushing and laughing at the same time. “He kept complaining that the skirt kept bunchin' under his knees, so he had to shorten it!” Well, apparently not even Mister ‘I was born in the 1920’s’ was too phased by the dude in a skirt thing. Course, that might something to do with the neighborhood he grew up in, what with the flop houses and such.
We were staring again. “Please for the love of, well, everything, please tell me that you’ve still got that outfit?!” Luna asked intently.
Now Clint was staring. “Why?”
“Because I’d like it, that’s why.” I finally said. The whole table shut up. And fast. And now suddenly, I was being stared at. “What’s with the looks? Great ass, nice legs, and a short skirt, what's not to like? Please tell me there were heels and fishnets?”
“Umnn, no?” Clint was blushing and now everyone seemed to be vacillating between staring at him and staring at me.
“Well, could there be next time? And if the outfit’s one of those cheap, icky things, would you consider letting me get you a nicer one?”
Thor dropped his (thankfully) empty (also thankfully) plastic mug (stein) on the table; Bruce was practically wheezing from stifling all his laughter; Rogers was practically purple; Stark’s mouth was hanging open; Pepper was politely giggling behind her hand (though the four glasses of wine she’d had may have (did) contributed to that); Loki was staring at us like bugs under a lens (again); Luna was smirking with me; and Clint was blushing again.
“I’d wear fucking garters if you wanted.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I shot back. Then I thought about it, “Never mind, do tempt me”
“Rin!”
“What?! I’m Ace, not dead! Don’t tell me the aesthetic won’t be pretty.” I retorted to Luna.
Luna was about to respond when Stark rehinged his jaw and interrupted, again, “So when do I get to ask you to wear pretty things for me?”
Luna rolled her eyes. Now she was really done. “Possibly never if you keep this up!” She shot back at the genius. Then looking at me, Luna sighed. “Rin? I’m going, going ghost! Well, you know what I mean.”
I obligingly removed my napkin from my lap and held my arms partially up (elbows in so as not to accidentally hit Bruce) and waited. Luna transformed into a dragon, all black scales with a green shimmer to her wings, just slightly larger than the average house cat. She settled on my lap and the table exploded. Lots of yelling and scooted chairs and the whole nine yards.
I was scratching Luna and didn’t even bother looking up. “Oh come on, this should not be a surprise to you people. You don’t remember her transforming into a fire breathing lizard out over that airplane carrier in the Indian Ocean?” Luna twisted her head around and blew a mixed breath of smoke and sparks at me, which I just waved away—because honestly, that was the dragon equivalent of a raspberry and there is nothing threatening about a raspberry.
Silence. I sighed, stood, and tucked Luna under my arm, like the villain does with their cat in like every spy movie ever made. Then I had a thought. “Hey, Luna? Before you fall asleep, I need a pillbox hat with some lace and shit. Then you can sleep all you want.” (grumble, grumble, grumble) But I got my hat!
“Jarvis, get some still shots of me, in profile if you please? And then if you could play with the lights so we could have some silhouettes that don’t show my face? And then email them to me? This would make a great cover for my next novel!”
“Certainly, Miss Suero.”
“J-man, you’re wonderful.”
I then looked back up at the assorted staring Avengers and began to pace back and forth, just a little in love with the picture I made. “So, since apparently I gotta educate the lot of you, listen up. This is Luna,” I scritched the dragon in question’s back and she began to purr. “She is a dragon. And magic. Also still prickly as hell over the whole Soulmate, Soulmark thing. And as should be relevant to you two Norse demigods over there,” I glared at them. “This is also a Dreki, figure your shit out. The rest of y’all can do your fucking research!” I kept pacing and scratching Luna, while the lights kept flickering and changing (and I steadily ignored Stark’s half spoken, half internal monologue about me corrupting his AI).
“And,” I continued, “this is all somewhat relevant to you people because if you find the appropriate bribing currency, I could be a wealth of information on how to make this bitch happy.”
There was muffled, derisive sound from the doorway. “Happiness is for children.” Or so the new voice said, seemingly unaware that those were yet more eerily familiar sounding Words.
I turned my head and looked the Black Widow herself in the eyes. I smirked. “Challenge accepted.”
Her eyes widened just a fraction and I knew I scored a hit. And my internal Soulmate counter clicked up one more: 3/5.