Clint grew up hearing about soulmates all around him; everyone had one true love, their soulmates. It was said that soulmates could recognize each other at the first eye contact. No one had been able to identify the feeling even today, of how one managed to recognize their fated other.
When Clint took out his enemies, marks he made sure to look them in the eye. Clint had vowed to himself he would never hurt his soulmate; no matter who they were or for whom they worked for; they would always come first.
Clint ran across the rooftop, that blasted Suit right on his trail; was it the CIA or had he pissed of the MI6 now, he thought.
Clint made his way towards the edge only to find more agents swarming the alley, he furiously looked at his surroundings. His best bet was to taking the hot Suit out of the equation.
Determined Clint lifted his bow and notched an arrow facing the Suit he said, “Let me go and no one gets hurt”
The Suit rolled his eyes but did not lower his shot gun, he lifted his eyes and— Clint’s mind exploded with a warmth he could not place, a feeling he could not understand—oh ohh,
his,
his soulmate.
Clint lowered his bow and fell to his knees, he was not going to run, not from his soulmate, never from his soulmate even when his soulmate wanted him dead.
It was poetic Clint thought, his death on the hands of the one person Clint would never harm. The one person he was to love, who could love him. Clint did not deserve to be loved; he was unworthy of his soulmate. Clint closed his eyes, he hoped that his soulmate would remember his after his death. He accepted it, he had never felt such a calm wash over him in the nineteen years of his life.
Clint felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand lifting up his chin.
“Open your eyes Hawkeye”, said the Suit softly, gently caressing his cheek. “All teams abort”, he said on his comms.
Clint opened his eyes to look at his soulmate, confused, “Why didn’t you kill me?”, he asked.
The Suit let out a choked sound, “Because you are my soulmate, my soulmate”
Clint was shocked, his soulmate did not kill him, he wanted him, they wanted Clint.
He melted in his soulmate’s embrace, warmth spreading through his chest.
“Clint, my name is Clint”, he said, face still buried into his soulmate’s chest.
“Phil”, whispered his soulmate.
Phil, Clint thought, it was perfect. Phil was perfect, his soulmate. He found Phil, would never let go.
He found his soulmate.
His soulmate wanted him.
He found Phil.
Phil.