Just because the red room didn't allow soul marks didn't mean that the girls never received them. No, these psychopaths would even erase fates small inking upon the girls. Delicate little surgeries would cut or burn away the first object their Soul mate would ever give them. Dark black imprints of lips marked a few, one a cocktail glass, another a briefcase. Before the guards would discover the appearance of a mark the girls would speculate who or what the new embellishment could mean. Though of all the wild interpretations the girls could give there was one they could not explain. Natalia Romanova’s broken arrow seated proudly below her collar bones. She could not hide it and so it went, cleansed away from their perfect weapon.
She would not forget however even if the ideas of love and soul mates became nothing more to her than the imaginings of a child. Marks were just marks, and soul marks were at their most mystical the doodles of a bored deity who had since discarded her.
That was at least until Budapest. When a vicious fight with a sworn enemy had left her wounded and ready for an afterlife she didn’t believe in it. Too many deaths, too much red in that week alone that she had bled just to join them. He'd taken out his one remaining arrow and snapped it hard crack echoing in the alley like a gunshot. It had fractured splinters rising from the break and he'd pushed the pieces towards her hard.
"I’m gonna give law enforcement a break for once, morgues probably full." He says voice low but as pointed as the arrow tip that was now scraping Natalia’s finger "So there’s going to be no more innocent deaths. You broke this in the struggle. Now - oops - I gotta bring you in" he kneels down offering her out an open hand. "S.H.I.E.L.D. needs assets like you. What a waste of talent if you were to end up dead now huh Red?"
It’s out of curiosity more than fear that Natalia takes her soulmate's hand. He smiles before grabbing the second hand and placing her roughly in cuffs. She'd never hated anyone more in that moment.
It took 16 more months for Natasha to realize that the broken arrow was not a reason for hate even if it had left her with a still-beating heart and an overthinking mind. Nor was it the chat-up line of a serial killer or a sick statement of pity. It was a second chance. The punctuation mark separating her two separate stories. Her ticket to scrubbing the red from her ledger. But Clint Barton’s calling card no longer marked her body and as they grew closer, she silently mourned its loss in between the stolen glances at the man she knew to be her soulmate.
It took longer then for Natalia, or Natasha as she was now, to see the archers mark a slim hand reaching out low on his shoulder blade. She'd challenged him on it and he'd beamed smile open and warm and awaking in her something alive and fluttering.
"Her name is Bobbi." He'd said stupid smile only growing wider. Oh, that had killed it. "met her 4 months ago. Her mark is an umbrella. Left it behind at a bar, she says she’s always doing stuff like that. Went to hand it to her and we hit it off-" Natasha nods along mirroring his smile face gritting her teeth hard to cage the words she wished she could prove.
That should have been the end of it. It really should, but he had to go and ask the question she'd hoped to spend a life time avoiding "do you have a mark Tasha? Anyone special?"
Natasha shook her head, No. It was more complicated than that.
"Would you like one?" Clint asks blue eyes scanning her face.
Natasha considers his question. Was he asking to give her one? To kiss and nip a swollen purple mark into life on her neck, she feels her breathing shudder, mouth-drying in anticipation.
"Yes" Natasha whispers and it’s the first time she's told the truth all day. She wants to be his as surely as he bears her own mark to hope his lips on her skin can paint the mark back in place. Destroying Bobbi’s claim to her partner.
“Well, I hope you find them” Clint replies softly slicing the tension between them.
She spots the necklace by chance really, tailing a suspect through a mall as part of a money laundering case that could be boring if it didn't involve more sex, drugs and violence than your average tabloid newspaper. It’s on offer, end of stock clearance. Nothing flashy just simple silver on a fine chain. She needs an excuse to stay and observe, so she allows herself a moment of whimsy and tries it on. One look at the way it nestles over the faint sheen of a scar only she can tell is there and she's brought it. Clutching on to the bag the cashier gives her for dear life. Holding the reminder of a life she couldn’t have but a gift she couldn't be more grateful for.