Chapter Text
Brock Samson
Brock's mom never put stock in soulmate markings because her soulmate ditched her and their two sons after less than five years of marriage.
“It only means as much as each partner wants it to mean,” she never said it bitterly only practically. “It just meant you were compatible with a person.”
So whatever Brock didn't really care one way or another. Soulmates could only disappoint you if you believed in that hype.
His marking came in at eleven years old which was younger than some but not record breaking young or anything. It was on a weird place on his backside and wasn't worth caring about. The only reason he knew it was there because his brother saw it when they came back from the swimming hole that summer.
“Your soulmate's name is loooong,” his brother teased cheerfully. “I hope they have a nickname!”
He's almost curious enough to ask what that long name is, but before he can decide his brother announces that it's still too blurry to see clearly.
“There's a T, an S for the middle name, and a V for the last name! Maybe Theresa Sophia Vanderbilt? Tamara Sara-anne Vansloot? Tatiana-”
“I don't wanna think about it,” Brock ended the speculation then and there. “Look at mom and dad. It doesn't matter in the end what it says on your skin. You gotta make your own choices.”
When his mom found out she ruffled his hair and said, “I know you'll be happy no matter what.”
Which duh he would because the best way to be happy was to totally ignore soulmate bullshit and do what he wanted.
On occasion his dates asked him if he was looking for his soulmate, asked him if they should read out the name, asked him if he knew if it was a platonic soulmate or a romantic soulmate.
“Dunno, don't care. Let's go again,” was invariably the answer.
OSI was the only place where his marking mattered oddly enough.
“You've got to get it covered up with a tattoo or undergo a painful removal, buddy boy,” Colonel Gathers told him his first day on the job. “Not only does it reveal your identity it puts your soulmate in danger and gives your enemies an insane amount of leverage!”
“Do whatever, I never cared for that nonsense anyway.”
Gathers raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't challenge Brock's answer.
For OSI records the marking gets photographed, scanned, and put on microfiche. Brock never bothered to check it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Gathers had seen it.
Brock figured whoever had his name marking was probably doing okay since they didn't come looking for him. He hoped they were happy with their choices because he was certainly happy with his. If he didn't join the OSI he'd have never had twenty years of raising a family and finally having a home.
Leaving the compound hadn't been easy, but the boys were old enough to understand that there were ways he could better protect them from afar and Doc would be fine with whoever his replacement was. They didn't stop being family just because he wasn't living with them anymore.
“Why do you think you were chosen for Operation Rusty's Blanket?” Gathers asked him one night at S.P.H.I.N.X. headquarters when the rest of the squad was asleep or on patrol.
“Because I was best suited for the mission,” Brock shrugged and downed his shot. Why did Gathers think it was important to bring up now?
“You had unique qualifications. It strikes me that you may be unaware of what they were.”
“Meaning?”
“It's not often that an agent's soulmate comes under our protection,” Gathers poured them both another shot. “It kills two unwieldly birds with one secret agent stone, they get protected and their bodyguard will never be tempted to abandon their post or compromise their assignment. You can imagine the brass were thrilled that we had a Venture soulmate on the roster, first time in more than half a century.”
“Are you saying that Doc was my...?” The last twenty years clicked into place and for the first time Brock felt regret at leaving the Ventures.
“What you allergic to the word, Samson? He's your soulmate and you'd know that if you'd ever read your mark.” Was it his imagination or did Gathers actually look annoyed with him?
“Well it's not exactly in an easy to view place and I don't exactly buy into romance.” Two shots in quick succession now. They burn on their way down his throat, but Brock can't find it in him to care.
He didn't ask for proof because he knew that Gathers would provide any proof he cared to see. He didn't ask for proof because the memory his first day at university was still seared in his mind. At the time he dismissed the goosebumps and warmth in his chest for excitement at starting his new life.
“No one ever said anything about romance, Samson,” Gathers answered dryly.
“It doesn't matter now,” but Brock knew the words to be a lie the moment they left his mouth. Even though it didn't change much for him it probably felt an awful lot like rejection if Doc had his matching mark.
“That's the biggest load of bologna I've ever heard, Samson, and I lived through the Reagan years!”
If he snuck back into the compound that night to smoke in the living room no one had to know. And if he sat outside Doc's bedroom door for an hour listening to his family sleeping it was no one's business. Even Hatred did give him a dirty look when he got up to go to the bathroom.