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"All right, class." Darcy tapped the chart on the board with her pointer. "Who here knows how soulmarks work?"
Every right hand of the science fraternity/sorority of the Avengers Tower hit the air. Darcy was almost proud of Jane. Jane's interest in astrophysics so outweighed personal relations, that it had taken her until after the wreckage of both New York and London to get around to asking Thor how that worked on Asgard. While Tony and Bruce could be counted on to keep up with soulmark theory, Darcy's personal science girl could not.
Resident spysassin #1, aka Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow, flicked an eyebrow in deliberate insult for the chosen topic. Resident spysassin #2, aka Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, crossed his arms and slouched in his seat in the unmistakable body language of those present under protest everywhere. Steve Rogers politely consulted the provided paperwork.
Catch more flies with honey… Darcy refrained from grinding her teeth and shot a sweet smile Natasha's way while calling on Tony to give them the lowdown on soulmark location.
"Well, that all depends, Darce, my love."
She liked calling on Tony. He was actually kind of fun to listen to.
Tony checked off soulmark locations on his fingers. "See, if it's over the heart, you're probably an amazing fit from a romantic perspective. Matching marks on your dominant arms turn into excellent partnerships. Matching marks on non-dominant arms are best friends for life. Matching marks on your feet mean way too similar to get along on a regular basis, but you are your own support group. For example—"
Darcy made a cutting motion. "Let's not give examples just yet."
Tony shrugged. "And of course, if the marks match on different parts of the body, science hasn't the foggiest idea what to do with that and anecdotal evidence is inconclusive."
So far, so safe.
"So the summation of the matter," Darcy began, "is that soulmarks offer an 80 or more percent chance of finding your perfect match."
"Eighty-eight percent… actually." Bruce caught himself and hesitated on the last word but left it out there with a shrug.
"And the rest accounts for people that never meet," Jane chimed in, "or are born decades apart, or—"
"—are absolute, godforsaken jerks," Darcy interjected, "who don't deserve to live."
Clint's eyebrows came up, and his whole face went from 'Get me out of here' to 'Color me curious' in the space of a half-second. Natasha's expression, of course, showed no sign at all of changing.
Darcy 'ahem'ed and moved right along. "And we've all established that we are not any of us godforsaken jerks who don't deserve to live," she pointed out quickly, "so that's why I called this team intervention because we're all good people here or trying to be or at least doing good things and/or saving good people—"
Tony mimed a breathing motion.
She flipped him off. "So. Resident spysassins."
For two people who just tensed up like a gun was pointed at them, they sure didn't look it unless you'd known them and lived with them for the last ten months.
"The UST, and you better both know what that is because I'm not about to explain it," Darcy growled, "is becoming unbearable. Please accept that you are born and made for each other or stop subjecting us to the mutual pining."
Clint looked taken aback. Natasha's poker face was impenetrable.
"And we all agreed, including Steve, that no one here was brave enough to say anything,"—she paused to glare at Thor, who cheerfully agreed, which was of course, no help at all—"so I volunteered."
She pulled down her chart and handed it to Natasha, who accepted it coolly.
Darcy backed up while the backing up was good and smiled as if she weren't hoping she hadn't just ruined her fledgling friendship with said spysassins. "All right. We're done here. Everybody dismissed."
Clint and Natasha cleared out last. That might have been due to the rapid flight of not brave teammates, shown up by an intern with a taser.
Clint had leveled his gaze at Natasha, who was studiously not looking at him. She was looking at the chart as if it held even the remotest level of interest.
"You have a mark over your heart," he opened with.
Natasha sighed and tugged on her own hair in frustration. "Barton. Did you never look at my back when we were changing?"
"It's called privacy," he growled out.
"It's called something," she snapped back. "I asked you about that mark the first week."
"You asked if I wanted to sleep with you!" he protested.
"And you said you didn't. I assumed—"
"You assumed wrong."
They stared at each other.
Natasha stood up slowly and passed him the chart. "I have a mark over my heart on my back. It looks remarkably like yours. Would you like to inspect it?"
After a moment, Clint stood up with her, hand sliding up over her shirt. "Yeah."