Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vignette One

Born this miraculous way

Not everyone had a soulmate. When Steve was born, his mother cried bittersweet tears at the sight of the black and grey ink marking her sickly little baby’s back, because the chances of him ever meeting the woman—or man; Sarah had always been a progressive sort—were slim. No father, a single mother, living in one of the poorest parts of the most expensive cities in America, and day after day proving to her that he may not even make it to his first birthday, let alone the day he met his soul’s match. The one who could love him just as much, albeit in a different way, as Sarah Rogers did.

Even without the deck being stacked so firmly against him, even if he grew to a strapping and healthy young man… fewer than half of the world had a mark and half of those would never meet. The Great War, the War to End All Wars, which had stolen her husband from her when she was a bare seven months pregnant, had led to her baby’s premature and sickly birth into a pandemic- and poverty-stricken world. She had hoped the War was skewing the statistics kept by the government. She lit a candle every Sunday with a prayer on her lips and in her heart—that more soulmates would be born and even more would be able to meet. That more soulmates would find happiness together, and their chances really weren’t as bad as everyone was saying (less than 10% anymore, and falling fast). That her little Steve, the child of her body, heart, and soul, would find someone who could love him for exactly who he was.

The mark splayed across his back gave her hope.

A bird—not just a bird; a phoenix—with wings spread between licks of fire and fierce possessiveness and protectiveness clearly visible in the black and grey glint of its sharp, hawkish eyes. Even without colors, it somehow still appeared brilliant and vibrant.

Rebirth. Mythological strength. Protection and honor and a keen sense of right and wrong.

Sarah smiled, stroking the mark and welcoming it, them, whoever they were, into the family, and felt hope. Hope for the future, no matter the struggles she knew her boy would face as he grew older.

She only prayed he met his mate before the world set out to destroy her only child. She knew that he would not have an easy life, especially once she was gone.

Already she knew she could not, would not, be there forever, and so she set out to make sure he was ready to face the world with the right tools, the right lessons, and the spirit of right and wrong and fighting for justice that had so enamoured her of Joseph. A man who was not her soulmate, but who may as well have been.

She gently kissed Steve on the forehead, stroked the phoenix’s feathers, and lay him on his back in the crib immediately beside her small, lonely bed.

Every day, week, and year thereafter, she taught him to fight. She taught him what to look for in friends who might become enemies, or strangers who might become allies, perhaps even best friends. Perhaps even more.

So while she was somewhat disappointed at the lack of a soul match between her Steve and his new friend James “call me Bucky, ma’am” Barnes from down the row, she was pleased as apple pie in every other way. She could already tell that boy would be good for her Steve.

He would protect him when his dying mother could not.

He would protect him when his soulmate could not.

He could possibly be the one who would bring her boy, all grown up, to the doorstep of the man or woman with the heart of a phoenix.

The only one, besides Bucky’s the cool and calculating spider of his own soulmate wrapping webs of logic around her boy, who could protect her little Stevie.

Vignette Two

Three unforgettable things

Steve has known who his soulmate is from the very first moment he met her.

Well… somewhat. He didn’t know what she looked like, didn’t know what she smelled like beneath the metal and oil and hot electricity of her suit. He didn’t know her name, how old she was, so many things… but he did know two things. Okay, perhaps three.

One. The eyes that showed through her helmet’s eye slits when the protection was retracted were the color of the sun shining on the Arctic Ocean when he had made his final descent.

Two. The phoenix on his back, which had roared to life, movement, and color the moment their eyes met that first day, was now disquietingly silent and nearly completely still.

Which probably had to do with the third thing he knew about her: For many reasons, all of which were valid even if Steve thought they could be worked around, she didn’t want a relationship with a soulmate. Any soulmate. Anyone, really.

So they made do.

Vignette Three

Overly protective everyone, a.k.a. where does Tasha even find these people??

According to Jan and Logan—of all people, he was a notorious gossip and one of the things Steve still remembered vividly from the Front in World War II—Natasha Stark had gone a little paranoid after she and her bodyguard, Iron Man, of course, had been attacked in Afghanistan and held for three weeks. Both had almost died. Both had required extensive surgery. Both still bore their injuries even after all the inventions and health initiatives Stark had thrown money at…

And then, of all things, she’d released the patents to the public on a sliding scale. Words were all well and good, but he’d learned—especially with Howard—that you had to back up those words if you could call yourself honorable. Howard had… not. He was pleased to see his daughter had not come even close to what Steve had expected of her.

[…]

Steve had learned plenty about both rather early, and yet here he was, watching a movie with Stark and Stark alone, Tasha practically using him as a mattress. It was rather… endearing, in fact. (“Helen and Bruce said bed rest but this is the closest I can get to enforcing that without sitting on you IN your bed, so yeah.”) Steve had dutifully stayed exactly where he was on the couch—shoving aside some rather alarming thoughts for his soulmate’s best friend—and not bothering to tell the woman who had come to be his best friend in this century that the serum had already gotten rid of all his own aches and pains, and instead watched her carefully as she navigated the tile floor with ease with her slight limp and cane.

He was always more worried about Tasha Stark than he was for himself, and he’d had to swear to Natalia, Jan, Jess, Jennifer, Carol, and even Karen Page and her ridiculously scary boyfriend Frank Castle—who had, with so many guns even Logan had been impressed when he’d heard about it later—made a special trip out just for the women’s ambush… that it had nothing to do with misogyny and more that he wished he could wave a wand and make all her hurts and aches and pains and improperly healed everythinggo away. Just like that.

Same way he wanted to take away Iron Man’s pain. He could tell not everything was right with her (well, and the fact he knew she’d been in Afghanistan right there with her boss) but a multi-million…. In all likelihood a multi-billion dollar suit could surely hide more than just a plump midriff, as his ma used to say. Not the exact words, but the intent was there and also completely accurate.

He’d taken to watching his soulmate closely after each battle, never losing track of her before they reached the mansion on 5th Avenue, trying his best not to be overbearing, and always gave her the option of getting Natasha, Jan, Karen occasionally, sometimes Natalia, or even himself to look her over for injuries, since she refused to step foot in the medical offices in the basement. Ever.

He wasn’t quite sure what the story there was, but usually she chose Ms. Stark. Not an expert, but competent despite her own physical disabilities. No need for physical strength to force Iron Man to be seen to, not when a glare and a flash of Peggy-like words would do. But the last time there’d been no one but him, and he’d refused to let his rule go even just once. Every member of the team’s health was high priority, no matter what—with some privacy taken into account as was only proper.

But holy christ on a cracker, touching the skin of your soulmate, seeing what she would allow him to of herself as he treated the slash down the full length of her bicep—she wore nothing but a black and silver undersuit shoved to her hips, her usually inscrutable helmet, and the center of her chest plate, baring the rest of her to his gaze if he so wished to look—was the sweetest, most exquisite, and most diabolical torture devised for man. Or woman, he could tell, as she scrunched her eyes shut and reached up instinctively with one bare hand to rub at part of her own soulmark.

The one they never spoke of. The one Steve could only just keep his eyes away from. She wasn’t his—she had made that clear. And marks, especially living ones, touched by the proximity of their soulmate, and especially the marks of those who’d rejected their partner… they were taboo to touch; to look upon. Not without invitation.

Vignette Four

Tasha and her (dis)abilities

This woman standing before him now, hair blowing in the strong breeze 1,100 feet in the air and yet unafraid of the mere feet separating her from a deadly fall, couldn’t be more different while still retaining the core element of who she had once been.

Bright and intelligent, nearly electric blue eyes crinkled minutely as she glanced at him once, head to toe and back again, before looking back out on the swiftly approaching dusk over New York City—the city, much like this woman, which had both changed and not changed over the decades. It gave him the opportunity to look his fill without feeling like a creep; her look had been subtly aloof but also inviting, expecting him to take her in in return. It was a look Bucky had taught him to watch for, and one Peggy had cast upon him many a time.

Ah, Peggy. He recognized her in Natasha Stark. The way she stood, shoulders back and spine straight, feet set slightly apart despite the elegant silver cane held loosely in her left hand that was providing a modicum of stability.

He wasn’t sure of the exact extent of the injuries she’d sustained during her three month stay with her captors and torturers, nor what she’d damaged in her mostly-redacted escape from—and extermination of—the Ten Rings camp in the Afghan highlands. But based on his experience in the world war, and his training as a secondary team medic after one mission proved its necessity, she had likely had her tendons, ligaments, muscles, and fascia severed somewhere in the vicinity of her thigh or knee, probably in the initial attack on her convoy or in the early days of her torture… none of which had healed properly, and none of which even all the money in the world could fully fix. Thinking back on the sound of her gait as she’d approached him from behind, according to articles he’d been catching up on about field medicine, she had likely gone through surgery to re-sever and lengthen the soft tissue—a highly painful surgery even in 2008, he imagined—and then gone through months of agonizing rehabilitative therapy. Even with her genius mind backing the newly-launched prosthetic and medical divisions of Stark Industries, there was only so much and so quickly she could heal.

But, well… he imagined she likely had a few tricks up her sleeve—or crisp, dark grey pant leg, in this case—especially once he noticed the technology she was wearing on both hands, now lightly twirling her cane in the air before her as if she had not a care in the world. Still staring out the window at the lengthening shadows, still inviting him to look.

All ten of her fingers and thumbs sported a silver ring with a softly glowing blue center reminding him of the arc reactor powering Iron Man’s suit—ten rings; hah, he could almost guarantee she had done so on purpose, out of spite, to turn pain into beauty and, likely, knowing her—even the little he knew so far—utility. The same as the arc reactor he knew was embedded deeply, and likely painfully, into Natasha Stark’s sternum, pressed between her lungs and beside her heart, keeping the shrapnel from killing her—the awe at her courage, ingenuity, and stubborn refusal to die despite all odds nearly choked him with tears, but he blinked them swiftly away, wondering where the emotion had come from, for someone he barely knew and yet… and yet felt like he knew too well, somehow.

As the darkness finally started to reach the Tower, her arc reactor shone from between the red and dark grey lapels of her designer jacket and glinted almost ethereally off of the wide rectangular silver glasses she was peering at him through—another item that was likely far more than a simple visual aid—and her blue eyes practically glowed as she turned to look fully at him.

It felt like hours had passed even though his internal clock knew full well that nothing more than three minutes had passed, and in surprisingly comfortable silence at that. She smiled that genuine, but sad, smile again, and lifted her left hand to brush a braid back from off of her face and back behind her ear. Only then did he realize that the thick braid was completely, naturally, white, from the root at her right temple all the way down to its tip, standing out in severe contrast against the deep black hair that flowed untamed almost all the way down her back. The braid blended easily into the rest of her hair, despite being as bright as day compared to the night of her hair.

Vignette Five

Hope’s still a thing that  exists?

The first inkling he had as to the identity of his soulmate was something Natalia had told him.

He’d known Bucky had survived, knew some of his past, had even spent time with him and Natalia before meeting the rest of the Avengers. Sorrow and joy warred within him but in some ways, the other man’s absence on missions had been helping him deal with the mere idea that Bucky was here, with him, and alive. Even if not an Avenger or living with him like the good ‘ole (but also rather awful) days.

He hadn’t, however, known that Bucky and Natalia were soulmates.

“I was too well-trained to say anything when we first met him, as a trainer at the Red Room on loan. I didn’t even know for sure, but asking would have spelled both our dooms. None of us were supposed to ‘have’ soulmates, and if we did…” She looked away briefly then met his eyes again as she pushed her hair from out of her vision. “It took years, but we were both alive for it. We hadn’t been ready to even say anything, let alone do anything about it before. I think… I think perhaps Iron Man may feel unsafe giving her identity—not just to the public, but to us as well, for perhaps the reasons Bucky and I never did for years. Fear, worry about not being good enough, being a danger to her partner—yes, even you, Mr. Captain America, sir.” The last was added with only a sardonic twist of her lips. She looked like she was about to say more, but settled back into her paperwork with a prim little look directed at him, already having said way more than he’d heard from her in his time here.

Of course, he couldn’t focus on his paperwork, instead making a mental list of reasons why Iron Man wouldn’t reveal herself even to her own soulmate.

He kept coming around to the two strongest arguments, made by Natalia herself.

Fear of rejection, for not being good enough for Captain America.

And having enemies powerful enough she feared for his safety if her identity and soulmate were to be revealed with even a simple careless word.

It… certainly narrowed things down, but the person he most strongly suspected… he couldn’t lose her friendship.

He would take what he could get.

Her reasons were her own.

And yet… it wasn’t like he really knew it was her, right?

Right.

But this was Steve Rogers—he may not be the lost patient, but if it meant getting answers, he could bide his time. He could do this, treat her, right.

She deserved everything the world had taken from her, purposefully or due to the circumstances of her birth or station. If that meant life with him… or without him— at least he would know. At least he would have tried.

Vignette Six

Smoooooooth…

The very first time Cap met Iron Man, he knew that the back-talking, sassy, contrary, infuriating, and infuriatingly intelligent woman was his soulmate. There was no mistaking the way the phoenix—which had lain dormant and slightly cool for decades both out of and in the ice—came blazing to life, colours undoubtedly flaring brilliantly from their former greyscale, the mark-beast flowing over his back in what could only be described as contentment when the lady shot a beam of light off of his shield and into a group of robotic… things… as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He was nearly breathless with the feeling of the mark coming to life and, between that and the waves and waves of enemy forces taking up all of his attention, he’d had no time for words other than to do with the battle. Just his second mission out of the ice, though this time at least the full complement of Avengers and their ragtag group of allies were all there.

And then—then!—with a salute and a crisp “Cap,” she was gone, shooting up into the sky and aiming for the unmistakable silhouette of Avengers Tower.

Nothing about the life changing thing which had just occurred for them both.

[…]

Natasha Stark’s entire world had been upended, and so she’d done what she always did best when faced with feelings and thoughts about things she’d long since buried and forgotten about: she hid in her workshop.

It’d been four days since she’d felt the lion start pacing across her shoulders and back. Four days since she’d flown straight into her workshop and locked it down, sending out some dumb notice to the Avengers roster about “Iron Man needing repairs” so they wouldn’t call on her or on Iron Man herself.

Not a one of them knew she was both the Merchant of Death, Tasha Stark, and the heroic Iron Man.

Not even Steven Grant Rogers, Captain goddamn America, and her fucking soulmate, apparently.

Natasha Stark, though? She was a wreck, to put it bluntly.

She had no clue what to do about Steve Rogers, the man the rest of the Avengers had found in the Arctic a month ago and whom she’d studiously been avoiding meeting—daddy issues died hard deaths, even for superhero geniuses, apparently—until she’d been called in as backup. Well, Iron Man had been.

And now she saw the error of her ways in hiding for so long, because surely he knew that Iron Man was his soulmate just as she knew he was hers, but she’d put him off for almost a week now and with each passing minute their first encounter would be so fucking awkward.

So… yep. She went full coward, ‘sent Iron Man off with Pepper for guard duty’, then—only just realizing she was absolutely engine-filthy—wandered up to make her introductions to her soulmate.

Without letting him know she was his soulmate, and he hers.

Goddamn it; she hadn’t thought this far ahead when going for the secret identity thing but it was too late to go back on that now. Sure, her image had been refined, renewed, reformed, reinvigorated… but she was still Tasha Stark, dirty heiress extraordinaire, and pretty much the antithesis of everything Captain America was.

But Steve Rogers…

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you Miss Stark,” he greeted her with a smile so genuine Tasha’s own teeth ached to be able to smile like that again. He didn’t even think it horrible of her for not shaking his hand, and she probably had Jan or Thor to thank for that one; letting him know ahead of time she didn’t like to be touched.

Tasha blinked, then blinked again, before giving him a small, but still real, smile in return and joking, as she almost always did to see how they’d react, “And here I thought you’d stay far away from me after reading my file.” She threw in a little flirty wink and then hurried to guard her eyes as the lion on her back started to practically rumble with ease and contentment.

She did not miss the way Steve’s hand flew up to his neck, almost soothing something away before crossing his arms as he resumed his very comfortable spot on the couch.

Vignette Seven

Philanthropy and cuddles, a.k.a. The Couch Art, or, If I had a million dollars.

“Now that you’ve been around a few weeks, and have practically devoured my back catalog of newspapers and history books and all sorts of other nefarious internet articles… if you had all the money in the world, or say… all of my money, with no restrictions or strings attached… what, other than cleaning up after the Chitauri or buying things for yourself and the rest of the Avengers, would you spend it on? ”

Steve breathed deep, and thought. He let a comfortable silence—something so common between them now, he barely even marveled at it anymore—fall between them as he thought, letting the low hum of the television fall into the background of his senses, even as his hearing was trained, as always, as if reflexively, to the hum of Natasha’s arc reactor and the steady, even beat of her heart beneath it.

There were so many things he’d wished he could fix over the years, before and after his change with the serum, so many things he’d prayed for endlessly, frustrated that he couldn’t fix the same way he could ‘fix’ an enemy with a toss of his shield.

“Hm, it doesn’t need to be just one thing, darling,” she said in a teasing tone, as if reading his mind. She adjusted herself on the couch until her back was against the armrest and its spectacularly comfy pillow, and Steve automatically lifted her feet into his lap, as if he’d done it a million times instead of this being the very first time she’d ever done this to him. Not that he minded, oh Lord no, but he thought maybe he was supposed to mind, then thought again that this was just the way Natasha was with those she called friends—he’d seen her cuddle with Pepper and Rhodey and Natalia often enough to know—and felt his heart swell at the idea that he was on his way to being called friend to this amazing woman. He didn’t need more, even if sometimes he dreamed of her more than his soulmate, Iron Man—whom he still didn’t know the identity of and was struggling with what to call her, how to feel about her—and friend… a very select and honored group? That was good, that was okay with him.

“When I was a kid,” Natasha interrupted his spiralling thoughts, which had drifted quickly away from the original question—one he wasn’t sure was entirely theoretical, knowing her as much as he did so far, so he had to be careful with what he said— “I used all of my patent money, since I couldn’t get away with spending a dime of the family money without an ounce of accounting for where every last cent went, and believe me, Howard was not of a particularly charitable bent. Sorry,” she said with a grimace, but Steve waved her off; they’d already had the talk about her father, and her father’s and his relationship, which was a lot more non-existent than Howard had led Natasha, his wife, and pretty much everyone else to believe.

He waved her off, gesturing for her to continue, but when his hand settled back into his lap, it landed on her knee. The bad knee, by how she tensed. He went to lift it off quickly, but she shoved her knee into his hand, giving him a rather… odd look as she did it. Steve, gently and slowly, pushed the knee back down and started to slowly rub along the tight muscles and scarred tendons and ligaments. With a groan, Natasha’s head fell back against the cushion, her loose hair mussed against the pillow and flowing over the sides. With her eyes closed, Steve could look his fill, and he did so with wide eyes, drinking her in, breaths speeding up just enough that he was worried even she would notice. He needed to get her talking again, not making delicious noises which threatened to send him into full hardness that he wouldn’t be able to hide, rather than the semi-hardness he was already at. Geez, it was like he was a green boy again.

“What did you do with the patent money, Tasha?” he asked, voice a little rough—but hopefully she would just mistake the roughness for his nervousness at trying out the nickname only his friends called her by. Testing the waters.

A little flicker of a smile crossed her lips but she said nothing; didn’t tell him not to call her that, as he’d seen her do with at least two people in the streets before now. Her eyes still closed, she let out a contented sigh, snuggled down just a little bit more towards him, and picked up her train of thought. “I bought all the shelter animals in mine and the surrounding six counties, paid for their upkeep at the shelter until I could find them homes, and within three months I’d helped rehome more than six thousand dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, bunnies, you name it. I think there was even a donkey named Earl that—and this was the best part—took a liking to my school’s headmaster, whom I’d sort of… bullied down to the shelter to adopt. Earl’s still at that school, still with the headmaster, and now loved and looked after in his dotage by a bunch of rich, privileged brats, and the headmaster uses Earl and my sneaky philanthropy as a lesson. Kids can even get extra credit for charity work, though I’m really not sure how I feel about the various animals named after me now.” She grimaced slightly, eyes still closed, but there was no tension in Natasha’s body and even he could tell she really wasn’t bothered by the idea of it.

Steve hadn’t realized a smile—a smitten, ridiculous, and brimming smile, thank God they were alone—had spread full across his cheeks until he spoke up, saying, “That was a swell thing you did, Tasha. I would… I always wanted a pet. Always wanted to rescue the birds and cats that Bu— that Bucky and I would find in the alleys, and sometimes I could spare an extra bit of bread or water, but it just wasn’t realistic for either of us to help in the ways that we wanted to.”

“You did what you could, and that’s more than some of the richest people in the world can say,” Tasha consoled softly. Not pity, but a blend of pride and consolation at the circumstances of what had been their lives, gently filled the silence he’d lapsed into. “So,” she continued, “that’s one for the list. Animal rescue. I still cover the counties from when I was younger, in upstate New York where the school was, but there’s plenty of other shelters in plenty of other places. Who knows, maybe we’ll come home with a dog of our own.

Steve’s fingers froze on her calf, and that caused Natasha to open her eyes and look at him, a little bit of confusion coloring her features and tone. “Not a dog person? Well, I’m not really a cat person, but maybe a bunny…” She smiled. “I’ve had plenty of bunny cuddles, and they’re so sweet.”

Steve was still staring at her, and instead of running and hiding, he braved his fear and spoke up, voice a little raspy. “You said we. That we could bring a dog home.”

Natasha tilted her head to the side a little, but otherwise didn’t move as her gaze darted all over his features, searching for what his expression meant. He didn’t even know what he meant, not really, but she seemed to settle back after a moment, having determined for herself what he was feeling. “Yeah, Winghead,” she replied finally, using Iron Man’s nickname for him. Apparently the both of them were trying out nicknames and testing boundaries today. “We. And this is your home, at least in my mind. It’s mine, too, and I hope that everyone else, that all the Avengers and the live-in staff and even those who commute here just for work, I hope that they can consider this home. But to us, to the Avengers, for you and I… this will be home even if any of you leave. The Tower, and me, will always be here for you, no matter what.” She blinked slowly at him, and then brushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ears in one of her few nervous tells.

“Thank you,” Steve said quickly, aiming to reassure her, but not without being choked up himself. “Thank you for giving me a home.” He didn’t, couldn’t, mention the others. This felt too… personal. “The people make it a home, but having a roof over my head, and a wonderful one at that, makes a big difference to someone like me. And… a dog… did you mean it? You and I…” He swallowed, but caught her eye. “We. You would be willing to get a dog? With me?”

Natasha didn’t seem to know what to say to that, to any of that, the text or the subtext or the context or any of it, but she nodded, eyes wide. Kept on nodding, a flush creeping up across the scars over her collarbone and neck, reaching the edges of her jaw before she looked away.

Steve had no clue what to do with any of that either, so he resumed, slowly and gently, almost reverently, with his massage of her bad leg. Even that, so new to them, seemed to have gained new meaning with just a few bare words. Important words, even if he didn’t know quite how; even if he couldn’t put words or meaning to exactly what had been said and not said.

“I think that’s it,” he finally spoke up. “A home. Everyone needs a home. If I had all the money in the world…” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, picking his words carefully even as he carefully moved his hands up to the muscles above her knee for the first time. With a slightly stuttered breath, he continued. “If I could, I would find a home for everyone; shelter. If not everyone, then at least the veterans. They’ve been abandoned by the people who promised to protect them, to care for them when they returned from wars fought on their orders, suffering injuries and loss for them and then being abandoned to this travesty of a veteran’s healthcare system—” His temper was flaring, his words getting louder, coming faster, even as his hands remained gentle.

“Done,” Natasha butted in gently, slowly sitting up so that she could press her fingers gently to his cheek, turning his head towards her and locking their gazes.

“Tasha,” he said, not daring to hope that he did understand exactly what she was saying with that one, single word.

“Homes for veterans,” she affirmed, sliding her feet from off his lap, which Steve nearly protested with a pitiful whine. But a moment later she tucked her head against his shoulder even as she dropped her hand from his cheek, so that was… okay. He was shocked, though. It would be impossible—

“It’ll take a lot of work. But we’ll start here in the city, then the state, get a hang for it, and make sure that all vets in all states know that we will be coming for them. That you will. Captain America.” She tilted her head up so she could look at him, even if it was slightly sideways, and smiled. “Your brainchild, your charity. But you won’t be alone,” she added swiftly, as if she could sense his growing, though somewhat mild, panic at the thought of doing something that was so far out of his league he wasn’t even sure he was playing the same sport.

“I told you. Genius. Billionaire. Ex-socialite, thank you very much… but most important of all: Philanthropist. I’ve had practice at this, and I think… I think this is an amazing cause to back, no matter the cost.”
Steve’s head was spinning, and he didn’t know what to say, so what he did instead was gather Natasha Stark into his arms, bury his face into the messy cloud of her hair, and inhale her beautiful citrus scent until his breathing calmed. It took time, but he knew he had it, somehow knew that Tasha wouldn’t mind him holding onto her as he thought of the enormity of it all, of the absolute gift she was giving him and millions of others… It took time, but eventually his mind had sort of wrapped around the idea—realizing, again, what an amazing woman this was he was holding in his arms. By then, darkness had started to fall, and JARVIS had long since turned off the television and put on his favorite music to listen to when he needed soothing—Ella Fitzgerald—but Natasha, his Tasha, was still in his arms, even if she were fast asleep. He couldn’t blame her. He’d probably zoned out for a fair bit, but she had issued not one word of complaint.

Steve gently lifted her up into his arms, placed her cane and flats softly on top of her so as not to wake her, and followed JARVIS’ quiet instructions as he turned down her blankets and placed her into her own bed upstairs, loosening but not removing her clothes, slipping off her socks, and placing her cane within easy reach in what he was told was its usual place. Finally, before he could stop himself, he brushed her hair from off her forehead and placed the softest, barest of kisses to the skin he’d uncovered.

He couldn’t help it, but Lord above, he was drawn to her like no other.

Vignette Eight

Learning not to trust, the hard way

Natasha Antonia Stark learned early to trust very few. It just so happened that the few people she did end up trusting were women, maybe the occasional man, but year after year she struck name after name off of her list of people to cut out of her life if at all possible. And if not, to protect herself at all costs.

Howard, her father? Well, she wasn’t a boy, so what use was she? He cared about her intellect, but only for what he could gain from it. She learned early to protect her most promising and aspirational and ground-breaking inventions, but gave her father just enough for him to find her of some use, after all.

Maria, her mother? Blamed little Natasha for her inability to have any more children, and for her uselessness to Howard as anything other than a trophy.

Obadiah Stane, her father’s business partner? The way he looked at her, even long before she hit puberty, made her skin crawl, and it wasn’t just because she could be useful to the company. There was more to it, even she knew, and took steps to protect herself, her mind, and especially her body from the predator who was somehow welcomed into her home by an inattentive—or uncaring—father.

Peggy Carter, though… she knew. She saw. She had been a part of Natasha’s life from the moment that Maria handed little Natasha off to her first nanny—one suspiciously good at teaching young girls self-defense… Peggy couldn’t be there for her at all times, but when she was they were the best days, weeks, and months of little Natasha’s life. She was the only child allowed at the S.S.R.—it took her father two years to realize his daughter had been to his secret facility, but Peggy just rolled her eyes at him and told him he only cared out of some stupid sense that children should only be seen, never heard, and especially not daughters.

He didn’t bring it up again.

But at the S.S.R., at SHIELD, and even at home, or on vacations to England with Peggy to visit the surviving members of the Howling Commandos, Natasha learned to fight. She learned to survive. And every last thing she was taught, she never forgot, and she continued to build on the knowledge over the decades that followed.

Because even as a child, she knew that the world would always want to take from her, and she could never afford to allow them.

Natasha’s only regret was that she couldn’t live with Peggy Carter forever. But she was a Stark, and she had her duties.

She would just have to be careful.

[…]

But, of course, Natasha Stark was human, and she trusted the wrong person. Once. But once was all it took.

At sixteen, nearly ready to graduate from M.I.T., she had fallen for the charms of Tiberius Stone. He was older, suave, intelligent, gorgeous, and just the right amount of flirty and naughty to pique Natasha’s burgeoning sexuality and sensuality. She knew he wasn’t her soulmate—her black and grey lion had been quiescent since birth, sprawled lazily and comfortably across the entirety of her back, when some people’s marks took up barely any space at all—but soulmates were still rare, and rarer still to find. She thought she might have a future with him, though hopefully not one that was like Howard and Maria’s soulless and heartless marriage of convenience.

She wasn’t them; she would never allow herself to become like them.

Tiberius had other plans.

She was seventeen when she caught him taking apart her first artificial intelligence, a bot she had taken to calling Dum-E. He knew exactly what he was doing, and knew exactly how she would react. Before she could react, before she could shout, he’d thrown a ball towards her, something she instinctively reached for with her hands.

A moment later she was unconscious, the paralytic in the ball having pierced the surface and injected itself into her bloodstream.

Never let it be said that Tiberius was not a genius in his own right.

Vignette Nine

So… Steve finds out, or: identity revealed!

“Natasha, I—” The words died on his lips as suddenly as they had started. Sitting on the edge of her workbench, back turned on Steve, was Natasha. Pepper was behind her, a metallic canister of what smelled like ointment open in one hand, but Steve took all of that in before immediately dismissing everything but Natasha.

His eyes weren’t focused only on Natasha—she held his attention constantly, day in and day out without even trying—but also on what was revealed on the skin of her back, what had started to move as soon as he entered the room, her sleeveless blouse, brassiere, and bright red jacket abandoned on the work surface beside her.

Natasha didn’t turn, but let out a long, slightly unsteady breath, and pulled Pepper down with one hand so she could kiss her lightly on the cheek and grab the ointment with her other, free hand.

Steve barely noticed Pepper taking her leave, but he nodded all the same when she whispered vehemently at him, “Don’t you dare hurt her. She’s been through enough to last twenty lifetimes and still she survives, but you—you have the capacity to hurt her so easily, and if you do it will be the last thing you do on god’s green earth. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve could only nod, wide-eyed, but he made sure to meet her gaze so that she could see the truth in them. In him. “I would rather die,” he swore, and after a moment of intense scrutiny, Pepper took her leave, the elevator doors closing behind him.

Natasha had yet to move, sitting still just as she had been when he’d barged into the middle of the rather intimate scene between friends. He took a few stuttering steps forward, and finally Natasha turned to look at him over her shoulder, eyes piercing and working perfectly well despite her glasses on the table beside her.

“Come here,” she offered quietly—and it was, indeed, an offer. He had the choice to turn back now, the choice to pretend he had never seen what was now indelibly branded into every part of his brain; there would be no escape.

But there could be understanding.

Steve made his decision and walked slowly, almost cat-like toward the woman who was drawing him in as if he were iron and she a magnet—though he was starting to realize that she was the one made of iron, and she had been all along. Natasha Stark. Iron Man. Hero. Genius. Philanthropist. And the woman he had fallen in love with; and now a love which was guilt-free.

Still he made no attempt to speak, taking the metal canister of ointment from her hands while his mind tried to tell him he felt sparks where their fingers brushed against each other.

Then, and only then, did he make a sound, and it was a sign of pain and anger and love and caring and empathy and compassion and wrath all mixed together, because there in front of him was his soulmate’s mark, nearly incomprehensible because of the heavy scarring criss-crossing the entire length and breadth of this beautiful, strong woman’s back.

Still, he didn’t speak. He had no words, at least none that would be worthy of the moment or free from hatred and anger and bitterness for whoever had done this to the woman he was falling in love with; the woman who was his soulmate, whether in or out of the amazing piece of machinery and ingenuity that was her suit.

So he said nothing, and let his fingers say what he couldn’t quite piece together in words just yet.

[[ … ]]

“Who?”

She didn’t ask him for clarification.

“A man I once dated. Our fathers thought the soulmate thing was nonsense and that uniting or business empires would make us the most powerful family in the world. It started off fine at first. He was perfect. Everything a woman could want. Said he didn’t care about soulmates but… it started to bother him more and more. One day…. well, he tried to steal some of my tech and I found him, he threw something at me, and the next day I woke up tied to the bed. He waited until I was fully awake before he began to… to…”

She couldn’t finish, but didn’t need to. Steve’s imagination was vivid enough, and he had the proof, the scars, before his very eyes and under his fingertips. Their sensitive ridges picked up every bump and jagged edge, every ridge, pit, and valley. Every line cut into the graceful arches and curves of her still absolutely perfect back. Scars or no scars, she was something to behold. Something to hold.

Natasha leaned into his touch, humming softly, contentedly as she continued her tale. “He held me for weeks, he was just smart enough to outthink me in my unprepared state, but when I got out… needless to say, Rhodey and I spent the better part of the next two years completely ruining his empire. Tried to get the courts to arrest him, but despite us both being rich and important, he was a man. He fled to Europe and has been there for the last fifteen, almost twenty years. Ruined, still, and living off the grace of old family friends who barely tolerate him, and not a woman or man who’ll touch him once we made sure the world knew what he did. Quietly. But when told to the right people, quiet can take on a power of its own.”

Fin. 

Chapter Text

Notes I left for my betas: (and myself)

Basics:

• Secret Identity/Identity Porn on Iron Man’s part
• Blend of 3490 with MCU as I’m most familiar with MCU, but Tony is Natasha Stark—Tasha—rather than Antonia/Toni. Blending some vague comic elements I’m aware of, together with MCU.
• Soulmate AU— animal marks that represent their partner which are monochrome and still, unmoving, until they meet/touch one another, and then the mark gains colour and it makes different sorts of movements depending on its wearer’s moods. There is always a chance that a person can miss the ‘activation’ of their soulmark, and thus miss out on knowing who their soulmate is. Or, in Steve’s case, he thinks it’s Iron Man (who he does know is a woman), but not Tasha.
• Yet in a reversal of a lot of ID Porn fics I’ve read, I’m going with the ‘Iron Man avoids Steve whereas their benefactor, Natasha Stark, becomes best friends with Steve and the other Avengers’ kinda thing. 
• Paragraphs surrounded by [[ … ]] are ideas/thoughts/stream of consciousness that mostly fit into that spot in the story but I haven’t put into actual narrative format for whatever reason (like it’s just an idea, or something I’m only half sure about, or an old note that I want to save but don’t have a better spot to put it at that moment. Sometimes they contain half-written snippets or dialogue when too busy or lazy or not feeling well enough to spend the time to write out the idea fully and properly; a placeholder.
• So… yep, this is what I have so far. It’s a touch of a mess, but there should be enough of a narrative line that you should have some idea of what you’re looking at/for. Any ideas are welcome right off the bat, but am more than willing to wait to chat it over with you at a later time and even just slightly more directly.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Forget past scenes and backfill instead. I’m thinking the first scene should be Cap and IM meeting, then Steve and Tasha meeting. Show the disparity of their relationships right from the start. 

OR

Maybe start it a couple years or even one year down the line. 

Team (maybe Steve needs it spelled out for him) starts to wonder if the two are the same person but it bothers none of them. Instead they’re worried they’re not trustworthy enough. No anger though. 

So when the reveal happens, no one is surprised, Steve and Tasha have their talk and kiss, and then the whole team comes out to drag them in and party for a whole bunch of good reasons, letting Tasha know she IS good enough to be a hero. 

Make the fic more about them noticing the differences, not commenting, and not caring; letting her get there in her own time just as they did. 

Steve has known who his soulmate is from the very first moment he met her. 

Well… somewhat. He didn’t know what she looked like, didn’t know what she smelled like beneath the metal and oil and hot electricity of her suit. He didn’t know her name, how old she was, so many things… but he did know two things. Okay, perhaps three.

One. The eyes that showed through her helmet’s eye slits when the protection was retracted were the color of the sun shining on the Arctic Ocean as he made his final descent. 

Two. The phoenix on his back, which had roared to life the moment their eyes met that first day, was now disquietingly silent and nearly completely still. 

Which probably had to do with the third thing he knew about her: For many reasons, all of which were valid but Steve thought could be worked around, she didn’t want a relationship with a soulmate. 

So they made do. 

After the first initial months of awkwardness where it seemed like every single Avenger and Associate and even the twice-damned villains knew they were soulmates, they’d come to an impasse to, honestly, save themselves some embarrassment. They tried to be friends, and to everyone’s, including their, surprise, it seemed to work. Quite swimmingly, in fact. They were truly, honestly friends; one of the first he could claim as such after the Howlies. They did everything together, to the point where people just assumed he knew Iron Man’s identity—for Pete’s sake, yesterday had been the ninth time someone had tried kidnapping him to get that information, only to get beat up when he laughed in their faces rather hysterically, and then they got their own faces beaten in, bodies trussed up, and dumped at the nearest precinct that dealt with the Avengers, because apparently Ms. Stark had installed a whole redundancy’s worth of redundant trackers in everyone’s suits. 

According to Jan and Logan—of all people, he was a notorious gossip and something he still remembered vividly from the Front in World War II—Natasha Stark had gone a little paranoid after she and her bodyguard, Iron Man, of course, had been attacked in Afghanistan and held for three weeks. Both had almost died. Both had required extensive surgery. Both still bore their injuries even after all the inventions and health initiatives Stark had thrown money at…

And then, of all things, she’d released the patents to the public on a sliding scale. Words were all well and good, but he’d learned—especially with Howard—that you had to back up those words if you could call yourself honorable. Howard had… not. He was pleased to see his daughter had not come even close to what Steve had expected of her. 

If Iron Man was like the Howlies to him, then Natasha Stark had become the best friend Bucky had been for and to him from the moment they first laid eyes on each other and the last time their eyes had met in that Hydra hangar. 

They weren’t the same, no—that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. And Iron Man and Tasha, as she insisted she be called after the very first and hilariously bad attempt at kidnapping ‘Iron Man’s soulmate’, were also so dissimilar… yet in ways that evoked the other. 

Layers upon layers to that one, let alone Iron Man—the soulmate he still didn’t know the name of. Steve had learned plenty about both rather early, and yet here he was, watching a movie with Stark and Stark alone, Tasha practically using him as a mattress. It was rather… endearing, in fact. (“Helen and Bruce said bed rest but this is the closest I can get to enforcing that without sitting on you IN your bed, so yeah.”) Steve had dutifully stayed exactly where he was on the couch—shoving aside some rather alarming thoughts for his soulmate’s best friend—and not bothering to tell the woman who had come to be his best friend in this century that the serum had already gotten rid of all his own aches and pains, and instead watched her carefully as she navigated the tile floor with ease with her slight limp and cane. 

He was always more worried about Tasha Stark than he was of himself, and he’d had to swear to Natalia, Jan, Jess, Jennifer, Carol, and even Karen Page and her ridiculously scary boyfriend Frank Castle—who had, with so many guns even Logan had been impressed when he’d heard about it later—made a special trip out just for the women’s ambush… that it had nothing to do with misogyny and more that he wished he could wave a wand and make all her hurts and aches and pains and improperly healed everything go away. Just like that. 

Same way he wanted to take away Iron Man’s pain. He could tell not everything was right with her (well, and the fact he knew she’d been in Afghanistan right there with her boss) but a multi-million…. In all likelihood a multi- billion dollar suit could surely hide more than just a plump midriff, as his ma used to say. Not the exact words, but the intent was there and also completely accurate. 

He’d taken to watching his soulmate closely after each battle, never losing track of her before they reached the mansion on 5th Avenue, trying his best not to be overbearing, and always gave her the option of getting Natasha, Jan, Karen occasionally, sometimes Natalia, or even himself to look her over for injuries, since she refused to step foot in the medical offices in the basement. Ever. 

He wasn’t quite sure what the story there was, but usually she chose Ms. Stark. Not an expert, but competent despite her own physical disabilities. No need for physical strength to force Iron Man to be seen to, not when a glare and a flash of Peggy-like words would do. But the last time there’d been no one but him, and he’d refused to let his rule go even just once. Every member of the team’s health was high priority, no matter what—with some privacy taken into account as was only proper.

But holy christ on a cracker, touching the skin of your soulmate, seeing what she would allow him to of herself as he treated the slash down the full length of her bicep—she wore nothing but a black and silver undersuit shoved to her hips, her usually inscrutable helmet, and the center of her chest plate, baring the rest of her to his gaze if he so wished to look—was the sweetest, most exquisite, and most diabolical torture devised for man. Or woman, he could tell, as she scrunched her eyes shut and reached up instinctively with one bare hand to rub at part of her own soulmark.

The one they never spoke of. The one Steve could only just keep his eyes away from. She wasn’t his—she had made that clear. And marks, especially living ones, touched by the proximity of their soulmate, and especially the marks of those who’d rejected their partner… they were taboo to touch; to look upon. Not without invitation.

The soulmate connection they had never once spoken of after a really terrible first meeting, and the couple of weeks it’d taken for him to earn her and Ms. Stark’s respect and trust again. 

But no matter how hard he tried (he still tried occasionally, but he wasn’t a pushy asshole like Hank, for God’s sake), or even how much he pretended it didn’t bother him, he’d still never received an adequate explanation for anything to do with them being soulmates. 

It wasn’t unheard of for soulmate pairs or groups to reject each other for a vast array of reasons from all across the world and the millenniums. But his case was just… baffling, honestly. At least most every other person got to know why they’d been rejected. 

The day was as clear to him now as it had been when he’d first met the Avengers—and Iron Man. 

/flashback\

[[ First meeting! Funny idea, maybe mixed with earlier written scene idea: “Lol I just had a better idea for a first meeting for Cap and Iron Man/Tasha: she basically falls out of a portal right into Coulson’s office with Clint, Natalia, Thor, Bruce, Jan, Logan, etc (honestly 3490 I can just make shit up but I can’t think of how to deal with Bucky??? Maybe he was the first Avenger Steve met on waking? Eh or not) anyway! They’re all clung to the flyers and looped together and just fall through this portal and Coulson pinches the bridge of his nose.” ]]

The first inkling he had as to the identity of his soulmate was something Natalia had told him. 

He’d known Bucky had survived, knew some of his past, had even spent time with him and Natalia before meeting the rest of the Avengers. Sorrow and joy warred within him but in some ways, the other man’s absence on missions had been helping him deal with the mere idea that Bucky was here , with him , and alive . Even if not an Avenger or living with him like the good ‘ole (but also rather awful) days.

He hadn’t, however, known that Bucky and Natalia were soulmates. 

“I was too well-trained to say anything when we first met him, as a trainer at the Red Room on loan. I didn’t even know for sure, but asking would have spelled both our dooms. None of us were supposed to ‘have’ soulmates, and if we did…” She looked away briefly then met his eyes again as she pushed her hair from out of her vision. “It took years, but we were both alive for it. We hadn’t been ready to even say anything, let alone do anything about it before. I think… I think perhaps Iron Man may feel unsafe giving her identity—not just to the public, but to us as well, for perhaps the reasons Bucky and I never did for years. Fear, worry about not being good enough, being a danger to her partner— yes, even you , Mr. Captain America, sir.” The last was added with only a sardonic twist of her lips. She looked like she was about to say more, but settled back into her paperwork with a prim little look directed at him, already having said way more than he’d heard from her in his time here. 

Of course, he couldn’t focus on his paperwork, instead making a mental list of reasons why Iron Man wouldn’t reveal herself even to her own soulmate. 

He kept coming around to the two strongest arguments, made by Natalia herself. 

Fear of rejection, for not being good enough for Captain America. 

And having enemies powerful enough she feared for his safety if her identity and soulmate were to be revealed with even a simple careless word. 

It… certainly narrowed things down, but the person he most strongly suspected… he couldn’t lose her friendship. 

He would take what he could get. 

Her reasons were her own. 

And yet… it wasn’t like he really knew it was her, right?

Right. 

But this was Steve Rogers—he may not be the lost patient, but if it meant getting answers, he could bide his time. He could do this, treat her, right. 

She deserved everything the world had taken from her, purposefully or due to the circumstances of her birth or station.  If that meant life with him… or without him— at least he would know. At least he would have tried.

The very first time Cap met Iron Man, he knew that the back-talking, sassy, contrary, infuriating, and infuriatingly intelligent woman was his soulmate. There was no mistaking the way the phoenix—which had lain dormant and slightly cool for decades both out of and in the ice—came blazing to life, colours undoubtedly flaring brilliantly from their former greyscale, the mark-beast flowing over his back in what could only be described as contentment when the lady shot a beam of light off of his shield and into a group of robotic… things… as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

He was nearly breathless with the feeling of the mark coming to life and, between that and the waves and waves of enemy forces taking up all of his attention, he’d had no time for words other than to do with the battle. Just his second mission out of the ice, though this time at least the full complement of Avengers and their ragtag group of allies were all there. 

And then— then!— with a salute and a crisp “Cap,” she was gone, shooting up into the sky and aiming for the unmistakable silhouette of Avengers Tower. 

Nothing about the life changing thing which had just occurred for them both. 

He didn’t even know her name—he could remember every single word of every single file and for some reason hers was the briefest of all and only one of two where their names were concealed, identities protected. 

He wanted to know more. He needed to know more. 

Well, Steve thought with a smile, he had always liked a girl with spunk and fire; one who could give and take a punch in turn. 

Hopefully not aimed at him; he’d dreamed of this time for ages, never thinking he’d be one of the lucky ones whose mark came to life, colour, and movement, and he had never imagined his soulmate would want to even try with someone like him. First scrawny and weak, then torn apart by the war with deep losses gouged deep into the soul he’d share with one very special person. 

It was a new world too, and perhaps they didn’t place as much stock in soulmates as they had even a century ago, less even. 

But heck, he wouldn’t know unless he tried, and Steve had never been known to back down from a challenge. 

Natasha Stark’s entire world had been upended, and so she’d done what she always did best when faced with feelings and thoughts about things she’d long since buried and forgotten about: she hid in her workshop. 

It’d been four days since she’d felt the lion start pacing across her shoulders and back. Four days since she’d flown straight into her workshop and locked it down, sending out some dumb notice to the Avengers roster about “Iron Man needing repairs” so they wouldn’t call on her or on Iron Man herself. 

Not a one of them knew she was both the Merchant of Death, Tasha Stark, and the heroic Iron Man. 

Not even Steven Grant Rogers, Captain goddamn America, and her fucking soulmate, apparently . 

“Miss, I suggest you take four deep breaths before you lose consciousness,” the voice of her favourite person intruded into her mini panic attack. 

Obeying JARVIS was like second nature to her now—he’d never guided her wrong, not like humans —so she automatically breathed deep and took stock of herself. 

She was a wreck , to put it bluntly. 

She had no clue what to do about Steve Rogers, the man the rest of the Avengers had found in the Arctic a month ago and whom she’d studiously been avoiding meeting—daddy issues died hard deaths, even for superhero geniuses, apparently—until she’d been called in as backup. Well, Iron Man had been. 

And now she saw the error of her ways in hiding for so long, because surely he knew that Iron Man was his soulmate just as she knew he was hers, but she’d put him off for almost a week now and with each passing minute their first encounter would be so fucking awkward . 

So… yep. She went full coward, ‘sent Iron Man off with Pepper for guard duty’, then—only just realizing she was absolutely engine-filthy—wandered up to make her introductions to her soulmate. 

Without letting him know she was his soulmate, and he hers. 

Goddamn it; she hadn’t thought this far ahead when going for the secret identity thing but it was too late to go back on that now. Sure, her image had been refined, renewed, reformed, reinvigorated… but she was still Tasha Stark, dirty heiress extraordinaire, and pretty much the antithesis of everything Captain America was. 

But Steve Rogers…

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you Miss Stark,” he greeted her with a smile so genuine Tasha’s own teeth ached to be able to smile like that again. He didn’t even think it horrible of her for not shaking his hand, and she probably had Jan or Thor to thank for that one; letting him know ahead of time she didn’t like to be touched. 

Tasha blinked, then blinked again, before giving him a small, but still real, smile in return and joking, as she almost always did to see how they’d react, “And here I thought you’d stay far away from me after reading my file.” She threw in a little flirty wink and then hurried to guard her eyes as the lion on her back started to practically rumble with ease and contentment. 

She did not miss the way Steve’s hand flew up to his neck, almost soothing something away before crossing his arms as he resumed his very comfortable spot on the couch. 

“Um…”

“So…”

They both looked at each other and laughed, residual tension draining away, and it seemed to give Steve the courage to ask what he’d been meaning to ask for a while now. “Who is she? Who is my… soulmate?” He twisted his lips then corrected himself. “I know it’s improper to ask, maybe even more so now this century, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But I’ve not had much chance to get to know her and surely she… knows, right?”

“She knows, yeah. Just give her some time. Lots of things to work out. She never expected to meet her soulmate ever, especially after her injury, and she places great emphasis on her right to a secret identity as allowed in the Avenger charter.”

Steve let that settle in for a little while, the quiet background hum of the kitchen larger than his old flat providing some measure of calm. Finally, perceptive as always, he nodded his chin once in the direction of her cane and once at her arc reactor. “Same incident that injured you?”

Tasha went still for a brief moment, then let herself relax again, though she stroked the reactor lightly to soothe her nerves. “It’s where we met. Cave in Afghanistan. Ended my wicked ways. Surely you read up on it,” she replied with false brightness. 

Not everyone had a soulmate. When Steve was born, his mother cried bittersweet tears at the sight of the black and grey ink marking her sickly little baby’s back, because the chances of him ever meeting the woman—or man; Sarah had always been a progressive sort—were slim. No father, a single mother, living in one of the poorest parts of the most expensive cities in America, and day after day proving to her that he may not even make it to his first birthday, let alone the day he met his soul’s match. The one who could love him just as much, albeit in a different way, as Sara Rogers did.

Even without the deck being stacked so firmly against him, even if he grew to a strapping and healthy young man… fewer than half of the world had a mark and half of those would never meet. The Great War, the War to End All Wars, which had stolen her husband from her when she was a bare seven months pregnant, had led to her baby’s premature and sickly birth into a pandemic- and poverty-stricken world. She had hoped the War was skewing the statistics kept by the government. She lit a candle every Sunday with a prayer on her lips and in her heart—that more soulmates would be born and even more would be able to meet. That more soulmates would find happiness together, and their chances really weren’t as bad as everyone was saying (less than 10% anymore, and falling fast ). That her little Steve, the child of her body, heart, and soul, would find someone who could love him for exactly who he was.

The mark splayed across his back gave her hope. 

A bird—not just a bird; a phoenix —with wings spread between licks of fire and fierce possessiveness and protectiveness clearly visible in the black and grey glint of its sharp, hawkish eyes. Even without colors, it somehow still appeared brilliant and vibrant.

Rebirth. Mythological strength. Protection and honor and a keen sense of right and wrong.

Sarah smiled, stroking the mark and welcoming it, them, whoever they were, into the family, and felt hope. Hope for the future, no matter the struggles she knew her boy would face as he grew older.

She only prayed he met his mate before the world set out to destroy her only child. She knew that he would not have an easy life, especially once she was gone. 

Already she knew she could not, would not, be there forever, and so she set out to make sure he was ready to face the world with the right tools, the right lessons, and the spirit of right and wrong and fighting for justice that had so enamoured her of Joseph. A man who was not her soulmate, but who may as well have been.

She gently kissed Steve on the forehead, stroked the phoenix’s feathers, and lay him on his back in the crib immediately beside her small, lonely bed.

Every day, week, and year thereafter, she taught him to fight. She taught him what to look for in friends who might become enemies, or strangers who might become allies, perhaps even best friends. Perhaps even more. 

So while she was somewhat disappointed at the lack of a soul match between her Steve and his new friend James “call me Bucky, ma’am” Barnes from down the row, she was pleased as apple pie in every other way. She could already tell that boy would be good for her Steve. 

He would protect him when she could not. 

He would protect him when his soulmate could not. 

He could possibly be the one who would bring her boy, all grown up, to the doorstep of the man or woman with the heart of a phoenix. 

The only one, besides Bucky’s soulmate’s cool and calculating spider wrapping webs of logic around her boy who could protect her little Stevie. 

And yet, despite all of Sara’s hopes, dreams, and prayers, Steve Rogers went into the ice with his mark still uncolored. 

At least he had experienced years of perfect health and made a difference, a mark upon the world, even if she was not there to see it.

Somehow, Steve thought as the dark, icy water crept up his body,… somehow, Sara Rogers knew anyway.

Natasha Antonia Stark learned early to trust very few. It just so happened that the few people she did end up trusting were women, maybe the occasional man, but year after year she struck name after name off of her list of people to cut out of her life if at all possible. And if not, to protect herself at all costs.

Howard, her father? Well, she wasn’t a boy, so what use was she? He cared about her intellect, but only for what he could gain from it. She learned early to protect her most promising and aspirational and ground-breaking inventions, but gave her father just enough for him to find her of some use, after all.

Maria, her mother? Blamed little Natasha for her inability to have any more children, and for her uselessness to Howard as anything other than a trophy.

Obadiah Stane, her father’s business partner? The way he looked at her, even long before she hit puberty, made her skin crawl, and it wasn’t just because she could be useful to the company. There was more to it, even she knew, and took steps to protect herself, her mind, and especially her body from the predator who was somehow welcomed into her home by an inattentive—or uncaring—father.

Peggy Carter, though… she knew. She saw. She had been a part of Natasha’s life from the moment that Maria handed little Natasha off to her first nanny—one suspiciously good at teaching young girls self-defense... Peggy couldn’t be there for her at all times, but when she was they were the best days, weeks, and months of little Natasha’s life. She was the only child allowed at the S.S.R.—it took her father two years to realize his daughter had been to his secret facility, but Peggy just rolled her eyes at him and told him he only cared out of some stupid sense that children should only be seen, never heard, and especially not daughters. 

He didn’t bring it up again.

But at the S.S.R., and even at home, or on vacations to England with Peggy to visit the surviving members of the Howling Commandos, Natasha learned to fight. She learned to survive . And every last thing she was taught, she never forgot, and she continued to build on the knowledge over the decades that followed.

Because even as a child, she knew that the world would always want to take from her, and she could never afford to allow them.

Natasha’s only regret was that she couldn’t live with Peggy Carter forever. But she was a Stark, and she had her duties.

She would just have to be careful.

But, of course, Natasha Stark was human, and she trusted the wrong person. Once. But once was all it took.

At sixteen, nearly ready to graduate from M.I.T., she had fallen for the charms of Tiberius Stone. He was older, suave, intelligent, gorgeous, and just the right amount of flirty and naughty to pique Natasha’s burgeoning sexuality and sensuality. She knew he wasn’t her soulmate—her black and grey lion had been quiescent since birth, sprawled lazily and comfortably across the entirety of her back, when some people’s marks took up barely any space at all—but soulmates were still rare, and rarer still to find. She thought she might have a future with him, though hopefully not one that was like Howard and Maria’s soulless and heartless marriage of convenience.

She wasn’t them; she would never allow herself to become like them.

Tiberius had other plans. 

She was seventeen when she caught him taking apart her first artificial intelligence, a bot she had taken to calling Dum-E. He knew exactly what he was doing, and knew exactly how she would react. Before she could react, before she could shout, he’d thrown a ball towards her, something she instinctively reached for with her hands.

A moment later she was unconscious, the paralytic in the ball having pierced the surface and injected itself into her bloodstream.

Never let it be said that Tiberius was not a genius in his own right.

The following weeks, no one knew where she was. She missed key deadlines at school, failed to make plans to go home for Christmas, and her best friend James Rhodes was frantic with worry. Howard and Maria were not too concerned, because of course they weren’t, but two events mostly outside of Rhodey’s control led to Natasha being found—Peggy Carter and her friends in multiple American agencies arrived on scene… and Howard and Maria Stark were killed in what was ruled a drunk driving accident.  

The next day Natasha was found—rather, released, due to the pressure increasing to find the Stark heir sending Tiberius Stone fleeing for Europe.

She was not in good shape. Mentally, emotionally, intellectually, even, she was numb . But she was also angry. Angry at herself, angry at her trusting someone without more knowledge of who exactly they were… and angry at Stone.

When she wouldn’t give into him, when she fought back against his advances, refused to admit that she was his … he had ruined the one thing that he would never be able to share with her.

Her back was barely recognizable, especially in the immediate aftermath of the slashing and gouging attacks which Stone had aimed at her soulmark. She was told it would heal, even as she watched her parents’ funeral over the television broadcast of the event from the private hospital’s bed. She was told she would be okay, with Rhodey and Peggy at her side, touching her hands only when she held them open in offering. She was told she would learn to trust again, that it would take time, and she only nodded, dry-eyed, anger choking her throat, and chose not to tell them she no longer believed that.

She had her family, she had her friends. They were the ones she trusted. Anyone else would.... Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what would happen for anyone new in her life, but she knew nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

She was both right, and wrong.

Her life wasn’t the same, but she kept up the torch for Stark Industries and so used that as a shield of seeming normalcy. See? She was a Fortune 100 company. Of course she was alright; of course she was normal!

She made the occasional friend, even if one was a bodyguard who took twelve years to worm his way into her trust, and the other was a fiery woman named Pepper who wasn’t afraid of standing up to her boss and telling her just what was going wrong with the numbers in her company. Pepper dug deep beneath her skin, and part of Natasha was sad that her mutilated and broken lion did not react to Pepper’s touch. But soon enough, she was a trusted and valued member of her small, found family, and one of the few she trusted to tend to the scars both visible and invisible. 

And then there was Afghanistan.

The less said about that, the better, Natasha thought. Partially because of the injuries sustained during the attack, torture, and installation of the life-saving device now lodged painfully in her chest, and partially because of her past… she was so very tired of being vulnerable. She was strong, but there were different ways of being strong, Peggy had told her. Peggy Carter was a very intelligent woman, and she spent long hours speaking to her over a secure line in the wake of Afghanistan, in the wake of her miraculous escape in a suit she’d built alongside one of the most courageous men she’d ever met. 

A man she would honor, just as she’d declared in her press conference. No more weapons. No more death. Perhaps… no more pain. 

She spent long hours in the medical wing installed in her Malibu home, recuperating… and it was there that the final—for now, she supposed—betrayal took place. 

With the aid of her beautiful Pepper, the new suit she’d been tinkering with, and the A.I., JARVIS, she had thrown everything she had into… she took Obadiah Stane out of her life once and for all.

That vulnerability? The danger to her and to those around her? Iron Man dealt with the threat. 

But no one needed to know that she was the one operating the Iron Man suit. It would be too easy to be betrayed again if people knew who piloted the suit; not just who owned it. 

So she told the world. 

The (un)truth was: Natasha Stark was not Iron Man.  

[[If MCU incorporated: Events of Avengers, and Iron Man (Tasha in the suit this time) meeting Steve for the first time, and realizing that they’re each other’s soulmates (what does that feel like, how do they know, how do they react or acknowledge it to each other? because they do!). Helicarrier, IM never leaves her suit. Natasha Stark is helping “on the ground” apparently, helping to locate Loki and the Tesseract. But things escalate before they (Steve and Tasha) can say or do anything about their marks, and when Tasha falls from the sky after the nuke, Natalia Romanova makes sure no one removes her faceplate and brings her to Stark Medical immediately, instead of to a SHIELD facility. Conversation between Romanova and Stark about how her identity is safe with her, even if Stark is skeptical, but Romanova offers her a secret in turn that could ruin her (not sure what yet), especially because she admits that she saw the soulmark—and scars—on her back and knows who it’s for. That she understands. That her soulmate is the deadliest Hydra assassin in the world, the Ghost, and it could destroy everything she’d ever worked for to achieve her place in American society, the government, and SHIELD in particular. Tasha has long forgiven Natalia for her part in spying on her, and she confides the first stirrings of her fears: that she’s not good enough for Steve, not as Natasha Stark, Merchant of Death, and Natalia actually understands and empathizes with this rather than brushing it aside. She listens as Tasha shares her worry, about keeping her identity secret, and more. 

Romanova realizes Steve is outside waiting to hear on the status of Iron Man, and promises to distract Steve long enough for her to get away, telling Steve that Iron Man released herself not too long ago, and that perhaps he should give her some space (infers she knows they’re soulmates, but warning him that things are complicated where Stark’s bodyguard is concerned, that there has been a lot of… bad history). Steve leaves with Romanova to go clean up, debrief, get something to eat, and then to help out with the cleanup that’s already started in the city. A cleanup that will last months and has traumatized the citizens twice over—not just from the attack and the death of friends, family, and thousands of other citizens, but also because it reminds them so vividly of 9/11. And Romanova is the one to break the news about that to him. It emboldens him that much more to throw himself into his work, into helping, into being a presence and a light and a hope and a rallying point for more and more people coming out to help, to get their hands dirty. 

Iron Man shows up, and they work side by side, silently, but comfortably, and Steve has hope for his future for the first time in a long time. That maybe he can have what he never thought he could have before. A few words are exchanged, but mostly they steer clear of the soulmate topic, him wanting to respect her space and let her approach him (he should even say this to her, that he’ll accept if that means never) when and if the time is right, but he would love to be friends with her, to meet Stark, to get to know them as much as she’ll let him—them and the rest of the Avengers. He’s amazed at how well they work together with cleaning up, and not just when they were fighting aliens together. They predict ewch other, slot together, can read each other even beneath the, in Tasha’s case, armor. She teases him and says that she’ll make sure Stark, her boss, gets him a much more… modern uniform, though with deference to its old style and theme. But then she’s called away to help her boss elsewhere, and asks him to pass it along to the other Avengers that they’re welcome at the Tower that night, and a standing invitation for them to visit or live there anytime. 

Of course, then his feelings for Natasha Stark get in the way.]]

[[ Tasha calling Pepper and Rhodey and freaking out about what to do about her soulmate ‘problem’ (she hasn’t been able to date or trust anyone like that since Afghanistan, and Ty fucked her up too, especially where it concerns her soulmate and how her soulmate will never want someone like her ) and about the secret identity and all that.  [? ]]

    One week later

The first time Steve laid eyes on Natasha Stark in person, rather than just a name and picture on a carefully curated SHIELD file, Steve threw away everything he’d been told, every preconceived notion, every minutiae and grand detail that Fury and Coulson and even Romanov had tried to tell, or to warn him, about her.

Steve had never really been one to let others tell him what to do, what to think, anyway. So why should he start now? Just because he’d known Howard, her father? Just because he’d known Peggy, her godmother and the woman who had practically raised her? Just because he knew them, just because SHIELD was the successor to the S.S.R. from the world war, didn’t mean he needed to take their opinions as the gospel truth.

Steve of all people could recognize propaganda in the words of the Stark heir’s file. Sure, there was truth in it, but just like he’d determined for every other case file he’d been handed over the years, he would come to his own damn conclusions about the woman in question. There were truths—she had been a weapons manufacturer, she had been a problematic youth, she had mistreated and walked over others—but Steve knew there were many shades of truth, and that sometimes people could change.

He was proof of that. Bucky was proof of that, especially after Azzano. Howard was proof of that, he’d learned after reading both his SHIELD file and looking up all that and more on the internet he’d taken to more keenly and quickly than his so-called handlers had expected—and he had changed for the absolute worst from what he could tell. But he kept moving, he kept learning, and he learned what he , Steve Rogers, wanted to learn; not just what SHIELD thought he should know. 

And after meeting Iron Man, his… soulmate—something he’d never dreamed he could ever have or meet or even keep, considering who he was and had become, and yet his mark had reacted just the same when he’d gripped the suit’s arm—and fighting alongside her against the Chitauri, the thrill and the rush of battle, the adrenaline and the chaos and the thrill of connecting with someone on a deep level even if she, Iron Man, wouldn’t reveal who she was, what her name was, or even acknowledge their connection beyond a head tilt and a nod before launching into battle and almost killing herself with a goddamn nuke , even if it was to save them all, then disappearing almost immediately in the wake of battle… well, he’d looked up Iron Man as well.

The SHIELD file was almost entirely redacted, even for the high clearance level they gave him, but one thing stood out: she was the bodyguard to said Natasha Antonia Stark, and as he’d learned—there was a hell of a lot more online about the billionaire CEO of Stark Industries than there was about her bodyguard. Things he took with a grain of salt, things that directly contradicted what SHIELD had said and wrote about her, and things that… intrigued him. 

There was plenty about her bodyguard too, but apparently everyone else in the world was just as clueless as he was as to her identity—excepting, perhaps, Natasha’s two personal assistants, Darcy Lewis and Pepper Potts, the latter of whom who had also been her girlfriend for a brief time after Stark’s time in Afghanistan. And Colonel James Rhodes, military liaison to Stark Industries likely in part because he had been Natasha’s best friend since she started attending university—the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—at the incredible age of thirteen. 

The more he learned, the more fascinated he became, and yet, still, there was so little to Steve of value on who his soulmate was. Past or present alike. It was as if she had just appeared from out of thin air, though that was perhaps not so surprising considering the genius who had invented the suit of power armor his soulmate wore.

It didn’t help that Iron Man was hardly around, but it was early days yet. 

Steve knew that if he wanted to find out more about his soulmate, he would need to learn more about the woman she was guarding—but he couldn’t exactly call that a chore, or even that much of an ulterior motive, because he was quickly discovering that he wanted to learn more about Natasha Stark as well. 

But it wasn’t until after the Battle of New York, not until after the multitude of debriefings the newly-christened Avengers were required to attend, not until after cleanup of the disaster zone the city had become was well and truly underway, that he had his first opportunity to meet Dr. Natasha Stark in person. He was taking a quiet moment alone in the ruins of the penthouse floor of Stark Tower, listening to the voices of his compatriots on the floor above him, unblocked by a ceiling he was pretty sure hadn’t even been there in the first place, when the sure but uneven sound of steps, punctuated by the softer, muffled sound of a cane, exited the elevator and slowly crossed the open concept floor until the person came to a stop a few feet to his right, staring out at the ruined city just as he was doing.

They shared the quiet that only existed over a thousand feet in the air, other than the sound of the wind through the open, broken windows, until she glanced at him, and he glanced at her, and then they both turned to take each other in.

The first thing he noticed about her continued to call every single thing in that stupid SHIELD file into question. Sure, her smile was beautiful and welcoming, showing just the right amount of her perfect, white teeth that he could tell it was both practiced and honest at the same time, but the real thing that stood out to him… the most real thing about her… was the hint of sadness that just barely touched her lips and hid behind her vibrant blue eyes. Even behind the black and silver rectangular frame of her glasses, he could see it clear as day.

This was a woman who had lived . This was a woman who had suffered, who had experienced the hard and bitter aspects of the world, the cruelty and destruction and betrayal that somehow managed to leave no soul untouched, rich or poor alike, no matter the decade or century they were born in.

This was a woman who had survived . The photos of her before and after Afghanistan had done nothing to bring home how much it had affected her. Both physically and mentally.

The physical was the most obvious—Steve suspected that the sadness behind her smile and eyes had existed nearly as long as she herself had existed, even if the sadness and pain and trauma had more than likely severely worsened in the aftermath of her kidnapping and three months of torture. The images pre-Afghanistan had been of a beautiful and vibrant and fun young woman. Sexual and sensual and flirty, passionate as a summer storm, though she had learned to tame and mature it as she’d grown into her thirties, compared to the recklessness of her teens and twenties. 

This woman standing before him now, hair blowing in the strong breeze 1,100 feet in the air and yet unafraid of the mere feet separating her from a deadly fall, couldn’t be more different while still retaining the core element of who she had once been.

Bright and intelligent, nearly electric blue eyes crinkled minutely as she glanced at him once, head to toe and back again, before looking back out on the swiftly approaching dusk over New York City—the city, much like this woman, which had both changed and not changed over the decades. It gave him the opportunity to look his fill without feeling like a creep; her look had been subtly aloof but also inviting, expecting him to take her in in return. It was a look Bucky had taught him to watch for, and one Peggy had cast upon him many a time.

Ah, Peggy. He recognized her in Natasha Stark. The way she stood, shoulders back and spine straight, feet set slightly apart despite the elegant silver cane held loosely in her left hand that was providing a modicum of stability.

He wasn’t sure of the exact extent of the injuries she’d sustained during her three month stay with her captors and torturers, nor what she’d damaged in her mostly-redacted escape from—and extermination of—the Ten Rings camp in the Afghan highlands. But based on his experience in the world war, and his training as a secondary team medic after one mission proved its necessity, she had likely had her tendons, ligaments, muscles, and fascia severed somewhere in the vicinity of her thigh or knee, probably in the initial attack on her convoy or in the early days of her torture… none of which had healed properly, and none of which even all the money in the world could fully fix. Thinking back on the sound of her gait as she’d approached him from behind, according to articles he’d been catching up on about field medicine, she had likely gone through surgery to re-sever and lengthen the soft tissue—a highly painful surgery even in 2008, he imagined—and then gone through months of agonizing rehabilitative therapy. Even with her genius mind backing the newly-launched prosthetic and medical divisions of Stark Industries, there was only so much and so quickly she could heal.

But, well… he imagined she likely had a few tricks up her sleeve—or crisp, dark grey pant leg, in this case—especially once he noticed the technology she was wearing on both hands, now lightly twirling her cane in the air before her as if she had not a care in the world. Still staring out the window at the lengthening shadows, still inviting him to look.

All ten of her fingers and thumbs sported a silver ring with a softly glowing blue center reminding him of the arc reactor powering Iron Man’s suit— ten rings ; hah, he could almost guarantee she had done so on purpose, out of spite, to turn pain into beauty and, likely, knowing her—even the little he knew so far—utility. The same as the arc reactor he knew was embedded deeply, and likely painfully, into Natasha Stark’s sternum, pressed between her lungs and beside her heart, keeping the shrapnel from killing her—the awe at her courage, ingenuity, and stubborn refusal to die despite all odds nearly choked him with tears, but he blinked them swiftly away, wondering where the emotion had come from, for someone he barely knew and yet… and yet felt like he knew too well, somehow.

He distracted his silly, wandering mind—he had a soulmate , for God’s sake, even if he knew next to nothing about her, not even her name —by tracing the silver chain and blue and black wires which had been twisted into delicate braids leading from each ring and meeting in a woven circle on the back of each hand, before again twisting out into a loop that wrapped around each wrist. He wasn’t born yesterday—even if the future occasionally threw him for a loop and made him feel like so—and so he knew that the otherwise beautiful jewelry held a dual purpose. What, he didn’t know, but he was impressed all the same. He’d barely been awake for a few weeks, but he picked up on tech and knowledge faster than his SHIELD… handlers … gave him credit for, and he knew that there was likely nothing else quite like what he was seeing on this woman, passing for mere decoration. Beautiful, but could likely end his life as easily as if he were any regular joe. Much like Agent Romanov, honestly—she’d mentioned working for and with Dr. Stark, and so he wouldn’t put it past Natasha Stark to be able to hold her own against him, physical issues or not. 

As the darkness finally started to reach the Tower, her arc reactor shone from between the red and dark grey lapels of her designer jacket and glinted almost ethereally off of the wide rectangular silver glasses she was peering at him through—another item that was likely far more than a simple visual aid—and her blue eyes practically glowed as she turned to look fully at him. 

It felt like hours had passed even though his internal clock knew full well that nothing more than three minutes had passed, and in surprisingly comfortable silence at that. She smiled that genuine, but sad, smile again, and lifted her left hand to brush a braid back from off of her face and back behind her ear. Only then did he realize that the thick braid was completely, naturally, white, from the root at her right temple all the way down to its tip, standing out in severe contrast against the deep black hair that flowed untamed almost all the way down her back. The braid blended easily into the rest of her hair, despite being as bright as day compared to the night of her hair.

Christ, Peggy would smack him silly for mooning over a woman like this, even if it was all in his head. The guilt over mooning over someone who wasn’t his soulmate—who he had just met, for pete’s sake —was nearly enough to commandeer a quinjet and confess to the woman herself, in person.  

Natasha crinkled her eyes as her lips twitched upwards, laugh lines deepening around both as if she could tell exactly what Steve was and had been thinking. Steve fought down a flush he knew would turn into a full blush if he wasn’t careful, and then he’d have to explain to his soulmate’s best friend and self-appointed ward why he was making eyes at Natasha instead of… instead of whoever Iron Man was.

Perhaps one day she would trust him enough to tell him.

Perhaps not.

Perhaps she was one of the not-inconsiderable amount of modern men, women, and others who were denying fate and the apparent audacity of it, Fate or God or the gods or the universe or whoever , choosing for them.

Free will meant far more to a growing number of the human race than allowing anyone or anything to choose who to love… especially when there were so many examples of failed soulmate matches—murder, abuse, violence, rape, theft, control of everything the man or woman had once called their own—to choose from over the centuries.

Why let Fate or God choose, when it seemed it had so often gotten it wrong?

Steve himself wasn’t exactly sure where he fell on that line of thought.

But he knew, at least, that he’d always wanted to give the soulmate equation at least a try . It had been a dream of his when he’d been scrawny, never thinking he’d find the match for his mark, let alone that they would continue to choose him once they found out what he looked like, what his health was like, and how useless he would be for providing for a household. Whether his soulmate was man or woman… Who would ever want him ?

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” 

It took an embarrassing long moment to realize that Natasha had spoken, and to him at that, all while he’d been staring deep into her eyes like a giant, uncouth freak—or as if her eyes held the answer to everything he’d ever wondered about soulmates from the moment he’d received his mark.

Steve blinked. 

Turning to stare at her face to face, just as she turned to face him, he was momentarily struck with fascination by the scars that Natasha seemed to carry with pride, without hiding, surrounding the entirety of her arc reactor—or at least what he could see of it. She didn’t hide it, but it wasn’t like she was walking around with a deep neckline or in, say, her… brassiere. Bra. What have you.

He kept the glance to a polite length, and yet still her full, lightly rouged lips held humor and the slightest hint of a knowing smirk.

“Do?” Steve repeated easily, twirling the shield at his feet up and into his hands with the practiced nudge of a toe; he could barely be parted from it, though he knew sometime soon that feeling of wanting to hold on tight to every aspect of his past would… fade. Somewhat. “You mean stay here, or go exploring the country, the Continent… heck, maybe even Antarctica, though the chill might be a bit much for me.” He shuddered, but the slight joke was worth the acknowledgment in her eyes. “Or I could even become a SHIELD agent like they’ve been pestering me about for, say—”

His phone dinged in his pocket, and both he and Natasha stared at the front right pocket of his new, rather awesome jeans that he’d wished existed in this form back in the first half of the 20th century. Sometimes they just didn’t make them like they used to—which could very well be a good thing, in all honesty.

Perhaps not in the case of a phone which could follow you everywhere . And track you. And all those ridiculous… emojis? Emoticons? Clint had given him a crash course that was filled with equal parts humor, frustration, and absolute disbelief .

He tried his best not to be that grandpa , but sometimes he just couldn’t stop himself before he spoke his mind. He had Opinions , and hadn’t ever been one for telling said opinions to shut up.

“Or maybe,” Natasha said evenly, after the phone stopped ringing and Steve hastily shoved the now-muted phone into his back pocket, “you could do what you want instead of feeling like you owe the organization that made it so your outside appearance matches your insides.” She tapped his heart lightly with the silver pommel of her cane before resuming her stance. “SHIELD is no longer the SSR, I hate to say it. Aunt Peggy left because of ideological differences, and you know her better than most anyone, meaning I’m pretty sure you’ll understand why she’d want you to steer clear of them.”

She eyed him speculatively, and Steve was momentarily distracted by three, presumably long scars silvered by age which crept up her back and cradled the right side of her jawline. Barely there, barely noticeable, covered lightly with a powder it seemed, but Steve wasn’t a super soldier for nothing.

He also wasn’t stupid, and kept the questions inside his mind alone.

She would tell him if she wanted to. If she ever did. If she ever trusted him enough to be vulnerable before him.

Steve suddenly wanted nothing more in the world, and was nearly shocked silly at the thought now slowly invading his mind and heart.

“Figured I’d help with the clean up. Do what I can to help those in need. Part of this is because of us. I can’t ignore that.”

“Stay. Get to know her. She makes her own choices, but I don’t think she’ll mind at least making a new friend of sorts. Plus,” she smirked. “I’m sure we can put you to work around here. Plenty to do.”

“The Tower is for the Avengers, and I’ve never been happier to share an abode before. I’m what one would call a lone wolf, or a member of a small pack, at least, but Iron Man and Natalia… I trust their judgments, and they say you’re all good people. We’ll fix the Tower up, I’ll take care of the costs instead of SHIELD, and we can maintain a sort of… contractual basis with SHIELD, rather than them owning you outright like they so crassly seem to wish.”

“And what is it you wish? What do you gain from this?”

Her lips twitched in approval, a spark in her blue eyes. “Gain? I get to make cool toys and help save the world. Paying for damages and overages is nothing for me, and some would say I owe it to the world, to them. I’m not doing it for them, no, but for myself. And for a man I once made a promise to as he lay dying. I would die before breaking that promise.”

Steve wondered, fleetingly, if this man was… had been her soulmate, but knew it was none of his business. A promise made was a promise made, but one made on death’s door could never be broken without grave consequences—or so the stories went. 

[[Little scene ideas:

Steve sometimes gets suspicious, like mentioning to Iron Man he loves books and suddenly Tasha buys him tons of books, or art material or whatever. 

New people join the Avengers! So a mix of comics and MCU, though mostly following the MCU meet-cute timelines.]]

“Now that you’ve been around a few weeks, and have practically devoured my back catalog of newspapers and history books and all sorts of other nefarious internet articles… if you had all the money in the world, or say… all of my money, with no restrictions or strings attached… what, other than cleaning up after the Chitauri or buying things for yourself and the rest of the Avengers, would you spend it on? ”

Steve breathed deep, and thought. He let a comfortable silence—something so common between them now, he barely even marveled at it anymore—fall between them as he thought, letting the low hum of the television fall into the background of his senses, even as his hearing was trained, as always, as if reflexively, to the hum of Natasha’s arc reactor and the steady, even beat of her heart beneath it.

There were so many things he’d wished he could fix over the years, before and after his change with the serum, so many things he’d prayed for endlessly, frustrated that he couldn’t fix the same way he could ‘fix’ an enemy with a toss of his shield.

“Hm, it doesn’t need to be just one thing, darling,” she said in a teasing tone, as if reading his mind. She adjusted herself on the couch until her back was against the armrest and its spectacularly comfy pillow, and Steve automatically lifted her feet into his lap, as if he’d done it a million times instead of this being the very first time she’d ever done this to him. Not that he minded, oh Lord no, but he thought maybe he was supposed to mind, then thought again that this was just the way Natasha was with those she called friends—he’d seen her cuddle with Pepper and Rhodey and Natalia often enough to know—and felt his heart swell at the idea that he was on his way to being called friend to this amazing woman. He didn’t need more, even if sometimes he dreamed of her more than his soulmate, Iron Man—whom he still didn’t know the identity of and was struggling with what to call her, how to feel about her—and friend… a very select and honored group? That was good, that was okay with him.

“When I was a kid,” Natasha interrupted his spiralling thoughts, which had drifted quickly away from the original question—one he wasn’t sure was entirely theoretical, knowing her as much as he did so far, so he had to be careful with what he said— “I used all of my patent money, since I couldn’t get away with spending a dime of the family money without an ounce of accounting for where every last cent went, and believe me, Howard was not of a particularly charitable bent. Sorry,” she said with a grimace, but Steve waved her off; they’d already had the talk about her father, and her father’s and his relationship, which was a lot more non-existent than Howard had led Natasha, his wife, and pretty much everyone else to believe. 

He waved her off, gesturing for her to continue, but when his hand settled back into his lap, it landed on her knee. The bad knee, by how she tensed. He went to lift it off quickly, but she shoved her knee into his hand, giving him a rather… odd look as she did it. Steve, gently and slowly, pushed the knee back down and started to slowly rub along the tight muscles and scarred tendons and ligaments. With a groan, Natasha’s head fell back against the cushion, her loose hair mussed against the pillow and flowing over the sides. With her eyes closed, Steve could look his fill, and he did so with wide eyes, drinking her in, breaths speeding up just enough that he was worried even she would notice. He needed to get her talking again, not making delicious noises which threatened to send him into full hardness that he wouldn’t be able to hide, rather than the semi-hardness he was already at. Geez, it was like he was a green boy again.

“What did you do with the patent money, Tasha?” he asked, voice a little rough—but hopefully she would just mistake the roughness for his nervousness at trying out the nickname only his friends called her by. Testing the waters.

A little flicker of a smile crossed her lips but she said nothing; didn’t tell him not to call her that, as he’d seen her do with at least two people in the streets before now. Her eyes still closed, she let out a contented sigh, snuggled down just a little bit more towards him, and picked up her train of thought. “I bought all the shelter animals in mine and the surrounding six counties, paid for their upkeep at the shelter until I could find them homes, and within three months I’d helped rehome more than six thousand dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, bunnies, you name it. I think there was even a donkey named Earl that—and this was the best part—took a liking to my school’s headmaster, whom I’d sort of… bullied down to the shelter to adopt. Earl’s still at that school, still with the headmaster, and now loved and looked after in his dotage by a bunch of rich, privileged brats, and the headmaster uses Earl and my sneaky philanthropy as a lesson. Kids can even get extra credit for charity work, though I’m really not sure how I feel about the various animals named after me now.” She grimaced slightly, eyes still closed, but there was no tension in Natasha’s body and even he could tell she really wasn’t bothered by the idea of it.

Steve hadn’t realized a smile—a smitten, ridiculous, and brimming smile, thank God they were alone—had spread full across his cheeks until he spoke up, saying, “That was a swell thing you did, Tasha. I would… I always wanted a pet. Always wanted to rescue the birds and cats that Bu— that Bucky and I would find in the alleys, and sometimes I could spare an extra bit of bread or water, but it just wasn’t realistic for either of us to help in the ways that we wanted to.”

“You did what you could, and that’s more than some of the richest people in the world can say,” Tasha consoled softly. Not pity, but a blend of pride and consolation at the circumstances of what had been their lives, gently filled the silence he’d lapsed into. “So,” she continued, “that’s one for the list. Animal rescue. I still cover the counties from when I was younger, in upstate New York where the school was, but there’s plenty of other shelters in plenty of other places. Who knows, maybe we’ll come home with a dog of our own.”

Steve’s fingers froze on her calf, and that caused Natasha to open her eyes and look at him, a little bit of confusion coloring her features and tone. “Not a dog person? Well, I’m not really a cat person, but maybe a bunny…” She smiled. “I’ve had plenty of bunny cuddles, and they’re so sweet.”

Steve was still staring at her, and instead of running and hiding, he braved his fear and spoke up, voice a little raspy. “You said we. That we could bring a dog home .”

Natasha tilted her head to the side a little, but otherwise didn’t move as her gaze darted all over his features, searching for what his expression meant . He didn’t even know what he meant, not really, but she seemed to settle back after a moment, having determined for herself what he was feeling. “Yeah, Winghead,” she replied finally, using Iron Man’s nickname for him. Apparently the both of them were trying out nicknames and testing boundaries today. “ We . And this is your home, at least in my mind. It’s mine, too, and I hope that everyone else, that all the Avengers and the live-in staff and even those who commute here just for work, I hope that they can consider this home . But to us, to the Avengers, for you and I… this will be home even if any of you leave. The Tower, and me, will always be here for you, no matter what.” She blinked slowly at him, and then brushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ears in one of her few nervous tells.

“Thank you,” Steve said quickly, aiming to reassure her, but not without being choked up himself. “Thank you for giving me a home.” He didn’t, couldn’t, mention the others. This felt too… personal. “The people make it a home, but having a roof over my head, and a wonderful one at that, makes a big difference to someone like me. And… a dog… did you mean it? You and I...” He swallowed, but caught her eye. “ We . You would be willing to get a dog? With me?”

Natasha didn’t seem to know what to say to that, to any of that, the text or the subtext or the context or any of it, but she nodded, eyes wide. Kept on nodding, a flush creeping up across the scars over her collarbone and neck, reaching the edges of her jaw before she looked away.

Steve had no clue what to do with any of that either, so he resumed, slowly and gently, almost reverently , with his massage of her bad leg. Even that, so new to them, seemed to have gained new meaning with just a few bare words. Important words , even if he didn’t know quite how; even if he couldn’t put words or meaning to exactly what had been said and not said.

“I think that’s it,” he finally spoke up. “A home. Everyone needs a home. If I had all the money in the world…” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, picking his words carefully even as he carefully moved his hands up to the muscles above her knee for the first time. With a slightly stuttered breath, he continued. “If I could, I would find a home for everyone; shelter. If not everyone, then at least the veterans. They’ve been abandoned by the people who promised to protect them, to care for them when they returned from wars fought on their orders, suffering injuries and loss for them and then being abandoned to this travesty of a veteran’s healthcare system—” His temper was flaring, his words getting louder, coming faster, even as his hands remained gentle. 

“Done,” Natasha butted in gently, slowly sitting up so that she could press her fingers gently to his cheek, turning his head towards her and locking their gazes.

“Tasha,” he said, not daring to hope that he did understand exactly what she was saying with that one, single word.

“Homes for veterans,” she affirmed, sliding her feet from off his lap, which Steve nearly protested with a pitiful whine. But a moment later she tucked her head against his shoulder even as she dropped her hand from his cheek, so that was… okay. He was shocked, though. It would be impossible —

“It’ll take a lot of work. But we’ll start here in the city, then the state, get a hang for it, and make sure that all vets in all states know that we will be coming for them. That you will. Captain America.” She tilted her head up so she could look at him, even if it was slightly sideways, and smiled. “Your brainchild, your charity. But you won’t be alone,” she added swiftly, as if she could sense his growing, though somewhat mild, panic at the thought of doing something that was so far out of his league he wasn’t even sure he was playing the same sport.

“I told you. Genius. Billionaire. Ex- socialite, thank you very much… but most important of all: Philanthropist. I’ve had practice at this, and I think… I think this is an amazing cause to back, no matter the cost.”

Steve’s head was spinning, and he didn’t know what to say, so what he did instead was gather Natasha Stark into his arms, bury his face into the messy cloud of her hair, and inhale her beautiful citrus scent until his breathing calmed. It took time, but he knew he had it, somehow knew that Tasha wouldn’t mind him holding onto her as he thought of the enormity of it all, of the absolute gift she was giving him and millions of others… It took time, but eventually his mind had sort of wrapped around the idea—realizing, again, what an amazing woman this was he was holding in his arms. By then, darkness had started to fall, and JARVIS had long since turned off the television and put on his favorite music to listen to when he needed soothing—Ella Fitzgerald—but Natasha, his Tasha , was still in his arms, even if she were fast asleep. He couldn’t blame her. He’d probably zoned out for a fair bit, but she had issued not one word of complaint.

Steve gently lifted her up into his arms, placed her cane and flats softly on top of her so as not to wake her, and followed JARVIS’ quiet instructions as he turned down her blankets and placed her into her own bed upstairs, loosening but not removing her clothes, slipping off her socks, and placing her cane within easy reach in what he was told was its usual place. Finally, before he could stop himself, he brushed her hair from off her forehead and placed the softest, barest of kisses to the skin he’d uncovered.

He couldn’t help it, but Lord above, he was drawn to her like no other. Perhaps he would end up being like the growing number of newer generations after all—forsaking or becoming friends only with their soulmate, and pursuing someone else.

He shivered as he let himself out of her room.

Steve had learned a lot of things about himself tonight, and a lot of things about Natasha as well. Never mind the whole… charity thing—that still felt like a dream, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it until… if it ever happened. Never mind any of that.

He had a lot to think about, and he wished like hell he had someone who he could talk to about it all.

Times like these were when he missed Bucky the most. He always missed him, of course he did. He would always mourn his best friend… but what he wouldn’t give to have him here, right now, risen from the dead, just so he could talk to him about Natasha and his reeling heart.

In that moment, he knew he was well and truly fucked .

[[ Do I need some IM-Tony things in here? Tasha fills his room with shelves and shelves of books, other things he’s mentioned liking (some of which he only mentioned to Iron Man). They could get a dog for them (and the rest of the team, of course). And the start of the charity and Steve falling further in love with Natasha. Maybe he and IM talk about their being soulmates and Steve admits he’s falling for someone else, maybe even admits that it’s Natasha, after IM promises not to reveal it to the person/IM’s boss (i.e. Natasha) and then the reactions to that. Natasha struggles not to act like she knows, but she’s delighted and terrified and maybe runs off to India for Stark Industries business after a too-close call. ]]

[[Note: this was before I decided to turn further from MCU and to include a little mention of Steve knowing Bucky’s alive already, and known to the team. It’s a small mention in the vignettes but it’s there! These scenes still stand pretty poignantly though, in my opinion :) ]]

Bucky was alive. Oh, god. Bucky was alive.

No matter how much of a professional he was—and that was sometimes debatable—he hadn’t been able to get that thought out of his mind, out of his heart, out of his consciousness for even a moment since the first time the mask had been ripped from Bucky… the Winter Soldier ’s face. Muzzled like a dog, like a, like a…

God.

He’d had to force his mind into partitions, much like he’d done on that very last mission after Bucky had fallen from the train, in order to operate and continue to do what needed to be done.

With Fury dead, with Maria doing god knows what in the wake of losing her second and last soulmate in two years, it fell on his shoulders to stop the threat.

First, he needed his team. He needed the Avengers. Sam and Natalia were right there with him—and yeah, he trusted Sam already to have his back, especially once they got his wings back—but with the threat of Project Insight and the fact that Hydra was still kicking, god damn it , he needed the full force of the Avengers.

Natalia had already called Bruce, Thor, and Clint before Steve had managed to calm his shaking down enough to call Natasha, after a call to Iron Man failed to connect. Not too unusual, but frustrating all the same.

“Natasha,” he breathed as soon as the call connected. 

“Steve, shit, I saw the news, Iron Man’s already on the way but I’m making my way there as well to do what I can,” she answered, as frantic as he’d ever heard her. He breathed a sigh of relief that the two of them were already on their way, but then she asked a question— the question—that he hadn’t wanted to face. “Steve… are you okay?”

He broke for the first time since all this started, with the only person he would break down in front of. Natalia and Sam were in the front, prepping their gear and making enough food to fuel them for the hours to come, and Steve closed the door as he slid down against it to the floor, hands and knees shaking harder than they ever had since the last time he’d had pneumonia.

[[ Newer note versus the next one following this: Emotional scene on the phone with Tasha, telling him about Bucky. Then jump right to the end where he and Bucky are fighting on the helicarrier, and then IM shows up. With a bit of backfill and such. and in that fight, Bucky rips part of Tasha's helmet off, and Steve sees her white braid, the one he knows is Tasha's, and that's how he finds out. But both Steve and Tasha are talking to Bucky, trying to remind him of who he is, pulling their punches and only defending (while Tasha has already disabled Insight). And of course they're emotional over seeing each other get hit and hurt HARD, and Steve is upset over Bucky, and Tasha is upset for Steve, etc. Then sorta a similar end where Steve goes over and falls into the Potomac, and blah blah. ]]

[[Random note, written earlier than the previous: A battle (Make it mirror The Winter Soldier arc!). Something tears off part of Natasha’s helmet and Steve catches sight of the white braid before she’s rocketing off into the sky again. They finish the battle, but not before Steve fights Bucky and ends up falling into the Potomac, and he has this very vague memory of Iron Man, with Natasha’s face, swimming deep into the water to rescue him and then handing him off to Bucky on the shore, and he vaguely recalls Tasha’s voice saying “Always gotta be the martyr, don’t you, love?” before Tasha escapes back to the Tower, to her workshop (and to yell at Fury), and that’s where the following scene happens, days later: ]]

Each time he wakes up he has increasingly clear impressions of Tash’s mess of hair or other aspects of her, maybe remembers a few nonsensical words from him and soft answers from her, and he frowns, remembering that she seemed… afraid. Apprehensive. 

But this time he woke alone, the only sound being music playing, sultry and smokey vocal jazz with a woman whose voice he didn’t recognize but warmly reminded him of Ella Fitzgerald. 

Tasha had probably picked it out, just for him. 

Natasha. He smiled. 

Then he remembers the flash of the white braid, a glimpse of her as she pulled him from the river, her talking to Bucky -but- not -Bucky, words he couldn’t understand but he remembers the heartache he felt as Bucky walked away, growing stronger each step his… best friend, still??... took away from him. 

But Bucky could wait. He knew he could find him, especially with the help of his friends and JARVIS. 

And Natasha. Natasha could help him find Bucky—the important part was that he was alive and now he just wanted to cry, to cry at what him being alive for what could very well have been the entirety of the almost seventy years he’d been missing… not dead. 

Being in Hydra’s hands was a fate worse than death, but he knew, he just knew that at the end there, he and Tasha had broken multiple times through to the man he’d once been. And that he hadn’t tried to kill them on the river bank… Hydra had fallen again, though he was sure it wasn’t forever—it never was with them. But Steve hoped there was enough chaos and loss for Bucky… the Winter Soldier … to escape their clutches. 

And they would find him and bring him home, or he would find Steve one day… either way, Steve promised himself he would bring Bucky home . 

Home. 

Natasha. 

Christ, if he’d only known—if she’d just told him, if she’d just… just…

Steve buried his face into his hands, slowing his climbing heart rate and breathing, before practically throwing himself out of bed, taking all the leads and IVs out, and made the way, first to his floor for a change of clothes—scowling the usually unflappable Stark Medical and Avengers doctors down along the way—and then to the workshop. 

She would be there. His heart felt like it was tugging him in her direction, and now he understood why he’d always been able to sense when she was nearby; to turn subconsciously towards her; the way he’d understood her so intrinsically and so immediately; the way his ears had always caught the sound of her heartbeat and the hum of the arc reactor, even when the team was surrounding them with boisterous laughter and cheer on a Sunday morning’s team brunch. 

Steve needed answers. 

But he also needed her. 

Just her. 

Natasha Stark. 

His soulmate. 

“Natasha, I—” The words died on his lips as suddenly as they had started. Sitting on the edge of her workbench, back turned on Steve, was Natasha. Pepper was behind her, a metallic canister of what smelled like ointment open in one hand, but Steve took all of that in before immediately dismissing everything but Natasha. 

His eyes weren’t focused only on Natasha—she held his attention constantly, day in and day out without even trying—but also on what was revealed on the skin of her back, what had started to move as soon as he entered the room, her sleeveless blouse, brassiere, and bright red jacket abandoned on the work surface beside her. 

Natasha didn’t turn, but let out a long, slightly unsteady breath, and pulled Pepper down with one hand so she could kiss her lightly on the cheek and grab the ointment with her other, free hand. 

Steve barely noticed Pepper taking her leave, but he nodded all the same when she whispered vehemently at him, “Don’t you dare hurt her. She’s been through enough to last twenty lifetimes and still she survives, but you —you have the capacity to hurt her so easily, and if you do it will be the last thing you do on god’s green earth. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve could only nod, wide-eyed, but he made sure to meet her gaze so that she could see the truth in them. In him . “I would rather die,” he swore, and after a moment of intense scrutiny, Pepper took her leave, the elevator doors closing behind him. 

Natasha had yet to move, sitting still just as she had been when he’d barged into the middle of the rather intimate scene between friends. He took a few stuttering steps forward, and finally Natasha turned to look at him over her shoulder, eyes piercing and working perfectly well despite her glasses on the table beside her. 

“Come here,” she offered quietly—and it was, indeed, an offer. He had the choice to turn back now, the choice to pretend he had never seen what was now indelibly branded into every part of his brain; there would be no escape. 

But there could be understanding. 

Steve made his decision and walked slowly, almost cat-like toward the woman who was drawing him in as if he were iron and she a magnet—though he was starting to realize that she was the one made of iron, and she had been all along. Natasha Stark. Iron Man. Hero. Genius. Philanthropist. And the woman he had fallen in love with; and now a love which was guilt-free. 

Still he made no attempt to speak, taking the metal canister of ointment from her hands while his mind tried to tell him he felt sparks where their fingers brushed against each other. 

Then, and only then, did he make a sound, and it was a sign of pain and anger and love and caring and empathy and compassion and wrath all mixed together, because there in front of him was his soulmate’s mark, nearly incomprehensible because of the heavy scarring criss-crossing the entire length and breadth of this beautiful, strong woman’s back. 

Still, he didn’t speak. He had no words, at least none that would be worthy of the moment or free from hatred and anger and bitterness for whoever had done this to the woman he was falling in love with; the woman who was his soulmate, whether in or out of the amazing piece of machinery and ingenuity that was her suit. 

So he said nothing, and let his fingers say what he couldn’t quite piece together in words just yet. 

[[ Describe the mark, and how he can feel his own mark moving and responding. He’ll show her, just not quite yet. ]]

[[ … ]]

“Who?”

She didn’t ask him for clarification.

“A man I once dated. Our fathers thought the soulmate thing was nonsense and that uniting or business empires would make us the most powerful family in the world. It started off fine at first. He was perfect. Everything a woman could want. Said he didn’t care about soulmates but… it started to bother him more and more. One day.... well, he tried to steal some of my tech and I found him, he threw something at me, and the next day I woke up tied to the bed. He waited until I was fully awake before he began to… to…”

She couldn’t finish, but didn’t need to. Steve’s imagination was vivid enough, and he had the proof, the scars, before his very eyes and under his fingertips. Their sensitive ridges picked up every bump and jagged edge, every ridge, pit, and valley. Every line cut into the graceful arches and curves of her still absolutely perfect back. Scars or no scars, she was something to behold. Something to hold .

Natasha leaned into his touch, humming softly, contentedly as she continued her tale. “He held me for weeks, he was just smart enough to outthink me in my unprepared state, but when I got out… needless to say, Rhodey and I spent the better part of the next two years completely ruining his empire. Tried to get the courts to arrest him, but despite us both being rich and important, he was a man. He fled to Europe and has been there for the last fifteen, almost twenty years. Ruined, still, and living off the grace of old family friends who barely tolerate him, and not a woman or man who’ll touch him once we made sure the world knew what he did. Quietly. But when told to the right people, quiet can take on a power of its own.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What? That I was Iron Man?”

“No. That you were my soulmate.”

[[ Maybe a little epilogue resolution with Bucky coming back, making his way to the Tower? And Natasha and Steve curled up together on the couch just before Bucky literally crashed through the window that leads out onto the quinjet landing pad of the Tower. Romanov running onto the floor, weapons, knives bristling, and then stopping and staring at Bucky, and him at her. It’s obvious they’re soulmates, and long-lost, star-crossed ones at that. Fin. ]]

HERE BE DRAGONS: a.k.a. The ORIGINAL, ORIGINAL notes for this fic, before everything else written above. So weird. 

***

Secret Identity soulmate fic for ishipallthings  

One scene idea: Steve has a nightmare but the only one awake is Iron Man in the suit. She’s remarkably good at helping with his panic attack. 

Another: going for a midnight fly soon after Steve wakes in the future. View of the city. 

Pepper is one of the only ones who know Tasha’s secret identity, and she keeps giving Steve weird, piercing looks, slowly piecing together it all. Perhaps she plays some role with meddling to get them together?

Tasha thinks Steve doesn’t want her, and Steve is somewhat glad Iron Man hasn’t brought up their soulmate status, but what about his feelings for Tasha? Maybe one day one or the other overhears, or it’s in a battle where the armor falls away or gets destroyed and oh look, Iron Man is Tasha Stark. Steve’s fucking mortified but also so thrilled. 

Avengers training sessions (including Rhodey). Natasha watching a lot from the sidelines even as Iron Man was practicing maneuvers with the rest of the team. She always had some tips, and Steve learned to listen to them. Sometimes she wasn’t watching, and Iron Man was a bit more personable, as if able to relax more without her employer around.

Team dinners.

Sometimes Steve walking into the kitchen to see Iron Man with a smoothie, straw stuck through the bottom part of the faceplate that was opened just enough that he could catch a glimpse of smooth, ivory skin.

He tries to reach out to her, tries to connect with her, tries to talk about the soulmate thing. But after the first few times he gives up and agrees with her, that they should focus on being friends and teammates first and foremost, and see what comes from that.

Movie nights. Iron Man doesn’t join them for that, and Steve takes to sitting beside Natasha. The team knows that Iron Man is his soulmate but they also know that Iron Man has gently let him down.

Steve wonders where Iron Man sleeps. If it’s in the same apartment complex as Natasha’s on the top floor, the one where Rhodey and Pepper also have rooms.

Why Iron Man as bodyguard? Perhaps use a cover of her having been severely injured, and maybe she does experience severe, every day pain as a result of Afghanistan, but she pushes through anyway. It provides a good cover, but she prefers to use her suit when she can. When she’s not in it, her most sophisticated A.I. and speech analyzer are in control with minimal input from her and her glasses/watch. She doesn’t look able-bodied enough to be Iron Man but she still looks graceful. Thin metal nanotech bridging the fingers and palm/back of her left hand. A slender cane for the slight limp she experiences though she barely uses it. Her arc reactor of course. As Iron Man she experiences none of her physical ailments but it would do more harm than good if people know it’s her inside. 

Tasha does nice things for him while Iron Man is more aloof. She smiles beautifully even if she’s snarky and sassy and talks back and argues. But she gives and gives for the team, her company, and yet… seems so lonely too.

Her words are on her back but they’re covered in scars from Ten Rings (or Howard?). Steve could be in the medical wing when he somehow catches sight of Helen tending them, catches just a few words, flushes for being so rude and hurries on. Only later does he put together the few words he saw.

End up on a boat together to escape; too dangerous to use the suit since it’s one spark away from going kaput. But Iron Woman hasn’t woken up. So he keeps talking to her during her brief moments of consciousness and then talks and observes some more, checking for broken bones and splinting when needed. But Toni still hasn’t improved and JARVIS overrides the protocols (he can do that much but that, though, especially when Toni’s life is in danger.

Toni feeeeeeels. 

Interludes with ‘normal’ being interviewed for them all; she. There is quiet a lot of reading

The shock of finding who it is along with pulling them deeper into the caves and him curling around her, carefully. Then suddenly it clears somewhat and the gang all just dies one by one amongst each other. 

Gentle love and seduction is the name of the game here, 

Only sees Iron Man during battles. Thinks she doesn’t want him, or that there’s a reason she can’t expose herself or her identity (not unheard of for people to choose not to be with their soulmates) so Steve seeks out Tasha instead. Spends a lot of time with her. Seems she has no soulmate either, or not one she’s chosen or was chosen by. 

“I can’t be what or who you need me to be.” Steve is both heartbroken and relieved. Conversations with Natalia and Clint about Stark. 

From the MTH info:

-

Likes: Mutual pining, UST, friends to lovers, soulmate AU, Endgame fix-its, canon-divergence, alternate first meeting, non-powered AU, fluff, domestic Avengers/team feels, outsider POV, accidental love confessions, fake married, protective Steve/Tony, BAMF Tony, snarky Steve, bookworm Steve, presumed dead, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, discussion of Steve and Tony’s past, getting back together, friends with benefits, one-night-stand-turned-more, epistolary fic, identity porn, time travel, genderswap, established relationship, angst with a happy ending.

DNW: PWP, A/B/O, Hydra Steve, Villain Steve or Tony, dub-con/non-con, Unhappy/Bittersweet Ending, Major Character Death, infidelity, Virgin Steve, Past Steve/Bucky or past unrequited Steve/Bucky

• - A touch from your soulmate will leave an imprint there (like a different coloured area on your skin, or a symbol, or name) The mark could be there from birth, but change colour when your soulmate actually touches you.

• - Ink marks (similar to tattoos) are on your body. When your soulmate is in the vicinity, it’ll slowly move, as if reaching out. When you two touch, the tattoos will connect with each other. The ink mark can be an animal symbol/tattoo-like, representative of your soulmate. When you first touch (even through barriers like clothes) the black and white ink starts to fill with colour.

Conversation between myself and my artist partner in crime, AnonymousMink: 

okay so how about the location of the room is Steve's set of apartments, so there could be some 20s-40s related paraphernalia on the walls, a Brooklyn Dodgers pennant, an old clock, maybe like a cuckoo one or a grandfather, or I don't mind if it's simpler. whatever fits. he likes old vocal jazz so there could be a record player, or a record signed and framed on the wall (don't need to see the detail). ummmm. stuff like that? we can talk details when it comes time for those details. oh, his shield could be resting against the couch or against the end table on his side, maybe his gloves laid out beside it. A few hardcover books on the table.

On Tasha's side, maybe a half-full glass of something on the end table beside her phone, with a black and silver stylized cane propped up against the table, and a pair of flats on the floor beside it.

Colour of the walls and couch and tables (wood of some sort though?) up to you. I ain't an artist lol. Maybe a window if it's not too distracting, and I'm picturing this happening when it's dark out, so I guess, city lights if there's a window?

Steve, I picture, is in his typical tight athletic t-shirt and in sweatpants, bare feet.

Tasha... hm, how about something a little different than the usual for her. Lots of people do sweatpants or jeans and a tank top/band shirt for her 'home gear'

since most fem!tony's are classed up a little, how about even for her comfy clothes she goes a bit classier? maybe some black leggings or ones with a pattern of some sort on them? and then a longer tunic-type top, probably with short to medium sleeves, but long can work too.

colour and/or pattern can be anything you think looks good, too. It can even be a band t-shirt type tunic, haha, just because it IS Tony/Tasha

or star trek/star wars

or, since you LOVE Harley Quinn, you could find some way to incorporate that into her shirt and/or leggings hehehe

i love Margo's Harley

her hair in this fic is the black i love, but she has a section that's pure white right off of one of her temples (comic science: result of the trauma of afghanistan, i'm weird) that she usually keeps braided. So hmmm I describe it as her hair being loose, but what about a really messy bun high on the head (lol that's how I wear mine) or half up half down? And the braid could be undone, or done and down, or done and gathered up with the bun. Experiment with it and see what looks best?

she has blue eyes in this universe.

and if you can manage it, show part of the arc reactor? or at least the glow from it, even if it's subtle.

the last important piece that's particular to my Tasha are her ring/bracelet pieces. 10 silver rings, with some blue that is basically mini arc reactors because she uses them as weapons. but in the art you could just show them as silver rings with some blue on them, with silver chains attaching the five rings to a silver and blue bracelet around each wrist.

uh so position wise.... Couch can be two or three cushions wide, whichever, but so long as Tasha can be leaning against the pillow on the armrest with her legs across Steve's lap, her knees being basically right in front of him. His hands are actually on her bad knee (the left one, so let's make it so that her left side is the front-facing side here, which = her head on the right side of the picture if we're looking at it). And the white part of her hair is her left temple as well.

sorry there's so much detail lmao, I'm kinda having fun with this and will be including some of this detail in the fic now, since you made me think on it more!

we can totally tone down on it too, if need be. xD

i just have a very visual mind even if I can't actually demonstrate it visually.

okay so for the SOULMARKS

they're moving marks once activated, but they often settle, especially depending on how the wearer is feeling (not who the mark represents). but i'm thinking to make it easy, for Tasha's have it just be a male lion resting side-profile across her back, with the light suggestion of lying on grass, if that's possible.

For Steve's, the phoenix, I don't care if it's in flight or perched, wings in, on a branch, as long as the feathers are different colours/shades and the tail is long and trailing down Steve's back.

and yeah, Tasha's lion (so her back, plus parts of her neck and arms and down to her ass, essentially, because he lost control of his already awful anger) is covered by long scars. some thick, some thin, but most of them straight and long. They've healed for the most part but some still reopen after, say, battles. so some silver scars, but some pink.

oh and the animals/marks themselves can be stylized if you want, rather than more 'realistic'

you can make them smaller too, if need be. it doesn't need to perfectly match what I describe in the fic.

Have Iron Man give Steve a ‘name’ to call her by that’s not Iron Man. She’s trying, really, to be good, maybe doesn’t even really know why she’s hiding her ID from him but maybe by the time she realizes Steve won’t be horrified at the idea of an ex-weapons merchant, The Merchant of Death, being his soulmate, since he seems to love hanging around Tasha as a person… she thinks she’s in too deep and will be hated for lying to Steve for so long. 

So one scene is Iron Man and him talking about a name to call her. 

A later scene is her realization that Steve might actually like her true self . And like as in love . 

Either part of that scene or a later one, Steve could utter a sleepy confession about his feelings for Tasha, or even Tasha sleepy confess to falling in love with Steve and either situation leaves them shocked but they keep it to themselves and mull over it. If it’s Tasha who confessed, this could give Steve the courage to talk with Iron Man about his feelings for Tasha and how he feels bad because she is his soulmate and he did want to give it a try but she just won’t give him the opportunity, not really. Great opportunity for a reveal for Tasha but she’s too fucking chicken. But now she knows how Steve feels. 

Title ideas:

Soulmates and Strangers 

• (that song that goes “we were soulmates and then we were strangers”—even if it’s not entirely the right ‘order’.)

You were a kindness when I was a stranger

• song, many good lyrics to pick from

Signposts

Alone with my thoughts this evening

I walked on the banks of Tyne

I wondered how I could win you

Or if I could make you mine

Or if I could make you mine

The wind it was so insistent

With tales of a stormy south

But when I spied two birds in a sycamore tree

There came a dryness in my mouth

Came a dryness in my mouth

For then without rhyme or reason

The two birds did rise up to fly

And where the two birds were flying

I swear I saw you and I

I swear I saw you and I

 

I walked out this morning

It was like a veil had been removed from before my eyes

For the first time I saw the work of heaven

In the line where the hills had been married to the sky

And all around me every blade of singing grass

Was calling out your name and that our love would always last

And inside every turning leaf

Is the pattern of an older tree

The shape of our future

The shape of all our history

And out of the confusion

Where the river meets the sea

Came things I'd never seen

Things I'd never seen

I was brought to my senses

I was blind but now that I can see

Every signpost in nature

Said you belong to me

 

I know it's true

It's written in a sky as blue

As blue as your eyes, as blue as your eyes

If nature's red in tooth and claw

Like winter's freeze and summer's thaw

The wounds she gave me

Were the wounds that would heal me

And we'd be like the moon and sun

And when our courtly dance had run

Its course across the sky

Then together we would lie

And out of the confusion

Where the river meets the sea

Something new would arrive

Something better would arrive

 

I was brought to my senses

I was blind but now that I can see

Every signpost in nature

Said you belong to me

Alone with my thoughts this evening

I walked on the banks of Tyne

I wondered how I could win you

Or if I could make you mine

Or if I could make you mine

 

(The above is:) I Was Brought to My Senses, a  Rajaton cover of the Sting song by the same name.

How can I decide what's right

When you're clouding up my mind?

I can't win your losing fight

All the time

 

Nor can I ever own what's mine

When you're always taking sides

But you won't take away my pride

No, not this time

 

No, not this time

 

How did we get here

When I used to know you so well?

 

How did we get here?

Well, I think I know

 

The truth is hiding in your eyes

And it's hanging on your tongue

Just boiling in my blood

But you think that I can't see

 

What kind of man that you are

If you're a man at all

Well, I will figure this one out

On my own

 

On my own

(My thoughts you can't decode)

 

How did we get here

When I used to know you so well? Yeah

 

How did we get here?

Well, I think I know

 

Do you see

What we've done?

We've gone and made such fools

Of ourselves

Do you see

What we've done?

We've gone and made such fools

Of ourselves

 

Yeah

 

How did we get here

When I used to know you so well? Yeah, yeah, yeah

Well, how did we get here?

When I used to know you so well?

 

I think I know

 

I think I know

 

There is something

I see in you

It might kill me

I want it to be true

(The above is:) Decode, a Chase Holfelder cover—in minor—of the Paramore song by the same name

The working title for this piece was Decode until I posted it, actually!