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Soulmates were something neither scientist nor sceptic could explain.
The concept and implications that two souls were bound to each other were grand topics that nearly everyone wanted to explore and yet could not make headway to exposing the truth behind it.
Most would say that it is science, and that there must be a reason that you had another half. Some would quote old Greek mythologies. Others would say that it was magic. Tony sided with those who didn’t give a crap.
When he met (Y/N), and everything in his life seemed to click into place, Tony realised it didn’t matter how or why he was fated to her, if only mattered that he was. He was forever grateful to the mark on his wrist, the only that signified their unbreakable bond.
Although, if he truly gave it thought, he would dismiss the idea of anything otherworldly. He had seen enough horrors working at NCIS. If magic existed, he would have seen the repercussions dead in Ducky’s morgue.
And yet when the deranged women sat in interrogation mutter under her breath about how she had changed the fates, going on and on about how Tony was cursed to a hundred lifetimes alone, Tony felt a chill go down his spine. He rushed out of the observation room and into the bullpen where he saw (Y/N) writing a report at her desk. She was here; she was alive. Tony felt himself let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Quickly, he moved over to her desk and leaned on top of it. "You okay?"
"Yeah," She hummed, before looking up. She recoiled slightly, shocked to see Tony so disheveled and panting. "Are you? You look a little... out of it."
"As long as you're fine, I'm fine."
Tony smiled at her, watching as she drew her attention back to her work. That old woman was crazy, (Y/N) was fine, she was okay; she was alive and that was enough.
-----
Tony's peace of mind only lasted a few more days. Another case had landed in their laps. The MCRT had been called out to assist the FBI and Homeland in the capture of a terrorist cell who had set up base in a local Navy port.
There was five suspects within the cell, three had already been arrested, leaving only two for the capture. Tony was confident everything would be fine, they had three agencies and nearly 50 trained personal out for the two suspects. The teams had been split up to cover more ground, McGee and (Y/N) had gone left while Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs had gone right.
Tony heard the gunshots before the the pain set into his wrist, right where his soulmark sat. He couldn't feel anything else except that burning pressure as he ran throughout the port towards the sound of bullets being fired. He could faintly hear Gibbs and Ziva following him, yelling him to retreat, but he didn't want to listen, he couldn't. He had to find (Y/N).
The port seemed ever winding, but not once did Tony slow down. He weaved throughout different storage containers and frantic agents until he found a clearing near the water. There, slumped against a wooden storage container, lay (Y/N). If it weren't from the wound leaking blood down her chest, he would have thought her asleep. Her face gave no indication of pain or suffering. It was a quick death.
Tony moved to her side, pulling her still warm body into his. He shook her, even though he knew that she was already gone. He begged her to wake up, to come back to him. He prayed, begged, and bartered. But neither man nor God could save her now.
----
The funeral of Agent (Y/N) (L/N) was a beautiful affair. Agents and colleagues she had worked with as well as families she had helped through her work joined her friends and family in giving her the proper memoriam that she deserved. Tony couldn't remember much of the proceedings, too numb to even comprehend what had happened let alone anything else.
Time seemed to pass slower after her death, it took months for the reality to set in, and a few more years on top of that to accept that she wasn't coming back. It was only as Tony looked at her portrait hung amongst others of their fallen colleagues at NCIS did he think back to that woman he met in integration and her mutterings of his future.
Tony took a step back, looking in the glass of the frame so that he could see himself. His eyes did not wrinkle as McGee's had begun to and his hair held the same vibrant colour that it had always done. It was only then did Tony fully accept that his torture had only begun and that he would suffer until the far off day that he would die.