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“Soulmates are bound on a metaphysical level. This link transcends gender, species, and even death. The souls flow toward one another across the cosmos, finding one another by whatever means necessary. The fate of entire planets have been shifted to accommodate the reunion of two souls.”
--Eira, Asgardian metaphysic
The mate-mark over Darcy’s heart had always been a little weird. Most people had pale marks, the sign that their perfect mates had not yet reached maturity. They would be formless blobs until their mate reached the maturity level required to meet their partner. Many children around the world grew up with smears of color over their breastbones.
Darcy’s was clear and solid from birth. Either her mate was precocious, or already an adult. The Lewis’s quietly fretted over which it was; Darcy thought it made her special. The other problem was the symbol itself. Instead of the graceful interlocked loops and lines that represented her mate’s soul, it was a blocky, straight-edged image of a sword and shield.
Her mark was photographed and studied by ‘mark scholars around the world. Her name was withheld to protect her in scientific circles, but that effort didn’t protect her in her daily life. While Darcy knew that her mark was amazing and meant her future mate was special, the other kids in the playground knew it made her different. She was teased and tormented for it, but she kept her chin up, knowing that it would be worth it.
During high school, the taunts became charged with sexual innuendo, and she started to hate her mark. She couldn’t maintain her belief in the specialness of her mark when she was told that she’d need Viagra or that her mate’s boobs would be floppy by the time Darcy met them. Her stubborn hope wasn’t enough in the face of cruel peer pressure.
In college, she became a curiosity rather than an object of ridicule, which wasn’t any better. Conversations about soulmates and their marks led to her having to share, or worse, refusing. Of course, refusing only welcomed more inquires and a pressure to share, and inevitably, she told them. She learned to trade booze for the story, figuring that if nothing else, she could get drunk.
Then she got her internship, and met Jane, who saw her mate-mark, went, “Huh. Do you know how to calibrate an analytical scale? You can’t. Would you be willing to learn?” That had literally been the end of it, until she’d found out that Jane had the exact opposite issue: her mate-mark had never clarified. It remained an indistinct blur over her heart. “You wouldn’t believe the cougar jokes I get,” she’d said one night over a beer, shrugging as if it weren’t important.
That was why Darcy loved Jane: to her, it wasn’t important. Even when she’d thought she was normal, the stars had held far more sway than the man or woman who’d theoretically sweep her off her feet. Jane cared more for the person you were than the person you’d be when you were “completed by your one”.
Erik had been more curious about Darcy’s mark, but he was kind enough to not pry. Together, they gave her a working environment where she was respected for her accomplishments instead of pitied for her oddity.
Then Thor came from the heavens and changed everything. On the way to the hospital, Jane had caught sight of his chest through the rent in his shirt. “That’s me,” Jane said, her voice dazed as she stared at the mark over his heart. “That’s my soul. I recognize it.”
“Wow, he’s got to be thirty, and he still hasn’t matured?” Darcy said before she thought better of it. “They shouldn’t have been joking about cougars, because he’s a total man-child.”
Jane gave her an exasperated glare. “Just get him to the hospital.”
Thor grew up quickly; the night they pulled him from SHIELD’s care, Jane’s mark clarified into an ornate hammer. Like Darcy’s mark, it was blocky and ugly and suggested violence. “It means we’re soulmates,” Thor said, “and that we’ve spent our previous lives together. We always find one another, Jane, no matter how far away we are.”
So when the rest of Thor’s friends show up, Darcy was keenly interested. She kinda thought it might be Volstagg; he was the oldest of them, and could have been an adult when she was born. That had to wait though: the fire-monster came, and then Mew-mew came back to Thor, and there was running and screaming and heroics.
“You.” The feminine voice caught her off guard, and Darcy spun, blinking. Sif stared at her, stoic and calm. “You bear a mark like Jane Foster’s.”
“I, uh, do.” Darcy hesitated and pulled the collar of her shirt down.
The gorgeous woman inhaled sharply, then stepped forward and cupped Darcy’s cheeks. “Whoa,” the intern squeaked just before Sif kissed her. Her soul mate was very strong, and Darcy let herself melt into her arms. Sif’s lips were soft yet insistent, and by the time she released Darcy, the intern was dizzy.
“I must return to Asgard with Thor,” Sif told her, “but I shall return to you.”
“Yeah,” Darcy replied, stunned into one-word remarks. Aw, fuck it, she thought a moment later and grabbed Sif for another toe-curling kiss. “You’d better come back,” she told her, before releasing her armor.
She stood next to Jane as Heimdall took their soulmates away. “How long do you think they’ll be gone?” Jane asked softly.
“I don’t know, but it’d better not be long,” Darcy replied, throwing an arm over Jane. “Now come on, I need to talk to a SHIELD agent about an iPod.”