The Avenger's soulmate

Two: Soulmarks

Jackson had always assumed Ophelia didn't have soulmates. Nor did he question the scar on her wrist where the evidence had been carved from her skin. She had soulmates unfortunately she was unable to remember how many. She'd never tried to search for who they were, test if their connection remained. That had never been her goal. It still wasn't, not even when her friend Lydia allowed her to stay in New York with her. It was not her mission. The whole point of her newfound freedom was she had no lovers, no missions, no person she had to reach, no target she had to eliminate. So why did she feel a pull? A pull in her gut to find them? Or learn who they could've been to her? These questions haunted her mind as the taxi drove her from the airport. Everything was unfamiliar. Ophelia was aware she'd been here before but in truth, she only remembered that three years ago, after that mind spell had broken. After she was free. The soldier had been here.
So she had been here. One of them could remember why. The other could not. So, glancing up at the skyscrapers and bustling crowds, all the sour emotions began to build in her throat. Her shadows grew a fresh turmoil in her stomach. Were her soulmates here? She wondered, scanning across the sea of faces. Were they average civilians, minding their business? Could she have found them if she was one of them, the normals, the people minding their own luxury lifestyles or poor ones? Would they have wanted her? All the questions bubbled in her skull, waiting to be answered.

The driver had marks, she eyed them as he turned the wheel, his sleeve lifting slightly, revealing the soft black dash across his wrist. After a while, the driver began to notice her staring. "You alright miss?" he asked, glancing back at her.
"Sorry," Ophelia started, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I was just curious about your soulmark that's all."
"Oh really?" Shock split his voice, and she noticed his body perk up, "Don't you have yours, dear?"
"No, I lost mine."
"Lost? Oh." Their eyes met in the mirror, he gazed soulfully into her blank ones. He must've thought her soulmate had died, and with it, her mark gone. He was wrong, it wasn't some sorrowful love story, she loved her till her last breath; Held him till his heart gave out. No, her mark was carved jaggedly from her skin in a test... A test of her loyalty. The soldier had to prove she was bound to her duties not to love.
Ophelia sighed, "I have a question, hypothetical, but what happens if someone removes their mark? Is their connection severed?" There was a silence. The car rattled along the road. People on the sidewalks chattered loudly. The driver gripped the wheel tighter.
"Hypothetical?"
"Yes." she lied.
"Unfortunately, no one's ever tested for the answer–Oh lookie here, it's your stop!" he announced with a puff of relieved air. Clearly he'd been holding his breath since that question was asked. Normal people didn't chat about such a grim topic as that.
"Oh," she whispered, "thanks."

Quickly the driver was paid and she was yanking all her belongings from the tiny car boot. The next second, as the door slammed, he was speeding away; Leaving behind him a foul stench of car fumes. "Lovely." she spat.

Fifteen minutes later, Lydia was hauling her friend's things up the stairs, with Ophelia in tow with even more luggage. "Why do you have so much stuff?" The blonde grunted.
"It's not all mine."
"Whose is it then?"
"Jacksons-ow." her friend had stopped moving, she was fixed on the stairs, staring wide-eyed down at her. "Jacksons?"
Ophelia smiled innocently, "he took a year's worth of my life, should I not take something too?"
"What did you steal?"
"Eh, only a few things."

Those few things were a watch, his hoodie, and a bottle of wine. It was not just some cheaply bought wine, plucked from a supermarket shelf. No, Jackson had owned a winery–well his sister did–and this was from its eldest batch. It'd been given to both of them: Ophelia and Jackson as a sort of "get together gift" as two individuals who were not destined for anyone and yet they'd found each other. Romantic. Ophelia looked down at this bottle and smirked. That statement, that romantic notion of love would swiftly disappear hours later. Once that cork is pulled, the bottle will only be drained. In a way, it foreshadowed that year of relationship she had with that woman's brother; It had its bitter taste in her mouth and gave her a momentary high then a horrible hangover. The horrible hangover in question was six months long. So, Ophelia grinned, plopped the bottle down in her friend's cabinet, and shut the door.
"Reminiscing?" Lydia asked, studying her friend from the kitchen counter.
"Regretting."
"Ah well, it's over now, we can live our lives." The blonde head tilted to the side, her lips peeling back into a lopsided grin, "Wanna go to a party later?"
Ophelia frowned, "Whose party are we talking about?"
"Oh, just a millionaire's," Lydia commented, flicking an imaginary dust speck from her shoulder.
"Is this the chap that lives in that great tower like Rapunzel?"
"No, he doesn't have long hair so he'd be someone else, he'd be Flynn Rider."
"Handsome then?"
"He's Tony Stark, love, of course, he's handsome."