The Avenger's soulmate

Chapter four: The party

Steve Rogers was nervous. Heartbeats sprang and jittered in his chest, a while ago he'd slumped into a sofa to relax. It had proven futile. Crowds bustled around him, women in elegant dresses, wine glasses resting delicately in their palms. It brought his mind back to Peggy, the red dress she'd worn at that bar that one time, her dark brown hair curling by her collarbone. The kiss they'd shared before he got on that plane and dived it into the midst of nowhere seventy years ago. Peggy Carter was his second soulmate. The mark of hers had faded a while ago, reduced to a black blur on his wrist but the others stood prominent. One untouched, unfelt blazing subtle like flames of fire licking at his skin. He'd searched for them, his other mates had too, all in search of the same mark they shared. In the end, they came up hopeless, their search ended a year ago.
It's what hung on Steve's mind now. Not some thoughts that crushed him but a feeling, an odd pull in his chest, spiking his heartbeat. He'd experienced it many times, first with Bucky, second with Peggy, later with—who?

"Capsickle," Stark announced, gesturing eccentrically towards his soulmate as he marched over. He was drunk. Or he wasn't.
"Are you drunk?" Steve asked as the billionaire sank into the cushions beside him.
"Nervous." Their eyes locked, and both softened knowingly.
"You feel it too?"
Tony sat forward, entwining his fingers with his soulmates, "Yeah." he sighed, scanning the crowd, "Are they here? Is it a he or she, do you think?"
"I honestly could not tell you, dear."

They sat in silence. Tony nursed his drink. Steve watched the crowd intently, hoping to lock eyes with one, feel that draw to them then that electrifying spark.
Finally, he spoke, "Do you think she or he will like us?"
"I'd be surprised if she didn't," Stark chuckled, ruffling his man's hair, rising from his seat, "We're the Avengers."
Steve opened his mouth to answer but the inventor was already slipping through the crowd. Stark was nervous, the supersoldier could feel it through his mark, wavering and fading with each sip of alcohol. It was annoying that he couldn't get drunk, Steve had tried many a time, and now he needed Thor's ancient alcohol concoction he'd had before. Nerves wavered through his heart, it was all he could focus on. So, unable to control his growing energy, he stood up and wandered to a better vantage point. Arms rested on the balcony's railing and he inspected the crowd.

No one had that pull. No one shuffled awkwardly on their feet. It was all clinking glasses and chatter. Rogers leaned against the railings, eyeing the crowd. Maybe his soulmate was only just arriving, he stared towards the elevator.
Someone appeared at his side, offering up a whisky to him, "What's wrong?" she said. For a second, Rogers, grasping the glass glanced at her. Natasha looked worried, her dark eyes narrowed at him,
"Nothing, nothing."
"You know it's futile to lie," she teased, mirroring his stance, draping herself over the railing, "we can feel your emotions through the mark."
"We?"
"Yup, they're worried, so am I."
"Can you feel it?" he glanced at her, "the pull?"
"Yes, but we've experienced it a lot before Stevie, it's odd if she just turned up now after we searched for years."
"Everything about this scenario is odd," he muttered, downing his beverage and glancing back at the elevator. The numbers above had begun to change. Zero flicked to two. The disorganized beat of his heart grew erratic, rocketing through his brain like someone was taking a hammer to iron. "Nat-"
"I feel it." Their eyes glued to the numbers: Three, four...ten...twelve...

The doors pulled open. Steve straightened up as she entered.
She looked like a goddess. A crimson gown, swathed in a fur coat flowed around her curves as she strutted forward, pursued by someone else. She was truly divine. Like from a book, her body seemed to be carved from olive marble, with smooth curves, every inch molded to perfection. They studied her from afar. The face of painted perfection, all the right edges, and angles from the eyeliner around those almond eyes, from her hooked nose to the rest of her. Tousled curls dropped around her shoulders, her hand was threaded within, rearranging her hair like she'd just removed it from a bun. Pearl earrings dropped from her ears, twitching as she shook her head gently.
"Holy," Steve whispered, turning to intercept her when a hand seized his.
"Don't," Nat said, eyes wide.
"Why?" he moved back to her.
"You don't want to bombard her, okay? She looks nervous." Steve furrowed his brow, she hadn't looked nervous but when he took another glance he noticed: Her hand entwined with another woman's, eyes darting across the room furtively, her ginger movements as she followed her friend to the bar.
"She's nervous, let's let her settle, get comfortable."
"But..." his soulmate cupped his cheek, brushing a reassuring thumb over his skin,
"come on we've waited all our lives, what's another half an hour?" she reasoned with a smile.
"Alright." he smiled back