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The water in the tank is turning red with his blood as he lays uncomfortably on the open edge, and his only thoughts are "I'm sorry, Natasha."
Barney stands before them, his bow in one hand and quiver across his back, a knife in the other, staring at the Siren in the cracked and leaking tank with unadulterated hatred. At the creature he brought into his circus, he spits his disgust, and comes closer, telling Clint, his brother, his family by blood, as he tries to shift in front of her again, to move.
Clint can't, he doesn't have the strength, but by god, he'll protect his Siren until his very last breath.
Barney makes the move to move Clint himself, he doesn't want to hurt his brother, he loves him, in his own way. But this Siren has him under his spell. Regardless if Clint can't even hear the Song, Barney just knows. Clint has never had good luck with women, a mix of his Deafness and utter clumsiness, but around this, Siren, he falls over himself, just for her, brings her treats and presents, and he saw that necklace she had on Clint's neck and it has to be a trap. She has to be planning something. He slips his bow over his head and across his chest and strides closer.
Clint coughs and struggles against Barney's hands, fighting weakly with bloodied hands saying “no, no, no,” in his rough voice. They're not far from the edge, really, the ocean roars below them and there's no where they can go. Nowhere Clint can go. If Natasha can get herself out, she can make it out, she doesn't need him, she never did.
Barney has chased them all this way, following tips and cold leads about a blond man and a Siren in a tank. It’s not as uncommon as you may think, but not many people are crossing state lines and heading for the coast with one. Caught Sirens are normally brought into the country, not out.
Barney cries out and staggers backwards after Natasha snaps her unhinging jaws around the elder archer's arm, and she hisses at him from, well, somewhere behind Clint. Clint isn't so sure, his low level of hearing mixed with the pain of being shot with an arrow, and losing so much damn blood, it’s making everything kind of fuzzy.
He slides from the edge of the tank and onto the hard ground with a quiet grunt and groan and his eyes stay open long enough to watch a pair of legs step over him, lean, but strong looking, and he follows them blearily to find Natasha's back, her dark fire hair dripping on her shoulders. Her face, from what Clint can see from the ground, is one of controlled fury, a quiet but destructive storm as she takes long strides closer to Barney. He doesn’t look at her butt, he was a gentleman, and one in love too, he loves this woman dearly, enough for him to turn his back on the only family he’s ever known. He knows it’s real, too, he’s deaf, he can’t hear her tempting song, though he wishes he could so he could hear her voice. He wishes he could hear her say his name.
Clint can see his brother's face, shocked and flushed red because Natasha is very naked, but is beautiful in her nakedness, her body powerful, lean muscles under silk soft tanned skin that’s dotted with scarlet and black scales over her hips and shoulders. Clint thinks she’s beautiful, he always did.
Barney shakes his head and takes a step forward, lashing out with his knife hand and she catches it without even blinking, and twists her wrist. Barney wails as his arm snaps like she's doing nothing but breaking a twig. It's bent at a bad angle at the elbow, and something is poking at the skin of his forearm. The knife clatters to the stone under them, forgotten completely. She says something to him too, something snarled because Barney flinches and it's the first time in a long while Clint has seen fear in his brother's eyes.
It's effortless, the way she wraps her hand around his throat and lifts him, just by slightly, enough for him to struggle to walk when she turns and walks him, back towards the cliff. She’s shorter than Barney, on legs, so lifting his elder brother, Clint thinks has to be some kind of superpower.
Clint's vision is fading, black creeping in at the corners and he can feel his own heartbeat slow, the gentle glow of the crystal on his skin is gradually getting further apart. He forces himself to keep his eyes open, even as Natasha holds his brother over the edge of the rocks, just barely leaning him back. His good arm is holding onto her wrist, eyes wide and begging, but there’s no point. She lets him go and Barney's arms are pinwheeling as he staggers backwards. His foot slips and there's a choked scream as he disappears over the edge.
Clint's not sure when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them, Natasha is kneeling beside him, a hand flitting over the wound in his side, right between his ribs, so he thinks he might have a punctured lung. That's always fun. She's saying something, her lips moving quickly, and Clint gasps out that he can't hear her, and by the way she knits her brows, what he said doesn’t make a lot of sense.
His eyelids are so heavy, and there’s not much he can see anymore, so he lets them close for a while. When he opens them again, there's a rush of cold salty air on his skin and the feeling of warmth pressed against his front. They're falling, he realizes slowly, and as Natasha presses her pale lips to his, he finds he doesn’t care, not when the taste of saltwater on her lips tastes like wine.
They hit the water and there's no more pain.
~~
Maybe I should start at the beginning of this tragic story, the story of the star-crossed circus archer and the captured Siren. A tale of what sacrifices must be made for love and a young man who was willing to turn his back on everything he ever knew for a siren who couldn’t speak.
Our tale actually starts in the circus, the Coney Island Circus to be exact, with brothers Barney and Clint Barton, the star attractions as Trickshot and Hawkeye, find themselves face to face with a siren, caught in a net by a fisherman. She’s beautiful, tanned skin and long deep red hair in tangles around her rounded face. Her cheeks are defined, and when she opens her mouth to snarl, they realize it’s because the true edges of her mouth are around her cheekbones, and her jaws descend to show a wicked set of needle like teeth. Her chest is bare, her breasts supple without being too big, her torso long and lean with crescent gills on her neck and bottom ribs, smooth looking skin gradually grading into scarlet scales with black spattered in them like a koi's markings, almost, and inky looking fins. She wears a necklace too, a pretty little conch shell dangling next to, what looks to be, a sliver of quartz, but it’s glowing dimly by her sternum, so he rethinks the normal gem idea.
She clutches at the netting while a note curls through the air, begging and longing to be free, and Barney slaps his hands over his ears in attempt not to listen to the call of the Song. Clint is unaware, being mostly deaf since the car crash that took their parents, but still, he stares at her like she’s hanging the sun and the moon and personally painting the clouds and stars.
The fisherman is wearing earmuffs, but he still looks a little glassy eyed, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, because Barney flashes a wad of cash and sends Clint off to find a pet store.
Within an hour, at most, they have her in a massive tank of sea water with a muzzle strapped over her mouth, and are fixing bars to the top of the tank until they can have a bigger one built. It’s almost comical, the way she’s scrunched up, her tail bent backwards and over her head, her arms held over her chest and she’s glaring heatedly at anyone who gets close enough. With her mouth covered, she can’t Sing, which is good for everyone really, but her fins quiver and her clawed hands flex while she sits in the cramped tank.
Clint feels bad for her. Barney keeps talking excitedly about how many people will come to see her, she’ll be famous, the circus will be famous, they could finally travel like they wanted to. See, Barney uses the circus as a front, he takes money for himself right off the top, steals from people and the booth at the very front of the fair. But he has plans, he wants to be a part of a traveling circus, there’s one he plans on meeting, and if they bring her along, well, no one could say no to a pair of master show archers and a damn Siren.
But all Clint can see is the look in her eyes, the stoic kind of fear, the want to be nothing but free. He feels for her, really. He never wanted to be a part of Barney’s, well, he can only call it Circus of Crime, he just wanted to follow his brother, but be good people, make their way through before getting to do something else.
But with Barney, he never had that option. He twisted things around, made it sound like the world was out to get them, that they would never fit in. Especially if anyone found out what he was doing. Clint would be brought down along with him.
Clint hates to admit it, but he’s scared.
But still, all he can do is run with Barney’s plan, and it works . People from all over come to the show, to see her, to see them. She doesn’t have an act, not really, she’s more like a museum piece, a dazzling piece of jewelry for people to ooh and awe at. But the crowds love her. She’s beautiful, who wouldn’t.
They’ve finally gotten her a bigger tank, it’s wider, and deeper, but there’s still bars on top to keep her contained. She can move around a little bit, and she’s gotten to the point where, if she’s good, Barney will take the muzzle off her for a while to let her shift her jaw. He’s careful about it, he clears the rooms close to her and wears ear plugs so she can’t influence him.
Clint hates that she’s becoming compliant, that she’s allowing him to do this, allowing for him to control her. There had been a fire in her eyes a month ago, but it’s dwindled now, still there, but not quite as bright. When Barney tells her he’s going to add her in the show, all she does is nod and put her head down, eyes closing and she worms to turn away.
They find that women, well, most of them, there are a few that go a little glassy eyed and, Clint notices with a laugh, are the ones who are sitting a little close to another girl they came with, are sort of immune to the natural charm a Siren possesses, while men, if they hear her song, are near instantly turned into lovesick dumb-asses. It’s hilarious to watch. After a few trial and error shows, they hand out ear plugs at the beginning of the show and tell them to put them in before they bring her out. They do it with everyone, as a just in case.
But then Barney gets greedy. There are shows, late at night, when it’s mostly men who are half drunk on fair alcohol and don’t want to go home, where he doesn’t hand ear plugs out, he lets them in and brings her out and lets her sing.The crowd goes glassy eyed and slack jawed, and Barney weaves through the stands and picks pockets. Clint hates it, but keeps his mouth shut.
Barney tries to get her to do it on a regular basis, tries to tell her, threaten her that she has to, that she belongs to him. The resulting shriek she makes, every time he suggests it, is heard even past Clint’s muffled sound, and he grunts as he shoves Barney away with an enraged flurry of signage and a too loud shout, since he can’t really hear himself that well, of “Back the fuck off, Barney. Leave her alone.”
The noise from her turns inquisitive when Barney storms away, it’s loud, if Clint can hear it, but it’s no longer angry, just, curious. He turns to look at her and is met with a softness in hazel eyes that near makes him melt. She lifts her hands and does a sloppy job of repeating what he had signed, and Clint laughs, shakes his head, and repeats what he had done slower.
That night, he teaches her American Sign Language. The basics anyway, and she picks it up rather easily. He asks her name and she signs clumsily in finger spelling that she doesn't have one, so Clint gives her one. It’s near Christmas, and after a search online, he dubs her Natasha, which actually means Christmas. He carefully signs it to her and the smile he’s rewarded with is full of sharp teeth, but there’s no malice behind it, no threat. There’s a light in her eyes too, and its fixated on him like he’s her beacon in the stormy seas.
Clint gets attached, badly, Barney sees him sitting by her tank, sometimes he has a book in his hands and he’s carefully signing out the story to her, all while actually reading it, but also takes a moment to teach her the signs that she doesn’t know, sometimes he’s simply signing away at her, talking about a mile a minute, his hands waving in the air to match his speech and there’s amusement in her eyes. He brings her gifts, snacks from the fair, flowers from the grocery store, pretty bits and pieces that he keeps in a special box for her.
Barney can’t fathom it. Clint has never been good with women, he can’t hear them, most of the time, and most don’t know sign language and aren’t that willing to try to learn it just to go out with a guy. So the elder archer can’t think of any reason as to why this creature is so hung up on his little brother.
He comes to the conclusion she’s using him somehow. He can’t hear her song, so she uses other methods, getting to his heart, making him weak for her. It working, he can tell, Clint is completely gone for her, but not in a glassy eyed, spell bound way. It makes the elder nervous.
He puts it off for now, because they’ve gotten in with the traveling circus, they had wanted just her, but Barney had told them they came as a packaged deal, no one without the other. So, they load her into the train cars, tank and all and Clint stays with her, unwilling to leave her alone.
Now on the move, Barney is near unstoppable as he goes around during his downtime and steals things in different cities that aren’t nailed down. They aren’t incorporated into the show right away, but they show off their tricks and, for a while, Natasha is put in the hands of one of the other circus folk.
Until one of them comes back screaming at the pair of brothers, his arm wrapped in bloody gauze. His face holds the evidence of the Song, and Barney is coming closer to the poor man while Clint is out the door, heading through the shifting train carriages towards hers.
Natasha is having a fit, thrashing in her tank as men try to hold her down to put the muzzle on her. They’re missing her face, and making a mess, her tank already tinged red with blood, of who’s, he’s not sure, but he’s filled with absolute rage at the sight, and snags his bow off a pile of his things - he’s made his room in her given trailer, so his bow and arrows are sitting close by the wall - and lifts the bright purple bow.
“Back. Off.” he demands, his tone leaving absolutely no room to argue as he aims a notched arrow at his new coworkers. Natasha stills immediately at the sound of his voice, shoulders turning so she can look at him, her hazel eyes wild and lips parted as if to pant in exertion, her teeth stained with red and her gills fluttering on her neck and ribs.
“She won’t listen to you,” he says further, “You can’t just expect her to follow orders like a dog. Now get out.”
The elder men shared a look before slowly pulling their arms from the tank and backing off their little stools. With a few not so nice mutters that Clint didn’t even hear, they make their way through the opened doors of the moving cars, heading up the train, probably going to find their friend.
He lowers the bow once the door slides shut, and tosses it aside, striding up to the tank and looking for any wounds on her. There aren’t any, which makes him believe she was the one to win the fight between the other men. She still looks looks a little panicked, but Clint makes no move towards the little ladder still leaning against the tank, makes no move to hurt her, but does press his hands against the glass and gives her a gentle smile.
They tried to put that thing on me. She signs slowly and Clint frowns.
“They’re worried about your Song,” he says, loud and clear and she tilts her head a little, then looks down, shoulders seeming to slump if she had been sitting up.
I can’t do anything in your world, can I?
“They’re just worried, but it’s okay, ‘cause I’m not. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
She raises a dark eyebrow, Depends on what you do.
Clint laughs, and she cracks a smile too, her expression softening.
They watch each other for a few minutes, and the longer they stay, the more relaxed Natasha seemed to become, calmed by his presence alone. Her fins stop quivering so much and her gills have a steady flutter of calm breath and she presses her hand against the glass, then her forehead and Clint stoops a little to match her palm against hers, and his forehead where hers is.
In hazel eyes, he sees the ocean, wild and untamed, he sees storm clouds and the threat of lightning, of danger. He sees so much life and power, that he can’t help but be awed by it. He loves her, he thinks, and isn’t as daunted by that fact as much as he thinks he should be.
“I should get your tank cleaned, huh?” he asks and blinks for a moment, before glancing around, as if just noticing the red tint to the water.
They’re still moving, the rock of the train cars soothing and the sound of the constant clack-clack clack-clack clack-clack white noise by now, he can’t imagine what it must sound like to her, so he’ll have to improvise or ask the ringleader to stop for a while so he can find an exotic pet store. They’re still a while, a good three days before their next stop, so he improvises. He finds a hose and hurries while Natasha lays on her side on the wooden floor, her long curly hair pulled over her shoulder and covering her chest for the moment while she watches him empty out the massive tank.
He opts for dumping it out the open sliding door. The world rushes by them, and the car shifts a little too far as he lowers the tank to the wooden floor, so it makes a mess, but he gets most of the water out before hauling the tank upright again. He then fills it with a mixture of table salt and holds her up so she can feel it with clawed fingers. Its sloppy, but it does the trick for the time being, but before he puts her back, he puts her on his bed and, she looks at him with confusion, glancing between the tank and him.
“Trust me,” he said softly, and his breath is shaky as he reaches carefully out and touches her face, her jawline with calloused fingers. She flinches and opens her mouth to hiss, moving her free hand in a sort of annoyed “What” motion, brows pinched as she turns her nose up a little bit.
“I can’t hear your song, Nat,” he says softly, and her face turns quizzical again, “I can’t hear it, but I think you’re the most beautiful thing in this world. I want to protect you, to help you.”
She stares at him for a full minute, eyes wide, but then it softens, and she leans forward. At first, Clint is certain she’ll kiss him, but she simply puts her forehead against his and takes his hand, lifting it to her throat. The song isn’t quite loud enough for him to hear, but he feels the vibrations of her throat and it fills him with a sort of honor that she’s doing this for him.
They stay like that for a while, she sings and he feels it, watching the emotion in her eyes twist and shift like wispy clouds. There’s nothing like this, he thinks, it’s intimate and beautiful and, maybe, it’s a way to show she cares too.
She shifts away after a while, and gives him a smile, a little upturn of her lips before sitting up on her rump and slowly, she takes her necklace in hand and starts to pull it over her head. It gets caught in her hair, and she frowns heavily, and fights with it a little, until he takes pity on her and tells her to hold on while he gets up and goes to rummage in one of his drawers.
“I’m gonna cut your hair, okay?” he asks lightly, bringing out a pair of scissors, “That way it doesn’t get in the way and it doesn’t hide your face.” He sits in front of her and lets her inspect them but warns her not to snip her fingers. “Is that okay with you? If I cut your hair?” She looks wary of the tool, but she nods after a moment and Clint moves to sit behind her.
Her hair is soft, despite being in saltwater, and his fingers glide through it like she’s just washed it. The color, as it dries, is turning into a lighter shade of red, not as dark as it had been, but not too bright, the curls tighten too, ringlets that bounce slightly when she moves her head quickly.
Clint sets a towel down under them, and takes the scissors, and makes his cut.
When he finishes, it’s around her shoulders, parted in the middle to show her face, locks of red hair litter the pale towel and her back and he brushes at them from her skin with soft strokes, while she reaches up to play with a strand. It’s a little choppy, but it fits her well,
“You like it?” he asks, and she turns with a brilliant smile of needle teeth that sort of makes Clint’s heart stutter in his chest. He goes and finds a small mirror and holds it for her and she is beaming while she inspects her reflection. “Now we can see your face better,” he says with a broad smile of crooked teeth.
Natasha’s gills are fluttering and her chest is rising and falling with every breath and Clint seems to realize then how long she’s been out of the water and curses at himself. He mutters apologies as he lifts her in his arms bridal style. She’s not heavy, but the tail is much longer than he’s used to, and most of her weight is there, so he’s a little unbalanced as he goes up the ladder and swings her over the edge and lowers her into the water.
She twists like an eel, flashing red and black scales and fins and half coiling around herself, using the sides of the tank to move before poking her head out of the top and grabbing his hand before he can get too far away. When he turns back to her, she lets go of his hand and takes her necklace off, then with a little wave of her hand, urges him closer. He ducks his head a little, and she slips the cord over his head and lets it rest on his neck.
It’s special. She signs, and Clint is sure there’s a flush on her face when she leans back. He lifts it carefully and stares at it as it seems to glow and dim with his heartbeat. It’s a little fast now, but its bright and beautiful and he loves it. He loves her, he knows.
He reaches out and cups her chin in a gentle touch, “Thank you,” he says, “I’ll never take it off.”
The new haircut is a success, it’s lighter, she tells Clint, in a flurry of hands, and doesn’t get in her face as much as it did when it was longer, so she can see everything very clearly. It also doesn’t get caught up in the muzzle when Barney insists she wears it, putting it on her is easier without worrying about catching hair within the clasp, as well as taking it off. She hates it more than anything, but is willing to put up with it if Clint asks her nicely.
In the coming days, their train stops and they set up right close to the tracks in the new city. Everyone is working, it’s hard work and it’s hot, so Clint finds himself without his shirt during the day. So when he climbs back into his carriage at the end of the day, wet with sweat and his shirt balled up in his hands, Natasha’s eyes follow him like the predator she is, her lips turned up in a hint of a smile. He doesn’t shy under the attention, in fact, it’s quite the opposite, he preens like a proud fighting cock with pretty feathers. She likes to look at him and he likes her to look at him.
After a week of set up, they actually prepare for a show, its their first show with the new circus, in a new city full of new people, and they’ve just worked the Barton boys and their siren into the show. When they first bring her out, it’s Swordsman that tries to handle her, the man with the sword swallowing act and knife throwing. His bit was earlier in the show, so he’s free to show off this beautiful siren.
Except as soon as they get her tank wheeled into center ring and Swordsman pulls the sheet, as soon as she sees who is stand there beside her tank, the resulting shriek is loud and high enough to shatter someone’s glasses. The stands erupt into a mix of awe and horror as the siren wails, reaching up and pulling herself up and over the lip of edge of the tank. She hits the ground, and as Swordsman staggers backwards, half tripping over his feet, she drags herself after him, fury in her eyes.
Natasha makes a grab for him, grabbing his ankle and Swordsman lands on his back with a loud grunt and a strangled sound as she drags him back towards her, jaw dropping to bare needle teeth as she screeches and snarls.
The stands are in pandemonium, mothers trying to usher their children out or cover their eyes, there’s men and boys standing in awe, though most are staring more at her bare chest than anything else, but there’s a fear that instead of a show, they’ll see a murder.
“Natasha!” Clint is in his costume for the bit after this, the bright purple and black of his shorts and the patterned straps across his chest for his quiver are the only thing he’s wearing beyond his pair of boots, laced halfway The quiver is empty, and hits against his back as he rushes towards them. “Nat, stop,” his tone is begging as he gets closer, hands up to show he’s no harm and she knows he isn’t. The necklace thrums with light against his sternum as he reaches a hand out. “No one is going to hurt you, Nat, I promise. Let Swordsman go.”
There’s no movement from the siren, Swordsman is doing his best to pretend he’s dead, and the stands are silent as every patron watches with bated breath as they watch the show archer talk the raging siren down. She’s watching him, and he gets the eerie feeling she’s closer to animal now than human as she stares at him with narrowed eyes. But he watches them closely, and sees that change in posture, the way her shoulders dip minutely down and her eyes soften at the corners.
“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” he says softly, coming closer, “No one’s gonna hurt you.” His hand is still outstretched, palm flat and she hesitates, glancing behind him at the stands of people watching, but lifts her hand and presses it to his. Clint shifts it and laces their fingers together, and he smiles gently.
The crowd erupts enough to startle them out of their moment, clapping and cheering for the archer that calmed the siren. She’s hissing again, but Clint draws her attention away from them with a gentle touch to her shoulder. Swordsman gets to his feet as Clint urges her to roll onto her back and he picks her up, and the other man scurries off through the tent flap designated as the backstage.
The crowd is on their feet, a mixture of awe and excitement over the sea creature, the one they almost saw kill somebody. Over the PA, rings the Ringleader’s voice, “How about that, ladies and gentlemen, the siren, Natasha, and the archer, Hawkeye, who will be coming up soon with his brother, Trickshot!” He urges her to wave to the crowd and she does, hesitantly, while one of the trapeze artist, already dressed in her leotard, rushes out with the ladder and leans it against the tank so Clint can put her back in the water.
Dum Dum, the strongman, comes out and helps push the tank back through the flap, looking slightly embarrassed and wary of the creature in the tank, while the trapeze artist tails them with their ladder. Clint is met with a mixture of reactions, coming through the flap before Natasha, cheers and pats on the back, but then Barney is in his face, spitting obscenities at him.
“What the fuck was that?” the elder snaps, and in his anger, forgets to sign too, but Clint has known his brother long enough to read his lips.
“That was me saving Swordsman’s life,” Clint returned.
“Exactly, what the hell happened out there? I thought you said she would be good.”
“She’s good for me,” insists Clint, feeling oddly calm about it, “She doesn’t like anyone else. It’s why she went after him.”
“Because he’s not you?” Clint nods and Barney looks like he’s about to pop a vessel. “She’s using you, Clinton, she is,” he presses when the younger shakes his head.
“She’s not though! I’m not under any spell, Barney!”
“Then why are are you always so hung up on her? She’s a monster, Clint, she’s not-” Barney staggered a little, more surprised than hurt when Clint’s fist landed squarely on his cheek. There’s a small crowd around them now, and most of them suck a breath at the punch, ones whose acts aren’t up next, and they’re watching them closely in case they need to break them up.
“You always said I was useless with women, but now I finally have the attention of one, you’re up in arms about it! Who cares if she’s not human! I certainly don’t! She’s gorgeous and likes my dumb face and smiles when I tell jokes, even when she doesn’t understand them,” he’s panting a little, his shoulders tense, the crystal around his neck flashes with every frantic beat of his heart because he’s angry, he’s well and truly angry with his brother. It looks a little hilarious, with him in nothing but bright purple shorts and his quiver, but he’s angry enough for no one to laugh at him.
Barney stares at him for a moment, his cheek cut and bleeding slightly. He reaches up and touches it with his fingertips, and manages not to flinch or make an acknowledgement that it even hurt. “Did that make you feel better, Clinton?” he asks lowly, and his face is so stoic, Clint has a hard time reading his lips.
“Why can’t you just let me have this? I went along with everything you wanted me to, ever since we were kids. I helped you steal from people, I even covered for your ass when you went out on the town, drinking and stealing and god knows what else.” Barney’s eyes widen a little and he glances towards the group, but Clint barrels on. “I am my own person, Barney. I’m not going to be bullied by you anymore; we’re adults, and you need to grow up and stop trying to control me.” He then strides past his older brother, bumping his shoulder hard as he moved.
“Do the act yourself, I’m leaving,” Clint called over his shoulder, then disappeared where Dum Dum pushed Natasha into.
Did I get you in trouble? She signs as he walks into the private tent, and he doesn’t see it at first. He growls to himself as he wrestles off his quiver, throwing it aside and he drops onto his cot. He scratches at his face and reaches over, pulling on his jacket before looking up to her. She looks distressed, and she repeats her question.
“No, no, ‘Tasha, it’s not your fault,” Clint assures, standing and striding towards the tank, settling his hand against it, then his forehead. She matches it, easily, and the glow against the glass from his necklace smooths into an even thrum when his heart does. “You’re not, using me, are you?” he asked softly, “Getting at my feelings since your song doesn’t work?”
Natasha jerks her head back, eyes wide, like the glass was electrified all of a sudden, and shakes her head frantically. Quickly after, she almost looks embarrassed, and reaches up to rub at the back of her neck.
The necklace, she then signs, expression half desperate, it’s special.
“You told me that when you gave it to me,” Clint recalls, “How special is it?”
It’s our clutch. Each, she pauses, then carefully spells out “siren,” they’re all different. Giving them to another is the same as your, she stops again, brows knit with a kind of frustration, and she glares at the floor. Finally she decides on, tying two people together.
“That sounds vaguely threatening,” he replies, but then understands, and his eyebrows shoot up to the middle of his forehead and leans his head back with a slow “Ohh”. “Marriage?” he breathes, and she’s hesitant to nod.
I know it’s not the same in your world, she starts, if you do not accept, it is-
“Absolutely,” he says, cutting her off, hands up as if to still her hands, “Yes, yes, gladly.” The resulting smile is full of beautiful sharp teeth, her eyes alight with joy rarely seen, and she presses her forehead against the glass, and he follows her lead.
“We gotta get you outta here though. Barney is convinced you’ve got me under a spell. I’m afraid he’ll try to hurt you.”
He knows she can handle herself, but like he always does, Barney will twist anything around, make it seem like she attacked him without reason, and make the circus turn on her. But he has to try to get get her out. In the time they’ve had her, she’s become his world. He can’t stand the idea of her living in a cramped tank with stale water, of her being shown off like she was nothing but a museum piece. She deserves the ocean. She deserves to be free.
So, he plans, he finds one of the horse drawn trailers they use in the show and, after putting down a pile of fabric to help cushion bottom, he straps up the smaller tank they had her in when they first got her, and fills it with water. He doesn’t go that night after the fight with Barney, but does the second day while everyone is still sleeping or getting up for the day. He takes his horse, a pretty white mare with a purple bridle, named Fable, and hooks her up, puts a saddle on her back, then, as the mare shifts and knickers, he carries Natasha to the cart and puts her in the water. He apologizes softly as he puts the bars on top down and covers her with an old blanket.
He takes the money he had saved up, says goodbye to the ringleader, and a few other of the acts he was close with, but not his brother, then climbs onto the cart and flicks Fable’s reins and off they go. There’s a shout behind him, and he sees Barney run a few steps after him, but stop, knowing he can’t keep up with the horse, then Clint looks at the path ahead of him, and doesn’t turn back.
He finds places where he can park the cart in the back, and charge his phone, where he looks up a place where he can give Fable and gives them a call. He has all of her papers, so when they arrive at the stables - it’s a show stable, thoroughbreds and competition horses, so Fable will fit in perfectly. She's no thoroughbred but she knows how to prance. - he sees an old truck on the lot for sale and offers up a trade. His horse and the cart for the truck. It’s a win win, they think, and they help move the covered tank over to the bed of the truck, setting spare blankets down in the bed after he tells them it’s a full aquarium. Oddly enough, they don’t ask why he’s moving a full aquarium with a horse and carriage.
Clint keeps moving, heading back towards the coast, the truck is rusty, the air conditioner doesn’t work, but it makes it. After three weeks of being on the road, one of which with a horse, days of greasy fast food or no food at all, they drive up to a craggy beach with high cliffs and sharp rocks in the water.
Natasha signs out she can navigate the rocks easily if he can get her in the water, and has a way for him to take him with her if he trusts her. He does, more than anything, and backs the truck up close to one of the smaller cliffs, a few meters away from the edge. He hops onto the bed and pulls the blanket off the tank and she gives him a gentle smile, lifting her head out of the water.
“Almost there,” he says softly, and starts to pull and push the tank from the bed. It lands heavily on the rocks below and he hears the glass crack, and wetness on his feet and he curses slightly, but it’s okay, because the edge isn’t far. “C’mon,” he hums, and leans down to lift her out.
Her head jerks and she opens her mouth and lets out a shriek that makes Clint flinch, and he turns to see what’s got her so upset when pain erupts in his side and he staggers, landing slightly on the tank with a grunt. There’s an arrow in his side, red plating and stoic feathers sticking from his side and it burns.
He grabs it and rips it out with a short scream, tosses it to the side, and Natasha puts her hands on his face to try and console him, but there’s a loud angry sound ringing from her and she keeps looking away.
Clint looks up, blue eyes wide as he finally spots the thing she’s looking at, and really, he should have guessed by the arrow that it was Barney. He looks livid, his own car, probably stolen, going by his normal style, parked not far, the driver’s door still wide open. His bow is in one hand, his quiver across his back, and he moves on long legs closer to where Clint lays, half on the tank while she fidgets and her tail twists, fins quivering and flaring.
“Y’know, baby brother, you coulda just left her alone,” he sees his lips say, “coulda ignored her, but no, and now she’s usin’ you to get free.”
“That’s what she deserves,” Clint snaps, grasping at his side with fingers that are steadily growing more red and wet with blood.
“No, she deserves to rot in a science lab somewhere, being poked and prodded at like a lab rat until her last breath, if she even takes breaths,” he sneers out, “She’s a monster, Clint. She’s not human.” It’s what he had said back at the circus, and it still fills Clint with absolute fury at the statement, but he has no energy left to deck his brother this time.
“I don’t care. She gave me her clutch, it means she loves me. That’s all I want. Since I never got it from you.”
“Everything I did was for you!” Barney shouts back, “and what did you do to thank me? You got me kicked out of the circus because of your big mouth!” By now he’s close enough try and pull him away from Natasha, who is still emitting a loud, angry sounding song. “Now move!” he says, and leans down, pulling at Clint’s arm to physically move him. All the while, Clint fights it, pushing at his hands, saying “no, no, no.” Finally, Barney gets fed up with it, half screaming “I don’t want to hurt you - Ah!”
Clint looks up and finds Natasha’s face drawn in anger, her jaws wrapped around Barney’s forearm, just before the wrist. Deliriously, Clint thinks he’ll never perform again after a wound like that. Barney yanks at his arm and there’s blood around her mouth as her tail thrashes and writhes, half in the tank and half out, her hands planted on the rocks under them as he tries to dislodge her. All the while, her song is loud and high and enraged and Clint can hear it very well.
She finally lets go and Barney staggers backwards, face twisted in outrage and pain and panic, fear growing more apparent as something goes on behind him and he can’t find it in himself to look. He’s too tired. What he does see, is long legs, spattered with red and black scales around the knees and feet, step over him, trailing water on his face and onto the rocks behind her.
--
Natasha stares at him over the edge of the tablet in her hands, her legs, covered in pink cat fleece pants, drawn up so she’s in the very corner of the couch. Steve is sitting across the room, next to Barnes, who has wedged himself into the corner of the room and the sofa they’re on, leaning forward in rapt attention before he realizes she’s stopped, and clears his throat a little bit, leans back into Bucky’s flesh arm. Sam’s on his phone, his headphones in, but there’s nothing playing from what they can hear, and he glances up when there’s no more quiet voices. Tony is sitting by the Christmas tree that’s set up, a screwdriver in one hand and something small in the other, but he looks up at the odd silence.
Clint is sitting on the other end of the couch from Natasha, half curled into a fetal position with his face buried in his legs, his ears are a dark pink.
“Does my name really mean Christmas?” is the first thing she asks, and Clint makes a sound like a dying walrus as he leans his head back.
“Yes, it does. Look, when you dumped SHIELD files, I didn’t realize it meant all of the files, including personal agent logs.”
“And this is a log of yours?” Steve asks, genuinely curious.
“I was high as kite after watching Little Mermaid,” he whines, half answering the question asked, “I had a weird dream about my wife and my brother, and when I wrote it down, that was what came out of it.”
“It’s pretty detailed for a random dream,” she points out and he sputters something out.
“I may have gone back and added some things, once or twice,” he defends slowly. Natasha raises an eyebrow and Barnes stands and takes the tablet as he moves around the couch and into the kitchen
“Three times,” he says over his shoulder, looking at the history of the log. “No, sorry. Six times.” Clint makes a wounded sound while Bucky digs through the fridge.
“It’s good,” Tony says distractedly, “Feels like there could be more,” he trails off, making a quiet sound in his throat and returning the tip of his screwdriver to the thing in his hand.
“It was only meant to be a short story,” Clint says softly, looking like he might combust if his face gets any redder.
“We should post it,” offers Natasha, and there’s looks of disbelief around her to which she shrugs and shows a bit of teeth with her smile, “C’mon, guys, there’s already plenty of civilian written stories depicting us. What’s one more?”
Steve looks confused, “What do you mean?”
“She means fanfiction,” Tony says, in all seriousness, not looking up from his tinkering. “I run a blog on Tumblr dedicated to it, most of it things people have written about us. It’s pretty cool. I love the stuff where I’m paired with Loki.” Clint shoots him a dirty look and Tony shrugs. “They’ve got you with Sam, Barton. Steve, you’re bangin’ Bucks over there,” Steve turns so red at this and Bucky just gives a shit eating grin as he returns to the living room
“I can’t tell if you’re talkin’ about what’s in those stories, or you’re finally realizin’ why our bedroom is soundproof,” Bucky is saying this with a semi serious expression, taking a drink from his beer while the small thing in Tony’s hand breaks as he suddenly clenches his fist.
“Look, no one will even know it’s you who wrote it, you can make a screen name and you can write more if you want to, and no one will judge you,” Natasha was very rational about it, and Clint was starting to think that she might have an account on those websites. Or multiple.
They do end up letting it drop, Tony trots off to replace the thing he was tinkering with, muttering about super soldiers, and Natasha, after giving some criticism, moves off to the training room, or something equally as terrifying. Steve and Bucky, and Sam follows along, saying they’re going for a run, and it leaves Clint with the tablet and his story.
His fingers hover over the delete button, but, after a little while of debation, ends up deciding not to.
Clint is grinning a week later. When asked why, all he says is “My story’s a hit.”
Fin.