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Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
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Driftwood by luvsanime02
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Clint Barton isn’t really thinking about anything in particular when he first sees the odd shape in the water.
He’s on vacation, supposedly. He’s supposed to be relaxing. Clint’s allowed to be sitting in nothing but his swim trunks on a convenient palm tree branch that’s hanging out over the ocean. It’s an excellent spot to watch the sunrise, not that Clint’s ever voluntarily woken up that early, and he’s been spending the past hour or so just…
Enjoying himself. For once. There’s no one else nearby at the moment - everyone else is back at the bungalow - and there’s no pressing case that he’s supposed to be solving. There’s no ex-wife calling him, no too-young, too-bright student asking him questions and making Clint feel about a thousand years old in comparison.
It’s nice. It’s peaceful. Which is why Clint really isn’t all that surprised, honestly, when the moment is broken as he spots something odd floating in the water. That’s just how his luck goes, honestly.
Clint’s been a detective too long now, and spent too many years looking at bodies that have been dumped in the water, not to realize immediately that what he’s staring at is a body.
Cursing, Clint stands up and jumps off of the tree branch. The water’s cool, and feels great against his dry skin, though sadly, he doesn’t have time to appreciate that. Clint swims over to the body, fighting the swell and ebb of the ocean in order to get close enough to grab an arm.
The last thing that Clint’s expecting is for the body to suddenly move. He yelps, and is very grateful that there’s no one else around to witness his ungraceful flailing. A head emerges from the water, and the guy who Clint thought was a floating corpse takes in a deep gulp of air.
He then immediately begins hacking up what seems like a gallon of water, and he’s already sinking back underneath the waves. Clint’s not sure that he’s even fully awake, at the moment.
“Shit,” he says, and reaches out again, grabbing the guy’s arm and throwing it over Clint’s shoulders. “Hang on, the shore’s not that far away.”
It’s far enough that Clint’s getting real fucking tired by the time that he feels the first brushes of sand under his feet. He stretches and strains, and a few stumbling feet and an eternity later, Clint is practically dragging the guy up the shoreline.
Either he’s unconscious again or he doesn’t know how to swim, because the guy doesn’t help Clint’s process at all. Clint falls to his knees once he’s sure that they’re both not going to drown, and just pants for a few moments.
“Hey,” he says, nudging the guy’s shoulder, “you okay?” He turns and looks over the guy carefully for the first time, and blinks in surprise when he sees the rest of the guy’s body. More specifically, his other arm. Is that…?
“Just peachy,” the guy rasps out, before he rolls onto his side and coughs out some more water. Well, Clint can appreciate a guy with a sense of humor. Especially a guy as good-looking as this one, Clint admits. Wide shoulders, attractive face. And an artificial arm. Clint’s eyes weren’t playing tricks on him - the guy’s left arm is completely metal. Fuck, no wonder getting him to shore took so much effort.
“Nice day for a swim,” Clint says, finally getting his breath back. “Something tells me you don’t agree, though.”
The guy laughs. It sounds rusty and raw, but sincere. “Getting tossed off-deck wasn’t in my plans today, no,” he says agreeably.
Okay, that sounds like information that Clint can work with. “Want to tell me about it?” he asks, attempting to look serious and professional while he’s sitting on the beach covered in sand and still only wearing his swim trunks. At least they didn’t come off, or something else embarrassing, while Clint was struggling in the water earlier.
The guy finally sits up and faces Clint, and wow. He’s got gorgeous eyes. “Do you have a phone?” he counters. “I need to call my partner and inform him our suspect just tried to kill me.”
Guy’s a workaholic. Clint can appreciate that. And hey, he’s a fellow detective or officer, seems like. Nice. “Sure thing,” he says easily. “I’m Clint Barton, by the way.”
“Bucky Barnes,” the guy says, rolling his shoulders and then standing up. He seems remarkably mobile for a guy who almost drowned a few minutes ago. “Thanks.”
And he has manners. Natasha’s going to love this. Clint’s the only one he knows who can go for a walk along the beach and come back with a polite, almost-drowned law enforcement officer who looks like he should be starring in a Giorgio Armani commercial.
It’s a talent.
One that Clint’s definitely not complaining about today, that’s for sure.