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Clint had a secret.
He also had a rule: never take a mission where he could end up in salt water. Fury tried to make him take swimming lessons, to see a shrink for his supposed phobia, but Clint stood strong and kept denying he had a problem.
Because he didn't. Not the ones Fury thought of anyway.
Then he met Natasha.
Natasha, who was confident and unapologetic about who she was, what she was.
Clint tried to channel her self-assurance, in vain. His secret would stay a secret—or so he thought. That was without taking his luck into account—or lack thereof.
Their latest mission together had started far enough inland that he had felt safe. Unfortunately, the arm dealers they were after had decided to run, which prompted a car chase in the middle of Hanover. And of course, the traffickers had to decide to hide in the Sea Life center of all places.
Clint managed to catch one of the arm dealers, tackling him down. The bad guy knew how to defend himself though and gave as much as he got.
You would think an arm dealer would have guns on some sort on his person, or maybe explosives, some kind of high tech prototype even, but no, this one had a motherfucking Tazer.
As it was hit with an electric discharge, Clint's body convulsed and fell into one of the saltwater tanks. Anyone else would have drown, but Clint wasn't just anyone.
When he came to, he was surrounded by all sort of colorful fishes that seemed to be looking at him curiously. Clint had never seen something so beautiful—or maybe that was just the aftershock making him see things.
He shook himself and swimmed to the surface with just a few flicks of his tail, gliding through water effortlessly. He found Natasha sitting nonchalantly on the two unconscious arm dealers, cleaning her nails with a pocket knife.
"I took care of the targets while you were taking a dip," she told him, unnecessarily.
"How long have you known?"
"That you're a fellow merman? Since about a week after we met. Heard you sing in the shower."
Clint closed his eyes and sighed in mortification.
"You never said a thing," he pointed out.
Natasha shrugged. "I figured you have your reasons for staying stealth. I know us merfolk can be persecuted still, even if the world is becoming more accepting. It's your decision if you want to come out. Or stay in the closet."
"Well, thanks then."
"Don't mention it." She stood up. "Now come on, we still need to haul these guys to the authorities and it's gonna take you a while to dry, so chop chop!"
He nodded, but then hesitated.
"Just give me a minute, 'kay?"
Without waiting for an answer, he plunged back underwater.
The colorful fishes from earlier were swimming around him in an hypnotic dance. Clint had missed this, missed the water and its fauna. He had missed being himself.
In the underwater gallery, on the other side of the plexiglas, people were watching him. Small kids were pointing at him excitedly. There was no fear on their faces, only pure joy and wonder.
For the first time in a very long time, or maybe even for the first time of his life, Clint felt celebrated for who—or rather, what—he was, and maybe that was what was really magical.