Silence of the Hawk
In all fairness, he shouldn't have been in the water – however, one part of Clint's mind was still absolutely baffled as to how he hadn't seen the pigskin hurtling towards him. His nickname was Hawkeye. He didn't not see things! But as it so happened, this one time the ball had blind-sighted him, and now he was on his back watching a torrent of air bubbles surge towards the surface, one word at the front of his mind: Shit.
Regaining his footing wasn't hard, and he lurched out of the water as quickly as he could. It was too late, though, and he knew it the moment he realised he couldn't hear himself gasping for breath. His hearing aids, it seemed, had taken one accidental dunking too many. Where he should have been hearing the gentle roar of the ocean, the excited chatter of the people on the beach, the clamour of the seagulls and the laughter of the Mexicans he'd been playing with, there was nothing but the sound of his blood rushing round his head. His heart sank; what had started out as a pretty cool school trip was now a minor catastrophe.
Part of him was angry at himself as he tugged the useless devices out. Their absence wasn't especially unfamiliar, but it unsettled him a little, and he resolved to pay extra attention to what was going on. Looking up, he saw the Mexican boys calling to him, but they were too far away for him to be able to read their lips; so, without knowing what they were saying, he shouted (what he hoped sounded like) "Sorry!" back to them, before turning and trudging back onto the sand. He needed to find Tasha.
Which was easier said than done – there were a lot of people on the beach, not just their school, and he hadn't kept track of where his friends had set up camp (or Stark Towels, as Tony called their spot). At the water's edge, he paused, scanning the numerous faces and bodies as quickly but efficiently as he could – he didn't even linger on any of the bikinis. Nat would be pleased. Eventually, he spotted her red hair underneath a blazing American flag umbrella, and picked his way over. He thought maybe once or twice he stepped through a sandcastle or one someone's toes, but being unable to hear anything properly, he had no real idea. It was infuriating.
Seeing him approach, Natasha gave him a sly smile and pulled down her shades, eyes skimming over his shirtless torso. She said something to him (and he couldn't help but imagine that it was very complimentary), forcing him to point to his ears and shrug. She removed her glasses completely, the smile replaced by an expression that said 'I despair of you', and switched to signing: What did you do?
He dropped down beside her, holding the broken aids out for her to take. Fell into the sea, he explained sheepishly, not looking at her face. He felt her glare, though, and if he could hear her he knew her tone would be sharp and scolding. As it was, he got that same tone from the sharp movements of her hands.
What part of you thought it would be a good idea to go in the sea with them on? Did you not think to take them out first, Birdbrain? Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck, turning round when Tasha tapped him on the shoulder. We should go and find Coulson. He'll know what to do.
Clint nodded, signing back: Can we leave out the part where I was stupid?
Standing, she rolled her eyes. Okay, but only because Coulson knows how feather-brained you can be at times without me telling him so. And for once, there was no way he could argue against that.