compass rose
rating: pg-13
characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff
warnings: none
author's note: For Anuna, because smiles are important.
summary: A merman!Clint and pirate!Natasha AU, because reasons. Or, Barton's sense of direction is miserable in any universe, period.
compass rose
"'S that way," Clint managed to say, blinking as he pointed towards a stretch of horizon no different from any other. The argument might have held more weight if his finger hadn't drifted from side to side.
"I'm sure it's not," Natasha replied, lips curving in a faint smile despite herself. She let out an 'oomph' when he pulled abruptly on her shoulder, sagging down into the cold water.
"It is," he countered with an annoyed curl of his lip. "'m a merman, Tasha, I always know which way the poles are, 's part of being part shark." He tapped his very human nose with his free hand.
"I don't think the sun sets in the north," the pirate told him, leaning to the side to get a better grip under his dorsal fin. Clint blinked again, processing that.
"Oh."
"I think that porpoise hit you harder than you realized. Even your skull has limits." Curling her fingers around the smooth human skin of his arm, she braced her foot and heaved. The unresisting merman slid out of the ocean into her small craft, his long tail slithering into the bottom and curling around the mast.
"Maybe," he conceded, slumping into her arms. "Fucking blowhole rockets."
"For a moment there I thought you were going to insult all mammals, and I would have to be offended." Water was already beginning to soak through her open jacket and trickle down her shirt, staining the wide leather cuffs she had pushed up to her elbows. Still, the only annoyance lingering in her was fading with the confirmation that he was alive, was (mostly) unharmed. After the altercation with the pod, watching him get hammered by the porpoises, Natasha had found it hard to breathe until he had resurfaced, spitting fountains of water and cursing fit to turn the air blue.
A stray thought caught her attention and she freed one hand to run it over his gills, fingers skimming the closed flaps.
"Don't try to breathe through these," she reminded him. It would be like him to forget he was out of the ocean and choke for a lack of oxygen. Clint hissed out something between a laugh and annoyance.
"Tickles, Tash," he breathed into her chest, his voice muffled. Natasha stored that away for future use and double-checked the sail, noting with satisfaction that she had judged the wind correctly. Two hours would see them back to port - but for now they glided on a golden sea, the sunset spilling over the water and turning all it touched to rose and amber.
Clint was breathing easy and deep in her arms now, his sharkskin rasping against her boots while he dozed. She would oust him in a while, leaving him to recuperate where he wouldn't snag her clothes with every breath - in a while, when the little Anastasia sailed over a star-covered ocean.
Natasha watched the horizon, leaning on the rudder to keep them due north, and let her merman sleep.
fin