Chapter Text
With the American coastline just peeking over the horizon, Clint went looking for the captain in an attempt to avoid mediating an argument between Logan and Murdock about the direction of the wind. He found Loki belowdecks, rummaging through a set of drawers hidden behind the heaps of books decorating his cabin. Upon closer inspection, Clint saw that the drawer was inexplicably filled with forks of varying sizes and designs. He watched, puzzled, as the captain pulled out a few small, battered forks with familiar maker’s marks on them and added them to the collection.
Glancing up and smiling at him, Loki pushed the drawer shut. “Did you need something, pet?”
“No—“ Clint cocked an eyebrow. “Were those from the restaurant in Vigo?”
“Er—yes.” The captain shifted nervously. “I only took a few.”
“Is that for some kind of magic thing?” Clint asked, looking at the drawer with confusion.
“Not exactly,” Loki admitted. Sheepishly, he opened the drawer below it to show off a similar collection of earrings. “Sirens hoard. Anything metallic. It’s sort of a compulsion.” He winced.
Laughing, Clint ran a hand over the piles of pilfered earrings. “No wonder you make such a good pirate.”
The captain played with his hands, looking away. “It does help...hang on.” He hesitated, then began digging through the cache of jewelry earnestly. “Here.” He pulled out a small stud of white gold, set with a dark blue stone filled with tiny sparkles of silver. Carefully, he polished it on his shirt and offered it to Clint with a small smile. “Take this one.”
Clint took the stud tentatively, rolling it over in his hand. The bits of silver winked up at him like stars. “To wear?”
“To wear, to keep, whatever you like.” Loki pushed the drawer shut, nodding encouragingly at the store. “It’s blue sandstone. From the far North, around where we scraped Logan out of the snow.” He gave a small smile, and potentially—Clint couldn’t say for sure in the dim light—blushed. “Most of my hoard is, objectively, junk. The nice pieces…I want you to have them.”
“Well, it’s beautiful.” Looking over the earring appreciatively, Clint pinned it into the last unoccupied hole in his ear and smiled. “Thank you. I—Wait.” He narrowed his eyes at the drawers, then at Loki. “Is this a siren thing, too? Like a…mating ritual, or something?”
The captain’s eyes widened. “Oh, God—it is, isn’t it?” Covering his face, he sank down onto the bed. “Ugh—I’m sorry. Forget the earring. I didn’t know—“
Clint frowned. “What do you mean, you didn’t know?’
“Well, I wasn’t exactly raised underwater,” the captain groaned, laying back on the bed and covering his face with a pillow. “All I know about siren anything is from other people’s research and my own instincts. I just thought you might like something nice…I’m not trying to get you to…” He cringed. “Nest.”
Instantly regretting ever bringing it up at all, Clint sat next to him on the bed, rubbing his back half-heartedly. “It’s okay…It’s not a bad thing. I think it’s sweet.”
Loki made an indignant noise into the pillow and refused to move.
“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Tousling his hair, Clint grinned. “I really like the earring. Was there anything else you wanted to give me?”
The captain stopped, peeking over the edge of the pillow. “Really? You want to see?”
He nodded, smiling encouragingly.
Loki perked up. “A few things…”
The Sons of Liberty met once again where they always did—in the secret room under the Danvers family pub. It was dim and stuffy with so many men and women packed into a tiny space, but the excited hum of an imminent victory and the pretty, smiling barmaid topping off everyone’s glasses kept the atmosphere damn near bearable. The militia captain was the only one sitting apart, watching the festivities and sipping at the foam at the top of his mug. He was also the only one to hear footsteps in the back hallway, the secret passage from the silversmith’s house that only Sons were to know about—and from what Steve could see, all the Sons were in attendance.
Sliding away from the bar, Steve emptied his mug out on the dirt floor and hefted it, moving toward the passageway door. Stark had cast the membership steins himself, and though the heavy pewter wasn’t quite so pretty as a bayonet, it would be deterrent enough. Someone—Carol, probably—saw him move, and the laughter and shout-singing died down as the party trained their eyes on the door. Steve gritted his teeth and reached for the latch—just as the door burst open.
“Who the fuck let all you salty dogs into a nice place like this?!” The man grinning in the doorway was browned from the sun and dressed in grey-brown leather trousers, a hand-dyed purple shirt, and black boots far too heavy to be made by colonial cobblers. His sun-bleached hair was hacked short and sticking up in messy points, and he was absolutely covered in bruises, scrapes, and dingy bandages. Both his ears were pierced multiple times, and strings of gold and silver jewelry dangled from his belt. In fact, they may not have recognized him at all, if not for the bow strapped to his back.
Stark’s half-full glass ended up on the floor along with his jaw, and he climbed onto one of the tables for a better look. “…Barton? Jesus Christ, is that you?”
“You bet your silver-lickin’ ass it is.” With a snort, Clint stepped into the tavern, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And watch your mouth. You know the Captain don’t like nasty words like that.”
“Gone for a year and then some,” Steve grumbled, pulling him into a reluctant hug, “and you still remember Tony’s stupid jokes?”
“Huh. Yeah.” Grinning into Steve’s shoulder, Clint patted his back. “Like I never left, right?”
“Not quite.” Steve pulled away, scowling. “Where have you been? What have you been off doing that’s somehow more important than fighting with your fellow Americans?”
“And who the hell did you bring back with you?” Danvers cut in, leaning over the bar and peering into the corridor, scowling. “Barton, I swear, if you sold us out—“
“I didn’t!” he promised hastily, beckoning his friends into the pub. “These are the folks I’ve been sailing with while I was out. The crew of the Siren’s Tongue. Logan, Wilson, Parker, Mistress Natasha—“
Pym, the doctor, all but toppled off his stool. “The Siren’s Tongue? As in the Grinning Reaper’s ship?”
“I would certainly hope there isn’t another,” the aforementioned captain chimed in dryly, slipping into the pub from behind his crew and drilling Pym with an icy stare. “I’d hate to think my reputation was being diffused.”
Pym made a noise like “nyuh” and swallowed hard. The other Sons seemed to recoil, watching Loki warily. Stark only scowled. “Really, Barton? Pirates? That’s why you abandoned the revolution—to roam the Atlantic as a froofed-up thief?”
“Mister Barton has provided certain necessary services aboard my ship,” Loki replied, moving through the crowd of stunned revolutionaries to stare the silversmith down. “We were reluctant to let him go.”
Stark snorted, crossing his arms. Standing on the table gave him the only shot he had at a height advantage over the Reaper, and he used it to its fullest. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“And I would be inclined to show you,” the captain retorted, “but I so dislike to share him.”
There was a long moment of silence as the silversmith processes the implication. Then he grimaced. “Wow. Gross. You know what? Keep him.”
Loki smirked. “I planned to.”
“Aw, save it, Stark. Ain’t no different from what you’ve been doin’ with Steve since the First Continental Congress,” Barnes drawled as he elbowed his way out of the clump of pirates. “Actually, they’re almost as noisy as you two, comin’ through the floor.”
Gawking, Steve all but shoved Clint out of the way, reaching for the one-armed sailor. “My God…” He frowned, looking over Barnes’ patched leather clothes and shoulder-stump in confusion. “Bucky?”
Barnes turned, puzzled, and frowned back. “Who the hell is ‘Bucky’?”
The captain’s face fell, and he started to retreat, crushed. “I thought…”
“Jesus, Stevie—“ Rolling his eyes, Barnes grabbed his arm and pulled him into half a hug. “I’m just fucking with you. C’mere.”
With a huge sigh, Steve held him tightly, burying his face in Barnes’ shoulder. “Thank God,” he mumbled. Then he pulled away and scowled. “That wasn’t fucking funny, Lieutenant.”
“God-damn, Rogers, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” With a wink, Barnes beckoned over his shoulder for Natasha. “C’mon. I want you to meet my wife.”
“King George…dead?” Steve leaned back in the booth, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”
“I dropped him into a harbour full of angry sirens,” Loki replied, cocking an eyebrow and creating a small whirlpool in his drink with the flick of a finger. “I suppose there is a chance they haven’t torn him to shreds, and he may wash up on the southern coast of France, half-drowned and mad as a wet cat—in which case it’d be difficult for him to remember his own name, let alone his reign over Britain.” He yawned, plucking a fuzz from Clint’s hair and smoothing it. “Needless to say, he won’t be causing you trouble any longer.”
“And the prince?” Danvers asked, watching the captain with hard eyes.
“Employed on my ship. Nowhere near the throne, even if he wanted it.” Absently, the Reaper stroked Clint’s hair. The minuteman looked up to kiss his shoulder before returning to his apple pie, the one thing the Tongue’s master chef had yet to uncover the mysteries of.
Danvers wasn’t impressed. “How do we know the new administration—this Queen Charlotte—won’t be just as bad?”
“She won’t.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Loki looked her dead in the eye. “You have my word.”
“A pirate’s word is worth about as much around here as British currency,” Carol spat. “I need more than that to go on.”
“I don’t.” Steve shot her a warning look. “Bucky says you honour your word, Reaper. That’s all I need.”
Loki smiled. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Of course.” Taking a deep breath, Steve seemed to brace himself. “Speaking of Bucky…as helpful as it will be to have the king gone, we’re going to need all the help we can get in this war, and with you keeping one of my best marksmen…”
“’One of’?” Clint scowled. “I’m easily the best.”
“I understand.” Ignoring him, Loki reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew out a scroll sealed with dark green wax. “I am willing to suspend Barnes’ contract for the duration of the revolution.” Setting the scroll on the table, he brought out another. “And the Duchess Natalia’s, as well. I think they’ve been separated quite long enough, and as reluctant as I am to subject myself once again to an all-male crew, I know she will be immensely helpful to your cause.”
“Just ‘til the war’s over?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow hopefully.
Loki smiled. “Heavens, no—you’re building a new nation, Captain Rogers. To win the war is only the beginning; there is immeasurable work to be done in the aftermath. You and Barnes work so well together, and Natasha is such an exceptional coordinator that I wouldn’t dream of taking them away prematurely.” He pushed the contracts across the table to Steve. “The Tongue will be docking on your shores again, Captain. Any time they’d like to leave with her, all they need do is bring their contracts back aboard and I’m happy to lift the suspension.”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief, pulling the rolled-up contracts over. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” Loki winked. “My merciless reputation is only half-deserved, I assure you.”
“Be that as it may, I know it’s a lot for you to just give away two officers,” Steve countered, raising an eyebrow. “And I can’t help but wonder if there’s a price I’ll be expected to pay for this down the line.”
“Since we’re on the subject of your reputation,” Carol added coolly.
Loki bristled for a second, and Clint looked up worriedly. But the Reaper shook it off, sitting back in his seat and inspecting his nails. “It’s true that finding another pair that works together as well as those two will be no easy task. But Murdock has sense enough about him to take over as boatswain, and I’m more than confident in my next quartermaster.” Reaching down to squeeze Clint’s hand, he gave a small smile. “I see no cause to make this agreement into anything more than an act of good will, Captain.” He gave Steve a too-innocent look. “Do you?”
“This isn’t a deal?” the captain asked carefully, still pinning the contracts to the table, but not yet taking them. “You’re not gonna show back up when the war’s over to collect on my soul?”
Loki rolled his eyes dismissively. “Binding souls is such an ugly habit. One I plan to break, moving forward. Just take good care of my officers, Rogers, and you’ll have nothing to fear from me.”
Relaxing visibly, Steve took the contracts. “Glad to hear it.” Stuffing them into his coat pocket, he stole a glance at Clint. “Safe to assume you’re keeping Barton for yourself?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Clint cut in, grinning and resting his head on the captain’s shoulder. “You think he could function without me?”