It's Different

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Title: It's Different

Characters: Clint, Barton, Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson

Genre: friendship, pre-slash

Fandom: High School AU

Summary: Natasha thinks her friend has a thing for teacher.

Rating: PG but there is a bit of foul language

Pairings: pre-slash

Warnings: Natasha, an 18 year old senior, believes her best friend might have a crush on their school's assistant principal who is obviously a good bit older than him. There is nothing "happening" in this except a shoulder squeeze.

Spoilers: None.

Natasha sighed, perturbed by the noise just outside the library where she’d tucked into a corner to work on her English paper. Honestly, she thought to herself, if that’s Clint using his makeshift miniature trebuchets to launch a wet pea assault on Assistant Principal Coulson’s 1962 Corvette again I’m going to kill him. Sure, seeing Coulson’s priceless, cherry red convertible covered in pea mush was hilarious for all of five minutes, but she’d been forced to spend six hours the following Saturday cleaning cars as part of a fundraiser for the school because of it. Clint, on the other hand, spent one Saturday washing cars and three helping to clean the school after football games.


Natasha didn’t think the pea incident was worth the punishment, but Clint disagreed with enthusiasm bringing up the photo he’d captured of Coulson’s face when he saw the mess. The only time Natasha had seen anything other than the sort of vague stern indifference on the assistant principal’s face was when he’d seen his car covered in canned peas. She imagined the terror Coulson must have felt thinking of what disaster he might find on the inside of his pristine collectible. She also figured he had been worried that the peas would dry and cause paint damage when trying to clean them off. Clint hadn't let the pea mess stay long. Even then, Clint wasn’t so cruel or so careless as to cause any real damage, or he might very well have been charged with destruction of property. No, Clint just obsessed over ruffling the administrator who always seemed unflappable.  


Since they’d been friends since they were seven, Natasha witnessed the progression of Clint’s antics. Clint initially started with whoopie cushions on the man’s chair when they were sophomores, then graduated to boobytrapping files in the office so that Coulson would silly string himself, jello molding his stapler, and using a voice changer on the intercom junior year once. The man sounded like a chipmunk when he made the morning announcements. In spite of hearing his now squeaky altered voice, Coulson had finished the announcements without pause or distress, and while most of the school had been in hysterics over the prank, Clint hadn’t been satisfied.


When Natasha asked why Clint was always up to something to aggravate the older man, Clint stated with relish, “It’s the challenge of it, Nat. Besides, he can take it.”

 

Clint never targeted anyone else. Natasha wondered if this was Clint’s version of “pulling Coulson’s pigtails,” but she would never suggest such a thing to Clint. He insisted on dating half of the girls in the school, regardless of how quickly he got bored or aggravated. Natasha herself got along well enough with most of the girls Clint dated. He did tend to choose intelligent girls with a sense of humor, and he had his pick for the most part. Natasha, objectively, thought Clint was reasonably good looking and had cultivated himself into the perfect balance of class clown and athlete that was charming and just a little annoying.


Right now, when she had one more paper to finish before she could graduate, and be done with high school forever, and he was causing some ruckus that would likely get her pulled into more community service, she was only finding it annoying. If she had to spend the Saturday after graduation at the school doing graffiti clean up with Clint, he was going to learn how difficult it was to shoot his bow with broken fingers.


Natasha went out the side door looking for the source of the indistinct yells she’d heard from inside the library. The noise seemed to grow louder as she headed towards the staff parking lot and when she got around the corner of the four hundred building, she saw a circle of people. She wondered what the group was clustered around and why they were so dangerously close to the infamous convertible. Natasha really wished Coulson wouldn’t bring the thing to school, but it was his pride and joy. One day each month, when the weather was particularly good, he’d drive the beautiful car to school. It seemed like driving the car once a month to school was the one treat Coulson to allowed himself.


Natasha thought she had a pretty enough face, but most of the school seemed intimidated by her. Once, a student had told her to smile more so that she wouldn't look so pissed off all the time. That was the only time she’d been suspended for hitting anyone. Usually, she was very good at getting away with shit, being partly blamed for Clint’s shenanigans notwithstanding, but she’d wanted everyone to know what the consequences were for giving her unsolicited advice. She may have had to spend a few days stuck out of school, but it had been worth it to make an example of the guy who’d commented. Now she was able to walk through the thick circle of students unfettered because no one wanted to risk her wrath. She wouldn’t have punched anyone just for being in her way, but her fellow students didn’t need to know that. Natasha could admit to herself that she enjoyed the notoriety a little bit.


Natasha blinked several times as she processed what she was seeing. It wasn’t that she didn’t know Clint could fight. They’d gone to karate lessons for years during elementary and middle school, only quitting their sophomore year when everything got to be just too much to juggle. Even though he hadn’t been to an official lesson or match in a while, Clint was still sharp and fit as hell. She’d know; they liked to spar on Saturday afternoon sometimes. But that was the only fighting Clint did any more.


Except here he was, wrestling with some kid in the school parking lot. Natasha put her fingers between her lips and whistled loudly, startling both of the teens into jumping apart. Several of the students in the cluster groaned over the end of the battle and wandered off, but most them stuck around to see if there would be any further drama. Nosy. Didn’t they have places to go? School let out thirty minutes ago, she was only still here because she was working on her paper and had special permission to use the library after school.  


“What the hell?” Natasha demanded.


A kid she knew vaguely, she thought his name might be Dave or Derek or something, looked up at her militantly. “He,” the boy pointed violently at Clint, “took my keys and wouldn’t give them back!” She helped him off the ground hoping that it would give Clint a chance to cool his temper.


“You were going to key his car!” Clint shouted back as he clamored up from the pavement.


“You smothered it in sludge two months ago. What the hell do you care anyways?” the kid shouted back, getting dangerously close to Clint’s face. Natasha shoved the kid back and held her right arm across Clint’s chest and shoulders. If he really pushed, she couldn’t stop him, definitely not with just one arm, but she was hoping it would be enough to help him keep his head.


“It was just peas. And I didn’t cause any permanent damage.” Clint’s voice had a scalpel-sharp edge Natasha had never heard before.


“I’m just doing what the smug bastard deserves.” The little prick smirked.


Only years of scraping with Clint saved the situation. Natasha threw herself into stopping Clint’s blow. Clint’s chest was heaving, the muscles in his jaw were jumping, and his fist was clenched so tight; she worried he’d damage his joints.


“What the hell is going on here?” A new voice cut through the noise of the lingering crowd. Natasha didn’t have to turn from Clint to know was there, especially not when Clint’s eyes flashed through a myriad of emotions in seconds, only to land on his best poker face which was comprised of false cockiness and flippant disregard. Natasha let go of her friend and breathed a sigh of relief.


The crowd that had surrounded the guys had completely dispersed now with the arrival of the assistant principal.


“Nothing, Mr. Coulson. I dropped my keys, and Clint here was helping me find them when they ended up under a car.” Devon, or whatever his name was, reached his hand out for the keys Clint still held tightly in one hand.


Natasha saw the flash of fury that darkened Clint’s eyes for the space of two seconds, but it was gone so quickly, she doubted Mr. Coulson had seen it.


“Right,” Clint said. His voice scratched, and he cleared his throat. “Right, here are your keys, Darren.” Oh, she thought. That’s his name. Darren. There had been an extra bit of emphasis on Darren’s name when Clint said it and Natasha watched Darren’s face as he caught the threat. He only gave Clint another slimy smirk in response so Natasha wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t try again later, but that wasn’t her problem right now.


“Why don’t you give the man his keys back, son?” Coulson phrased it like a question, but it sounded like a gentle statement to Natasha’s ears.


Clint’s expression briefly twisted into one of pain, but it dropped faster than it had come. Still, Natasha wondered if Clint had finally realized why he was so obsessed with aggravating Coulson and getting his attention. The whispered, “I’m not your son,” was further proof to her mind.


“Be more careful, you could’ve damaged someone’s property,” Clint finally spoke at normal volume and handed the keys back to Darren.


“I most certainly will. I would hate for anything to happen to anyone’s stuff,” Darren replied. Natasha’s hand twitched with the desire to slap the barely disguised sneer off the blasted guy's face, but she needed to stay out of trouble right now. Maybe over the summer, once Natasha graduated and wasn't on school property, she would find a way to get revenge on that Darren kid. She was sure that Clint would be willing to help her. She might need him to cause a diversion while she found his permanent record, but she could plot that later.


Natasha watched Darren head towards the student parking lot, spine straight and head held high. He sauntered, making it seem like he didn't have a care in the world and she knew she was going to have to find a way to teach him a lesson. Natasha was pretty sure that Hope, who was in her AP English class, knew Darren because their families worked together or something. Natasha would have to check with her to see what she thought.


Natasha turned to look at Clint only to find that Coulson was squeezing her friend's shoulder gently. She almost felt like she was intruding on something, but she couldn't say what. To turn tail and run didn't quite seem like the right strategy either. Plus she needed to make sure Clint was okay.


"I can fight my own battles, Mr. Barton. I don't need you to defend me."


"He was going to key your car," Clint argued.


"So?" Coulson asked.


Clint glared. "So you love that car."


"Sure, but it's a car."


"You would've thought I did it." Clint kept glaring.


"Mr. Barton, you have been a giant pain in my a--butt for four years now, but you have never, not ever, caused any permanent damage. And there's never been anything that you didn't own up to and pay the price for. If you tell me you didn't do something, I'll believe you."


Natasha didn't think she'd ever seen Clint's face look so shocked. Coulson rubbed his thumb where he still gripped Clint's shoulder and then squeezed once more.


"But you love that car," Clint said again, surprise obvious and open on his face now.


"That car is a classic and a collectible, and everything a car should be, but it isn't as important as your safety or your education. Don't mess up that scholarship to Columbia."


If someone had told Natasha that Clint could blush the color of red poppies a few days ago, she'd never have believed it. Yet here he was, blushing like crazy.


"Tell me you understand, and you won't interfere in the future," Coulson prodded. Clint nodded, but still looked astonished and seemed speechless. "Okay then," Coulson continued. "I will see you two later. Stay out of trouble for the rest of the day, please. I have work to get done."


Coulson gave her friend's shoulder one more squeeze and then walked away in the direction of his office.


"So, you want to talk about it?" Natasha asked.


Clint swallowed hard, throat visibly struggling with the motion that should've been easy before shaking his head 'no.'


Natasha mentally sighed over the English paper that was not going to get finished tonight.


"Okay, how about we break into my parent's liquor cabinet again then? They're not supposed to be home for a couple more days so you can stay with me tonight," she paused briefly then added, "if you want."


Clint cleared his throat again and finally seemed to be able to speak again. "Yeah, Nat. That sounds good."


"Perfect. Let's go get shitfaced," she said, and they went in search of their belongings and Natasha's car.