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Natasha shook her head at Clint as he shot her a grin of pure enthusiastic enjoyment. She curled under his arm on Thor's couch and leaned into him. She was wearing specimen #28 of her infamous t-shirt collection, a black number with a red hourglass on the front. He was wearing his matching purple bullseye t-shirt, and they were both wearing kilts in honor of their friend Moira's birthday.
"You're frighteningly adorable," Charles told them as he eyed Moira across the room over his bottle of root beer. He'd been pining after Moira all semester.
"Just ask her out," Clint told him for the umpteenth time.
"Preferably for dinner on Valentine's Day," Natasha added. "I have a bet in the pool."
Charles flushed red and sputtered.
Tony Stark bumped up behind him before Charles could say anything. "And it's the lovebirds, wearing…" He blinked at the pair of them. He liked taking loud note of Natasha's t-shirts, but this was new. "Katniss, you're wearing a skirt?"
Clint rolled his eyes. "It's called a kilt."
"That, man, is a skirt," Tony disagreed.
"He looks good in anything," Natasha deadpanned.
"Ha!" Tony prided himself on looking good in anything, and it was a calculated shot. He shook a finger at Clint. "I dare you to wear a real skirt. You know, miniskirt out of your girlfriend's closet type skirt."
Everyone in hearing range groaned because it was no great secret that Clint Barton, archery captain and part-time carnie, had not an ounce of shame in his body.
He grinned sharply and answered, "When?"
Maria groaned over the books. She and Natasha had settled up on the bleachers while Maria re-weighted the odds on various bets after last night's party.
"Stark, you did not." Maria's pencil moved furiously across the page as she entered in two new bets. She glanced up at her friend. "Do you think he'll really go through with it?"
"This is Clint Barton," Natasha said flatly. "The odds you'll get betting on it are terrible."
It really wasn't a secret he had no shame. Of course, he'd be wearing a skirt and his ransacking Kate's closet this morning was proof enough.
Maria looked at her, and Natasha sighed in annoyance.
"I'll go even them."
The things she did for friends.
"Steve…" Natasha sidled up next to her friend, the football captain.
"No," he answered shortly.
She pouted, a gesture he knew perfectly well was put on. "I haven't even asked yet."
"If this is about the bet…"
"This is about adding paramaters," she tempered. "I can't place bets because I already know what he's going to do. Maria wants them to bet on details instead of if he's going to do it."
Steve sighed.
They all already knew Clint would be wearing a skirt tomorrow. All day tomorrow. Even with the special guest speakers visiting and a scout at archery practice.
"Fine. What kinds of details?"
She blew up the bleachers.
Clint shook his head at the smoking mess and proceeded to practice his shots anyway. "What's your current future occupation you were practicing for?"
Natasha surveyed her work with satisfaction. The bleachers had been more than a little worn down for going on a decade now and repeated petitions for new ones had been ignored. "Professional arsonist," she told him.
"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that doesn't come in a professional variety." He hit the bullseye like always and gave her an apologetic smile.
Natasha scrunched up her nose in a frown. "Stunt artist?"
"Special effects," he countered.
She nodded, satisfied. "That will work." She eyed her t-shirt—Extreme's not a sport. It's a lifestyle.—and considered what to change it out for.
"Kate found me something purple," Clint said as he sank another arrow into the target. "Think you got a t-shirt for that?"
"Wear your bullseye."
He shot her a look as he loosed another arrow. Bullseye.
Her eyebrow came up. Case rested.
"Nah. I want something that will make Stark flinch."
Natasha sighed and squinted at the approaching staff member. Principal Nick Fury could strike fear into most of the student body's hearts, but he was also Natasha's mentor and had stopped being genuinely intimidating to either of them a long time ago.
"Sir." Clint lowered his bow.
"Would either of you happen to know what happened to these bleachers?" Fury asked, glaring out of his one good eye.
Natasha held up a paper. "That new safer firework you wanted tested before July needs a little work."
Clint stifled a laugh. "She wants to be a special effects artist."
Fury's eyes rolled upward as he clearly started counting to a hundred.
"Obviously, it'll be Natasha's skirt," Tony told Maria bluntly. "And purple. He can't resist purple. I'll bet knee-length."
"Duly noted," she said as she duly noted it in her notebook.
"He'll probably wait until after the guidance counselor leaves for his dentist appointment to put it on."
Maria muttered to herself, "Mr. Coulson has a dentist appointment." She could charge a hundred bucks for good intel like that.
The skirt was not at all knee-length.
"He really did it," Bruce noted in surprise.
Maria groaned.
Clint came in first class of the day in Kate's purple miniskirt and Natasha's 'This is how we do it' t-shirt, arm slung over Natasha's shoulder as she waved at Phil Coulson on the way in. Her own t-shirt said, 'When in doubt, blow it up.'
Fury cracked a grin at the pair. "Well, Coulson. They're all yours."