A/N: My high school AUs will also be posted on these as well. Just a heads up.

"Natasha Romanov?" a voice called. Natasha looked up from her Emily Dickinson's poetry to see the drama teacher waving her up onto the stage. It was Monday afternoon, and she had made it to callbacks for this semester's play; Twelfth Night. She set her book aside, smoothing her hands over her uniform skirt and climbed up onto the stage, taking the scene that Mrs. Potts offered her.

"You'll be reading the part of Viola," she said, pointing to the highlighted lines. Natasha smiled and nodded politely, but she was internally cheering. Viola was the main character, and the fact that she was being told to read for her was a good sign. Now if she would only get a good partner...

The teacher looked around the auditorium for her partner. "Clint? Clint Barton?"

Natasha's heart fell through her stomach at the name of the jock. Clint Barton. She didn't know him personally, but she knew that he was a star of the football team, known for his wicked aim with any possible projectile. He could be perfectly nice, but most likely he was doing this for the drama credit. If he was (by some mistake) cast in a lead role, this play would plummet.

Clint climbed onto the stage, smirking in the direction of his friends who were cheering him on. He was decent looking, spiky dirty blond hair and chiseled features. And whoa, those arm muscles were spectacular in his purple polo. He grinned at Natasha, waving slightly before taking the script from Mrs. Potts.

"You'll be reading for the Duke," she said. Natasha sighed, tucking her red curly bangs behind her ear. Of course. Of course it would be the main romantic pairing. She didn't even know the guy and she had to pretend to be in love with him. He was not her type. He was a jock. He was probably in low level classes, and picked on people like her. You know, intelligent, sensitive people. You might call Natasha a hipster. She just thought of herself as, you know, decent.

Clint turned to her, smiling nervously, and began speaking.

Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,

In the sweet pangs of it remember me;

For such as I am all true lovers are,

Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,

Save in the constant image of the creature

That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?

Natasha's eyes widened. Clint was actually pretty talented. He spoke the words with an low intensity she had never seen in any of her acting partners before, and what seemed to be real pain over wasted love. And yikes, his eyes... He needed to stop. She couldn't actually...crap. Nope. No thinking about it.

There was a silence before she realized that it was her turn to speak.

It gives a very echo to the seat

Where Love is throned.

Clint responded smoothly, scarcely reading from the script.

Thou dost speak masterly:

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye

Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves:

Hath it not, boy?

His lines gave her a chance to remind herself that this was actually a tryout, not time for her to dedicate to her thing for smart guys who knew Shakespeare. Aw, hell...

A little, by your favour.

What kind of woman is't?

Of your complexion, Natasha responded, using the right touch of irony.

And thus they continued, back and forth. Neither used the script very much, and both were clearly very familiar with the play.

Finally they stopped, staring at each other. There were no more lines. Nothing else to say.

Externally, Natasha was quiet but inside she was reeling. During that short scene, her entire world's view had been completely changed. Clint Barton wasn't a jerk. He was wonderful, intelligent, sensitive attractive-

"We rocked that!" Clint hissed as they left the stage together. Okay, maybe a little bit of a jerk.

Natasha shrugged. "I've heard better." Lies.

Clint scoffed. "Sure you have. I'm amazing."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Clearly not noticing the lame comeback, Clint grinned and stuck out his hand. "Clint Barton."

"I'm aware," Natasha said. Then, internally berating herself for being bitchy, she took his hand, shaking it the way her mother had taught her to. His hand was warm, and callused. Nice. "Natasha Romanov."

He nodded, clearly also aware but too nice to say so. "Russian?"

Natasha smirked. "Apparently my grandmother was a Soviet trained spy who got stuck in America. She was famous for killing all the men she kissed."

Clint chuckled. "Charming."

She nodded, picking up her leather messenger bag and pen. She could hear Clint's friends calling to him from the back of the auditorium, probably impatient to get to practice. "So... See you around?"

Clint nodded. "I'll be looking out for you."

Natasha felt her cheeks flush. "Real- Cool." and the words started coming out of her mouth before she could stop them, tumbling over her lips like lines in a play, "or you could avoid risking stalker-dom and just call me instead."

Instead of being totally repulsed, Clint just smirked and nodded. "I could." he held out a hand.

She stared at it, brainpower lowered by the fact that she hadn't been totally rejected. "...what's that for?"

"Write your number down." he gestured at the pen in her hand. She did, scrawling her number on his hand. She had to hold his arm to keep his hand steady, and his fingertips were gently resting on her wrist. She looked up at him and he smiled, cockily. "Great." he started backing away, still facing her. "See you around, Romanov."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the cliche move. "Sure, Barton. Whatever."

She had almost made it out of the aud when he shouted again, "HEY, ROMANOV?" She turned to face him, and he was clearly grinning a stupid grin all over his face. At the door, his friends were impatiently waiting for him.

"WHAT?" She yelled back.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." he quoted.

Natasha's face turned bright red. She should have said something, anything, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "ROMEO WAS A TOTAL WUSS."

Clint grinned wider, if that was possible. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." he walked up to his friends, who were snickering behind their hands. "SEE YOU LATER, ROMANOV."

Contact me if you want this continued or anything.