Hello everyone! This story was a side project of mine and is nearly finished, so I will be posting one chapter every week-end, say Saturday or Sunday (Also posted on AO3).

Main clintasha and sortof-onesided Romagers. AU fic in modern universe, the investigation kind.

Un-beta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine ^^"

Criminal

Prologue

Natasha glared at the smoking cup of coffee on the table. The evening had gone from bad to worst.

First, the case she had been working on for nearly two years had been written off as cold for lack of evidence. Unsolved cases weren't an unknown thing in Chicago, but this one had been the first she had tackled upon arriving into this unit, since her transfer from Florida.

Back then, she was one of those hot-headed twenty-three years old rookie agents eager to prove herself, and a man had been terrifying the town by shooting arrows at seemingly random people. It turned out there had been two archers (which she had figured out) that had different sets of victims as they were profiled as a hired assassin and a vigilante (which she had also figured out). The case had ended with the death of one from the hand of the other, after which the remaining archer had disappeared.

Second, Steve had skipped their meeting. Two years after their divorce, including a whole five months of near harassment, she had finally agreed for dinner and yet he had ditched her. He could have been late from work, but had not even given a phone call to warn her. And when she had resolved herself to give him a call, she had gone straight to the voicemail. Natasha hadn't been all eager to meet with her ex-husband, but he had been such a pain in her ass she had agreed if only to tell him square in the face to stop harassing her before she called a lawsuit.

Not that it would work; no-one wanted to believe that the infamous war hero Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, could be a first-class jerk when he put his mind into it.

Natasha glanced at her watch for the twentieth time that night. Past nine already. She sighed, pulled out a few dollars to pay her drink and headed towards the bar. Her boss had dropped a case she cared about, she had been stranded by Steve…it didn't matter if she got drunk. No-one would stare at her disapprovingly when she got home.

She sat at the bar and ordered a shot of vodka.

The bar was filled enough, she noticed as she glanced around. Having sat at the table for over an hour, she had spent time counting the clients going in, but not getting out. So far, she regrouped about thirty people scattered around in small groups; the college students going out for a beer, a group of women gathering for secret exchanging, some men arguing about something, others playing darts nearby…her gaze settle on the last one.

Three men were holding the darts, while a fourth was aiming. A 'ping' later and the dart hit the second inner circle of the board. Two grimaced while the last one, a short dirty-blond haired guy, smirked and took the current player's place. Within fifteen seconds, three of his five darts were fighting for a spot in the very inner circle. Natasha raised an impressed eyebrow and watched closely as he aimed for a fourth. The dart flew so fast she barely saw it and hit another spot in the middle.

The barman brought her drink. She downed the shot and returned her attention on the game. The fifth dart had just joined the others. The other men groaned and Natasha watched in amusement as they handed a few bills to the obvious winner. Said winner glanced in her direction and winked at her. Natasha raised her empty glass in cheer (hey, why not?) and turned around to ask for another.

Barely ten seconds went by before the chair next to hers was pulled back and said winner was taking a seat.

"So, did you enjoy the show?"

She turned around and faced the newcomer. He wasn't quite handsome, but his intense blue eyes –or were they grey? green? there were definite hints of gold in the corner –gave him an intriguing aura. Natasha pegged him in his mid-to-late thirties, a solid ten years older than her. He wore a dark shirt with short sleeve, tight around his arms, and he looked quite in shape. His voice was rough but his gaze direct, eyes making immediate contact out of self-confidence. No overconfidence though, which she appreciated for a first approach.

"You have a good aim," she replied smoothly, not inviting nor rebuking him outright. "How much did you earn?"

He chuckled in reply, the sound echoing deep from his throat.

"Enough to hold out all night. Why, are you going to arrest me if I gamble too high Miss FBI?" Natasha lost the smile and tensed. He raised a hand in defense: "Don't get on your high horses; I was in the Special Task Forces till two weeks ago. Saw you handle the guy at the hostage situation, back in New York." He sounded gentle and a little awed at the same time. "You did great."

"You mean until the hostage-taker was shot?" Natasha retorted dryly. She remembered that moment, when the man had a teenage girl at the end of his gun. One moment she was aiming for the shoulder; and a blink of an eye later, the criminal's brains were exploding under the pressure of a long-shot bullet.

"Yeah, well, don't be too hard on yourself for that one. The hostage was my protégé. And Katie's still pissed at me for putting blood on her favorite hoodies." He replied nonchalantly. "Maybe I should have let you handle it till the end; that would have saved me half an hour of screaming from my boss."

Natasha blinked and stared at him. Really stared at him.

"Are you kidding me?" she blurted.

The stranger grinned sheepishly.

"I didn't expect seeing you in this bar of all places, y'know? But the boss fired me after that unauthorized shot, so I got time on my hands. And I really liked the way you handled the guy's accomplice afterwards."

"You mean when I handed each and every one of them their sorry asses?" she asked deadpan. The man's grin widened into a charming smirk that made her heart skip a beat. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk that shot of vodka after all.

"I mean when you nearly gutted the guy who had ran through the back door with your pocket knife." Natasha widened her eyes in mid-shock. After the shooting, she had gone through one of her episodes and had gotten away under the guise of checking for any fugitives, but a stray henchman had tried to get the up on her. And she had gone feral on him. But she hadn't expected anyone to see her. Instead of looking accusative or reproachful, the man leaned back, his eyes turning more appreciative. "I like dangerous women." He eventually said, his tone finally reaching the flirty tune she had been expecting from the moment he had taken his seat. What she had not expected though, was the reaction her body had from it. Even though she had no idea who he was, her senses felt roused by his voice and the intensity of his eyes. "The name is Clint Barton, by the way. So are you done for the night or can I buy you a drink?"

Natasha was in a much better mood the next morning. She came in whistling cheerfully, make up done and hair loose over her shoulders. A good bunch of male colleagues watched her walk by with huge eyes. She usually never wore more than necessary, being in a job where women needed to prove themselves –or become sexless –and had never wanted to deal with extra attention.

Yet that day, she had woken up with a hangover but more content than she had been in years. Steve had always advised her to go out dressed plainly to avoid getting noticed. He had always liked being left alone after the propaganda campaign where he had been on the front line. As she observed a colleague stepping into a wall after staring at her for too long, Natasha wondered why she had ever bothered listening to him.

"I assume the evening went better than expected?"

The redhead glanced at her colleague and occasional partner, Victoria Hand, as she stepped closer to her desk with amused raised eyebrows. She didn't miss the glance of appreciation from her partner. While Hand was straight, she always had a weakness for beautiful women. Natasha decided to feel flattered by the attention and decided to dress up more often.

"Steve never showed up," Natasha replied absentmindedly, turning the coffee machine on and pouring herself a drink.

"So how come you look so…happy?"

Victoria sounded intrigued and puzzled at the same time. Natasha shrugged and turned her computer on.

"I met someone."

A sly smirk grew over her partner's face.

"Oh, wild night then? Daunting, coming from you, Romanoff."

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned against the border of her desk, one hand dangling over her hip. She took a sip of her drink and went on:

"As surprising as it might seem, we just talked." Flirted and bantered more accurately. And much to her own surprise, she had enjoyed it. His muscled arms on display were a definite added bonus. "And he gave me his number."

Victoria snorted, but her twisting fingers betrayed her undeniable curiosity.

"And you are going to call him?"

"I didn't take it." She replied with a shrug. "I told him if he wants to see me again, he'd just have to-"

"Hello."

Both women turned around. Natasha nearly dropped her cup. Clint Barton, dressed in casual jeans and the tight black T-shirt showing off his arms again, was standing at the edge of the break room, hands in his pants pockets. Smiling casually. And looking really hot.

"Hey handsome," she blurted without thinking.

"Hey, stranger." He replied, his voice amused and husky.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and tilted her head on the side.

"Stranger, and yet you knew where to find me."

He shrugged.

"You're FBI. This is a FBI building. I told the receptionist I had a meeting with a guy I know from around here, slipped in and recognized you from afar." He stepped closer, just as cocky and confident as the previous night. "Since I'm here, and you're here, can I take you out tonight?"

The tone was flirty but not arrogant. His eyes weren't dark with lust or any evil desire. The man had kept his distance in spite of his…interest, and Natasha had honestly enjoyed it. She opened her mouth to reply when the last person she wanted to meet right now stepped in the room.

Steve Rogers was a tall, well-built blonde with gorgeous blue eyes and an easy smile. In spite of his young age, he held the respect and consideration of many of his peers. He had started as a scrawny sick kid, growing into a bigger, better built man through his teenage years only to be reinforced in the army, where he had made wonders during his missions. His easygoing and old-school manners made him popular socially, though his good looks and charisma helped quite a bit. The latter had even caught the attention of the army promoter, who had offered him a big deal of money to be the face of the army. Out of patriotism, Steve had agreed and spent half a year on a publicity tour.

Natasha had met him when she was still a teenager, as the military school was located right next to her high-school. She was hitting a rough patch, he was growing in self-confidence. She needed an ear to listen, he was eager to assist. They married before he left for his second tour, shortly after she turned nineteen.

If asked, Natasha would agree on one thing: the man was, fundamentally, a good person. But he was not a good boyfriend, and definitively a worst husband. He always had the best intentions for everyone, but his priorities were never set straight.

She swallowed her annoyance and readied herself for a confrontation…until she realized something unusual. Barton was frowning. He wasn't doing a 'resting face', as he had called it the previous day. No, this wasn't even a 'where-have-I-seen-this-guy-before', but rather a 'what-in-hell-this-asshole-is-doing-here' type of scowl. That caught Natasha off-guard; usually, everyone fell in awe in front of the mighty Captain America.

After a quick greeting nod to Hand, Steve addressed her directly. He must have been greatly preoccupied if he didn't notice another person standing beside him.

"We need to talk." He blurted before she could even speak.

Barton snorted in his corner. Steve turned around and noticed him for the first time.

"Do I know you?" he asked, returning the frown. Barton raised an eyebrow.

"Don't think I've ever met you face to face," he replied, voice drawling his tone lazily. "You are prettier on paper though."

Steve returned the scowl and scorned at him:

"You seem to have my name. I don't have yours."

"I didn't offer," he replied slyly. Then his expression hardened. "But you should mind your manners, the lady and I were talking."

"Actually, I believe she was done." Steve shot back curtly, shooting her an expectant look. Natasha glared at him.

"You ditched me yesterday, you got nothing to say." Then she turned around to face Clint. "As for you mister, maybe we should take this elsewhere."

Barton gasped in fake hurt and covered his chest with one hand.

"Oh my, what have I done for you to call me 'mister'? I was 'handsome' just a moment ago."

The childish reaction got her to smile.

"Natasha, we should really talk."

The smile faded as fast. She turned back at Steve, who had the gall to look impatient.

"Go. Fuck. Yourself." She retorted and left the room, tugging on Clint's sleeve. The man followed her obediently. Hand stared at her wide-eyed and gaping like a fish out of the water but Natasha shot her off. She had more urgent things to worry about –mainly Clint Barton. Natasha dragged her visitor after her and entered an empty room, closing the door behind. Only then she realized she hadn't dropped his hand and hastily released him. The gesture seemed to amuse him.

"If you wanted me in a room alone, you could have just called me, Natasha," he pointed out with a little smirk, proud of finally learning her name. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"I didn't want a cock fight in the middle of the room with my colleagues around. Not many people know the infamous Captain America and I were…" her voice trailed off as she hesitated.

"Married?" he offered, and when she started at him in disbelief, he shrugged: "I think you were more than tipsy when you dropped that bit yesterday. And he's still clearly hung after you." Before she could open her mouth to retort something, he laid a finger over her lips. "But let's not talk about that."

His skin felt warm and rough against her mouth. She shoved the feeling aside and huffed 'fine' instead. Barton appeared satisfied and let his finger trailed down her jaw and under her chin.

"May I take you out for dinner?" he repeated his previous offer quietly, eyes suddenly burning with intent. "Say seven tonight?"

"Are you going to follow me till I say 'yes'?" Natasha replied, raising an eyebrow. The cocky grin flashed back. Natasha firmly told herself that her heartbeat was not accelerating. And no, she wasn't feeling the faintest attraction towards him. Clint leaned forward and stopped his face inches away from hers. Natasha felt suddenly fascinated by his pale blue-grey eyes. This time though, she definitively spotted the dilatation of his pupils.

"I can be very persuasive," he whispered, and his husky voice sent shivers down her spine, "When I know I'm not running after a lost cause."