Criminal

3

"So, what's you link with the team?"

After promising (with fingers crossed in the back) that they would play nice with each other, May had returned to her office to let them work. Natasha had seen with satisfaction that the older woman had been questioning her sanity thrice over for agreeing to Steve's deal. Nonetheless, they were professionals and had all gotten to the task quite fast. The first question that had crossed her mind was her ex-husband's affiliation with the victims.

"I was sent as reinforcement, about a few months after a friend of mine died. James Barnes, he was the team's sniper." Steve explained.

The name rang a bell in her memory; 'Bucky' had been Steve's best friend since childhood, and she had met him a couple of times before his last tour. He had been the complete opposite of Steve, dark and mysterious and a heck lot more prompt to live his life to the fullest. At times, Natasha wished she had met him before stumbling on Steve. Then again, the teenager she had been back then hadn't been quite approachable.

"He was replaced by various snipers, but in the end they kept a younger soldier. She wasn't experimented enough, so they called me in to add one guy on the ground." Steve's lips thinned into a line. "I knew them all pretty well."

"You've already did some preliminary research?" Natasha asked.

"The previous unit conducting the investigation contacted me first actually. I managed to reach Daisy –she was the replacement sniper –but she has been in Europe teaching some classes to foreign units for half a year. I often exchange with Sam Wilson, so I know he's fine. Do you remember him?" he added, looking towards Natasha.

The redhead raised an impassive eyebrow.

"You weren't keen on introducing me to your buddies, so no, can't say I had that pleasure."

Steve's wince lasted two seconds before he moved on; but Stark had noticed the slip.

"Oooooh, let me guess; former boyfriend slash girlfriend?"

"Married," Steve said.

"Divorced," Natasha corrected, earning a reproachful glanced from said ex-husband. Stark's eyes were sparkling, but thankfully, he kept quiet. The redhead knew that meant he would return full force at a later date.

"So," he said instead, waving at the stack of paper on the desk. "The first investigators did a pretty good job with their data. Family background, medical psychoanalysis, interviews and all…They just forgot to add the name of the killer."

Steve rolled his eyes and inputted:

"Our time back in Afghanistan didn't bring us only friends. I've had a few hateful arguments with some former soldiers, some locals, people upset by our actions. Never to the point of actually killing though…"

"Was the team gathered together before your arrival?" Stark asked. "Just, y'know, you are a public and popular figure. Most people wouldn't touch someone you've been close to in fear of retaliation."

"Come to think of it, Sam, Daisy and I were the latest recruits." Steve admitted reluctantly. "The strike team had been assembled for over a year before some members started dying. So they have known each other for what, two, three years before we arrived?"

"Each and every one was considered lone wolves with no family ties back home." Stark pointed out, scanning the report made by the previous investigators. "I assume that's why that team holds the 'out on the field' record?"

Steve nodded.

"The team was their family, they were used to the harsh environment by then. There's only one guy I didn't manage to reach; his name is Grant Ward. He and Johnson dated a while back, but she told me they had been separated for over a year. I checked his last address, but it came out void. He had been staying with the team longer than Sam and I have."

"So he is likely to be the only person to know anything about a personal grudge against your old team aside from Wilson," Natasha translated. "Well, I guess we have something to start on now."

When Natasha pushed the door of her home open at barely four pm, she was exhausted. Stark had generously covered for her since she had requested to leave early. Between catching up on the new case and Steve's constant puppy eyes, she was growing a serious headache. Stepping in the living-room and meeting a familiar and safe environment did wonders on her mood. They had agreed to go meet with Sam Wilson in the morning, if only to press for more details. The previous cops on the case had yet to interview him.

"Afternoon' Miss Natasha."

Wanda Maximoff was nineteen, dark-haired and wore gothic-like clothes and always, always carried a long red coat. She had been Clint's first choice for babysitter, an old acquaintance from his military days. A lost, angry kid he had taken under his wing will it or not. Natasha had been skeptical at first, especially since the first time she had met Wanda, the teenager was under hallucinations due to drugs she had been taking. But she trusted Clint's judgment when he had assured her the teenager had been healing and had given the girl a try. So far, Wanda hadn't disappointed yet.

"Good evening Wanda," Natasha replied, trying to put up a smile. It became more genuine as she spotted her daughter in the background, chewing on soft plastic cubes. "Was Jordan good today?"

Wanda nodded and let her go to the living room. The baby squealed as her mother picked her up and gave her a long, tight hug. She breathed in her smell, enjoyed her light weight against her chest. Jordan started 'uh-ing' as she was rocked and tried to push away from her tight grasp, eventually making a piercing complaining sound. Natasha chuckled and pulled her daughter back enough to face her.

"Hello baby," she cooed. Wide blue eyes stared back at her. "I heard you behaved today?" Jordan replied with a few distraught noises. Natasha held her more comfortably against her chest and kept talking: "I love you, little bugger," she whispered, like a secret. The baby stood quiet now, just stared and listened as she went on quietly: "I'm so glad you're here, even if we weren't expecting you. You gave us loads of trouble, you know that?" Tiny fingers went into an equally tiny mouth. Small lips parted into a wide smile. Natasha grinned back and added quietly: "I'm so happy you're here sweetie."

She kissed her daughter's forehead and set her back on the ground. Jordan babbled something in her baby language and returned to crawling on the carpet.

"She was hungry at three, so I gave her a bottle."

Caught up in the moment with her child, she hadn't heard Wanda return. The teenager ignored her momentary lack of distraction and went on:

"She napped on schedule; she's only been up for the past twenty minutes or so." Natasha nodded at the new piece of information. "Otherwise, she's changed and all…I'll leave you then? Mr. Barton paid me in advance."

Wanda was always uncomfortable around her. Natasha didn't let it bother her, but kept hoping they would get along better in the future.

"It's fine, you can go," she replied. "Thank you for your work."

The teenager nodded and gave one last wave at Jordan before stepping out. Natasha decided to join her daughter on the carpet and play with her until making dinner would become a necessity. She needed a serious distraction, and if taking care of her daughter was the trick, all the better.

Clint arrived home at ten, long after Jordan was put to sleep. Natasha was reading, waiting for him.

"What took you so long?" she asked when he dropped his gear at the entrance. "I was starting to worry."

"Sorry love. I got a call about an old safe of mine that had been destroyed by accident," he replied, clearly annoyed. "There was nothing important inside it, but I still had to deal with more paperwork. And after that, Kate dropped by. I couldn't get rid of her." Katie Bishop, Clint's star archer pupil and self-claimed protégé, had no notion of time.

"You should have invited her over," Natasha pointed out; contrary to Wanda, she went well along with Kate.

"She just wanted to shoot. But I'll offer next time."

He looked so annoyed she couldn't help but smile.

"I suppose you already ate then?"

He shook his head.

"I'm fucking starving." He growled then winked. "And I'd eat your spaghetti anytime over some fancy fish." Natasha didn't bother asking how he knew she had cooked spaghetti; that was the only dish she didn't mess up. "What about we settle around the table and you tell me what's bugging you?"

She nearly froze in midair as she rose and glanced at him. He had that worried line between his eyebrows, staring at her like he could read through her. She had hoped they wouldn't tackle that subject so fast, but it seemed that he had been wondering all day long. Natasha bit back a sigh, knowing she owed him an explanation.

"We have a new case. Triple homicide, maybe more." She paused and admitted: "My ex-husband is concerned. He's joining the team for the duration of the investigation."

"In ex-husband, you mean Steve Rogers?" Clint asked with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha snorted.

"I was only married once, you know."

Clint's mouth twisted in distaste.

"Do you need me to show up with you at work? To remind him that you're taken?"

The way he said it brought a tiny smile on her face. Clint's version of showing off his territory was to…well, show it off. If she said yes, Natasha knew they would be making out scandalously in full view of everyone in the building. Stark would never let her get over it.

"Tempting, but I'll handle it." Natasha replied, leaning forwards to steal a chaste peck from him. When she pulled back though, she hesitated slightly: "Although…I think I –I may need that, tonight."

Her lover studied her very carefully, but she held his stare without a blink.

That involved handcuffs, a blindfold (most often her shirt raised over her face) her naked body spread on the bed at Clint's mercy. Depending on the mood, he could tease her with light touches or go all cavemen on her; but they would inevitably end with him inside her and her screaming his name. Sometimes, toys were thrown in the mix to make things more interesting. This wouldn't be about the act or submission, but trust. She would trust him not to push her limits, and he would trust her to know them.

Tonight, Natasha felt she needed a reminder that what she and Clint had was real, despite the uncontestable proof sleeping upstairs.

"You sure?" he asked again, hands slowly creeping towards her hips and cupping her waist gently. His tone was cautious but his pupils were starting to dilate. Natasha smirked inwardly; not matter what he said, he always liked having her open and vulnerable for him. She liked to think Jordan had been conceived during one of those moments.

"Positive." She replied, then stifled a laugh when Clint's stomach made its priorities known. "But let's get you fed first."

The car drive on the way to Wilson's workplace seemed to stretch indefinitely as they got stuck in traffic. Stark had somehow managed to break his leg the previous night, so Natasha was left alone to work with her ex-husband on field trips while the consultant kept searching for traces of Grant Ward. Natasha had denied Steve the wheel, thinking driving might distract her enough to forget about the man's presence on the other seat. But Steve had definitively forgone the attempt and had tried to coax a few words from her. She had managed to ignore most of it, but some questions had irritated her. And even now, as they were approaching, he was starting to talk about their upcoming interview.

"I know him, from back in the army. Wilson's a good guy, I'm sure he had nothing to do with this."

Natasha glared at the man.

"Whether you are right or wrong," she replied icily, "Let me have a chance to be judge of that. And he might know something we don't."

She hated this, hated that she had to be partnered with her ex-husband to investigate on a series of murders. She hated that she was the only counter-measure to his wills, the only one he'd reasonably listen to. But she was an FBI agent and a professional, so she would do her job, no matter how tight her teeth were gritting.

They arrived at the center fifteen minutes ahead and were welcomed at the reception by an all-teeth smiling girl. Sam Wilson arrived right on time. He was rather slim but well-built black man wearing clean jeans and a grey sweater. He appeared quite normal, flashing his psychologist side rather than the former flying soldier, Natasha reflected, especially with the neutral smile on his face. She could tell the reserved friendliness wasn't faked, but the sharpness and intensity in his eyes let little doubt that he was watching them very carefully.

"Hey Sam," Steve greeted friendly. The black man smiled back and grabbed the offered hand with genuine pleasure. "Meet Agent Romanoff," Steve added, introducing her to him. Wilson shook her formally but not unfriendly.

"Pleasure to meet you Ma'am." He replied, taking a second longer when he looked at her. Although she knew she was well-dressed today –Clint had let her know he certainly approved her choice of clothes –she didn't think it was her physical appearance that caught his eye. Was he evaluating her?

"Is there a place we can speak privately?" Natasha demanded politely. Wilson got the hint and nodded towards an opened door nearby.

"Sure. Just there." He led them inside and closed behind. It was a small room, one window and a couple of chairs –leftovers from a former reunion, all fit for privacy. "So, what can I help you with?"

Steve leaned back comfortably against the wall. Cool and comfortable. The attitude he used when he wanted to keep things friendly but was still looking for some answers.

"You heard about the two assassinations in town? Rumlow and Sitwell?" Wilson nodded. "Remember them?" It wasn't as much as a question that a statement, but the retired solder merely nodded.

"Same regiment back in the army. I had to share bunks with both for a while." The black man confirmed with a sharp nod, but didn't offer more information. Was he reluctant to speak of his former fellow soldiers? Did he have something to hide? Was he upset by their death? Did he not know them that well? Did he dislike them? Questions fused in Natasha's mind as Steve went on:

"Two new bodies belonging to the company were found recently. Do you remember Garrett and Morse?"

Wilson widened his eyes in shock. The way he strongly reacted compared to the former news was striking and telling. Natasha immediately knew that he didn't held Rumlow and Sitwell in high esteem but either Garrett or Morse was a different story.

"Bobbi?" Morse then. "Jesus, yeah of course I remember her. She's dead too?"

"She was found drowned in a lake three months ago. The link with Rumlow and Sitwell's murders was only made recently," Natasha announced, still watching for a reaction. "But previous wounds suggested head trauma and blunt scars torture." Wilson's eyes became unfocused as he seemed to be ingesting the news. "But the type of death does suggest that the person who killed Rumlow and Sitwell was another."

She had hoped to destabilize him more, but Wilson was a soldier. If anything, this was an, unfortunately, familiar situation for him. The army lost soldiers every day after all.

"When did she…when was her body found?" he asked tiredly. "She was supposed to stop by two months ago but she never showed up."

"Were you two intimate?"

Steve glared at her while Wilson gave a dry snort.

"We were soldiers on the same team for over three years. She patched me up too many times to count, saved my sorry ass a couple others. We were friends; that's it."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Natasha said softly and genuinely, still noting with interest that he hadn't asked about Garrett. "You said you were expecting her two months ago?"

Sam nodded, more focused than before.

"Yeah. We use to go on those 'meetings', with some old guys if they're free. Bobbi and I were the only ones available, so we figured we'd meet up at some place. But we had an argument about some old stuff, so when she didn't show up, I just thought she was still pissed at me. I didn't worry, just thought she was giving me the silent treatment. She had before."

"Did Rumlow and Sitwell come to those meetings?" she paused and glanced at Steve. "Did you?"

Steve shook his head negatively as Wilson admitted:

"They came sometimes, but they're not welcomed by everyone. Rumlow is –was- a bit stiff, but that's his personality. Sitwell is cool but sometimes a bit too overconfident in that arrogant way. Bobbi refused to come if Sitwell was there. She blamed him for her fiancé's death, so we try to keep them separated. Unneeded tensions and all, y'know."

Steve blinked in surprise.

"I didn't know that."

Wilson shrugged.

"His name was Lance Hunter. He died a year before you arrived. No-one really spoke of him afterwards."

Natasha returned on the point interesting her.

"And was he? Responsible for her fiancé's death?"

Wilson's eyes turned a shade darker.

"Sitwell shouldn't have gotten his spot. He wasn't bad at what he did, just not good enough. War is war, a single mistake can cost lots of lives. And our team was one of the bests. We couldn't afford 'good enough'. But Garrett insisted he stay, so he stayed. Orders are orders." He added on a bitter tone. "I, personally, wasn't a big fan of Garrett. Or Sitwell, for the matter," He added afterthought.

"They weren't really great people," Steve admitted in turn to support his friend's words. Natasha considered the pros and cons of strangling him to keep him quiet. She decided to ignore it. No need for quarrel, especially since Wilson's expression reminded her of Clint's whenever he mentioned his fallen friends.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Natasha said softly again. Wilson gave her a tight, brief smile.

"Job hazard ma'am. Anything you wanted to know?"

"Would you happen know anyone who would have a grudge against your former team?"

The black man hummed as he seemed to think.

"Life has been rather banal lately." He replied calmly. "Aside from Bobbi, I didn't keep in touch with the rest of the team. Except for you." He added, nodding at Steve. "A couple threats, yeah, but nothing…bad, you know. Besides, the only people pissed at me right now are my neighbors because my dog's been a little shit."

"And you noticed no-one suspicious around your house, your family? Nobody asking questions?"

The black man shrugged.

"I only have an estranged sister, a few cousins I only see at Christmas and a couple of friends. If anyone had asked about me, they would have called. And I doubt a murderer –from what I've heard –with such standards would lower himself or herself to approach me."

"Sam, you should really get protection." Steve eventually said, voice laced with worry.

Wilson merely rolled his eyes.

"No offence man, but I doubt any surveillance you'll put on me will stand against a guy who can take Morse, Rumlow, Sitwell and Garrett. And I'm not scared." He glanced at his watch. "If you have no more questions, I need to go. I have a session in ten minutes."

They had none they could think of, so prepared to leave when Natasha had a sudden hunch. While reading the files, a name had appeared briefly, seemingly unimportant and unrelated to the case, but it had bugged her. She decided to try anyway.

"Do you know who Nick Fury is?" she asked, lie detector fully turned on.

Wilson batted an eyelid. And right there, Natasha knew he knew the man. He not only knew the man, but he was hesitating to tell them that he did. Now, wasn't that interesting?

"Colonel Fury," he eventually said. "Who didn't? His team was legend on the field. Ruthless, but his calls sometimes made the difference." Wilson narrowed his eyes and snorted. "Why, is he a suspect in all this? He's been dead for years."

She kept her eyes on him. The myriad of emotions had changed into an angry one, but she couldn't tell who it was directed against.

"Thank you for your time, officer Wilson," she said, having nothing else to ask him. He returned her greeting and muttered something under his breath as he walked away. Natasha wasn't quite sure what he had said –it hadn't been meant for her ears obviously, but she was rather certain he had uttered the words: "guess I was too late."