Blackhawks Child: I'm not that cruel...here's the next chapter ^^

All mistakes are mine! Please enjoy :)

Criminal

4.

Natasha pushed the door of her house open and entered. She felt numb and disoriented as she walked through the front door, a bad feeling creeping in her lower stomach. She didn't want to believe Stark. She didn't want to believe her partner had somehow made up a case in which her lover's name would appear as one of the suspects, and a pretty good suspect as it was.

She didn't want to believe Stark, because if she did, it meant she would have been right from the start.

Clint was in the living room, playing with Jordan. She paused at the sight; a full grown man with such strength in his arms sitting and waving a teddy bear under the baby's noise and speaking in hushed and cooing tones. And in return, the little girl trying to reach the toy and laughing at each attempt. It was such a domestic picture, something she had come to cherish. And she might just be about to break it into pieces.

Natasha cleared her throat to catch Clint's attention. Her lover was on his feet at unsuspected speed and relaxed when he saw her.

"Tasha?" he asked cautiously. "I didn't know you were coming home for lunch. Is everything alright?"

"We have a suspect," she replied blandly. "But that's not why I'm here. Do you remember the case I was working on when we just met? Or rather, the case that had just turned cold?"

Clint blinked, not expecting the subject.

"The two archers?" Natasha nodded. His mouth twisted downwards and he nodded towards Jordan. "Mind if I lay her before we go on?"

"Just put her in her baby space," she said, nodding towards the special enclosure Clint had built to keep their daughter safe from wandering when they were busy. He did, and then returned to stand in front of her. Natasha was glad he had taken the initiative; if Jordan had been in her legs as she spoke, she would have never had the nerves to finish. "Did you know I was on one of the archers' hit list? At the time, I thought I was chasing a hot trail. At the time, I was still inexperienced. At the time I didn't realize he was leading me into a trap."

Clint let her speak without interruption.

"He knocked me out, and I woke up tied to a chair. He toyed with me five hours. During five hours, he taunted and tortured me, describing every single thing in crude detail he planned to do to me. And when he took his bow, right when he aimed at me, another arrow crossed his throat and killed him on spot. I don't know why, but the vigilante had come and for some reason, had saved me. He had a hood on his face, and I was halfway knocked out, but I still remember this moment clearly. Do you know what that person did? That person cupped my cheeks, stared into my eyes and whispered 'hold on'. And then he carried me out and called 911." She paused, waited for a reaction. Got none. "I never forgot his eyes or his voice. I never forgot the touch of his hand on my face." She swallowed. "And when…when you came in my life, that you told me you taught archery, that you were a sniper…and then I always wondered why I felt so comfortable with you, even though I barely knew you. I had a feeling and I wanted to be wrong…but I'm not, am I? You were the vigilante archer."

Clint's face remained of stone. He swallowed heavily, and then slowly, very slowly, nodded. Natasha's heart shattered. Her hand reached her firearm and rested on its handle. Clint still didn't move.

"I spent years chasing you," she whispered.

"Yes, you did," he replied softly. "You were good at it too."

"Not that good, apparently." She snapped. Her lover shrugged.

"You kept losing me because I had an inside man, so to say," he muttered. "I had close calls, even if I was warned a few moments before."

Natasha swallowed heavily, deciding to put aside the thought of someone working with and at the same it against her.

"Are you the one who killed your old teammates?"

Clint stared back, holding her gaze. He didn't seem surprised that she knew about his time spent with Rumlow, Sitwell and the others. Either he had faith in her abilities, either he didn't care.

"I wouldn't go as far as to call them teammates, since I barely got the chance to know them. But no, I didn't kill them," he said, still quietly. But there was a glint in his eyes, the kind he had when he was hiding something from her.

"But you know who did this," she whispered. A fleeing guilty glint crept in his eyes as he looked away. Natasha felt anger building from within. "You know, don't you?"

He hesitated, but eventually nodded again.

"Yes, I do."

Natasha took a step closer. Her whole body was burning in rage.

"And who do you suspect, Clint? Or how long are you going to keep covering a fellow murderer?"

Something flared in Clint's eyes.

"Do you know why I was sent to Fury's team?" he suddenly asked. Natasha did not expect the question but narrowed her eyes.

"What does it have to do with the current situation?"

A half-felt 'humor me' smile was his reply. She sighed and nodded at him to go on.

"Before being transferred to Fury's team, I was under Pierce's orders. Just a couple weeks, nothing more." He replied. Natasha shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. So Stark was right. "But during my short time there, I led an unsanctioned hit. A slave trafficker headquarters was set near our temporary location. I was the sniper. I saw from afar what they did to those people." He paused, eyes darkening as he remembered. "But when I reported it to Pierce, he ordered me to turn a blind eye. It wasn't our business, to be there. This was the country's problem."

"But you made it yours," Natasha interrupted, starting to see where this was leading.

Clint laughed humorlessly.

"I convinced a friend to help me and dynamited the shit out of that place. When disturbances were noted by officials, Pierce knew what I'd done. He was hellbent on locking me down for treason till Fury got me out of that hellhole and offered me a spot in his strike team. And when I was shipped back in the States…I found that the camp I destroyed had backups all over the country. So I decided to finish what I started."

"When was that?"

"'Bout five years ago. They were the guys I was going after."

Natasha shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to wake up. This couldn't be real.

"I should arrest you right here, right now," she hissed angrily. Clint's face showed no reaction, which angered her even more. "I swear to God Clint, you-"

Her voice broke. He didn't try to argue, didn't attempt a move to escape. His tired eyes were set on her and she hated them for being so open and vulnerable. She hated that she didn't know whether this was a show or not.

"I have no excuse, other than my own conviction I was doing the right thing. Their ringleader was too high-up in spheres, they would have escaped the law. The one guy who tried to go down that path ended up dead in a car crash."

"Fury."

Clint nodded.

"He was going to drag that guy in front of a trial. Destroy his reputation and send him behind bars. He had the evidence, he had testimonies. He had everything he needed." Clint shrugged. "But he got killed before he even saw the judge."

"Does his daughter know?"

"Maria probably suspects," he replied slowly. "But if she makes this public, she'll be a target too."

"So tell me then. If you cooperate, I'll probably be able to cut a deal."

Clint smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Not gonna let that happen. As long as I shut my mouth, you were safe. As long as you didn't know a thing, they had no reason to come after you. So I gave my Intel to someone else, and they carried on the plan instead of me." He let his eyes find hers and this time, she was the one that saw right through him. "You are the only thing that keeps me breathing. You and Jordy are everything I have. And I'll let the world burn if it means keeping you safe."

They were in her apartment when he first kissed her. Nothing much more than a light pressure of his lips against hers; Natasha wasn't even sure he had been aiming her mouth. But when he'd pulled back, he had met her eyes and she had read the question in them. Could he do it again? Could he push her further? Was he still allowed in her apartment, or banned forever?

After Steve, she had thought herself immune to men, especially men whom had survived harsh experience and still carried the scars of battle within; but truth was…she wasn't immune to him. Perhaps it was the age difference that made her feel safe –he had ten solid years ahead, barely noticeable whenever he grinned fully- and a life experience Steve hadn't at the time. One moment, he could be nobody passing-by, the next, he could freeze someone with the sole intensity of his blue-grey eyes.

Once she nodded her approval, he had maneuvered her till she sat on his thighs; both on the couch, and his arms and hands had been everywhere. Had it been Steve, he would have waited, hadn't pressured her into anything. Clint had taken her right there, skirt pushed above her hips, shirt on the floor with her bra pulled over her breasts and mouth sucking a nipple while she scrambled onto his bare back to hold onto something. He had made her pant and beg and scream for more. She had let him seduce her that day, let him glimpse behind her barriers, had succumbed to his passion and he had made her love it.

Their habits didn't change much; they'd each have their job, each have their schedule, each have their life. But once in a while, they would meet, and they'd talk, have diner or go out on a date, and then they'd return to her place –she never went to his, wasn't ready to go that far –and they would end tangled in sheets, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Most of the time, he'd sleep on the couch if he was drunk or return to his place and she'd curl in her covers and let his scent lull her into dreamland. Until one night, after a particularly nasty twisted nightmare of her childhood with uncle Ivan and the closet and the fire, he woke her up and lavished her with soothing kisses and gentle caresses. She had pulled him down on the mattress and buried her face in his chest and ever since that night, she had never slept well without him. He made her feel cared for and she didn't want to lose that.

The memories came crashing forwards and for a momentary second, she closed her eyes. That man had given her everything: a home, a family, a solid ground to walk on, and above all, his complete devotion. She slowly lowered her gun, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and contradictory emotions building in. The whole time, Clint hadn't moved, his eyes still fixed on her.

"Why don't we move in together?"

Natasha stared at him with unblinking eyes.

"What?"

He had been busy with his new shooting center, which included an archery range. Things were going surprisingly smoothly. After a couple of hard months, money was finally coming and he was optimistic about the whole business. Now that he had a more stable budget to rely on, he wanted to focus on the most important part of his life.

"I stay most of the time at your place…And it's nice, it really is, but wouldn't you like something more…dunno, something that would feel more permanent?"

She blinked. For a moment she stood too still, eyes wide like a deer caught in daylight. Clint frowned, wondering what he had said that would have triggered such a reaction. He knew her 'episodes', old traces of traumatic experiences of her childhood, but they never started like this.

"Tasha?" he called cautiously. Only his military training prepared him for the unexpected action that followed.

She darted from her chair, nearly running to the door. But his reflexes were faster and he caught her before she could leave the living room.

"Let me go!" she shouted, but her voice was too frenetic and shaky. Episode then, he concluded. Ignoring her plea, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her so tightly she could barely move. This was a first. He kept quiet, fought against her struggles until he managed to back her against the wall, hands tightened over her wrists and full body pressed against hers to contain her.

"Look at me in the eye," he ordered with such authority she flinched. Then, he amended on a softer but still firm tone: "Tasha, love, look at me."

Natasha whimpered quietly, unwilling to face him. It took him more encouraging words to make her speak.

"That's how it started." She said, voice spent and trembling.

"What started?" His intonation was still gentle and inviting, even though his grip was still tight on her. He feared she would run to the woods if he released her.

"Steve."

The single word was enough to made him back off. Of all things, this name was the only thing he would ever back off from.

"First the house," she started, eyes lost in the vague. "Then the engagement and then comes the marriage. Then, why not try for a child or two? It's the American life after all. And then when the children aren't coming, something must be wrong. So then here comes the doctor and the diagnosis and the tests, and Steve gets angsty because this isn't the life he wanted. And then he comes home later and later at night and one day a woman comes and says she's been fucking Steve for months and is pregnant." She swallowed heavily and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. As her words described shortly what she had lived with the man, Clint felt a wave of anger and protectiveness arise. He didn't have a high opinion of her ex-husband to begin with, but now he had lost every chance of growing in his esteem. "It ends with a divorce, a blameless husband and a cheated wife who couldn't give him what he wanted. I've been down that road Clint, don't make me do it again."

She sounded broken and scared. At this very moment, Clint wanted nothing more but to strangle the man.

"I don't need any of that." He said quietly. It was a half-lie. He was just like many other men; he liked the idea of sharing his life with someone, building something, getting married. Not the kids though, he could do without the kids. "I don't need white picket fences illusion." His smile vanished and this time, he spoke the truth: "I just want to be with you. I don't care about the rest."

Natasha swallowed and looked at him in the eye.

"I'm not as strong as you believe I am," she eventually added, looking down. But Clint was having none of that.

He caught her chin and gently raised it, forcing her to meet his eyes. At first he had pegged her for one badass woman fully capable and tough enough to manage on her own. What he had discovered was a woman as broken as he was, forcing herself to patch whatever control she had over her life and move on. He hadn't thought he'd ended up wanting to be there for her. He hadn't expected her to be exactly what he needed to heal himself.

"And I'm not as nice as I pretend to be," he admitted quietly. "I think we both know what we're getting into, Tasha. You're just scared I'll leave." She didn't disagree and didn't flinch when he stepped closer. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not. You've gotten too deep under my skin for me to even consider the possibility."

His hand sneaked into her hair. He held her head still and kissed her. She could have pushed him away. In spite of his words, he had given her enough space to escape if she truly wanted. Natasha didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. He knew her ex-husband always asked for permission. He knew she knew that unlike him, he would charge ahead as long as he was still in the race.

He ran his hands over her hips, undid the belt of her jeans and pushed them down before hooking a leg around his waist. Maybe this wasn't the moment or the time, but Clint had this urge to let her know he was right there, that he wasn't leaving and that she was stuck with him as long as she wanted him. So he took her against the wall, head buried in her neck, arms supporting her whole weight while she clung to his back, tears quietly running down her cheeks and panting his name over and over…

"I can't…" she started, avoiding his eyes –it was wrong; he should be the one looking away, but he feared that if he showed a sigh of weakness, she'd make an irrational decision. And he wanted to see, to watch the moment when she made a decision about his fate. Whatever it would be, he decided, he would accept it. "I can't even…I need to think." Natasha inhaled sharply and glared at him. "Will you be gone when I return home?"

"I'll stay." He replied gently. "I'll wait."

She walked out the house and slammed the door behind her.

Her increased anger hadn't helped her concentrate. Even as Steve, Stark and she ran through possibilities and made phone calls and traced the bigger plan, her only focus was the man back home. Her colleagues tiptoed around her the whole afternoon and even Steve avoided staying in the same room too long. Talks of the investigation following Steve's lead gave her further headaches. It wasn't until her phone rang a few hours later that she stopped thinking of their situation. It was Wanda's number on the screen. Hoping dearly this wasn't a sign that Clint had eventually ran away, she picked up.

"What is it?" she asked tiredly.

"Miss Romanoff you need to come quick!" The babysitter's panicked voice made her tense.

"What's going on Wanda? Where are you?"

"I'm at the house, I just came back from a walk with Jordan and no-one was answering, so I pushed the door and –oh my god, there is so much red-"

Natasha felt her heartbeat accelerate. Red? Blood? In her house?

"Wanda, I need you to calm down." She ordered sharply. "Tell me what's happened?"

The young woman breathed in quickly:

"Jordan's fine. But Mister Barton…" this time, it was truly a sob that she heard. "Mr. Barton's not looking good. I called an ambulance but…there's so much blood…"

And Natasha's world stopped spinning.