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I spot Natasha sitting at a table by the widow. Her hair looks different to the last time I saw her, now instead of her messy braid, lose curls cascade over her shoulders.

Makeup powdered over her face delicately naturally; you could hardly tell it was there and her dress... wow.

As she stood up to greet me my eyes dropped to the black dress hugging her figure tightly, a deep v-cut exposing her chest.

My eyes flicker up to meet her green eyes and then back down to her chest and back up again to her eyes. I mentally scold my behaviour.

"Thank you for the gifts." I smile.

She smirks glancing over my body "they're just as much as a gift for you as they are for myself... you look good." She complements.

"You look good yourself." We take a seat opposite each other.

"I have to ask, how did you figure out my size?"

"Just took a good guess, and judging by the way you look I did an incredible job." She smiles looking away from my eyes as if somehow she was a little nervous.

"Natasha are you nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?" She tits her head in a questioning manner.

"No reason, anyway let's cut to the chase," I sigh "you're playing a game with me, why?"

"This is a date not a game," She states, as she looks over the menu "do you know what you want? I can't decide."

"Don't change the subject," her eyes lift to meet mine "Natasha I tried to put you in prison why the fuck would you want to take me on a date?" I question.

"You spent 48 hours trying to get me to talk, so I figured if I was going to sit making stupid conversation I'd do it in a pretty dress with a nice meal."

"So you're telling me you're ready to talk?"

"Sure." She shrugs.

"So did you kill Mr Russo?" I ask getting straight to the point.

"Agent Y/L/N we're at an expensive restaurant that's hardly appropriate conversation is it?" She mocks.

"You just said you were ready to talk." I roll my eyes.

"At least let me get to know you before I tell you my deepest darkest secrets."

Our conversation is briefly interrupted by the waitress stoping by to take our order.

"Okay fine, tell me about yourself." I retort.

"I'm 27, I'm a murder suspect and this god awful FBI agent won't stop trying to get me in bed." She smirks.

"I beg your pardon." I say choking a little on my drink.

"She would not stop flirting." She rolls her eyes.

"If I remember correctly you're the one who begged me to go on a date," I shake my head "and at what point was I flirting with you?"

"You're the one who told me what colour underwear you had on."

"You asked me!" I scoff.

"So a 'criminal' that you have under interrogation asks you a question and you just comply?" She laughs, mocking my ability to do my job.

"We had a deal, I ask a question and then you do that was our deal." I retort.

"Tell me, Agent Y/L/N do you normally let the 'criminals' set the rules or was that just special treatment for me?" She laughs cynically.

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