A few days later, Clint was sitting on the front porch of Natasha's house, sipping a cup of coffee. He hated the cold. He despised it. However, even he knew he couldn't bear to be cooped inside the house for the whole day. He was wearing three jackets and two sweaters, and there were four blankets loosely wrapped around him. He shivered once as he glared at his cup of coffee that had already gotten cold.

He checked his phone with shaking hands and glanced at the text message Natasha had sent him. Landed in NZ. He pocketed the phone again, looking over the horizon as the sun was rising. The sky was a deep red as the sun came up, like the color of Natasha's hair. Recently, all Clint found himself thinking of was her. How she had left, and she'd come back. How he hoped to God she wouldn't leave again.

The front gate swung open as Natasha dragged two suitcases behind her, grinning at Clint. "Well, help me, would you?" she called out, but he simply shook his head. "It's too early, and I'm too cold. Find someone else." he muttered, wrapping the blankets around him tightly. Natasha simply rolled her eyes and pulled the two suitcases up the front steps with ease and stepped inside the house.

She came back outside a few minutes later, changed. She wore a sweater and jeans and sat down beside him with her own cup of coffee. "So, Barton, while we're here, what do you think we should do?" she asked, leaning against an old pillar.

Clint shrugged, trembling with cold. "I think I'm dying." he mumbled and Natasha scoffed. "Thank God. I was wondering when you'd go." Clint's mouth fell as he glared at her. "Come on, Tasha. Be nice. I just want a hug." he said, opening his arms up to her encouragingly, but then closing them tight around his body quickly. Natasha laughed. "Why the hell are you sitting out here then? Let's go inside. There's heating." But Clint simply shook his head. "I can't stay inside forever. It's too...closed up." he muttered. "Can I go outside to get some groceries?" he asked, standing up and shedding a couple of blankets.

Natasha nodded and walked inside. "I'll make lunch. Be back fast, though." she called out when he reached the gate. "Oh, and Clint- don't forget, you need to buy some Russian Vodka." Clint let out half a grin and started trudging to the grocery store down the street. The walk offered him a certain element of heat, and he felt some of the color back in his cheeks as he walked.

The grocery shop was pretty much empty, so he walked around the isles, picking up mostly what Natasha liked best. And Russian Vodka. A lot of it. A few minutes later, he got a message from Natasha. It took him five minutes to extract the phone from his pocket with his shaking hands, but when he did, he nodded in understanding.
Chocolate.
He sped down three isles and picked up about fifteen boxes of chocolates to stash in the house. The house was quite big, with a huge lawn in the back. There was a gate that led to the forest, and there was a small pen for chickens. But Natasha had said that there had never been chickens in the house, but the previous tenants had wanted them.

After paying for all the groceries, and receiving looks of disgust from the cashier at the sheer amount of alcohol he'd bought, Clint made his way outside, taking a detour through one of the alleyways as a shortcut. As he rubbed his hands and carried the bags down the alleyway, he spotted a flurry of gold shoot past him and hide behind a trashcan. Clint stopped in his tracks. He slowly put the bags down on the snow, and pulled out a gun from his jacket pocket. He slowly edged to the edge of the trashcan, and turned the safety off.

And then, he aimed. But stopped. He heard a whimper. As he pulled the trashcan aside, what he saw, made his heart melt, and warmth flooded through him almost instantly. It was a puppy. A golden retriever by the looks of it. The dog was dirty, and was covered in soot. He shivered with the cold, and trembled. He was thin, and was lying down, his nose burrowed in the snow. He almost looked like he'd given up on life.

Clint bent down and stretched his hand on the dog's head. His tail wagged once, but then simply flopped back on the snow, twitching. Clint sighed, and moved forward, picking the puppy up into his arms. The dog made no attempt to jump out of Clint's grasp. In fact, he seemed more comfortable, and simply buried its head into Clint's jacket. Clint smiled and pulled out one of his blankets, wrapping it around the puppy. Atleast they came to use.

Keeping the dog balanced in his right arm, Clint picked up the bags with his left and trudged back home. Oh, Natasha wasn't just going to kill him. She would probably skin him alive. It wasn't that she hated dogs- she liked them. But she didn't like owning one. The dog seemed to be regaining some of his energy in Clint's arm, his tail twitching, and his head lifting up to sniff Clint's jacket for any signs of food. Clint finally stopped at a signal to cross the road and placed the grocery bags down, deciding to text Natasha.

I'm adopting a dog. CB

You're what? NR

A dog. A golden retriever puppy. CB

Barton- what the hell? We don't have place for a dog! NR

We have a back lawn that's as big as my old apartment, Tasha. CB

We can keep it for a few days. But then we'll put up brochures to make sure he wasn't lost. NR

Clint grinned. Atleast that was progress. Knowing her, she would probably grow to love the animal. Clint subconsciously ruffled the dogs ears as he picked up his bags and made his way back to the old house, swinging the gate open and dropping the bags down on the front porch.

"Tasha? I'm home." he called out. Natasha came walking out of the kitchen, looking disheveled. She had pasta sauce all over her face, and she looked furious.

"Next time, I'm doing the grocery shopping." she muttered irritably as the dog perked up. "Soon enough, this is gonna become an adoption agency."

Clint let out a laugh. "W..what happened to your face?"

"You try cooking pasta."

"I always cook dinner, Tasha."

"I'm gonna go clean up. Can you make sure it tastes good?"

Clint groaned. "Can we just order pizza, Tasha?" Natasha glared at him.

"Are you saying I can't cook, Barton?"

"N...no. I never said that. I'm just saying you can't cook well." he said with a smirk as he stepped inside the house.

Natasha blinked. Clint paid no attention to her.

"Fine. Pizza. Just this once." she said quickly as she walked off upstairs to have a shower, and as Clint let out a laugh.