One of my reviewers over on ao3 requested fluff to make up for the angst last chapter. So here ya go, the story of how Clint & Nat got the dog mentioned in the wedding prompt. :3

"Hawkeye, what's your position?"

Natasha looked back over her shoulder, meeting the disgruntled gazes of the other members of their team head on. The other six agents were already strapped into the jump seats, gear stowed and debrief packets in hand.

"Two minutes, Tash. Jeez."

She let it slide, only because everyone else had removed their comm units and they had the channel to themselves.

"Extraction was twenty minutes ago," she reminded him, and managed to keep the words level. Silence from Clint's end. "Barton."

"Two minutes."

"Do you need backup?"

"No!" he said, a little too quickly, a little too emphatically. "I'm just...ah...wrapping things up on my end."

Shit. Barton code for 'I'm doing something that will land us both in Fury's office'.

She stepped down the ramp and around the side of the Quinjet.

"What's going on, Clint?"

"Nothing! Why does something have to be going on? Maybe I'm enjoying the scenery."

He couldn't see, of course, but she arched a brow and threw a glance at the burned out buildings and debris around the extraction point.

"Two minutes, or I'm coming to find you."

He must have believed the threat, because precisely two minutes later he rounded a corner a few blocks away and lifted a hand to wave at her. She expected him to run, or maybe walk briskly, since they were pushing thirty minutes sitting stationary in a hostile zone. He walked with carefully measured steps instead, occasionally pressing his hand against the big pocket on the side of his pants that usually held extra ammo.

Shot? It would explain his gait, and the cavalier way he tried to play off the late arrival to extraction. He heart dropped and her breath caught, and she jogged to meet him.

"I know, I know, I left you to deal with the team. Let's get outta here."

He gave her a grin and made to brush past her, but she took his arm to hold him back.

"What happened?" she asked. She looked him over, but couldn't find any blood on his tac suit. He rolled his eyes and twisted away.

"You worry too much, Red."

And still he kept one hand pressed against that pocket.

"Clint," she warned. It wasn't an injury. He wouldn't hide something important like that. It was definitely something that would land them in Fury's office.

She fell into step beside him and made to poke the pocket. He slapped her hand away, harder than necessary. She threw him a reproachful look and flexed stinging fingers, but didn't retaliate. No, that would come tomorrow, on the sparring mats.

"Sorry," he muttered. He paused and planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezed his eyes shut briefly and heaved a sigh. "Just...keep an open mind, okay?"

He lifted the flap of the pocket.

"This is what you were wrapping up?" she demanded.

"Easy!" he admonished, as she lifted the puppy by the scruff to hold it at eye level.

It might have been tan under all the mud. It's fur was matted and stuck up at odd angles, it's ribs were clearly visible, and it wore a baleful, defeated expression that failed to garner her sympathy. It whined softly, but didn't wriggle in her grip.

"What are we supposed to do with this?"

"Her, Nat. She's a her."

She lifted the puppy higher and pulled back its tucked tail.

"She has balls."

Clint winced.

"Okay, I thought you might feel sorry for him if he was a girl."

"Why?"

The puppy whined again, a plaintive sound, and Clint reached to take it back. Natasha stepped out of range and arched a brow.

"Well, he's an orphan. He's all alone and his mom's dead in an alley half a mile back and-"

"That's low, Barton."

"Yeah," he agreed, and managed to look at least a little ashamed of his play. "But you never feel sorry for me and I'm an orphan, so I thought girls might be different because of...you know...when you were a kid and...Shit."

"Shit," she agreed coolly, and scrutinized the puppy. It curled its paws in tighter and tucked its tail again. "Ass," she added, because what did he expect her to do now? Clint knew he'd won. She wouldn't drop the puppy back in the debris and leave it to starve, and he certainly wouldn't leave it behind. "You're an ass, Barton."

"So we're keeping him, right?"

"What are we going to feed it? It's a twelve hour flight."

"I've got some jerky in my bag, protein bars, whatever. Dogs aren't picky, Nat."

"You can't feed this dog beef jerky." It was scrawny, and it trembled in the damp, cool night air. It wheezed when it exhaled, a rattle that didn't bode well for its survival chances. "It needs milk, Clint. It's too young."

"The others were bigger. The mom wasn't..." He mimed a set of tits on his chest and she rolled her eyes. "He's old enough, he's just a runt."

The puppy whined again, then cried, then yelped, and she gave in and cradled it against her chest. Clint gave her a slow, smug grin.

"Nobody loves him, Tasha. The other puppies bullied him, and his mother pushed him away every time he tried to cuddle. Even when it was dark and raining, and even when we were bombing the hell out of this place. His family curled up together in their cardboard box and made him sleep outside in the cold, and every night he'd look up at the stars and wish-"

"Shove it up your ass, Barton," because damn it if her eyes weren't stinging, just a little, with threatening tears. "What about the other puppies?" she added sardonically, and studied the rest of his pockets for signs of movement.

"They're dead, too," Clint told her, and he sounded so genuinely sad about it...

God, when had his penchant for strays rubbed off on her?

"Fine," she said, and started walking. Clint trotted along beside her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The puppy snuggled deeper into her arms and chewed her finger, and okay, he wasn't entirely bad. His paws were disproportionately large, so at least he'd grow big enough to be useful. His ears did that thing with one standing straight and pointed and pricked while the other folded over. She'd always been a sucker for that.

"I'll explain to Fury," Clint offered, but she shook her head.

"I'm mission leader," she said heavily. "I'll take the blame."

"Yeah, it's your first mission taking lead. Fury'll tear you a new asshole for this. It's not like he goes easy on you."

"That's why this dog better be worth it."

Clint slung an arm around her shoulders, and the gesture quelled the nervous energy she'd been suppressing all night. He smiled down at her, the soft one that made her feel warm on cold nights, the smile that always gave her that little extra confidence boost she'd never admit she needed.

"Oh, he will be. I've got an eye for bringing in assets. Haven't been wrong yet."