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Natasha did not need Bucky to hold the grocery bags for her. Though they were quickly being stuffed full and would sit awkwardly on her smaller frame, she was certainly strong enough to stroll through the market carrying them on her shoulders without breaking a sweat in the early summer warmth. Bucky offered -- and who was she to say no?
She passed a couple euros to a man behind a bakery stand, plucking a croissant off his table. It was not often she and Bucky were sent on missions to relatively quiet countries -- before this, they’d spent a hellish week in Madripoor trying to protect an ungrateful politician from getting shot. They tried to take advantage of the peace when they could, and Annecy, France was lovely, sitting on the banks of a shimmering canal.
They were there tracking down a hacker who thought they’d be able to hide more easily in a quaint, unsuspecting town, but they could at least enjoy their stay.
“Would you like a piece, darling?” Natasha said in French, observing the next stand, which was stacked with fresh vegetables.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Bucky said back in English, shuffling some of the bags further up on his arm to reach for it.
“Say so in French,” Natasha said, pulling the croissant back with a mischievous grin.
“That’s just mean,” Bucky said, trailing after her, “You know my French is atrocious.”
“And you know I love to hear it anyway,” Natasha said with a sweet smile, but she broke a piece off and handed it to him regardless.
“Geez, I can understand thirty languages but I struggle speaking one and never hear the end of it,” Bucky said, equally teasing. Natasha stood on her tiptoes to kiss him and then continued on.
“You haven’t picked anything out,” she said over her shoulder, “Don’t you want anything? I saw they had plums on a stand back that way.”
“Nat, I think you’ve picked out plenty,” he said, carrying two bags stuffed with everything from pink apples to fresh peppers to jars of homemade jams on each arm. “We’re set for the week. I don’t need anything.”
“Oh, come on, there must be something,” Natasha said, stopping at a flower stand. They were arranged in colorful bouquets, little honeybees buzzing pleasantly about the petals. “How about some of these, hmm?”
“I could buy some for you, if you like,” Bucky said, and she pouted at him.
“I want you to pick something out for yourself,” she said, “That defeats the purpose.”
“I’ll take this one,” Bucky said to the seller, reaching into his pocket for a few coins. The woman wrapped the stems in a thin paper and handed the bouquet to him, which he then held out to Natasha. “For you, mon amour.”
She looked at him for a moment. Taking the bouquet, she pulled a white daisy out and, standing on tiptoes again, tucked it behind Bucky’s ear. “Your French isn’t that terrible.”
“Are you satisfied, now?” he asked, and Natasha could not help but smile as he mispronounced nearly every word.
“Okay,” she said, continuing on again, “It’s pretty atrocious.”
“I wish we would go back to our room,” he said, closely behind her. He leaned so that she felt his breath on her ear as he teased, “We’ve got a bed to break in, after all.”
Natasha laughed. “Speak louder, I don’t think the baker heard you.” But with her free hand, she reached behind her for his to lead him out of the market.