Work Text:
"Barton." Natasha pinned him with a look. "You are never going to eat those. You hate green chili, remember?"
He snatched his hand back from the sample plate, shoved his hands in his pockets, and shrugged, looking for all the world like a kid caught out.
Natasha sighed. He was, technically. Old habits died hard and Clint had learned early on in life to take whatever was on the table because nothing else might be coming down the line.
She threaded her arm through his and headed for the next sample cart in an aisle over, crackers and cheese spread, something he'd like. "Two please," she said and gave him hers.