Clint Barton has always had a strange way of showing love. Being on a date with his [girl/boy] is no different.

Well, it was a mission. You both were multitasking.

You were the distraction for Agent Romanoff. The restaurant owners were smuggling money to the mob. Coulson sent the three highest agents to take him out.

When it's finally time to make your move, Clint gets up from the table with a huge grin pastered on his face. "God, I hope you know what you're doing," you mumble, shielding your face.

This is going to be quite a show.

"Um... excuse me?" Clint shouts, walking as if he's drunk. "I wanna talk to the man in charge!" He then continues to make an embarrassment of himself by singing "Uptown Funk" in front of everyone.

"I can't believe this is happening," you mutter under your breath, pretending for once that Clint is not your problem.

"Hey!" A waiter shouts, angrily stomping over to Clint. "What's the deal?"

"I," he slurs, poking a finger into the waiters chest, "wanna talk to your boss, boy. You see that one there?" He points to you. "They ain't happy with the fondue. It's not fondue, whatever it is. It's barely even food!"

"You can leave the restaurant, Sir."

Clint sighs. "Well, there's always method two." He turns to the waiter and groans. "You couldn't have done it the easy way?"

Clint then proceeds to headbutt the waiter and start a fight right outside the restaurant bar. When one fight breaks out, everyone jumps in.

Needless to say, the Widow had plenty of time to take out the man in charge. Now she just as to bail Clint and your ass out of jail.

He turns to you on your way home, smiling. "Best. Date. Ever."