“Ah, Jesus Thor. Year, we had better.” He loves Nat but each time he almost does, she tries to kick his ass. Unhelpful. Clint presses his fingers against his eyelids and then shoved another slice of pizza down his throat.

He needs to teach the guy about the internet. Stuff he puts on Twitter can and does get out. Especially because Natasha expects it to.

Clint finishes a few more fries and drops some money on the table. It’s too much but the waitress deserves a good tip for not immediately phoning her friends to come over and gawk at the pair.

Standing up, though? That’s not a good idea. Clint is still lightheaded from the blood loss and he hasn’t had any time to recover. He grimaces as he heads to the door. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’s been through worse.