"Can we please focus on the mission?" He asks through gritted teeth, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe he should hold himself accountable of his actions, even though the events of the week after your little night out eclipsed all thoughts in his mind. Apologizing, specifically. Knowing that you got mad at the very same date that was supposed to take your mind off things. He's better at beating people up than at saying 'sorry', evidently. Matter of fact, he can't wait to do so.

His eyes focus on the people underneath, a paired of gloved fingers giving Tim the signal to let go of the hook and finally drop down to where you are. Steadily, crouching down on the building's rooftop and trying to get into the facility without getting noticed. Kind of hard to follow him when he can feel your penetrating and accusatory gaze on his neck. "Don't give me those eyes." He doesn't have to look at those lovely orbs to know your expression. Just a quick glance is enough for a small grin to form on his lips, and he offers his hand.

"I was just being nice to that waitress." He raises an eyebrow, even behind the domino mask his intentions as clear as day. "Now come on down. I'll let you hit me accidentally, if you want." So what if beating goons down to a pulp is not romantic? It can be. Love makes someone look at everything through rose-colored glasses.