He tried to look at the justice in her words and not the residual spite. She had a point, he’d play along. “Clint Barton. Hawkeye.” He supplied his name, then added the code name with a tone of voice mocking the haughtiness she’d threw at him moments ago. Still, despite it, he did resign himself to cook and moved to the fridge and peered around inside. “And what exactly did you want to eat, princess?”