Clint might hover when it comes to food. Stealing quick bites of whatever's available over Phil's shoulder. Which he's allowed to do, in his own kitchen.

"What's something you want?" He waves a hand. "I mean, okay, we did the suit thing. What else do you want? Doesn't have to be a thing we do now. Doesn't have to be a thing we ever do. Hit me with your best shot. Something you want. Go."