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After the Battle of New York, things only became more complicated for the Avengers. Clint had hoped for a long rest in which to recharge his batteries (and maybe soak up the glory of being an Avenger). Obviously, the month Fury gave them was not sufficient, and soon enough the bad guys were back in their hordes and the team was expected to save the world countless times more. The battles became more and more taxing, and each night after returning to the Tower their bodies ached for respite and food. 6 months into this new routine of mission after mission, Clint had had enough of takeout food (amazingly, before the avengers it was all he survived on). During one rare Tuesday evening off, Clint called an intervention. "I hope you all realise why I have called this meeting," he began, looking pointedly around the Avengers who had assembled around the spacious kitchen table. A chorus of various negative replies sounded, and Clint frowned with disappointment at his comrades. "We have been having an issue with food recently, and I think it's now time to mix things up a little." "Are we having belly dancers serve our food?" Tony asked, receiving clicks of the tongue and slowly shaken heads in reply. "No, Tony. I meant the food itself. I propose that we cook for ourselves." Never in his life did Clint think that food could cause such an uproar. Tony stated that he could hire a personal chef for them, to which Steve replied that Tony should just use that money to buy food for starving kids. Thor complained that the "removable delicacies" of Earth were much to his liking. Natasha retorted that the takeout food was disgusting and unhealthy and that they should all have better diets (well, except Thor and Steve, between them they could eat a whole herd of horses and only get the slightest food baby.) Bruce, who had been quiet thus far, had decided to chip in, agreeing with Nat, which sent Tony whirling onto his friend and proclaiming him disloyal and a health freak. This was all said simultaneously, becoming rather a din in the large kitchen. Clint rose from his seat and, disguised in a head scratch, turned down his hearing aids ever so slightly (by which, obviously, is meant that he near muted the team of superheroes).  In the comfortable quiet, with the arguing heroes only a background hum, Clint got started on making some food in an attempt to prove his point. He had never cooked much in his life, but one undercover mission had needed him to learn how to make an amazing omelette. He got started with the ingredients, taking eggs, milk, butter and some sad looking vegetables from the fridge (which was seldom stocked with more than beer and leftovers). As the egg mixture hit the pan, the wonderful aroma hit his senses and he knew that he had made the right choice in meal. After a good 10 minutes making omelette after omelette, Clint finally turned his hearing aids back up, welcomed by argument for the sake of arguing. He put the omelette laden plate in front of his team-mates and watched with quiet glee as they looked around in surprised silence, as though searching for the non-existent delivery guy. "This is what food should taste like, guys." Clint said, breaking the abrupt silence and taking a huge bite of his omelette. The others soon followed suit with caution, suspecting rotten egg or poison. After their initial hesitation, however, they were all practically inhaling the meal, begging Clint to make more.  And so, all future Tuesdays became known as Omelette day, in commemoration of the day that Clint made enough delicious omelettes to feed 50 people. 

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