After she squeezed his shoulder — was he so transparent? maybe just to Natasha; she was an expert reader of people, and she wasn’t always searching for some pre-war version of him in his expression — and told him about the food, then Bucky was already moving on autopilot to start rifling through the kitchen. He was quiet; there was just the small noise of cabinet doors opening and closing as he dug out some sustenance, finding some old canned soup and hardy unopened crackers. Hunger was almost always gnawing in his stomach thanks to that metabolism, and so he didn’t waste any time in making himself at home, and at home in that silence.

It was companionable. Not exactly uncomfortable. Neither of them were the type to get nervous with the quiet or start talking simply to fill it up. So when she spoke again, Bucky looked up sharply, in the middle of cracking open that can.

“I’m glad you asked for backup,” he said, because just as easily, there was another version of this story where Nat might have tried to hack it on her own. Saying she was a lone wolf was an understatement.

“And if they’re using chemical subjugation…” His voice trailed off. “Let’s just say it’s relevant to my interests, to shut this shit down with you.”