I'm not a spy. I've done my share of espionage, but I will forever and always identify as a soldier first, and everything else second... But I'm still the step between Nick and Steve -- an assassin, a sniper. I'm used to working from a distance, keeping an eye on things, constantly remaining aware of my surroundings. So even if I haven't been stalking Wayne like his children would stalk me, I've still kept him on my periphery. He's not an active threat, but it won't take much for that to change, and I'd be a fool to not keep abreast of his movements when he turned my whole world upside down just a few short months ago.

And all that said, he's still not the person I expect to see in the Compound at this hour when I'm doing a bit of late-night laundry. I don't stop right away. I have business to do and there's not much harm done in him reading the news, but when he's still there even after I've put my clothes in the washer downstairs and come back looking for something to pass the time, it's the chair opposite him that I choose above any of the others.

Maybe I'm just asking for trouble, but a little trouble'll do wonders for another night of insomnia.

With a military history book to act as a transparent excuse, Bucky sits opposite Wayne so casually as to belie the tension inherent in the two of them being in the same room. There's no announcement, no hello-how-do-you-do. The burden of small talk falls on Wayne to start, but Bucky's quietly chomping at the bit to see what happens, if anything happens at all.