“Wasn’t aware you felt the need to spy on me,” he quips back just as easily, eyebrows arched curiously as his eyes sweep over her form, lithe and sharp in the doorway. He would be both surprised and unsettled to hear that thought from her— because she’s right. He isn’t comfortable here. In this time. In this house. In this body. Nothing feels… right or like it’s really his. His body. His thoughts. His mind. None of it.

“Just… trying to lay low,” and stay busy. Distracted, really. He doesn’t like having down time, or time to think. It’s easy to stay busy with so much history, political, social, and otherwise, to catch up on. But he knows it isn’t exactly the most sustainable plan, either. It’s still working, for now, at least.

He nods toward her, “What are you doing here, Natasha?” he can’t imagine she came searching for him- Steve, he doesn’t even begin to count himself as important to her, or on her radar as much beyond a potential threat- for no reason. She isn’t exactly the ‘just dropping by to say hi’ sort of friend, afterall.