Nervous? Nah. Excited and frustrated and achy and fantastic all at once? A little. He simply smirked back at her, both knowing the answer to her question, and then she posed another. "Starving?" His hands twitched briefly as she leaned over the couch in the manner that was so very Natasha, and he gave a hard swallow.
"There's good in the fridge, and don't eat all my yogurt."
He nodded his head in complete, amused understanding, eyes closed and mouth fixed in a sideways smirk. Touche, little red.
She was leaving. Crap. He'd just let her wander off. "I-" and just as she'd left, she was back again - quickly. "Okay, yeah. Good night-" wait, Bucky? Bucky? "Bucky?" She ignored him. "I'll keep that in mind," the breakfast and the Bucky. He needed to find Steve after breakfast...
He caught the bedding and a whiff of Natasha's savory scent hit him, making the grown man go a bit weak in the jet-lagged knees, and he watched her curvy, nightgowned form retreat to her own bedroom. He was going to be riding the couch... And rightfully so. "Good night." He said, just loud enough for her to hear, and then he gave the armful of linens a squeeze; a sorry substitute for the hug he'd wanted to wrap Natasha in. He looked down at the couch like it was looking back at him, and he raised his eyebrows. "Better than nothin'," the Italian reasoned, and turned and sat. The blanket and pillow rested in his lap while he stared around Black Widow's living room, unblinking with absolutely no intention of sleeping. Bruce's head tilted back and he got lost in the ceiling while he considered how far they'd come with just one conversation... It gave him hope.
And also punchy-Bucky-feelings. Bucky. Sigh. It was going to be a long night. Frittatas; she'd love those.