Bucky & Jack
Even if the back of his mind was whiriling with thoughts of the future Jack couldn't really let himself hope for yet, he was feeling noteably lighter than the first time he'd met Bucky; Gray would always be there, but right now he was with the people in the photographs under his bed, staying for a night when he could let himself indulge in being melancholy. So he wasn't faking it so much as he shook his head with a sparkling smile.
"I'm good, thanks though," he shrugged as he sat, posture a little bit more relaxed than when they'd last run into each other, eyes a little brighter. "Just needed to stretch my legs. Funny thing, I thought I was looking forward to having the luxury of occasionally sitting back once in awhile without keeping one eye peeled for disaster, but now that I've got it I can't seem to really sit by myself for more than a couple hours before I need to get out again." He didn't have to ask what Bucky was doing; he knew the look of keeping watch, even if for the last few decades he'd been doing it at computer monitors more than watching the world properly.
"So, uh--" he gestured vaguely to the coop with a half smirk. "You kept chickens before? Because, personally, I've been watching a pterandon for the last year and a bit back in Cardiff and I still wouldn't have a clue with those things." It was second nature to set in to things like that, the outlandish-but-true and mostly fun part of his life, to keep anything deeper undercover.