"Nah, I think we're good. I can be comfy anywhere." Given all the places he's had to spend copious amounts of time in, small spaces, uncomfortable positions, he means it.

He pulls out a laptop from his gear and settles himself back on the bed, cross-legged like when he was doodling his own map. "Don't be surprised if I end up watching over your shoulder at some point, though." Not anytime soon, probably. He's distinctly aware of Steve, taking up his allowed space, drawing Clint. But he can compartmentalize and focus on trawling the dark web, perusing known digital hangouts of tech savvy mobs, and checking up on any of his trackers. He can let them lapse into a somewhat comfortable silence, save for the light tapping of keys and the whisper of pencil on paper.