Normally a spontaneous offering of food doesn't come with small talk, and Bucky might have regretted it if not for the mention of going through requisitions. He snickers and stops just short of nodding, but he does grunt in agreement. Often he didn't even know what day it was when he was knee-deep in the trenches just trying to make it through the night watching every little shadow move through his crosshairs trying not to fall asleep, gain a few inches of ground if lady luck happened to be on their side. He would have only found out he missed something when he got back to base.

"Being nice to the lady at the desk," Read: shamelessly flirting while trying to err on the being cute side rather than obnoxious... "Doesn't work either." He fairly obviously served. Dog tags hanging around his neck and empty left sleeve and all. Could be that he lost his arm in a woodchipper accident or something, but. He's in a long dark monochrome coat, not sporting his best lumberjack chic flannel collection right now.

"Where were you deployed?"