That was the thing with open windows and fire escapes, you just never knew what would happen - even when the window had been locked shut. But, if there was anything to be remembered, it was that a Canadian with access to an odd array of items was very probably going to break into your home, and spoil your well earned Chinese food. Wade never understood why they called it Chinese food, he had been to China, they didn't eat orange chicken! They ate lots of other odd things, that he couldn't reasonably explain the origins of it's culinary existence. Still, he had found his way to the right level - no Deadpool gear today, bar the weapons pouches, endless amounts of knives and ammo pouches. No, today he wore a red sleeveless, and a pair of cargo pants, tucked into some military boots.

Leaning in to breath on and then polish the window, Wilson did his checks. Yep, Clinton certainly lived here, all the signs were there. The choice of wallpaper, the options on decor, the style of carpet, the Clint sat in an armchair eating pretend Chinese food; only a real Sherlock could have made this deduction.

Putting his special agent spy skills to the side for a moment, he proceeded to be a locksmith. Holding a torch in his mouth, Wade watched as he crouched on the fire escape landing, carefully undoing the small screws of the locking mechanism outside - painstaking and tedious, Wilson hummed to himself to pass the time. Jethro Tull's Aqualung; it just seemed so right, so fitting, so obnoxiously long he couldn't run out of song. The bits he forgot were easy to make up, and the bits he remembered were easy to make up too. A flawless, genius plan.

Every now and again, Wade would glance up to make sure the sharpshooter hadn't moved - this was no fun if Clint knew he was there, especially since it was very likely he'd either call SHEILD or start firing off arrows, neither being choice options. Getting tired of the tedious nature of things, his humming grew a little more frustrated, more rushed, but as he finally got the parts off, he slipped the picking tools away and flicked off his torch.

Sliding the window up, Wade climbed the tentatively inside, sliding the window back down to make as little noise as possible, all before standing up, stretching out, and heading to the kitchen. The Chinese food looked good; Clint certainly had the right idea with that. Plus, he had just broke in, if Barton was going to be upset by anything, it was the fact he had a home invader, not that the invader had decided to get himself some of the Chinese food.

His own plate and a box of the stale food, Wade then sauntered over, taking a seat on the sofa before Clint, and began digging in. Very over exaggerated eating motions, Wade leaned over his knees, the plate held below him, eyes on the food for a moment, before looking over to Barton - a casual nod greeting his communication.

"S'up?"

Then, just like that, Wilson's attention was on the plate he held, slurping up a long ass noodle into his mouth.