Steph blinks at him. The pencil rolls, back and forth, back and forth.

Does she know Agent Carter, good Lord, who doesn't? And she can feel herself start to blush, swearing in her mind, warding it off, such a tell, such a foolish thing. They're friends is all, good friends and colleagues, and if Peggy walked into the bar outside that door wearing a red dress that dropped every jaw in the building, that only means she's a friend with good style - and Steph knew that already, too, thank you.

So she answers the easier question with a soft laugh and a smile.

"Think he'd glare me mute if I tried to call him James. Bucky. Yeah, of course I know Bucky."